oh, for a colder pew...

i no longer think of heaven in terms of a place that we are going to. the new testament does not merely resound with the promise of departure. its hope is found in the return of a king. we are not going there, as much as he is coming here. the movement in john's revelation is downwards, not upwards.

we pray for his kingdom to come. the bridegroom arrives, the landowner comes, the master returns. john closes the canon with a promise and plea. his Christ will return to rule.

the way we think about the not yet, will always shape the way live in the right now. a wishful theology with an escapist promise sets the stage for a lethargic indifference to the state of the world. the church and its christian is apathetic to the needs of the passing world.

we need an active hope in a coming Christ who returns to redeem the world. we need a ruler who demands that we get our hands dirty, strip away our lethargy and take his hands to a hurting world.

the pew-warming christianity of the twenty-first century is an insult to the cross of christ. the self-preserving indifference of the day is a slap in the face to the history of the martyrs. their self-sacrificing service to the world came from hope in a coming Christ. our self-centered, comfort christianity, waits for an escapist paradise.

one is rock, the other sand. where do our feet find footing?

everybody wants to rule the world

in the mid-eighties, a band of british pop-stars hit the number one spot on the billboard charts with their anthemic chant, everybody wants to rule the world. the voice of the anthem, curt smith, proclaimed its significance by saying, "the concept is quite serious - it's about everybody wanting power, about warfare and the misery it causes."

history is a depressing portrait of man's innate desire to rule the world, and the damage it does. the clamor for power is universal. its in the politics of the state, the history of the church, the dynamics of a community, and even the confines of a married couple. everybody wants to rule the world.

yet, the desire to rule is innately human, with obvious edenic roots. genesis tells us that the desire is divinely ingrained in us. we're made in the image of a ruler. we're made to rule the world. not in the way that the hitlers or the stalins chose to rule, but in the way that a farmer would rule his land, or a woman might rule her hair. we're meant to preserve, protect, nourish and nurture. instead, we've managed only to damage and to destroy.

we're damaging because we're unfit to rule. its in our nature to claim what isn't ours, to cripple the way of justice, to silence the voice of reason and to stifle the sound truth. we're not fit take a crown.

the plot thickens in the gospels when the ruler gave his throne away and the king took on a cross. he gave a life that was his to claim, and claimed a death that was ours to bear. the object of injustice stood silent in a court of madness and paid for the truth with his own life.

ransom and redemption. our price, on his head. his life, for ours.

our desire to rule will find just cause when it's rooted in a nature that's redeemed. fathers, mothers, masters, leaders. we rule best when we rule to tune of the edenic call in the image of a sacrificial ruler.

the story ends in revelation with the return of the ruling king, and here we are in the waiting, to rule until his coming.

we're meant to rule in the way of the cross. the way of vulnerability. the way of sacrifice. our rights for the rights of the oppressed. our voice for the sake of the voiceless. our freedom for the sake of the imprisoned.

man must rule in the image of his maker.

amos and i

no prophet has ever been popular.

the prophets of the ancient near east spoke in the shrill tones of exacting truth against the injustice in their societies and the corruption in the power centers of their community. they spoke against their own. they riled against their leaders and they were made to lose their lives.

amos was an anomaly. an unlikely prophet with an unwelcome message. his words were spoken with a moral conviction that was as alien to his audience as he was to them. a citizen of judah in the south condemning the injustice of the apathetic north.

You lie on beds inlaid with ivory and lounge on your couches.

You dine on choice lambs and fattened calves.

You strum away on your harps like David

and improvise on musical instruments.

You drink wine by the bowlful and use the finest lotions,

but you do not grieve over the ruin of Joseph.

amos proclaims his unabashed indictment beyond the borders of ancient israel and into face of the urban church of the twenty-first century, the sunday morning christian, and a would-be writer in the throes of a spiritual crisis.

no truth has ever been kind.

i speak for myself when i say this, though it is true of more than most. the primary spiritual problem in the life of the self-centered christian is the weight of his indifference. there is no indictment in scripture against the accumulation of wealth. there is plenty of it against the apathy of the saints. one in particular, though he tends to be too hard on himself.

there is too much that is broken in the space we inhabit, but its still not enough to move me to compassion. there is at least one of us who lives with a passive indifference, as damaging to the world as an active revolt. and that is what is wrong with the world. i cannot complain of all the evils that plague the world, until i am willing to confront the apathy that plagues my heart.

