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When he finished teaching, he said to Simon, “Push out into deep water and let your nets out for a catch.”  Simon said, “Master, we’ve been fishing hard all night and haven’t caught even a minnow. But if you say so, I’ll let out the nets.” It was no sooner said than done—a huge haul of fish, straining the nets past capacity. They waved to their partners in the other boat to come help them. They filled both boats, nearly swamping them with the catch. (Luke 5:4-7, MESSAGE)

The exciting thing about deep sea fishing is the element of mystery.  Put your nets down deep enough, and all sorts of creatures can find their way into those nets.  All kinds, all shapes—a plethora of diversity.  That pretty much describes the Church.  And God loves us ALL!  Every single one of us.

Time to laugh a little, and unplug for a while.  Time for a needed break.  I’ll be back.  Sometime.  Enjoy your summer!

Peace out, Scout!

-MDP-

xo

If anyone is interested in an audio update of our life in Waco, I’d recommend you tap into the podcast from my message at Emmanuel Christian Fellowship last Sunday, June 15^th, entitled Trinity Sunday (the link for the podcast is embedded in the sermon title). Yeah, that’s the latest scoop.

I promised to put the following up. It’s too good not to:

The Spirit works where he wills. The Spirit of God cannot be restricted in his operation by the Church; he is at work not only in the offices of the church, but where he wills: in the whole people of God. He is at work not only in the “holy city”, but where he wills: in all the churches of the one Church. He is at work not only in the Catholic Church, but where he wills: in Christianity as a whole. And finally he is at work not only in Christianity, but where he wills: in the whole world.

The power of the Spirit of God can pass through all walls, even church walls. It is true that the Holy Spirit has his dwelling and his temple in the Church, which he fills and which he governs. Here his power is especially revealed, since in the Church and through the Church the word of God is preached and his sacraments are administered. But, the Spirit of God, if domiciled in the Church, is not domesticated in it. He is and remains the free Spirit of the free Lord not only of the “holy city”, not only of the Church, not only of Christians, but of the whole world….

The Spirit is at work when he wills. The Spirit of God is not, of course, a Spirit of arbitrariness or apparent freedom, but of real freedom; he is a Spirit of order, not chaos; peace, not contradictions, in the Church as well as in the world. This is what Paul had to remind the Corinthians, who, proud of their spiritual gifts, had neglected order in the Church: “God is not a God of confusion but of peace” (1 Cor. 14:33).

At the same time, God’s Spirit does not blow when he must, but only when he wills. No decrees of the Church, in doctrine or practice, can force him to act or not act at a given time. True, God is absolutely free, and is thus free even in regard to his freedom.

From The Church by Hans Küng

“I’ll give you a new heart. I’ll put a new spirit in you. I’ll cut out your stone heart and replace it with a red-blooded, firm-muscled heart. Then you’ll obey my statutes and be careful to obey my commands. You’ll be my people! I’ll be your God!”  Ezekiel 11:19-20, MESSAGE

That being true, because we’re supposed to be different, can we say…

I LOVE YOU – An affirmation of how vitally important the relationship is to you.

I AM SORRY – It’s beyond a confession of guilt.  It is self-aware, and been dipped in brokenness.  It’s the whole message.  It is not followed with, “…but,…”  Possibly the hardest words we ever have to speak, because of our own stubbornness and unrepentant pride  (Romans 2:3-5).

PLEASE FORGIVE ME – It is a request for grace, but aware that it might not be granted.  We say it anyway.

I FORGIVE YOU – It’s a horrible lead-in statement, but best used after a problem has been discussed.

ARE WE GOOD? – We know when there is a problem.  It’s a invite for a necessary conversation.

-MDP-

Once upon a time, I lived in a tiny pond that was filled to the brim with hungry, serious, and dedicated young missionaries. My job was to pastor, steward, and mentor them as they forged into their bright unknown. Inside of the countless conversations with them, about “them” (their pasts, their plans, their pain, their disappointments, their plans, their hopes, their plans, their plans, and their plans), a seldom and select few would actually dare to ask about the things going on inside of me. It was about as frequent as a blood moon, but it did happen.  I knew my role.  There are no regrets.

