The Other Side (of Delight)

"Delight yourself...in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart." Ps. 37:4

Gandalf hears drums in the Psalms.

Parallelism in the Psalms is not just a device used within verses; it can also inform a psalm's entire structure (or part of it). Take Psalm 1, for example: six verses set into two three verse parts contrasting "the godly" with "the wicked". Psalm 37 is another example, at least in the beginning. The commands to "trust," "delight," "commit," and "rest" in God are complimentary parallels meant to bounce off of and build on each other. Furthermore, as compliments to each other, they are also meant to be synonymous, a singular note swelling in intensity, like heavier and heavier beats of a drum.

Yet the synonymous nature of these four words is not completely apparent, at least as it is translated in English. Part of it makes sense: to "trust" something is to "commit" to and "rest" in it, and to "commit" to something (lit. in Heb: "to roll your load onto another") is to "trust" and "rest" in it, and to "rest" in something (like a bed or chair) is to "trust" in and "commit" to it. In each case, the meaning of the words play off of each other naturally, like mirrors reflecting the same sunbeam.

Just imagine a logistical gymnast.

But what about "delight"? It does not seem to fit quite so easily. Of course, it is still a positive term like the others, and we could reasonably imagine it following any one of the others: it is possible to "delight" in what you "commit" to and "trust" and "rest" in. Nonetheless, it does not necessarily follow them. To "trust" or "commit" or "rest" in something does not necessarily mean you "delight" in it. Your attitude towards the chair you are trusting and resting in may be quite neutral, and there are probably commitments you've made (to some chore or work or duty) that you can't say you're looking forward to. In fact, "trust" and "commit" can be occasions for fear as much as anything else, for they always contain a level of uncertainty, as when you trust your friend when he or she says the food they suggested for you is "not that spicy." Thus, the connection between "trust" and "commit" and "rest" is natural and easy, but the connection between them and "delight" is not; it requires some logistical gymnastics.

"Simply delightful..."

But perhaps we're missing something. Perhaps (as I said before) English is incapable of fully capturing the exactest meaning, which is not unheard of: it is not as rich a language as ancient Hebrew (or even modern Japanese). Its limitations are no mark against it, for limitations can be an occasion for glory as well as shame, for opportunity as much as disadvantage. The point here is that we are in fact dealing with a slight limitation. The Hebrew word used here that English translates as "delight" is not one of the typical Hebrew words for it, not one that carries all the typical meanings: to be glad in or take joy in or find pleasure in, etc. Rather, the Hebrew word here is "anog," which literally means "to become soft or delicate." The image it suggests is melting, like solid strips of cheese melting onto bread, or a cube of ice melting in a glass. The implication is relaxation: of molecules loosening their bonds, of breath exhaling from a body that's sinking into a couch after a long day's work, with all its muscles releasing their tension.

Now the connection is clearer and easier, for you cannot "commit" to something, nor truly "trust" in something, and certainly not "rest" in something, without this sense of ease, of relaxation, of losing the grip of your anxieties and laying your head down in gentle repose. The whole of life may be buzzing around you like angry hornets, but you are quiet and still in God. This is the other side of "delight," the other side of its ecstasy and joy, for this is the ecstasy and joy of being still and knowing that He is God.

Into the calm of delight.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2014

Heaven (and the Fulness of God)

"...with You is the fountain of life; in Your light we see light." Ps. 36:9

Parallel (in contrast)

Hebrew poetry follows the logic of parallelism: the first part of a poetic line is mirrored in the second part, either in contrast or by compliment. The parallelism found here is complimentary, implying that "life" and "light" are in some way synonymous, which is not an unheard of biblical image. Jesus was said to be the "life" that was "the light of men" (John 1:4), and He Himself said that any who followed Him would have "the light of life" (John 8:12). This imagery even has its biblical contrasts, such as when the "Shepherd Psalm" talks of "the shadow of death" (Ps. 23:4). None of this is new symbolism: light and dark have long been associated with good and evil and all their corollaries, and this image is consistent in the Bible as well.