amos spoke to northern israel as much as he speaks to a confused indian. the message is still unpopular but it cannot be unwelcome.

justice trumps religiosity. giving is better than receiving, and a soft voice that speaks the truth is better than a silent thought with good intentions. if amos is to rest in peace, prophets must turn unpopular, the truth must be unkind, the given must become the givers, and a writer must raise his voice.

deeper than this...

neil postman argues that when a technology enters a culture, it isn't the same culture with a new technology, its a whole new culture on its own. when the internet entered the world, it wasn't the same world with a new technology, it was a whole new world altogether.

when one of us enters history, it isn't the same story with a new character. it's a new story altogether. every story leads to change. for better or for worse.

one man's cynicism draws another man into it, and a culture of cynics is born. one man's radicalism invites another man in, and the reign of the radicals is upon us. one man's vision inspires an entire nation, and the weight of change is left in its wake.

we're born into a story that we can change.

so much of our strife has its roots in bitter selfishness. the trappings of a selfish story can leave a life unlived. a life of individualistic independence will starve the soul and break the spirit. even a community of self-centered superficiality will collapse into itself.

i say this because i've come to realize that my story is in need of depth.

richard foster says, "superficiality is the curse of our age. the doctrine of instant satisfaction is a primary spiritual problem. the desperate need today is not for a greater number of intelligent people, or gifted people, but for deep people."

a selfish story is shallow, superficial and prone to sinking swiftly. it cannot last the night. on the other hand, a story that draws more characters into itself, inevitably grows in depth.

when there is depth, honesty, vulnerability and untold acceptance, then there is a miracle. dry bones come to life, water turns to wine, and a way emerges where there was none.

my story must become our story. but if we want to know depth unmeasured, our story must become His story.

when i move from the selfish individualism of my story, if take the plunge into the communal depths of our story, and if we together raise the stakes to be a community that lives in His story, then we truly set ourselves up for creating a better history than our forerunners have done. and i want to live in that story!

so help me God....

life is difficult

its not too often that i spend a sunday afternoon in unfamiliar territory. i joined a small group from a church that was visiting families affected by HIV. it was an effort to lead us out of the comfortably familiar and to dare us to show solidarity with the struggling.

she met us at the head of the street that leads into a slum she calls her home. women on the side of the street were sitting on their haunches, in a casually crafted circle, gambling in a game of cards. i was walking with someone i'd met no more than five minutes ago who said he'd never seen women gambling.

we got to her skinny apartment building, climbed three flights of narrow stairs, and walked into her one-room-shelter. she insisted that all of us sit down, which meant she had to stand. she'd feel strange if we didn't oblige. after a short while and some polite conversation, we asked her to tell us her story.

i don't really speak too much tamil, but you don't have to speak a language to recognize the sound of sadness. if you've ever been intimate with sorrow, you can sense it in the soul of the broken.

she was infected by her husband who died five years ago, leaving her with a young daughter who now lives and studies in a hostel, and a little boy with a vibrant faith. everyday, he stands on his toes in front of a wall, reaches up to touch the day's date on a calendar, and says a thankful prayer for his mother.

we met the boy when we first walked in but he left the room before i could notice, probably prompted by his shyness. he returns after a while and buries himself in his mother's side, smiling playfully while he studies us from his secret shelter.

she tells us that her greatest fear is for her kids. she doesn't know who will look after them when she's gone. the NGO that partnered with the church takes care of some of her bills and she works as a household maid to earn some extra money.

she's afraid that people in the neighborhood will find out about her sickness. when she goes to collect her medicine, she's terrified someone might see her and discover that she's ill. if anyone knew that she was ill, it would mean the end of her stay in the neighborhood and the beginning of the road to hell.

people are already whispering about her and the things they say are less than encouraging and more than hurtful. she attends a pentecostal church and does her best to cope with a desperately difficult life.

i stayed silent for most of the story. a few of us said a prayer, each of us gave some money, and all of us left to go home.

some stories are simply sad...

peculiar people

when my grandmother died sometime ago, a friend of mine called to console me. i tried to counter-console him and told him she was in a better place. he asked me if i was five and if i still believed in fairy tales.

i wish i was ravi zacharias and had a quick-witted response to a dark, cynical question every time i was faced with one. but i'm not, so i don't, and when i was asked if i believed in fairy tales, i simply settled into silence.

we're a peculiar people, and we trust in things peculiar. God becoming man. virgins giving birth. men defying nature. tombs turning empty...life after death.

