Over the years, the Book of Proverbs has become like an old friend. There are periods we don't connect all that much. But then I find myself back in its company, nodding at its wisdom, laughing at its bluntness, marvelilng at its insight. It is a wonderful companion and guide.
I invite anyone who is so inclined to read Proverbs along with me. I'll be posting some brief thoughts along the way. And I'll welcome your comments.
As the book says at the beginning, there is something here for everyone: the "simple" and the "young," and also the "wise" and the "discerning." So come along. And discover what this Book has to say to you.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
And In This Place, Too
Jacob has an uneasy sleep in the 28th chapter of the Book of Genesis. He uses a stone for a pillow. Strange dreams disturb his rest. But he feels the presence of God in all of this, and when he awakes he declares "Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it."
This passage often comes to mind when we find ourselves in life's hard and barren territories. It reminds us that God is in those places, too. Even when we do not know it.
But this past Easter I had an experience that helped me see another meaning in this passage as well. On Easter, circumstances planted me and my family in Key West, at a sunrise service, on the southernmost beach of the United States of America. We gathered there with dozens of others to celebrate the most important day in the Christian calendar.
I had come expecting a gentle breeze, a magnificent sunrise, the soft sand under my feet, and the swishing of the palm trees. Of course, all of that was there, marking the beach as a temple, a testament to creation and life, a holy place.
What I had not expected was the cognitive dissonance that would come from some of the surroundings. On the beach we found the breeze, the trees, and the rising sun. But we also found the volleyball net, the plastic bin full of beach toys, and the stacks of recliners waiting for tourists to oil themselves up and throw themselves down.
All of this led me to ponder how often we fail to think of God in our places of joy and celebration and play. As if God were some sort of "foul weather friend" to be called upon only in unemployment lines, hospital waiting rooms, and funeral parlors. As if the Lord who made clouds and orchids and dung beetles and, perhaps most absurdly, humankind itself had no sense of whimsy.
So I watched the sunlight crack open the darkness. And I pressed my shoulder against Lisa's as we sung the hymns. And I thought to myself, "surely, the Lord is in this place, and I did not even know it."
This passage often comes to mind when we find ourselves in life's hard and barren territories. It reminds us that God is in those places, too. Even when we do not know it.
But this past Easter I had an experience that helped me see another meaning in this passage as well. On Easter, circumstances planted me and my family in Key West, at a sunrise service, on the southernmost beach of the United States of America. We gathered there with dozens of others to celebrate the most important day in the Christian calendar.
I had come expecting a gentle breeze, a magnificent sunrise, the soft sand under my feet, and the swishing of the palm trees. Of course, all of that was there, marking the beach as a temple, a testament to creation and life, a holy place.
What I had not expected was the cognitive dissonance that would come from some of the surroundings. On the beach we found the breeze, the trees, and the rising sun. But we also found the volleyball net, the plastic bin full of beach toys, and the stacks of recliners waiting for tourists to oil themselves up and throw themselves down.
All of this led me to ponder how often we fail to think of God in our places of joy and celebration and play. As if God were some sort of "foul weather friend" to be called upon only in unemployment lines, hospital waiting rooms, and funeral parlors. As if the Lord who made clouds and orchids and dung beetles and, perhaps most absurdly, humankind itself had no sense of whimsy.
So I watched the sunlight crack open the darkness. And I pressed my shoulder against Lisa's as we sung the hymns. And I thought to myself, "surely, the Lord is in this place, and I did not even know it."
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