Terry Glaspey

The Lion and the Land of Narnia

Terry Glaspey — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 16:17:18 -0700

I was one of the contributors to a recently-released book, The Lion and the Land of Narnia. The book highlights the wonderful artwork of Robert Cording, whose paintings capture the wonder of the world of Narnia, and contains personal essays by a number of C.S. Lewis experts and fans. As the author of a biography of Lewis, I guess I fall into both categories. My essay had to be edited down for reasons of space, so herewith I share the "directors cut."

I arrived late to Narnia, but still in plenty of time for it to have a profound influence on my life.

I envy those who devoured the books as children, turning the pages expectantly to discover the adventures within. But I was nearly twenty, and had already been charmed by Lewis’ winsome theology in books like Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters. In fact, I delayed my reading of the Chronicles in favor of the non-fiction works. After all, I reasoned, I wanted to fill my mind with the “deep stuff” before I bothered with the lightweight children’s stories.

Now, twenty-some years later, it strikes me that the Chronicles of Narnia might contain some of Lewis’ deepest and most weighty insights into faith. Sure, they don’t have the philosophical precision of Miracles or The Problem of Pain, nor do they contain the amount of practical theology we find in Mere Christianity or Letters to Malcolm. But maybe their achievement is even grander, for they helped me to feel and experience the wonder of God’s Grand Story.

Though a formidable apologist for the Christian faith, Lewis knew that intellectual arguments would never be completely persuasive on their own, as they are not able to fully capture the truth about God. All our logical explanations fall short. Reason, Lewis reminded us, is the organ of truth—it is the way we come to knowledge. But imagination is the organ of meaning. It helps us make sense of reality and fully experience what truth can only point toward. Lewis understood that our hearts need to be moved as well as our brains. And nothing does that better than a well-told story.

In Lewis’ work the gospel is embodied in story, in myths, in analogies, and allegories in order that we may see it afresh. Is not all our thinking done primarily in images? Even the most abstract language cannot help but partake of images that we use for holding the idea in our head. We cannot, for example, speak of the glory of God without holding some sort of picture in our mind of what glory looks like. So Lewis has, throughout his books, provided us with many memorable pictures that give flesh to our theological abstractions. In the profound simplicity of The Chronicles of Narnia, the witty spiritual psychology of The Screwtape Letters, the allegorical tracings of his intellectual journey in The Pilgrim’s Regress, or the deeply mythic ruminations of his Space Trilogy and Till We Have Faces, Lewis provides fresh glimpses of truth in unexpected places. By dressing truth in new garb he made it palatable and strikingly fresh, so readers didn’t feel they were being spoon-fed theology as though it was some kind of medicine.

In speaking of his Narnia tales, Lewis wondered if, by stripping the Christian doctrines of their stained glass and Sunday school associations, he could “steal past the watchful dragons” of religiosity and dogmatism. In a sense, the Narnian tales are constructed to prepare his reader for the gospel, just as the ancient myths of dying gods prepared humanity for the time when myth became fact in the person of Jesus Christ.

Lewis understood that every story is in some sense a reflection of the great story of God’s pursuit of the human soul. His stories call us to make that story our own. And they do that by awakening our sense of wonder. Over and over in his books he demonstrates the ability to capture those transcendent moments when we come face-to-face with something bigger than us, a realm beyond our ordinary lives. Through the doorway of his prose we have stepped from our world into another realm, a realm suffused with a holy mystery.

Creating convincing moments when the supernatural breaks into our mundane existence is one of the hardest things for a writer to accomplish. Countless well-intentioned novels, stories, paintings, and films have run aground on their failure to avoid empty clichés and they are populated by characters which seem less like real people than like chess pieces being moved around in order to make a point or score one for God’s side. Such art is no more than propaganda and nearly always fails to achieve what it sets out to do.

In his finest moments, Lewis’s writing gives us the opportunity to come face-to-face with the One who is beyond all our reason and imagining. What we experience in these moments is the sense of God breaking into our lives, not the tame and tidy God of our denominational creeds, but the God of mystery and majesty and holiness. There are passages in The Chronicles of Narnia which create a strong sense of the numinous, inviting a nearly speechless awe in the presence of the mysterious “Other.”

