To be continued...

The acclaimed Holy Land begs for a realized reformation. While it sure would be interesting to celebrate that full realization of that kind of thing, it seems a far ways off...

I am in full blown summer. The need for fans, the pathetic short tempered market goers, the absorbent heat, all seem to mark Jerusalem at this time of year. The heat is as expected: my physical and temporal destinations seem a little less obvious.

I am writing for two distinct reasons. First, I am writing to inform the very few who read my blog that I intend to post more frequently; secondly, to comment a bit on the happenings and drama of my summer.

My comments will follow as they fall on me. I suppose I will talk in brief about Burna and bitterness, the reign of Christ and its affect on the my heart and the church... So here gos... I have found a kind of respite in garden work and mopping over these summer months. Its a little under the radar and a bit dull but it pays the rent and priveledges the doers. My schedule has been more inconsistent due to the draw of trying to make connections and trying to spend time with people who are coming in and out. I have obligations on campus that absorb more time than I should give to them, but soon I will get the balance right. I have had extra time this summer to invest in travel and this only seems appropriate given that I am studying the places and ideologies that have originated and emerged from these very places.

Late June, I was privileged to dig at Tel Burna and you can check out the website to see the details of that excavation. It was headed up by the Bar Ilan team... http://telburna.wordpress.com/

Early July, a short-term student rented a car and invited me to tour with him. We made our way round the country, hiking Mt. Hermon and En Gedi (Ivan ought to remember this one). A little park ranger confrontation only added to the excursion. Late night clean after Holland beat Uruguay and one computer out the boot later, stephen was at the airport.

The next day, we traveled to Tel es Safi and met up with memebers of the Bar Ilan-Burna team that explained the site to us. This is kinda it, in a word. I intend to write more and be a bit more detailed but I thought this would do for the time being...

As for a little digression on Church, I thought I might add... Church, here, is mark with the constant mantras of Jesus' jewishness and the primacy of Judaism as a springboard for understanding the Christian scriptures or Israel is bigger than the lot of Eber and his talodot. I could give examples from both sides of the seam where hermeneutic bleeds by consequence and is, like it or not, predetermined in the eye of the beholder. Caught betwixt and taught, too often I feel un-equipped to test systems, question ideologies and critique the modern progression. Its so inflamed and people are less interested in common sense readings, we are interested in perpetuating a piety of tradition or anti-tradition. On all sides there is a great need for re-evaluation and reformation... At times I am enviable of so many people that divorce theology from its affect on them, though I think that no matter how divorced the two become in word, they are always associated in reality, realized or not.

The encouraging bit runs like this: God will build His church and the gates of Hell will not prevail against it.

40 year trib.avi

40 Years and Counting...

Once upon a time a tall, spirited, piano-preachin' girl from the farms of Indiana found herself involved in mission work. Another just as lovely and young, bang-em-up, overall's-wearin', bet-you-can't-ride-a-big-bike-and-win-20-bucks, Fletcher girl found herself partnering with Erma in a lifelong journey that would endure through the decades. A Miss Erma Augsburger and a Miss Jean Zirkle invested themselves in the ministry spending their tears on church reform in a small American baptist church. Of course their friendship, like nearly all friendships, involved familial ties - especially important for their nephew and niece. Erma's brother, the ornery, even-taller, mam-you-dropped-your broach-you-should-pick that-up, Ivan Edison married a much older Wheaton-grad, Grace Maxine (not my sister, obviously). They went off to the Dominican Republic fulfilling a call to the ministry, and when their daughter was of age, she was sent to Erma and Jean in Indiana. Jean's beautiful, touch-my-boys-and I-will-beat-you-with-a-bat, sister Betty May married a hardworking, handsome chap - locally grown in western Ohio, Ernest Junior. On occasion the family tree would mingle and naturally Erma's brother's little Blondie, Maxine, crashed into Betty and Junior's fair, conscientious, dimpled boy, Keith Ray...

