Our True Identity

“Who am I?”  It’s a question that has been pondered by individuals and philosophers throughout the centuries.  I am what I do.  I am what others say about me.  I am what I have.  These three answers commonly define who we are, but they also provide a lifetime of painful ups and downs.  When everything is “up” we feel good about ourselves, but when things are “down” we struggle for meaning.  Life is turbulent, and we fight to keep our head bobbing above water. 

It’s in the extravagant love of the Father that we find our true identity.  Through His Son we have been adopted into the family.  Now as redeemed children we are His beloved sons and daughters.  Nothing can change this rock solid reality.  Painful circumstances, loss, hurtful comments, our own selfish choices do not diminish our status as beloved children one iota. 

 

A couple of months ago Maria, Diana and I sat around the breakfast table brainstorming worship ideas.  Many of them found their way into our Sunday class.  The one that excited us most was having an extravagant breakfast to reflect the Father’s extravagant love. 

 

So early last Sunday morning Diana was up at the crack of dawn baking homemade croissants, sweet rolls and egg casseroles.  They came out of the oven around 9:00, just in time for us to pack it all in the car and make a mad dash for class.  Once there everything was served with fresh fruit salad, coffee and juice on dark green tablecloths with candle lit center pieces.  It reflected well His extravagance toward us. 

 

Hanging on the wall in the classroom overlooking our banquet table was The Return of the Prodigal by Rembrandt.  It’s the same one that hangs over the piano in our house.  In it the sinful younger brother kneels in humiliation, stripped of dignity and marked by suffering.  Off to the right at a distance the self-righteous elder brother stands erec, his hands clasped and his face closed.  Both sons wanted only what they could get from the father, not a relationship with him.  Both are lost.  Both are loved.  Only one sees his need. 

 

The father hovers over his younger son with a warm embrace.  Open cloak and open faced he holds the son with the strong confirming hand of a father and with the tender loving hand of a mother.  The younger brother has come home to his true identity.   

 

We too “come home” to our true identity each time we reject the world’s summation of who we are and live in the extravagant love of our Heavenly Father as His beloved sons and daughters. 

 

News Slant

Diana and the family return tomorrow from the Texas wedding of our niece.  I’m on a mission today to get things ready for their return – lawn mowed, spare room readied, basement cleaned, flowers purchased.  At the moment I’m taking a rest and looking over the news headlines.  Conservative or liberal, left or right, republican or democrat, Christian or not, each news agency has its own slant of how they want us to see the world.  Personally I find the gloom, the fear, the sadness disheartening and wonder if there might be a better way. 

 C.S. Lewis had his own slant on the news.  He felt, particularly for young people, that the news wasn’t worthwhile.  “Even in peacetime I think those are very wrong who say that schoolboys should be encouraged to read the newspapers. Nearly all that a boy reads there in his teens will be seen before he is twenty to have been false in emphasis and interpretation, if not in fact as well, and most of it will have lost all importance. Most of what he remembers he will therefore have to unlearn; and he will probably have acquired an incurable taste for vulgarity and sensationalism and the fatal habit of fluttering from paragraph to paragraph to learn how an actress has been divorced in California, a train derailed in France, and quadruplets born in New Zealand.”

 Henry Nouwen’s slant is altogether different.  He encourages us to see beyond the bad and hear instead the gladness that belongs to God.  “I am not accustomed to rejoicing in the things that are small, hidden and scarcely noticed by the people around me.  I am generally ready and prepared to receive bad news, to read about wars, violence and crimes, and to witness conflict and disarray…Somehow I have become accustomed to living with sadness, and so have lost the eyes to see the joy and the ears to hear the gladness that belongs to God and which is to be found in the hidden corners of the world.