Interestingly enough, when those few asked, their questions sometimes landed in the general vicinity of, “Do you dream anymore?” The inquiry was not about the dreams of sleep, but the dreams of future—the dreams of “out there.” I would always be taken aback by the question. If I remember correctly, I think I answered with, “I used to… a lot.”   But, that’s not really an answer, is it? Sadly, it was the best I could gather with integrity at that time.

I’ll finish these thoughts after you read the following passage. It’s extremely powerful! Try to let this sink in. It could be valuable to you.

“There is a dream dreaming in us,” a Bushman once told Laurens Van der Post. We are part of a dream, according to this, part of a vision. What is more, we can become aware of it. Although we are far removed from the Bushmen and their vision, it seems we can indeed come to a sense of being dreamed, being seen, being known. Our mind’s desire is to know, to understand; but our heart’s desire is intimacy, to be known, to be understood. To see God with our mind would be to know God, to understand God; but to see God with our heart would be to have a sense of being known by God, of being understood by God.

 If there is a dream dreaming us, it will be God’s vision of us, and if we have a sense of being part of that dream, it will be our heart’s vision of God. Nicholas of Cusa in his Vision of God, while speaking of our vision of God, speaks even more of God’s vision of us. He has it that our seeing God consists of our having a sense of God seeing us: to see God is to see one who sees; it is to have an experience of being seen. It is like looking at one of those portraits, he says, where the eyes are so contrived as to follow the beholder wherever he moves. No matter where the beholder stands, the eyes of the portrait seem to be looking at him. Or better, we could say, it is like feeling the gaze of another person, feeling the gaze without seeing the other’s eyes. Or it can be like meeting the gaze of another. Or it can even be like looking into the eyes of another and seeing there the pupil, the pupilla, the “little doll,” the tiny image of oneself reflected in the other’s eyes.”

 From The Reasons of the Heart by John S. Dunne

My non-answer of the question, however, was true. I did used to dream a lot. But, if I’m to be honest and forthright, I must say that my dreams at that time probably had nothing to do with the dreams of God inside of me. My dreams were saturated with selfish ambition, conceitedness, and propped up with all the under-girding of an over-inflated self-ego. Slap enough religion on all of that, and you can hide most anything. All of those dreamed towers have to fall. And make no mistake, mine did. I haven’t sat in disappointment in a very long time, but if you pick through the rubble and don’t ignore it, you’ll begin to figure out that it had to happen. And, if you actually get yourself settled down in enough peace, you’ll begin to genuinely appreciate that God didn’t allow the thing to stand proud for too long.

The truth sets you free. Dig out from under a collapsed tower you built with your own dreams, and you’ll consider where you stand once another is built. There is another dream to consider—the dream inside of us that we didn’t manufacture. It’s the dream sourced from another realm that is dreaming for our purpose on this tiny orb. It’s uncluttered with the expectations of man’s ego and influence of what “might sell.” It’s something totally different. That’s the one I’m still waiting on. That’s the dream I want to tap into. I’ve done my shallow waters dreaming. I want the one He is dreaming. The deep.

I don’t believe you can take this one by force. I think it evolves as you evolve. I’m praying for more grace, in order to make the transformations. I am dreaming for the divine dream that dreams. It’s a good place. The right place for me.

Love you all!

-MDP-

Let him who cannot be alone beware of community. He will only do harm to himself and to the community. Alone you stood before God when he called you; alone you had to answer that call; alone you had to struggle and pray; and alone you will die and give an account to God. You cannot escape from yourself; for God has singled you out. If you refuse to be alone you are rejecting Christ’s call to you, and you can have no part in the community of those who are called.

‘The challenge of death comes to us all, and no one can die for another. Everyone must fight his own battle with death by himself, alone… I will not be with you then, nor you with me’ (Luther).

