Monks and Beautiful Gates

Monks and Beautiful Gates

So the lame man paid attention to them, expecting to receive something from them. Acts 3:5

Our dreams can often be a rich reservoir of insight into the needs of our soul and how to care for it. I am not talking about interpreting dreams and applying symbolism to everything within them. But there can be general themes that seep up while we sleep that we may be unaware of in our waking hours. Also, as we all know, some dreams are simply a result of too much pepperoni pizza the night before.

I recently had quite a complex dream that stayed with me for days. I want to share it here, then move to the story of the lame man who was healed at the temple.

I was on a tour bus, though it was designed more like one for mass transit. It had one seat near the front behind the driver that was perpendicular to the other seats. I rode in that seat alone with the rest of the passengers filling the seats on either side of the center aisle.

At first, I was not aware of our destination, but as we crossed a long narrow bridge, I became aware that we were entering the city of Munich in Germany. I have never been to Munich, or the European continent for that matter, but in the dream, I understood where we were going. The bus was filled with 60 to 70 passengers.

The bus pulled into a parking area about 1 pm. The itinerary included about six hours of exploring the city with our guide. Though it was early afternoon, there was very little light. The whole landscape was dusky and dark, muting the colors, washing the scene in grays and a dull green.

Within moments of exiting the tour bus the group walked to a downtown area of Munich. The buildings where old stone on narrow streets. Almost immediately I found myself separated from the group. I could not find them anywhere. I looked about anxiously. I feared I would miss the sites and my ride home. It did not occur to me in the dream that I knew where the bus was parked.

Then I thought I saw our group in a restaurant. I opened the door quickly to a barely lit establishment with dark brown paneled walls. Several 80s style video games were in an alcove to the right of the entrance; a small arcade. As I stepped into the restaurant proper, I saw only three or four tables and about as many people. They were putting away the chair and tables. I was deeply disappointed; I had not found my group and had missed a meal.

I wandered through the town looking for the others when I came upon a park with a small lake. I remember walking near the lake, in a hollow, ambling around its shore, still wondering at the darkness in the middle of the afternoon. At one point I turned away from the lake, looked up from the small basin, and saw a group of figures on a hill.

They were shadowy because it was dark, but I was certain they were my group. Perhaps 100 to 200 yards away, they appeared as silhouettes at the hill’s crest. Happy I had found them; I began to walk up the hill toward the group. But, as I walked, I got no nearer. It was as if I was either walking in place or they were fading backwards away from me. It was not as if their limbs were moving, I just never covered any distance. No matter how much effort I expended the distance between us stayed the same.

I don’t know if I ever got home, because that was the last scene in the dream. It really stayed with me throughout the next day. It was strange that I would dream about Munich, and the whole feeling of being lost and separated from others permeated every scene. I thought I would look up the derivation of the word “Munich”.

The name of the city is derived from the Old/Middle High German term Munichen, meaning “by the monks.” Monks of the Benedictine order ran a monastery that was later to become the Old Town of Munich.

Then the general theme of the dream began to show itself to me. I was on a trip to a place founded on Christian spiritual practice. It was literally “by the monks.” I was on a journey, perhaps a pilgrimage, to find a deeper place of devotion. But, upon arriving I was separated from my group. The whole atmosphere was dark and foreboding. And, every time I did find my group places were closing down, or I could not get close to them. The city of “professional” Christians would not have me. I felt isolated and alone in the very place I was searching for something to nourish my soul.

For me, that theme was not surprising. Most of my life, even after following Christ in 1972, I have felt like I did not quite belong to any group. Maybe I’m too independent. Maybe my soul is fed in different ways that some of the established religious expressions I’ve been associated with. Maybe the acceptance I’ve sought isn’t actually that important for the nourishment of my soul.

What does this have to do with Acts chapter 3 where a lame man is healed in the front of the temple? Let’s review quickly. Jesus was crucified, buried and rose from the grave several weeks before. The Holy Spirit and been poured out on the day of Pentecost, forty days after His resurrection and over 3,000 people were added to those who followed Christ.

Peter and John are on their way to afternoon prayer at the temple. A man who is lame from birth had been carried and placed at the “Beautiful Gate” at the temple to beg for money each day. This was accepted practice. Those who were unable to work often begged alms in populated areas. In some ways, it was considered their “occupation” since there were so few ways they could earn a living.

When Peter and John arrive at the temple, he asks them for money. Notice that man is not in the temple, he is outside of it. No matter how much this lame man desired to worship in the temple, he was prohibited. It was not simply the organization of priests at the time who kept him out, it was the recorded words of Holy Scripture! No one with a “defect” was allowed within the temple precincts.

