“The Character and Nature of God”

This was presented during communion on Sunday, September 15, 2013.

Three blind men encountered an elephant. Each of them touched the elephant in a different place. They each then describe what they imagine the elephant to be. “It is like a wall”, the first man replied, having touched the elephant on its side. “It is not like a wall at all, but instead like a rope”, said the second after felling of the elephant’s tail. “The elephant is much like a tree, tall and slender”, said the last, having encountered one of the elephant’s legs.

They have a heated debate that does not come to physical violence. But the conflict is never resolved.

An ancient poem about this incident summarizes it like this:

And so these men of Hindustan

Disputed loud and long,

Each in his own opinion

Exceeding stiff and strong,

Though each was partly in the right

And all were in the wrong.

Moral:

So oft in theologic wars,

The disputants, I ween,

Rail on in utter ignorance

Of what each other mean,

And prate about an Elephant

Not one of them has seen.

Does this sound anything like debates at church? Consider just two opinions of the character and nature of God. Both come from well-known theologians.

Here’s the first:

“The bow of God’s wrath is bent, and the arrow made ready on the string, and justice bends the arrow at your heart, and strains the bow, and it is nothing but the mere pleasure of God, and that of an angry God, without any promise or obligation at all, that keeps the arrow one moment from being made drunk with your blood.”

This is an except from one of the most famous sermons in American history; that of Jonathan Edwards’, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” Edwards depicts God as full of wrath, bound by law of abstract justice. We have failed; we deserve to suffer. God is angry.

You wouldn’t expect this God to say, “I have really been looking forward to seeing you face to face. It is so wonderful to have you here with us.”

In contrast, one of the early Church heroes named Athanasius penned these thoughts about God.

“The God of all is good and supremely noble by nature. Therefore he is the lover of humanity. As, then, the creatures whom He had created were in fact perishing, and such noble works were on the road to ruin, what then was God, being Good, to do? Was He to let corruption and death have their way with them? In that cast, what was the use of having made them in the beginning? It was impossible, therefore, that God should leave man to be carried off by corruption, because it would be unfitting and unworthy of Himself.”

This is how William Paul Young, author of “The Shack”, sums up man’s attempt to describe God.

“The problem is that many folks try to grasp some sense of who God is by taking the best version of themselves, projecting that to the nth degree, factoring in all the goodness they can perceive, which often isn’t much, and then call that God. And while it may seem like a noble effort, the truth is that it falls pitifully short of who he really is. He is not merely the best version of you that you can think of. He is far more than that, above and beyond all that you can ask or think.”

Have you ever held a fine diamond in your fingers and turned while light was shining on it? I believe this is a good example of what “looking at God” is like. With every move of polished surfaces, of facets, you see a new color or reflection that wasn’t there before. In mathematics you learn that the intersection of n-dimensional objects is an (n-1)-dimensional object. A good example of this is our world. It has three dimensions that we can see, but there is another dimension that we cannot see: time. At any given instant we can only see the 3 dimensions around us. As soon as it arrives it vanishes to give way to the next instant in time, never to be seen or experienced again.

I believe that is one reason scripture records the description of the love of God using 4 dimensions: breadth, width, height, and depth. We encounter His love in one instant and imagine that He is like that. We encounter His grace in another instant and imagine that He is like that. We may encounter His justice in yet another instant and, again, imagine that He that is all there is to Him.

The reality is He is all of that and more! He is everlasting to everlasting. He is past finding out. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He is altogether lovely. He is a raging fire, a booming thunder, and yet a still small voice. He is a cloud by day, and a pillar of fire by night. He is the first and the last, the beginning and the ending. He is righteous; He is holy. He is truth!

And yet He has chosen to come and commune with us when we agree to meet with Him. He is here.

Sleep - a poem

Sleep

It is night that brings most dread

Body tired, day is spent

All the possibilities

That will never see daylight again

If this is all there is

Why do I even want to wake

The daily frustration of hours wasted

Now just haunting memories

If this is all there is

There is no need for morning

It only comes to mock my

Hope of more to come

But there is more … much more

Today was just a taste

Bitter or sweet

It is only a lesson learned

The hope of something more

Causes the sun to rise

To introduce the day

That could bring more to my world

There is more, because of THAT day

When all that was lost

Died once for all

To bring life forevermore

So now each day has promise

That Life will be found

Where before there was dread

Now joy

Night still comes

So morning can bring anticipation

Of finding that

Which is seeking after me

So sleep …

© 2013 Kurios Books. Written by Dudley Harris (September 6, 2013)

Turning ...

I remembered a song from years ago by Randy Stonehill titled "Turning Thirty". That was a tah-dah moment for him I guess. I've had a few tah-dah days in the past few years. When I turned 45 (I think) I began to contemplate how old my father was when he died. I was only nine and, to me, my father was old. As it turned out, my father was about 42 when he died. I suddenly realized how young he really was. I began to imagine how my children would have been affected if I had died at 42. How would things have turned out for them.