What is interesting here is the odd repetition in the second part of the verse: "in Your light we see light." It smacks of tautology, but I believe it can't be anything so banal. Psalm 36 is broken into three movements: the first describes the wicked as those "with no fear of God" before their eyes (vs. 1-4), the second describes God and why it is foolish to not fear Him (vs. 5-9), and the third describes the separate fates of the righteous and the wicked, of those who fear God and those who don't (vs. 10-12). The odd repetition comes at the end of the second movement; it is the climax of the psalmist's thoughts on God, the purest expression of why we should "fear" Him. As such, I like to think it is more than a mere redundancy.

More than just this.

The Hebrew word used here both times for "light" is "owr," which means more than just illumination (like lighting a match). It means illumination in every sense of the word: glory, splendor, the dawn, happiness (i.e., someone's face "lights up"), enlightenment, and of course, life (the "spark" or "flame" within). It is an all-encompassing light, a Light of lights, one that includes all lights and yet is reducible to none. Now, there is still a repetition, but it is not "light" and "light" but rather "all-light" and "all-light". In short, the psalmist is saying, "In Your All-Light we see all light," or "In Your full Goodness, we see all that is good," or "In Your full Glory, we see all that is glorious," etc.

It is similar to Psalm 16:11 where it says, "In Your presence is fullness of joy." The Hebrew word for "fullness" is "soba," which means to be filled to satisfaction. "Fullness" of joy is a summation and fulfillment of joy, a culmination of all that is joyous. Likewise, just as God is "fullness of joy," He is also "fullness" of light. He is all things joyous, all good and glad moments and objects and concepts, in a single source; and He is all things luminous, all glorious and vivid and illuminated things, in a single source. He is the All-Light and the All-Joy: in His Light we see all other lights, and in His Joy we find all other joys.

Home at last.

This is why Augustine said that our hearts are restless until they rest in God, and why Anselm said that the "most supreme" Being had to encompass all that was good while being reducible to none of it, and why Aquinas posited God as the proper desire and home of the soul, drawing it to Himself like gravity draws a stone to the earth. In the Christian mind (as in the mind of our Hebrew ancestors), there is only one place of complete satisfaction, only one place of rest and peace at last and forever, and it is not in money, sex, power, success, prosperity, self-actualization, self-discovery, activism, capitalism, socialism, progressivism, conservatism, or the thousand other flawed institutions and endeavors of fallen humanity. Rather, it is in God alone, for He alone is the All-Joy, the All-Light, the All-Good, the source and fullness of all things joyous and splendorous and wonderful.

In this life, we are blessed enough to catch just shadows and echos of His greater life, both in the way that all facets of existence declare His glory (Ps. 19:1-4) and all visible things reveal His invisible attributes (Rom. 1:19-20). The numinous moments allotted to us now contain enough beauty to weaken us like a wound, if we're paying attention. How much more then shall the effect be when faith turns to sight and all shadows turn to all-light and all echos swell into one mighty voice as singular and as multifaceted as a symphony? How much sweeter will life itself be when we find its fountain in God and taste and see its fullness in Him? I know no other definition of Heaven than that.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2014

Further Up, Further In (Homily 55)

What hath God wrought?

"I have trusted in Thy mercy. My heart shall rejoice in Thy salvation. I will sing unto the Lord, because He has dealt bountifully with me." Ps. 13:5-6

The foundations of the past are hope and strength for today; light and guidance come from what has already been established. "Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path" (Ps. 119:105), a word written long before I was born and spoken long before the foundations of the earth were laid. In fact, the Christian life is all about foundations, about seeing them laid thick and solid. It is all about God setting precedent, of watching Him build His case in your life like a man builds a tower, or better yet, a cathedral. Watch each brick be laid and ornamentation carved, and slowly but surely the monstrous edifice takes shape before your eyes, and what was once an amorphous rubble becomes a sublime work of art.

"I support which candidate?"

It is all art with God. All beauty. All true beauty and beautiful truth. It is not about machinery or efficiency. God is not reducible to a system. We are not here to deduce and define some divine algebra. We are not here to "figure it out," not because there is nothing to figure out but because the figure is too great for us, a figure shaped in the Person of God. We do not comprehend Him; we stand in awe, in overwhelming humility and wonder. We stand still and know that He is God and that we will never reach the end of Him. We can never reduce Him to our myriad manias, to our legalistic claptrap or liberal corrosion, to our efforts to explain or obscure Him. Thank God that He is greater than all our rabid reductionism, or innate and insane desire to make everything smaller than us.

