Mindfulness.
It's surprising to me how Psalms is really speaking to me in a new way lately.
I can't say that I've ever attempted to read the book of Psalms straight through, though, and I think that's why I underestimated its words. Psalms always seemed like the book to go to when going through a rough spot in life - the Red Bull of faith, so to speak.
I always thought that this verse in Hebrews was talking about Psalms: "For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the first principles of the oracles of God; and you have come to need milk and not solid food. For everyone who partakes only of milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness, for he is a babe. But solid food belongs to those who are of full age, that is, those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern both good and evil." (Hebrews 5:12-14)
Psalms certainly seemed like milk. I mean, I perceived it to have one, simple, foundational theme: "God's really, really Good. Praise Him. Amen."
When I was really "walking" back in college, I think I internally scoffed at Psalms. "Pshaw," I would think, "Psalms is a great filler, but it's certainly not something worthy of in-depth study. *I* am beyond that in my faith. No milk for me. No sirree Bob, only solid food here. Bring on the "real" books."
Yeah. Let's not get into all of the verses about pride.
But this time, I'm coming to a new understanding of Psalms, even though I'm only eight chapters in. See, I think that Psalms can be milk and solid food - it totally depends on how you read it. Yes, it's a great book for worshipping God, for being reminded of God's faithfulness. But in reading straight through, it's also tremendously revealing about God's personality - and is of itself a prophecy to Christ.
Today, I took note of this verse, one that I think is pretty well-known among Christians: "What is man that You are mindful of him, and the son of man that You visit him?" (8:4)
What surprised me about this is that it's exactly what I struggled with in the few years where I'd fallen away from Christianity.
Well, really, there were two things, but the second will just have to wait for another blog.
But first is the part that relates to this verse. I think that I've always believed in God. Honestly, I think that once a person has reconciled him or herself to His existence, it's impossible to shake that belief. It's like learning something. You can't really "unlearn" it.
What I didn't know if I believed in is God's presence in our lives. I had no problem accepting His omnipotence, His omniscience. It was the omnipresence that I really struggled with.
"What is man, that You are mindful of him?"
Or.
"Who am I, that You pay any kind of attention to me?"
There comes a point in our lives when we realize how very small we are in relation to the world - not just the world of today, but the world of ages.
There comes a point where we seem to accept our place in that world. As children, we have - or maybe I should just speak for myself here - I had illusions of grandeur. I thought, for sure, that I would save the world, that I would be doing remarkable things, that I'd publish my first book before I could drive.
I remember having this thought when I was pretty young - in elementary school - and every time I think about it, it bugs me out - but it's terribly hard for me to explain. I feel sometimes like I am the only "I" in the world. In some ways, I guess it's egocentric, because it seems like I must be something special, because I'm seeing the world through *my* eyes. Does that make sense? I don't mean that everyone else is automated, just going through the world in a predestined way. I just mean that I know how I control my actions - as it says in Julius Caesar, "men at some times are masters of their own fates."
I guess I've just always thought that because I am me, I need to do something with that, that I have as much opportunity as anyone else to really effect change in the world.
But. Like I was saying before that tangent, there comes a point where we seem to accept our place in the world and to settle into that. This makes sense with Erikson's stages of psychosocial development, because there is a stage called productivity vs. stagnation, and honestly, I think most of us adults become complacent in the stagnation phase. We've accepted that this is what our life is to be, that this is our purpose, and we stop seeking a Greater purpose like we did when we were kids.
Again, I don't know how much of this anyone else thinks. I only know what is true by my experience. See, there's that issue with *I* again.
But I think it's significant that The Purpose Driven Life became a best-seller, more than, perhaps, that Rick Warren is a compelling writer, more than that a bunch of people told their friends, "You have to read this book". (By the way, I haven't read it, nor do I plan to.) I think we realize that there is something more for our lives, that there is something more we can be. And I'm not implying that we aren't doing significant things in our friendships, in our careers, in our marriages, in our families. Those things are important, essential, foundational. I just think too often we conclude that "this is all I should be."
And so, we accept our small part in the universe.
And then, what is man - what are we - that God would be involved with us?
