Jesus?

The last few weeks have filled my mind with questions about Jesus. Was Jesus really God? And whatever the answer is to that question; why does it matter? “What if he takes his place in history with all the prophets and the kings who taught us love and came in peace, but then the story ends? What then …?” – Nichole Nordeman’s lyrics have been stuck in my head for weeks as I’ve pondered the man Jesus. Why should I put faith in a man who may or may not hold my salvation in His hands? What if he was just a lunatic, on the level of a poached egg? (1) Does it really make sense that God, The God Almighty, would send a piece of Himself down to earth? It’s definitely a stretch of the imagination. So … What have I to do with Jesus?

There are three words that get tossed around a lot in the Christian religion: faith, grace, and love. And all of these words can be insanely ambiguous and over-used. What do they really mean? Why do they matter? And what do they have to do with Jesus?

Bill Johnson writes, “Grace is the atmosphere created by love that makes faith the only reasonable response.” … What the heck is that supposed to mean? Great! More ambiguous language. Awesome.  But then I looked at it in context … (2)

It was a hot day, dusty day in Palestine. The young woman throne to the street could taste the dust between her teeth as she gritted them in unadulterated anger. Her emotional state was the only thing about her that could be considered “unadulterated”… She knew that word well. She was well-acquainted with adultery, and now it was time to wipe her name off the list, clean the slate, kill the sinful beast that had fallen prey to these righteous men – the Pharisees. Her shame was unbearable. Not only was she going to be stoned, but she had been caught in the very act, and now being publicly accused and mocked. She lay crumpled at the feet of the righteous teacher named Jesus. Through the corners of her eyes, she could see other teachers of the law clutching stones, anxious to hurl them at her in pure malice. The Law of Moses demanded this … she knew it was just … she knew there was no way out. She was a sinner, and the law demanded death. The onlookers waited, ready for Jesus’ declaration of condemnation on this woman. But instead he stooped and scribbled in the dust.

I have no idea what he wrote, but I do know that the grace he was offering this battered soul created an atmosphere that drove the accusers away. That atmosphere was so strong that there were no arguments, no protests. Judgment had been defeated by grace.

The broken woman at the feet of the Grace Giver didn’t need to be told to believe in Christ. She believed. Jesus’ love for this woman had given her grace … and the only logical response was to put her faith in Jesus. Faith, grace, and love. “Grace is the atmosphere created by love that makes faith the only reasonable response.” Yes.

Maybe I see myself as one of the Pharisees sometimes. I’m not adulterous, I’m not a vagabond at the feet of Jesus, I’m not about to be stoned for disgusting, sinful behavior! … or am I? I lose faith when I start to see myself in the wrong position. When I forget about the atmosphere or grace and love that surrounds me, faith seems ridiculous and far away. When I lose faith, I find myself on the outskirts of the crowd, stone in hand, ready to beat down the broken hearts. I find myself working against Jesus, battling the powers of love, grace, and faith. I become a monster. 

But, “Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so…” Jesus loves me, this I know. Because all of the stones are fallen to the ground. Because love and grace give me no alternative. Because the only logical thing to do is to fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. (3)

1. C.S. Lewis, “Mere Christianity” (p.40) 
2. Bill Johnson’s Foreward in “Culture of Honor” by Danny Silk
3. C.S. Lewis, “Mere Christianity” (p.41)

I'm asking

I can feel You ... I can feel You.   Inside the songs I struggle to understand. In the church members whom I've always found dry and difficult. 

I feel You.                    So what are you doing?

Here.

Now.

"I can feel you all around me..." 

            What does that mean?

I love that I can feel You.

I love that You're a feel-able God.

But I can't feel what You're doing.

Unless, that is, all You're doing is letting me feel joy ... love ... peace ... You.

                  Is this Heaven?

Is this life?     and more abundant ... ?

Well, I want more, whatever it is. 

                  I'm asking.

Can I have more of You?

Franglais!