 I have a friend who is so deeply connected with God that he can see joy where I expect only sadness.  He travels much and meets countless people.  When he returns home, I always expect him to tell me about the difficult economic situation of the countries he visited, about the great injustices he heard about, and the pain he has seen.  But even though he is very aware of the great upheaval of the world, he seldom speaks of it.  When he shares his experiences, he tells about the hidden joys, he has discovered.  He tells about a man, a woman, or a child who brought him hope and peace.  He tells about little groups of people who are faithful to each other in the midst of all the turmoil.  He tells about the small wonders of God.  At times I realize that I am disappointed because I want to hear ‘newspaper news,’ exciting and exhilarating stories that can be talked about among friends.  But he never responds to my need for sensationalism.  He keeps saying, ‘I saw something very small and very beautiful, something that gave me great joy.’”

One Thousand Times More

It’s Saturday and we are getting ready for a step forward.  Punch bowl is washed, posters bought and sticky tack ready.  Tomorrow morning I’ll head out early to Donut Connection for a box of donut holes. 

For weeks now in our James class we have emphasized that the main purpose of meeting as believer is to interact with God.  The point has been made that biblical knowledge is invaluable.  It reveals the true nature of God, but if it is not translated into communion with Him it is merely pious information. 

In church meetings (at least in my circles) that interaction is usually expressed in two avenues – a spoken spontaneous prayer and the singing of hymns and songs.  Good but very limiting.  It’s one thousand times more.  Over the last few weeks we have listened, written, read responsively and given time for silence.  Tomorrow we’ll hope to expand the horizon.

In class I ask, “Do the words written on the board - holy, omnipotent, love – aid in your worship?”  Nods.  I go on, “Yet, in reality they are no more than symbols that represent concepts.  Symbols that bring to memory Scriptures like Isaiah 6 or understandings we have of that attribute.  Each word becomes a bridge into thoughtfulness and consideration that leads to worship.” 

Scattered around the room is an exhibit of various pieces of art - Two Sisters on the Terrace by Renoir, Plaza After the Rain by Cornoyer, Japanese Footbridge by Monet, Kenyan pottery, Mexican Window in repujado, a Russian wooden egg and more. 

If we allow it,” I say, “art can also be a bridge into worship.  Art communicates concepts like beauty, inspiration, symmetry, and mystery.”  We are reminded of the beauty of His glory, the infinite details of His out-workings, His balanced completeness or inspiration of His grandeur.

We stand and in silence mill around the exhibit.  Together we look and think.  We consider and pray.  We interact with and worship the Living God. 

Observing the Unobservable

We dropped the girls off at a party on Friday evening and headed over to Coffee Beans and Books for couple time.  It’s only an hour before they close, but hey you take what you can get.  Coffee Beans and Books is a café located in the library of a previous Jr. High in our area.  A white French cut door invites guests into a room filled with books new and used.  Comfortable overstuffed chairs are strewn around the room, and amazingly polished wooden floors shine like a sea of glass.  Jars of coffee and tea line the wall.  Light streams through the windows. 

It’s interesting how observing surroundings has become a part of life.  I’m not sure when it began, but attending Portland’s Worldview honed the skill.  That’s the place where we were trained to learn about our host country by making deliberate observations of their culture.  Practice sessions were at places like Lan Su Chinese Garden, Hawthorne District, Pittock Mansion and Pioneer Courthouse Square.  Those meticulous assignments seemed wearisome at the time but in the end helped shape an appreciation for the oft overlooked details that communicate so much.

Observing the unobservable is just a little bit harder but not impossible.  It begins with the assumption that God is always and everywhere at work.  The trained eye sees Unseen movements.   The untrained eye sees…nothing.  On the surface all looks crusty.  Circumstances seem meaningless. Actions fail to reveal any secret   stirring of the heart.  Time drags on. 

In the realm of the supernatural activities abound.  The work is steady, continuous, unrelenting.  Time stands still.  God is the initiator.  We are not.  We do not nervously try to save people at the last minute or put them on the right track.  Our part is to observe, to confirm, to name, to articulate what God has already set in motion.

But so much for observations, it’s time to get on with enjoying the evening.  We only have an hour before closing, and I want to take full advantage of it before heading out to the El Mariachi for tacos.