theology | Elaine Olsen

The Painful Truth

April 2, 2009

“Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?’ Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’” (John 14:5-6).

Her question paused my spirit last night. Not because I wasn’t prepared for its arrival, but rather because of the pain that was attached to its speaking. It is a pain that often fastens itself to questions that root the deepest—questions that linger hard and long in the murky waters of uncertainties. Questions that surround a soul with a needful longing for clarity. Questions that require our participation because our minds and our hearts are equally invested in the answers therein.

It’s not easy to entreat them … to be the recipient of hard questions. Still and yet, it is a privilege to be trusted with their asking, for in doing so, we are given the rare privilege of influence. Of speaking something of worth and value into a pain that is intent on consumption … on paralysis, on keeping a soul from moving beyond its confinement.

That is what I faced last night. A suffering moment that required a wisdom beyond my years and my limited understanding about why life sometimes seems to portion out raw and rough and rude, almost always with inadequate notice. Her question doesn’t breathe in isolation. I’ve been receiving many of them as of late. They seem to find me, despite my inability to “fix” anything to the contrary. And last night, as I tossed and turned and tumbled her question over in my mind, I had a thought as it pertains to this “answering” of pain. It has stayed with me throughout the day.

Pain deserves the truth. Not preferences.

Read it again, and pause to consider its worth.

Pain deserves the truth. Not preferences.

You and I are living in a pain-saturated society. If not our personal pain, then the pain of a people we love … a people we commune with, celebrate life with, go to church with, work with, shop with, “internet” with, share our resources with, partake in this world with. We are a people living with pain’s insistence, and when it comes knocking, it warrants our respect, our notice, and our involvement. It means to do so.

Pain’s knocking is our invitation to involvement. Rarely do we welcome its intrusion, but almost always are we forced to swallow its intention. Thus, pain deserves more than our menial attempts at soothing. Pain deserves more than our coddling preferences that band-aid the ache without ever touching the wound. Pain deserves more than our religious speak and our fast forward approaches to its release.

Pain deserves the truth.

And lest we think that any truth will do (for many are prone in their thinking that truth seeds relative), there is only one truth worthy of a pain’s trust … a pain’s receiving … a pain’s taking. It is not a truth embedded in philosophy. A truth not formulated by man’s attempt at having life make sense. A truth not vetted or promoted on the talk show circuit. A truth not rooted in a guru or a mantra or a set of rules for “becoming a better you.”

None of these “truths” are ample enough, strong enough, steady and sure enough to answer the problem of pain. They fall flat and soothe simple and, at the end of the day, inaccurately treat the intrusion of suffering.

Pain deserves better. Pain deserves the truth; not contradictions. Not maybes. Not a #1 best-seller, but rather, it deserves the certitude and confidence of all creation. Pain deserves the smoldering wick of an eternal flame—a truth that was lit on the front side of Genesis and that continues its watch through until forever. And that truth, my friends, does indeed exist. Truth has a name. It was given to Him before the very foundation of the world.

Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God.

The Word made flesh, living among us for a season; living within us for always through the power of his abiding and Holy Spirit. He is only Truth who is worthy of a pain’s holding. He is the only Truth who understands the depths of a pain’s intention.

Thus, when pain finds its way to our door, the only Truth that serves truthful, that proves useful, that lasts lasting, is the One who is well familiar with our griefs and our sufferings (Isaiah 53:3). He walked the road of suffering so that we could better walk ours. And if for some reason we think that our road should walk pain free, then we have missed a deeply rooted tenet of our faith.

To take up our cross and follow after Jesus is to resolutely walk the path of his intention (Luke 9:23-24, 1 Peter 4:12-13). To be like Jesus, we are called to walk like Jesus. And His walk, fellow pilgrims, was painted with suffering. Not suffering for suffering’s sake, but suffering for our sake, so that when it, too, becomes ours in smaller measure, we will better understand how to walk it through.

