Dulcinea

Have you forgotten who you are? 

Carolyn Arends loves to tell the story of St. John of Kronstadt, a Russian Orthodox priest of the late 19th century who would -- in a time of great political and social upheaval and devastating poverty in Russia, when most priests would stay separate from the masses and wait for the lost to find them -- walk the streets of the slums and approach the destitute living in filth and despair.  As Carolyn tells it, he would cup his hand under their chins, look into their eyes and tell them, "This is beneath you.  Do you not know that you were created to house the fullness of God?"  Everywhere he went, revival broke out.

I was reminded of this beautiful story recently at Barnabas, when I heard Carolyn speaking again about "Resting in God."  Blessed was I to have heard this before, when Carolyn came to our church to speak at a Women's Retreat last November.  Blessed was I to hear it again.  Really, it is a subject about which you cannot hear too much.  "Come to Me, all you who are weary, and I will give you rest," said Jesus.  And yet, in this age of leisure and pleasure unknown to any other generation, we find real rest so rarely.  So, the first part of her presentation was looking at what steals our rest.  And the first part of that is the issue of identity -- who we are. 

We are such forgetful creatures.  No wonder that, throughout the Bible, God implores us to remember, remember, remember.  We forget who God is, what He has done, and who we are in Him.  How can you find rest if you do not know who you are?  We work and strive to make ourselves acceptable, and then -- exhausted, stressed, at the end of our ropes -- we find that we were already accepted from the first.  Because of who He is, we are made who we are -- the only earthly beings to house the breath of God within us.

Carolyn uses stories and songs to illustrate her teachings.  One song she used was her own "Who You Are" from the album Under the Gaze.  One of the stories she used in depth was the "Woman at the Well" from John 4.  In that story is contained our great fear and desire to be known.  After examining the story from the Bible, Carolyn showed this brilliant and emotionally-charged clip:

Wow, huh?

While I sat and watched that video, I thought about the recent excellent production of Man of La Mancha by Taproot Theatre that I had seen just before leaving for Barnabas.  Man of La Mancha is a musical based upon Miguel de Cervantes's Don Quixote.  I am reading Don Quixote now, and it is quite different in style from the musical.  The musical is unabashedly romantic -- not only in the sense of highlighting the love story, but in the genre sense of portraying reality through the lens of the ideal -- and paradoxical.  Cervantes, in the musical, is entertaining inmates in a prison while awaiting interrogation under the Inquisition by fabricating a vision of a man whose madness makes him the most sane, or at least most humane, character of the play.  Don Quixote (Jeff Berryman) bursts forth on stage as impoverished gentry turned knight-errant.  He acquires sidekick and squire, Sancho Panza (Don Darryl Rivera), and sets forth to battle giants (tilt at windmills) and seek lodging in country castles (a rustic inn).  At the inn, he encounters tavern whore Aldonza (Candace Vance), in whom he finds the gracious and pure lady on whom he can lavish his chaste and chivalric vision of love.  He renames her "Dulcinea" -- Sweet One.

At first, Aldonza is confounded and bemused by his courtly overtures to her.  Then, she slowly starts to share his vision of her -- to see herself in a new way, as a beautiful and beloved woman.  Then -- oh how it tears at my soul -- Aldonza is brutally raped.  When she next sees Don Quixote, she directs all her anger and disillusionment and heartache at him.  He had given her a hope that had been murdered in the most violent way.  She tells him who she is, that she is Aldonza.  He says she is Dulcinea.  She screams at him and flies at him in rage, "Look at me!  Look at me!  I am Aldonza!"  He stares back at her in bewilderment and says, simply, "You are Dulcinea.  You are my lady." 

