The Blindness of Sin.

Blind spots are the places that we cannot see ourselves – that other people know about us, but we ourselves do not know about ourselves.

Blind spots are the scary unknowns about our personality that hinder us in community, drive us into despondancy, and keep us alienated from ourselves, God, people around us and the world – they are that bit of leaf stuck in your teeth that no one bothers to tell you, unless they’re a real friend.

Lately, I’ve been struggling to find purpose in a place where I don’t do conventional work, I don’t pull in money – what I do could just as easily be done by someone else, and often is unappreciated or at least not verbally appreciated, and it’s doesn’t come near to matching the work done by other people – namely, my spouse and other co-workers.

Within that is a need to prove myself; even more so, I have a need to please – because pleasing puts you above reproach, you see. If everyone is pleased, no one will have any negative thing to say to you, because they’re indebted. And if they do have something negative to say, they feel foolish saying it because you’ve done so much for them.

It is a twisted way of living – but it runs deep, deeper than my goodness, deeper than my rationality; it run so deep in fact that I can safely and accurately say that I am totally depraved. This is also to say that every part of me is broken, even my ability to reason, or my ability to analyze, or my ability to think critically – it is all depraved, all infested, all divided with sin.

It creates a blindness of sorts to my own sin – a place where only another can come in and call it forth to be redeemed. See, we all have certain awareness of our evil – if we stop and think for a moment, really consider our lives, we can remember the time where we were mean to someone for no reason other than to feel superior. We can remember our lust for that girl’s purse, or our displeasure with our bodies to the point of vomiting, or the temptation to “borrow” that lip gloss and never return it, or our social maneuvering that inadvertently displaced someone else – or our selfish sexuality that doesn’t mind being used or using, or the hateful words we thought about our friends, our parents, our spouse. I can remember stealing a pencil from my teacher, that I gave her, just to see if she’d notice it missing and be upset about it. It was my way of testing the value of my gift to her… this was in 1st grade.

How utterly warped!

See, everyone knows everyone else’s sin. It’s as obvious as the nose on your face. You cannot hide that you are nasty, or a brown-noser, or that you’d rather waste your day obsessing over what clothes you should wear to convey some type of persona for the sake of perception (that has nothing to do with your character… your real, deep, inmost being) – or that you just throw something on quickly so you don’t look like you tried too hard – both mentalities driven by what other people think about you.

This is the beauty of true, spiritual friendship – and it’s not common. It’s what is supposed to be, but we are all so selfish, so broken, so proud, so self-protective and absorbed, that our ability to actually love people, to actually befriend them is not primarily to BE a friend, but to HAVE a friend. It’s not primarily for the flourishing of the other, but for the ego-kick of self. And therefore, when we see sin, when we see blindspots, we are unable to speak into it because the goal of the friendship is to have a friend, not be a friend – and having a friend ( for the sake of me ) makes confrontation impossible. And even more so, when we are more in the business of having friends rather than being friends, we have no forbearance with difficulty in people; we have no desire to see a relationship through – regardless of the duration.

In the blindness of sin, we settle for the ease of self, the ease of fear, the ease of pleasing, the desire for immediate results (all of which are actually cruel masters).

To be a believer – we must have a towel with which to wash each other’s feet, with which to direct ourselves toward the other with the hope of their flourishing as opposed to the hope of our using.

Franklin.

The play ground was situated to the right of the orphanage, immediately as we pulled through the gate. The children waited for us, their faces pressed against a rod iron door at the end of a hallway splitting the living quarters into two sections. The sun, bright over head, poured out it’s heat beamed delightfully off the children’s cheeks.

The littlest, 18 month old Israel, spoke broken spanish and shoved his finger at me to show that it had been smashed in a door or something similar. I kissed it. He did this every time I saw him, as if the hurt of it could not be shaken or forgotten.

After a while, we began to photograph all of the children. Eric placed them against different backdrops, or caught them during play, in an effort to capture their smiles and age. For the past 5 times he’s photographed different aspects of Nicaragua and these trips. However, in the last few years, he’s begun a project of tracking these kids through photographs as they grow up.

 Franklin, 8 years old, crouched by the shed, plucking the seeds from green pods that had fallen from the tree. He was one of the last of the younger kids that Eric needed to photograph, and he wasn’t in the mood to have his picture taken.

