Category: writing and poetry

Reflections on Bonhoeffer

Cover of
Cover via Amazon

I scanned the last sentence of Eric Metaxas‘s Bonhoeffer and it was regret that stared back when I saw the next page titled, “NOTES.”

Over 500 pages of a beautiful submersion into a life lived completely and I find myself wishing the book were longer so that I could walk next to someone who understood how theology spilled out into and gave purpose to *viviology (knowledge, study, and act of life or living).

Few people, especially those blessed with academic minds, are able to meet the needs of the former without sacrificing the demands of the latter. Bonhoeffer refused to only stand behind a podium in the high brow, organized classrooms of universities and behind closed doors of churches. The more he learned and studied, the greater he felt pulled toward living out the Truth he so passionately taught.

I love how he didn’t abandon the books and the study to live among the people in radical opposition to his intellectual contemporaries’ expectations.

Bonhoeffer saw, in his travels to the United States, what could happen when people step away from Truth and place something else at the center. He traveled to the US first in 1930 to study and teach at Union University and then again briefly in 1939 to consider a teaching position. Both trips were filled with the realization that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is and will always at the center of Christianity. This is what he said during his first visit,

“The sermon has been reduced to parenthetical church remarks about newspaper events. As long as I’ve been here, I have heard only one sermon in which you could hear something like a genuine proclamation … One big question continually attracting my attention in view of these facts is whether one here really can still speak of Christianity, … There’s no sense to expect the fruits where the Word really is no longer being preached. But then what becomes of Christianity per se?

The enlightened American, rather than viewing all this with skepticism, instead welcomes it as an example of progress.

…

In New York, they preach about virtually everything; only one thing is not addressed, or is addressed so rarely that I have as yet been unable to hear it, namely, the gospel of Jesus Christ, the cross, sin and forgiveness, death and life.”

It’s funny … how timely these words are today. Maybe “sad” better describes how far we’ve come since Bonhoeffer’s evaluation in 1930. We preach on “virtually everything” but what will reach, save, and transform lives. We preach on trees and health and wealth and all the ways the world is evil, but we don’t preach Christ. Could it be because we are scared of the price? Bonhoeffer’s approach to life was, in large part, informed by God’s approach to grace and discipleship.

We want the discounted version – the less painful, less costly kind of grace – but with the full benefits of its original value. In what he would call “cheap grace,” Bonhoeffer explains how we do ourselves a disservice in settling for something less than what God originally intended (by straying from Jesus Christ at the center of the Good News). In his book, “Cost of Discipleship,” he says,

“cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline. Communion without confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ.”

We’ve created a grace that strips it of all its power. When we’re done sermonizing, what we’ve given people is at best hollow and full of despair. There is no life in it. In contrast, is this costly grace:

“costly grace confronts us as a gracious call to follow Jesus, it comes as a word of forgiveness to the broken spirit and the contrite heart. It is costly because it compels a man to submit to the yoke of Christ and follow him; it is grace because Jesus says: “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” “

I still cannot figure out how Bonhoeffer merged his knowledge with his life, but I can certainly see that he did. For three months in 1931, he conducted confirmation classes in rough neighborhood of Wedding. He took the post shortly after being ordained and the zeal with which he approached the class of fifty boys might have been characteristic of a new minister, but the care and perseverance he applied in every aspect of his teaching was unique. His life with those boys emphasized community and sacrifice. The textbook was not drudgery, opened with great pain and resistance. The Text was carried around in their hearts and gave the greatest joy to its living out.

Even as the very church he helped to build up (The Confessing Church) failed to stand for Truth when it mattered most, Bonhoeffer’s resolve grew only stronger. He believed that he had been “grasped” by God – that he had been chosen for something. But, that something was only important because of (and dependent on) the God who decides to break through and use people, sermons, and situations for His glorious purposes.

He resolved to not only preach Christ and Him crucified, as Paul declared in his letter to the church in Corinth, but he endeavored to LIVE in obedience to Christ’s costly call to follow as a disciple.

How do we marry Theology and *Vivology?

I think it means knowing the Word so well it becomes a part of you. I think it means keeping your bookshelves loaded and guarding time for study, even if technically no longer a student. I think it means dedicating uninterrupted times of prayer. I think it means loving Truth because you believe in your deepest soul it redeems and reveals life. I think it means fellowship around campfires and crazy games of soccer. I think it means coffee and conversation and debate. I think it means keeping Jesus Christ at the center – recognizing that every good gift is only good because God wills it to be so.

