The sound of silence.

Consider the silence of a living tree; it neither speaks nor hears.Out of the uncounted aeons, inexorable, ever-changing forces have erected it, to a purpose beyond our understanding.It needs no words, yet its presence is no less actual than ours.


Consider the value of silence in community.Our ability to listen should be our gift to those around us.Too much talk is a sign of self-centeredness and insecurity.


If you hear yourself talking excessively, take care.



from "The Rule of Saint Benedict"
interpreted by John McQuiston III in
Always We Begin Again

Sometimes you can't get a raincheck.

Tuesday after father's day is a little late, I suppose, to write this. But now is certainly better than never.

Sunday, the country observed a day honoring fathers. I've been blessed in my life not only to have a dad whom I love dearly, but also to have several surrogate "fathers" over the years. They've all be valuable to me and I'm better for the influences of all of them.

When I was young, my dad hung the moon. My mother says at the mention of "daddy," stars twinkled in my three year old eyes. He could do no wrong -- like Superman, only better. He was my hero, my safety net, my teacher, my friend and my guide -- and promised he would be forever.

He taught me how to ride a bike, throw a baseball, use a toilet plunger (hey -- dads have to be practical, too), and to memorize scripture. He taught me to think for myself -- and later I'm sure he wished he hadn't. But he supported me, even when he didn't agree.

Dads aren't perfect, but it's hard to see that as a little kid. Growing older, though, it's something we realize instinctively more than incidentally. I don't think that there was a day I simply decided, "Dad's not perfect anymore. He's ... human. Like me." It's something that changes gradually, like summer becomes fall and suddenly it's cool. Things are changing.

But I still thought he'd live forever.

For 24 years now, nearly 25, I've believed on some level in my dad's immortality, that since he had always been there, he would simply always be there. Just over a year ago, that belief began to crack.

My dad was diagnosed with advanced asbestosis and silicosis, lung diseases he'd acquired from his years in the Navy. Forty years later, they've advanced far enough to be diagnosed. Far enough to be fatal. When he told me, it felt like he'd already died. Even Superman fears kryptonite.

I found myself thinking of all the things we hadn't done, all the things I'd never said. All the regrets I'd collected, betting on rain checks and borrowed time came flooding into my mind at once. I thought of the times I hadn't called, of the days I didn't visit or the times I'd rescheduled, just knowing there would be a tomorrow. And now he's telling me there may not be.

There may not be a tomorrow. I didn't know how long we had. But had I ever? We're never guaranteed tomorrow -- and the depth of my regrets showed I'd forgotten that.

Just over a year later, I still have my dad. I still have the comfort of being able to call him, to see him, to hug him, to tell him I love him and to hear his voice. Every day I have him is a day I treasure -- and something I long to implement in the rest of my life: no one is guaranteed tomorrow. Don't live life in such a way that when the tomorrows run out, you regret the wasted yesterdays.

Just beyond the river...

This morning, while driving to work, I was thinking about the Mississippi. I work just east of the river, at a hospital near Riverside. Driving to work, I catch a glimpse of the river to the west.

The Mississippi River slices southward from Lake Superior down through the Delta and terminates into the Gulf. Today, I’m on the eastern edge of the river, making a home in Tennessee. Before, I called a small town in Arkansas home. I was born elsewhere, but Arkansas is where my family is. It’s where I spent much of my youth. It’s where I graduated from both high school and university. Many of the most significant events in my life and in the life of my family happened there. It became home.

The Mississippi reminds me of home – but one that’s not mine anymore. My home is here. In Memphis. In Tennessee. East of the river – and just beyond that body of water is the home of my parents, my brothers, aunts, uncles, grandmother – everyone. But I’m not so far away: any given weekend, a short trip – only an hour and a half – will take me back to my mother’s house. The river is a comfort. And I’m happy in my new home.

Israel remembered rivers, too.

By the rivers of Babylon— there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion. On the willows there we hung up our harps. For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, "Sing us one of the songs of Zion!" How could we sing the Lord's song in a foreign land?

