Be in community.

A life lesson from some spring violets.

"Now the full number of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one said that any of the things that belonged to him was his own, but they had everything in common." (Acts 4:32)

"You can do anything you set your mind to!" "Be the best you you can be!" Self-discipline, self-esteem, self-motivated! Our culture does an excellent job of keeping each of us at the center of our own little world, so we are self-reliant. A few years ago I wrote an essay on the culture of English coffee houses. Our current coffee shop culture looks very different from the original coffee house design, which provided an environment of community and fellowship over a good cup of coffee. Now we head to Starbucks or our favorite local cafe with earbuds and a book, closing out everyone else (who are similarly equipped). This may not always be the case. We may go intentionally with friends, or stop to talk to people who are there. But the culture of communal isolation we indulge in (along with overpriced beverages) can't be ignored. 

One of the greatest issues the Church faces is Western culture. We are a blessed people with a multitude of talents, gifts, and resources, yet we are constantly in division against ourselves--not because we think everyone else is wrong, but we often remain convinced we are always right. A great lie we have bought into is the necessity of independence. Since we believe we can take care of ourselves, we either stifle our contributions to the communities we reside in or we refuse to allow others to act as members of the Body. Often, we fear that asking for assistance, turning over leadership in a project, asking for resources, and even asking for prayer will somehow demonstrate weakness. And, to some extent, it does.

We can't do it all. God has gifted each of us with a unique set of abilities, but He does not want us to bear the weight of the world's burden alone; He already has. The early Church (as written in Acts) recognized the great blessing of community--being of one heart and soul, sharing so that no one was for want of anything. My favorite flower--the spring violet--is a tiny example of living life fulfilled in community. Each spring, these tiny flowers pop up in yards in clusters and appear generally less invasive and distracting than dandelions. Rarely do you see a spring violet flower alone, and the small patches they grow in include flowers on tall and short stems, all thriving in different places but inseparable from their neighbors. 

Each time I see those little purple faces, I am reminded of the people I need in my life. No matter where the Lord calls us, He always calls us to be among others. And the necessity of belonging to a solid group of believers is absolutely essential, I have learned; we may pour out all we have to the world around us, but being poured into is equally important. This requires great humility, allowing others to love us, allowing others to walk alongside us, and allowing a three-Personed God remind us we were made for each other. You were made dependent.

Trust the promises.

A life lesson from a squirrel.

"For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come. 

    Therefore, we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord. We live by faith, not by sight." (2 Corinthians 5:4-7)

Throughout my life I have struggled to cast off the world and wait with expectant surrender for life eternal. With the many blessings we receive daily--from clean water to safe homes to a disposable income--the image of "heaven" (cherubim playing harps on clouds) seems less than desirable, especially when there's so much life of blessing to be had! I find this image distorted for two reasons. First, Scripture says that Creation is good, so eternal life will be all that we experience now purified, perfected, and made whole. (And although music is brilliant and a critical part of life, it's only one part. I don't think we'll be a choir all the time.)  Second, when our vision becomes escapism from the material world, it is not a vision at all! Whether in abundance or poverty, eternal life must be sought with Christ alone in mind. 

So when we think about living by faith and not sight, we must consider the promises God has given us. He has promised eternal life to those who accept Jesus Christ as their Savior. He has promised never to leave us or forsake us. Through the gift of the Holy Spirit, we now have free access to an intimate relationship with Him. We have protection, guidance, mercy, love, freedom, and so much more! 

Although those promises continually remind us of God's loving nature, they also challenge us to trust that He is faithful in keeping His promises. The squirrel understands trusting in promises. Each year they collect nuts that fall off of trees and burry them into the ground, not only taking what they need for daily provision but collecting a store for later when food is scarce. We, as animals of overconsumption, can learn a good deal from their conservation efforts. And we should also take a hint at their natural inclination to wait for the right time. They have learned to trust that weeks, months, even perhaps years down the road something they have been promised will be waiting for them--waiting to provide sustenance and come to fruition. 

God's promise to Abram is written in Genesis 15. The LORD says to him, "Look up at the heavens and count the stars--if indeed you can count them. Then He said to him, "So shall your offspring be" (v. 5). But before Abram was given a new name and the covenant of circumcision (chapter 17), he is unable to wait for God to fulfill His promise. Because his wife had not born him children, she instructed him to sleep with her maidservant, Hagar. Fortunately, God worked through Abram's mistake and provided even despite him; he is even counted as a main of faithfulness in Hebrews 11 due to his willingness to sacrifice his son, Isaac. 

At times we experience doubt, fear, loneliness, and pain. But the trials we face are in our lives are there to prove that our faith is genuine and worth more than gold (1 Peter 1:7). God only gives us daily bread, but He also gives us the reality of intimacy. And because His kingdom is now, we can trust that God's promises are "Yes" and "Amen" in Christ (2 Corinthians 1:20).

Bear the burden.

A life lesson from some ants.

