Day 40

Lent is a season of fasting.  The day before Lent begins is, for some, the biggest party of the year.  In New Orleans, they actually change the rules for Mardi Gras; things that are illegal on any other day of the year are allowed on Fat Tuesday.  May as well live it up now, the logic goes, if we're gonna have to be all pious for a month plus.  At least, that's how it started.  Now, people join the party without knowing why.

The entire point of Lent is to remember.  To understand Easter better, and all that leads up to it.  To deliberately draw near to God.  So I think, if we really had the right perspective, the biggest party of the year would start tomorrow.

It's almost Sunday.  When the fasting ends, and the feast begins.  Remember why.  It's worth celebrating.

Quiet

Golgotha was quiet, and had been for a day.  The guards and the onlookers had long since departed.  The two dead thieves still hung from their crosses, mouths open as though still in a weary plea for mercy.

Only one desperate soul remained on the hill.  Incensed.  Seething.  Muttering hatefully.

"This isn't over... this is not over...."

But he knew it was.  He knew it was over the moment Jesus said it was.  Finished.  Done.  The moment Jesus cried out and took it all.

Had they seen?  They had to have seen him.  The moment he realized that it wasn't his plan that was coming to pass.  That single moment of shock.

When all the sins of the world piled onto God's only son.  When the hideous blackness descended, and was still not enough to block the Glory blazing out from him.  When Jesus breathed his last, and took it all with him.

When all Satan's work fell apart before his very eyes.

He stared at the ground where the cross had been driven.  There, he caught sight of a stone, spattered with blood.  The blood.

Satan roared.  He then took a long, long moment to steady himself.

"This is not over," he snarled, and stormed from the hill.

Later You Will Understand

This is where the story begins to take a turn for the worst.

It's a festival in Jerusalem.  The Jews are celebrating the power of God, eating the Passover meal together as families.  Jesus takes it a step further.  He, God himself, stoops low and washes their feet.  He sets for them an example of humility.  And he commands them, "as I have loved you, so you must love one another." (John 13:34)  A mandate.  Hence, Maundy Thursday.

But only hours later, Jesus is in chains.  The apostles are scattered.  Peter, terrified, is denying that he even knows his friend and master.  The only innocent man is on trial, and will soon be unjustly condemned.

Yet, a plan is unfolding.  Older than Rome, older than Earth, and older than time.  In the beginning, Jesus knew this was coming.  And he accepted it willingly.

Remember that tomorrow.  On the most horrific day ever to be called Good.

"Unless I wash you, you have no part with me." -Jesus (John 13:8)

And Counting

"Hey.  Simon."

Silence.

"...Pete?  You awake?"

"Mmph.  Go to bed, Johnny."

"You think it's gonna happen soon?"

"...what's gonna happen soon..."

"The abomination and everything.  What the Rabbi was talking about today."

"He said he didn't even know that."

"I know.  It's just... he's been acting so different lately."

"Yeah.  I know.  Like something big's coming."

"So I'm just wondering."

"...I dunno, Johnny.  Maybe.  But you remember what he said."

"Be ready."

"Be ready.  So that's our job.  Don't worry about it.  Just keep waiting."

"Says Peter, the patient one."

"Tch.  I wouldn't be sad if he restored Israel tomorrow.  I just..."

"...don't know."

"Yeah.  But I think you're right.  Something big's coming."

"I hope so."

"Me too."

Silence.

"...don't worry about it, Johnny.  Get some rest."

"Yeah... hey.  Do you think he's gonna do something during the Passover?"

"Mmm.  Dunno.  Should be good."

Faith is not just trust.

Faith is hope.

May Easter be the source of all our hope.

Friday's Coming.

John 12:20-36 is intense.  It's a piece of the New Testament  I haven't spent much time studying, but I looked over it tonight in honor of Holy Week.  Easter is coming, and in this passage, no one is more aware of it than Jesus.

When I first looked through Jesus' words and reactions here, it didn't make sense to me.  His words didn't seem to fit together.  And I had no idea why the voice of God would make such a sudden intrusion at such a seemingly innocuous moment.  But it does make sense.

Look at verses 23 and 24.  Jesus knows he has to die to fulfill his purpose on earth.  And he's not looking forward to it (verse 27).  Even so, "Father, glorify your name."  That's his choice.  To make the sacrifice for us, knowing the pain he has yet to endure.  This is no small moment.