Psalm 137: 1-4

For them, home was just the other side of the river, as well – but no weekend trip could take them back. Israel is now only a shadow of the People God meant for them to be: enslaved, in captivity and bound to this new land, compelled to make a home among hostility and wilderness, the river was not a comfort. On the other side were the ruins of home. The temple. God.

They mourned but they did not forget who they were and where was home.

We, too, despite our homes here, are strangers in a hostile land. They serve different gods here, sing different songs. Here we’re only a shadow of the people we’re meant to be. On the other side of a much larger river lies home. Our father. Our God.

Sometimes we forget who we are and where is home.

But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself.

Philippians 3:20 – 21

Books (and authors) that have changed, challenged and shaped my faith.

Obviously the Bible is first on the list. Without it, the rest of these books would hardly have done any good. I tend to use several translations: the NIV Study Bible as my "comfort" or "devotional" Bible, the Oxford Annotated NRSV as my preferred translation, and the NASB -- mostly for double checking the NRSV. If it's serious study, I also use the Greek New Testament and the Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia.


Susan Niditch

--War in the Hebrew Bible: A Study in the Ethics of Violence
--Oral World and Written Word: Ancient Israelite Literature
--Chaos to Cosmos: Studies in Biblical Patters of Creation


Elaine Pagels

--Beyond Belief: The Secret Gospel of Thomas
--The Gnostic Gospels
--The Origin of Satan


Patrick D. Miller

--The Religion of Ancient Israel


Ian W. Provan

--A Biblical History of Israel


William G. Dever

--What Did the Biblical Writers Know and When Did They Know It?


Baruch Halpern

--The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History
--Law and Ideology in Monarchic Israel


Philip Yancey

--Rumors of Another World: What on Earth Are We Missing?
--What's So Amazing About Grace?
--Soul Survivor: How Thirteen Unlikely Mentros Helped My Faith Survive the Church
--Disappointment with God
--Reaching for the Invisible God


Carroll Osburn

--Women in the Church: Reclaiming the Ideal


Bonnidell Clouse and Robert G. Clouse

--Women in Ministry: Four Views

Walter Kaiser
Moses Silva
Richard Oster
Gordon Fee
Moishe Weinfeld
Chaim Potok

... and a ton of others. The ones listed are just a "first ones who came to mind" list. When I say they've changed, challenged and shaped my faith, I mean it. Reading these hasn't always been pleasant -- and sometimes infuriating -- but they've had an impact and for that I am grateful. Reading diverse materials helps me to better understand why I believe what I do, how I can present those beliefs to others, and, on occassion, they've changed the way I see things enough to modify, adjust and to tune my beliefs -- not in order to conform to a scholar's mold of the Christian life, but instead to be more instep with the Christ I follow.

The Safety of Jabez

I realize that talking about The Prayer of Jabez is somewhat passe. I think that there is, though, a valuable lesson in it -- and it's not exactly what Bruce Wilkinson had in mind.

Wilkinson derives his entire (though admittedly short) book from two verses in 1 Chronicles.

Jabez was honored more than his brothers; and his mother named him Jabez, saying, "Because I bore him in pain." Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, "Oh that you would bless me and enlarge my border, and that your hand might be with me, and that you would keep me from hurt and harm!" And God granted what he asked.

1 Chronicles 9:9-10

From this, Mr. Wilkinson has extracted a theology promoting this passage as a positive, effective prayer. I'm not so sure it is, even though God answered it. What Jabez prayed was, "God, make me safe." And God did. And we never hear from Jabez again because in granting that prayer, Jabez was rendered unusable.

When I look at the Bible and see the people God used most, the people whose names are recorded as examples of faith, I don't see people whom God has kept "safe." Preserved them, yes. Brought them through trials, of course. Kept them safe? Hardly.

I don't think "safe" is exactly the word I'd use to describe the travels of Abraham and of Sarah, away from his father's home, his family's gods, through hostile territories, growing older by day, clinging to the promise of a son, a nation, and following the voice of a God previously unknown to him.

I can't think that Moses was particularly "safe" in going back to Egypt, a country he fled 40 years ago as a murderer. I can't think it was "safe" for him to confront Pharoah and to demand the release of Israel.

