The Glory of God...

I hear it all the time.  "For the Glory of God".  "For God's Glory".  Over and over again... yet no one ever defines what they mean.  It's a catch phrase... Christian lingo.  If you want to sound pious... theological... orthodox... end what your saying with "For the Glory of God".  

The other day a presenter put a quote up on the power point screen - a quote by Descartes - something to the effect of the end of science is the health of people.  Of course, the quote was quickly dissected and deemed lacking in truth.  After all the end of science is the "glory of God" not the health of people.  I interjected.  My point?  What if the health of people is the glory of God?  What if loving our neighbor as our self is loving God with all of our heart, soul, mind...?  Didn't Jesus say what you do to the least of these you do unto me?

Don't get me wrong - I believe in the glory of God.  I just think that God loves what he has made.  That in Jesus Christ God has demonstrated his glory by moving out of himself to be for the other - to be for his people - to be for his creation.  God is glorified by rocks being rocks... and cows being cows... humans being humans.  Therefore, when we use our God given ability to make sick people well... when we use science and technology to help people be people we are glorifying God.  After all - God wants us to be human and Jesus died on the cross to prove it.

Maybe I'm a bit weary of all the grandeur... the lofty theological definitions that make God into the big narcissist in the sky.  All of our definitions, terms, propositions, and doctrinal statements are blown up by the scandal of the manger and the cross.  God loves us - he loves all of creation - and he wants us to be what we have been created to be. He wants our humanity. Glory be... 

Pacific Northwest

I knew I would love it... Obvious I would love it. Lately I've been looking like a lumberjack. I would say it's a "projection of my digital self" but it's not digital. I have this big beard... and long hair. So I fit right in at the local cafe with a view of the Pacific... eating Clam Chowder and a Roast Beef sandwich.

I'm in Lynden, Washington for the weekend - Jim Schaap's hired thug. (Actually I think he wanted me to come along so I could drive through Seattle.) This morning I spoke in chapel at Lynden Christian... (I had to follow a representative of the Seattle Seahawks giving away jersey's... you can imagine... Seahawks or some college prof coming to "blah blah blah".) But it went well. Then I had free time. Schaap is the rock star... he's the one who has to do the hard work. I just get to drive a rental (new, black, ford mustang) up and down the coast - eating, drinking, and talking with locals. Funny when they find out I'm from Iowa... they are surprised... I'm not sure why.

Northern Minnesota with mountains... that's how I describe northwest Washington state. Wonderful... I'm tempted to have my wife and kids fly out - and stay for awhile. The colors, the smells, the gray clouds and cold damp air. My idea of the new creation... only with a little more snow. Hey, I'm from Minnesota... what would you expect?

What this says about me...

My wife and I have become Soprano freaks. Because we didn't have cable (or HBO) we didn't have the opportunity to watch the show when it was originally aired. So we decided to start watching it through netflix - and both of us are hooked. We are up to season three... the episode we just watched the other night was fascinating.

Tony's therapist is brutally attacked in the parking garage. The attacker is caught - but because of a technicality he has to be be released. A moral dilemma ensues... should she tell Tony about the attack - knowing full well the attacker will end up "sleeping with the fishes"? Or should she trust in the social contract... civilization. I found myself through the entire episode longing to hear her tell Tony... to put into motion what is after all - justice. The episode ends with Tony asking her... "Do you have something to tell me?" "No." She responds - and the credits roll.

What does it say about me that I was disappointed? I couldn't quit thinking about it... just say "yes". Tell him... Part of the episode, I think anyway, struggles with this question: Do we need the Tony Soprano's of this world? Do we feel a sense of security because they are there... those who are willing to do the dirty work? Reminds me of Jack Nicholson's character in the film A Few Good Men: "You want me on that wall... you need me on that wall..."

And yet I profess to follow the crucified Christ... the one who tells those who follow him to "turn the other cheek" and to "take up our cross and follow". So what does it say about me that I find myself drawn to the Tony Soprano character? I'm not really sure...

Escahtological Inbreaking of Time

Last night in the worship class I teach we discussed the significance of "God's time". It was very difficult to have this conversation without sounding like a dualist (a 4-letter word at Dordt college... I was waiting for the "dualism" police to break down my door...) We talked about heavenly time, divine time, and our time, all in the context of our visit to the Catholic church. Father Klein walked us through the Catholic mass, commenting and explaining, when he said something about the relationship between the book of Revelation and Roman Catholic liturgy. During the hour worshippers engage the liturgy - they are no longer solely experiencing temporal time... but they are mystically immersed in divine time. In this context worship becomes truly "catholic". The boundaries of minutes, hours, and years are shattered as the martyrs, the faithful - all of creation past and present- worships the one who sits on the throne and the lamb.

In class I referred to this as the eschatological inbreaking of divine time. The cycle of weekly worship. The liturgical year. Praying the hours. All glimmers of this eschatological inbreaking.

Wednesday I came home from a meeting and I could feel it in my knees. I was in trouble. Whenever I get sick I feel it in my knees first. I laid down "just for awhile"... and I was out for the count. Chills, aches...sleep. And sleep I did. I really hate being sick. Classes to teach, papers to grade, sermons to write... all of it comes to a screeching halt. The eery movement in and out of true consciousness - attempting to get up only to be sucker punched in the stomach. Down again.

I couldn't help but reflect upon the conversation from class... the eschatological inbreaking of divine time. Our culture is obsessed with time management. We break time into nanoseconds so we can squeeze out every ounce of productivity. Even at a college - which is supposed to be a place of reflection - our protestant utilitarianism merges with our capitalist tendencies and we cram as much stuff as we can into every ounce of time. Students and faculty alike...moving at warp speed. So maybe we should be thankful for colds...for those minor bouts of sickness that throw wrenches into the gears of our managed time - forcing us to stop whether we like it or not. Getting clubbed over the head with the eschatological time of God. Just a thought...