(Do you begin to see the tie-in to my dream?) He stares at Peter and John. To him, they are just two Jewish worshipers coming for afternoon prayer. When he asks them for money Peter and John look directly at him and say, “Look at us!” He perked up, met their eyes and expected money.

Peter says, “I don’t have any silver or gold, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, stand up and walk!” Peter takes him by the right hand, lifts him up and the man’s feet and ankles are made new again!

The man jumps and leaps. No money, but new legs! Now get ready for the next phrase in verse 8: “and he entered the temple courts with them” where he continued walking and leaping and praising God.

We must understand the reason for this story. Yes, a man is healed. But look a little closer. What did that man really want? He wanted to be accepted. He wanted access to God. He wanted to worship “with” not “alone”. But everything that Scripture seemed to say kept him on the outside. The religious professional were the enforcers of that Scripture. Everyone accepted that lame folks could not enter the temple. God said it, that was enough. Everything about the religious thought at the time put him outside of the inner circle of God’s love.

But Peter and John come along, who had no professional theologically training. Remember, just three years previous they had left a good fishing gig to follow a roaming teacher named Jesus. The lame man didn’t know anything about Peter and John. He knew the priests, Pharisees, Sadducees and scribes had the power to keep him out of the temple. But who had the power to make him no longer the “other”?

That is the point of this story. “Jesus Christ the Nazarene.” Paul expands on the idea by saying the dividing wall between Jew and Gentile were also torn down by Christ.

Do you understand, there are no longer “defects” that can keep you from God? Christ has destroyed every wall that divides. He has taken down the fences between “worthy” and “unworthy”. The first miracle after Pentecost is the great announcement that the Beautiful has come. We can come limping, wounded, bleeding, without a plea to our name; and we are no longer excluded. (My take on Scripture is that we were never excluded. Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross doesn’t change God’s mind, it reveals His nature from all eternity.)

God in Christ has announced that your soul has a home. Though you may feel out of step with some of the organized religious movements around you, you do not have to feel out of step with God. What my soul was searching for in Munich it found in Christ alone.

Peter and John gave the lame man what the professional religious leaders could not. They gave the lame man, not what he asked for (money), nor what was his perceived need (new legs) but met his real need: access and acceptance by God.

The Grief is Louder

The Grief is Louder

(“And when they had prayed, the place in which they were gathered together was shaken, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and continued to speak the word of God with boldness.” Acts 4:31)

Though the sun squints the eyes and blazes across wind-streaked skies,
there is sometimes not enough warmth to burn away the clouds of sadness
wrap around my heart like unshorn wool.

There is no mistaking its purpose;
we have turned toward the flaming chariot watching
like parade-goers lining each side of the avenue.
Though music turns with each passing,
though grass is softer, roses laugh fuller,
the grief I wear is louder than the amplified
big band tunes.

There are valleys where light seldom visits,
caverns filled with sludge for vision,
and souls once lit
now smoke
in pit and ash.

Let the time pass. Let the days go by,
two and three,
an hour on the phone,
a dollar for coffee,
and the warmth of a kiss upon the cheek.

Loneliness and grief,
heavier than accumulated joy,
are denser than the silly quotes and maxims
mouthed by friends and phantoms.

Yet the quantum particles pass through,
the Spirit She sings the elegy for me
and does not rebuke my tears, pain or
doubts. She sits and shakes with me
until the craggy mourning cracks and her
lightness touches
my latent heart in subconscious movement
toward the sun.

And, surrounded by love, God, friends and
everyone,
the smile is not wider now,
the smile is worn and weathered now,
but the smile rests in a long distance
and microscopic array of nurture
while the sun rounds the bend again.

Scars Lose their Luster

Scars Lose their Luster

(“The Lord gives his people strength; the Lord grants his people security.” Psalm 29:11)

Scars lose their luster only in the eyes of those
who have never seen the strength it takes to
stand in the way while soundwaves encircle
like sharks.

It takes a different breath to blow summer bubbles than
to extinguish birthday candles. The gentle air slides inside
the soapy film and it folds upon itself. The huge inhale and
puffed out cheeks whoosh past the wicks and complete the
next stage of gray. Each, in their own way,
are rainbow art and photography.

Look closely at the cratered face,
there once was something magic there,

that either disintegrated upon impact
or was excised by the scalpels of a thousand tongues.

Look clearly at the furtive eyes,
there once was something sparkling there,
that either evaporated upon drought
or was dispatched by the hackles of a thousand guns.

And still, and swinging on the pendulum of song…

It is the power that allows the widow to cry,
it is the peace that encourages the barroom reply,
it is the abundance that fully walks upon the earth,
it is the language that defines all as equal worth;
all is spiritual in the tongue of the redeemed.