i faced a crisis when i was sixteen. my faith betrayed my reason. i had to know whether the cynical voices in the television box had just reason to reduce a savior to a swear word.

to make a short story shorter, i realized that the atheistic naturalism of my friend who didn't believe in fairy tales, proposed the peculiar as well. time, matter, chance. order out of chaos. something out of nothing. life out of the void. i thought it strangely miraculous and just as improbable.

honestly, i think both are equally preposterous, and we're left to choose our madness. i chose christian madness for the sake of the cross. i want to believe in a God who'd do something like that for a people like us.

i want to believe in grace in a world of anger, mercy in place of rage, love for the undeserving, and truth i can touch and taste. the cross is the reason that i'm peculiar. and i believe in fairy tales.

searching for the source

i tend to be impulsive about the work that escapes my apathy. once a piece is finished, a restless eagerness overtakes me. its a threat to my social standing. its an impulsive, overpowering need to be heard, and it pushes past the tempered and the reasoned, to get to a place of open expression.

no good can come from this.

why would anyone voice their vulnerability, publish their brokenness and sing tragic songs to a slow passing stranger?

as much as i hate to admit it, there is an innate, genuine, human need to feel significant. to be valued. to be loved. to be accepted, and to be affirmed. it seems that life would seem much simpler, if not for these nagging demands of the spirit and the soul.

i sing the embarrassing songs of a still-searching soul to attend to the needs of a still-thirsty spirit. even loners long to be loved.

donald miller says our spirits are thirsty, and words of affirmation go to our spirits like water. some more than others. what's tragic but true is that some of our spirits have lived without water for too long. others have been poisoned with words that weren't water. we're either thirsty or unwell. or both.

words can heal and save, or kill and destroy. men have used them to control and to manipulate. a carpenter used them to give life. our spirits need water. his water gives life. we need words from this rabbi, and from people who talk like him. its hard to find the stream. its easy to find the source.

may you find water at the well. and may it bring your soul to life.

Psalm 63, John 6:68, John 4:13-14

hope is better than fear

this is what happens when you read donald miller.

the good thing about conflict in a story is that its never more than a complication waiting to be resolved. the bad thing about conflict is that there's always a complication waiting to be resolved.

whether we're going to be drawn to a story largely depends on the way the character of the story lives through his conflict - whether he lives by what he sees before him or by what he sees beyond him.

conflict is not the vantage point from which to define the story. we're not drawn to characters who live in despair and despondency. we're drawn to characters who live through them. its the difference between the faithful and the forgotten.

the fight to the finish is remembered for characters who strive for something greater than themselves with a strength beyond their own and a resolve that won't give in. its a courage that comes from something within them that defies the lies and drowns the fear. the unconscious belief that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

the best thing about conflict is that the story is larger than its complications, the joy to come is greater than the struggle that is. the promise is bigger than the problem. the prize is greater than the pain.

hope is better than fear.

plans of action

i don't understand why life doesn't follow my lead, listen to my advice or take my counsel, on matters of particular interest to me. it seems to carve a path of its liking, with a mind of its own and a will, unrelenting.

living alone isn't as easy as i thought it'd be. i'm deeply grateful for the freedom i have in a new city with a place of my own. its everything i've needed for a long time. but i've no one for company other than the devil in my head and the bible on my desk. and the devil knows how to keep the bible on the desk.

i'm seduced into despair and drawn to dark corners. i listen to lies and live like a prisoner. its been three weeks since i've moved, and i know its far too early to panic. this is the dark before the dawn. but even though i know these are ashes i'll trade for beauty someday, it doesn't make the days go easy. leave alone the nights.

life is not going according to plan. but ironically, i actually think that's part of the plan. no great story is complete without complication. no great character is formed without conflict. no great work is born without resistance. and, thankfully, no great God will leave a man as an orphan.

carrying crosses

the cross is the reason that i'm still a christian.

i don't like being a christian. i don't like being anything religious. its politically irreverent, culturally unpopular and socially inappropriate. its uncomfortable, indulgent and makes for strange, awkward silences in new social settings. its not a great time to be a christian, or anything religious for that matter. i don't know of any conflict in the world that is untouched by the religious fervor of radicals or the fundamentalism of fanatics.

men have gone mad. and God is leading the charge. but i didn't meet God at the head of a sword. i saw him hanging half-naked on a cross. vulnerable in the face of violence. forgiving in the face of anger. love in a time of war.

