I was struck with the profoundness of the daylight yesterday, especially at church. As a devoted evening-service goer at JW, I'm not really used to seeing the color shining in the stained-glass windows. I've been working nights for 3 weeks now, and so staying awake all day on my weekend is amazing to experience the light. I just felt alive. I guess it's one of those things that until you've been without it, you don't realize how important it is. Thank God for it.
3.21.2005
my mom
I had a great day with my mother yesterday. We went out and had lunch and just sat and talked for about 2 hours. I can't remember the last time (if really ever) we had a time like that. As I'm getting older, I really appreciate the time that I can have with her. For instance, last week her and I went to see Don Chaffer play a little show at Mt. Music Shoppe in Kansas. Yeah, we had to leave a little early cause she had to go deliver a baby, but that's pretty normal stuff for us. If me getting older equal us being able to talk more as equals and even as friends, then bring on the b-days! It makes me remember how Don spoke about his mother after she had passed on and how certain things, even the things that were slightly irritating, were some of the things that he missed most about her. (not that my mom does anything irritating...really)
Well, thanks for a great time yesterday, Mom. I love you.
Well, thanks for a great time yesterday, Mom. I love you.
3.18.2005
Worship is...
There are seasons of life in which we wake up each morning with the fulfilled dreams of victory, love, satisfaction, and resolution ringing in our ears. The morning air rushes in with the promise that anything can happen, God is nearby, and we are really loved. Worship is, at these times, a gift - a way of saying thank you. Thank you, God because whether I was aware of it or not, whether I sought You through this experience or not, I see you in it now, and I am so grateful for Your kindness toward me.
There are other seasons of life, however, whether we're comfortable with admitting it or not, in which it feels like we're at the bottom of a well - deep, dark, and muddy. In our worst moments, we can no longer see the mouth of the well, and we sometimes wonder if there even is one. Worship, at these moments in particular, becomes a rope. Even if we have no strength to climb it, our cold and lonely fingers wrapped around its braid become a symbol that we are still connected to something, someone, in the world above - the world with skies, trees, rivers, and kind people whom we miss terribly.
And then there are seasons in which we feel that perhaps nothing is terribly wrong, and nothing is terribly right. We are somewhere on the plains, in the middle of the country, looking for miles with no trees to break our view, no valleys, no mountains. We are well air-conditioned, well fed, well attended by people who neither agree with us too passionately, nor disagree with us too strongly. We are happy, we guess, but we don't think we remember how happiness feels, or whether it is what we thought is was. Worship is, at these times, a bell. It rings to remind us that life, while it may seem vapid and featurelsss, is truly a tremendous affair. It is birth and death, suffering and resurrection. The clear sound of that bell on the wind tells us that the lull of comfort does not mean that God is far off or irrelevant. He is always near and always in love, always holy, and always coming... He is coming. He will finish things here, and begin a new kind of kingdom - a world without end. He will reign over his subjects who have been changed to be like Him, full of love, peace, and joy forever and ever. May this King be praised. Amen.
Don Chaffer / 08.16.00 / Wichita, KS
There are other seasons of life, however, whether we're comfortable with admitting it or not, in which it feels like we're at the bottom of a well - deep, dark, and muddy. In our worst moments, we can no longer see the mouth of the well, and we sometimes wonder if there even is one. Worship, at these moments in particular, becomes a rope. Even if we have no strength to climb it, our cold and lonely fingers wrapped around its braid become a symbol that we are still connected to something, someone, in the world above - the world with skies, trees, rivers, and kind people whom we miss terribly.
