What I've Learned in Theology 2

Hello,

The past five blogs have come as assignments from a class in my school called Theology 2: Theology in Life. The desire of which, is that we might understand how to apply theology in our day to day lives. A very reasonably and unfortunately often unapplied principle. For our final assignment we were to creatively express everything we have learned over the class. Thus I wrote this poem, because poetry when your the right mood, can be very very fun.

Sincerely,
Colby Holloway

This class I've taken has taken me on a journey,

one in which there was no small amount of self discovery.

Covered up by a desire to be confident in what I know

I found a plethora of information hidden in the periphery.

You see when I peal back the layers and reveal my reality

one will find a large amount of neutrality.

A fear of moving into the scary and unforgiving snow

that is life application in the face of theology.

Oh that life was simply sitting and thinking

about God and that which is linking

our pitiful human existence

to a God whose love for us is not small inkling.

But it’s not.

Instead we are asked to apply that knowledge

in this innovative and inspiring college,

And take matters into our own hands

figuring out God’s plans

for the lives he bought.

So the following is the lessons learned

in this semester of applying the “B" we’ve earned.

(For those who don’t know these classes are pass or fail

so “B’s” are the highest grade we can nail)

First I learned the art of Kenosis,

allowing or forcing oneself to “Be emptied.”

The prognosis?

Success, if success is learning that which I envied.

Which some would say is a better lesson to take with me

if I seek to serve God whole heartedly.

Next I released some bitterness

as well as asked for forgiveness.

In this lesson I discovered a new awareness

of the hurts I caused others through my selfishness,

as well as learning, that trying in earnest

doesn't always guarantee others will be honest.

A tricky request came as my next assignment.

To carry a two-by two foot cross in perfect alignment

with my every step out my front door.

I must admit it took much to ignore

the desire to leave that cross at the door,

but in the end what I wanted more

was to find out how God works

when your getting a lot of smirks.

It turns out that he works in mysterious ways

and the reality is that if I did anything of signifiCance

than it did little to phase

the judge that comes into work name Vance.

There was not great divine romance,

just a silly boy and many a chance

to speak of what it means to carry the cross

to my co-workers, friends, and even my boss.

Carrying on I was thus to face my fear,

and varying on the time of year

my fears are often quite hard to see

try then to imagine upon receiving this assignment my sarcastic glee.

However, it turned out to be very beneficial

Never have I had such a dream that was so official,

in terms of being an example of my bodies response to

sin and the weight of fear being lifted from you.

Indeed the assignment gave me dreams of flying

Need more? You think I was lying?

Thrice I lifted off in my dream,

concise but brilliant did it seem.

The fear and lies I had been believing,

demanding an answer to their questioning,

was if when someday I undoubtedly fail,

in a matter in which discretion is of no avail.

would everything I’ve worked for,

my reputation and so much much more,

all just fade to lore ,

think all the gore!

“Lord” I cried "tell me that’s not what’s in store

I don’t wanna be the devils whore."

But God did fell my fears

“This life, is not about you my dear.”

So tenderly and quietly written

Throughout my dream of floating through heaven.

So Finally, I came to the final blog.

A request that I visit a church not my own

that did worship that might include a moan,

or some dancing and prancing

as people declared to God words romancing.

Indeed it was an assignment to see through the smog

The smog being a result of years of breeding in a spiritual climate

of intelligence and scriptural refinement,

that did not leave a lot of room for spirituality,

that was not clearly defined and seen biblically.

Anything that was not especially clear 

was thus thrown out in fear

that the devil was lurking near

to the hearts that just wanted some beer.

There was certainly an attitude I needed to fix

before I could even enter into their mix,

but God is merciful and loving

and thus removed the pride and shaming.

And so I entered into a beautiful worship with my brothers and sisters,

most of whom I’d never met but could sense were practitioners

of a love for God would never fade

until in the grave they were laid.

So there you go.

That’s the jest of what you wanted to know.

Everything I learned in a semester of yearning

to understand how to make my application of theology grow.