Then a voice came from heaven: "I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again." The crowd that stood there and heard it said that it had thundered. Others said, "An angel has spoken to him." Jesus answered, "This voice has come for your sake, not mine." -John 12:28-30 (ESV)

There's a lot to celebrate this week, in which God displayed His humility and love.

The Messenger: Destination

The thought distantly occurred to Phelps that he had not technically completed the baptism ceremony. He hadn't had the time to speak his line - so do I - before the command hit him. North, said the voice, and north he went. When the crowds thickened, his run slowed to a very fast walk, dodging between pedestrians and cutting through alleys.

He was heading deeper into the shade of downtown New Sidon, where the buildings were more often constructed in the N'aaa style, poking three stories above ground and extending several stories below. Their broad, flat roofs nearly touched, scattering slivers of light over the crowd. The hot white sun flashed at him between the gaps as he moved northward.

The word had burned an imprint on his mind, and he had moved without thinking. The implications were only just beginning to chase him down. He was seeing apparitions and hearing voices. But others were seeing them, and hearing them. Which meant they were really from....

His pace slowed, and he held a hand to his forehead. Mariah was a priestess. She thought in terms of God constantly. Could it have been a coincidence? N'aaa were known for their insight. Could she just have picked up on something in his demeanor?

But he knew nothing about her, or the temple. The angel had.

Even as he thought it, he stopped walking. A large building stood straight ahead of him. A flight of broad steps descended to the main entrance, with a fountain cascading down the steps on the far right. A water feature, in New Sidon. Phelps had never seen anything so opulent.

Here.

The voice. The same calm certainty. The same authority.

God was speaking to him.

Expense Account, Here I Come

Just checked in at the Best Western in Covina - pardon me, West
Covina. Elizabeth and I are attending a seminar on forming faith-based
nonprofit organizations. That's right. My church sent me out of town
for a seminar. Not only that, but I'm headed to Anaheim in a few weeks
for a conference for work.

This is my first experience with business travel. I'm glad I had E to
talk to on the way down. My sympathy to those who are on the road a
lot alone.

Maybe it's just the novelty, but a hotel room has a certain mystique.
A room where no one lives. Where someone else just was.

By Your Love

In Jordan, publicly preaching the Christian faith is illegal.  This we learned from two missionary friends who gave us a presentation in Bible study last night.  They've lived in the Middle East for two years, now, and have met with some success in their mission.

How?  By openly defying the Jordanian government and boldly preaching the Word on every streetcorner? I mean, really, isn't that what missionaries are supposed to do?

Nope.

They make friends.  They get involved in the community.  They serve in the local Arab Christian church.  They love people, and take care of people.  And when the opportunity arises to speak openly about Jesus, when someone asks a question about faith or requests an Arabic copy of the Bible... they do.

They've discovered in a new way the power of Christian fellowship.  Of people just loving one another and serving God across cultures, races, and national boundaries.  I'm glad for their example.

Not So Hopeless

A little over five years ago, this is what I was thinking:

"I used to be a hopeless romantic. Turns out that part of that deal is being hopeless. "

I spent years stomping on my romantic side, and it's messed with my perspective.  What seemed to me like wisdom at the time was obviously just an expression of lonely bitterness.  I reacted, not to the perfectly normal desire to find a soulmate, but to the painful desperation I felt at the time to find someone.  For too long, they were the same thing to me.

It's taken me years of personal growth and prayer, but I'm finally able to separate the two.  To be honest, romantic affection apart from intense heartache is still kind of a new idea for me.  I'm still making a few mental adjustments.

But, thank God, I'm learning what it's supposed to be like.

Bicentennial

This is my 200th ...delerium post.  It'll be a short one.

God has blessed me recently in so many ways.  Even so, it's incredibly rare to have a day where everything just goes right.  Since he and Jen both read this, let me say: thank you both for today.

Best day in a long, long time.

The Messenger: Instructions

"You knew I was coming," Phelps finally said.

Deacon Mariah smiled, the tiny creases between the thin plates of her face stretching apart.  "A dream," she said, her wispy voice purring over the "r" sound.  "Yeshua's angel."