"Then he said to them all: 'If anyone would come after Me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for Me will save it.'" (Luke 9:23-24)

We often mistake a verse in 1 Corinthians to read "God won't give you anything you can't handle." In actuality, 1 Corinthians 10:13 reads, "No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it." This verse is critical, for it promises protection and strength, but we must not leave out the word temptation. Because sometimes God does give us more than we can bear--burdens too great for us to carry alone. And He does it on purpose.

Consider this colony of ants. Their observable habitat, amidst a grassy patch at the base of a tree, is about 2 feet in diameter. From the openings of several holes in the ground, tiny black bodies rush in and out, carrying food, digging tunnels, and carrying away bodies of dead comrades. They are ceaseless in their work, blending in to their community with identities undistinguishable from one another. According to biologists at Arizona State University an ant can carry 10-50 times their weight due to muscle structure. Thus, spotting an ant carting a full leaf or even another, larger ant is not unusual. They are built to bear a burden.

I remember learning about ants' carrying capacity in elementary school. The idea was unfathomable to me; even carrying a gallon of milk seemed exhausting to my tiny arms. But from a young age I have also learned that God does place burdens in our life that exceed our strength, forcing us to quit relying on our own abilities. By nature, humans look to pride not only as an attribute but an essential quality for survival. We view obstacles as opportunities for self-pity, not submission. We throw our fists to the heavens, when the LORD takes things from our lives that were never ours. We ask, "WHY!?"

A few nights ago I came across a quote from Philip Yancey I wrote down a few years ago: "Maybe sometimes God keeps us in the dark about 'why' not so much because He wants to keep us in the dark, as because He knows that we are incapable of absorbing so much light." The cross we are to take up is not a bag of blessings but the nails of suffering that allow us to identify with our Savior. The early Church fathers prayed for long deaths, not silent, quick ones, that they may boast in their sufferings. Crosses test our faithfulness, but the burden we bear is not carried without the supernatural power of grace. Ask and it will be given. You aren't meant to do it alone.

Be fearless.

A life lesson from a fungus.

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go." (Joshua 1:9)

My knowledge of mycology (the study of fungi) is limited, but I was excited to see this spotted cluster of lumps growing off the side of a fallen log. Fungi abound in sizes, shapes, and safety--ranging from the microscopic Crypto to the giant, cuddly looking puffball and everywhere in between. They make their home often in seemingly undesirable locations, attaching themselves to decaying and moist matter. And frequently they are in symbiotic relationships, closely existing on or alongside other organisms. Besides their seemingly dependent nature, the fungus (such as the one above) is unique in its boldness--a surface of shocking color and soft form against the earthy, broken bark behind it. It may stand alone, but it stands with strength.

For those who have chosen to identify with Jesus Christ, we must actively take off the old self and put on the new. This new identity cannot be "closeted," hidden from the world, although many of us are "set apart" by moral behavior. But following Christ isn't simply about acting with decorum! It's walking by faith and choosing to believe in a God who is in and around and through all things--a God who is active in the world at this very moment. 

The book of Joshua begins with a summons. For forty years the Israelites have been in exile, waiting for the God of faithfulness to deliver them out of bondage and into the promised land. Yet, under the leadership of Moses, God's people turned from Him, choosing to worship other gods and doubt the one true God. After Moses's death, the LORD calls Joshua to lead these wanderers to prosperity and triumph over the evil nations in Canaan. What hope awaited! And yet God says to Joshua "As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you" (Josh 1:5) and then commands him to be strong and courageous. As a warrior and spiritual leader, Joshua was a brilliant and faithful servant. Even so, the Lord included courage.

Few of us are called to lead a large group of people out of exile, but we are still called to have the boldness to not only go where God leads but also faithfully identify ourselves with Him. The name of Jesus Christ should fall without hesitation from our lips, and the decisions we make should always be with the intention of glorifying only one Man. Whether in persecution or blessing, we are called to stand out--to not be of this world but still to remain in it. Celebrate your identity as a child of God, but make sure the world knows to Whom you belong.

Take a breather.

A life lesson from some humans.

“After the people saw the miraculous sign that Jesus did, they began to say, ‘Surely this is the Prophet who is to come into the world.’ Jesus, knowing that they intended to come and make Him king by force, withdrew again to a mountain by Himself.” (John 6:14-15)

As I was walking to my observation spot this afternoon, I anticipated seeing the usual cluster of trees, the many dandelions, and even the fungus I discovered last week. To my surprise, a young man and woman had strung a hammock between two tall trees in the area. Initially I avoided them, afraid my presence would disturb their attempt at quiet time on the edge of campus. But as I sat in the warm sunshine myself, I realized that my human friends had the right idea. They can offer a lesson we all fail to remember at times: stop and steward your self!

Genesis 2:15 tells us our first role as humans in Creation: “The LORD God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it.” In Genesis 3, humans move beyond naming the plants and animals to cursing Creation through sin and being fully dependent upon it for survival (Genesis 17-19). Because of our dependency and natural desire for autonomy, we approach the earth with domination. Wilderness is now controlled through pesticides, lawn mowers, drills, and steel. We cut it down, burn it out, replant it, and transform it to meet our needs. But we often forget the essential role Creation plays in our lives.