God has revealed Himself, not that we may "figure" Him "out," but that we may begin to know Him (John 17:3), not as a principle or some cosmic machinery, but as a person, as a friend would a friend or a lover a lover. To this end He is building His presence into your life, brick by brick, moment by moment, until He is the most real thing you know, the one true thing, the Fact above all other facts. The point of Christian living, of the life of faith, is to know that God is real: vividly, intimately, personally real. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something: an ideology, a gimmick, or another reductionism. They cannot give you God, the reality of God spreading over and through every inch of your life like waves to the sand of the shore.

Nope. Still haven't arrived.

Like a good marriage, God is known over time, not grasped in an instant. You must never fall into the snare that says, "I have arrived" when it comes to your relationship with God, that you have discovered all there is to know about Him and now the adventure is over. That can only lead to boredom and despair (and perhaps an abandoning of God for something more "exciting"). The truth is that we never arrive, even throughout eternity, not because there is nothing to arrive at, but because God is incomprehensible, beyond our full comprehension, which means it will take all eternity to know Him fully, and therein lies hope and peace and joy.

Further up. Further in.

Hope because even if we cannot see far ahead, we can see for miles behind us, and all of God's bountiful goodness and love trumps our doubts. Peace because all things are working together for our good (Rom. 8:28), working towards are knowing of God, until we finally see what life was meant for: all knowing, all intimacy, all a drawing further up and in to divine love. And joy because identity and purpose and meaning are found at last, not by an arbitrary fiat of our own but by the God who created us for Himself. So see your life for the divine art that it is. Look and see God building His presence into your days, becoming more and more real. See all that you've been through, even the hard and horrible (II Cor. 4:16-18), as the foundations of a yet greater structure, one that will stretch on into eternity, deeper and deeper into the heart of God.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

"...boldly to the throne of grace..." (The Lord's Prayer, Part IV)

"Abba, Father, all things are possible for Thee. Take away this cup from Me. Nevertheless, not what I will, but what Thou will." Mark 14:36

"GUIDELINES! Not rules!"

One final thought on this subject: what I said in the beginning still holds now. There is no single "right way" to pray, no formula or checklist to follow, and even the best guidelines are not actual rules. Prayer is a living thing, because it is happening between two living persons, and what happens between two living persons is a paradox. On the one hand, it ought not to change. If it is a truly loving relationship, strong and deep, then it ought to last, ought to remain steady and sure like a rock. On the other hand, nothing will remain forever if it's not made new again, so it should strengthen and deepen, like a tree whose branches grow higher up and roots grow deeper down and yet the whole thing remains solidly immobile.

"I don't get fishing metaphors."

Make no mistake: regardless of your strategy, talking to God will be hard and feel clunky and frustrating at times, like any good relationship. It will last, however, and it will grow as long as there is love, and never forget: there is always love between you and God, whether you "feel" it or not. Of course, He has proven it grandly in Christ (Rom. 5:8), but He also proves it in the specific details of our lives, even in prayer where He has given us His Spirit to intercede for us (Rom. 8:26-27), saying what we cannot, finding the words we cannot. It's like that strange device that Flint Lockwood had that finally allowed his dad to articulate what he really wanted to say to his son. That is the Spirit in all our prayers. That is the love of God in all our prayers: we cannot lose, and we do not fail, no matter what or how we "feel" about it. So we strive in hope and struggle with joy, knowing that our good and great "Abba" God hears us, even and especially when we feel like we have nothing to say.

Amen.

Jon Vowell (c) 2013

The Chief End of Man (is not Man)

"In Thy presence is fullness of joy. At Thy right hand are pleasures forevermore." Ps. 16:11

"O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name forever.... O taste and see that the Lord is good." Ps. 34:3, 8

Q: What is the chief end of man?

A: Man's chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.

(Question 1, Westminster Shorter Catechism)

It ain't paint by numbers.