Expectations and Realities: Visiting a "Charismatic" Church

BEFORE

I was given the assignment this week of visiting a church I've never attended before. I've always grown up in a Christ and Bible focused church. There was little talk about the judgement and expectations of the Father and little talk about the movement of the Holy Spirit. Most of what was taught was focused on what Christ had done for us and how the bible teaches us to live in response to that. Now we were supposed to visit a new church and write a response by tonight, but I was unable to attend any service due to the fact I was away all weekend. Therefore, rather than doing nothing, I figured I would write down my expectations now and then respond with the reality of the experience afterwards. I'm going to be attending what is considered a "charismatic" church. A church that is heavily focused on the Holy Spirit and it's movement. My hopes are high! I'm not sure how radical this church will be, but I'm hoping for a church that is closer to an extreme radicalism than a moderate one. I'm hoping someone will be waving a flag with a cross on it. I'm hoping there will be some demonstration that asks the Holy Spirit to do something controversial like "slaying" someone in the spirit, or something really radical like a divine on the spot healing. I'm hoping to be pushed out of my comfort zone and to not regret it. At a minimum I want it to be different. My fear (fearing simple disappointment from a lack of radicalism) is that I won't find it very different from my own church experience. I have very high expectations and I hope the experience at least mildly touches on them. I suppose I should explain why I hope for such radicalism. To be perfectly candid, I want these things to happen for my own joy and amusement and to provide a case study. I would love to watch these radical events happen and joke about them with a friend, discussing whether we think it is genuine or forced. Why? Because that is simply who I am and an avenue I find amusement in. However, in a more politically correct answer, I would also like to use the service as a case study to better understand more charismatic churches. Obviously it won't be enough to even begin discussing the individual church, let alone the denomination, or the category of church, but it is a start. I am mostly looking for an experience to wet my pallet and begin my understand, this is why I am so excited to visit the church.

AFTER

In retrospect much of my before section was written with an air of arrogance and superiority. It wasn't intentional but it's there and I'll own it. I certainly am a product of my upbringing and tend to view the way I've done things, while not perfect, as about as close as one can get. This was an experience to challenge my perception on what church should look like as well as possibly embracing practices of other followers of Christ. The whole time the words of my mentor echoed through my head. "Let's just be for people." A phrase he often mentions when talking about how caught up we get in minor differences. The phrase echoes the idea of unity and love amongst believers so oft talked about and yet so rarely seen. I went into this ready to accept what I saw, but also allowing myself to think about and challenge it. To ponder what they did well or better than my own church, but then allow myself to question what I enjoyed more in my own church. My experience actually started a bit earlier than Sunday morning service. Over the last two years a group of older twenty year olds had been working together to organize city wide worship services every other month. On Friday night I headed over to one of these with some friends. The worship was loud, passionate and enveloping as a group of around two-hundred college students from tens of different churches around the city met together to praise our uniting God. About half way through the worship a noise came out of the crowd, it was a long slew of unintelligible words. To be perfectly honest it sounds like an Arabian woman attempting to yodel (I mean no disrespect by this statement, it simply is what it sounded like). This proceeded for a good 3 to 5 minutes. At first I was simply taken off guard and thought, "She's speaking in tongues...huh...cool?" As it continued I asked God, "Are you in this? Is this genuine?" I didn't hear any clear answer, but I did ask "Is is edifying the body of believers?" I didn't think so. It was loud, some people were giggling and it lasted through the middle of a song transition. From that point on I felt far more disconnected from the worship and had to spend a great deal more time praying that God would make me receptive to His presence and worshiping him. The following Sunday I went to a local charismatic church. I had heard that this one was considered the most charismatic in the city and therefore it was the one I chose to attend. For brevities sake I won't comment on every thought about everything I experienced there, instead I'll simply point out what I've saw. I walked in and was greeted and left alone to wonder into a large sanctuary. I saw some free snacks and grabbed those. There was a clutter of musical equipment on the stage and the podium was on a small rise just in front of the stage. It smelled bad, like smoke and sweat, and I couldn't help thinking that it was a good sign, it meant they were hopefully reaching people that needed it. Worship began and freedom in worship was expressed. Some sat, some stood, some danced in the corners. A woman waved flags in the back, occasionally waving them around someone while praying for them. A couple people laid hands on others and prayed for healing. The band played a variety of songs whose topics leaned towards longing for and defining the characteristics of God. Their announcements were a video made by two high school students and while juvenile in nature, were certainly memorable. Two people came to an speaker during worship with "words" of encouragement for the congregation. The pastor spoke a message that was long, somewhat unorganized, and heavily practically based. The pastor used scripture as examples but not as strong foundations for the points he was making. The congregations would say things like, "Good one pastor." and "mhmm yes thats true." and in the bathroom someone informed me that on a particularly good sermon every once in a couple of years someone would throw a shoe at the pastor, because it was so good. We were asked to lay hands on our neighbors and pray for them at two different points and the service ended up being about an hour and forty-five minutes. 