As Dom Bede Griffiths has said:

“The figure of Aslan tells us more about how Lewis understood the nature of God than anything else he wrote. It has all the hidden power and majesty and awesomeness which Lewis associated with God, but also His glory and tenderness and even the humor which He believed belonged to Him, so that children could run up to Him and throw their arms around Him and kiss Him.”

Perhaps that is why the Chronicles of Narnia move me so deeply and unexpectedly. They contain within them glimpses of transcendence, of a story bigger than first meets the eye. On initial examination they may seem simple children’s tales with talking animals, witches, and young boys and girls discovering their inner strength and courage. But in the midst of these stories the reader is always aware that something magical, something supernatural, might just break through at any moment. One can feel the breath of the great Lion rustling through the pages as the story of Lucy, Peter, Susan, and Edmund becomes your story, my story…part of the Grand Story…

Let us go through the wardrobe door together!

Of Rob Bell, Tapestries, and the Offense of the Gospel

Terry Glaspey — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 15:12:05 -0700

I recently found myself in a discussion with a friend about the theology of popular writer, Rob Bell. I was enthusing over the creativity of his Nooma videos and how effectively they present aspects of the Christian faith to the cynical and skeptical among us. My friend’s tightening smile let me know that he did not share my excitement about Bell or his message. When I asked why, he said he was frustrated with Bell’s unwillingness to share “the whole gospel.” He was concerned that sin and wrath and judgment were being short-changed in Bell’s attempt to emphasize God’s love and acceptance.

His concern got me to thinking about the ways we present the gospel. Some of us emphasize the love of God as the starting point, and others focus on sin and repentance. My limited personal (and granted, anecdotal) experience has led me to see that the vast majority of non-believers in our culture don’t really resonate or identify with a presentation that begins with the realization our sinful state and are much more likely to pay attention and be moved by a message that emphasizes grace. Maybe that is just a quirk of our time and culture, but it seems to be a reality, especially among the young.

Perhaps it might be helpful to think of the gospel message as a tapestry. A tapestry can be very beautiful when viewed from the front, a picture or design that emerges from many separate strands threaded together. However, viewed from the back a tapestry usually looks like a riot of random threads. It is not attractive and it is not likely you’d ever hang a tapestry with its backside showing. So it is that the gospel has two sides—a side which is beautiful and immediately appealing (grace, love, forgiveness) and a side that is less appealing (recognition of our sinful state, judgment upon sin, and some the thorny paradoxes that are part of some key doctrines). This side is what is sometimes termed “the offense of the gospel.”

If we present this less-appealing side to the unbelieving world as their first glimpse of the “good news,” then it should not be surprising if they remain unbelieving. Is it not better to begin by holding up the beauty of the attractive side and letting the seeker understand the power and beauty of Jesus’ message before we get into all the stuff that may be harder for them to accept? For here is the secret…the “ugly” truths of the gospel look much less ugly once you have fully understood the power of the “beautiful” truths. Once someone has truly grasped God’s love and mercy and grace it is easier for them to really understand the ugliness of sin. Once their eyes have taken in the beauty of the tapestry of the gospel, only then are they really prepared to view it from the back and able to fully appreciate all the ugly truth that makes the beautiful truth possible. The offense of the gospel is less offensive when we understand the gracious side of the story.

So yes, there is a time to talk about sin and judgment, but perhaps it is not a bad idea to first share the astonishing love of God which is what really sets the context for understanding the rest of the gospel message.

Evangelism or Evandalism?

Terry Glaspey — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 16:40:59 -0800

I recently overheard a conversation in which one well-meaning Christian man was trying to share his faith with a woman who looked increasingly uncomfortable and confused as he rattled through a collection of Bible verses which were aimed at helping her see her need for Jesus Christ. It was obvious that his little speech was well-rehearsed and had been committed to memory. What was also painfully obvious was how ineffective his approach was in connecting with this woman, who, seated in seat 12E, was pretty much a captive audience…and I don’t mean captive as in captivated. She was squirming uncomfortably and looking around—probably in search of someone to come to her rescue or trying to determine which emergency exit would be closest if the whole experience became completely unbearable.

