Blogging Lent

Where Is God?

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 11:49:00 +0000

Bad things happen. No one really expects otherwise. We know that one of these days, the shit is going to hit the fan, and we're going to be covered in it. I'm not sure if I'm like most people, but I always have some vague sense of impending doom, like at any moment the happiness is going to be shattered and everything I've been working to build is going to come caving in around me. ... And I consider myself an optimist.

Whenever bad things happen - the diagnosis, the dreaded phone call, the foreclosure notice, the offended friend - I've observed that people react to God with classic fight or flight tendencies. Some will take the opportunity of bad things happening to run from God, shaking their head and walking away muttering like Robin Williams in Patch Adams, "you're not worth it." Others will argue with God, debate with God, wrestle with God, trying to make sense of what God is up to or to trying to convince God to do what they want him to do.

Either way, most people end up asking the question, "Where is God?"

The idea is that if God were here, this wouldn't have happened. It's another way of saying, "Why would God allow this to happen?" We try to convince ourselves that the famous Footprints poem is correct, that eventually we'll find out that God was walking with us and even carrying us all along. But still we wonder. Where is God?

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I don't know if it was intentional or not, but my church background taught me to think of God as standing in the past. God elected, predestined. He chose and willed. We had the idea that everything is settled, that God ordained it, that one day he sat down and decreed all that should come to pass. With this mentality, when we face hard times, we comfort ourselves with phrases like "God is in control" and "God has a wonderful plan for your life."

But this approach, when taken by itself, can lead to some unfortunate side effects. It's easy to develop a rather fatalistic attitude. We're just robots. Everything is settled, so why bother? Or, when things don't turn out OK, we are left searching for the grander purpose and reason in our tragedies. God must have some reason to give us this trial, we tell ourselves. But what happens when we can't figure that reason out? Do we end up blaming God? We end up blaming God, not just for keeping us in the dark, but for preordaining the bad things to happen.

If God is standing in the past, aren't we moving further away from him with every passing day?

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In recent years, it has become popular to think of God as being exclusively with us in the present. Some theologians, in an attempt to answer the question, "Why would God allow bad things to happen?" have suggested that God experiences those bad things right along with us. Since he is bound by time, living in the present. He not only hasn't stood in the past and ordained what would come to pass, he's not exactly sure what will happen in the future.

This approach is supposed to comfort us by letting us know that God is as deeply wounded by, disappointed about, and regretful of the bad things that happen in our lives as we are. He feels our pain. He's sorry we're going through what we're going through. But does it leave us with a God who is merely wringing his hands, ultimately helpless, neutered by the infinite options that leave him unable to make a difference in our lives?

If God has no better vantage point than I do, what's the point?

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I've come to think of God as residing in the future. This doesn't replace for me what is valid in the other perspectives, but it augments them with a fresh way of thinking. I now think of God as one who has a dream, a vision, of what the world - his kingdom - is to be like. And I think of him as having a dream, a vision, a goal for me. Maybe we could picture an artist with a masterpiece in mind that is presently being pieced together. I think God is there in the future, drawing me toward himself, inviting me to participate, to move toward him with hope for what could be.

This approach reverberates throughout the biblical story. Jesus told us to "follow him," saying that he is going on ahead of us to prepare a place for us. Also, in Ephesians and other places, Paul repeats a theme of fulfillment and fullness, indicating that God is moving things along toward a final destination in which all things are brought to completion in the kingdom of Jesus.

So when bad things happen, I don't need to hunt for all the hidden answers and purpose, nor do I have to either blame him for ordaining this or defy logic by somehow letting him off the hook. When things go wrong, I don't have to put my arm around God and comfort him because he's so upset too. Rather, when tragedy strikes, I need to keep moving toward God. When I'm asking "Where is God?" I need to keep reminding myself that he's up ahead. I need to remember that he is up to something in my life and in this world. I need to keep journeying, to keep taking steps in his direction by responding and reacting as kingdomly as I can. And I need to keep hope.

Wolfhart Pannenberg said, "God is the power of the future." For me, that's the most comforting thing of all.

Words

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 10:56:00 +0000

Lately, words have been hard to come by for me. I started this blog in hopes of posting everyday about my Lenten journey. In actually, lately I've been posting a couple of times a week. Several times, I've sat down and tried to force myself to post. But the words just haven't been there. And I've just not had anything to say.

