Haggai House

continuing the theme...

I’ve been reading lately about this revolutionary man who repeatedly made quite a commotion in Jerusalem. At first glance he seemed to make huge, dangerous political statements. Yet he instructed the crowds to “Look beneath the surface so you can judge correctly” (John 7:24). His message was apolitical at its core, proclaiming only a Kingdom not of this world.

He’d just been creating a rucus doing this at the Festival of the Shelters. Water was a big feature in this festival - thanking God for quenching their thirst in the wilderness (when Moses smote the rock and water flowed) and petitioning him for more water. Jesus sneaked in and surprised the crowds by teaching at the Temple, from which water flowed during the festivities. Then on the last day, at the climax of the festival, he began shouting to the crowds that he is the source of living water. This came just after he created another commotion by exposing the Pharisees’ intent to murder him. The symbolism cannot be missed. When they smite him (beat & kill), living water (the Spirit) will flow. All thirsty wilderness wanderers may come and drink freely. The rock splits open and out gushes water. His body is broken, the curtain torn, and out flows the presence of God’s Spirit. One can feel the tension in the throngs of pilgrims - who is this man? what is about to happen?

The next day, intrigued crowds returned to the Temple to hear him. He sat down to teach. Then the next commotion. Perhaps he stood, to face the accusers eye-to-eye. A woman was caught in adultery. She hung her head, condemned. There is no hope in condemnation. No defense - its settled. Nothing to live for but death. In the desert wilderness of condemnation, vultures circle, squawking accusations and lies.

He stooped and began writing in the dust with his finger, paused to embarrass her accusers, and continued his message on the dry, dusty ground. We have postulated for centuries as to what he wrote. Recently, a dear friend posted this image (which I’ve “borrowed” - thanks Kim!). For today, I’m going to believe that’s what he wrote to this woman sentenced to death:

Hope. Life. Silence.
There are no condemnations in silence.
No accusations or lies.
Only the soft gurgling of living water flowing from her soul.

Then Jesus stood up again and said to the woman, “Where are your accusers? Didn’t even one of them condemn you?”
“No, Lord,” she said.
And Jesus said, “Neither do I. Go and sin no more.”

(thanks ST, KR & IVM for challenging me to new perspectives on silence)

Silence

The last few weeks have been really hard. Seems like when I prayed, heaven was silent. Someone recently asked me what God was doing in my life or saying to me about a certain situation and for the first time that I can ever really recall, I had zero response.

I sat silent for a few moments. Then I just said, “I don’t really feel like he’s said anything. Maybe that means he’s telling me to wait. I don’t really know.”

Sometimes, I know, when I feel like I’m not hearing God’s voice it’s because I’m not listening. I fill my life to the brim with sound and movement and that soft, gentle whisper just can’t be heard in the uproar.

This time, though, it seems different. And I’ve been frustrated.

“God, why aren’t you responding? You don’t even have to respond the way I want you to or think you should…but silence?”

….

Dead air.

Lots of lies spoke and, unfortunately, I listened to them. Maybe my lack of hearing God’s voice was because I was tuned in to the wrong voice.

I’ve been reading quite a bit. The Chosen by Chaim Potok has been a long favorite of mine. The story revolves around two Jewish boys, Danny and Reuven. Danny is raised in silence. His father, a great rabbi, doesn’t talk to his son, unless conversation pertains to Torah and the Talmud.

The boy is angry, obviously, because he wants relationship with his father. But later he explains to Reuven that silence speaks. And Danny’s father explains to Reuven (and through Reuven to Danny) why he used silence to raise his son. That it taught his son compassion and how to hear people’s souls. How to hear suffering and respond to it.

Silence speaks.

Then, while nursing my sick boyfriend back to health, I began flipping through The Kite Runner, which I read late last summer. I won’t go into the details of the story here, but the author writes: “Quiet is peace. Tranquillity. Quiet is turning down the VOLUME knob on life. Silence is pushing the OFF button. Shutting it down. All of it (Khaled Hosseini, 361).”

So as I’ve been reading about silence, and pondering what silence is, I couldn’t help but wonder if my frustration with God was off base. Is all silence bad? Are there different types of silence? Is the silence that I’m experiencing right now really just the quiet hush of heaven? That the Spirit wants to fill me with peace, but I’ve been begging for a thundering word?

I was in the shower and I put on some worship music. And the song that got under my skin was about identifying with Christ’s sufferings. And how we have peace because he bore our shame.

And standing there, wishing I was at rest, I realized that I’d missed the point.

Jesus took the most brutal silence. He hung upon a cross, beaten and bloody. He “…cried out with a loud voice, saying, ‘Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani? that is ‘My God, my God, why have your forsaken me?’” (Matthew 27:46).

It was then, in the darkest moment, when he took all my pain, all my sin, it was then when the Son of God became the lowest of the low, that heaven was truly silent. Jesus received no answer and it is recorded that with another loud cry he gave up his spirit.

In taking sin, he took the void, too. He took the worst of all silences. And it killed him,

God does not forsake me. When he is silent, I believe it is quiet. I believe now that when I pray and listen I will just hear a “Shhh.”