You probably couldn’t fault the young man for Biblical accuracy of his message. But it all seemed so canned, so lacking in connection with the woman’s real life. And one couldn’t help but wonder if he was just “doing his duty” so that he could check it off his list. “Yep, I witnessed to someone today.”

The whole thing struck me as so hit-and-run that it was not really evangelism, but evandalism. In evandalism you quickly scrawl the message of salvation on the wall of someone’s heart and then make your exit. Mission accomplished.

This form of sharing about our relationship with God seems to me kind of like handing someone a piece of sheet music and expecting them to connect with it. “Here is the most beautiful music ever composed,” we might say, but unless they have a deep knowledge of music, it is probably just a collection of little symbols ordered on some lined paper.

Maybe, instead of handing people the "sheet music,” we should cock our head to the side and ask, “Hey, can you hear that?,” inviting people to listen to the music that is already playing. For God is at work behind and within the world. His music is always playing. Maybe the first step in sharing our faith is just inviting people to listen to what we are hearing, pointing out the beauty of the melody and the rhythm that moves our heart and our feet. Perhaps evangelism is best understood as sharing the joy we have found in becoming part of the unfolding song.

U2-3D: Even Better Than the Real Thing

Terry Glaspey — Fri, 25 Jan 2008 15:28:17 -0800

Yesterday I drove almost two hours north of my home in Eugene, Oregon to my nearest IMAX theater in order to see U2 3D, the new concert film by veteran rock group U2. It was an amazing experience, not to be missed by even casual U2 fans.

U2 3D is a live concert film, shot at nine stops on the South American leg of the Vertigo Tour in 2006. Longtime U2 watchers have been able to enjoy a number of DVD releases of their shows, but the difference here is that the concerts were shot using nine pairs of Sony CineAlta cameras to produce the first-ever 3-D multi-camera live shoot. More than 100 hours of footage have been edited down to an unforgettable 85 minutes of sheer musical energy and excitement.

U2 always puts on a great live show, but to see them projected in three dimensions on a large screen gives you an experience that may even surpass actually being there. The temptation might have been to throw in a bunch of cheesy 3-D effects to wow the audience. Instead, you just get a great concert experience that makes you feel that one moment you are right on the stage with the band, and the next moment that you are on audience level, trying to see past the sea of raised hands. And yes, there are some pretty startling moments: when Adam Clayton swings his bass guitar around and it seems to protrude right out of the screen; when a jumble of projected words and phrases collapse and rain down upon the band; and when you want to ask the person in front of you to put their arms down so you can see—and then you realize they are part of the film. It is wonderfully larger-than-life. To quote the title of one of their songs, it might be “Even Better Than the Real Thing.”

The performance itself is full of vibrant energy and passion, and the sound is both loud and clean. From the opening countdown into the thunderous rock of “Vertigo,” to the acoustic prayer-as-song “Yahweh” that closes the film, it is wonderful mix of performance and technological whiz-bang effects. Of course we get some of Bono’s theatrics (which always provide a little unexpected fun) and a passionate call for world peace and co-operation between Muslims, Jews, and Christians…”all sons of Father Abraham.” Then, there is a moment at the end of “Pride (In the Name of Love)” when the Universal Declaration of Human Rights is projected and read aloud. Moving stuff, indeed. And, of course, there are the brilliant and insightful lyrics, many of which explore the Christian themes which are so much at the heart of U2’s work.

As is so often the case with U2, this concert film feels like both an exercise in welcome political idealism, and a moving spiritual experience. That, wedded with a nice dose of the technological “woah!!” factor, makes this a film worth seeing, even if you have to drive two hours to find an IMAX theater.

Dancing With Truth

Terry Glaspey — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 15:03:12 -0800

In recent discussions of the emergent church and the influence of postmodernism on modern Christians, there has been a lot of heated discussion about the nature of truth. The debate usually goes something like this:

One side says that truth has to be discovered in the context of our lives—that our culture, our upbringing, our experiences (or lack of them) all contribute to a difficulty in arriving at simple propositional statements that are true everywhere at all times. And our fallenness and human limitations stand in the way of our being able to grasp it in simplicity. Truth must be found in the living of our lives. Now, I have some sympathy for this kind of thinking. But I am not prepared to give up the idea that truth can be expressed rationally and in propositions. Absolutes may not be easy to get at, but I think it is intellectually lazy and irresponsible to give up on them and simply drift into some sort of Christianized version of relativism where the truth is whatever is true for me.