And, I think it means delighting in this life. I think it means being deliberate about our thanksgiving – walking in each day knowing that God’s glory is what shines bright to reveal He is at the center.

I must end this musing here, but I promise I will continue to ponder.
Until then, would you, with me,

.let LOVE FLY like cRaZY.

*I might have just made up this word, but give me credit because it’s got two parts that should work together – viv is the latin/greek root word meaning “live” and ology is a suffix used to describe bodies of knowledge. I’m trying to say that, just like we aspire to grasp theology, we must also pursue a grasp of vivology and a combination of the two. What is knowledge of God without a life lived out as a result of that knowledge? And really, how does one know about ‘living,’ exactly?

Also read:
interview with Metaxas by Justin Taylor at the Gospel Coalition blog
blog reflections on Lent, self-denial, life and Bonhoeffer by Brett McCracken

Posted on by Caroline 5

How Deep the Depths

I wrote this back in May of last year… full post here. I’m going to try to start re-posting some of my writing and poetry here so that I can have it in one place. I’ll admit, it’s also kind of fun to see what has found its way to the cyberpages over the last couple years.

How faint the fool who treads the way
and tarries about; runs blind to the fray.

How heavy the heart, hardened by years
of abuse and betrayal and manmade fears.

How sad the sigh learned by repetition –
disappointment, abandoned by man’s wild volition.

How complete the chasm built with words great;
explanations attempt determine eternal fate.

How stuffed the souls with semantics and speeches
and tolerant voices crowding out holidays at beaches.

How lost the lonely, desperate to find
a rhyme or a reason to be sanctified.

How dead is this end and reason to fight,
with an honest confession – broken and contrite.

How firm the foundation, without shame,
is the cross that bears my Savior’s name.

How perfect the peace in God’s Word alone
that restores and revives a heart once of stone.

How deep the depths of this Love, divine,
to reach through great wicked and make this faint soul alive.
—–

.let LOVE FLY like cRaZY.

Posted on by Caroline 0

how foolish a coward

I am merely reposting this here. I wrote it originally in 2007.

I am a coward.
Oh man, oh man
I am a pathetic coward.

But I am healing, heavy
under the fragrant weight of mercy –
for words spoken, promises broken,
conversations averted, open doors ignored.

Unclean creatures caught tragically
among unclean others
soon, swiftly turn for familiar.
Freedom escapes and vernacular is tangible
what is left needs redemption

can these things be forgiven –
these repeat offenses?
the same voice stuck always
when its throat should sing the eruption
of song on the hazy horizon,
waves crashing,
storms threatening,
but glory well
living.

eyes set, jaw determined in a steady line
the words need said
to defend, clarify, and define
the glory made flesh

the Word.
offenses taken,
but please don’t mind my mind.
Fear crouches dangerous and
clings the edges of Truth,
making fuzzy the path
and curious the question

Oh, but the effort is so great;
the community meets,
lives, retreats,
but this conversation of confusion
.interrupts.

the Holy One is not pleased by
politics
not impressed by feet soft tread
on evil
He is glorified
in life, in death,
in good, in evil,
in perfection, in failure

He is.

how foolish a coward.
how foolish a coward.

Posted on by Caroline 0

I love a crowded kitchen

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As a five-year-old, I remember the kitchen as one of the best places in our whole house. We didn’t have the best layout (our kitchen could fit in some people’s closet space), but that didn’t keep the constant stream of people from laying on the linoleum and crowding the counters and sitting on step stools.

The kitchen was a crowded place where we discussed the events of the day, dreamed about future plans, and practiced reading papers and reciting speeches (okay, so the last was something just I did to my ever-so-patient mother). The kitchen was a place where my brothers and sister and I would gather to taste the simmering spaghetti sauce and find the boldness to ask how much time until dinner made its way to the table.

If I’m honest, our crowded kitchen became no less a hub for activity as we got older. In fact, we might have noticed the crowding even more as we sprawled out on the floor or claimed space atop the counter, next to the bread box. And, if I’m honest, those times spent in the kitchen inspired and challenged and grew in me an appetite for community that I’m hoping is never satisfied.

So, last night, as the girls crowded me with mixers and containers and pizza and spatulas, I delighted.

I love the chatter and laughter and outrageous guesstimations about the amount of fruit needed for our newly invented angel food cake topping recipe. I love the exclamations of pride at the surprisingly good taste of a new creation. I love the huddle that forms in the space that is too small to hold the bodies moving around. I love that a flying elbow or spoon or hot pad holder can make contact at any point with a shoulder or side. I love the hopeful look lingering over a delicious bowl of fruit topping, imploring a sneaky taste of the concoction.