I think this must be part of being still and knowing he is God. He doesn’t have to give me lightning bolts and great signs. He’s already given everything. I just have to listen to the quiet and know…

God, grant me grace to go into my closet and kneel before you and wait with you in the silence.

The turtleneck sweater...

As is per norm in my world, I am constantly learning some new random fact about my family. When I was a kid the big thing was that I was related to Pocahontas. Today, much bigger news! I am an avid knitter - and apparently quite the expert according to community members. As it turns out, my great-great grandfather, Oswald Friebel invented the turtleneck sweater in 1901. If you google "Oswald Friebel" + sweater, you will find the actual patent (there are only two links that appear). I feel like my family has somehow come full circle, although I have yet to patent anything.

clap on clap off

Recently some friends and I were listening to (yes, I’m embarrassed to admit) a collection of Carman songs.  In my upbringing, Carman was one of the few acceptable artists.  Pentecostal girls flocked to Carman concerts like others did to New Kids on the Block.  I had all of his albums and still have most of his lyrics committed to memory.  This resulted in me performing a lip-sync concert for my roommate on our front lawn at 1 a.m. last spring and she memorialized the occasion by giving me a Greatest Hits collection for my 30th birthday.  I’ve had fun times singing along and re-enacting his cheesiness for friends. 

During my most recent rendition I noticed that he said “Come on, put your ten-stringed instruments together and sing along.”  I asked: “Do you know what he means by ten-stringed instrument?” - a phrase I heard nearly every Sunday growing up.  They didn’t.  He meant to clap along - using your ten fingers.  Oh what a crude distortion (!) of the psalmist’s exhortation: Praise the LORD with harp: sing unto him with the psaltery and an instrument of ten strings (Ps. 33:2).

This morning I was again singing some cheesy songs while getting ready - though Carman didn’t make the cut.  I’ve been reflecting lately on the continual stresses of life.  Nearly everyone around me seems to be experiencing maximum stress.  And each of us could report that before the most recent crises, there were others and before those others and when these are over there will be more.  Until we are with Him in His Kingdom we will live with this burden of stress.  We (I) must learn to live abundantly in His joy despite the stresses of life.  The joy of the Lord is our strength.  Nehemiah said this to the people of Israel when they heard and understood the words of the Law (8:8-12).  They were grieved, knowing that they had not and could not bear the burden of the Law.  Nehemiah told them to stop grieving - enjoy some food and drink with your neighbors and “Do not grieve, for the joy of the LORD is your strength.”  So maybe we take this verse a little bit out of context, but how else can we live without His joy as our strength?

Sadly, I haven’t had much experience with living in this joy.  I’ve always thought that I had to strive to please Him, make Him look favorably upon me, avoid His fiery judgment.  But as my mind is being renewed, my soul (= inner and outer life) is being transformed.  One result is that some mornings I awaken with this strange new sensation.  I’m sure it is His joy.  So this morning, I began singing a song that I was taught as a child.  Each verse has motions like clap, shout, jump and dance so it’s really good for wiggly kids in Sunday School.  Thus I began with the chorus:
The joy of the Lord is my strength
The joy of the Lord is my strength
The joy of the Lord is my strength
The joy of the Lord is my strength
And then came the first verse:
If you want the joy you must clap for it
Wait a minute…! 
Hasn’t that been the problem all along?  Joy isn’t a clapper: clap on, clap off.
I don’t think that when the psalmist penned “Sing to him a new song; play skillfully, and shout for joy.” (33:3) that he meant shout in order to get joy any more than he meant that your ten-fingers make a ten-stringed instrument. 

It is the same today, for a few of the people of Israel have remained faithful because of God’s grace—his undeserved kindness in choosing them. And since it is through God’s kindness, then it is not by their good works. For in that case, God’s grace would not be what it really is—free and undeserved.  Romans 11:5-6

I tell you the truth [when you receive the Holy Spirit at salvation], you will ask the Father directly, and he will grant your request because you use my name. You haven’t done this before. Ask, using my name, and you will receive, and you will have abundant joy. John 16:23-24

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Gal. 5:22-23

Be renewed oh my mind!
Be transformed oh my soul!

redecorating

I’ve been living here at Haggai House for about 16 months. In that time I’ve been fortunate to have a landlord who allowed us to do a little redecorating. I’ve puttered around touching up damaged paint, building shelves (good excuse to buy power tools), updating drapery and doing an extreme laundry closet makeover. We’re confident Ty would be impressed. My roommates were kind enough to tolerate the messes, substitute for a leveling tool, and keep me company. 

This weekend we embarked on a new redecorating adventure. If anyone out there is suffering from the delusion that stripping down wallpaper is an easy task, please consult with the Haggai House occupants before you begin! 

The task reminded me of a song I used to hear on the radio. I don’t particularly like it but it stuck with me. It’s a good visual of the journey - my journey - beauty from ashes… messy “homes” being cleaned out and redecorated in Jesus’ distinctive, eclectic taste. 