Indeed, we are His creation, and I believe that He delights in us. I think we grieve His heart with some of the choices that we make, but I think He is ultimately pleased with us. Think about something you've created. Don't you get a bit of satisfaction from it? Sure, you notice the flaws more keenly than anyone else possibly could, but there is still a pride attached to that item: "*I* made that." And if that project were to go up in flames, there would be a sense of loss, a grief. Imagine how much more so that would be true if we were Perfect creators.
But I believe God is relational. Don Miller really gets into this idea in Searching for God Knows What, which I *highly* recommend to anyone who is struggling with Who God is and what role He takes in our lives.
I think we tend to forget that God is relational - or even not to believe that He's relational - because it's a different relationship than we're used to. If I want to talk to Hector, I call him, and if he doesn't respond in words, there's an issue. And it's different when he's right here with me - I know he is present through my sight.
But God requires a different kind of perception. It begins with faith: "the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1). A relationship we cannot see is certainly different. Without that sight, we question God's presence in our lives. "The god I was renouncing was more an idea than a person. The god I used to know was a system of beliefs that made me feel right, not a living an active Being" (Miller 38). "...If the gospel of Jesus is just some formula I obey in order to get taken off the naughty list and put on a nice list, then it doesn't meet the deep need of the human condition, it doesn't interact with the great desire of my soul, and it has nothing to do with the hidden (or, rather, obvious) language we all are speaking" (Miller 45).
That language is the need for a relationship. And that is what God is to be in our lives - a relationship. We as humans are designed to need relationships. Our relationships are what give our lives purpose - they are most important to us. This is why religion in and of itself fails people. We don't need religion - a "rulebook," so to speak. We need a relationship. We need something - sorry, someOne - to give our lives purpose and direction and love.
What is God, that He is mindful of us? I've come to learn that this mindfulness of us is an even more important belief than mere belief in God's existence. We are surrounded with the evidence of God - as Geoff Moore sings, it's in every mountain, every valley, every sunrise. That is not the unseen that requires faith.
The relationship? That's a different story.
And if we want purpose, we have to seek out that purpose through the relationship, through learning to listen in a different way. That's faith. But we can't get anywhere with that until we accept that God, indeed, is mindful of us, that He is present in our lives, that we only have to choose to engage in the relationship to activate it. And then He is ready to provide that purpose that is so much greater than we could design for our own lives.
I can't say that I've ever attempted to read the book of Psalms straight through, though, and I think that's why I underestimated its words. Psalms always seemed like the book to go to when going through a rough spot in life - the Red Bull of faith, so to speak.
I always thought that this verse in Hebrews was talking about Psalms: "For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the first principles of the oracles of God; and you have come to need milk and not solid food. For everyone who partakes only of milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness, for he is a babe. But solid food belongs to those who are of full age, that is, those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern both good and evil." (Hebrews 5:12-14)
Psalms certainly seemed like milk. I mean, I perceived it to have one, simple, foundational theme: "God's really, really Good. Praise Him. Amen."
When I was really "walking" back in college, I think I internally scoffed at Psalms. "Pshaw," I would think, "Psalms is a great filler, but it's certainly not something worthy of in-depth study. *I* am beyond that in my faith. No milk for me. No sirree Bob, only solid food here. Bring on the "real" books."
Yeah. Let's not get into all of the verses about pride.
But this time, I'm coming to a new understanding of Psalms, even though I'm only eight chapters in. See, I think that Psalms can be milk and solid food - it totally depends on how you read it. Yes, it's a great book for worshipping God, for being reminded of God's faithfulness. But in reading straight through, it's also tremendously revealing about God's personality - and is of itself a prophecy to Christ.
Today, I took note of this verse, one that I think is pretty well-known among Christians: "What is man that You are mindful of him, and the son of man that You visit him?" (8:4)
What surprised me about this is that it's exactly what I struggled with in the few years where I'd fallen away from Christianity.
Well, really, there were two things, but the second will just have to wait for another blog.
But first is the part that relates to this verse. I think that I've always believed in God. Honestly, I think that once a person has reconciled him or herself to His existence, it's impossible to shake that belief. It's like learning something. You can't really "unlearn" it.
What I didn't know if I believed in is God's presence in our lives. I had no problem accepting His omnipotence, His omniscience. It was the omnipresence that I really struggled with.
"What is man, that You are mindful of him?"
Or.
"Who am I, that You pay any kind of attention to me?"
There comes a point in our lives when we realize how very small we are in relation to the world - not just the world of today, but the world of ages.