The other side of the debate maintains that having absolute certainty about truth is the key to finding meaning. They would say that truth is rational because God is rational. Therefore, as one friend recently said, “We must stand unapologetically for the truth.” Once again, I have some sympathy for such a way of thinking. It is important for us to know what we believe and why. I am reminded of G. K. Chesterton’s wonderful reflection: “Merely having an open mind is nothing. The object of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to shut it again on something solid.” But I fear that sometimes an attitude of certainty can degenerate into thinking that we somehow “own” the truth and ignoring all the legitimate questions that are raised about how difficult it is for a finite mind to every really grasp the immensity of who God is and what He has done for us.

But what if we were to think about truth, not so much as taking a stand, but as engaging in a dance? Of realizing that truth is not static, but alive. Now I am not thinking of the kind of dance you’ll find in a club. That kind of dancing is a pretty good metaphor for relativism. Everyone listens to the same music, but responds in their own fashion, autonomously moving to the rhythms as they personally experience them—doing their own thing.

Instead, what if we think of how we relate to truth more in the terms of formal dancing. Ballroom dancing, for example. What if we think of truth as the partner we embrace, whose lead we follow through all the steps of the dance. In this view, truth is not just some static abstract that we possess and defend, but rather a moving and living reality to which we respond. Let’s admit that life is complex and filled with situations where our certainties seem to take a beating. So we move with truth as truth dances. Truth leads and we follow. And is not truth ultimately found in our relationship with the One who is the Truth?

The One with whom we dance is not a philosophical abstraction, a propositional statement, or a rigid moral code. He is a wild and fiery dance partner, who sometimes moves in unexpected ways, who catches us by surprise, who takes our hand and shows us how to move our feet—both within the usual patterns of the dance and sometimes in subtle variations.

It isn’t enough for us to put our trust in some propositional statements about God. What good are absolutes if we cannot live them out in the sometimes confusing world of reality? We also need “the dance,” the willingness to move in graceful response to all the uncertainties and unanswered questions of life with a sense of trust in our Divine dance partner. The orchestra has already begun to play, the dance floor is waiting, and God is inviting us to dance with Him.

Why I Need the Bible...and New Tennis Shoes

Terry Glaspey — Sun, 30 Dec 2007 21:02:51 -0800

Most of my blog today is not written by me, but by my dear friend, Carrie Sue Halupa. She is a very talented, but as yet unpublished writer. I think you'll be hearing from her in the future. Anyway, we recently had a discussion about the tendency of Evangelicals to be more concerned about defending the Bible than actually letting the Bible change our hearts and lives. In response to that conversation she wrote the following provocative little essay. Hope you find it as thought-provoking as I did!

A writer friend and I have been engaged in some ongoing dialogue about how Christians make sense of the Bible. Why do we defend it as though we’re defending Jesus himself? Why do we avoid the uncomfortable issues it presents? What is my relationship to the Bible, and what does that have to do with my relationship with God?

It is, after all, God’s book, so at times I work up some courage and do the unthinkable: I ask Him about it. The conversation generally goes something like this:

Me: God, I'm so sorry I haven't been reading your Word as I should. I'm a terrible believer. I should be more self-disciplined.
God: That's not the point. I wish you could see that.
Me: Yes, BUT if Paul could do it, if Mother Teresa could do it, if so-and-so could do it then surely I don't have any reason not to. (As if God is interested in this puny rhetorical strategy.)
God: Come. Sit. Be still.
Me: But... (squirming...getting more excuses ready)
God: I have things to show you. Lessons to teach you. Will you read?
Me: Certainly I'll be more ready when I've got the latest commentary on the book of ____________. I'm not a theologian, not a Biblical scholar. All of this is Hebrew and Greek to me. I have no credentials to bring to the game. I might misunderstand. I might misquote. I might...
God: Stop. That isn't what I asked. I AM enough. Come. Read. See.