Take, me, make me
All You want me to be
That's all I'm asking, all I'm asking

Welcome to this heart of mine
I've buried under prideful vines
Grown to hide the mess I've made
Inside of me
Come decorate, Lord….

Spread Your love upon the walls
And occupy the empty halls
Until the man I am has faded
No more doors are barricaded

Take a seat, pull up a chair
Forgive me for the disrepair
And the souvenirs from floor to ceiling
Gathered on my search for meaning
Every closet's filled with clutter
Messes yet to be discovered
I'm overwhelmed, I understand
I can't make this place all that You can

I took the space that You placed in me
Redecorated in shades of greed….

(I always thought he said “gray” & I liked that because I struggled with depression and the visual of Jesus splashing vibrant colors on the gray walls of my spirit man seemed beautifully redemptive.)

Come inside this heart of mine
It's not my own
Make it home
Come and take this heart and make it
All Your own
Welcome home

Partial lyrics from Shaun Grove’s “Welcome Home”

Concerning the Middle East...

    It all started with a hot pink salwar kameez. Go figure… Such is the weirdness of my life. Anyhow, I suppose I ought to explain a few things.
    Until recently, I’ve been planning on going into the mission field in Latin America. I have wanted this so firmly for the past eleven years that it is hard to imagine anything else. Since sophomore year of college, I have been praying about whether this is what God wants or if it was simply something I wanted. I must have tried to give it up a thousand times, but it never seemed to go completely away. Then in walked a lovely hot pink (ok, it is closer to dusky pink) salwar kameez. This outfit is probably one of the most comfortable items of clothing I have ever put on and elicited the response from the woman giving it to me, “You look like you’ve worn it your whole life!” Thanks! seeing as how she had lived in India for a few years, I figured she should know. And I  hadn’t thought about it since… until the other day.
    Recently I been thinking and praying a lot about where God is leading me. The more I prayed, the less I felt that I was headed into Latin America. One night this past week I had a dream. In this dream, I was lying next to someone. I looked at them and said, “We’ve known each other along time,” and then killed that person. I woke up with the realization that something inside of me had just died. As the day went on, I came to realize that what had died that morning was my desire to move to Latin America, yet I still feel called to missions. I have continued to pray about this since that time. Finally, it seems that God spoke. A friend from work (I found out within the last week) has every intention of becoming a missionary in the Middle East and spoke some Arabic. I was SO excited to find another Christian at the store and told my roommates the story. After hearing it, my prophetic roommate tells me, “You know, Arabic and Spanish share over 5,000 words. I think that’s why you’ve learned Spanish.” Excuse me? I was not too excited by this prospect. I have never had any desire to be anywhere in the Middle East. She proceeds to tell me that recently the more she prays about me going to Latin America the more she sees me in the Middle East. Again, not an exciting prospect.
    As I have reflected on this series of events, I am praying that God will continue to guide my steps and give me clear direction in whichever way he pleases. Thinking about living in the Middle East is a scary thing. I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about the concept, people, region, religion, etc, etc.

Snapshot

Three girls huddle in the upstairs bathroom after lunch. One of us, who often voices prophetic impressions, smirks at the emphatic responses she has elicited from the other two: “I don’t want to go to the Middle East!” and “I don’t want to give up Diet Dr. Pepper!” The prophetess conveniently avoids further comment by brushing her teeth.

One was informed over lunch that Spanish and Arabic share some 5000 or so words. A yet-to-be-discovered calling?

The other has just lamented to the wrong audience about not-so-speedy weight loss. Too much diet soda is soon declared the culprit.

That is life today at Haggai House - an interesting experiment in living, learning and making Him known together.

Welcome to the Haggai house...

In late 2006, we had built an addition to my in-law's house, all with the intention of moving in to take care of them as they aged.  We planned to sell our old house, which is only 2 doors down, and use the equity to pay on the cost of the addition.  God had other plans.

I woke in the middle of the night. The house was on my mind. What should we do? Should we drop the price? Should we continue to try and sell it? Should we keep it? I cried out to God that night as I lay in bed. I wanted to do what was right. 

My Spirit voice asked me a question. “What is the house number?” 

I answered, “279.”

“I have a word for you in that number, but you are going to have to find it.”

I got out of bed and opened my Bible. I opened it to Genesis, chapter 2, verses 7-9. Nothing. There is no Genesis 2:79, so I went to Exodus. Nothing. Finally, I came to Haggai. God spoke.

Haggai 2:7-9 “And I will shake all nations, so that the treasures of all nations shall come in, and I will fill this house with glory, says the Lord of hosts. The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, declares the Lord of hosts. The latter glory of this house shall be greater than the former, says the Lord of hosts. And in this place I will give peace, declares the Lord of hosts.”

A clear word to keep the house! It’s all there. The nations. The silver and gold, which meant His provision. The peace and the glory of God! Amazing. I went and pulled the sign from the yard that next day and now we are learning what it means to have a discipleship house.

This blog is about life together in our little community of two houses; the Haggai House, with Keturah, Rebekah and Sarah, and our house, with my wife, my son and me, and my wife's parents.