But the reverse is also true: Let who is not in community beware of being alone. Into the community you were called, the call was not meant for you alone, in the community of the called you bear your cross, you struggle, you pray. You are not alone, even in death, and on the Last Day you will be only one member of the great congregation of Christ. If you scorn the fellowship of the brethren, you reject the call of Jesus Christ, and thus your solitude can only be hurtful to you.

‘If I die, then I am not alone in death; if I suffer , they [the fellowship] suffer with me’ (Luther).

 From Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

A couple of weeks ago, I preached a message at Emmanuel Christian Fellowship entitled, Quieting the Spin. The main focus was on how to best handle the stress and terrors when seasons of trials blow in. Is there a way to best prepare ourselves before, during, or after the $&#* hits the fan? I won’t re-preach it here, but the link is imbedded in the sermon title, Quieting the Spin, if you want to have a go at it.

It is a massive help to us once we realize that our intentionality of being in the Lord’s presence doesn’t necessarily require activity from us—including the forming of words and ideas. I encourage you to ponder the words from the old Lutheran pietist, Ole Hallesby. I’ve included a small sampling from his book, Prayer. If you’ve got the patience to read the following excerpt, you’ll glean a beautiful perspective on what it means to “stop spinning” in God’s presence.   We need this more than we can even imagine.

 -MDP-

Prayer is really an attitude of our hearts toward God. As such it finds expression, at times in words and at times without words, precisely as when two people love each other. As conscious personalities we must and should give expression to our attitudes in words one to another. It is this faculty, which lifts the fellowship of human beings to such a high plane and makes it so rich.

But at the same time, let us remind ourselves that life, in the last analysis, is inexpressible. There is something in our lives, also in our fellowships, which can never be formulated in words, but which can be the common experience, nevertheless, of two who share with each other everything that can be expressed in words.

In the soul’s fellowship with God in prayer, too, there are things which can and should be formulated in words.   But there are also things for which we can find no words. Likely it is this to which the apostle makes reference when he speaks in Romans 8:26 of the groanings which cannot be uttered.

My little boy came in one day and stuck his little head into the doorway of my study. Now he knew that he was not supposed to disturb me during working hours. And his conscience troubled him a little on account of this. But he looked at me nevertheless with his kind, round baby eyes and said, “Papa, dear, I will sit still all the time if you will only let me be here with you!”

That he received permission when he approached my father-heart in that way, every father knows.

That little experience gave me a great deal to think about.

Is not that just the way we often feel with regard to our heavenly Father? We do so love to be with him, just to be in his presence! Moreover, we never disturb him, no matter when we come nor how often we come.

We pray to God. We speak to him about everything we have on our minds both concerning others and ourselves. There come times, not so seldom with me at least, when I do have nothing more to tell God. If I were to continue to pray in words, I would have to repeat what I have already said. At such times it is wonderful to say to God, “May I just be in your presence Lord? I have nothing more to say to you, but I do love to be in your presence?”

We can spend time in silence together with people whom we know real well. That we cannot do with others. We must converse with them, entertain them either with interesting or profound things as the case may be. But with our own dear ones we can speak freely about common and insignificant things. In their presence, too, we can be silent. Similarly, it is not necessary to maintain a conversation when we are in the presence of God. We can come into his presence and rest our weary souls in quiet contemplation of him. Our groanings, which cannot be uttered, rise to him and tell him better than words how dependent we are on him.

As evening drew near, and our little fellow had played until he was tired, I noticed that he drew closer and closer to his mother. At last he found the place he was longing for, mother’s lap. He did not have a great deal to say either. He simply lay there, and let his mother caress him to sleep.

We too, become tired, deadly tired, of ourselves, of others, of the world, of life, of everything! Then it is blessed to know of a place where we can lay our tired head and heart—our heavenly Father’s arms, and say to him, “I can do no more. And I have nothing to tell you. May I lie here a while and rest? Everything will soon be well again if I can only rest in your arms a while.”

I recently talked to an elderly monk who said, “I’m convinced that the ego is a master of camouflage and disguise.   As one gets older, it requires more clever and sanctimonious ways to feel superior.”