There is a bit of wisdom that says we (humanity) fight not because we are brave but because we are scared. If this is true, then why should it not be more true (can truth be measured in degrees?) when we come to sit, open, exposed in front of Scripture. So often I find myself fighting with what I find there. Somehow it's just so much easier to grow defensive in reading the "Woe unto you's" than it is to repose in the sweeping mercies of the "Blessed are's". I know I'm not alone. An odd comfort that is. When I enter a conversation with God in the pages of Scripture, it's so easy to go looking for the scolding, the guilt, the shame—the fight. When it comes to the Bible, why must my default setting with God be defensiveness?

Because. I'm scared.

Scared that my tenuous and limited understanding of the world might all come apart in these pages, I talk myself out of the task. Why must I be challenged? I like my ideas for the same reason I like my old tennis shoes. They're worthless in a storm, but I've broken them in! They've softened to my form. Comfort. Security. Familiarity. Who wants to part with those?

Funny how Grace finds it's way through the cracks in my proud resistance. When Light shines across my shadows, I settle down. Surrendering to the Bible isn’t comfortable, but echoing in my heart are ancient words memorized in my childhood, "Greater is He". Compelled, I crack the cover. With what is sometimes painful persistency, I place myself in the pages I turn. Boldly, I blurt out an anxious and honest prayer that I'll understand what He has for me there. And then it hits me.

The breath of the great I AM moves in these words. Genesis begins with the Spirit hovering over the waters. Creation was about to commence. John's gospel shows us the Spirit hovered over the waters that miraculously became the wine. Why now, today, do I turn to the Bible? Because in it, His Spirit hovers over the waters of my soul. In the truth of His Word (John 17:17) His Spirit transforms me. This is why I keep reading.

His "word", the Psalmist writes, "is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path" (119:105). God lit the lamp. He holds it, and shines it on my path. In the walking, I must choose to step into the pool of light or remain shivering in the shadows. What I find in Scripture is that God never claimed that "the Bible" is our redemption. The Bible doesn’t save us, but it points to the One who does. Jesus says, "My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness" (2 Cor. 12:9). So I come in weakness.

Do I need credentials as I approach the Holy Word of God? No, I need an open heart. Must I be familiar with every nuance of both the Hebrew and Greek languages? No, I need to listen to the truth of who He is as He makes himself known through Scripture. I come with my weakness because I believe in the One who gives me life, and gives it abundantly through Jesus. And, because I believe that He is revealed in the beautiful, breaking, building, breathing pages of the Bible. Even still, Father, Son, and Spirit are bigger than Scripture.

Are there easy answers to our questions about the Bible? No. The Bible is far too complicated for trite and tidy answers. So, the fight about the Bible continues. Let the agnostic rationalize. Let her point out the flaws. Let her tell me the words I value above all others were written by flawed humans, thus the Bible must also be flawed. Remember, we fight because we’re scared. Are all my fears assuaged? No, but I will keep reading. I am in those pages she discredits, and so is she. We are both part of the great story of redemption and restoration recorded there—one that transcends her humanity, just as it does mine.

How North Dakota Provided a Better Testimony

Terry Glaspey — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 16:55:08 -0800

This may seem weird to admit, but I have always had a twinge of regret that I have lived a pretty straight-arrow life and don’t have any of those dark secrets that would give me a more interesting testimony. Would I be more effective for Jesus if I had “a past,” a collection of sins that I could parade as being overcome when I finally saw the Light?

Well, Google has come to my rescue.

Yesterday I googled myself. Hmmm. When you put it like that it sounds both narcissistic and perhaps a little improper. But I did.

C’mon admit it. You have done it too, right? How can you not check yourself out on the web’s premier search engine. It’s like having the opportunity to overhear what other people are saying about you…hard not to listen.

Anyway, because I have written several books and done a bit of speaking, there are quite a few mentions that come up when you type in my name. Most of the hits were reviews or mentions of my books, and my blog at ConversantLife.com was prominent among them. But right in the middle of the first or second page was something unfamiliar…

I opened it to find that it was the official record from a court case in North Dakota in 1990, where one Terry Glaspey was charged with driving while intoxicated. He got off on something that appeared to be a technicality, but it sounded to me like he was definitely guilty.