With a Truth that is transparent and real and willing to share in our sufferings and with a purpose that often times hides its intention but is, nevertheless, present and profitable for our sacred transformation.

Pain deserves the Truth. It deserves our notice, and then it deserves our release to the Truth. We may never understand pain’s grip on this side of eternity. We may never have the perfect words to offer on behalf of pain’s intrusion into the lives of others. But if we hold the light of Jesus Christ in our hearts, then we hold enough … more than enough … to lead us onward in victory.

Pain doesn’t get the final word in our many matters, friends. Neither do our preferences. Truth does. Thus, when pain comes knocking and brings her questions accordingly, may we always find our words and our trust anchored in the eternal Flame who lights us home and burns us brightly as we go. Thus, I pray…

Seed your Truth within my flesh, Father. Root Him deeply and burn Him brightly, regardless of the suffering going on around me and in me. Where there are questions, answer them with Truth. Where there are tears, dry them with Truth. Where there is suffering, cover it with Truth, and where there is doubt, replace it with the Truth. Keep my heart and my tongue ready with the Truth, so that on all occasions your Truth stands at the podium and my understanding submits to Truth’s shadows. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart, always be found acceptable in thy sight, Oh Lord, my Strength, my Redeemer, and my absolute Truth. Amen.

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One

March 28, 2009

“Then Jesus came to them and said, ‘All authority in heaven and earth has been given to me. Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.’” (Matthew 28:18-20).

We share an unlikely friendship.

He is twenty plus years my junior, having grown and currently living in a world that stands in stark contrast to mine. We don’t look alike, talk alike, or share any commonalities beyond the one that we shared over eleven years ago.

A classroom.

I entered it as his teacher. He entered it as my student. And while the year would roll a little rough at times, what emerged from our nine months of “doing life” together, was a budding relationship that continues to this day. Today, it doesn’t look so much like it did back then.

Back then, he sat in the first row, front seat (a good place for a kid who is hard of hearing and even harder in taking instruction). Today he sits on the other side of a computer screen.

Back then, he could barely write cursive. Today, he’s mastered the keyboard.

Back then, he was mostly concerned with his being the class clown. Today, he’s mostly concerned about his being God’s man.

Back then, he was my third grade student. Today, he’s a college student.

Back then, he asked me about reading, writing, and arithmetic. Today, he asks me about more.

A bigger more. Issues that exceed the rudimentary. Things that surpass the boundaries of what’s “allowed” within the public school forum. Things about life and God and about how to write a mission statement for a ministry that he’s beginning with the focus of helping young boys in their becoming of Godly men. Things like that.

It is my privilege to enter into his need for my “more.” Not because I think that I am overly qualified to do so, but simply because I’m the one on the receiving end of his questions. To deny him my time, my attention, and my tutelage is to deny my responsibility in the carrying out the Great Commission—God’s mandate “to go and to make disciples of all nations.”

My young friend is but one life within that nation. One amidst many. I am called to that one. You are called to another one. Never is our “making” of disciples an en masse kind of production. Preaching en masse is appropriate. Teaching en masse all the more. But corporate discipling, I believe, misses the mark of God’s intention—God’s model for how this sacred shaping is to be done.

God’s theology of the one.

Hear now what the New Testament Lexical Aids have to say about the word “discipleship” (mathetheuo) as found in Matthew 28:19:

“The action of the verb describes much more than the mere academic impartation of information; one is doing more than simply instructing a pupil in a particular field of study or aiding a student in developing a certain vocational skill. Rather, the word suggests (in religious contexts) the deep shaping of character and the cultivation of a world-view through a close, personal relationship between the student and the teacher. The teacher is a mentor par excellence who seeks to stamp his image on his disciples and thereby enable them to participate in his life. For the goal of discipleship is not simply the attaining of information, but the experience and enjoyment of fellowship.”[i]

Jesus modeled this understanding of discipleship better than anyone. Yes, He would feed the crowds, teach the crowds, and even die before the crowds. But more than living his life out loud and in front of the crowds, Jesus’ life was lived within the context of the one-on-one relationships that were formed as he went and while on the go.