What a wise and humble man. You know that he could only say something like that because he had faced that camouflage in himself again and again. Once a humiliation shows itself, or the stumbling stone causes us to stumble, we will usually retrench ourselves back into an old homeostasis that proves how right we are, and how our humiliation was only an isolated event. I reassert my illusion and continue with ‘business as usual’ because that’s much easier than changing. We’d sooner have stability than grace, because grace always changes us.

So we dust off, reassert our certainties, and take control again.   This is what most of us do. That is why people will not transition into a higher spirituality. Unless you’re practiced in how to handle humiliation, you won’t know how to do it.

If you are successful in any criteria in your life, I want to give you a bit of spiritual advice: Pray for one good humiliation a day. I mean that in all seriousness, and I know it sounds clever. Pray for that humiliation, and then watch your reaction to it. You’ll know you’re getting somewhere when you’re no longer shocked by it. You’ll know you’re making progress when you don’t have to react to not getting your way—your being disrespected doesn’t put you in defense mode. All of that is the pricking of your false self. The true self won’t react, because it can’t be offended. If you’re offended, be assured it is the tiny insecure self that is reacting.

But, it takes practice to recognize this. Practice by allowing that daily humiliation. Watch your reaction to it. Ask, “What part of me is upset? Why am I defending? Why do I have to talkback so strongly? Where is that coming from?”

From Richard Rohr, A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life

In Rohr’s audio seminar called, A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life, he mentions an encounter between Kazantzakis and an old monk. Kazantzakis asked him, “Do you still wrestle with the devil?” The monk replied, “No. I’ve grown old. The devil has grown old. Neither one has the strength for the conflict. Now I wrestle with God.” Kazantzakis, “You wrestle with God? Do you hope to win?” Monk, “No. I hope to lose.”

What a strange thought to consider. This little dialogue is pretty telling of my life. I started to break free from the first half of life spirituality when I was 43 years old. There was an extended wilderness period that followed, but I didn’t really start exploring second half energy until I hit age 50.

I did my stint to attack the gates of hell, while keeping everyone posted on their hot sins and redundant failures. Much like those poor Pharisees, I thought I was keeping the law, not realizing that it was designed only to bring frustration and fatigue. Why? You can’t keep it. It’s that simple. Although somewhat versed and steeped in scriptural knowledge, God was in front of me the whole time—and I couldn’t always see it. Sounds familiar doesn’t it?

The old monk was right. Loss is the great teacher. But, you can’t see it if you view the gospel and kingdom reality through the lens of our needing to win a contest. That’s the first half of life spirituality, and it is understandable and kind of necessary for building containers and foundations. But, Rohr suggests that is a great way to start, yet a horrible way to finish.  Old men who are still building containers made of haughty attitudes, religious platitudes, and unwavering certitudes, have not made the transition.  Life is teaching them, and they’ve yet to see the value of their growth in decline.

A second half spirituality takes all the confusion and disappointment of life, and continues to trust that victory happens despite the fact we didn’t get our way.  God might actually have won, and we’re good and in agreement with that, even though we might lose something we care about.

I know this is already long, and I apologize, but I want you to think about what I’m going to share with you now. In that tape series previously mentioned, Paula D’Arcy tells about her meeting with Dr. Norman Vincent Peale.   Paula was 27 years old when a drunk driver ran into the car her husband was driving. She lost a husband and her 2 year-old daughter in that accident. The waves of grief were devastating. A debilitating shadow that refused to withdraw.   A friend arranged for her to meet the aged Dr. Peale in hopes that he might offer a few wise words of comfort.

What Paula expected was quite different from the reality.   She was braced for preacher guy to produce a huge Bible, snappy-sappy quotes and quips, with certain answers that solved all her questions. Dr. Peale began their meeting with the last thing she expected, “Tell me your story.”   She hadn’t ever really told the story before, so she poured it out. The tears were immeasurable.   Dr. Peale never interrupted. He cried when she cried. He reached out and took her hand several times.