Being stewards of the earth is more than environmental activism; it requires accepting Creation as a gift from God. Not only do we depend on Creation to meet our need of survival, we need it to simply be. In setting boundaries over time, economy, and even one another, we have become divided—exhausting ourselves for productivity’s sake. We are so busy “working” and “taking care” of the Garden we lose sight of simplicity. The Gospels tell us repeatedly that in spite of His active ministry, Jesus often left everyone to seek solitude, returning to nature and God Himself to be reequipped for His ministry.

It’s easy to embrace the beauty of Creation on sunny days in May; as soon as the weather calls for shorts and a cool glass of water it becomes “well with our soul.” Yet the pastoral landscape might be absent from our current concrete jungle, or (with fickle springtime weather) sunny days might be few and far between. Jesus did not, however, escape from the crowds and seek time in nature because he needed a transcendent experience or bouquet of flowers. He left to be restored. And so must we. In the midst of chaos, idleness, multitudes, or isolation, we must return to the Garden.

So stop, step outside, and breathe. Remember, creator, that you first were created.

Make your living among the dead.

A life lesson from a green bottle fly.

"A man with leprosy came to Him [Jesus] and begged Him on his knees. 'If you are willing, you can make me clean.' Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out His hand and touched the man. 'I am willing,' He said. 'Be clean!' Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cured." (Mark 1:40-41)

This passage in Mark comes after the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew's account. Jesus has just spoken about fulfilling the Law and here He is seen touching a leper--a violation of the Law. Mark 1:30-34 tells us that Jesus has healed Peter's mother-in-law as well as many sick and demon possessed. Yet here we have a conversation between a man cast off from society and the Son of God, who not only heals the man but also has compassion for him. Jesus did not come to guarantee the Pharisees a place in Heaven; He came that all may be forgiven. He came not for the living but for the dead.

The green bottle fly is also familiar with death. In fact, it makes its living among the dead, usually the first living organisms to arrive at freshly killed meat. Their bodies are metallic, they're bigger than a common housefly, and the one I met was on a mission. It was scuttling up the trunk of a tree, unfazed by my camera and even my finger along its hairy little body. The fly was alone and unaffected in its quest by my presence. 

To be honest, the idea of writing about an insect that feeds off of dead meat--much less a carnivorous fly--seemed unappealing. But I realized that our calling on this earth, like the fly, is to dwell among the dead.  Just as we are to die daily to ourselves, we are called to enter back into the cave and proclaim "Awake O sleepers!" It is easy to be attracted to passive monasticism, idealizing life in a secluded, cloistered environment safe from the world. Yet we are not called to safety! As witnesses of the Good News of Christ (that we may finally gain full life and freedom) we are expected to extend our hand to the dead with compassion and say, "Be clean!"

Do you make your living among the dead, or are you seeking "the good life" that falsely promises protection with its isolation? We must be bold to enter into the places the world criticizes the Church for abandoning. Be the first to arrive and be bold to speak life into the places of decay. And if the Lord has already placed you there, rejoice and daily ask Him to renew your love for the valley.

Live to die.

A life lesson from a dandelion.

"Jesus replied, 'The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life." (John 12:23-25)

We frequently consider the lilies of the field, but the persistence of a dandelion may drive us mad. The law of scarcity tempts us to believe that the commonplace is not beautiful, valuable, or even worth contemplating. But the dandelion is an echo of the sun, its life offering wishes and wine. These unassuming plants are not boastful of the territory they take. They announce their presence with only a single blossom, a shock of yellow on a bald stem. And they thrive free of bias, surviving and multiplying despite our neglect or attention. 

The purpose of the dandelion is to live that it may die. From its birth it is usually hated: the ever watchful gardener rips out its roots and the random passerby rolls his eyes in disdain at an unkempt yard. What resources it does offer are stolen from insects, and it is rarely unique--unless it has been left to grow to an unusually large size, which provokes further delight in ending its life. Although its root may take hold and last for a good portion of time, the life of the dandelion flower (left unattended) is short lived. From hidden bud to aged snowball of seeds, the dandelion is continually dying that new birth can crop up.

In Scripture Christ tells us that we must lose our life to find it (Matthew 16:24-25). But how can freedom come from surrender? Saint Augustine writes that true rest comes from dwelling within God--killing off our hopes, ambitions, dreams, and fears to make room for His plans. Further, we exist to be instruments of His use, not self-motivated machines of accumulation, ambition, and individuality. Yes, to Him we are unique (He knows the exact number of hairs on our heads!), but our life is not meant to be written as a legacy. The Book has already been written for the glorification of one Man. Still, our lives have such great value that they are to be in service to a King, making each life invaluable and essential.

By living to die, we relinquish our power for self-promotion. We no longer exist for ourselves because it is no longer us but Christ living within us. In dying we bear much fruit that is caught by something or someone else to be replanted elsewhere--to give birth and life in places we will never go. 

Consider your motives. Consider how you spend your time. Whom do they honor?

"He must become greater; I must become less." (John 3:30)