We walked over, I -holding the flash, and crouched in front of him.

“Como te llamas?” I said softly.

The guard at the gate replied, “Franklin,” and made the ‘crazy’ sign and mouthed loco.

Eric snapped away, and I kept trying to get his attention. He finally looked up, and we got a photo. But, Franklin began to cry and ran behind the shed. Eric followed quickly and apologized, and showed him the photograph. Franklin stood there for awhile, and Eric left to finish up the kids. 

I walked back around the shed and gathered up some pods, and brought them back to him. I held my hand in front of his face for a minute, open, showing all of the pods we could collects and split open to gather the seeds. He looked up at me, grabbed my hand, and we walked back over to the tree.

We collected as many pods as we could, and after a few minutes, the rest of the boys came over and started collecting pods and tossing them into Franklin’s basket. He smiled a lot after that, and Eric was able to take many photographs of him.

I Have Not Arrived: thoughts on control.

Wade Bradshaw always says, “Christians are like a drunk getting on a horse, they always fall off one side or the other.”

The ability to live in balance is a probably one of the most cherished gifts of God, and few people have it. Denominations fail to do this, individuals fail do this, groups fail do this – we pick one aspect of something (in an effort to simplify) and cling so dearly to a proof-text, that it is the only thing that matters. 

Often, when this thing is stripped from us our entire belief system is challenged – because we hung our coat on our arrogance, or our ability to box in God, or the one book we read one time that explained everything.

Really, arrogance and despair - the two sides of a horse (with faithful humility in the middle) – are forms of control. If we cannot simplify – to either “I fully understand God, and I am above being shaken” or ” I can fully understand God, and he’s an imbecile,” it makes our desire to control a situation, (over which we cannot ever have control), so incredibly uncomfortable.

They’re also forms of self-absorption, and in our own mind God can either exist or not, depending on how we try to name him, understand him, manipulate him – or control him. It’s all about me and my relationship.

I am a female; control is my go-to sin (underneath, motivating this sin is – arrogance, fear, distrust, and a general me-ology). 

This plays itself out in my marriage all the time in various ways; I can be bossy, I can choose house-cleaning over spending time with Eric, or I can claim all the domestic duties, wear myself out with them – then resent him for not helping me, then feel like a bad wife if I’m not the one doing the household chores all the time.

It’s all about control; it’s all about image; it’s all about me. Never once did I consider that perhaps letting him cook, (even if he’s exhausted) – is a way of releasing control. I do not have to be super-wife to show that invisible judge that I am a Proverbs 31 wife. 

The most important part of that passage, to me, is not EVERYTHING she does, but that in the end her children praise her, and her husband too. That, in the end – she has done what is beautiful and good for her family, and they love her and cherish her for it. (Now, there are other things to consider in that passage, but I’m not talking about them now.)

I have not arrived. I bobbling on top of a horse, a bit tipsy with control; and over this fact, that I have not arrived, I can either lean toward arrogance and ignore my persistent and newly revealed sin, or I can despair that I will always be horrible, never good enough, never perfect …

Or I can abide in Christ, and with humility – give over my notions over grandeur, of being the best, and let Him be my wisdom, sanctification and righteousness.

At Casa Bernabe.

At Casa Bernabe, the chickens howl before sunrise, 
The mango trees drop their yellow fruit

for the ants, and the
children, before school,
to carve and suck the juice, 
and I sit
to think about abstract
notions like
permanence and goodness
And what it would take
for all of these kids to go to college.
 
The littlest girls draw their
hair into tails,
wear their jellies, and
walk around browsing cards
with pictures of animals, their english names written beneath.

Marcella jumps rope with Maria, 
and they both
run to sit beside me -

“Una foto, Lora?”

Perhaps, in these in between moments, 
in a different place, in a different life,
in a different mind, with different thoughts - I
we can envision something great enough
to beat the 
odds. 

The dust arouses to 

swirl and smudge the air 
with a hazy glow.

It blows, like the lives and deaths
of the world, to and fro, 
so much so we do not notice the grains -
but just

that we are 
dirty. 

 

Marcella.

Patient Endurance.

