“God, do You hear when I call?
Why don’t You come fix it all?”
His words, though quite painful, rang true
“My son, that is why I made you!”
When we are little God’s small
Though to us He seems all-in-all
But as we grow our brain
In a world filled by pain
That comfort is destined to fall
Get on the God train
Let Him rewrite your brain
As we learn to disdain
All this world’s refrain
The universe is a display
Of God’s redeeming glory Continue reading
Anjali’s Catechism: The Book is coming in Summer 2019. Preview now.
Are you ready to:
- Embrace the One who created the universe as the Heavenly Father who loves you like Jesus?
- Submit your awareness, values, and goals to becoming more like Christ’s?
- Receive God’s Spirit, Word, and Body to reveal and heal the wounds in your spirit that hinder you from becoming like Jesus?
- Value God’s happiness, glory, and relationships more than your own?
- Practice generosity and vulnerability so others can see Christ in you?
- Surrender childlike happiness for the grown-up joy of loving like Jesus?
Part 6 of 6 in the series Childlike Theology:
- Thanks: Spiritual Maturity
- Wise Risk: Faith
- He’s Worth It: Worship
- Open to God: Holiness
- Make Us Like Jesus: Discipleship
- God Loves Us Like Jesus: The Gospel
In Which We Become the Church, As We Grow Into Christ Our Head Via His Gifts
Continuing the theme of Sanctification, we explore how we are discipled into the name of Christ through His body — the Father’s principle vehicle for forming His Kingdom, by His Spirit. Specifically, we see how the fact that we serve One God requires us to worship Him as One Church.
[Note: I am now using the New King James Version for my interlinear; hopefully this will increase the readability.]
We are standing beside an ancient Greek temple. It is beautiful, and remarkably tasteful: sensuous without being obscene. We are arguing. It is an old argument. I have been here many times before.
You just don’t understand, I have to go in.
Look, I know you don’t like the old gods. You say they are corrupt and impotent. But this one’s different. I know she’s good. She has done wonderful things for me in the past. Yeah, I know I’ve often used her as an idol. But really, I’m beyond that. I just want to thank her for the past, and move on. What’s wrong with that? Shouldn’t we render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s?
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand, Ernie. I’m not saying you’re wrong — though I’m not saying you’re right. I’m not even forbidding you from entering. But…”
“I won’t go in with you.”
[I pause. Confused yet determined as I am, his simple statement frames it as a stark choice. I can’t leave him. Whatever I owe Her, I owe Him more.]
So, what do we do? You do agree she has a claim on me, don’t you?
[Now He’s the one who sighs] “Yes, she does. I would have spared you from this if I could, but her claim is legitimate. And as you well know, all debts must eventually be paid.”
[He looks straight into my eyes] So I will go in, and you can come… with me.
[Continued from Part 1]
I wake up, not quite able to remember how I got here, or how long I’d been asleep. I’m not even sure I’m awake now — it is pitch dark, and I have that drowsy, warm feeling I have right when I’m on the edge of dreams. I feel like I’m swathed in soft blankets. I stretch, luxuriating in the the safe, secure environment. I contemplate going back to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream…
Yet, something penetrates the muffled stillness of my blankets. Something like… the beating of drums! In a rush, the memories of the previous… day? week? decade?… come crashing upon me. I remember leaving my home, my mother… the men crowding around me, and ushering me into a car… then nothing. Blackness. LIke this. And silence.
March 20, 2005
[Inspired by Chapter 3 of Healing the Masculine Soul]
As usual, I’m lying on the couch reading, with our dog Rajee by my side. Probably a Hardy Boys or Tom Swift Jr. novel; maybe an Isaac Asimov sci-fi story. I rarely play outside or have friends over. It must be before dinner, since afterwards I’m almost always watching TV, unless my brother Larry and I are having one of our periodic Monopoly marathons with his friends. At least, I did until high school when I got immersed in theater and broke my TV habit; so, I must be around twelve, in eighth grade (1979).
Dad’s not around, but that’s hardly unusual, as he always gets home late.
Just then I hear a pounding on the door; which is quite unusual, since most people just ring the doorbell. Mom jumps a little; she’s been a little edgy all day, almost as if she were expecting something like this. Rajee barks, gets up, and runs towards the door. Which is also unusual, at least the barking; she’s still young enough to run, but ordinarily she just ‘whuffles’ softly when we have a visitor.