The service was a good experience. I was never tempted to laugh at the people dancing or waving flags, (though one older lady was getting fairly hips-y with her moves) it just seemed as though they were genuinely just trying to express a worship of God. Though I questioned the distracting nature of the worship and whether it was edifying, I never felt it was a bad thing. I noticed the sermon was far more based on experience of the pastor than on scripture, it was a clearer distinction between preaching and teaching than I'd seen in most churches. He was a preacher, guiding his flock the best he knew how, not a teacher explaining every detail of a specific passage. They spoke a great deal about the Spirit, the presence of supernatural powers, and combating those in Christ's name, but not giving them more credit or power than they deserved. Finally, it felt far more intimate of a church than I had been in in a long time. It was about the same size as the church I grew up in and so the size seemed fitting and I understood the little dynamics like the pastor allowing someone he knows and trusts to raise a hand and ask a question about an announcement. It was a good place, and while it would take some getting used to, I would be perfectly at home attending there, based on my one experience. There was no doubt of the intimacy and realness of their relationships with Christ and I believe they are doing as they feel best to make him known in their community. In conclusion, the events I saw over the last week fit everything I had hoped for. I was curious what my response would be to these events and I'm not to surprised. Years of thinking about things like tongues, dancing in worship, flag waving ect. allowed me to not be thrown into confusion by their occurrence but understand their place and allow me to reflect on their effect on the atmosphere of the church. I never felt a need to laugh at what was different because I understood it's place in grande scheme and the heart of the people doing it. I most likely would never intentionally implement any of the things I saw this weekend into a church I was pastoring, but I also don't think I would try to stop them if they were happening. People were worshiping God in a tangible way, sometimes it was distracting, but so is standing next to a church choir member who feels the need to belt out every line of every song, and we don't kick them out. So in short, Christ is bigger than our little church differences. The charismatic churches know how to better get in touch with an emotional aspect of our faith, but they also need solid scripture based churches to make sure that their oft experienced based opinions line up with what the scripture truly teaches. This is unity in the gospel and a demonstration of the fact that there is only one Church.

Dreams of Freedom

When asked what lies I was buying into, I struggled to find an answer. Only when we are faced with the truth can we see the lies, but the best lies are disguised as truth. 2 Corinthians 11:14 says, "Satan disguises himself as an angel of light." so why would I not expect the lies he uses to be any less difficult to spot. As I went through a list of truth statements, about who the bible told me I was, I found it hard to find any that specifically resonated with me. There wasn't one that stood out above the rest or that I found hard to believe. I understood and really felt that every thing I read was how I viewed myself or at least I was intentional about trying to see myself more that way. However as I sat on in class and pondered something completely different a word popped into my head. Fear. A fear that had long been disguised as a desire to be seen as capable, excellent, gifted, specifically in the art of social interaction. This was not confined to one on one interactions but included, public speaking, writing, small group discussion, letters and any other form of communication. I had viewed it as a desire that people would see that I was a gifted communicator, and it is a desire, but overtime it manifested as a fear that people would think I was not particularly good at speaking and therefore ought not to speak. That my thoughts would be unheard and my opinions unvalued.

I think it was a highly successful technique of the devil to twist a great deal of compliments and encouragements into a fear. You see I hadn't always been particularly gifted at speaking or writing. Growing up I was awkward in conversation, often feeling as though I couldn't hold my own side of the conversation. I felt guilty that (in my eyes) the other person had to cater to my social ineptitude. As I grew up I became increasingly better at speaking and writing, as I understood the rules, techniques, and forms for each format. As I continued to develop as a communicator I began getting encouraged that communication was something I was particularly good at, and that I could convey ideas in an effective and interesting manner. I wanted these compliments to be true, I clung to them and desired to become an even more effective communicator. As I began to internalize these compliments and treat them as truth I began to be less motivated by becoming a great communicator and instead became motivated by convincing others that I was a great communicator. My motivation switched from a good desire to become better to a unhealthy desire to prove that I was good. The confrontation to this lie was for me to bask in the truth that in the end the Holy Spirit is at the root of every changed life. I could be the best communicator in the world and write books that sold billions of copies and at the end of the day if the Holy Spirit was not moving I wouldn't help a single person. At the same time I could be incapable of saying anything intelligible and if the Holy Spirit was active in that it could revolutionize the world. The freedom came when I confronted that lie with the truth that I don't ever have to worry about changing the world or even a single person, that is the Spirits job and only He can do it. All I have to do is give the message to the best of my ability and let the Spirit work.