I love it all.

I think I love most that we were created to enjoy community. It was no accident that, when Jesus walked on this earth, He set apart time specifically and intentionally to eat with people. To recline and savor and enjoy food and drink as a way to invest and love the community around Him.

I love a crowded kitchen.
 Who is crowding yours today?

let LOVE FLY like cRaZY

Posted on by Caroline 0

Jesus, Savior, pilot me

I love hymns. I love hymns like I love traditions and tree roots and old friendships that remind you what it’s like to be warm. I love hymns like a heritage uncovered and future realized.

Tomorrow, my parents arrive and the craziness of this week begins. I am thankful God slowed me down today (in the form of a very red eye, a doctor’s visit, and prescription drops that warranted administering every three hours). I am thankful because I read a book (The Stranger by Albert Camus) and I took a nap (in a hammock) and I made a frozen banana/frozen strawberry smoothie (when they are frozen you don’t need ice and it is more delicious) and I spent time with my Bible Reading Plan (much MUCH needed!) and I walked (home from the eye doctor and then ventured out once again between drop administrations) and I spoke with my mom (who was strategically packing and re-packing suitcases and responding to my strange requests) and I journaled (pen to paper is great therapy).

I am so thankful God is sovereign and knows when we won’t admit our failures or our needs. In between some of these very slow-moving activities, I listened to hymns. This hymn, re-worked by Bifrost Arts (a new favorite collection of my already-fave artists), was actually written in 1871 by Edward Hopper, whose ministry was to sailors at the Church of the Sea and Land in NYC.

The words, well, they speak for themselves. Hopefully, they meet welcome ears… especially those who feel a bit cast about these days.

always

let LOVE FLY like cRaZY

Jesus, Savior, pilot me

Jesus, Savior, pilot me
Over life’s tempestuous sea;
Unknown waves before me roll,
Hiding rock and treacherous shoal.
Chart and compass come from Thee;
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

While th’Apostles’ fragile bark
Struggled with the billows dark,
On the stormy Galilee,
Thou didst walk upon the sea;
And when they beheld Thy form,
Safe they glided through the storm.

Though the sea be smooth and bright,
Sparkling with the stars of night,
And my ship’s path be ablaze
With the light of halcyon days,
Still I know my need of Thee;
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

When the darkling heavens frown,
And the wrathful winds come down,
And the fierce waves, tossed on high,
Lash themselves against the sky,
Jesus, Savior, pilot me,
Over life’s tempestuous sea.

As a mother stills her child,
Thou canst hush the ocean wild;
Boisterous waves obey Thy will,
When Thou sayest to them, “Be still!”
Wondrous Sovereign of the sea,
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

When at last I near the shore,
And the fearful breakers roar
’Twixt me and the peaceful rest,
Then, while leaning on Thy breast,
May I hear Thee say to me,
“Fear not, I will pilot thee.”

Posted on by Caroline 1

rain

I know I am slacking, but here’s another post for Every Day in May. I wrote this in a cabin on a mountain, listening to the rain gush from overflowing clouds.

RAIN
rain is like a slow train
with a steady, pounding beat
the rhythm comes in blankets
dropping delight, the cloud’s sweet release
the destination is not the ground
but deeper dug into the soil
where all sorts of earth can be found
and all kinds of life roots toil
the drop’s journey is not a steady path
directed by two parallel metals
but instead drawn by gravity’s catch
and interrupted sometimes by obstinate petals
the noise of a single, solitary drop
is not likely to be noticed
but multiplied by millions non-stop
the din of drops is nearly uproarious
and so rain is like a train
though altogether different still
the rhythm and sound rush with refrain
but the life-giving nature is what thrills
Posted on by Caroline 0

sometimes we are just called to be willing

After 45 minutes listening to dramatic pauses and well-placed Scripture references, I was ready to sign up. My elbows propped against my knees my chin strained forward as if I could hear the words faster if my face was closer to the stage. Every word fell in its rightful place and my heart became all twisted and stretched and then I heard this question,

“So, who will go to Africa this summer?”

