These things I want - a letter to my men

There are some things in me that I need to process, that I need to just express. Phillip Yancey once admitted that a large part of his desire to write comes out of a need to work through some of his own discoveries and doubts and beliefs. And that’s what this is for me. I need to put words to some things going on in me. But, I realize, too, that I need to express them to you all because you are my allies and because I’ve seen the violent hearts that beat within you men, the fierce passion and burning desire that is set within you. I love A.W. Tozer’s catch-phrase for the men in the early church after they had received the fire of the Holy Spirit, “Men of the Flame.” That’s it. That’s who you are.

And so how do you go about putting words to the movements of the heart? It feels sometimes absolutely impossible. They are “deep waters,” indeed. I can only hope that God can reach even deeper than the stars are far and draw out what is down there.

There’s something about expressing your heart that seems all the more important as it is awakening and coming alive. Expressing your love for God and your love for others. A friend of mine was killed in a car wreck last Friday. At his funeral on Monday, I glanced over at his parents. They are disconsolate. They are crushed and devastated. I saw it on his dad’s face. And his dad is a man that I’ve known all my life, a friend that I love and respect. What in the world do you do with the death of your 22 year-old son? My heart broke for them. I wanted to open up and wail, to grab something and throw it against the wall. I wanted to rage for their sake and cry out above the nice sentiments of the priest, “It’s not supposed to be this way! Oh God, come for us! Come for Ryan’s family!” I mean, I get a little better now why some of the Old Testament folks would rend their clothes in agony and mourning. But, just then, I turned to see some of Ryan’s closest friends. I remembered them from school, and they’ve since grown up into men. They stand stoic and seem unaffected, concentrating more on their gum-chewing than on the hurt and disorientation of it all. And I know that some men don’t express themselves as much or in different ways, and that’s great. But what I heard from the Enemy was, “You don’t really want to cry. You’ll draw attention to yourself. They’ll think, ‘What are you complaining about? I knew him better than you ever did.’” Right then, right then, I heard God speak. “Mourn with them (Ryan’s parents and brother). That is my gift to them. And your freedom of heart to do that is my gift to you.”

The men in my family have very seldom lived from their hearts. They are largely silent men. And from my dad I’ve come to understand that when a man offers silence, he offers death. There are only two things he can offer into his world: life or death. To offer nothing is not to offer nothing, it is to offer death. Maybe that’s what Jesus meant when He said, “If you are not for me, you are against me.” There’s no “no contesto” there. It’s either “Yes,” or, even in silence, it is “No.”

I was reading the other night the story of David and his son Absalom. Remember the story? Amnon, David’s firstborn, raped his half-sister Tamar. Absalom, Tamar’s full-blood brother, was furious. But David, bound to favor Amnon because of Hebrew custom, did nothing. Amnon got off almost completely scott-free. I mean, David didn’t even address the issue with Tamar or with Absalom, and in so doing, he basically told Absalom, “I don’t care what you feel. It is irrelevant to me.” His silence was deadly, and it stayed in Absalom for years, only to become bitter resentment and eventually hatred. Four years later, he raised up a coupe to overthrow his dad. A war began, a war that divided a nation and cost so many lives. A war that would rival most Hollywood portrayals, with spies and counter-spies, factions, disloyalties, evasion and death. A war between father and son.

What blows me away is that David still cared deeply for Absalom. He did. Just before his victory, he told his men not to kill the commander of the invading army – Absalom! Naturally, Absalom ends up getting killed anyway. And David is so overcome with grief that he can only cry that it should’ve been him that died and not Absalom. He can tell his men how much he cares and treasures his son, and he can wail to the wind of his deep love and delight in him. But he cannot express it to his face. Once again, all he can offer is death, “It should’ve been me that died.”

I read the other day that male sparrows sing to mark out their territory. Their song is their declaration to the world, “I have found my place, and I announce my kingdom here.” I love that. If they remained silent, neither the world nor they themselves would understand their place. Their voice gives dimension to and domain over their corner of the world. They do not rest in others’ songs, though they may be inspired by them to begin their own chorus, or be awakened by them to remember they do, in fact, have a voice and a reason to sing.

