"For the early persecuted church, the Rule of Faith, or regula fidei, was the essential message, the fixed gospel through which they saw the world. It was the foundation that set the Christian apart and often put them in danger: profession of one God, salvation in Christ, and the presence of the Holy Spirit. It was also the foundation on which they stood when all else was stripped away. In the life of a confessing Christian, the Rule of Faith was seen as the normative compendium, the communal account of the story that held the individual through daily trials and united them with the believing community. The Rule was not a rival of the Scriptures; on the contrary, it was the worldview that emerged from Scripture, but also the worldview with which they approached the Scriptures, their lives, communities, and afflictions.
In a world averse to rules and intent on independence, it may be all the more tempting to deem the regula fidei a relic—and hence an irrelevancy—of the early church. But to men and women persecuted in North Korea, the regula fidei, the very heart of the Story for which they suffer is the rule by which they live. To them we owe the startling reminder: we are not islands of spiritual autonomy, but pilgrims who think, live, and serve with the truth and power of a thoughtful chorus.
To be Christian is to follow God's Way in the world, a Way that compels us to move along with it. For some this will mean persecution, even martyrdom; for others it will mean laboring to avoid becoming at ease in Zion, moving to the beat of a drum that may take us where we don't want to go. But movement it will require: “As they led [Jesus] away, they seized a man, Simon of Cyrene, who was coming from the country, and they laid the cross on him, and made him carry it behind Jesus. Then they brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull)” (Luke 23:26, Mark 15:22). The regula fidei is the heart of a startling story, a story that turns the world on its head and empowers a different kingdom. And thus, it is something quite like the heart of God, which brings rhythm to a chaotic world and sweeps many up into its mission."
(Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries. )
Monday, March 15, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
on hot air balloons
.
God's caribeeners, not mine.
His hooks, not mine.
His sturdyness, His strength, His robustness.
His tolerance.
That will carry me through
storms, waves, winds
that attaches the envelope to the basket
That will not fail.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
the GOD of transcendence
The true problem is this: Is God an autonomous presence before you, like you before your friend, the bridegroom before the bride, the Son before the Father?… Can you meet God as a person on your road and prostrate yourself before Him as did Moses before the burning bush?… Can you experience his presence in the dark intimacy of the temple as did the prophets? In short, is God the God of transcendence, and thus the God of prayer, the God of what lies beyond things, or is He only the God of immanence, revealing Himself in the fruition of matter, in the dynamics of history, in the promise to free mankind?"
Carlo Carretto, The God Who Comes
Monday, March 08, 2010
the source of abundant joy
as written by our familar friend-
"The underlying foundation of the Christian faith is the undeserved, limitless miracle of the love of God that was exhibited on the Cross of Calvary; a love that is not earned and can never be. Paul said this is the reason that "in all these things we are more than conquerors." We are super-victors with a joy that comes from experiencing the very things which look as if they are going to overwhelm us.
Huge waves that would frighten an ordinary swimmer produce a tremendous thrill for the surfer who has ridden them. Let’s apply that to our own circumstances. The things we try to avoid and fight against— tribulation, suffering, and persecution— are the very things that produce abundant joy in us. "We are more than conquerors through Him" "in all these things"; not in spite of them, but in the midst of them. A saint doesn’t know the joy of the Lord in spite of tribulation, but because of it. Paul said, "I am exceedingly joyful in all our tribulation" (2 Corinthians 7:4 ).
The undiminished radiance, which is the result of abundant joy, is not built on anything passing, but on the love of God that nothing can change. And the experiences of life, whether they are everyday events or terrifying ones, are powerless to "separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord" ( Romans 8:39 ). "
"The underlying foundation of the Christian faith is the undeserved, limitless miracle of the love of God that was exhibited on the Cross of Calvary; a love that is not earned and can never be. Paul said this is the reason that "in all these things we are more than conquerors." We are super-victors with a joy that comes from experiencing the very things which look as if they are going to overwhelm us.