Those are the ones that we remember the most … the ones that stoke the fires of our sentiment and understanding. Why? Because when we see our Savior pause for the “one,” it emboldens our belief in his willingness to do the same for us … to come alongside and to disciple us accordingly. With his time and his attention, and with his tutelage about issues that extend beyond our rudimentary in order to root our lives in his sacred extraordinary.

To stay as we are … as we were at the moment of our salvation … is to miss out on the fullness of what it is to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. Thus, through the power of his Holy Spirit, God comes alongside to mentor us. He places others in our paths to do the same. He then charges us with the gift and responsibility to seed the equivalent in others.

One life at a time. One phone call at a time. One e-mail, one letter, one conversation, one “interruption,” and one prayer at a time. It’s a one-on-one kind of mentoring that exceeds our sometimes, en masse, preferences. After all, en masse reaches more. En masse is the stuff of accolades and building resumes and of seemingly doing more for the kingdom. But what is the worth of an en masse kind of discipleship that walks away and isn’t available for a hug or a prayer or a further word on a further matter?

I’m not dogging en masse. I’m simply saying that en masse doesn’t cut it when discipleship is required. Yes, it seeds the soil for further work, but if we are truly to grasp our role in God’s Great Commission, then we must be willing to put aside our en masse in order to attend to the discipling of the one.

All of us should have some “ones.” We cannot be all things to all people, but we can be the shepherd to some “ones.” And if we think that our calling is all about the masses, then we think shallow. Many can preach the kingdom of God, but rare are those who are willing to disciple His kingdom living into the hearts of a few “ones.”

Pulpits come and go, friends. Stages tear down and move on to another city. But the classroom of discipleship is always in session. It has nothing to do with platforms and report cards and the counting of sheep, but has everything to do with our commitment to intimate and intentional relationship with a few.

God’s theology of the one.

May we never get too busy or too big for our britches so as to neglect the needs of the one. Whether that one is a child, an adult, a family member, a stranger, or a student from days gone by, all “ones” matter in the building up of God’s kingdom. May our hearts and hands and feet be found upon the path of such a sacred and faithful “going” this day. It’s what our Jesus came to do. He’s charged us with the same.

Thus, let’s keep to it, friends, for the kingdom of God is near … closer now than it has ever been. My “ones” coupled with your “ones” coupled with your neighbor’s “ones” are the makings of a good party. And I, for one, cannot wait to see what heaven will birth accordingly. There is coming such a day. Even so I say, come quickly Lord Jesus!

As always,

~elaine

[i] Entry for “mathetheuo” from The New Testament Lexical Aids, NIV Key Word Study Bible (Chattanooga: AMG Publishers, 1996), 1647.

Copyright © March 2009 – Elaine Olsen

PS: The winner of the Starbuck’s gift card from my UBP post is #38, Stephanie from Truthsharer. Congrats, Stephanie! Please send me your snail mail via my email. For all of you, may the truth and hope of Easter be present in your Sabbath rest as we draw ever closer to the cross and our remembrance of Love’s redeeming work! Shalom.

Snow Days, Hot Chocolate, and a Sacred Trust

January 20, 2009

For Nick … you were the missing piece of our snow day. We love you!

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the LORD and shun evil. This will bring health to your body and nourishment to your bones.” (Proverbs 3:5-8).

Either we trust God or we don’t.

Today I’m stuck. Somewhere between my trust and my don’t. And since there is no middle ground, I suppose, that I don’t …

trust Him. At least not enough.

On a day intended for snow angels and hot chocolate and lots of lazy—a day designed for the simplicity of childhood understandings—I’m bogged down in the complexities of what I thought was a well-matured faith—a faith content and at peace with the unanswerables.

Instead, where peace usually reigns, there is a wrestling. Where contentedness usually flourishes, there is a mixture of emotions that scream their resistance. Where a well-matured faith usually roots, there seems but a few seedlings fighting for their anchor to the soil.