sometimes i'm ashamed of being a christian. i don't like being identified with preachers on the street, priests in perversion, evangelists on television, eight years of bush and a history almost as embarrassing as tom cruise on a couch. there are a million reasons not to be a christian. the cross is the one, to me, that refutes them all.

we need fewer christians. we need more people to come to the cross.

the cross defines my worth and the worth of every human being i know. even the ones i don't like. it changes the way i think about the people that make life difficult for me, whether its the rickshaw driver that stole my money, the people who hurt my heart, or the man who chopped off the faces of children in rwanda. it makes me want to forgive generously, give sacrificially and love unconditionally. even when i don't want to.

i want to do what i've seen in the cross. that's what it means to be a christian. anything less, is a slap in the face.

right at the rub

i moved cities to chase a dream. i left the city of a million memories and moved to the city of my birth. i was born in chennai and grew up in new delhi. its the reason that i'm a cultural orphan, neither claimed by the north, nor embraced by the south. a stranger in my home, a guest at my own wedding.

so now i live in chennai and i'm a writer without a publisher, a beggar without a bowl, a pawn without a square. i don't know anyone in the city and i don't have any friends to spend time with, or anyone to talk to. loneliness is a way of life, boredom is the norm, laziness is crippling, and efficiency is no more than a word in the dictionary. i'm comforted by the fact that all good writers go through times like this. i'm disturbed by the fact that they all get out of it.

i'm still sinking.

christian solitude is a double-edged sword. if you're not walking in the Spirit, your mind devolves into depravity, bitterness and all things damaging to the soul. its a discipline to turn your thoughts to Christ, your eyes to the cross and your mind to His Word. its not a discipline i have mastered, so i often struggle with self-doubt, bouts of depression, fits of anger, and needless bitterness against people that i think have hurt me. it takes no more than five psalms for all of that to dissolve but it takes more than ten days to rise up, pick up my mat and walk to the Word.

work is going slowly. i have a reading list that i'm working through with a book on solitude by thomas merton, books on spirituality by dallas willard and n.t. wright, a book on loneliness by a scientist, and other books on technology, poverty and football.

i just finished reading don miller's new book and its depressingly brilliant. how do you sue someone for stealing your soul? i also read through annie dillard's the writing life. she was deeply insightful, warmly encouraging and rich in rebuke. she's an angel of the Lord.

don miller and annie dillard have given me a lot of reason to hope and to despair. i know that its reasonable to believe that God has called me to write something significant. but i'm battling against the demands of my own flesh, my tendency to despair and my attraction to distraction, not to mention seasons of dryness and spiritual emptiness that i'm powerless to overcome.

therein lies the rub.

we don't need another answer

we don't need another christian book.

we don't need another set of principles or the latest shortcut to the fastest track to the richest experience of the christian life. Jesus didn't call us to principles. we need words that are human, personal, honest and authentic because that's what God is like. he's a little bit of human.

in its worst forms, christian books are written by super-christians with super-principles for the super-spiritual life. reading a christian book is like listening to a magic trick. you can't believe in magic if you don't see the magician. you can't believe in truth if you don't see it in the flesh.

we don't need another christian book that has nothing to do with the writer. theology is relational. truth is relational. the Gospel is relational. you cannot read the new testament without coming face to fearful face with the personality of paul. he infuses the new testament with the force of his person. he's emotional, passionate, honest and vulnerable. he is plagued by anxiety and struggles with sin. he longs to leave but wants to stay. he is wholly alive in the new testament. and unashamedly so.

there is a tension in the new testament that is not reflected in much of christian writing. its the tension between the pleasure and the pain of being a disciple of Jesus.

we need that tension!

the pleasure tells us that there is more to life than misery. the pain promises that we have not been left alone. paul's gospel is not merely propositional or a theory of everything. his Gospel is a reality that is embodied in his life. we need christian writers that will admit their weaknesses, confess their sins, speak their sorrow and sing their hope like the fat lady in the play you never saw.

i live in india. a culture of appearances. image is everything. we'll show our face and then we'll go. india is also a culture of authority figures. people who can't be questioned. priests who can't be crossed.

spiritual leaders are authority figures with whom image is everything. its not in good taste for a spiritual authority to be struggling with doubt, sin, anxiety, anger or addiction. spiritual leaders must always know the answer and never miss a beat. we don't need this portrait of spirituality. its neither healthy, nor biblical. the best of God's men made the worst of mistakes. the most faithful of God's servants lived with the fiercest of doubts.

we don't see this tension in christian books in india. we see principles, promises, answers, solutions, rules, regulations and self-help strategies for the ever-struggling-never-victorious christian who lives with a fervent commitment to a tiring Gospel.

we need books that appreciate the divine-human quality of the bible. the gospel in flesh. the truth in a body. the pleasure and the pain of being a christian.

what does it look like when God lives in a man?

