If Starbuck is right in his argument that a.) any unwilled natural violence is simply a part of God’s beautiful and violent creation and b.) the malicious destruction of God’s creation affronts not only the creation but also God himself, then when my mom says “f*ck cancer,” Starbuck would conclude that at least part of her hostility is directed at the God that both of us revere.
As I continue to search for home, continue to long to find home—in all its dimensions—in more profound and enduring ways, I am keenly aware God has met me along the way. Those longings for home, some would say, foreshadow a desire for heaven—the heart’s true home.
The ninety-year life of Roger Schutz ended this past August in a cruel act of violence that violated the entire spirit in which that life had been lived. Even so, as we look back at this remarkable life–a treasure that the Reformed family of churches gave to world Christianity
Remembering can be a solo thing. We can stroll down memory lane on our own, but when I sit down for coffee with a lifelong friend, and my story-remembering meets her story-remembering, we aren’t just sharing our shared history, we are forging a deeper bond of friendship.
The church growth movement has led to weaker community, weaker theological acuity, weaker biblical knowledge, and little understanding or appreciation of the historic liturgies of the church. With so many fewer connections between the church and its members, it should be no wonder that many are fading away from the church altogether.
Gratitude to God has always moved the saints to communion in acts of love for neighbor. She’d learned that in catechism, and thought Harold heard this too along the way, maybe even on her living room carpet in his younger years. “Don’t forget Harold, this is our Father’s world. Even when the world and all that’s wrong with it seems strong, he’s still the ruler, right? Don’t let your heart sink. He reigns. Let the heavens ring and all earth be glad.” That’s what she’d say to him.
I wondered what it does to a kid growing up with a horizon of wall, day after day. I wondered which country the massive white message in bold white letters embedded on the mountainside beyond Juarez was for: “la Biblia es la verdad, leela.” “The Bible is the truth. Read it.”
Many people find that their autism diagnosis makes sense, in retrospect, of a lot of confusing previous experiences, and that has been the case with my son’s diagnosis. As his parent, I am understanding his infancy and childhood with a fresh perspective and renewed insight.
And his diagnosis has also given me a fresh perspective on Jesus.
If we listen closely, we may find that God does not view people as problems to be solved, and that right answers are often an illusion. We may find that the gift of salvation was never something to be earned by our hands — or rationalized by our words. We may find that for the Spirit to speak, we may need to shut our mouths.
Different living room, different street, a whole new reality: I’m disoriented as I hear the high pitched upward inflected call of a bird I am not familiar with. Though I hear him frequently, I have not yet been able to spot him in the tall tree he hides in. His call is not invitational, not even a flirtation. It’s a tease. He taunts, “You can hear me; you will never see me.”