When my kids woke up this morning, they woke up to a snow day—a day off from school and from their usual routine of mandated learning. When I woke up this morning, I woke up to a day that requires my attendance in God’s classroom, where a mandated learning becomes my necessary if I want to bring health to this body and nourishment to this soul.

If my faith is to grow in its understanding of all things sacred—an understanding that issues from the wisdom and plans of Almighty God rather than my fragile attempts at the same—then I must be willing to lean into a deeper posture of trust.

What does that look like? Better still, how do I … how do we … get there?

King Solomon, rich in wisdom and with the pen to scribe accordingly, offers his voice in the matter.

“Acknowledge him.”

Acknowledge. The Hebrew verb Yada meaning “to know, to learn, to perceive, to discern, to experience, to confess, to consider, to know people relationally, to know how, to be skillful, to be made known, to make oneself known, to make to know.”[i]

To acknowledge the Lord is to simply and to profoundly know him. We lean into a better understanding and trust whenever we take the time to learn of our God, to consider his ways, and to discern his heart and mind in the many matters that fill ours with certain doubt and wavering belief.

To get there … to come to a knowing of our God … we must trust in the one resource that he has so amply provided for us. I’m currently looking at eight of them. Some opened up upon my bed; some waiting on the bookshelf for their turn.

Our Bibles—the living, breathing, and active Holy Word of God (Hebrews 4:12).

It matters not to Him what translation we read. We all host our own preferences. What matters to God is that we, in fact, read them. Ponder them. Find ourselves somewhere within the story which, in turn, always finds us in close proximity to the heart and mind of Father God.

Charles Spurgeon writes (in reference to Jesus Christ),

“He knew by His omniscience what was the most instructive way of teaching, and by turning at once to Moses and the prophets, He showed us that the surest road to wisdom isn’t speculation, reasoning, or reading human books, but meditation upon the Word of God. The quickest way to be spiritually rich in heavenly knowledge is to dig this mine of diamonds, to gather pearls from this heavenly sea. When Jesus Himself sought to enrich others, He worked in the quarry of Holy Scripture.”[ii]

Knowing God will never happen through accidental measure. Rather, it comes with the purposeful pursuit and with the intentional posture that is willing to enter into God’s classroom, where the only required textbook is the one that was written from his heart via the pen of man’s deliberate obedience.

If our paths are to be straight, if our trust is to be certain, if our bodies are to know the health and the nourishment of solid footing and sound theology, then we must be willing to walk contrary to our human nature. We must set aside our momentary need for instant understanding and, instead, rest upon the truth of God’s understanding.

Our wisdom will never exceed his. Our wisdom should be based on his, but even when wisdom seems a far reach—when answers remain at a distance and our doubts arise as to their certain arrival—we can know that our Father thinks with a greater understanding. An eternal knowledge that is timeless and void of the parameters that we so often seek.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to limit God’s work in my life. I don’t want the doubt that I currently hold in my hand to be the final word in the matter. I don’t want the answers just for the sake of having answers. Rather, I want to trust him for more. I want to know him more and to believe that with the knowing will come a wisdom that exceeds my current and very temporal way of looking at things.

An understanding that can, every once in a while, take a day off to enjoy the simple faith of child who isn’t worried about tomorrow, but instead, is frolicking in the embrace of winter’s gift. In the trust and belief, that snow angels and hot chocolate are the order of the day and that everything else will takes care of itself, in God’s time and in God’s way. Thus, I pray…

Give me the trust of a snow day, Father, when I can rest and enjoy the moment rather than worrying about the moments to come. Thank you for the gift of your Word that allows me to know you, thus finding my peace for the journey. I freely admit that I cannot understand the road ahead. I am frustrated by the unanswerables that have found their way into my hands. Give me the courage to place them into yours. Teach me the trust and certainty of a sacred leaning, and keep me at your feet until I pass the exam. May the treasures of your Holy Word be the rocks that build my solid and sure foundation for the season to come. Amen.