Nobody makes themselves, and nobody is meant for themselves. These are two truths that are continually forgotten.

Everybody believes that they must make themselves. We are all blank slates or empty vessels who must substance ourselves with identity and purpose, becoming "self-begot, self-raised" by the end of our lives. We see no essential quality or purpose for us, no created meaning or given identity. We do not see ourselves as becoming something specific (like a child growing into their clothes, or an acorn growing into an oak). Instead, we see ourselves as nothing until we make ourselves something, anything. All this and more are the assumptions of the average person, and it is a great lie. No one made themselves, and no one makes themselves, and any attempt to make ourselves will fall short of the glory we are called to.

Respect the 'stache.

People also assume that we are meant for ourselves. The Nietzschean dream has been watered-down, but it is still alive: our chief happiness is to be found in our own aggrandizement, realization, and fulfillment. We are self-centered beings to the core, even in our finer moments. Everything boils down to our own happiness, our own flourishing. All our deeds, good or bad or neutral, are built around and building towards our own fulfillment, towards the identity and meaning that we plan for ourselves. Even God Himself (if we believe in such a thing) becomes subordinate to our own ends: religion becomes a means of social grace and standing, and worship becomes a means of emotional satisfaction. How many churches are there whose congregants come together in the name of God to worship themselves?

We are not meant for ourselves. We are meant for God, to exalt Him and delight in Him. This is the identity in which we were created. This is the purpose for which God made us. We were made for God, and you ought to be instantly suspicious of any doctrines or philosophies or fashionable thoughts that make you the chief end. They are wide off the mark precisely because they are so close to it. To exalt and delight in God, to glorify and enjoy Him, is where we are fulfilled and where we flourish. He is the soil we were made to be planted in, and we will sprout in no other. This is another one of those balances that seems to prove the truth of the Christian Faith: our happiness and fulfillment are all part of the picture, but they are not the point. They are involved in the end, but they are not the end, not the "chief end". We were made for joy and pleasure, but joy and pleasure belong to God alone, for He is Good (Matt. 19:17) and His Goodness alone creates gladness (Ps. 4:6-7).

If you're happy and you know it...

This is why it is wrong not only to make our own happiness the chief end but also to banish happiness altogether as something immoral or irrelevant. God is wedded to our happiness. He is our happiness. That is the point. There is no happiness or fulfillment outside of God. To put it another way, we will never find happiness as long as we are obsessed with finding it. As soon as we fling that obsession overboard and make God our obsession, our center, our one and only love, we will find to our pleasant surprise that we are happy. Happy in Him. He who loses self-obsession will be fulfilled. He who loses his life will find it, but only if you lose it in God. All else is sinking sand. All else is nothing, for outside of God is nothingness, and everything that does not seek Him reeks of nothingness.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

Hidden (Isaiah's Doxology, Part II)

"He has clothed me with the garments of salvation; He has covered me with the robe of righteousness." Is. 61:10-11

Isaiah, continuing his jubilant doxology, now expresses the specifics of his joy in God. He first states that God has "clothed me with the garments of salvation" as well as "covered me with the robe of righteousness." There is some interesting word usage going on here in the Hebrew. The easy ones to get are "salvation" (which carries the idea of "deliverance") and "righteousness" (which carries the idea of "justification"). Isaiah is delivered and justified, i.e., he has been brought out of something and in to something, out of a state of bondage and into a state of innocence before one whom had been offended. This is all courtroom language: you were bound to some great punishment or fate but now have been released, because you were declared just before your accuser as well as the judge.

Gotcha covered.

Here's where it gets interesting. This state of deliverance and justification is described as being "clothed" in "garments" and "covered" with a "robe". In Hebrew, "clothed" literally meant "to wrap up" in, like a cocoon. "Garments" literally meant a "cloak," which carried the idea of "hiding" or "to hide". It sometimes was used to suggest treachery or deceit, an act of hiding your true intentions like a man hides under a blanket.  "Covered" and "robe" also carry these additional meanings. The idea is that this deliverance and justification was a complete covering, so complete that you disappear into it, and only the deliverance and justification are seen. Your life is hidden in it, wrapped up like a mummy, buried like in a grave.