To many details to recite them all. A kind of home grown affection budded into bloom out of a life long friendship. I can think of two stories in particular that seem characteristic of that journey and this romantic tale. Though I don't know Kieth Ray Hague, my father came down with Mono-nucleosis. I was told Maxine read him stories and babied him back to health, perhaps because she felt like she may have caused it. How ever this is connected to their dramatic engagement seems to follow in line with natural sequences.

Now, the story my sister would tell you about their engagement is perhaps a bit more cynical than mine. I think their engagement is characteristic of their marriage. It tells you something very authentic about my parents. I suppose Grace would say Dad's cheeky “If you can put up with me” proposal on highway 75 was romantic-less and lame. I would argue that it emerged out of a passionate and rooted and affectionate love for the one person in all the world for whom he cared the most. Consequently, he had to take care of the deed in the most honest of ways... true to life... in rhythm with the real... the flavor of the “this is how it is. I love you and I will always love you. I don't need to get in a cannon and show off, walk down no stupid park lane or throw up some fanciful masquerade. This is me wishin' that you would stand by me through thick and thin till death do us part.” Though Dad would probably not say it like that, he had under his breath actions that better exemplify this kind of sentiment than do my words...I would argue 40 years later hindsight is 20/20...

If the signature of that affection is not authenticated by my father's hours in the driveway on yet another part that fell off the car, his willingness to brake his back to bear the load of a budget that is running on God's provision, or my mother's hours, in the back-room fighting the eternal hamper of good clothes ruined by bad children, spending herself thin trying as she might to be involved with their kids education and pay the balance for those same bills that seem to keep on coming, I don't know what does... Though these days, I wish Dad would sleep less for moms sake and I wish mom would stress-out less for his, I understand now better than I have ever before what commitment ought to look like. Their example is good. In a world where divorce has become the norm, my parents have raged against the machine, the machine of "if its not working, get a new one" and the machine of "get what's yours, you deserve better." With a keen awareness of their need for Christ and each other, they have vowed to preserve that union that God has consecrated unto Himself for their good and his Glory.

The most enduring grace that marks my parents and for which I am most grateful is their own sensitivity to their sin and their love for the Gospel. That is Jesus Christ's coming to die for our sins to propriate God's wrath, his resurrection to champion death securing eternal provisions. This informed the way they tried to love each other and the way they raised my brothers, sister and me. Mom's “Do your best for Jesus sake” prompted us to rehearse the Gospel to ourselves that we might act differently. I suppose we did but not without big falls along the way.

Its rare to find people who are so quick to admit their wrongs, so honest about their shortcomings, and so accepting and charitable as a result. If Mom isn't signing bout God's perfections to her grand kids, she is off preachin' to the dog... If Dad isn't trying to fix the American political wreck, he is entertaining the funny lookin' people we bring home with his famous jokes. The church is needy for more people like this. After 40 years a banner has been raised, stones gathered together as a memorial, an Ebenezer has been lifted into place memorializing a theme etched forever into my sister's and brothers' ears “

This is the day the Lord has made we will be glad and rejoice in it.

Glad songs of salvation are in the tents of the righteous: "The right hand of the LORD does valiantly,

the right hand of the LORD exalts, the right hand of the LORD does valiantly!"

I shall not die, but I shall live, and recount the deeds of the LORD.

The LORD has disciplined me severely, but he has not given me over to death.

Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the LORD.

This is the gate of the LORD; the righteous shall enter through it.

I thank you that you have answered me and have become my salvation.

The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.

This is the LORD's doing; it is marvelous in our eyes.

This is the day the Lord has made we will be glad and rejoice in it.

I am very sorry I am not in there in person...

I love you very much Mom and Dad...

Happy Fortieth Anniversary

A Day at the Beach

Late-night walks stereotypically invite casual reflection, if not wearied confessions or something like it. At times like this, my mind seems to toss back and forth along with the shuffle of my feet. Last night, a bit weary from school drama, last minute assignments and inevitable finals that lurk just around the corner, I found myself on my way home worrying about my stuff. Stuff... stuff... stuff...