[i] Baker and Carpenter, entry for “Yada,” The Complete Word Study Dictionary Old Testament (Chattanooga: AMG Publishers, 2003), 3038.
[ii] Charles Spurgeon, entry for “January 18,” Morning and Evening (Hendrickson Publishers, Inc., 1995), 37.

Nothing Else I Choose…

January 13, 2009

“This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the LORD is your life, and he will give you many years in the land he swore to give to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. (Deuteronomy 30:19-20).

I’ll be honest friends…

You are worthy of more than what I have to offer you this day. I confess that I have few words to give to you. Not because they aren’t available, but rather because of the “pressing in’s” that are insisting their walk upon the soil of my 24/7. I’m feeling the frantic pull of many directions, and when my heart gets pressed with the chaos of the seemingly urgent, I have a hard time marshalling enough energy for any of it.

Thus, there is a simple phrase I want to give to you today based on God’s Word from the book of Deuteronomy and on a song that’s been running through the speakers of my mind and my stereo this day.

Choose life.

Choose Jesus. Choose the walk of a sacred pilgrim and find your rest.

What joy it must bring to our Father’s heart when we bow the knee and bend the will to a righteous journey that places his agenda at the helm. We have a choice in the matter. There are those who would argue to the contrary—that somehow, my choice in choosing to do life with Jesus is a mute point and an invalid reasoning because it’s already been chosen for me.

My heart tells me otherwise, but my thoughts aren’t designed to invite controversy. Not today. Instead, they are meant to be a word of witness to the powerful, life giving potential that exists when choosing to walk this journey with Jesus.

I’ve been walking it with him for as long as I can remember, and there is nothing—no person, no place, no accolade, no adventure, no memory—that exceeds the worth of walking this life with the Lover of my soul.

Everyday, in simple and sometimes profound ways. In and out, over and above. In the mundane and in the occasional extraordinary when he splits the skies and reminds me that his eyes are ever on me.

He takes my breath away; thus, today I choose life.

With him at the helm and with my family in tow, so that we can know the joy and promise of a sacred fastening that keeps us anchored to the faith of our spiritual ancestors and to the heart of our life-giving, promise-keeping God.

He, alone, stands worthy of all my love and all my choosing. Accordingly, I leave you with the song that’s been running its witness through my speakers and within my soul this day.

“So in Love” by Jeremy Camp. Choose life and find your peace!

As always…

PS: I feel like a give away… you guessed it–the new JCamp CD, Louder than Words. Leave a comment, and I will draw a winner later in the week. Shalom!

Kingdom Carriers

December 30, 2008

Kingdom carriers. I don’t always appreciate the calling. Like yesterday, for instance.

I didn’t want to go to church. I did … want to go. But then I didn’t. Want to. But then I actually did…go…because, well, church is what I do, despite my fleshly wants.

My “want to” for doing church noticed a shift once I realized that yet another “thing” would be required of me upon entering its doors. In the fray and busy of a Christmas week, I forgot about my scheduled turn to teach during the children’s church portion of the service—a portion that coincides with the morning message.

The thought of missing out on the nourishment and rest that accompanies my spirit with the hearing of God’s Word sent my mood into a sudden and downward spiral. I didn’t want the responsibility of feeding God’s children. I wanted to be fed. I didn’t want to share my faith with anyone. Rather, I wanted to sit with it in isolation … in quiet communion. Just me and God and the words of Preacher Billy admonishing me with the truth of scripture.

It was a quick descent into the pit of “poor me.” But just as quickly as I arrived, another thought arrived, crowding its way onto the stage of my pity. Something about the little children and the kingdom of heaven belonging to such as these (Matthew 19:14). I briefly fought to “stuff it” … to bury it beneath my annoyance, but kingdom reminders aren’t the burying kind. They are meant to surface … especially when they’ve been freshly tilled within the soil of a heart.

My heart.