It is gritty, not ghostly;
it is dirt clods not prayer cloths.
It is cattle and hay, new births and old departures.
All and in all, the strength is as the day.

We will, and swaying on the compasses of song…

Some Kind of Joy

Some Kind of Joy

(“The Lord is my strength and my shield, in whom my heart trusts. I am helped, so my heart rejoices; with my song I praise him.” Psalm 28:7)

When did I start thinking that my entire live would be lived
above
ground?

There are a lot of people who have cared,
but not enough.

Along the way while trying my best
someone plowed under my confidence.

Much of my imagination was buried below
the horizon while
I slept for decades.

And now dreams wake me growling
at invasions and protestations
that hide in the light of day.

The darkness can instruct me,
send me, arouse me to listen
to the lower chambers of my heart.

Faces I have not seen in 40 years
greet me in love while nearer acquaintances
stay silent.

A lot of people have cared, but is it
enough?

It is not death I fear,
(it is closer than later)
but more life underground.

My songs have change, the lyrics
like water,
fit the forms of my life completely.

I am moving out from approval
to some kind of joy that fits my
doubts and jagged melancholy.

In this I rest, beneath the topsoil and
atop the buttes,
I shall be I

And I shall rejoice the One-that-Is
has planted me, shone on me,
coaxed me and nurtured me

In the quiet rhythms of life underground.

Dwelling in the Center

Dwelling in the Center

“Then the column of smoke covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the tent.” Exodus 40:34

The final few chapters of Exodus read like complicated instructions for Lincoln Logs or an Erector Set. Dimensions, materials, and colors are all specified for the tent of meeting. It can be tiresome reading, especially if you are not sure what a cubit is.

When I was young, we would visit my grandparents in Tulsa, OK. My Uncle Veril had an Erector Set. I loved playing with it. It even had an electric motor so you could build a tower with a functioning windmill. Sad to say, I never got that far in my building skills. I have never liked reading instructions; they feel like a waste of time. Just get in and get the thing built, is the way I roll.

I was thankful that we had two men who understood construction when we built our new church building in Harvey, ND. If I had been in charge… (Well, never mind. It would have fallen down by now.) But guided by two men who knew what we needed and gave good instructions, we started with a foundation of a 6400 square foot building that was perfect within a quarter inch on the diagonal. From there a beautiful place of worship arose.

If we only had the Old Testament, we might think that the building we worship in is the most important idea for meeting with God. After Moses completes the intricate instructions, God finally inhabits the tent of meeting in a column of smoke. It is so dense that Moses could not even go inside.

When the smoke lifted from the tent, the Israelites would break camp and follow it. Exodus ends by telling us that “the Lord’s column stayed over the tent during the day, and there was fire in the smoke at night. In this way all the Israelites could see the column throughout their travels.”

In a moment we’ll look at what the New Testament has to say about this. But let’s stay with this image for now. Imagine being among the tribes of Israel, watching the tent finally erected, and then a column of dense smoke fills its interior. You have only experienced God through the mediation of Moses until that point. As far as you know, God talks to Moses, Moses talks to you. God separates himself from humanity.

But now God actually shows up in the middle of your encampment. Yes, it is after doing the requisite preparations, but that makes sense too. Even if God does want to be among us, we also need to know that He is different than we are. The tent, in the middle of humanity, signals God’s relationship to humanity. He is a God who relates to us where we are.

And, God fully fills the tent. So much so that Moses cannot even enter. God not only dwells among them, but God leads them. No more through the mediation of Moses, the people can see for themselves that God is present. And when the column of smoke moves up and out of the tent, they know it is time to move on.

When John describes how Jesus came into the world he says, “The Word became human and lived among us. We saw his glory. It was the glory that the Father shares with his only Son, a glory full of kindness and truth.” The phrase “lived among us” means “tented with us.” Jesus is the presence of God in flesh and blood. Now, notice this. In Exodus it said that the “glory of the Lord filled the tent.” John says of Jesus, “We saw his glory. It was the glory that the Father shares with his only Son.”

The tent of meeting in the wilderness was a picture of what God ultimately wanted to do. God no longer must be experienced in some sort of manifestation. He has already shown up in His Son Jesus. 

Let me be honest. For a good 20 years of my Christian life I went to worship services and meetings and longed for “God’s presence.” I would stay late to pray. Others would tell of their experiences of a “glory cloud” or some similar thing, and I would seek for the same experience. I wanted “all” of God. I do not want to negate anyone’s personal experience, but I do need to make this statement. If you have trusted Jesus, you have all of God within that you will ever have! God never doesn’t show up, because Jesus dwells in you now.