After she told the story, Dr. Peale said, “Young woman, you’ve got a huge challenge in front of you.” She asked what that might be. “Discovering the purpose of life—your life.” Paula shot back, “I lost the purpose of my life when my husband and my daughter were killed.” Paula reports that Dr. Peale leaned deeply into her, just inches from her eyes, and said “You lost the purpose you wanted, but there is another purpose in life.”

That was it. He didn’t give her guidance on where to find that purpose. There were no more certainties or absolutes. It was a second half of life statement that embraced the mystery that must be played out through a lifetime. He could see that Paula wasn’t in the place where theology would sort it out for her. She was in the place of pain. He met her in that pain with wisdom.

Paula asked him how could he be so sure of that. He said, “Because you are alive. Life has purpose.”

As she thanked him and left the room, he called her back in, and gave her one more line: “The thing that you are searching so hard for—you already have.”

The old monk had transitioned. He hoped to lose. Everything didn’t have to go his way. There was another way—one that he didn’t have to know or control.

MDP

ps… if you’re over 50 years old, I highly recommend those cds!  Click the link at the top of the blog for info.

I love the stuff that sneaks up on you when you commit to sitting in a spiritual stew. We like to graze and keep moving, spinning (at least that’s what I like), but sitting with a single thought or idea over an extended period of time is like licking a Tootsie Pop—a methodical, resistant, yet rich flavor that eventually gives way to the stuff you can chew on.

This past week, I’ve sat on a reading from an author I’m not too familiar with. I did a little research, and I really like what Brother Carlo has to say. I’m fond this passage I’m about to share. I hope it ministers to you too! –MDP-

“This vital realization that the sign of bread concealed and pointed out for me the uninterrupted presence of Jesus beside me was a unique grace in my life.”

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst” (John 6:35, NASB).

I realized that HE had died in order that I might stop turning to him with questions about justice, and believe instead, deep within myself, that the scales had come down overflowing on the side of love, and that even though all, through unbelief or madness, had offended him, he had conquered forever, and drawn all things everlastingly to himself.

Then later, so that I should never forget that Friday and abandon the Cross, as one forgets a postcard on the table or a picture in the worn-out book that has been feeding one’s devotion, he led me on to discover that in order to be with me continually, not simply as an affectionate remembrance but as a living presence, he had devised the Eucharist.

What a discovery that was!

Under the sacramental sign of bread, Jesus was there each morning to renew the sacrifice of the Cross and make of it the living sacrifice of his bride, the Church, a pure offering to the Divine Majesty.

And still that was not all.

He led me on to understand that the sign of bread testified to his hidden presence, not only during the Great Sacrifice, but at all times, since the Eucharist was not an isolated moment in my day, but a line which stretched over twenty-four hours: he is God-with-us, the realization of what had been foretold by the cloud that went before the people of God during their journey through the desert, and the darkness which filled the tabernacle in the temple of Jerusalem.

I must emphasize that this vital realization that the sign of bread concealed and pointed out for me the uninterrupted presence of Jesus beside me was a unique grace in my life. From that moment he led me along the path to intimacy, and friendship with himself.

I understood that he longed to be present like this beside each one of us.

Jesus was not only bread, he was a friend.

 A home without bread is not a home, but a home without friendship is nothing.

That is why Jesus became a friend, concealed under the sign of bread. I learned to stay with him for hours on end, listening to the mysterious voices that welled up from the abysses of Being and to receive the rays of that light whose source was the uncreated light of God.

I have experienced such sweetness in the Eucharistic presence of Christ.

I have learned to appreciate why the saints remain in contemplation before this bread to beseech, to adore and to love.

How I wish that everyone might take the Eucharist home, and having made a little oratory in some quiet corner, might find joy in sitting quietly before it, in order to make his dialogue with God easier and more immediate, an intimate union with Christ.

From In Search of the Beyond, by Carlo Carretto

“All things are lawful for me, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful for me, but I will not be mastered by anything” (1 Corinthians 6:12, NASB).