Then, even more recently, I began to contemplate how old my mother was when I started college. I was the last of the kids at home. When I moved onto Samford's campus my mom moved "home" to Hanceville, AL, to live in the Little House my father built when they were first married. I was 18 at that time and I thought my mom was old. I imagined her moving to the mountain to spend her last few years on earth. She was 52. I see now why she re-married. She was still a young woman with a lot of life in front of her.

I just turned 54 today. It's amazing to think how different age looks when you are looking forward, and then backward. My parents were both "old" when they hit the milestones mentioned previously. Now I see how "young" they really were.

I don't feel old. It's not until I look in the mirror that I realize I am aging. On the inside it seems like just yesterday that I was running with my friends at West Birmingham Christian School; Rusty, Jeff, Joey, and Jimmy. It seems like just a few years ago I spent night after night talking with my friend, Ed, until 5 am, knowing I had to get up at 6 am to go to school or work.

I still remember the lyric and melody to all of the songs I sang with Windborne, traveling with some of the greatest guys you could ever imagine; David M., Kevin, Rick, David S., Larry, Bobby, Barry, and a host of others I can't remember at the moment.

If it weren't for the many pictures I have of my children showing their progression in age I would not believe that they are now grown; each of them beautiful individuals, pursuing life with abandon. I find myself positioned in the bleachers cheering them on, hoping they find everything that they want out of life.

Then today, I had another tah-dah moment. Out of nowhere I had an epiphany of one aspect of my life that, until now, I had never realized. All of my life I have had music as a hobby. When I was in college I sang with Windborne. When I started my career in computers I served as a part-time music guy everywhere I've been: East Side, Word of Life, Paulding, and Agape. In 1997, my dream of one day being in full-time vocational ministry became a reality. My "hobby" was now my job!

I just realized this today, at 54. I have been doing for 15 years what I dreamed of doing for most of my life, and had never really given it much thought. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but it hit me like a ton of bricks.

So, what's next? Now that I'm doing what I love, what else can I do as a hobby? I'm going to start kicking the tires on a few things and see what the Lord my have for me in addition to what I'm doing. I'm excited to see what might develop.

Regardless of your age, never stop dreaming! You will always be "turning ..." but that doesn't mean it's over. Consider it a page, not the back cover. Write on each page as much as possible. Write small or write large, but fill each page with everything that will fit on it. Once you "turn" you can't go back. This is not a call for regret, but a call to redeem the time.

I'm just glad I'm still "turning ..."

What Are Policemen Made Of?

I found this while browsing through old newspapers at the Florence-Lauderdale Library. I thought it interesting that it published just 3 days after my dad died while serving the people of Birmingham, AL.

What Are Policemen Made Of? (Florence Times/Tricities Daily, May 7, 1969)

Don’t credit me with this mongrel prose; it has many parents; at least 420,000 of them: Policemen.

A policeman is a composite of what all men are, a mingling of saint and sinner, dust and deity.

Culled statistics wave the fan over dishonesty and brutality because they are “news.”  What that really means is that they are exceptional, unusual, not commonplace.  Buried under the froth is the fact: less than one-half of 1 percent of policemen misfit the uniform.  That’s a better average than you’d find among clergymen.

What is a policeman made of?  He, of all men, is at once the most needed and the most unwanted.  He’s a strangely nameless creature who is “sir” to his face and “fuzz” behind his back.

He must be such a diplomat that he can settle differences between individuals so that each will think he won.

But … If the policeman is neat, he’s conceited; if he’s careless, he’s a bum.  If he’s pleasant, he’s a flirt; if he’s not, he’s a grouch.  He must make in an instant decisions which would require months for a lawyer.

But … If he hurries, he’s careless; if he’s deliberate, he’s lazy.

He must be first on an accident and infallible with a diagnosis.  He must be able to start breathing, stop bleeding, tie splints and, above all, be sure the victim goes home without a limp.  Or expect to be sued.

The police officer must know every gun, draw on the run, and hit where it doesn’t hurt.  He must be able to whip two men twice his size and half his age without damaging his uniform and without being “brutal.”  If you hit him, he’s a coward; if he hits you, he’s a bully.

A policeman must know everything – and not tell.  He must know where all the sin is – and not partake.

The policeman must, from a single human hair, be able to describe the crime, the weapon and the criminal – and tell you where the criminal is hiding.

But … If he catches the criminal, he’s lucky; if he doesn’t, he’s a dunce.  If he gets promoted, he has political pull; if he doesn’t, he’s a dullard.

The policeman must chase bum leads to a dead end, stake out 10 nights to tag one witness who saw it happen – but refuses to remember.