The weather is peculiar here in Collonges, France. The campus where I am currently attending classes, is located near the base of a mountain/cliff known as le Salève, and because the Salève is massive and also directly to the east of the school, you never get to see the sunrise from campus. Your mornings are spent shivering as you wait for the sun to make it over the range of cliffs so that it can dry up the ample amounts of dew on the grass and heat your cold American body. But the weather isn’t the only thing I’ve been adjusting to. Though I must say that all of the adjustments so far have been pleasant ... so let’s adjust. 

A large group of smoking teenagers is lounging to my right as I walk down a small alley on the way to my favorite patissêrie. They sit there every day and watch me as I meander past, books in hand, endeavoring to comprehend the little bits of their conversation which drift past my American ears. We’ve exchanged salutations on a few occasions but, for the most part, we keep to our own little worlds. Their world intrigues me. Not because they’re smoking (as seemingly everyone does in France), or because they’re French (though that is a very good reason), or because of their clothing (which is so different from mine), but rather because they are a new world to me. Here they sit, in the quaintest alley I have ever seen, with cobblestones and old stone walls, doing nothing but smoking, laughing, and endeavoring to look cool.

The houses surrounding me have window boxes and latticed blinds, some with shutters open. I can hear someone practicing a piano in one of the houses, and in the yard to my right a man is tending his garden. He’s humming. I can’t recognize the tune, but that gives me some relief — now I won’t have it stuck in my head all day. This small town makes me wish I had theme music to follow me everywhere I go so that I could walk to its pace, hum along with the tune, and throw out a “Bonjour!” to passing strangers in between verses. I have already picked out a house that I will someday own, complete with stone walls, latticed blinds, and a garden. Eric Weber, Grant Perdew, and I will someday live there together in a domestic partnership, tending the garden, speaking copious amounts of French, and eating far more French food than is good for us. We will adopt lots of French children and spend our entire day listening to them talk in their adorable French voices as we sit on our front porch overlooking Geneva.

Many of you may be wondering if I have discovered any kittens here. You will be happy to know that I have discovered many forms of the feline species here in France. My impression that the French did not have kittens was completely misguided and I can now think of no cuter picture than a small French child holding a small French kitten. It’s truly adorable. And if you have never seen such a thing, please travel to France immediately and complete your life experience. (I will have a child and kitten waiting here for your convenience.) Though the kittens and cats alike are adorable here in France, I have not found them to be overly friendly. At first I thought it might be because I was speaking to them in English, but I was sad to discover that they are equally unpleasant when spoken to in French. Next I will try Korean to see if they have a more positive response.

I have found the French people to be much more agreeable than their cats. I wasn’t sure how I would be treated in France, and the stories of stuck-up French people were leaving me nervous. But I have found that the people here love my “Franglais” and willingness to be taught their slippery language. As soon as people find out that I am American and that I’m here to study French, they invite me to pick the fruit in their yard, try more of their French desserts, or meet their entire family. Sometimes it’s a little scary.

But the scariness of being in a new country has been unable to dislodge the pleasant experience of living here in France. Welcome to my world. You’re going to see more of it as I begin to relate to you, my friends, the beauty and the absurdity of the French culture. 

Welcome to France.

Welcome to France

#1 - Dolphins, sur le Salève!
#2 - La vie est belle... c'est vrai :)
#3 - Mes amies et moi, sur le Salève... 

My favourite things...

It's the little things. The little things that get me...  Like climbing a tree and scraping my knee... When I'm jumping from rock to rock like a mountain goat on the Salève and I rip my shorts... The fog that gets stuck in your hair as you climb higher and higher, leaving you drenched to the bone when you finally arrive at the summit... The choral music playlist I have saved on iTunes for the many times I become sentimental and begin to miss home... The early morning air pouring through my open window as I climb off my cot in each day... The stinging cut on my hand from the cruel rocks I met yesterday... My full belly, compliments of the caf and it's wonderful French food... The post-it-note on my window, reminding me to love myself today.

It's the little things. The scars, scrapes, tears in my shorts, dew in my hair, air in my lungs, music in my ears, and peace inside my soul...  They get me. Every time. 

I'm taken. I'm enchanted. I'm in love.... In love with the little things. In love with life. This life. My life. the little things....

And all I can say is hallelujah...