Well, I have traveled pretty extensively around these United States, but I have actually never been in North Dakota. So it couldn’t have been me. I am quite sure of that, unless I was so intoxicated at the time that I traveled across the country from my home in Oregon without any awareness or memory. I suppose stranger things have happened. But no, it wasn’t me.

But it got me to wondering. Could I co-opt this transgression and somehow claim it for my own, thereby gilding my testimony with a little more excitement and intrigue. Perhaps my namesake even committed some rather more heinous acts that could provide me with a testimony a little closer to a born-again Tony Soprano, rather than my mild little misdeeds as a kid growing up in church and attending Bible college.

Then it hit me. Sure I didn’t drink and drive in North Dakota, but I have been guilty of far greater crimes than operating a vehicle under the influence of alcohol. I have been proud, greedy, uncaring, and mean-spirited. I haven’t been there for friends in need like I should, much less strangers in need. And I certainly haven’t loved God with my whole heart, soul, and mind, being too busy making sure that I looked good in the eyes of others and pursuing my own pleasure and benefit.

That isn’t only my past. It is often my present as well.

So I am back on the internet once more. This time I am googling “grace.”

Review: I'm Not There

Terry Glaspey — Mon, 03 Dec 2007 10:46:14 -0800

First, a confession: I really can’t speak objectively about Bob Dylan. I am the kind of fan that you could easily identify as obsessed. I own all his albums (even the handful of genuinely bad ones) as well as countless rare live and unreleased studio songs; I have seen all the films he has made or that have been made about him; I have read three or four full-length biographies and a number of critical studies of his work; I have seen him live in concert three times and will see him again next time his “Neverending Tour” wanders into my town. And, of course, I know the words to most of his songs, even the long, surrealistic ones. His lyrics have moved my heart, made me smile, given me shivers of delight at recognizing amazing creative prowess in action, challenged my way of thinking, and sometimes provided a meeting place with God Himself.

So, here’s the deal. If you are similarly fascinated with the man and his music, you will love the new film, Todd Haynes’ I’m Not There. It is a fabulous consideration of the many masks that Dylan has worn over the years: world-weary folk singer, amphetamine-fueled rock superstar, heartbreakingly honest poet of relationships, reclusive outlaw prophet, and a preacher of God’s grace.

What makes the film so compelling is that Haynes chooses not to tell Dylan’s story in the usual manner of the celebrity film biography. Not only does he dispense with the expected chronological framework, but he actually splits Dylan into six separate characters, each of whom represents one aspect of Dylan’s shifting persona. He is Woody, an 11-year old African-American orphan who is riding the rails and seeking to become the next Woody Guthrie. He is Arthur, a poet dressed in 19^th century garb, ala Rimbaud. He is Jack, a folk-era legend who eventually becomes a singer for God. He is Robbie, a Vietnam-era singer whose marriage and life are crumbling around him. He is Jude (in an amazing performance by Cate Blanchett), the rock superstar who struggles with his own identity in the midst of a whirlwind of concerts, drugs, and press interviews. And he is Billy, a reclusive outlaw who can’t escape from the pain of a world that is crumbling around him.

All these are parts of the ever-shifting Dylan persona. And each of them carries some of the truth about this legendary artist. Those who know the Dylan canon well will recognize many key moments from his personal and artistic history, as well as countless winking insider jokes. It is a feast for the Dylan fanatic. Those, like me, who see the hand of God in Dylan’s spiritual journey will appreciate the respect (if brief screen time) given to this aspect of the unfolding story. Even if you do not share my passion for Dylan’s music, I still think there is much to recommend the film, filled as it is with wonderful performances, beautiful cinematography, a great script, and—of course—amazing music.

Confession and Cynicism

Terry Glaspey — Wed, 28 Nov 2007 10:02:10 -0800

A couple of weeks ago I sat down to review a manuscript from a talented young Christian writer. It was bold, blunt, and painfully honest—definitely not the typical Christian bookstore fare. On the first page he dropped the f-bomb and page three included a desperate and angry prayer that began, “Screw you, God…” The honesty he put on display in these pages seemed pretty brave to me and I have to admit to enjoying the little autobiographical journey he took me on. Many times I found myself smiling and nodding in agreement—“yeah, I know just how you feel…” I have always resonated with Frederick Buechner’s self-analysis of being “part Christian, part pig.”