The is the first source of Isaiah's joy: God has given to him a salvation and righteousness that is absolute and total, one which you disappear into and are completely covered, like a raindrop in the sea, like a single star in a supercluster. Your life is hid in God's salvation, wrapped up in His garments and hidden in His robe, and none can pluck you from His hand.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

Joy (Isaiah's Doxology, Part I)

"I will greatly rejoice in the Lord; my soul shall be joyful in my God...." Is. 61:10-11

The book of Isaiah is a fascinating work. It's also a large work, containing 66 chapters and covering a myriad of incidents, prophecies, blessings, and denouncements. Amidst it all, however, you can discover a singular reoccurring theme: the inevitable fall and corruption of God's people, the inevitable and preplanned judgment against them, and their inevitable and preplanned redemption. Their redemption usually centered around a messianic figure, whether it be Cyrus the Great (Is. 45:1-6, et. al.) or some future person unidentified in Isaiah's time (i.e., the main figure of the "Servant Songs").

Chapter 61 begins with a declaration made by the "Servant" (vs.1-3), a declaration Jesus would later claim He fulfilled (Luke 4:16-21). The declaration states what the "Servant" will do and how it will affect God's people. It then ends with a doxology by Isaiah speaking for those people (vs. 10-11), and in the process he provides some peculiar commentary on the exact nature of the work that God has wrought through His "Servant".

It just keeps spinning and spinning...

Isaiah (speaking for God's people) says he will "rejoice" and be "joyful" in God and what He has done. In the original language, the first word literally meant "to be bright" while the second literally meant "to spin," like a top or dancer. Now, we should all understand such notions. We have all experienced or seen someone's face "light up" over someone or something, creating a "glow" that affects everyone around them. We have also all experienced or seen moments when words fail and yet something must be done, so you shout or pump your fist or clap your hands or even spin about. You have been filled from top to bottom with ecstatic energy and you just have to release it. This is the idea Isaiah is trying to express: God has made the faces of His people light up by filling them with such immense joy that they can't sit still.

"Why so serious?"

Before I end this post (but continue the series), let me note something: joy is to be a form of evangelism (one of many). Who God actually is and what He has actually done should create an ecstatic delight in us towards Him, and that delight should be one of the things that leads people to ask for an answer to the hope that is within us. I am not referring to faked happiness. I have seen---we all have seen---and been around too many Christians to whom the "joy of the Lord" is merely trumped-up enthusiasm to be maintained at all costs. Let it be said here (if it is said nowhere else) that true Christian joy is not found in plastic smiles and voices worn like masks over dull and despairing souls. It is not found in common courtesy, naturally cheerfulness, a "sunny disposition," or even Southern hospitality. We like to think that's where joy comes from or what it looks like, but we are mistaken. Real joy, Christian joy, is something far different.

Joy comes from loving God, which comes by knowing God, which comes by trusting God. In other words, the life of faith is our channel of joy in God. We learn of His promises and truths (about Himself, ourselves, and all manner of things), we trust and believe in His promises and truths, and then we act on that trust and belief. Then, upon the moment of action or sometime thereafter, God delivers, and the reality of His presence is revealed (however briefly) to us; perhaps not in the way we expected, but still in a way impossible to misidentify. It is there, at the intersection where faith leads to action and action leads to sight, that is where God becomes real, becomes closer than a brother and more intimate than a lover; and in that knowing of Him we grow to love Him truer and deeper, and trust and believe Him more and more, and act again, and see again, and know and love again, and trust and believe again, and act once more, and see once more, and know and love once more, again and again, throughout all time and into eternity. That's where the joy comes from: "I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees You."