You are racing. It is hot and sticky – your legs are aching, the burn begins to crawl its way up from your feet to your thighs. Your lungs begin to clench up, and the oxygen you were once breathing feels menacing with every new gasp for air. But! You see the finish line – a thin ribbon taut between two poles – it is within reach, and you press on to the goal, every stride more satisfying with the vision at hand. What will come when you finish? Water – gulps and gulps of fresh, cool water. Stretching and rest – the satisfaction and ease of knowing something wonderful, strenuous and painful has been accomplished, that you have finished well.

This is the Christian vision. 

There is a finish line, where we will rest – knowing something beautiful, strenuous and painful has been accomplished. Christ will return, and with him evil will be purged – glory and beauty restored. There will be no more tears, no more striving, no more death or grief – only water, gulps and gulps of fresh water and rest in the accomplishment of what seemed unbearable and impossible. 

This is what drove Paul. This is what drove Christ. This is what drives us, if we are in Christ – the hope of resurrection, the hope of things being made new, and the participation in redemption. We have windows that look out in eternity; these windows cast a vision for hope – a hope that is both true and good, that not only will it be accomplished, but it will also be beneficial. 

Down the way from me are two girls playing outside. One is resting against a pole, the other younger girl with pigtails, holds cards with english words on them and smilies generously at her friend. They’ve been abandoned by their parents, abused and forsaken. The temptation for this kind of tragedy is to despair for them – to tremble with anxiety for their future, or to withdraw from the complexity of abuse and abandonment into apathy or indifference.  

However, the proper response is neither worry-ridden fear or apathy – but a vision cast in hope for the future. And what allows this vision? Patient endurance – a glimpse of the finish line. Knowing Christ, trusting Christ, taking on that vision of redemption. 

What does this require of us? A constant eye on the finish line – despite the burning lungs, despite the parched throat, despite the pot holes and despite the potential for despair. To look at Christ turns everything, every rigidity, every fatalistic idea, every notion of control, or desperation to hide – into a transformative humility and hope, and from this point vision moves to patience, endurance, longevity…

These are the questions, the things I ask myself as I look at these kids in Nicaragua. The “service” I give must look toward the finish line. How do I look toward Christ as the vision for the kids, not by giving up, but by giving in. All quick fix solutions lack longevity – they will stimulate long term and corrode the future, leaving a bigger mess for later. 

Patient endurance implies long term effort – sticking with it and sticking it out.

This is the call of a believer to whatever “call” has drawn him.

Without an Advocate.

We arrived in Nicaragua a day and a half ago. I remarked to Eric, more than once, how familiar it feels here.

A little girl just came up next to me and is sitting down watching me type.

Como te amo?

Yesterday there were 5:

Anna – 7
Maria Theresa – 12
Marcella – 10

And, the other two, I can’t remember their names – they came up at the end.

These kids don’t have parents. Usually all of this is hypothetical – when we talk about widows and orphans, it’s a way of saying – those people out there who need help. But this is more than that – this is reality.

I suppose in some way I knew it would have an impact to drive into El Canyon yesterday, another orphanage in the area, and see these kids, arms outstretched and smiling – but, I’m not sure I knew I would feel so helpless to do anything permanent for them, other than just laugh, run around and sit while they put my hair in 2 very lop-sides pigtails.

They’re still sitting here; I clearly cannot speak any spanish beyond – como te amos? and ¿Cuántos años tiene? — oh and of course, “hola! and gracias!”

Anyway – it struck me, as I was looking at these girls at El Canyon – young ladies, in their school uniforms, just budding, a glob of lips gloss on each of their lips – shy in front of Eric’s camera (he’s trying to get portrait of all of the kids for Nicaraguan Orphan Fund) – that they don’t have mom’s to help them figure out their sexuality, their feminity – they are without an advocate to protect them.

Surely the ladies in charge are motherly, but there are 60 kids – young men, too – who remind me so much of Thomas, my cousin. They’re the same age, same sweet jr. high demeanor.

Casa.

This is the back of the building where I am sitting – it’s a nice place.  Mango trees are everywhere with big lush leaves hanging to cover the fruit. I just wonder what it’s like to sit next to some random woman, tying on a computer, and just watch her, listening to her english music  break into the noise of the airconditioning unit next to us.

This is where I think the longing of hope must be so tangible – home – a place with an advocate. Home, a place with ownership; home, a place with deliberate meals made with you in mind; home, a place of satiated needs. Home, a base of strength.

