I run a program at church called e4. It's sort of like a seminary-meets-local-church program designed to take people deep into the heart of Christianity. It's divided into three tracks, each ten weeks long, and the first track, the one we're in now, is all about the Bible.
One of the things that I hope God will do in these ten weeks is help each of us to find our story in his story. By that I mean that we will find how our story fits into the larger story that God is telling in history, and specifically in the Bible. The Bible is, after all, a story. It's the story of God creating, then redeeming, now renewing the world. And our stories are both a small part of that larger story (the meta-narrative) and miniature versions of it.
We can't know our stories if we don't know God's story, and we can't know God's story if we don't know the Bible. Most of us engage with the text of Scripture in a fragmented way. That is, we read it until something jumps off the page at us. By doing this, however, we're ignoring 99% of the Bible, and when we ignore that much of God's Word we can't possibly know God's story. A fragmented reading of Scripture leads to a fragmented life. How can you know your own story and how you fit into what God is doing in history if you only read the Bible devotionally? e4 brings you present to the other 99%.
God's story is remarkable. It's full of pain and redemption, death and resurrection, darkness and light, ignorance and wisdom. It's the story of broken eikons of God (that's you and me!) becoming whole, finding healing, love, friendship, wholeness, courage, compassion. It's the story of which all other great stories are but a seed or a shadow. And it's your story. It's the story that makes sense of your life, who you are and where you're going. You really should read it. All of it.
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
A True Parable
In my back yard there is a mighty birch tree, nearly 100 feet high and 20 feet around at the bottom. The top half is white as the snow, and it gleams like a bleached limestone obelisk against the cloudless blue sky. It's leaves are beautiful (though they haven't budded yet) and hung on to their lofty branches late into the autumn months. It is one of my favorite trees in all the world.
It stands not 20 feet from my house, and so it poses a danger to my family should it ever fall. But it's roots are strong, shooting straight into the ground like the steel and concrete anchors of a suspension bridge. It has survived, unscathed, the hurricane that struck Ohio two years ago, so I don't worry about it toppling from the wind.
But there is a grave danger, posed not by the massive height of the tree, but from a humongous weed that has sprouted up not two yards from the giant birch. To nearly everyone, this huge weed appears to be a perfectly healthy tree. But it is not a tree. It is something else entirely. And it threatens the life of the tree and my family. You see, this disgusting, disease of a plant has shot its roots directly toward the beautiful birch, threatening to kill it from beneath the surface.
Though the weed is a mere shadow of the birch, it is life-threatening. It must be cut out, uprooted, before it turns the good tree into an instrument of death and destruction. The weed is itself a perversion of a plant, and it is trying to turn the birch into a perversion--an object not of beauty, grace, and majesty, but of chaos, danger, and death.
The weed has grown up in the shadow of the birch, unhindered and unchecked. It is often counted among the trees in the yard, though it is only an impostor. The weed must be killed. It must be fully removed. Its roots must be cut and untangled from the roots of the birch. It's branches must be hacked off and cut into tiny pieces. It's stump must be pulled from the ground. This is hard, tedious work, though the rewards in the end are worthwhile. When the weed is gone, the birch is free to grow to new heights, unthreatened by the strangling and perverting roots of the shadow tree.
It stands not 20 feet from my house, and so it poses a danger to my family should it ever fall. But it's roots are strong, shooting straight into the ground like the steel and concrete anchors of a suspension bridge. It has survived, unscathed, the hurricane that struck Ohio two years ago, so I don't worry about it toppling from the wind.
But there is a grave danger, posed not by the massive height of the tree, but from a humongous weed that has sprouted up not two yards from the giant birch. To nearly everyone, this huge weed appears to be a perfectly healthy tree. But it is not a tree. It is something else entirely. And it threatens the life of the tree and my family. You see, this disgusting, disease of a plant has shot its roots directly toward the beautiful birch, threatening to kill it from beneath the surface.
Though the weed is a mere shadow of the birch, it is life-threatening. It must be cut out, uprooted, before it turns the good tree into an instrument of death and destruction. The weed is itself a perversion of a plant, and it is trying to turn the birch into a perversion--an object not of beauty, grace, and majesty, but of chaos, danger, and death.
The weed has grown up in the shadow of the birch, unhindered and unchecked. It is often counted among the trees in the yard, though it is only an impostor. The weed must be killed. It must be fully removed. Its roots must be cut and untangled from the roots of the birch. It's branches must be hacked off and cut into tiny pieces. It's stump must be pulled from the ground. This is hard, tedious work, though the rewards in the end are worthwhile. When the weed is gone, the birch is free to grow to new heights, unthreatened by the strangling and perverting roots of the shadow tree.
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