Huge waves that would frighten an ordinary swimmer produce a tremendous thrill for the surfer who has ridden them. Let’s apply that to our own circumstances. The things we try to avoid and fight against— tribulation, suffering, and persecution— are the very things that produce abundant joy in us. "We are more than conquerors through Him" "in all these things"; not in spite of them, but in the midst of them. A saint doesn’t know the joy of the Lord in spite of tribulation, but because of it. Paul said, "I am exceedingly joyful in all our tribulation" (2 Corinthians 7:4 ).
The undiminished radiance, which is the result of abundant joy, is not built on anything passing, but on the love of God that nothing can change. And the experiences of life, whether they are everyday events or terrifying ones, are powerless to "separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord" ( Romans 8:39 ). "
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
comfort taken.
"Yet despite my generally optimistic attitude and outlook, there are times when I am overwhelmed by sadness. It may be a growing storm of weary longing or a tide of bitterness that sweeps over me, drowning me with a dolor that submerges my hope. Sometimes it occurs when I think about the aging process and our hopeless fight against it. Sometimes it occurs when I am in the grocery line, looking at the baggers and clerks who wonder if this is all they will ever do for work. Oftentimes, it occurs when I cannot see the good through all the violence and evil that oppresses our world and its people. I grieve for those who are forgotten by our society—the last, the least, and the lost among us—and wonder who is there to help and to save them from drowning.
It is in these times that I befriend lament. And I take great comfort in the loud cries and mourning that have echoed throughout time and history as captured in the poems, songs, and statements of lament. Indeed, a great portion of the Hebrew Scriptures comes in the form of lament, both individual and communal lament. The Psalms, as the hymnal of Israel, record the deepest cries of agony, anger, confusion, disorientation, sorrow, grief, and protest. In so doing, they express faith in the God who would listen and respond to these emotional outpourings.(1) The prophets of Israel, as well, present some of the most heart-wrenching cries to God in times of deep sorrow and distress. One can hear the anguish in Jeremiah’s cry, “Why has my pain been perpetual and my wound incurable, refusing to be healed? Will God indeed be to me like a deceptive stream with water that is unreliable?” (Jeremiah 15:18) In addition, Jeremiah cries out on behalf of the people of Judah: “Harvest is past, summer is ended, and we are not saved. For the brokenness of the daughter of my people I am broken; I mourn, dismay has taken hold of me. Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has not the health of the daughter of my people been restored? (Jeremiah 8:20-22).
As I listen to Jeremiah’s cries, I recognize that they arise out of a deep love for the very people he often had to speak against. As Abraham Joshua Heschel notes, “[Jeremiah] was a person overwhelmed by sympathy for God and sympathy for man. Standing before the people he pleaded for God. Standing before God he pleaded for his people.”(2) Oftentimes, my own overwhelming sadness arises when I look out upon a world that seems to love evil more than good, darkness more than light. I grieve over self-imposed predicaments, bad choices, and selfish indulgences. And I recognize my place in this world of predicament, darkness, and selfishness. Longingly, Jesus said amidst tears about the people in his own day, “If you had known in this day, even you, the things which make for peace” (Luke 19:42). It is more than appropriate for us to weep and lament over the sins of the world—the sin that we, too, participate in and condone.
But beyond this, there are simply some realities in life that at times are overwhelming: the inevitability of ageing, death, and loss, poverty, hunger, homelessness, relational disruption, and many others. I grieve over those who find themselves on the losing end of things, who through no fault of their own always find themselves in last place or left behind. Lament arises from the despair of looking honestly at these realities for what they are, and wishing for something else. It is the despair that arises from not knowing what can be done or how to overcome.