The blood pumping inside my veins forgot its course and all rushed instead to my nodding head. “Yes,” I was saying with the almost hypnotic up-and-down-motion, “Yes, I will go to Africa this summer.”
I walked up with a mass of young, eager-to-change-the-world collegiate types and we all affirmed one another’s calling to serve in Swaziland the following July.
I left the meeting exhilarated and ready to tackle the problem of practicalities. I called my parents and my joy bubbled over into our phone conversation, only tempered by their advice to pray and be cautious.
Days went by and the emotions wore off. Both gradually and suddenly as I prayed, I knew I would not be going to Africa and I then met a fierce dragon called doubt.
If the Lord hadn’t told me to go to Africa, then who? If I was pursuing the Lord then why the mixed signals? Was I so far from God that I couldn’t even discern His calling?
A mess would describe the spiritual struggle of the following days. I was so confused and frustrated with myself for being controlled completely by emotions, as it seemed. Then, in a conversation with my dad that I will never forget, he gently spoke these words,
“Sometimes, Caroline… sometimes God just wants to bring us to the point where we say we are willing. Whether you go or not doesn’t matter as much as how ready your heart is to do whatever the Lord asks. You were willing to go and God saw your heart.”
I rolled those words over in my mind for days, really hoping they were true. I questioned and wrestled and arrived at the conclusion that our pursuit of God is not dependent on His answers. My pursuit of God is not on pause when I receive an affirmative or in high speed when I’m waiting for a reply. God calls me to a constant, passionate pursuit of Himself and promises (regardless of my progress) He will be faithful and He will be sufficient.
As Isaiah, I hope I will respond to every call with, “Here am I. Send me.” Even if the call doesn’t amount to the movement of my feet, I pray I will be willing.
sometimes we are just called to be willing to
let LOVE FLY like cRaZY
Posted on by Caroline 2

is this freedom?

“not always, but sometimes…the thing you wanted the most is the thing that you now want the least.”

Lucy tugged at the corduroy strap of her pink overalls and listened to the soft crunch of forest beneath her feet. The morning scene drifted in and out of sight, while she tried to focus on the sporadic groupings of trees and the unmarked path winding in front of her.

Freedom fell on her lips in the misty haze cloaking the friendly trees… and she breathed. She welcomed the familiar motion in her chest – rising ever-so-slightly while the pure oxygen gathered in her belly. This place was a sanctuary, an escape, a shelter, and a friend. It was strange to feel as if she’d just walked into her home, kicked off her shoes, and cuddled up in the overstuffed sofa. Physically, she was far from the place where her presence was expected to emerge upon sunrise. But, Lucy’s heart lept at the joy of this new place. Every single bristling green leaf responded to her deep breaths, moving with the slight motion of her chest.

The energy was almost electric around her, though Lucy’s relief at the lack of electric current was obvious. She let her hands drop to her sides, smoothing the corduroy pattern and testing the silence. With a slight shoulder shrug, which seemed to say to the trees, “you’re my new friends, right?” Lucy slowly stretched her arms up, up, up into the air as far as her little frame could manage. When they reached the highest height, her mouth opened and an unplanned yelp escaped.

Startled, Lucy turned around (with arms still extended to the highest height) in a small circle and waited to see if there would be a protest. Sensing none, Lucy’s eyes relaxed and this time the yelp was every bit planned. In fact, it turned into a joyful song and dance, with complete abandon to the freedom of the place.

Moments or minutes later (Lucy’s joy did not let her keep track of time), Lucy wandered over to a stunning green shoot, growing from a fallen tree. The colors seem magical almost, or painted. Afraid to touch it, she got real close and smelled its smell. Wet, dirt, clean, and earth filled her nose. Her pause was altogether too long, but now Lucy knew she could linger without worrying. She stared at the little green shoot sprouting from the fallen tree until her eyes started to blur and her limbs began to droop.

Lucy felt the soft bark underneath her fingers and slowly laid her head down for a moment. Her legs still limp, she let them hang over the edge and float in the forest air. She slept.

A faint tickle traced her right knuckle and Lucy roused with half-open eyes to examine the cause. A caterpillar was making its merry way up, over, and around her in search of something, it seemed. Her eyes spread wider and accustomed to the forest light. In the hours that past between the abandoned dance and waking from the most restful nap, Lucy thought the clusters of trees might have changed. The dampness soaked into her and the full shade above her kept the leaves from glistening.

She remembered the joyful dance before her nap and wondered if she could muster the same song. The morning scene that started this whole excursion seemed so long ago.

—————

My friend Nicole inspired me to write this little piece that I’m quite sure is only the beginning. I still haven’t decided how old to make Lucy, but I already know I love her dearly. For now, it is called, “Is this freedom?”

I know you’ve got it in you, so
let LOVE FLY like cRaZY

Posted on by Caroline 0

jam-packed

I’m not sure why they say the phrase, “jam-packed,” but I’m sure that is exactly what this day was!