When this came to me it took me little time to process or confirm. The light of truth shone in on my crap and all my senses were awakened. The metaphorical sight and smell wreaked of a real issue at hand but the truth held the solution. My assignment was to read a list of attributes I was through Christ every night and morning and to look at a card we were to carry with us when ever the lie we felt was awakened. But my change came the first night. I pondered this discovery the night after class, closed my little eye lids, and fell fast asleep. That night I had a dream I got to go flying in three different manners. The first time I was in a hot air balloon with a group of friends, it was safe, slow and fun. How freeing floating through the air truly is, not confined by the chains of gravity. The second time I had to fight a man who had on his back the balloon part of the hot air balloon. Once defeated (he stood no chance) the watching police officer said that I could have the guys balloon as a reward. This seemed fair to me and I was dying to try it. I slipped it on and away I went, up out of the city I was in, floating far away fast with little to no control. I thought in the dream, "this should be really scary, 'cause I have no control...but I'm not afraid." With a big grin I drifted off to the same landing sight I landed the hot air balloon at and said hi to my friend's father whose backyard the site happened to be. The final time I found myself high up on a mountain overlooking a lush green valley, this time I was paragliding. I found myself leaping off the mountain with nothing but my glider and the backpack it was attached to. I watched the children playing below as I glided this time with great speed and agility over the fields. This ride ought to have been the scariest yet and all the while I felt nothing but great joy and peace.

Now I'm not one to interpret dreams. I don't think that many of my dreams have much to any meaning apart from usually manifesting some aspect of what I've been thinking about. However, when it is a manifestation of what I have been thinking about it, the meaning is usually pretty obvious to me. The key to me is always what I remember thinking in the dream. "This should be scary...but I'm not a afraid." The second I stopped trying to forget the dream and was able to really think about it I knew what the dream was a manifestation of. Freedom. There are somethings in life we realize and then have to work for years to find freedom from. In others the freedom comes with simply realizing the issue. As I realized I had this fear of seeming incompetent in social settings and confronted that fear with the truth of my role in the grand scheme I found freedom and my unconscious mind knew it. So whether I'm speaking in front of 50,000 or 5 I know my role and can find freedom in that.

Of course this doesn't mean I won't be incredibly nervous, but as I lean into this truth I know the reality of my part in life will set in. Allowing me to slowly but surely drift into the background and stop trying to hog God's stage.

Uncertain Ramblings

I like to write very succinctly. I often write long lines of description, with the intent that the reader will understand both the internal dialogue occurring and the external environment in which it occurred. Whether or not I succeed at this I'm not sure, but I know that concise description and precise diction are at least ideals I strive for in my writing. That being said, this time I don't feel like I can fulfill those hopes and expectation placed on myself. Sometimes I just need to ramble on. The reason being that sometimes I'm forced to write before I'm sure my own thoughts on what I need to write on. So I hope that through throwing my disjointed and still forming thoughts on paper (or an electronic screen) that I might come to some conclusion.

This past week I was assigned the task of making a cross at least 2 ft. tall and then carrying it with me all week, everywhere I went. The reason we were supposed to do this? As far as I could tell it was to see what would happen if we took Matthew 16:24 literally for a week and actually bore our crosses daily. Would God work tremendous miracles, would people be drawn, would we get persecuted, or would we just get a lot awkward looks and maybe a few questions on it? Well it turned out it was the final one, not much happened when carrying my cross around. Unlike some others in my class I did get a few questions about it from strangers. One wanted to know what kind of wood I used, one wanted to know if the school I said had assigned this assignment was the local community college (which made me laugh. The public education system is usually fairly weary of religious expression), and one wanted to know if it was a wooden sword. Not the most thought provoking questions. In the end, the week came and went and nothing much happened.