This video of a powerful, lyrical retelling of the Samaritan woman at the well repeats over and over: To be known is to be loved; to be loved is to be known.  We think we know ourselves well -- every nasty, sinful detail of our failings and our not-even-tryings are the ones we turn over and over in our minds during those wretched, sleepless 3 AM's.  And maybe, maybe when the tsunami of Christ's overarching love first washed over our lives and silenced in the awe of His sacrifice our doubts and our fears, we began to believe that we were His sweet ones.  And then, we fall and fall and fall again.  So, we yell and scream at the Maker of the Heavens and the Earth to look at us -- look at us.  And He does.  And, because nobody knows us like He does, nobody loves us so well; we are still His Dulcineas.

And, because embedding YouTube videos is fun, here are Carolyn Arends and Steve Bell singing "Who You Are":



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Take Two Advil, and Comment in the Morning

Sheesh!

If you ever want to induce a headache, I have the means:

1. Go to Christian Book Distributors' website and type, "Calvinism," in the search engine.

2. Pick a book like Debating Calvinism or Chosen But Free.

3. Read the reviews.

4. When your eyeballs start to smoke from the reflective glare of the computer screen and the vitriol hurled thereon, it's time to stop.

I cannot believe how wretched Christians can be toward each other. Come, let us reason together. How important is it, really, to know how little or how much our own faith plays in our salvation? This whole debate reminds me of Margaret Wise Brown's The Important Book: The important thing about being saved is that it is only through Jesus's sacrifice on the cross. The only proof of salvation through grace to us is our faith that is alive in Him. Our only proof to the world of His saving grace to us is the good works that we do in Him.

Once we have received the Holy Spirit in our belief, we are saved. Who cares how it came about? It is another paradox of a paradoxical God. God is sovereign. Period. Man has free will. Period. Embracing the mystical dance of mutually exclusive truths gloriously reconciled is one of the great joys of the Christian journey. Why muck it up?

Okay, so I just started reading up on Calvinism vs. Arminianism because of Brendt Waters of the Musings of Two-Sheds Gomer.

He is full of knowledge and interesting opinions, and maybe further reading will convince me that this back and forth of what seems to me now merely sophistry is actually the substantial issue that so many seem to find it. I cannot believe that brothers and sisters in Christ are calling other brethren heretics and unbelievers if they hold a point of view opposite to their own. How can their joy be full with this mindset?

Two-Sheds isn't like that. He mocks the mockers who would try to appropriate the Lord's job and read the hearts of men. But he's pretty passionate and committed to Calvinism. I worked once with a seminary student who was also a committed Calvinist. Predestination seems to me a cruel creed, though. Little babies marked from birth to spend eternity outside the loving arms of the Father? I cannot help but think that far too simplified and linear a way to view God's saving grace.

On the reviews of the books that I listed above, believers seemed unwilling to recognize the paradox of God's sovereignty and man's free will. Yet, I assure you they wholly accept other paradoxes of Christianity. Jesus's being fully man and fully God? God's presence both within and outside of time? One true God who is also triune? These they accept with alacrity, but then they stumble over this compulsive need to assert that divine sovereignty and human free will cannot be reconciled. Why?

I am not learned enough to comment further on this age-old debate of Calvinism vs. Arminianism. All I know is that once I stopped trying to view God through human eyes and logic and embraced the higher logic of the Divine Paradox, my world became -- ironically and paradoxically -- a clearer, more joyful place; my faith was strengthened and my heart was more full of compassion and peace. I will pray for my brothers and sisters who will let the evil one hold sway as they strive against each other in matters best left to Providence.

A Silver Cross

Nine times out of ten, when I look in the mirror, I see my big, goofy face staring back. But, on that tenth time, my eyes focus, not on my visage and its various imperfections, but on the small silver cross that hangs from a thin chain around my neck. And my worldview makes a sudden, seismic shift from shallow vanity to eternal truth. And that is why I wear the symbol of my Lord's shame and torture and death -- to remember that I have been purchased at a great price.

