I have been meditating on the opening "thanksgiving" section of Colossians (1:3-8). Paul is thankful for the fruit the Gospel has born in these believers he has never visited, but has learned about through Epaphras. His prayer of thanksgiving reveals some important truths.

 

Neither hope nor faith are the insubstantial, emotionally based motivators we believe them to be. In Paul's context, hope is the promise of the Gospel. It is a reality based in the power of Christ and described in the Good News about Him. It is held out to those who believe the promise is true.

 

Since hope gives rise to faith (not the other way around as we tend to treat the system), faith is the practical action we take based upon our belief in that promise. Like its sister virtue love, it is incomplete without manifestation. Faith, like love, compels us to act. If we do not act on it, it is not real. If we are not working in faith and expressing love, we have no hope, because real hope bears these fruits.

 

This is a wonderful challenge. We tend to treat faith as mere, heart felt belief - a thing that can be expressed outside practical action. But Paul and James agree. Noah built an ark in faith, Abraham left home and headed he knew not where in faith. Both based their actions on belief in a hope God had promised.

 

What does Jesus promise us in the Gospel? We must separate this question from theological frameworks and bring it to Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. When we read His story, what description of something not yet given do we leave imagining? When we can answer that question, we know what the promise is. We have an image of the Hope that should motivate us to act in faith. That faith will carry us way beyond internal belief and move us toward greater, mountain moving behavior. What will it be?

 

PT

Once again, a truly moving experience. The music of Caedmon's Call is thought provoking with a deeply stirring style. Their use of tribal rhythms (I love the packing crate they sit on and drum for some songs), unusual keyboard (organ), and, at last count, 9 guitars, along with their powerful vocal harmonies makes them one of the best bands in the business. My own ear has a hard time filtering through stylistic vocal pronunciation (so common in all contemporary music), so it takes me a while to get the lyrics, but when I do, I find them poetic, engaging, and too complex to be either dismissed or breezed over.
 
I thought at one of their concerts that they were relaxed because they were nervous (they played a concert while Hurricane Rita went through their home town). Even though there were some obvious tensions on the stage that night, it is increasingly clear that they are indeed very relaxed on stage. The joking and rambling dialogue that punctuate their music is engaging (if sometimes a little long).

Last night was another of the kind of concert I like best. A godly band playing in an intimate church setting, where you can get close enough to see their veins pop on the high notes. So:

I am thankful that Andrew Osenga gets a good share of the stage as a co-lead singer. He and Cliff Young make a crucial team. They, predictably, shocased their new album Overdressed and Share the Well (that also being the theme of the Missions Conference at GCCC). I was glad that we went to the worship service the night before. A CC experience would not be complete without God of Wonders. Danielle was definitely missed, but our prayers go out to her and Cliff and their four sick children (ouch).
 
PT

It seems to be a given in our wealthy society that we, by default accumulate stuff. I don't know a family that does not struggle with this problem. I know I do.

 

The stuff we accumulate is not useful or valuable. We cannot retire on the proceeds of an auction of the stuff. It just seems that at different times of our lives we need different small things that we experience the having and using of them, and then do not get rid of them.

 

Eventually these things accumulate and we fill closets, attics, rooms, sheds and storage spaces with it. We pack it in boxes and bury it under other boxes and don't touch it for years or even decades. We often forget what we have.

 

Then when we move or clean out, we rediscover it and the memories of that thing come back to us. I wonder if it is not this sentimentality that keeps us from just tossing the stuff when we are through with it.

 

The lesson? It is always a good time to rediscover Goodwill.

One of the books in my list for Christian Classics is the Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence. I have just finished reading it for the second time. This is a slim small volume, very simple to read devotionally, made up of letters, conversations, a brief biography and a number of maxims published in the 1700s posthumously.

 

Brother Lawrence gives us some wonderful insights into what must be one of the most common problems faced by many believers, we forget that God is present with us. I don't mean that we forget ultimately, it is part of our theology, so we do not cease to know it. But in our day to day lives, as we go about our decision making, we forget momentarily and make our decisions aside from that knowledge.

 

This is sad, since it is precicely that knowledge that can keep us from mistakes and sin. It can give us great joy in our work and in our struggles. Brother Lawrence assures us that if we will ever dedicate ourselves to a constant, incrementally increasing, awareness of God's presence, after the initial difficulty of the practice, it will become second nature. In his book, he speaks not so much to the "how to" but the value of the practice.

 

I continue to recommend this book to any who will dedicate themselves to even a casual reading of it.