I love the confessional style of Christian reflection that has become increasingly popular. I have smiled and wept through the pages of the brutally honest work of writers like Don Miller, Anne Lamott, Patton Dodd, and Craig Borlase. Like many, I find their honesty about their personal failings to be strangely comforting. It gives me the courage to set aside my attempts at plasticine piety and just be the flawed person that I really am…the ragamuffin who can never really seem to get this whole Christ-like thing nailed.

And yet…

I have lately began to wonder if a steady diet of this perspective tends to make us a little bit cynical about the possibility of really being changed by God. Can it make us become so comfortable with being a “pig” that we lose sight of the miraculous change that is a part of the good news Christ offers?

The Barna organization recently polled a group of non-believers about what characteristics they thought of when they heard the word “Christian.” One of the most common responses was “hypocritical.” Ok, well that isn’t too surprising. My first gut response was this: yeah, I have definitely seen a lot of hypocrisy in the church, but hey, we certainly don’t have a corner on being hypocritical. We live in a culture where hypocrisy is commonplace. And I guess I am not alone in that perception, because a lot of the respondents to the Barna survey said generally the same thing—they thought that Christians were hypocritical, but then again, what do you expect…everyone is hypocritical.

How sad if our cynicism about ourselves leads to complacency.

Maybe that is the problem. Are we in danger of becoming so comfortable with our flawed humanity that we settle for less than what God has offered to us? The good news includes the hope of really being transformed, of becoming different, of becoming a better person—more loving, more caring, more patient; less ruled by our anger and selfishness and weakness.

Of course the path of transformation is a path that comes with a price: the discipline of taking our faith seriously enough that we really lean on God to help us make better choices, become kinder and more compassionate, and expend the effort to draw closer to Him through prayer and Scripture reading and contemplation.

It is not an either/or. I don’t think we can really be changed until we admit that we are often more pig-like than Christian. We need to be reminded that our journey will always be a process of moving toward God with our imperfections intact. Otherwise, we may be tempted to just settle in behind our little masks of nicety. But I think it worth remembering Paul’s reflection from 1 Corinthians 5:17, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” That seems like a promise that even the most cynical would want to embrace.

Finding God in Unexpected Places

Terry Glaspey — Tue, 27 Nov 2007 10:13:35 -0800

Let’s never make the mistake of thinking that God is primarily interested in religion.

Many of us were probably raised with the belief that if we wanted to find God that we had to use one of the religious means at our disposal. We could go to church, we could read the Bible, we could pray. If we followed one of these paths we’d be sure to find Him, elusive as He sometimes seemed to be. But I have learned that these are not the only ways to connect with God. God does not limit Himself to “sacred” means when it comes to reaching us. His Divine fingerprints can be found in the most unlikely of places, if only we are paying attention.

One of my dear friends felt the first stirrings of spiritual longing in listening to a Cat Stevens record, a longing that once awakened led him down a different path than Stevens himself. Another person I know first began to believe after a visit to the Grand Canyon. There she got a glimpse of something even bigger than the awe-inspiring canyon itself. Whoever had created that canyon seemed worth getting to know.

Annie Dillard writes of being overwhelmed by God while meditating upon a tree or while watching a moth circling closely around a candle flame. I have felt my heart raised to the heavens standing in front of a Chagall painting and while gazing into a jeweled night sky. I have caught the scent of another world in the salty air as I walked along a deserted beach.

William F. Buckley once said, in all seriousness, that the music of Bach was the best evidence of God’s existence. When I hear the joyous polyphony of the Brandenburg Concertos or lose myself in his Mass in B Minor, I know just what Buckley was talking about. And I have had that same experience of God’s presence while listening to John Coltrane, Bob Dylan, Bruce Cockburn, or U2.

There are glimpses of transcendence all around us if we have “eyes to see.” There are hints of something bigger than the world around us, imbedded messages of God’s power, majesty, mercy, and love that surround us, just waiting to be discovered. God is always coming toward us. The question is, are we awake enough to glory in His arrival?

I’m learning to live with my eyes wide open, paying attention to the rumors of glory.