Keith Green, in his amazing and convicting sermon, "What's Wrong with the Gospel," asserted that he did not think that the cross was an appropriate thing to wear as jewelry. He said, "If Jesus had been killed in the electric chair, would we wear small replicas of that around our necks?" This gave me pause, and I had to think long and hard about whether God wanted me to continue to wear my cross. I decided to continue to wear it for two reasons. The first is that I do not see it as jewelry, per se. I do not wear the cross to draw attention to myself, nor to adorn my body for personal gratification. I wear it for that tenth time that I look in the mirror -- to remember anew what my Savior did for me at Calvary. And, secondly, I would wear an electric chair around my neck, were that the method by which I had been saved from hell and redeemed of my sins. I would wear it gratefully, joyfully, prayerfully -- as I hope I wear the cross.

I used to take my cross off at times. When I did not think that I was adequately taking up my own cross in His name, I would remove the symbol of my Lord's burden. Then, I realized that that was inappropriate. Because of the two boards stained with His blood and scarred with the holes into which they drove the nails, I have been given a grace that means that though I fail repeatedly to live His example, He shall never forsake me. The times when I am unfaithful are the times I need that glint of silver most to greet me in the mirror. In its reflection are the rough boards, the dark stains, the holes that will never fade away. Now, with an even greater realization of my unworthiness to wear it, I never remove my cross.

And wouldn't a wooden cross be more fitting as a remembrance? Well, again, I am not so sure. Wood, hay and stubble will burn up in the fire, but the things done in the name of Jesus will be turned to silver and gold in His kingdom. I wonder what that device of torture and death that stood underneath a violent, black, mid-day sky two thousand years ago will look like on the other side, transformed to reflect His glory. I see no hypocrisy in a silver cross.

The last comfort I take in my little silver cross is this: Though I only see this symbol in the mirror every tenth time instead of my face, my Father in Heaven sees me 100% of the time through the blood that was shed upon the original. And if He can see me like that -- with mercy and grace and love (and I know what kind of sinner I am -- how black and deceitful my own heart can be even after twelve years) -- how it gives me impetus and strength to see the world through more compassionate eyes. Because of what is represented by this little silver cross, I am seen and can in turn see through the covering of Christ. And that is what I want more than anything in the world.

The Miracle of Molly

Sadie has now become an official "pet owner" with the addition to her room of a 2 1/2 gallon fish tank (in hot pink, thank you very much). And, into that tank we have placed some fish -- four neon tetras that she named Molly and Molly and Fred and Fred. Just about everything in Sadie's life right now, over which she has naming rights, is called either Molly or Fred. Of course, we have teased her about this without mercy, but she stalwartly holds to those names despite our amusement. She's a stubborn little thing.

Two days after we got the fab four of fishdom, I saw that one of the Mollies was floating up at the top of her tank, resting on her side -- her pitiful little gills expanding and contracting with what seemed to me concentrated effort. Oh dear. Here was one of those inevitable moments of parenting for which no one can adequately prepare. Sadie was at my side, gazing in upon her wards.

"Mama! What's wrong with Molly? Is she dead?" Sadie's dark eyes looked startled.

"Oh Sweetie," I lamented, "I think that Molly is very sick. She may not be with us much longer."

Then, the tears flowed forth.

Sadie has never been shy about death. Maybe it was because since she could talk we've spoken about her Grandma Emilie who is living with the Lord. Since she's been cultivating memories, my father's cat, Rumpy, has died, and she has seen me cry over the passing of the noble Barbaro. We've spoken, of course, about Jesus and His death on the cross and the eternal life that He has promised us, despite the death of our earthly vessels. She has unsettled me with her matter-of-fact promises about how much she'll miss me and remember me when she's grown up and I die. Thanks, Sadie. Parents just love those sympathetic reminders of their mortality.

I guess that this staring of death in the face was a bit much for her to handle, though. She collapsed on her bed. I knelt down beside her and the conversation started.

"Why is Molly going to die? (Everything dies at some time, Sweetie.) Did you feed her too much, Mama? (No.) Did we have too many fish in the tank? (No.) Why does she have to die now? I just got her!"

With what I thought was an inspired moment for sharing some of the gospel, I remembered the sparrows.