And then there are seasons in which we feel that perhaps nothing is terribly wrong, and nothing is terribly right. We are somewhere on the plains, in the middle of the country, looking for miles with no trees to break our view, no valleys, no mountains. We are well air-conditioned, well fed, well attended by people who neither agree with us too passionately, nor disagree with us too strongly. We are happy, we guess, but we don't think we remember how happiness feels, or whether it is what we thought is was. Worship is, at these times, a bell. It rings to remind us that life, while it may seem vapid and featurelsss, is truly a tremendous affair. It is birth and death, suffering and resurrection. The clear sound of that bell on the wind tells us that the lull of comfort does not mean that God is far off or irrelevant. He is always near and always in love, always holy, and always coming... He is coming. He will finish things here, and begin a new kind of kingdom - a world without end. He will reign over his subjects who have been changed to be like Him, full of love, peace, and joy forever and ever. May this King be praised. Amen.
Don Chaffer / 08.16.00 / Wichita, KS
3.15.2005
[ Copied from my journal from last night ]
Sitting here at IHOP (international house of prayer) and thinking about the issues of healing (as a focus/ministry) and what was Jesus' reason for doing it in the first place. They're praying for Terri Schiavo... for her to be healed and awaken when they take out the feeding tube.
makes me think.
The guy leading said something about Jesus being "the God of Life." But what about the 'God of death.' I know, there are so many directions to go from here, and so many principals, but just bear with my wandering thoughts... It makes me think about Solomon's words in Ecclesiastes... about it being appointed that all men will die once... Is God scared of death? Is it beyond Him?
I reflect on what I've sensed from Mark 5 from the sermons as of late at Jacob's Well. Why did Jesus heal certain folk? What was his purpose ultimately? Some he healed and instructed to go and tell what happened, while others he instructed to go and tell no one. It seems that 'healing' and 'raising the dead' wasn't an end in itself, but just a part of what it was in him bringing the Kingdom of God. He said in Matt 9:6, "so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins..."
"He came to seek and to save those who were lost." That we may know salvation --- that we may be freed --- It seems that Jesus used healing as an attention getter and a qualifier (that he was qualified to do bring the kingdom)...
Often, healing came to those (as Jairus and the bleeding woman) that were completely desperate...
[ insert some working definitions:
--> Faith : an absolute recognition of reality, and a byproduct of a right orientation to Jesus ]
...that they had been brought to/forced into by suffering, the correct understanding/recognition of reality [faith].
How does this play out when I'm not dying or bleeding persistantly?
Was the healing used to prove/convince those who yet had believed in Him? And yet didn't Jesus refuse to give some people signs/miracles because of their unbelief?
What does it look like practically to have that 'correct orientation' to Jesus when we're not dying?
(from here it led me to think about many people who have had this right recognition...
--> the apostle paul: had correct understanding of reality w/ regards to marriage (1 cor. 7) to ourselves (1 cor. 9) ...heck, all of 1 & 2 Corinthians!
--> and others...
makes me think.
The guy leading said something about Jesus being "the God of Life." But what about the 'God of death.' I know, there are so many directions to go from here, and so many principals, but just bear with my wandering thoughts... It makes me think about Solomon's words in Ecclesiastes... about it being appointed that all men will die once... Is God scared of death? Is it beyond Him?
I reflect on what I've sensed from Mark 5 from the sermons as of late at Jacob's Well. Why did Jesus heal certain folk? What was his purpose ultimately? Some he healed and instructed to go and tell what happened, while others he instructed to go and tell no one. It seems that 'healing' and 'raising the dead' wasn't an end in itself, but just a part of what it was in him bringing the Kingdom of God. He said in Matt 9:6, "so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins..."
"He came to seek and to save those who were lost." That we may know salvation --- that we may be freed --- It seems that Jesus used healing as an attention getter and a qualifier (that he was qualified to do bring the kingdom)...
Often, healing came to those (as Jairus and the bleeding woman) that were completely desperate...
[ insert some working definitions:
--> Faith : an absolute recognition of reality, and a byproduct of a right orientation to Jesus ]
...that they had been brought to/forced into by suffering, the correct understanding/recognition of reality [faith].
How does this play out when I'm not dying or bleeding persistantly?
Was the healing used to prove/convince those who yet had believed in Him? And yet didn't Jesus refuse to give some people signs/miracles because of their unbelief?