He runs files and writes reports until his eyes ache to build a case against some felon who’ll get dealed out by a shameless shamus or an “honorable” who isn’t.

The policeman must be a minister, a social worker, a diplomat, a tough guy, and a gentleman.  And of course, he’ll have to be a genius … for he’ll have to feed a family on a policeman’s salary.

Easter Communion

Easter Communion

The One in whom they had all placed their hope was dead. It was surreal. They all hoped when they awoke then they would realize it was all a dream. The Master could not be dead. He was the essence of life! How could life be dead? How could one who raised the dead allow His own life to be taken from him?

But Sunday morning came anyway; the first day of the week. The disciples were still hiding in fear of their own lives being threatened. The women, Mary Magdalene, out of whom Jesus had cast seven evil spirits, Joanna, the wife of one of Herod’s stewards, and Mary, the mother of the disciple named James, referred to as “the less”, and others, which may have included Susanna, went to minister to Jesus by anointing his dead body with spices.

Why would they do this? First of all, it was their custom to anoint the body with sweet smelling spices. But I believe the real reason was that ministering to Jesus had become normal to them. They did this during His ministry years. It had become their life! What else was there to do?

So, they made their way to the tomb, I’m sure, in tears. They were greeted at the tomb by two strange men with shinning white clothing. “Jesus was not there. He is risen!”, they were told. The women rushed back to tell the others what they had seen, but they did not believe them. They thought it to be idle tales. He was dead! You saw Him on the cross. You saw them take His lifeless body away.

After hearing the report from the women and giving their replies, two that had been with the disciples decided to get on with their lives. They set out for Emmaus to return home and start over. They, too, had forsaken all to follow the One they believed to be the Christ. But now that He was dead it was time to move on.

A stranger appeared as they walked. Cleopas and Simon could not believe this man didn’t even know what all had been going on in Jerusalem. They told the stranger how Jesus had claimed to be the Messiah, and that the Jewish leaders along with the Romans had put Him to death. As a matter of fact, some of the women had even said He was alive! Silly women.

The Stranger, who was Jesus, asked them, “Didn’t He tell you that all these things were going to happen?” He then went over it again, beginning at Moses and the prophets, explaining it all again. When He joined them in a meal at their house their eyes were opened and they realized it was Jesus in their midst. Jesus vanished from their presence.They immediately went back to join the other disciples to tell them that He was indeed alive!

While they were still telling their story Jesus appeared. Instead of being overjoyed with seeing Him, they thought He was a ghost!

Now, these events all seem a little strange to our 21^st Century minds. Why didn’t Jesus go to the temple and announce His resurrection? Why didn’t He immediately go back to the disciples and put them at ease? Why was it difficult for men who had walked with Him every day for years not even recognize Him? Why wouldn’t Jesus himself greet the women that came to the tomb? He received from them regularly during his time of ministry. They had supported Him with their goods. It would seem only right that He would receive them now.

There’s not much given in scripture as to all of the “whys” regarding the days after the resurrection. We know from Hebrews that Jesus had to ascend to heaven to apply His own blood on the “real” mercy seat to atone for the sins of mankind; to pay once for all the debt created by the first Adam’s fall.

We also learn from Paul in Ephesians that Jesus “ascended to heaven, but also descended to hell”, where He took back the keys of death, hell, and the grave that satan had gotten from the first Adam. Redemption was now complete!

So why not some fanfare? I believe this: so that it would be by faith, and not by sight. His birth was accomplished the same way. No big royal welcome. No parades to announce His coming. In the same way that He came, He now was going to leave. Appearing to those He loved, and that loved Him; telling them good-bye. Then, leaving the rest to them.

And now, here we are; a group of people, believers, 2000 years later still telling the same story. The cup and the wafer, and our faith.

My question today is this: of all of those mentioned in the resurrection story, which one are you? Mary Magdalene, or one of the others, that keep doing what you do “for the Lord” regardless of whether He is dead or alive? Are you Peter, who denied that he ever knew Jesus, but then rushed to the tomb when he heard Jesus might be alive? Are you Cleopas or Simon, that enjoyed the good run they had with Jesus, but moved on after they thought He was dead? Perhaps Thomas, who wanted to see the scars Jesus bore in His body before believing He was Messiah?

I find it interesting that there are many people named in the telling of the resurrection story. Then I looked at the meaning of some of them.

Joanna (Jehovah-favored)

Peter (rock)

Cleopas (father of glory)

Thomas (twin, or to be complete)

I believe the names were just the Holy Spirit’s way of expressing through the writers that God’s fingerprint was all over the activities of the days following the resurrection.

Your salvation is dependent upon whether YOU believe. Mama’s faith will not get you to heaven. The legacy of a father that walked with God will not provide for your salvation. We have a choice to make. Will you believe today? Do you believe?