Moses and Jonah

The sermon Sunday was about confession. I have a confession to make. I didn't get up this morning in time to have a devotion. I missed out on my coffee and laid in bed until 6:45. I am a slacker. I am also a hypocrite, because I've spent at least the last week praying that people who give their time to others would realize how much a morning devotion helps. It's a spiritual breakfast and as much as I hate to admit it, breakfast is important. My heart and my tongue were not quite prepared for today.

In my camp, I have a David, a Joseph, a John, a James, a Mark (and a Marc), a Matthew (Matt), a Noah and a Micheal. Last week I had a Judah, two Aarons, a Nathan and an Isaiah. I made the comment that we had a lot of biblical names here this week and left it at that. I figured I was in order, even for a science camp, because the Bible is a well-known cultural reference. I'm not preaching Christ to the unbelieving nations here, I'm talking nomenclature.

Well, maybe five minutes into the mid-morning break/ snack time, one of the kids throws out, 'Who here believes in the Bible?' and I raise my hand (almost a little too slowly, though I want to say it's more from shock than anything else). And the kid says, 'Really? The Bible is a load of... well, I can't say it because you're an adult and will probably get mad at me.' He looks down at his lunch while I make some remark about it being a legitimate historical document and he mutters something like, 'It's a bunch of C-R-A-P.' Then he asks who goes to church and I raise my hand and he says, 'Really? Because I don't believe in God.' He talks about how he convinced his parents that they don't need to go to church anymore and I make some noncommittal comment about respecting other people's beliefs. He says he believes that Jesus of Nazareth lived, just that he wasn't God or the Son of God- he doesn't believe there's a God. This kid is going into the seventh grade- that's what, 12? Maybe 13? Twelve, maybe thirteen and from a home in the suburbs- has this kid really seen enough of life to claim that there's no God? The bible reading I didn't get to this morning was the first chapter of Romans (PS-the end of Acts is not Earth-shattering. Just thought you ought to know). Paul talks about Creation being proof enough of God but says that man shut Him out enough not to see Him anymore and that He let us go our own way.

The devotion was about wanting to listen more to God's servants than to God, but it also made the point that we embarrass God. He's like a parent whose kids don't claim Him, certainly don't listen to Him, and only come back to Him when they've done something terribly wrong and/or need something fixed. I'm easily convicted and my shoulders are more than willing to slump when I hear that I've misrepresented God or hurt Him in any way. I am, of course, much more aware of the conviction at 8:30 at night instead of 6:15 in the morning. I'm also easily sidetracked and I miss the big point. We're more willing to listen to God's servants because if we hear Him speak, there's no inaction involved. We must either obey Him (no matter what it is- and we can be sure that if He's talking, the status quo is going to be upset and fast) or say that we're not going to listen and live as rebels.

I am so afraid of action. My friend has had a rough year- her best friend died, it was her first year at college and crazy drama occurred. She's not up for going to church. She just isn't in a position to talk to God or to see Him, even though she's been a Christian her whole life. I supported her but now, I'm not sure that was out of kindness or cowardice. It's been a year and we've been talking about her unwillingness to talk to God for a couple of months now. I think it's time to come to the altar, to come back and let God work in the wonderful ways He's planned but I don't want to step on toes. Where is the line between meek and coward?

If I have a purpose in Chapel Hill, I'm not sure of it. Are Methodists stereotypical prayers? Do we pray more often than normal denominations? Because if I have any problem, I pray about it and I have learned the wisdom of the adage- Be careful what you pray for. First week, I had a kid call me out for being a Christian and another ask me why my phone said, 'Jesus Rocks.' Other than those two instances, where I affirmed that I was, I didn't say a thing about this huge part of me. Last week, I had Judah who said that he doesn't really go to church because his parents think that following a religion makes you close-minded and I respected that. This week, I've got Iain who might be the first person to call me dumb because I believe that a man I've never met was not only a moral teacher or a prophet, but the Son of God. I believe that a man was God and I don't see why I never understood the Jewish leaders' huge objections to this. This is hero-worship to the extreme, this is a crazy idea, a radical idea, a scary idea, this is a sacrilege and idolatry, if it's not true. I believe this man was God and that when He died, He didn't stay in the grave. I believe that someone truly ceased living for a Friday night, a Saturday and into the early hours of Sunday morning and that after that He, through no one else's power, came back to life. Please explain that biologically. This is ridiculous. Really? I mean, really? No wonder the 'enlightened' world thinks we're nuts.

Oh, my Lord, what I wouldn't give to have been there those three years, to have seen You, heard You, understood what You really were, are. I would come back proclaiming the truth in these gospels, the insane facts that force us to see God and to come back to Him, since apparently stars and the entirety of creation aren't enough. Yet, would they hear me? Would I come back emboldened in faith, ready for the task You had laid before me, or would I disobey and remain silent forever?

'I'm starry-eyed and vaguely discontented, like a nightingale without a song to sing.' Miranda introduced me to State Fair today and I latched onto this line. I have a way of twisting what's supposed to be romance into faith, since there's a clear lack of one in my life and a gracious outpouring of the other. Once, I asked God why His message couldn't be a quiet one, since I'm not one to yell from the rooftops. Kids, this is my song and without it, my eyes look to the heavens and see misunderstood glory and my heart beats with a vague discontentment. And, goodness gracious, if I have to shout it from the rooftops to get it out, you best be praying that God shows me some ladders, because it's getting sung.