Now don't get me wrong, I had plenty of funny random experiences because of it. One day my car wouldn't start so I ended up having to run ten minutes to work through downtown Salem in jeans, a t-shirt and carrying my cross. That little adventure got me a, "Don't drop it!" and a, "Well, would ya lookie there!" yelled at or about me. Another day I had an opportunity to go shooting and me and two other students got to walk in store to buy ammo for the gun, all of us holding crosses. Needless to say the woman asked for identification and I'm pretty sure she is still scanning the news to see if there has been a radical christian shooting incident. I also had several good conversations with Ex-Christian co-workers about the relevance of the cross, our societies discomfort with overt religious symbolism, and the possible existence of nothingness. It also led to a conversation in which I had to joy of telling a co-worker that I did not fear death, after he asked on the topic, with the reasoning being, "It helps when you think you're going to heaven."

So plenty happened, but nothing extreme. In the end when asked about my thoughts on bearing my cross by an acquaintance my conclusion was, "Mildly inconvenient." My main concern became the inconvenience of carrying another item around with me and having another hand filled. In the end I came to a point of simple uncertainty. With no directly influential conversations coming out of my cross experience and no strong persecution (Except for one trucker who yelled something out his window but I couldn't tell what he said...so it doesn't really count) or any other miraculous experience I simply became uncertain about the whole experience. One person told me that the Cross represents death and every time I carried it I was supposed to be dying to myself...but I never really felt like it made me die to self. Another person told me it was supposed to make me remember Christ constantly, but in the end I was usually more focused on how many flips I could get my cross to do while throwing it up and catching it, or how much I did or did not look like I was carrying a wooden sword. This whole cross experience came in a time of uncertainty as well. I had thought that I had felt the Holy Spirit telling me that by October I would have or at least know of a new job I going to be going into...but October 1st came and went and nothing happened. So in this time of realizing that apparently I'm not very good at discerning the Holy Spirit's voice in my life, I was again faced with a task that yielded uncertain results.

Therefore, my conclusion is to trust God. God knows what is going on and if I needed to know something I'm sure He would make it clear. I don't know how carrying my cross effected others. Maybe somebody was encouraged, convicted, challenged, or given peace through seeing me with the cross. Maybe my conversations with my co-workers will be used to unforeseen effects. Maybe something miraculous will happen, maybe not. I have no idea either way, but I trust God is at work. If there is one thing I realized about carrying my cross it is that, while it did feel like all eyes were on me, it also gave me a great deal of confidence. The cross is powerful, it is the symbol God chose to save the world through. Carrying the cross made me realize or maybe just remember how powerful it is, and as a Christian I am carrying a great weapon to slay the enemy. A demon-cleaver in it's own right. "All authority in Heaven and Earth has been given to [Christ], (Matt. 28:18)." It's time to remember we have been saved by the one with the power over everything and that we have been given access to Him. Therefore we should not fear. That is what I learned this week. We have been given access to great power, and through the uncertain times, when we know not what is happening or why, we do know that the one with all authority has saved us. So what should we fear other than God himself?

Forced Introspection and Ducks

There are few better feelings in life than being able to release bitterness and truly forgive someone, or on the flip-side to truly be able to receive forgiveness when we know we’re in the wrong. This week I was given a rose and a stone. The rose, which was quickly destroyed by my boyish behaviors, was supposed to be a reminder to ask someone for forgiveness this week. The stone, which was not as easily destroyed, was to remind me to forgive someone who had wronged me. I knew immediately whom I needed to forgive and ask forgiveness from.

The rose came first. I knew I had wronged one of my close friends often over the past few months. As I became more comfortable in my situation in life I became a much more sarcastic and mocking person. I was no longer dependent on this friend’s presence to be able to feel accepted in my community and so like an old toy I started viewing the friendship with a level of apathy. I put little effort into building him up and became quick to speak whatever came to my mind, and what came to my mind were often words that made me laugh at the expense of my friend. In short I stopped demonstrating any level of friendship, love or respect. I knew that I was becoming this way but I had little motivation to do the day-by-day work that would be required to start repairing the relationship. A great deal of distance grew between us and we talked sparingly. When this mission was given I accepted the challenge. Asking for forgiveness was one part of this task, but there was a lot more work involved. I knew I could only expect to receive that forgiveness if I actually started to make tangible changes. Respecting this person and caring about them were my starting points. I asked the friend if we could talk and made it clear that it would be a discussion in which I admitted my faults and just simply asked for forgiveness. I wanted to do everything I could to demonstrate that I was trying to respect them and their feelings in this simple act. I made sure that we were meeting at a time that worked well for them, and in an environment they would be most comfortable at. We ended up going for a walk the next day. I opened up and was honest about all my faults in the relationship, owning my action and words. Finally, I admitted that which I was most ashamed up. I had talked behind this persons back, venting frustration and relaying conversations I had no right to tell others about. I had been a terrible friend and an even worse confidante. I made it clear that I did not expect immediate forgiveness, that this would probably take time to heal, and I did not get forgiveness. However, we were able to land on a common understanding and discuss how to move forward from here. I understand that now the real work begins, demonstrating true repentance and really working toward a healthy and respectful friendship.