The words I have had lately come from the new U2 cd, No Line on the Horizon. It probably doesn't come as much of a surprise to those who know me well that I've been listening to this cd pretty much non-stop since it came out. And I've found myself resinging lines in my head. Like these ones from Breathe:

Every day I die again, and again I’m reborn
Every day I have to find the courage
To walk out into the street
With arms out
Got a love you can’t defeat
Neither down or out
There’s nothing you have that I need
I can breathe

This morning as I laid awake in bed - before the alarm went off - these words were going through my head. And I thought that they had some special importance during this season of Lent.

In Lent, we try to cut out things that aren't important and focus on the things that are - like breathing. It's a period of change and rebirth, of being made new, of experiencing God's mercies freshly each morning. It's about journeying out into our lives with an intentional sacrificial love that is patterned after Jesus' sacrificial love for us.

I suppose that's words enough for today.

New Week, Renewed Focus

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 11:11:00 +0000

I haven't blogged about Lent in a few days. I haven't thought about Lent very much in a few days. I was out of town on Thursday and Friday, then home on Saturday and Sunday but focused on Vintage's worship gathering (and maybe the excitement of a new puppy). Actually, my snooze bar nemesis hasn't been much of a problem. I didn't set an alarm on Friday or Saturday. And Thursday and Sunday, I had such early commitments (a plane to catch and church preparation) that hitting the snooze bar and going back to bed wasn't a realistic option.

But today, I am headed back to my normal routine, a routine I have missed. And this morning when the alarm went off, I thought, "I would love to go back to bed, but I just can't." I forced myself up, forced myself to post these thoughts on the blog, and I am about to force myself to take on a new day, a new week.

Maybe this is one of those important lessons of Lent - sometimes we have to force ourselves to do the right thing. Doing what is right and good for us doesn't always come naturally or easily. Sometimes it is a struggle to make wise choices, to put one foot in front of the other and continue to move forward.

God, give us the grace to do what you've called us to do, even when we don't feel like it. And renew our hearts so that what we feel is inline with who you are.

Guest Blogging

noreply@blogger.com (Ness) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 12:21:00 +0000

Since Robb is flying the friendly skies this morning, I'm blogging Lent today. I've been scrambling a little trying to condense my experience so far into something blog-able. (I just made up a word!)

I gave up wine, and thereby, I gave up my evening ritual. And it's been hard. I don't think I'm an alcoholic (I thought this might be a good way to check!) but I do have a single glass of red wine most nights, after the kids go to bed. I light a candle, turn the lights down, watch some tv, put on my comfy pants and just generally go "Off Duty."

I was struck, though, during the Hosea series, that I didn't want anything to be an idol to me and if giving up my nightly wine ritual scared me, then maybe it was something to give up.

It's early in the process yet and I don't know about you, but I'm still lugging this giving-up around like an unwieldy shopping bag. Every night feels like it has no punctuation...it just runs on like one of my long sentences. I haven't learned anything profound yet.

On the other hand, it feels good to have given up something meaningful. I'm conscious of my sacrifice. And being awake to my little sacrifice can only lead to being more aware of His sacrifice.

How's it going for you?

Andy Crouch: Dead Authors Society

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 11:16:00 +0000

Today, not my words, but those of Andy Crouch. Here is an article from 2001 in which Crouch discusses how our addiction to the what is easy, comfortable, and shallow has invaded the Christian marketplace, pushing out what is challenging, reflective - and necessary. Too much "bright," not enough "sadness."

Dead Authors Society

Serenity Now

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Tue, 03 Mar 2009 12:09:00 +0000

I don't like being uncomfortable. I don't like that feeling of unease when things aren't quite right. I don't like tension. I don't like conflict. I don't like that knot in my stomach when something is wrong. I don't like not being able to sleep.

Few of us do.

Some people, I suppose, love drama. It seems to follow them, showing up in bizarre ways. I have a friend who frequently causes me to shake my head in amazement as she tells me story after story of the drama in her life. It doesn't seem to bother her. She seems to like it, to welcome it, to seek it out.

Not me. I am not a fan. I like things to run along smoothly. At work, I prefer people to just do their jobs without a lot of stress. At home, I like things quiet and neat. In my relationships, I like peace. I seek out things that aren't chaotic. If it were up to me, there wouldn't be anxiety or unrest.