"Do you know what, Sadie?" I asked. "Jesus made us a promise about the littlest creatures and how important they are to God. He said that all the little brown birds that we see -- the birds that are too numerous to count -- are known by the Father. He said that not one little bird dies that the Father does not see it. That's true for fishes, too. God is seeing Molly right now, and He knows that you love her and want her to live and swim here on earth. But He also makes the little fishes to come and swim up in heaven. Maybe now He is getting Molly prepared to swim in a river up in His kingdom."

I have no idea if there are streams in heaven with the beloved fish of the earth swimming in them, but I see no reason why there would not be.

Sadie eyed me incredulously through her tears. "There aren't any rivers in heaven," she said. "How could there be one up there in the clouds?" She pointed out her window.

Where do you think the rain comes from, huh? I almost said that, but I remembered in time that heaven really is not "up there," but is rather "out there" -- out of time and space and scarcely comprehensible, even in man's wildest imagination. So, I replied, "Heaven is far beyond the clouds and stars. I am certain that the Lord put the most lovely of streams and ponds and lakes and oceans into His kingdom. Where would He put the little fishes if there were not any water there?"

"Could I see Molly up in heaven some day?" Sadie has every confidence that she will be there, and, at times, she perturbs her mother's heart by longing a little too much to go there immediately.

"I do not see why you could not. Maybe she'll stick her head out of the water and tell you how lovely it is and invite you in for a swim." Okay, sometimes my imagination runs away from me a bit.

"Fish don't talk, Mama," Sadie reproached me.

"Maybe they will in heaven," I shot back.

Then, Sadie had an idea. "Mama, can we pray for Molly? Will you pray for her right now?"

And this is one of the things I love most about children -- their utter belief in and reliance upon prayer. Now I, blinded adult that I am, would never have thought to pray for Molly. There's a part of me that still believes that I need to save up my beseeching prayers for the "big stuff." My daily prayers tend toward thanks-giving and praise, but they leave out the "smaller" tribulations of life. I feel, somehow, that if I bother God with countless little things, He won't have time or energy left for me when I really need Him. Of course, children know so much better that, to God, there are no "little things" in prayer -- that every prayer is treasured by the One who holds the balance of the universe in His palm.

So, we held hands and prayed for Molly the neon tetra floating on her side in a hot pink fish tank:

"Heavenly Father, You made Molly and You love the things and people You have made. You see her now, and You know how long she will live with us and when You will take her to Your kingdom. Lord, if it is in Your will, please heal Molly and give her many more days to swim and play with her friends, Molly and Fred and Fred. But, Lord, if You will that she should die today, please keep her from pain. Please be with Sadie, too, as she learns the joys and heartaches of having pets. We love You, Lord, and we are grateful for the beautiful tropical fish You have made. In Jesus's name, amen."

After that, I looked at Molly again, and she was still ailing. I wondered whether it would be more cruel to leave her floating there until she died, or to flush her down the toilet, half-alive. I did not have the heart to see her pathetic death throes in the toilet, so I decided to leave her there for the time being. After all, with these little fish, death never prolongs his beckoning for many hours. It would all be over by that evening, I thought. We'll get Sadie a new "Molly" tomorrow.

Well, that night, when I went to feed the fish (and, no, I do not overfeed fish!), Molly roused herself upright to gulp a few flakes. Hmm, I thought, that's interesting. She still looked unhappy -- yes, fish can look unhappy! -- but she was eating.

The next morning, she was swimming about, slowly and startingly, but she was swimming. She ate enthusiastically again. Last night was the same, as well as this morning.

It has been two days since the almost-flushed Molly has been off her side, and I cannot help but think it a minor miracle. The Lord has always had a special spot for the prayers of children, and I think He may be answering Sadie's in the least expected way. He certainly delights in surprising us and turning our preconceptions on their heads. I do not know if Molly's out of the woods yet, and her recovery may prove temporary, after all. But, Sadie is pretty certain that God has found Himself able to put off having our tiny fish in His heavenly streams for a little bit, and who is to say she's wrong?

His eye is on the sparrow. It is on the tetra, too.