I woke up super early (after saying goodbye to students at like 11:30 last night) to clean, do laundry, and prepare for cousin ANNA to arrive today. Then Heather and I met up with Jess and Danie for a roommate reunion breakfast, which we left in hot pursuit of the airport, where Anna arrived on a plane full of other well-intentioned, big-hearted people.

We went then to Alvin’s house (pastor of Manos Extendidas) and from there to the feeding center to love, hug, serve, sing, teach, laugh, and smile with the beautiful kids.

We waited out a rain storm before we made our way back down the mountain where we enjoyed some bruschetta at a Honduran hippie coffee shop before going to a free movie sponsored by the European film festival. We were all glad we didn’t pay for it, but after we went out for coffee and redeemed the night.

Finally, we arrived home and I hope Anna isn’t too tucked out!

I wanted to share some creative words – a rap I wrote with a student as tribute to Heather who leaves tomorrow. I have struggled, admittedly, with this “Every Day in May” thing while having visitors and entertaining, but can you blame me? Really?

Rap for Primmer
This is a song for Primmer
for the girl we love
the one who plays wild guitar
and always gives lots of hugs

this is a rhyme for the time
when you found me all low
when I was searching for love
and a safe place to go

I was looking all around
turning over every stone
to find the answers to my questions
and ended up all alone

at the point of my sadness
when all else looked bleak
my exhaustion hit me hard
and made my bones feel weak

with the eyes of Christ
you looked out to find
me sitting there alone
with no reason or no rhyme

Now I just wanna say
thanks for taking the time
for listening and helping me
believe it all will be fine

Girl, this year’s been rough
the battle’s been strong
but we know you got our backs
you’ve been there all along

Up there in Canada
where you say “eh”
we know you remember us
in your prayers everyday

when you go back
remember one thing
it’s a LOVE attack
comin from your family

in Honduras we are
(farther south than you)
tryin’ to get through it’s hard
but we’ll manage, it’s true

because you always said
and we’ll never forget
we should strive for the Hope
that conquers all sin

so we wanna thank you and
leave you this memory
remember you’ve always got a friend
and you’ve found a friend in me
——————-

I know it’s completely cheesy, but Natalie and I are about to sing it tomorrow morning at the airport and I’m sure it’ll bring a smile!
What are you doing to ….
let LOVE FLY like cRaZY
Posted on by Caroline 0

pursuing lower pleasures

After a crazy day, an afternoon filled with charades and catch phrase and laughter, and a typically cheesy serenade for the 11th grade girls… Heather and I went for coffee and finally caught up a bit. I chose the Latte Au-Lait, which means I am now WIDE awake and she’s zonked out (getting the sleep she needs so we can leave at 5:45 am to lead worship tomorrow at staff devotions).

I just want to write something quick tonight… maybe it will turn into a poem, but right now it’s just thoughts about pleasure. As I think about the students and this culture and (maybe) popular culture in general, I decide that our greatest sin is pursuing lower pleasures.
I know C.S. Lewis probably illustrated this idea more deeply than my brain can think it right now, but still it seemed a mini-revelation tonight.
God promises in Psalm 16:11 that in His presence there is FULLNESS of JOY and at His right hand there are PLEASURES forevermore. Wow! What a promise!
God promises the kind of joy that bursts out from inside our souls and overflows to uncontrollable laughter… the kind of joy that you can’t keep from showing on your face… the kind of joy you can’t wait to share with everyone you meet… the kind of joy that makes your heart feel like fire and makes you want to dance and shout and play in the rain…
NOT ONLY that, but also pleasures forevermore. God offers us pleasure that never ends – He created us with the desire for pleasures forevermore and He is delighted when we pursue the highest kind. He planted that little seed inside us, in the soil of our humanity, that tries to break the surface and soar toward the sun… all the ways our humanity longs to have pleasure can be traced back to the way we were created in His image to experience pleasures forevermore.
The moment I decide to pursue a less pleasurable pleasure than what I was created for, I am choosing sin. I know, it sounds confusing. Usually we associate pleasure with sin, but right now I am saying that we sin when we pursue less pleasure or lower pleasure. Because I know God created me and placed in me a desire to have infinite joy and pleasure, I know that anything less than a pursuit of THAT means two things:
1. I am not experiencing the most pleasure possible (can only be found in and through God)
2. I am trying to make lower pleasures fulfill my God-given desires for the BEST pleasure (which, of course is a fail from the start)
God created us, knows us, and delights when we are absolutely bursting with joy.
Here’s what I’m praying:
O, that I might be an instrument on which God chooses to boldly play the joyful song of redemption.

.let LOVE FLY like cRaZY.
Posted on by Caroline 0