Here is how Paul describes it: “God wanted his people throughout the world to know the glorious riches of this mystery—which is Christ living in you, giving you the hope of glory.” Colossians 1:27 You do not have to pray harder, read the Bible longer, attend more meetings or any other religious action. Christ is all and in all. And all of Christ dwells in you.

“Why, then, don’t I feel like He is there?” Ah, that questions haunted me as well, especially when I heard other people’s tales of spiritual and mystical experiences. (Let me say again, I do not discount anyone’s experience, but to long for what someone else has can become a form of covetousness and even idolatry.)

Let me give just one idea that helps me. This time, not the erector set, but packing a car for a trip. My mom was the most fastidious packer in the world. She once packed a Volkswagen van for a two-month cross country camping trip with all the equipment and a family of six! But packed well, there was space for the whole family.

It may not be the best analogy but think of it like this. We all have lots of stuff packed into our lives. And they are not good or bad things, they are just the stuff of living. We have jobs, school, meals to prepare, laundry to wash, cars to maintain; all of these occupy our mind and our time. With so much occupying the center of our life, it is not easy to consider that Christ is actually dwelling within us.

Now consider the deepest part of your being, your soul. Think about the deepest desires, the highest beauty, the music that inspires you, the friends that make you laugh the most. All of these are gifts from God. Even your unmet needs or tears of sorrow are places to experience Christ. When your heart is moved by an act of kindness, it is Christ within joining with your own spirit. When you struggle with deep pain or excruciating temptation, Christ is your “hope of glory” and is fully present in that moment.

Mom packed that bus, putting everything in its place, so the center, where passengers sit, could be clear as possible. She did not ignore the suitcases, the camping gear and ice chest, she simply arranged them to leave an open center. Think about doing that with the “stuff” of your life. Do not classify it as secular versus spiritual, just arrange your life to have a center where you always find Christ. The truth is, I would much rather have Him dwelling within me than having to go to a tent full of smoke, wouldn’t you? Let Him dwell in the center of your being. That is where He wants to make His home. Not as a ruler or a lord, but as a loving and compassionate Brother as you wander through life’s wilderness.

And Then We Are Born

And Then We Are Born

(“You teach me the way of life. In your presence is total celebration. Beautiful things are always in your right hand.” Psalm 16:11)

Lastly I want to say that I am an
archipelago and not a continent,
though the ants that sting my feet might disagree.
(I know you think you’ve found all the
ground you can cover in me,
but there is more to be discovered than
you or I perceive.)

You see my present, and think you know my past.
I am flooded with every act from middle to last.
You see my blunders, I bathe in them daily.
My intentions are more gloomy than you have imagined.

For I am dark jungle and the brightest beach,
barren desert and living reef,
artesian spring and salted sea,
I live in the margins not in the
clarity I wished and believed an
infant life could be.

No one shames the tree for the shadow it casts,
nor blames the sun for not piercing the tree,
the tree and the sun are one.

I hated the middle, the mud, the dark
and assumed the light would change me at last.
But I am tree and sun, dirt and air,
castaway and citizen,
a single soul containing the universe with all its
cold void and searing stars.

Some traveled with me through the overgrowth,
some left when they saw I might be lost,
some welcomed me at the caravansary,
some left provisions and went swimming.
Others wandered with me, overland, between the
boundaries of dusky light. We knew each other better
for our simplicity and loved each other more in the
complexities of soul no one can explain.

We learned new languages and geography;
history was abandoned as we waited for water
and listened to the stories we told. We did not know
if we were younger than the universe, or old.
But the Creator’s light cast shadows in the heat
and brightened the songs we once thought torn by the
unwelcome complications of the moment, the journey,
the untransformed.

And then we are born.

Look on the Lenses

Look on the Lenses

(“Then the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, ‘It is the Lord!’ When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he girded his mantle to him (for he had stripped down), and sprang into the sea.” John 21:7)

Look on the lenses of my glasses to
detect the sorrow of my moods,
the eyelashes have transferred the salt of my tears
and spotted my spectacles from the inside out.

What do you do when it seems everyone you know
has forgotten you? Where do you look for the invisible
friends upon the shore? How do you grasp a God
this far from home?

I feel like throwing something against glass,
crashing it into shards, the window, the mirror,
the windshield; something that will break as surely as
the ice pick pits the ground. I feel like smashing the roof
with a sledgehammer,
the sidewalk with a pickax;
but I hold it in and it all comes out in trembling hands,
thunderstorm tears,
aching hips and images appearing in sleep
that haunt my lonely heart for day.

I have no profession to return to,
the boats are owned by others now.
My avocations are solo performances,
a cast of one
for an audience or none.

If someone said she saw you I would run
toward her gaze. I would clothe myself quickly
and beg her to take me to the observatory,
café or public park to find you. I would not
finish this phrase…