But maybe in my quest for tranquility, I am missing out on something I need. Lent is a season of Bright Sadness. I don't like being sad. But maybe I need sadness, I need anxiety, I need tension. Maybe it does something in me to make me grow, to help me become more and more the man God wants me to be.

The ancient church leader, known as one of the Egyptian Desert Fathers, Abbot John the Dwarf once said, "Go and pray to the Lord to command some struggle to be stirred up in you, for the soul is matured only in battles."

That sounds like when we (well, I) prayed at Vintage for God to storm in our lives. It takes courage to ask God to command some struggle to be stirred up in me. It takes faith. It takes some sense that anxiety and tension and struggle and sadness aren't all bad. Maybe that's a lesson I'm learning through Lent.

Bright Sadness

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 12:09:00 +0000

As I reflect on Lent this week, I am going to spend some time considering how Lent is referred to in Eastern Orthodox circles. It is called a season of Bright Sadness.

Every once in a while you hear a great oymoronic phrase that sticks with you. Wounded healer, for instance. Bright Sadness is one such phrase. It captures much of the mystery of the Lenten journey.

Lent can be a sad time, a time of struggle, sacrifice, and temptation. Quite frankly, telling myself "no" as the alarm goes off and I want to hit the snooze bar and head back to bed, is not very enjoyable. I think I've noticed that near the end of last week, I was more cranky than normal. Is that because of what I gave up for Lent?

But at the same time, Lent is a season of anticipation, of hope, of excitement. It is not a doom and gloom kind of sadness. It is bright sadness. This journey has a destination, this sacrifice has a purpose, this struggle has meaning. That destination, that purpose, that meaning is the bright light shining from within the empty tomb.

Bright sadness. What do you think?

Lent is a Community Experience

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 23:36:00 +0000

At first blush, we probably tend to think of Lent as a personal and solitary experience. I am gong to give up something in my life, expanding my self-discipline. It's all about me. This year, my experience has been different. Lent has been - and I hope continues to be - a community experience.

I was out to lunch with a friend this week who told me that he had given up extra sugar for Lent. When the waiter asked if we wanted dessert, I said no because my friend had given up extra sugar for Lent. My friend didn't look too happy with me. Lent is a community experience.

I have a couple of friends at work that are not Christians, let alone participating in Lent. But everyday they ask me if I hit the snooze button that morning. Lent is a community experience.

The comments on this blog encourage me. I love how Sara told us about how she added new things to give up because she hears something that someone else has given up and thinks its a good idea. Lent is a community experience.

Mattie, my daughter, gave up fighting with her brother for Lent. In the last couple of days when she has begun to raise her voice with her brother, all Vanessa or I have to say is, "It's Lent." She stops. Lent is a community experience.

I can't be the person God wants me to be by myself. I can't obey Jesus without relationships with other people. With the community, Lent would not be all that it should be. Lent is a community experience.

Guest Posts

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 23:32:00 +0000

I am hoping that this blog will develop into a community space for us to discuss what God is doing in our lives throughout the Lenten season. I hope you'll visit often and comment too. I've asked a couple of friends to occasionally post their reflections as guest posters. If you'd like to do so, post a comment or send an email to vintagefellowship (at) gmail.com.

Day 3 Is Difficult

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 12:21:00 +0000

Wednesday was fun. I hopped out of bed with the excitement of trying something new. Yesterday was easy. I had to prove to myself that I could do it. Today is tough. I am feeling sluggish. And tired. The last couple of days, I was raring to go even before my alarm went off. Today, I was mid-dream when it did, and it took me by surprise.

RIght now I think I am reminding myself of the young man I interviewed once for a job. When asked what his greatest weakness was, he said, "I have a hard time getting up in the morning." (Not the best weakness to reveal to a potential employer, by the way.) He followed that up with, "I love bed."

Yeah, I love bed.

But moments like this is what discipline is all about, doing the right thing when you don't feel like, doing the right thing when it is not easy. Too often, I only do what is easy, comfortable, or immediately profitable. When something doesn't meet these qualifications, I can come up with well-crafted justifications to avoid it. Discipline moves me beyond those excuses, beyond the immediate. It focuses me on the long-term, the important, the goal.

So, here I am on a Friday morning when I normally would be asleep, sitting at my computer, thinking about what is most important in my life rather than dreaming about nonsense. Would I rather be dreaming? Maybe. But in the big picture, this is much, much better for me. And I guess that's the whole point.