It wasn't "safe" for Mary to bear a child while unwed -- and less so for her to claim the child is the son of God. It wasn't the "safe" thing to do for Joseph to marry her. It wasn't "safe" for John to preach in the wilderness -- or, indeed, for Christ to come at all. The list goes on: Paul, Peter, Stephen, John. God doesn't call us to safety. He calls us to do his will in a world hostile to it. He calls us to die.

Ultimately we are saved, not "safe."

Through a glass, darkly...

I am attempting to explain the history of, the core beliefs of and the diversity among the branches and even congregations affiliated with the restoration movement -- to people for whom the idea of protestantism is even alien. Add to that the fact that I am not exactly a text book c of C'er and this presents quite a challenge: to be clear without being dogmatic, to be concise without ellipsing important information, to be honest in showing the good and the bad while attempting not to paint a tainted picture is possibly more than I am capable of.

I find myself in researching to be somewhat torn. I love my church family, both my current church home and the one of my hometown. I believe in the hermeneutic even while differing in the way it is sometimes applied. I know why I am a member of this body.

But in researching and viewing different items, I am also embarrassed often by our history. As a convert, I have to say that researching the movement, particularly in the earlier days of my Christian walk, I had to ask what I had gotten myself into and whether God had, in fact, led me here as it so seemed.

The congregation in which I worship is full of love, it's open, giving and caring seeking to minister to each other and the world at large. It's not perfect, but then neither is my physical family. But the larger picture of our movement can't convey that. It's filled with factions ripping and tearing at each other, quibbling over semantics, methods, forms and functions - to the point at which I, looking in, can no longer find our love for the gospel. We prefer rather to be "right" than to know grace and admit we haven't got it all sorted out yet. Historically, we have been pacifists in war, yet our appetite for conflict within our own brotherhood seemed (and, indeed, sometimes yet seems) insatiable.

We as members of the body of Christ are meant to represent Christ. We can't do that if we're busy dissecting ourselves in to a bunch of useless, amputated and dead limbs. Amputated limbs are no longer connected with the Head.

As it stands as of now:

My letter thus far:

To the elders:

My name is Quiara Hazlewood. I have been a member at Sycamore View for several months now and had been attending for several months prior to that. In that time, I’ve become very attached to this church, these people; it has truly become my home church.

I respect the decisions of the eldership as the spiritual leaders of the congregation, however a recent decision has troubled me and I’ve felt compelled to comment.

Recently a decision was made that in essence redefines the deaconate. I realize that biblically the “office” of a deacon is hard to establish, much less to define. The fact that it is a nebulous post (if a post at all) adds to the complexity of the issue. The hermeneutic applied in reaching this decision, however, is difficult to reconcile.

Traditionally, c’s of C have made a practice of going to the Bible to find the answers for everything from why we’re here to how we worship to church organization. In this move, I think we’ve stepped outside that paradigm.

It’s odd that this discussion centers around the book of 1st Timothy, in fact. Historically, c’s of C have limited or even negated the participation of women in the wider world of church ministries – based largely on the interpretation of 1st Timothy 2 and a few other “key” verses and/or passages. Whether I agree with that or not doesn’t matter. I do, however, agree with the principle: let the Bible be the determinant.

In the same book, in the very next chapter, Paul discusses the qualifications for deacons and for elders. In no text are we given to believe that deacons are “elders-in-training.” In the same way the church argues for specific roles for men and women based on the interpretation of 1st Timothy 2, we are now crossing that line and blending the “roles” (for lack of a better word) of elders and deacons. They are presented as two distinct ministries with distinct qualifications. I don’t find evidence to believe that they were ever considered overlapping in the sense that one is training for the other.

I agree that training for potential elders is a good idea. I just don’t think the deaconate is the place for it. I realize that some of this may seem like quibbling over semantics, but it’s really a plea for consistency in the methods we claim to apply. If an argument from silence can justify our lack of instrumental musical accompaniment, how can that same hermeneutic allow us to redefine and reassign something delineated?

Response and Responsibility

I've been thinking lately about this post. It occurs to me that if my elders' actions honestly bother me, then I have a responsibility. So I find myself writing a letter today, respectfully challenging the decision they've made.