“Just because something is technically legal doesn’t mean that it’s spiritually appropriate. If I went around doing whatever I thought I could get by with, I’d be a slave to my whims” (1 Corinthians 6:12, MSG).

“All things are lawful, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful, but not all things edify. Let no one seek his own good, but that of his neighbor” (1 Corinthians 10:23-24, NASB).

“Looking at it one way, you could say, ‘Anything goes. Because of God’s immense generosity and grace, we don’t have to dissect and scrutinize every action to see if it will pass muster.’ But the point is not to just get by. We want to live well, but our foremost efforts should be to help others live well” (1 Corinthians 10:23-24, MSG).

I grew up watching my mom drive. She has her own technique. My grandfather was a used car dealer, so she learned to drive very young. I think she had her license by the time she was 14 years old—fairly common back in the ‘50s. I’m sure a lot of her technique had to do with self-preservation.

Before disc brakes, power steering, voice commands, and GPS, you had to actually read a map for directions and other crazy-ass things like that. Cooling down the car meant rolling down the windows, and the flat space behind the back seat was a legitimate place for a kid to take a nap. Things have changed.

Driving was a bit of a physical workout. It probably did take two feet on the brakes to slow some of those monstrosities back then. So that is my mom’s technique: her left foot rode on the brake and her right foot operated the gas pedal. She still does this 60 plus years later!

Honestly, I started driving very early as well. Years before I ever took Drivers Ed, my grandfather had already entrusted me with legitimate driving responsibilities. On more than one occasion, he and I rode the train from McGregor to Cleburne, where he purchased two used cars. He drove one home, and I drove the other one. Not only was it a 75-mile trip, but I was only 12 years old!

As I got older, I grew to enjoy the gas pedal much more than the brakes. My dad said, “Son, another ticket and they’re going to take your license.” Bummer. My need for speed drove him nuts.

Have you ever noticed how important the gas pedal is to a car? I know it’s kind of a silly question, but without a gas pedal it kind of defeats the whole purpose of having a car. Without the gas pedal, there’s no motion. Granted, you have to steer and maneuver, but nothing is gained without some speed. And you have to actually come to grips with the fact that there is a whole lot of power at your disposal.

Which is exactly why we also need brakes. Neither one is more important than the other. They’re both necessary for safe operation. If all we ever do is stomp on the gas, it’s eventually going to create problems. If our tendency is to hit the brakes all the time, we’re not going to get anywhere. That, my friends, is not driving. There has to be a healthy balance between the two for the overall ride to be successful.

The Apostle Paul’s declaration of “All things are permissible” appears to either carry a lot of weight with church folk today, or none at all. Those of us who grew up in rigid religious environments probably have a tendency to put ALL of the emphasis on “but, not all things are profitable.” To these people, it’s all about putting on the brakes… slowing it down… taking care… getting it right. These few little verses are tightly jammed inside of a whole juicy burrito of scary verbiage. I can see why those of us who are consumed with keeping the rules might skip over the “All things are permissible” part. I get it.

But this set of instructions and directives are tethered to an incredible thought:  Grace IS pretty dang amazing.  In fact, it’s not grace if it’s not amazing.  Most things that are supernatural are amazing… or should be.

People are granted permission to live and make choices (even really bad ones) because of His grace. Take a look out there. It’s happening everywhere! People are pressing on the gas pedal and moving all over the place in all kinds of vehicles.

It defeats the entire progress of the kingdom’s traffic when we see it as our job to castigate and alienate everyone we think is “not getting it right.” Frankly, you can start with me if you think your spiritual job is to find and expose the sin in this world. I’m an easy target. But try to remember that I, too, am righteous because of what Christ did, not because of what I’ve done or how I live. HE did the grace part, not me.  That is why it’s amazing.

Like it or not, our cars have a gas pedal, and it’s a really good thing as far as cars go. And I’m absolutely convinced that brakes are also an extremely good thing—even for those of us who have a low tolerance for any kind of speed regulation whatsoever.

Drive friendly, people. It can be dangerous out there. But, wow! There’s so much to see and enjoy!

MDP