The rock came second. My dear father was embodied in this rock. I did not want the rock to represent my father; I like to think my father and I are on great terms. He calls me about once every two weeks to a month and we chat for about twenty minutes and then he tells me he is proud of me and he loves me. Some people might view this as far to little communication, others might see this as a ton of communication. Compared to my other siblings it’s about two weeks more often than my sister and infinitely more than my brother who refuses to speak to him. Regardless of how you feel towards it, I have typically felt good about it, and when someone just tells you they love you, their proud of you and sometimes even that I’m the perfect child, there is little to complain about. However, too much of anything is a bad thing. My dad’s words of affirmation did little to challenge me to be greater or to take risks. I should back up and say that my parents got divorced when I was in the third grade and while I saw my father every other weekend at first, it simply was not the same as living with someone. Without my father around and an older brother who was oft moody and quiet I was left with no one to really challenge me to be risky. The kids that would have pushed me to do this were seen as “bad influences” in my own eyes so I strayed away from them. I realized, as I walked with my rock the Willamette River at sunset after work, that I have lived a very safe life. I have never had a girlfriend mostly because I had never thought the risk of ruining a friendship or having a bad breakup were worth it. I’ve never committed to any activity that was not spiritually related in part because it all would be pointless in the end but mostly because I did not want to commit time into something that might not pan out in the end. Don't get me wrong I’ve committed a lot of time to things that have been pointless but I have taken few risks where significant time, money or emotions had potential of being “wasted” or “ruined.” It hasn’t been a life ruled by fear, it has been a life of very calculated risks, risks that are so calculated for success that I had little to no chance of failure. My father never was around to push me to try new and potentially scary experiences and risks, so I ended up living a very safe life. For forgiveness to be reached I needed to both understand this, realize that this has damaged me and then forgive my father for doing so.

As I walked down a small dock onto the quiet quaint river, I pondered how to release my rock of forgiveness. I wanted it to seem especially epic, should I triumphantly thrust it into the river or with tears struggle to let it go? I thought about this as I took a seat on the dock, feeling a little out of place surrounded by families with small children and couples enjoying the last fleeting glimpses of sunlight. As I sat there a mother and two kids strolled past me with a bag of cheap white bread. I watched as they began throwing the crumbs off the left side of the dock into the river, drawing a crowd of eager ducks. As I watched, I continued my debate in my head about how to seem really introspective and creative in the way I disposed of my rock. As I sat there I noticed there was one duck on the right side of the dock watching others eat the crumbs. It looked like it clearly wanted some but it was unwilling to go over to the other side. I figured this duck would be the perfect subject to personify as myself. You see my whole life I had watched others engage in these potentially good risks but I had always been either too proud or scared to engage myself. I would sit and watch, giving a, “tsk tsk” when the risk led to ruin and feeling jealous when they panned out, all the while asking, “When will it be my turn?” Around this far into my thoughts, the small boy turned and declared, “Come on! There is plenty for everyone!” as he tossed some bread to the lone duck. “There,” I thought, “is the invitation.” God is willing to provide these good things if I’m just willing to actually risk something, put some chips on the line, and go for it. I felt that I had forced the metaphor far enough and so with little to no ceremony and a surprisingly loud “plump” I dropped my rock into the river, grinning to myself as the river splashed me back. In the end the rock exercise became much less about forgiving my father than it was a commitment to take healthy risks and truly pursue them fully, knowing that it is only through great risks that great things are obtained.

So in the end I find myself reflecting on the beginning. There are few things that are more satisfying than deep forgiveness, given or received. I found neither of these feelings in my brief journey, but what I did find was a few practical steps to start living a healthier life. And I will take practical steps toward healthiness over fleeting feelings any day.