Reflections on Our Ash Wednesday Service

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 12:09:00 +0000

Last night was our first-ever Ash Wednesday service at Vintage. In fact, it was the first Ash Wednesday service of my life. The turnout was fine, and I hope it was a meaningful experience for everyone. I'm sure we'll do some things differently next year, but all in all, it was a good first attempt.

When I was planning the service, I had the words "quiet and reflective" in my head. I was hoping to craft a service that would give us the opportunity to sit and think about sacrifice and loneliness and the journey ahead of us. The band was acoustic. I went with no mic. Lots of candles. Quiet and reflective, right?

In hindsight, I don't think those are the best words to describe our experience last night. For me, I think I would now use the word "active." There was a lot of movement, a lot of noise, a lot to watch and listen to beyond me standing and giving my thoughts. It was a participatory event with lots of action and heat.

And I guess that is not a bad thing at all.

Lent is about participating, about activity and movement. The sense that I have now is not that the next 40 days will not be a time to sit back and think. It will be a time to get up and do something, to accomplish something, to enter the fray of what God is up to and be part of it. It's about energy and sizzle and getting a little bit dirty.

I'm thankful that our service last night reminds me of that. If you were there, how did it affect you?

Ash Wednesday Morning

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 11:07:00 +0000

It is early in the morning on the first day of Lent. My alarm went off today at 5 am, and I hopped up, turned it off, and stayed up. One day down, fortysome more to go. It's quiet and dark, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the light coming from under Calvin's door. He's up already, reading his Harry Potter book no doubt.

For many, Ash Wednesday is a day of reflection and fasting. For me, today is a day of relationships and feasting. I have breakfast and lunch plans with friends. And then tonight is our first-ever Ash Wednesday Service at Vintage. I am planning on fasting other days during Lent, just not today.

As I start Lent this year, I have a sense of purpose and anticipation that I don't think I've ever had. I am being intentional this year, intentionally trying to be prepared for Easter, intentionally looking for what God is up to in my life, intentionally concerned with my own sacrifice and discipline. I think that is going to pay off. I'm praying that it will make a difference in me. And I'm praying that for you too.

I've Made a Decision!

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 23:27:00 +0000

Early this morning, at 6:09 AM to be exact, it hit me. At once I knew what to give up for Lent - my snooze bar.

I've struggled with knowing what to sacrifice this year. It didn't feel right piggybacking off Vanessa's sacrifice, and repeating what I've done previous years just didn't resonate with me. But when I hit the snooze bar on my alarm clock this morning, I knew instantly that God was leading me to give up my daily routine of stretching out my sleep in 9 minute increments.

I'm not much of a morning person. But I do love the quiet and serenity of the morning. I love the feeling of getting out of bed when it's still dark to enjoy the promise of a new day. I don't love it enough to do it everyday consistently. I usually try to put off the morning by climbing back into bed after I've granted myself another 9 minute reprieve. And when I finally get up, I end up feeling like I've missed something.

Well, for the next 40 days or so, I'm not going to miss anything. Because I'm getting up. I'm giving up my snooze bar for Lent.

How about you? What are you giving up for Lent this year?

Blogging through Lent

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 02:42:00 +0000

Thanks for visiting Blogging Lent. I am excited about this spiritual exercise. In the coming days, the site and its features will evolve. Please be patient while that happens.

Deciding What to Give Up

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 02:34:00 +0000

I did not grow up in a liturgical church. It was only as an adult that I began observing certain aspects of the church calendar, like Advent, in some liturgical sense. And I kind of feel like I am doing it wrong. I hope that you who have a strong liturgical background will be patient with me as I muddle through my lenten observance in 2009.

I love the sacrificial nature of Lent. I suppose that I am not naturally a very disciplined person. Lent helps some. I enjoy the discipline of giving things up. The last couple of years, I was able to easily come up with something to deny myself during Lent. Two years ago it was beer. Last year, I gave up Sunday afternoon sports.

This year, I am not sure what I am going to give up. I've got another day to decide, but the clock is ticking.

Lent 2009

noreply@blogger.com (Robb Ryerse) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 17:18:00 +0000

In preparation for Easter this year, I will be keeping a daily blog of my spiritual journey through Lent. I hope you'll join me.