The little girl next to me, had a card from the states – with a puppy in it barking “We wish you a merry Christmas.”  She is copying the words into my journal.

I think of Jesus – with no place to lay his head, laid up on a Cross to bear the weight of all this brokenness – who became our home. I hope, this week, I can remember that, hug them tightly, pray for them fervently, receive their smiles and joy – see all our great need for each other.

Defining Gospel.

Lately, I’ve been trying to define the Gospel – to break it down into small terms so I can explain it better. Often, we have words that have lost their meaning – like “love”, everyone comes with a concept which may or may not match the other operating definitions of love in the room. 

Jesus did this with Peter. Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me? The repetition causes us to think – do I? What is love? 

Preach the Gospel. Preach the Gospel. Preach the Gospel. What is the gospel??

Tim Keller says the Gospel is:

1. A restructuring of the heart
2. A removal of sin
3. A reversal of Values

And yes, it does that – the Gospel, when in full action, full blown movement – the Gospel will restructure your heart, remove your sin and reverse your values.

But how does it do that?

Neitszche says:

When one gives up on Christian belief, one thereby deprives oneself of the right to Christian morality…
Christianity is a system, a consistently thought out and complete view of things. If one breaks out of it a fundamental idea, the belief in God, one there by breaks the whole thing to pieces: one has nothing of any consequence left in one’s hands.
Christian morality is a command: its origin transcendental. It possesses truth only if God is truth – it stands or falls with the belief in God. (Twilight of the Idols) 

What does this say to us about the Gospel?

1. It is a thought out and complete view of things. A way of viewing the world – a lens.

2. It is a foundation of truth dependent on the belief in the God of the bible.

This is how it restructures. It shoves out the old world view, the old foundation and creates a stability and lens through which to view the world.

This is also how it removes sin, because it is a foundation upon which we build our life – our habits, our mentalities. Often, we try to draw out of it a certain rule of thumb, a certain fruit, a certain behavior and live on that, but without full belief and faith in God as the foundation – the action, the fruit, or behavior will whither. The branch cannot live without the vine. We must abide in Christ.

The Gospel is “good news” – but Good news about what? 
The Gospel is a group of books in the Bible about Christ’s life and death and resurrection.

How is this good news? How does this restructure? How is this a foundation? How is this a lens?

It is good news because the state of the world is broken. We are totally depraved and crushed to the very recesses of our minds. We think evil about our friends, we hate people and feel justified, we condemn others, we talk nasty, act nasty, mock suffering, waffle around with filth and call it beauty, we lust after decaying things, we are narcissistic and selfish..

It is good news indeed, that Christ came to rescue us from this world view, came to rescue us from our inescapable pain and confusion.
But the good news is more! It calls us into a new creation; and therefore a new mind, a new heart, a new spirit – a completely restructured vision for the world. Hope! Beauty! Renewal! 

 This restructuring is built upon Christ, the sure and steady foundation. 

My mom, when she taught sunday school, would always have the kids go up to the board and guess a foot and draw how long they thought it was. Everyone would do this, until, at last, my mother would bring out the ruler to show either how accurately or poorly we had measured in our minds. The point was, we need a measuring stick to check our work. This is Christ!

Every week with the 8th graders, I say to them – you have to ask yourself – do I believe? Is this really what I believe? And if it is, where is it re-doing me?

Do I hunger and thirst for righteousness?
Do I abide in Christ?
Do I love and pray for my enemy?
Am I anxious about tomorrow?
Do I have a vision cast in eternity?
Do I complain all the time?
Am I embarrassed to call myself a Christian?
 

These are just the few things I ask myself. Do I believe? If I do not – I pray, oh Lord, help my unbelief! Restructure this part of my heart so it can love my enemies, so I can rejoice rather than complain, so I can serve rather than brag, so I can hope for suffering people – so I don’t despair over material possessions. Grant that Your faith might be my faith – that Your humility might humble me – that Your love my pour forth from me – that Your vision my vision.

Let us stand on solid ground. Let us measure our lives with Christ. Let us be restructured, reversed, sin removed. Let us rest in the grace give to do that.

Nicaragua.

Eric and I are heading to Nicaragua on Wednesday.