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

The Decadence of God (Homily 51)

"Why do you spend money for that which is not sustenance? Or labor for that which never satisfies? Harken diligently unto Me and eat that which is good and let your soul delight itself in richness." Is. 55:2

"You will show me the paths of life. In Thy presence is fullness of joy; at Thy right hand there are pleasures forevermore." Ps. 16:11

How full is your God? How rich? How vast? How measureless and strong? Every false god is a thin, pale thing, whose pleasures are paltry and whose potency is fading. The real God of the real universe is no limp thing, no phlegmatic amoeba glazing over into apathy and weariness. His stars are bright enough to burn up the sky: the light is relentless and stretches to the uttermost. His goodness is all-consuming: whither shall you flee from it (Ps. 139:7-12)? On earth, it meets you at every corner, at every turn and tilt of your life, interweaving the texture of your existence with the colors of His presence. In Heaven, you find its very home, the fountainhead bursting all boundaries, pulsing with furious joy and love. And in Hell, you find it still, for goodness does not let evil go unanswered, and it will not release until it is paid the uttermost farthing, for love is as strong as the grave (Song 8:6-7).

Ask God for eyes to see His rich love. Ask Him to open the sight of the real eyes of your real heart to see the chariots of His fire encircling you, the pillars of cloud covering you, the columns of fire guiding you. Ask your Lover-God, for He desires to prove Himself (Mal. 3:10), to show Himself strong (Jer. 33:3), to put another brick in the wall, to fill your life with evidence insurmountable, so that no mouth will be able to gainsay it, not even your own. Ask your Father-God to make you speechless before His love, to strike you silent before the ignorant wrath of the skeptic or doubter, who being in the darkness outside cannot begin to comprehend the light. Let them rage; your joy is beyond words. Beyond categorization and argument. It is neither here nor there but everywhere, in every iota in the book of your life. It is beyond summary, which is all a part of the joy: it will take an eternity to express it, to know it, to trace every thread to its final consummation, for our God is rich. Decadently rich. Full to bursting with glory divine, calling everyone who thirsts to come to His waters (Is. 55:1) and taste and see that He is good (Ps. 34:8). Amen.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

Homily 41: On Joy and Salvation (as preached by an orthodox rebel)

"Therefore with joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of salvation...." Is. 12:3

"Restore unto me the joy of Thy salvation...." Ps. 51:12

Salvation is meant to be a source of joy, because it brings us into intimate communion with God (John 17:1-3), who is the source of all joy (Ps. 16:11). This is significant for at least two reasons. The first is the fact that we are saved to something and not just from something. It is a mark of great failure against the American church that that fact is missed. Much of the nation views salvation as only an escape from Hell. They may be grateful for the escape, but after that it means nothing to them. It is a shame, a terrible shame, for the truth is that we are also saved to God: from unendurable sorrow to unending joy at its fullest. If salvation was more than just avoiding punishment, if it was also a matter of finding real joy, the Source and Person of real joy, then maybe we would have more to offer our country than either fire escapes or superficial notions about their "best life now."

The second significant thing is that our joy has a source, an object from which it receives its substance and strength, i.e., God Himself. This is the single yet chasmic difference between joy and happiness. Both are a general sense of inward goodness and peace, and both find their source in some object outside of the self: circumstances, events, persons, things, etc. The difference is that the objects of happiness are ephemeral while the objects of joy are sempiternal. The former's fade while the latter's last. That is why we find joy to be so much stronger than happiness: its object is unshaken and undimmed by the tremors of the world. So we see that not only is our salvation to be a source of joy and not just escape, it also will never fade because its object will never fail, for its object is God. Preach that to the nation, and they may not believe you, but at least they will have heard something worth believing.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2012

The Coward (The Six Shades of Sin, Part V)

"Woe unto them that are wise in their own eyes and prudent in their own sight!" Is. 5:21

You would not immediately think that pride is so very much like fear, but it is. Pride is a gnawing insecurity, a nagging doubt like a splinter in the mind. It covers your whole world in a deep darkness, with the unknown rising like walls around you. Panic sets in easily, and from panic comes the desire to end the panic, to disperse the darkness. Fear is the soil in which pride will bloom, for fear desires control, and what else is pride but the state of believing that you are in control: of your circumstances, your troubles, and other people's circumstances and troubles? The prideful are schemers and manipulators, puppet masters and control freaks, but they are not strong or brave. They think that they are strong and brave, but they are not. The prideful man or woman is the coward locked nine doors deep behind the infinite webbing of their cobweb castle. They have contingencies for every variable and defenses for every threat, not because they are strong and brave, but because they are weak and fearful and know it. Far behind that sneering veneer of smug self-sufficiency lies the timid weakling who dares not let anything out of their control. They declare themselves to be the wisest and the most prudent because they must be the wisest and the most prudent, for planning is everything with them, and without their precious little plans the wildness of real life (and the real God) will come crashing in on them, and they fear that they will not survive the collision.

