Mathetes

When I was younger, I took a trip to England.  During that short time, I was probably most fascinated by our stop in York.  Aside from the incredible Yorkminster cathedral we toured and the creepy "ghost tour" that we took, I was struck by how the city is surrounded by a stone wall.  The more I learn of medieval and ancient history, the more I understand how common this is because, for much of history, a wall around a large city was a critical component of the city's structure, strength, and security, providing a sense of safety to inhabitants and a deterrent to unwanted outsiders.  In a way, city walls also acted as physical container for group or cultural identity for all who "belonged" to that city. But a city that was broken into and had no walls was defenseless, weak, provided no security for its inhabitants, and was therefore easy pickings for outsiders looking to steal what they can.  Rather than having a place for refuge, the inhabitants would scatter at

I took this photo 8 years ago.  Though I remember being in a fairly good place that day, I frequently went to this bench tucked away on a path in the woods to read and pray.  I went there often during some pretty dark times.  I brought my restlessness, I brought my anguish, and I went to seek after God.  Most of the time, I did not leave there feeling any different.  In fact, during much of that season, what I experienced most of the time was silence.  The skies seemed empty. In the Psalms, there is a phrase that is repeated often.  "Why do You hide Your face from me?"  Consider Psalms 13, 27, 44, 88, and 102, to name a few.  I am thankful for these Psalms because, among other things, they normalize the experience of what we perceive as God's absence.  The idea of God "hiding His face" speaks of His presence turning away, His hand seemingly withdrawing from our lives.  These are hard places to be in, for we know one thing well:  Where else is there to go?  Nowhe

Fear is a thing, but there's a thing thing about fear.  It must be faced and dealt with it or it will deal with you.  It will do its work, seeping out like a poison, strangling you and choking those you love in ways you don't see because you're too focused on the hands around your own neck. When I was a kid, I had one of those big styrofoam airplane models, and we would launch it off the back porch.  It was a 747, maybe about 3 feet long, and it came in four big pieces that squeezed together.  During one launch, the foam bird took a hard turn and crashed into the earth, snapping a wing.  I tried to repair it with super glue, but I quickly learned that super glue dissolves styrofoam.  Not only was the plane not fixed well, it never flew the same and wound up in the trash.   Fear is like super-glue on styrofoam.  When fear dominates us, we try to hold our life together through control, but it dissolves and destroys what it touches. In a way, fear is natural.  The longer we li

 If God is God and I am not, and if God's Word is true, then what God says about me (and the rest of the human race) is also true, including where it says that my biggest problem is that, in my natural state, I want to "be like god."  I want to run my life my way, on my terms.  I want to justify myself, build my own meaning and identity and sense of righteousness.  And so in this sense, apart even from any idea of a God who judges, God is a threat to me.  His sheer mysterious existence is an unwelcome reminder that I am a creature, that I am not God.  I do not possess the answers to all the mysteries.  His eternal being as the One who holds all the answers, who rules over human history without explaining Himself to me, and to whom I owe my existence and allegiance, threatens my delusions of self-mastery and demand to be autonomous.  What will He do with me?  Rather than wanting to humbly bow my knee, in my flesh I want him out of my way.  This is why it is much easier for