Kenosis

Kenosis is the Greek verb, "To Empty." Recently a professor sent me from class with the task of going out in the world and having a kenosis experience, an emptying experience. I was to find some way to empty myself of possessions with the intended result being to bless someone with a greater understanding of Christ's emptying seen in Philippians 2:5-12. I spent time in prayer, seeking God's will and asking exactly what I was to give up. What was I holding unto closer than God, holding in love and reverence perhaps even higher than God. It took very little time for me to hear my answer. It was not stated in the form of a question, it was a fact. "You are going to give up you jacket tomorrow."

Now maybe your thinking I got an easy out. "Giving away your jacket? That's not bad, at least it isn't your laptop, or your car, or your ect." While I was very grateful I didn't have to give away my car or computer, I was equally disappointed I did have to give away my jacket. You see to me jackets are everything. They provide the exterior of your outfit, after your face they are the first thing people notice. While I don't care too much about most of my wardrobe I do care a great deal about my jackets. A good jacket on a cold day is better than a friend in my book. In fact I've often worn jackets on sweltering hot days just because I would rather someone see me in the jacket than in whatever t-shirt I'm wearing. Not only was I being asked to give up my favorite category of clothing items, I was being asked to give up my newest jacket. You see I was wearing my nice week old pine green jacket recently purchased for me by my mother on a trip home. It was new, it was semi-sentimental, and it was getting me a lot of complements. So I pondered, maybe I should just wear a different jacket tomorrow, maybe I should not wear a jacket because it sure is hot out there, maybe I'm miss hearing God. However, I knew that any action other than wearing my green jacket the next day would be a clear sign of disobedience. So it was settled.

As I threw my jacket on the next day I sent up a second quick prayer, "Am I really going to have to give away this jacket today?" I asked, in an honestly pathetic and materialistic manner. The answer, "No." Well now I was real confused, I didn't know if I was simply talking to myself or if I was hearing what I wanted to hear. I struck out for work and as I walked from my parking spot to the little bakery that pays my bills I was ready at every alley way and every corner for the man that would want my jacket. It was hot though, it was one of those sweltering hot days that I should not have been wearing a jacket on and there wasn't a needy soul in sight. I made it, worked my shift, headed back to my car and all the time never saw anybody that needed my jacket. I was asking about everyone on the street in my head, "that person?" "no" "that person over there?" "no" "well what about that guy?" "no." I never once felt even a nudge that somebody was supposed to have my jacket. This really threw me for a loop. I had been certain some homeless man freezing half to death was gonna need my jacket to see the wonders and generosity of Christ through me and he would turn his life around and become the most dramatic ugly duckling story to ever hit the front pages of "Christians Weekly." But there was no one.

At this point I settled that I could either go straight home and put this whole matter behind me, or go to a college worship night being held across town. I opted for the latter, honestly just because I wanted to see some friends that would be there, and drove on over. The worship was great, the community even better, and as I felt myself slipping into genuine worship and love of God I felt a little nudge. The kind of nudge that is less of a feeling of needing to do something and more of a little nudge to say, "good job, objective complete." I remembered what I had been thinking about all day, and what God told me I was going to do. "You are going to give UP your jacket..." I was never going to give it away in the literal sense. I was giving it up. Giving it up to God, relinquishing my tight held grip on it and putting God before it. In worship I had reached a point where I thought, "I honestly could care less about this jacket right now, all I care about is being in God's presence." and that was what God was asking me to do. To give up my possessions position before him and remember just to adore God alone.

A tad bit of a strange experience for sure, it was easy and most of the work came unnecessarily as I sought to serve God in a way He never intended me to do. However, at the end of the day my priorities were set straight. God is a jealous God, He will not tolerate worship of objects, possessions and people beside Him, because nothing else even compares. A good and healthy reminder, and I'm glad it came in a simple subtle way and not in a much more dramatic and eventful way. The blessings of assignments that make you attentive early on to your problems. I emptied my desire to hold onto my possessions and again was able to hold them with open empty hands.




P.S. After writing this article (and when I mean after, I mean literally within the hour) I read from a book on prayer and the chapter I was on was called Relinquishing Prayers. The chapter talked about prayers of letting go and relinquishing our grip on our possessions and even had the phrase Kenosis in it. It talked about Kenosis prayers and more relinquishing prayers in much more detail than this story will tell you. I was awed by the "coincidence" and so I decided to put this little post-script here to say that if you are interested in an incredible source for more information on this idea, check out Prayer: Finding the Hearts True Home by Richard Foster. It is a great source on many types of prayers and is filled with many personal experiences and much wisdom.