There comes a point where we seem to accept our place in that world. As children, we have - or maybe I should just speak for myself here - I had illusions of grandeur. I thought, for sure, that I would save the world, that I would be doing remarkable things, that I'd publish my first book before I could drive.
I remember having this thought when I was pretty young - in elementary school - and every time I think about it, it bugs me out - but it's terribly hard for me to explain. I feel sometimes like I am the only "I" in the world. In some ways, I guess it's egocentric, because it seems like I must be something special, because I'm seeing the world through *my* eyes. Does that make sense? I don't mean that everyone else is automated, just going through the world in a predestined way. I just mean that I know how I control my actions - as it says in Julius Caesar, "men at some times are masters of their own fates."
I guess I've just always thought that because I am me, I need to do something with that, that I have as much opportunity as anyone else to really effect change in the world.
But. Like I was saying before that tangent, there comes a point where we seem to accept our place in the world and to settle into that. This makes sense with Erikson's stages of psychosocial development, because there is a stage called productivity vs. stagnation, and honestly, I think most of us adults become complacent in the stagnation phase. We've accepted that this is what our life is to be, that this is our purpose, and we stop seeking a Greater purpose like we did when we were kids.
Again, I don't know how much of this anyone else thinks. I only know what is true by my experience. See, there's that issue with *I* again.
But I think it's significant that The Purpose Driven Life became a best-seller, more than, perhaps, that Rick Warren is a compelling writer, more than that a bunch of people told their friends, "You have to read this book". (By the way, I haven't read it, nor do I plan to.) I think we realize that there is something more for our lives, that there is something more we can be. And I'm not implying that we aren't doing significant things in our friendships, in our careers, in our marriages, in our families. Those things are important, essential, foundational. I just think too often we conclude that "this is all I should be."
And so, we accept our small part in the universe.
And then, what is man - what are we - that God would be involved with us?
Indeed, we are His creation, and I believe that He delights in us. I think we grieve His heart with some of the choices that we make, but I think He is ultimately pleased with us. Think about something you've created. Don't you get a bit of satisfaction from it? Sure, you notice the flaws more keenly than anyone else possibly could, but there is still a pride attached to that item: "*I* made that." And if that project were to go up in flames, there would be a sense of loss, a grief. Imagine how much more so that would be true if we were Perfect creators.
But I believe God is relational. Don Miller really gets into this idea in Searching for God Knows What, which I *highly* recommend to anyone who is struggling with Who God is and what role He takes in our lives.
I think we tend to forget that God is relational - or even not to believe that He's relational - because it's a different relationship than we're used to. If I want to talk to Hector, I call him, and if he doesn't respond in words, there's an issue. And it's different when he's right here with me - I know he is present through my sight.
But God requires a different kind of perception. It begins with faith: "the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1). A relationship we cannot see is certainly different. Without that sight, we question God's presence in our lives. "The god I was renouncing was more an idea than a person. The god I used to know was a system of beliefs that made me feel right, not a living an active Being" (Miller 38). "...If the gospel of Jesus is just some formula I obey in order to get taken off the naughty list and put on a nice list, then it doesn't meet the deep need of the human condition, it doesn't interact with the great desire of my soul, and it has nothing to do with the hidden (or, rather, obvious) language we all are speaking" (Miller 45).
That language is the need for a relationship. And that is what God is to be in our lives - a relationship. We as humans are designed to need relationships. Our relationships are what give our lives purpose - they are most important to us. This is why religion in and of itself fails people. We don't need religion - a "rulebook," so to speak. We need a relationship. We need something - sorry, someOne - to give our lives purpose and direction and love.
What is God, that He is mindful of us? I've come to learn that this mindfulness of us is an even more important belief than mere belief in God's existence. We are surrounded with the evidence of God - as Geoff Moore sings, it's in every mountain, every valley, every sunrise. That is not the unseen that requires faith.
The relationship? That's a different story.
And if we want purpose, we have to seek out that purpose through the relationship, through learning to listen in a different way. That's faith. But we can't get anywhere with that until we accept that God, indeed, is mindful of us, that He is present in our lives, that we only have to choose to engage in the relationship to activate it. And then He is ready to provide that purpose that is so much greater than we could design for our own lives.
posted by Heather at 8:39 AM
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