The substance of real things is in paradox, and here we find another: whereas the "strength" and "bravery" of the prideful is all smoke and mirrors, so the truly brave and strong may seem to be weaklings (or at the very least fools). They have no plan, or at least no thoughts of a full-proof plan. They have no delusions of grand schemes to order all things, nor are they obsessed with the poisonous notion that they can control their circumstances. Consequently, they neither desire nor seek domination: not of their surroundings, or lives, or the surroundings and lives of others. They acknowledge their own smallness before all things and have accepted it. They also acknowledge the reality of things greater than they and thus submit to that fact. They cannot change their birth, nor whom they meet, or what comes in a day, or any of the endless surprises of ordinary life, and they do not attempt to change them.

As pride is the product of fear, so only humility can produce bravery. If you every think yourself to be greater than your circumstances, you will become controlling rather than brave, digging yourself deeper and farther away from real things. However, the instant that you acknowledge (and take joy in) your own smallness, you realize that fear profits you nothing, for it can neither add one cubit to your stature nor save you. No man takes his life into his own hands, for our lives belong to the hand of someone greater, and herein lies one of the secret beauties of Christianity. Many a pagan culture believed in the smallness of their own lives, and although it made life beautiful in a sense, it was a beautiful tragedy, full of random chaos and ending in death. For the Christian, however, life is a comedy, the deep comedy of God, and it is on that joyous rock that we live and move and have our being. Humility is not found in bowing down before the inevitable, impersonal mutability of all things but rather in resting in the love of the personal, immutable God of all things. There can be great bravery in acknowledging your own smallness; there can also be great despair. But there can be nothing but a bountiful supply of bravery and joy for those who acknowledge their smallness before the God who loves them and is for them (Rom. 8:31-39). It is the way of Christ, who, being God, made Himself small, humbling Himself before the will of His Father; and in the strength of that fundamental humility, He became obedient unto death, even death on a cross (Phil. 2:5-8), the cross that only the brave can bear (Matt. 16:24-25).

-Jon Vowell (c) 2012

Further Up / Further In (a song by Current Orthodox Rebels)

Think of this as Homily 40 in song form:

Homily 39: On Charity and Giving (as preached by an orthodox rebel)

"As every man purposes in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly or out of compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver." II Cor. 9:7

Paul has just finished complimenting the Corinthians on their naturally charitable spirit, and he instructs them to be prepared to demonstrate their charity to some visiting Christians so that his "boasting" will not be "in vain" (vs. 1-5). Then he lays down some precedents about giving, two negative and one positive. The first negative is "λυπης", which is translated "grudgingly". The word means to do an action that causes grief or pain and thus results in annoyance or sour reluctance to do said action. Paul discourages giving based on such gloomy foundations. The second negative is "αναγκη", which is translated "compulsion". The word means to do an action out of constraint or imposition, whether by the law, duty, threat, or mere circumstance. Paul also discourages this giving out of dutiful necessity. The lone positive is "ίλαρος", which is translated "cheerful". The word means to do an action solely on the basis of joy and good cheer. It is this basis for giving that Paul encourages, and it suggests a very astounding thought: if we are to have true charity, then we must have true joy first.

It is a shame that "ίλαρος" gets translated as "cheerful," because the word today has more bad than good connotations. The exact image we generate in our heads is not completely certain, but I image that we picture some goofy-grinned imbecile who is too stupid to realize how horrible the world really is. "Cheer up" is often considered a cheap sentiment to hurting hearts, and to be known as "cheery" can be considered a backhanded compliment. Likewise, a "cheerful giver" seems highly unattractive, sounding like code for doing your duty while faking enjoyment. It is unfortunate, however, that it is unattractive, because it ought to be the most attractive thing. God is not looking for smarmy smiles  and syrupy souls (whether they be sincere or not). What He is looking for, what He asks for and loves, and He alone can give, is joy: abiding, unshakeable joy in God and His goodness and great love that he has demonstrated for us in Christ (Ps. 43:3-5; Ps. 100:1-5; Rom. 5:6-8).