I was raised in a house where the mantra of "its o.k. to have nice things" stood only as tall as the distance it took to fall to the floor, while an aunt of mine would oblige herself in reminding us to take care of the things that we had, lest we loose them. (Just for clarification, my parents charged us to take care of our things but they were anything but obsessive and for this I am grateful) I heartily appreciate this interesting contrast because I think the paradox in practice is at least useful.

So the story goes like this... Captain Nat and his beautiful wife, Shirley agreed to take a trip with Emily and I to Mt. Hermon. Emily and I went to pick the car up in Tel Aviv where we would eventually return the thing. After a wonderful end-o-semester trip, we made our way back to the Airport rental-return dock, not before a Shirley-planned Tel Aviv outing. A plan that included: a walk through old Jappa, drinks on the beach, and pizza in downtown Tel Aviv. The night was beautiful; the evening meaningful, and good. Once we arrived at Ben Gurion, I went to grab my bag so that I could exchanged the right papers to the Budget rental receptionist and my bag was gone.

Gulp. Question marks. What had I done? I knew that I had gotten into it before our walk into Old Jappa, I knew I had hid it in the trunk. And now, what? I felt guilty and dirty, violated and stupid, irresponsible and weak. My stomach churned and twisted inside of me and I knew of nothing better to do than to affirm true things. "Its going to be o.k." "God is Soverign."

I suppose outside the experience itself it seems a bit brutish to sound affirmations like this especially if someone does it for you; but I found that even in the shadows of a really-not-that-terrible-but-still-bad-thing, I was completely dependent. I mean, everything I had there of any value disappeared and I had to pay the bill? The monies I had set aside to pay the tab, my debit card, my licence and my passport. And its one thing to loose these kind of things- my things, my mp3 player and my maps; quite another to loose other people's things; say, for instance, a camera I was borrowing.

I can hear your tisk-tisk. I have been over this already. I have done it to myself a thousand times and I don't think it has any substantive good because above the noise of the should-have-beens lay the sweet reminder that independence in isolation from God is nothing better than Hell. Whatever independence is truly, I was in that experience reminded of how needy I really am.

God is not mocked, He is not unable to vindicate. He will restore all losses. He upholds the head of the offended.

Miss-led regret is but a cowardice companion that desires to have us. Do you think that God didn't see it all? Do you think he missed it? Its not like the storm doesn't come to the rock builder in just the same way it comes to the Sand-dwellers. Its not like God is incapable of planning good to emerge from evil intentions. God does all things well and He has made a promise to finish the good thing he started in us to the praise of His glorious grace.

Oh no...

Pulse check. The heart beat murmur of the steadily unchanging pitter-patter echoes a real and hearty challenge. Are you consistent? Are you pacing to the noise that lives inside you? Are you inhibiting it with poison and popcorn?

The metaphor may or may not do, but the reality of untempered commitments may very well keep you racing to the nearest stimulant irrespective of how good or bad it makes you feel like a dog waxed on by cats right and left only to wain back for a quick snack on yesterdays vomit. This life-style will only lead to fickleness and heartache. Someday the wounds are going to show. Someday the blister is going to pop. Someday the hollow tree is going to fall and there are no roads back to wholeness once the timber is burned.

The eschatological vision pent up in Revelation helps. Yesterday's forgotten mantra about death and taxes has a surety epistemologically tested by all known methods of observation. I suppose it is discouraging for some people to think about death. I suppose it may be scary or ripe with noisy absolutes we would like to avoid. Whatever the case maybe, I am quite confident I will die and the impending reality bolsters sobriety.

The surety of God's judgment may not have the same kind of observable validation, but the Scriptures have conclude that death assumes a call to trial, a judgment. Judgment language is quite impressively common in the Scripture and yet comically absent from the Evangelical pulpit. I have heard it said that while God is fully capable of blessing, he is incapable of condemnation. This seems belittling and arrogant to me. I suppose if someone is interested in the Scriptural attestation, they would have to take God's right to judge and bless seriously.

Samaritan Priest

Samaritan Audio...

Here is a bug-on-the-wall look into the current ideals and religiosity of the Samaritans according to the word of a priest on Gerizim. I think I have them in order...

Part 1:

Part 2: