Adventures in the Word

I keep thinking back to a passage I read in Stephen Miller’s book: Conversation: A History of a Declining Art. I read the book about six months ago and when I read the following passage it struck me with its insight like few others have. It’s toward the beginning of the book and in the context, he’s trying to define the essence of conversation (which, if you read the book, is not so easy as it sounds).
Here’s the passage:

Though there is no clear distinction between talk and conversation, most writers on conversation argue that conversation is not instrumental. It is not a means toward an end, such as pleasing a boss or getting some information. . . . In The Age of Conversation (2005), a study of conversation in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century France, Benedetta Craveri says that salon conversation’s aim was ‘none other than the pleasure of conversation for its own sake.’

Oakeshott also says that conversation is purposeless. It ‘has no determined course, we do not ask what it is “for.” Conversation, he argues, ‘is an unrehearsed intellectual adventure.’

Miller is saying that ‘real’ conversation has no interest other than the simple pleasure of interacting with the other person or persons. Of course we do talk to others for certain purposes, but if it’s always or primarily ‘for’ something, then the person becomes ‘instrumental’ and we end up – albeit unintentionally – using them. Or, further, the more we talk to people ‘for’ something, the more they become – and feel – used.

In Part 2 of this series of posts I’ll talk about how this idea has affected my talks with others, especially my family.

I sit alone at my desk.
A blank blue screen stares at me,
And piles of work sit idly there,
With two phones that don’t ring.

Wires tangle under my desk,
Shoved out of everyone’s sight – except me –
I see in the corners,
The dark corners are a tangled mess.

My coffee cup that, a short while ago,
Invited my sips and promised me sweet nothings,
Now sits cold and stale –
How quickly the steam disappears!

Here! Here are my words,
Pinned to my cubicle wall.
They’re not likely to be seen or read,
And whether good or bad – no one can or will say.

Here, ten miles from home,
I think I’ll go for a walk.
There I’ll be alone with my thoughts,
And alone with the God I can’t that won’t leave.

I’m still reading The New Testament and the People of God, by N. T. Wright, and I’m learning what Jews in the first century believed about resurrection – which would most likely be close to what our Lord believed about resurrection.

To Jews in Jesus’ day, the belief in the resurrection had to do with more than just the raising of the dead. It had a larger context that can help Christians in the twenty-first century too.

So think about this:

To first-century Jews resurrection was a belief in God’s plan and ability to completely restore all of creation. First-century Jews did NOT believe in a coming suspension of space and time. They did not believe that God would create a different world out of whole cloth. It wasn’t going to be us floating around on clouds and playing harps – an alien world.
No.
God was going to restore THIS world – the home that we’ve grown up in and where God placed us in the first place. He was going to restore this world, including the human family, and he was going to do it by resurrection. It was a faith that God could literally raise the dead if he had to, and . . . it turns out that he actually DOES have to.

Resurrection was a trust in the God who can do the impossible and who will go to any length to restore and redeem His creation.
It’s a hope that,

despite all the appearances,

despite the overwhelming odds,

despite the fact that thousands have died while living under covenant and in the hope of the kingdom and yet have never received the promises of that Kingdom –

God will completely vindicate and restore everything ANYWAY by raising them from the dead.

Take that, devil.

It’s the belief in the ultimate victory of God, that the sovereign Lord will ultimately have his way, and nothing – not even death and destruction – can defeat Him.

This is resurrection.

This is the God that I serve: who, even while I face my own brand of suffering: DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS, still He remains undaunted and will ultimately win. Jesus’ own resurrection proved that, and also proved at the same time that we can now live and move with His kind of quiet confidence.

Just a minute ago, as I was photographing this, I almost reached in and grabbed one to eat —— really!

These things may make it through to the millennium.

“He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, ‘Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.’” – Luke 22:41-42

Here’s the whole passage of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane
Luke 22:39-46
Matthew 26:36-46
Mark 14:32-42

Being ‘discouraged’ is universal and inevitable – even for the most spiritual among us. Maybe even especially the most spiritual among us. Here are seven things that we can learn from Jesus in the garden.

What to do when the inevitable strikes:

1 Admit it when you’re discouraged. Somehow, somewhere we’ve gotten the warped notion that, if we’re really spiritual, we won’t get discouraged. But the fact is that Jesus himself was sorrowful, even to the ‘point of death.’ He actually

was a ‘man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.’ Sorrow is a fact of life – no one is exempt. And denying the fact will only perpetuate and aggravate the problem. It’s like temptation: it’s not whether you’ll be tempted, it’s what you’ll do when you’re tempted. What are you going to do when you ‘get down.’

2 Pray alone. With discouragement comes the common desire to withdraw, but remember that discouragement serves as a divine warning flag telling us to get alone with Him and PRAY! This is exactly what Jesus did in his hour of sorrow. And don’t try to pray spiritual gobbledegook. Simply pour out your soul earnestly and honestly.

3 Pray with others who know and love you. But we can’t do it alone. Yes, Jesus got alone to pray, but he didn’t go far away from those closest to him. To be precise, he went about ‘a stone’s throw away’ from his disciples, and three times he checked on them and scolded them for not praying. He needed them but they could only signal the start of their own withdrawal.

4 Accept that people will make their own choices. We all have our own Judases. It doesn’t mean that you’re a failure when someone that you’ve tried to help goes their own way. It certainly was’t a surprise to Jesus that Judas ‘turned him in,’ although he may have been surprised by the betrayal kiss. But still, Jesus accepted the kiss; it wasn’t easy, but Judas had made up his own mind and apparently Jesus made no attempt to stop him. We too need to give people the space to . . . betray us . . . if that’s what they want to do. And often they’ll do it with ‘a kiss,’ and try to make it look like something it’s not. But remember: this happens even to the most spiritual among us (read Jesus).

5 Realize that discouragement is usually temporary and try to understand why it’s happening.
Check all that apply:
• weary
• sick
• bored
• ‘disconnected’
• other ____.
Feelings are fickle. “Tears may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” “He who sows in tears will reap in joy.” Try to keep it in perspective; in my life the fog has always eventually lifted and often I don’t really know why. But I am so glad when it does.

6 Wait for God to strengthen you. Our God sees and cares and sends help. He saw Jesus in agony and sent an angel. But we often miss this divine strength because it comes in a form we wouldn’t normally expect or can’t see: the strength may come through a child, a word, a nap, a laugh, a ray of sunshine, or some other invisible, unappreciated, or unremarkable thing. Wherever it comes from, don’t miss it.

7 Resolve to do the will of God. Jesus said, “ . . . not my will, but yours be done . . .” We have to learn that ‘it’s not about me.’ So many times in my life, the black cloud won’t lift until I turn my eyes away from myself and onto someone or something else. Often the ‘way of escape’ is laying down my problem and taking up someone’s else’s. WE can do in a small way, what the Lord did for all men.

Of course this list is not exhaustive and you may do all these things perfectly and still have the blues. A couple of weeks ago, I was feeling low and then I had a simple thought and suddenly I chuckled and it was all over. Seriously! I think the thought was something like, “Wow. I don’t care what anybody says, life is still wonderful.”

It is a Wwonderful Llife.