The Pilgrim and his Progress

I am learning the hard way that there is a distinct difference between the path of the pilgrim and that of the professional. I draw the distinction not so much by the nature of their work as by the manner of their 'way'. Also, I do not mean to question the validity or the value of the 'professional'. A professional at work may well be a pilgrim at heart. That said, the way of the professional and that of the pilgrim share the properties of a set of parallel lines. As close as they may be in proximity to each other, they simply do not intersect.

Where one is measured by the strength of performance, the other is covered by the mystery of grace. Where one is driven to reach destinations, the other takes pleasure in the joy of the journey. Where one pulls tightly on the reigns of control, the other surrenders his will and his all. Where one seeks the view of a sure certain future, the other will follow the lead of His Master. Where one is secure in his bounty of wealth, the other is thankful for his portion of bread. Where one is committed to his palace on earth, the other is devoted to his mansion in heaven.

I don't know what I am to the fullest but I think I am more of a pilgrim than anything else. And what I have found to be true is that, though the journey is long, the way is uncertain and the pilgrim is tired; the Master is worthy, the grace is abundant and the promise is sure. One way or another, this much is true, when a pilgrim sets his foot on road, the road will lead him home.

The Voice of Prayer

Prayer becomes a burden when we are bound by the belief that unless we have expressed ourselves cleary, God has not understood us completely; that unless we have spoken, God has not heard. I can't understand why but it has taken me too long to realize that prayer is not servant and slave to eloquence or articulate expression. And there is a reason for this delay.

In our natural plane of existence, we recognize easily that our ability to communicate is severely restricted by the limitations of language. The agony of the tortured soul or the ecstasy of the satisfied one are both mysteries that have yet to be harnessed and held captive by the community of words. What we feel within we are unable to name. Says Solomon, "Each heart knows its own bitterness and no one else can share its joy."

Our search for a transport to carry the weight of our inner worlds has led us beyond the world of mere words and into the realms of art and alternative expression. There we find some relief and release. But not, I wager, to our complete satisfaction. There is a reality that goes beyond the world of words, the arts, or any other form of personal expression; and the joy of the true believer is to know that prayer is the pathway to that reality. What is unique about the Christian expression of prayer is that the One prayed to, lives within the heart of the one who prays.

The Trinity allows for the Father to transcend, the Spirit to inhabit and the Son to authorize our expression. The burden-relieving thing about prayer is that what we cannot carry with words, God perceives without them. Prayer has many voices and God can hear them all.

Table Manners

I am sitting at a table as I write this. I mention that because it is the thought of tables that are at the heart and center of my earnest investigation and soulful meditation, be it as it may in the wee hours of the morning. I have found that what unites many of the diverse and endless images of authentic pleasure that have been carved by experience into the cave walls of my impressionable mind - is the presence of a table.

I think of the hours of my life that have been spent at everything from cafes to dhabas, sharing anything from coffee to full course meals, with the comfort of friends or the shelter of family, both of whose company I enjoy much more than I am willing or able to admit. "Food is the basis of life, it comes from the earth, and the earth is God's. In a Jewish home in Jesus' day - and even now - the table is seen as an altar. It's holy. Time spent around the table with each other is time spent with God." So says Rob Bell in 'Velvet Elvis'.

In my experience I have found that tables have served as a catalyst of sorts, for experiences of authentic pleasure that allow me to catch a glimpse of a deeper, ultimate reality that hides itself beneath our ever-so-ordinary existence. It takes an experience of pain or authentic pleasure to peel away the thin veil that covers over this ultimate reality and to remind us that there is more to the world we live in than the life that we are consciously aware of.

If God is accused of unjustly bringing upon us pain and suffering, should he not also in the same breath be commended for giving us pleasure with the same measure of injustice? Are we any more deserving of pleasure than we are of pain, if we stand judged by His own standards?

I have tasted of the bitter gall of pain and the sweet wine of pleasure and both have served as open meadows that lay bare before me the glory and the beauty of a God whose grace redeems my pain and whose love colors my pleasure. Be it pain or be it pleasure, my supper will be the Lord's, and I will eat at His own table.