What does it look like practically to have that 'correct orientation' to Jesus when we're not dying?
(from here it led me to think about many people who have had this right recognition...
--> the apostle paul: had correct understanding of reality w/ regards to marriage (1 cor. 7) to ourselves (1 cor. 9) ...heck, all of 1 & 2 Corinthians!
--> and others...
bring on the powder!
I went skiing with some friends a couple of weeks ago. We did the 'drive all night' thing and were pretty wasted from that, but with some sweet skiing, it made it all worthwhile. Josh, Dan, Matt, here's to ya!
3.07.2005
kingdom of God
I've given much thought recently to a certain parable that Jesus spoke of concerning a master going on a journey (Matthew 25:14-30). Until now, I believe that I missed a significant understanding of this parable and what Jesus really wanted to get across.
I listened to a message regarding the time of Lent and what he referred to as a season of absence. Although I am not really well versed in traditional church practices, the basic practice is to give up/fast from something throughout the 40 days of Lent. This 'giving-up' of something represents your sacrifice to follow Jesus, in spite of the many other competing things that could be followed. After giving something up, what then remains? One could say that Jesus is there. Another could say there is nothing. Basically, you create absence. You create space for something else. Despite the good intentions of many who practice this 'giving-up' for Lent, I think there's a good chance that many of them miss the boat. They will experience more of a "Wow, look what I just gave up for 40 days," instead of a "Wow, look what I just experienced in the absence of that other stuff."
In the parable, three servants are left by their master and entrusted with a large sum of money. Each takes his talent(s) and goes about his way. After a long time, the master returns to settle accounts with each servant. The first servant used his portion and earned double what he had. The second does the same, although given less than the first. The third digs a hole and stores it away, doing nothing with it, until the master returns. As you would guess, the master is very pleased with the first two, and very displeased with the third, even calling him a wicked, lazy servant. Perhaps influenced by our consumeristic society and even church, all I ever got out of that was that we should be responsible with the things we've been given, whether money, time, possessions or talents/abilities. Not that this is a bad understanding in any way, it just isn't the fullness of what the story is about. The first words in verse 14, "Again, it will be like..." are referring to what the Kingdom of God will be like. Well, when read with that in mind, this road is opened up some.
In many instances in the New Testament, our walk with the Lord is often like a journey. As disciples, Jesus says to follow Him, and He also later sends us out. But in this parable, the master is the one leaving. Jesus leaves, and we stay. I had never thought about it that way. Often in my Christianity, in my life following God, I have this premise that if God is close to me, or if I can feel God's presence close, then I will do better/be more productive in my walk/all in all, be more successful in my life with the Lord. Yet, I think that there's something to his absence in our lives, his lack of presence. In the parable, 'the master' leaves and entrusts his stuff/work to the servants. When he returned to settle accounts with them, he was pleased with the two who joined his work, regardless of how much it was they made. In verse 21, "His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!' " It wasn't about how much they made, but that they shared in the masters happiness. The servant who did nothing with his talent but bury it, gave it back to the master saying, "See, here is what belongs to you." He took no joy or shared ownership with the master's work.
What is significant up to this point is that this is what the Kingdom of God is like. It's not just about being responsible with our things, but that kicked up a notch and on a whole other plain. It's the Kingdom of God. It's what our life here is really about. It's what you do with whatever tools God has given and purposed you with to make an eternal difference in what matters to Him. (And if you don't know what's important to Him, it's a good place to start. )
The other significant part of this is about how I perceive God to be. I'm challenged ( yet reassured in what I've experienced) in dealing with what I perceive to be God's absence in my life. Yeah, I know that He's always with me, that the Holy Spirit is within me, but sometimes it just doesn't feel that way. I mean, I can't see Him, touch Him, or even talk to Him face to face (that could be a dangerous thing to me!). In my experience, it often feels more like I met him once, and it changed my life. I became a new person because of my encounter with him. From then on, I share in his happiness, and go about my way, trying my best to do well with my talents. Many times I receive letters and postcards from him, telling me about how he feels about me, and giving me new insights about himself and myself and the world. Sometimes those letters and postcards are frequent, and sometimes they're not. Some are more intimate, and others are more just information. But I don't fret. I know that someday, he will return to settle accounts with me. I look forward to that day, but at the same time, I'm thankful for each day that I'll have until then.