God is not looking for "cheery" givers but joyous givers, givers saturated in the joy of the Lord, joy in His unbreakable promises and his unstoppable power to keep them in Christ (II Cor. 1:19-21; II Pet. 1:2-4). Thus comes the astounding part (and how we miss it today!): If you want to be more giving, more charitable to others (in whatever way), then do not ask God for money or means or a stronger sense of duty. Rather, ask Him for joy, joy unspeakable in your great God. Ask Him to fill your cup to the brim with joy, to fill your whole soul with its enduring substance. Ask Him for joy, and charity cannot help but follow, for joy is the only foundation for charity, even the very charity of God (Rom. 5:8; Heb. 12:2).

-Jon Vowell (c) 2012

Homily 32: Solitary Confinement (as preached by an orthodox rebel)

"How doth the city sit solitary that was full of people! [...] Jerusalem hath grievously sinned; therefore, she has become a wanderer." Lam. 1:1a, 8a

There is something isolating and destabilizing about sin. At bottom, it is attempted independence from God, attempting to set up your own will as central and dominate. Such an action has only one result: not independence from God (for every breath you take belies your dependence), but rather independence from all else. To be the god of your own universe is to be alone. When all else and everyone else live to serve your ends and means, they all become dust in your mouth and shadows to your eyes. The Fall infected us with a perpetual madness that tells us that rebellion against God brings freedom. It does not. It only brings a cage whose iron bars cut us off from the land of the living. The wages of sin is death (Rom. 6:23), for sin steals all life, leaving you alone in the deathly void. Furthermore, the more you rebel, the more you actually begin to enjoy the cold silence of your self-erected dungeon, and soon its doors will be locked from the inside rather than the out.

God is the only God, and Jesus is the only Lord. That is not an arbitrary truth or assignment; it is the very way that the universe is made (Ps. 24:1-2; Col. 1:15-17). To submit to that great order is not weakness or impotence. It is the only way to find your strength, your song, your place in the Dance; for all that truly lives dances to the love song of God's will, by which the stars sing and worlds whirl. Those who refuse to partake in the triumph song of Life fancy themselves strong, but they are weak and dying. They are poor, miserable, and blind. They have not the strength of God's joy nor the power of His life, and all that they can do is sit in the dark by themselves and sneer.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2011

"When you pray...." Homily on the Lord's Prayer, Part 3: Our Place (as preached by an orthodox rebel)

"...Thy will be done...." Luke 11:2b KJV

"We will not fear, for God hath willed

His truth to triumph through us." -Martin Luther

When we hallow the name of God, we are acknowledging his place as Creator: His strength, sovereignty, and sufficiency. When we hallow the will of God, we are acknowledging our place as creature: our submission,  surrender, and service. He is Lord, and we are not. It is His purposes that are being fulfilled, not our own paltry ones. We are a purposeful part of His plan; He is not a peripheral part of ours. God has designed a great scheme and order wherein we have a place built for us, a place that we have been built for. Our joy is only found in that place, in His plan, in His will. This is not tyrannical enslavement and slavish duty; this is the joy of all living things, i.e., to finally find where they belong, within the great unfolding will of their Father and Creator.

When you pray, make your request known unto God. Ask what you will, but never forget Who is over all. Remember another of our Lord's prayers (Luke 22:42): He made His heart's desire known to His Father and then concluded, "Nevertheless, not my will but thine be done." This is not about divine indifference, as though God cared nothing for us or take no notice of our lives; this is about us reaching that "nevertheless". We are to come before our good and gracious Father and make known to Him the things that truly press against our hearts, and then we are to acknowledge God's place above them all. That is not resignation; that is hope. It is joy unspeakable to know that God not only knows what you fear and desire but also is above all your fears and desires. He will bring to pass what He will, and what He wills is all for our good (Jer. 29:11; Rom. 8:28) and His glory (Ps. 46:10). There is no dreariness in this, only love and life more abundant.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2011