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A Parable of Life I have always had difficulty relating to the idea of “my life,” and “my Christian life.” I can’t recall a single period of my life, from childhood to middle age, when I was not consciously aware of God’s intimate presence in me and all around me. I don’t say this as a matter of spiritual boasting or pride, but rather out of years of feeling out of place and sometimes even rejected by the “you must know the exact date, hour, and minute of being born-again” crowd. Now that I’m in my late 30s, I have learned to embrace my experience with God. It has developed as a parable of life with a series of intertwining parables within it. The Lord has spoken this parable on his own terms, and not a church system’s mindset, or even my own expectations. Now, when people ask me (or sometimes demand to know) the time I “became” a Christian, I tell them, “I was born again with the rising sun this morning.” They have nowhere to file such an answer, so they change the subject, probably muttering under their breath, “Damn hippy.” It seems a shame to me to reduce the mystery of being born again to a scripted, repeated prayer in a meeting. Besides, it seems to me that God never intended the church to be the babysitter of salvation, but the awakener of "eternity that is already lying in the hearts" of the world. I believe that salvation is as simple as the Scriptures say: “Call on the name of the Lord, and you will be saved.” However, within this simplicity lies a never ending depth of sacred mystery that invites us to search for the rest of our lives on earth. This search becomes the story of our lives: It’s a tree heavy-laden with low hanging fruit for our enjoyment—each taste being a new story within the greater story. Parables are not simple 30 minute TV sit-coms or dramas. They have multiple meanings and hidden truths. It takes a spirit of willingness and wonder, to even be able to begin to ponder them. Jesus did not teach in a user-friendly manner. Those who "had the ears to hear, would hear." I believe the story of our lives and our encounters with God within them are no different. On the surface of these parables, there is chaos and unmeaning, or worse, a one-dimensional answer that says, “That’s it! Seek no further! What? You’re still here? It’s over—go home!” However, if you were to hang around (even making a nuisance of yourself), and consider it further, the hidden truth of the parable will embrace you, fill you, and pour out of you. I have come to believe that beyond teaching in parables, that even the events in Jesus' earthly life and ministry are parable. I think the entire Bible is really the unfolding and continuing parable of God's redemptive work in the arenas of mankind. There's incredible beauty in the simplicity, but inside of this beauty lie perpetual layers of purpose and implication. Most Christians I've met seem to erroneously think that the Bible was handed to us (or to Martin Luther) in perfect completion (in the glory of its 66 books, of course; with Christ’s words in red). However, the reality is that the Bible came together in a very sloppy and almost haphazard way through the convoluted ages. And so, even the story of God’s redemption came to us in its written state in the manner of parable. This is disturbing to some, but I take comfort in it because the story of my own life is one of searching for God’s light of meaning in the chaos in me and around me. Some might ask, “How can the Bible be the word of God since it came together in such a frenzied way?” I would say, “How could it not be?” From the beginning, the Spirit has hovered over the pandemonium and exacted created beauty in it and with it. It was out of the first Adam that the last Adam came to redeem us. It was after the dove searched the sea of annihilation when she returned with the olive leaf in her beak. It’s out of dry bones, that the Spirit breathes flesh. It’s out of the crucifixion and burial, that Jesus becomes the Resurrection and the Life. How could it not be that out of our afflictions, addictions, and destructions, that God continuously does the work of restoring his original blessing and intent in us with his Spirit of creation? The Psalms sing that "weeping lasts for a night, but joy comes in the morning." I've learned to embrace the night seasons of weeping in my life on their own terms, for their own sakes. There's just as much significance in my crying as there is in my joy. The purpose of my suffering is not simply a "waiting period" for a breakthrough into happiness; it stands with a redeeming intention of its own. Some day, perhaps joy and sorrow will become the same thing for me since its all one parable in the end. -David |