Yet it has been said that “the cry of pain is our deepest acknowledgment that we are not home.” The author continues, “We are divided from our own body; our own deepest desires; our dearest relationships. We are separated and long for utter restoration. It is the cry of pain that initiates the search to ask God, ‘What are you doing?’ It is this element of a lament that has the potential to change the heart.”(3) If this is true, then sometimes my overwhelming sorrow, my feelings of bitterness over some of the harsh or inevitable realities of life are, in fact, the crucible for real change. The same waters of despair that seek to drown and overwhelm are the waters of cleansing. So indeed, let the tears flow, “for if [the LORD] causes grief, then He will have compassion according to his abundant lovingkindness.”(4) As one who desires to walk with the "man of sorrows" who was "acquainted with grief," may lament have its way of bittersweet transformation. "
Margaret Manning, Ravi Zacharias International Ministries
"Yet despite my generally optimistic attitude and outlook, there are times when I am overwhelmed by sadness. It may be a growing storm of weary longing or a tide of bitterness that sweeps over me, drowning me with a dolor that submerges my hope. Sometimes it occurs when I think about the aging process and our hopeless fight against it. Sometimes it occurs when I am in the grocery line, looking at the baggers and clerks who wonder if this is all they will ever do for work. Oftentimes, it occurs when I cannot see the good through all the violence and evil that oppresses our world and its people. I grieve for those who are forgotten by our society—the last, the least, and the lost among us—and wonder who is there to help and to save them from drowning.
It is in these times that I befriend lament. And I take great comfort in the loud cries and mourning that have echoed throughout time and history as captured in the poems, songs, and statements of lament. Indeed, a great portion of the Hebrew Scriptures comes in the form of lament, both individual and communal lament. The Psalms, as the hymnal of Israel, record the deepest cries of agony, anger, confusion, disorientation, sorrow, grief, and protest. In so doing, they express faith in the God who would listen and respond to these emotional outpourings.(1) The prophets of Israel, as well, present some of the most heart-wrenching cries to God in times of deep sorrow and distress. One can hear the anguish in Jeremiah’s cry, “Why has my pain been perpetual and my wound incurable, refusing to be healed? Will God indeed be to me like a deceptive stream with water that is unreliable?” (Jeremiah 15:18) In addition, Jeremiah cries out on behalf of the people of Judah: “Harvest is past, summer is ended, and we are not saved. For the brokenness of the daughter of my people I am broken; I mourn, dismay has taken hold of me. Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has not the health of the daughter of my people been restored? (Jeremiah 8:20-22).
As I listen to Jeremiah’s cries, I recognize that they arise out of a deep love for the very people he often had to speak against. As Abraham Joshua Heschel notes, “[Jeremiah] was a person overwhelmed by sympathy for God and sympathy for man. Standing before the people he pleaded for God. Standing before God he pleaded for his people.”(2) Oftentimes, my own overwhelming sadness arises when I look out upon a world that seems to love evil more than good, darkness more than light. I grieve over self-imposed predicaments, bad choices, and selfish indulgences. And I recognize my place in this world of predicament, darkness, and selfishness. Longingly, Jesus said amidst tears about the people in his own day, “If you had known in this day, even you, the things which make for peace” (Luke 19:42). It is more than appropriate for us to weep and lament over the sins of the world—the sin that we, too, participate in and condone.
But beyond this, there are simply some realities in life that at times are overwhelming: the inevitability of ageing, death, and loss, poverty, hunger, homelessness, relational disruption, and many others. I grieve over those who find themselves on the losing end of things, who through no fault of their own always find themselves in last place or left behind. Lament arises from the despair of looking honestly at these realities for what they are, and wishing for something else. It is the despair that arises from not knowing what can be done or how to overcome.
Yet it has been said that “the cry of pain is our deepest acknowledgment that we are not home.” The author continues, “We are divided from our own body; our own deepest desires; our dearest relationships. We are separated and long for utter restoration. It is the cry of pain that initiates the search to ask God, ‘What are you doing?’ It is this element of a lament that has the potential to change the heart.”(3) If this is true, then sometimes my overwhelming sorrow, my feelings of bitterness over some of the harsh or inevitable realities of life are, in fact, the crucible for real change. The same waters of despair that seek to drown and overwhelm are the waters of cleansing. So indeed, let the tears flow, “for if [the LORD] causes grief, then He will have compassion according to his abundant lovingkindness.”(4) As one who desires to walk with the "man of sorrows" who was "acquainted with grief," may lament have its way of bittersweet transformation. "
Margaret Manning, Ravi Zacharias International Ministries
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