I listened to a message regarding the time of Lent and what he referred to as a season of absence. Although I am not really well versed in traditional church practices, the basic practice is to give up/fast from something throughout the 40 days of Lent. This 'giving-up' of something represents your sacrifice to follow Jesus, in spite of the many other competing things that could be followed. After giving something up, what then remains? One could say that Jesus is there. Another could say there is nothing. Basically, you create absence. You create space for something else. Despite the good intentions of many who practice this 'giving-up' for Lent, I think there's a good chance that many of them miss the boat. They will experience more of a "Wow, look what I just gave up for 40 days," instead of a "Wow, look what I just experienced in the absence of that other stuff."
In the parable, three servants are left by their master and entrusted with a large sum of money. Each takes his talent(s) and goes about his way. After a long time, the master returns to settle accounts with each servant. The first servant used his portion and earned double what he had. The second does the same, although given less than the first. The third digs a hole and stores it away, doing nothing with it, until the master returns. As you would guess, the master is very pleased with the first two, and very displeased with the third, even calling him a wicked, lazy servant. Perhaps influenced by our consumeristic society and even church, all I ever got out of that was that we should be responsible with the things we've been given, whether money, time, possessions or talents/abilities. Not that this is a bad understanding in any way, it just isn't the fullness of what the story is about. The first words in verse 14, "Again, it will be like..." are referring to what the Kingdom of God will be like. Well, when read with that in mind, this road is opened up some.
In many instances in the New Testament, our walk with the Lord is often like a journey. As disciples, Jesus says to follow Him, and He also later sends us out. But in this parable, the master is the one leaving. Jesus leaves, and we stay. I had never thought about it that way. Often in my Christianity, in my life following God, I have this premise that if God is close to me, or if I can feel God's presence close, then I will do better/be more productive in my walk/all in all, be more successful in my life with the Lord. Yet, I think that there's something to his absence in our lives, his lack of presence. In the parable, 'the master' leaves and entrusts his stuff/work to the servants. When he returned to settle accounts with them, he was pleased with the two who joined his work, regardless of how much it was they made. In verse 21, "His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!' " It wasn't about how much they made, but that they shared in the masters happiness. The servant who did nothing with his talent but bury it, gave it back to the master saying, "See, here is what belongs to you." He took no joy or shared ownership with the master's work.
What is significant up to this point is that this is what the Kingdom of God is like. It's not just about being responsible with our things, but that kicked up a notch and on a whole other plain. It's the Kingdom of God. It's what our life here is really about. It's what you do with whatever tools God has given and purposed you with to make an eternal difference in what matters to Him. (And if you don't know what's important to Him, it's a good place to start. )
The other significant part of this is about how I perceive God to be. I'm challenged ( yet reassured in what I've experienced) in dealing with what I perceive to be God's absence in my life. Yeah, I know that He's always with me, that the Holy Spirit is within me, but sometimes it just doesn't feel that way. I mean, I can't see Him, touch Him, or even talk to Him face to face (that could be a dangerous thing to me!). In my experience, it often feels more like I met him once, and it changed my life. I became a new person because of my encounter with him. From then on, I share in his happiness, and go about my way, trying my best to do well with my talents. Many times I receive letters and postcards from him, telling me about how he feels about me, and giving me new insights about himself and myself and the world. Sometimes those letters and postcards are frequent, and sometimes they're not. Some are more intimate, and others are more just information. But I don't fret. I know that someday, he will return to settle accounts with me. I look forward to that day, but at the same time, I'm thankful for each day that I'll have until then.
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