On the transport had been a congregation of New Lunar Baptists.  After listening to their ravings over the long trip, he had almost gotten used to hearing the Christ called Jesus, rather than Yeshua.  Mariah spoke the name carefully, with reverence.  A far cry, as it were, from the proselytizers on the ship.

Phelps could already tell that Mariah spoke English only with great effort.  But a half-N'aaa priestess in this city...  "Wrri, ihhi tchaun'eh an hal," he said in Nrru.  She told me to come to you.

Mariah drew her head back in a serpentine motion, again expressing her surprise.  "And she told me to baptize you," she said simply, in unaccented Nrru.  Even as she spoke, she knelt down and took a handful of green-blue sand.

Phelps froze.  "I... wait..."

The deaconess fixed her blank gaze on him, her hand held high, gently trickling sand.  "It is unbefitting a prophet to be unbaptized.  Will you submit to it?"  She drew herself up, facing him directly.

"I'm not... look, the last time..."

Her hand was suddenly on his chest.  For a moment, he forgot that it was a common N'aaa gesture of friendship.  "Yeshua knows your fears," she was saying.  Gently.  "And he says to you this: you did not leave me there.  I went after you from that place."

The chapel, back in Phoenix.  The guilt.  He was there again.  But now, with her words - with his words - the weight of the memory evaporated.  All at once.  Gone.

Oh, Lord... "I will submit to it," Phelps breathed.

Mariah did not hesitate for even a moment.  Phelps' chest tightened as her hand drifted over his shoulders and head, pouring a trail of sand.  "You have one Lord," she said.  "What is his name?"

"Yeshua."  The sand settled on him, and with it, a strange calm.  He held still.

Silence.  In the quiet, the noise of the city far distant, he lost track of time.  Only three seconds passed, but Phelps felt every moment before she spoke again.  "And as he died, so have you," Mariah intoned.  "And..."  She stopped, took a gasp of air.  He could have sworn he heard her giggle.  "And as he lives...."

In response, Phelps tilted his head and leaned back, spilling the sand down his back.  He had barely enough time to register his suprise at how easy the ceremony was after all before the sensation hit.

It was a voice, but not audible.  A compulsion, but not irresistable.  A certainty.  A call.  A command.

North.

Phelps hesitated for only an instant.  "Which way is north?" he demanded in Nrru.

Deacon Mariah pointed, and he ran.

Best Face Forward

You can learn a lot about people on the internet.  This, for example, is my boss's boss's professional website for her side business.

I am more keenly aware now of how what I post here represents me, particularly now that I'm employed by the church.  It's tempting to put disclaimers on all my opinions now, especially after Jen grilled/teased me about some of my earlier views on love.  Heh.

I might have to go through the archives and see what the heck I've gotten myself into.

Delicious and Nutritious

The mere existence of overstuffed breakfast pizza is not enough to cause the downfall of Western civilization. Oh, no.

The fact that I'm happy to pay three bucks for it, eat the whole thing, and wash it down with black coffee? That doesn't bode well.

See the orange in the background? That makes that mass of protein and starch in the foreground part of a balanced breakfast.

A Single Step

In this picture are a few things that I just decided will decorate my new office at church. In the background, an encouraging note written to me by Greg Hogan, an awesome man who helped form my young faith. On the left, two paper cranes, folded by Lindsey Ballard for a classmate with cancer. Little symbols of love and hope, with an Asian flair, no less.

The cross on the foreground was also a gift, specifically to decorate the office. It quotes Jeremiah 29:11-13 - to which I was specifically guided recently - and Psalm 32:8. Featured prominently is the word "Journey," which is not only a great reminder that I am a work in progress, but also reminds me of Sojourn. A perfect gift.

From my girlfriend.

You'll be hearing more about this girl. For now, I'll say this: her name is Jen, and she's amazing.

Today turned out to be pretty good after all.

Open Book

[tonight, an excerpt from this evening's journal entry.  a couple items have been redacted for privacy.

my journaling is sporadic, but it shouldn't be.  i get the very distinct impression that God is pleased when i take the time to write out my prayers to Him and chronicle my life for future reference.  came in handy tonight, which explains the first line.]

It's good you have me write this stuff down. Thank you.

I'm really tired, Lord. Just physically. If you want me to stay up and study more, spur me on. But my plan right now is to write a blog post, read through Acts some more… wait, why not that passage in 1 Cor that I've been quoting, but haven't gone back to? Geez. So there, and then probably some Acts. Then sleep.