I realize at this point, spinning the wheels backward probably won't happen. It's begun; likely it will continue onward, despite what I or anyone else says. But if no one writes and no one says anything, it certainly won't change.

So often, though at another congregation, I've been summarily silenced, 1 Timothy 2 serving as a gag order. Ironically, this entire discussion revolves around that small book.

In it, they presumably find reason to limit or negate women's participation in the larger church setting. I'll spare my hermeneutical differences for the sake of argument. They take what they feel is a biblical stance -- which, whether I agree or not, is admirable.

Within this same book, we read of elders and deacons and the qualifications for each. While the role of a deacon may be somewhat nebulous, there is no indication that they were ever meant to be "junior elders" -- quite the opposite, in fact! The two are presented as distinct roles.

Based on the same argument for proper "roles" they use for the separation of the services allowed to be rendered by men versus women, the elders are not right in having redefined the deaconate and, in essence, mixing the "roles." This is a larger problem than it at first appears. It's a problem of the convenient hermeneutic, the very kind they claim to stand against. It's double talk. Either what is said is what is meant or there is a lot more "wiggle room" than has been previously admitted or accepted.

Inconsistency, particulaly in something related to what I'm supposed to profess to believe, seriously bothers me. I realize that not everything is black and white, but there are plenty of grey areas already without our manufacturing our own.

So I'm praying a lot before the final draft of this letter. I'm hoping it will be received in the spirit in which it's intended and that it will, at the very least, cause them to pause and to think about what it is this action is honestly saying.

Forgiveness

I've been thinking a lot lately about forgiveness.

I've come to believe that despite what I've been taught, orgiveness is not simply a choice; it's a lot bigger than that. Forgiveness is an act of redemption and redemption requires sacrifice. It will inevitably cost something -- and sometimes it will cost a lot.

Jesus that those who are forgiven much love much, but those forgiven little love little. For those who have always been "good people," it is harder recognize the real cost of redemption. Those who've been to the bottom and had begun digging know very well what it took to buy them back, to make them free.

But the truth of it is that we are none of us that "good" and all redemption comes at a high price. We have no excuse, then, to "love little."

As Christians, we are called to forgive just as God, through Christ, forgives us. According to 1 John, this is a continual process, the blood continually cleanses us. And every day we are called to choose to forgive, and to do so to the same extent that Christ forgives us. We, too, are called to die -- to ourselves, to the world, to our own feelings of hurt and anger and our desire for revenge or "justice" as we see it. Having within us the mind of Christ and living as he would calls us to desire the redemption and ultimate salvation of even those who've hurt us most. We are expected to desire the eternal presence in heaven of even those whom we never want to see again on this earth. I know for me, that takes more than just a decision. It takes a full realization of the price of this sacrifice. We don't just redeem our friends; we pay the highest price to redeem our enemies.

It's hard, but God never exempted anyone from obligation just because it was hard.

Conviction and Vexation.

Our elders have decided to redefine the deaconate.

In effect, deacons are now explicity, rather than the historically implicit declaration, junior elders. From the pool of the deaconate, the next elders will be drawn. My problem with this is manifold.

There is no biblical evidence that the deaconate was a specific "office," though it could be argued to have become one at an early date. But whatever they did isn't well-spelled out in the text. But we do know that there were deacons, male and female. There is no reason to believe that whatever a male deacon was is different from whatever a female deacon was.

In creating the junior elders pool in the deaconate, we have officially gone outside the bounds of the biblical picture -- as well as closed off the area to women entirely. While many will accept the fact that women were deacons and some are even open to the idea of this becoming the practice again, many are uncomfortable with the idea of women as elders -- therefore, they could not be included in the pool of the deaconate.

Our elders are either saying one of two things: either women can be elders, which I doubt our eldership believes, or women cannot be elders and thus are excluded from being deacons, regardless of the biblical picture.

The ones who have abiblically defined what a deacon is and will do are the same ones who exclude women from participating in order to maintain what they believe is the biblical picture. It cannot be both ways. We cannot simply apply the Bible where it's comfortable to do so and change it when it's not.

This bothers me. A lot.