I spent a portion of my Saturday evening in preparation for our upcoming Spring Bible study, Beth Moore’s Esther: It’s Tough Being a Woman. Per usual, Beth challenges the heart with some hard-hitting questions. My homework centered on an application exercise involving several “kingdom” related scriptures. Beth asks the reader to peruse said scriptures and then to determine whether or not the verses are to be applied “figuratively, spiritually, literally, or not at all” as they pertain to the life of a believer.

I eagerly took to the diversion. After all, I’m a kingdom talker. If you’ve been a reader of my words for any length of time, you know that I frequently and liberally implore the use of “kingdom language” in my writings. There’s something regal and royal and divinely “other” that paints with its use. But for all of the ways I can nobly script God’s kingdom, for all of the twists and turns of my poetic vernacular, none speaks more majestically then when my kingdom talking turns into kingdom walking.

Luke’s Gospel confirms such truth.

“Once, having been asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God would come, Jesus replied, ‘The kingdom of God does not come with your careful observation, nor will people say, “Here it is,” or “There it is,” because the kingdom of God is within you.’” (Luke 17:20-21).

Am I walking God’s kingdom, or am I simply trying to impress others with its language? Do I believe God’s kingdom to be a literal housing within my flesh or simply a figurative and spiritually-speaking “dainty” attached to my feeble frame in hopes of prettying up my perimeter? Are the noble bloodlines of a King running within and throughout my veins, or does my blood bleed a temporal illegitimacy awaiting adoption?

Have I come to a place of deeper understanding … of fully receiving the truth of what I’ve been given as a believer in Jesus Christ? Have you?—come to some conclusions in the matter of God’s kingdom and his bestowing of it upon you?

Our walk embodies our answer. Thus, the question.

Are we merely kingdom talkers, or are we walking it out? Are our lives figuratively filled with kingdom language, or are our lives literally filled with the living, breathing sovereignty of a King and a kingdom that cannot be shaken (Hebrews 12:28)? Are we approaching life with the perspective that our everyday occurrences with everyday people are better served by their coming into contact with the kingdom of God living within us?

If our answer is yes, if in fact we believe that we are the keepers of God’s Light and the tenders of his sacred wick (see Bethlehem’s Light), then our lives should walk more reverent … more intentional, and more aware of the sacred responsibility that we’ve been allowed.

We are kingdom carriers—those entrusted with the keys accordingly (Matthew 16:19). Wherever we walk, we carry the unshakeable, trustworthy, regal and royal throne of our God with us. We bring God’s kingdom to the world via our flesh (2 Corinthians 6:16). And once we come to his conclusion on the matter of our noble conferment, our flesh becomes all the more eager to concede its will to the kingdom cause.

To the little children and to the many others who so desperately need the intersection of God’s throne with their fragile becoming.

We bring that intersection, friends. It is our privilege to do so. God has entrusted us with the responsibility. Accordingly, our “wants” take a back seat to his. At least they should. Flesh and faith will always make for an odd mix; still and yet, they are the divine coupling that so often yields eternal results.

God has chosen to allow his kingdom to live its pulse within and throughout our feeble and our fragile. A kingdom not of the burying kind, but rather one made for the blossoms and inheritance that comes with walking our sacred bloodlines. Whether we walk with a ready heart or with a reluctant obedience, the kingdom of God was given to be given.

Carry him well, this week. Carry him willingly into the New Year. Carry him knowing that the kingdom he has seeded in you is one of everlasting worth and in need of your liberality in this coming season of influence. Thus, I pray…

Keep me from my isolation, God, from my thinking that your kingdom exists for me alone. Forgive me when I am selfish of its bestowing upon another, especially your children. Grow in me my understanding of what it means to be your kingdom carrier. Humbly, I surrender my flesh for the cause. Replace my little with your much, and seed my heart with a willingness to intersect humanity the royal and regal of your welcoming grace. I feel so unfit to house your kingdom. Thank you for the cross that continues to call me worthy of such an honor. Amen.

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