Bless Nicole's job situation, Lord. Arrange it how you will. Mmm. I'm sorry for not praying for it earlier today. I pray that you bless her even now.

I'm really happy with my life right now, Lord. Thank you for that. You're so generous. I know I don't deserve any of this. And I'm not doing very well with what you've given me. But Lord, may I make you proud with what I do with the blessings you're giving me. The job at church, my friends, my time, everything. My every dream and my every resource.

[scatterbrained, vaguely ashamed, yet grateful and somewhat worshipful.  that's me.]

The Messenger: Introductions

St. Luke's Temple was not what Phelps had in mind.  It took him two hours to make the 20-minute walk through New Sidon; two hours of feeble excuses rehearsed over and over, none of which could overcome the weight of the apparition outside the transport window.  He had paced back and forth over the same three blocks, bumping constantly into traders and pilots, and eliciting curses in a dozen languages.  With his training, he could have understood them all, had he been less distracted.

When he finally arrived at the Temple, he thought he might be in the wrong place.

It stood in a gap between two tall pseudocrete buildings, one gaudy orange, the other a matte white.  He had not been thinking of a temple in the N'aaa fashion, certainly not for a temple to Christ.  But there it was, the unwalled patch of blue-green sand, the surface fused into glass and polished.  Like a calm, rolling sea of Earth, frozen between instants.  On the back left corner of the patch sat the arrangement of transluscent red stones, as expected.  But, Phelps noticed with a start, they depicted not the traditional N'aaaian sacred runes, but a cross.

He was about to step onto the undulating glass when he heard the voice.

"Rrrraun i'i'al-hn-cta'i."

The only N'aaa phrase he knew.  Phelps looked down and tried unsuccessfully to hide his surprise at the creature who had addressed him.  She wore a blindfold, a single, wide band of dark green cloth which covered where her nose would be if she were human.  Or rather, full human.  Her skin was more like a carapace - deep brown, with bright white dots like freckles - and her scalp smooth and hairless.  She had four thin fingers on each hand, all of which ended in claws.

And the collar of her polyfiber vest was distinct in its round design.  She was clergy.  A deacon.

"...Deacon Mariah?" he said, mumbled and at a whisper.

The half-N'aaa priestess thrust forward her head in surprise.  Then, she smiled.  "Fel-uufs.  Hallelu."

And once again, Phelps had no words.

Official

It's a room of adequate size, with a single window looking out on the
hill behind the church. Until this afternoon, it was full of stacks
of chairs. The carpet is thick and gray, the walls white and covered
with taped-up Sunday School posters. The desk in the picture is a
very recent addition, scavaged hastily from another room.

When Michael showed me this little room, I got pretty excited. Why?

Because this is my office. And this, my friends, is a "before" picture.

Counterproductivity

I'm not sure who ever thought procrastination was a good idea.  Certainly hasn't done me any good yet.

The reason I put off things I have to do is because I don't want to put in the effort to get them done at the moment.  I'd rather rest and be comfortable now, and work later.  But that's not how it works.  When I'm putting something off, I know I'm putting it off.  What supposed rest I gain from procrastination isn't that restful, because worrying about getting something done takes a lot of energy - maybe more than just getting done the task at hand.

This is yesterday's blog post, by the way.

Chill.

Fridays are my days of least discipline, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.

I'd like to say I'm taking a Sabbath rest on Friday evenings, but like I said, it's not a normal, intentional thing I do.  It may be in the future, but now, it depends very much on what's on my calendar.

The Jews were commanded in strict terms to do no work on the seventh day, but instead to rest and reflect on God.  Saturday was the seventh day day of their week, so one could infer that the weekend is ordained by God.  Heh.

Michael discussed the Sabbath with the college group once, and made a very interesting point.  Our lives are increasingly busy, our calendars inordinately full.  The Sabbath rest is an opportunity to just let go for a few hours, and acknowledge that God really is in control.  To demonstrate that life doesn't fall apart when we take our hands off.

I think I should re-examine how I lay out my weekends.  I'd really like to not just take time to rest and have fun, but really display that principle of trust in my life.  Part of the issue is time management, part of it faith.  That's a blend that confounds me, sometimes.