Something else about them. Birds of almost every kind will sing even when sick. It’s their defense against predators, who often stalk the weak and dying. Even caged birds will do this. I’ve heard stories of pet parakeets who will be singing strong and beautiful one day, and the next morning will be dead on the floor of the cage. They refuse to give their enemies an opportunity or a foothold. It reminds me of the Princess Bride scene when Montoya, wounded and bleeding, finds his courage and strength to declare his name and wield his sword fiercely against his father’s murderer.

I want to live fully. I want to express my heart – to love, to open myself up to deeper and more authentic relationship with both God and man, to offer life –oh, God, to offer life and not death! I want to really mourn with those who mourn and to really rejoice with those who rejoice. I want to live courageously from my deep heart in conviction and reality, flinging myself violently and wholly into the love of God. I want to live out my calling and from my giftings – not to offer those alone, but certainly to offer those as part of me, as a part of the song I have to sing. No more hiding in shadow and shade. The promise that I will soar on wings as eagles speaks so deep.

I want to be healed more deeply. I want the truth of the heart-stopping love of God to reach to the deeper places within me. I need that grace so desperately. I want to live a life worthy of my calling, and do come to the end of my days having walked so intimately with the Lover of my Soul, having fought valiantly alongside the Great Commander, having loved to death and given until there was nothing left to give.

I want to have enough breath left in me in my last seconds to exhale, “What a ride,” and then find myself home at last – the home I had for so long yearned for and clung to like a man in exile lusts for his native country, remembering the promise that I had already been “a citizen of high heaven.”

And between all the days from this day to that, I want to journey well. I want to ride with you men. I do. I want to remain in your troop with the lasting honor of fighting beside you and for you, of red-faced laughter and known stories, of scars and glory and living in the Kingdom, of experiencing it, of expressing it, and of extending it to others. I want my wife to be vibrantly alive because of the strength I offer her and the passion with which I pursue her.

And that’s it. That’s all I want. And I guess for those things to be true in me and about me, I need Jesus to come through. Just a bit.

Tozer suggested that we "draw near, and feel the heat" from those who walked close with God. I do that with you, Men of the Flame.

To my rescue...

I love my heart. I mean, I love the treasure that it is, the imprint of the Living One there. More than an imprint - his Life, with all the fullness of Him in his desire, his passion, his love of life and risk and me and his bride. That it looks different than everyone else's, that it's unique in that it has nuances and quirks and a story all its own and words spoken to it personally that bring it to life like some spring rain for the barren fields, that it likes what it likes and dreams and beats its own slightly different rhythm... this is not its shame, but rather its glory. It's like those mighty pines stretching on the ranges of the Rockies - they're made from the same stuff. And from afar, they all paint the scenes some brilliant green. But close up, they are all unique, bearing different scars from the wildlands and some curvature from restless winds. But they are all mighty as they dive straight into the sea of high sky above. They clap their hands in adoration of their Maker.

I want to step out today. Have you noticed the nearer you draw to the edge the louder the voices of condemnation and accusation become? Good grief. I know it's His voice calling me out of the cave, out of the shadows, but I can't remember now what it sounded like (and I just heard it yesterday, but today it's only an echo, which just shows me how much I can lose in one night). I feel like that boy whose house caught on fire late one night. His parents grabbed him and ran with him downstairs to safety, but fightened, he pulled away. His parents made it outside and screamed for him, only to see him on his 2nd-story window's ledge. His room now consumed with flames, the only way to freedom and rescue was a freefall into the night. His dad below yelled for him to jump. Gagged and blinded by the billowing smoke, the son could only choke out, "But Daddy, I can't see you!" "I know, son. I know," he cried, "But I can see you. Now, jump!"

It's time to come out of the shadows. Time to stretch to my true heigth and stature, next to the enormity of this Awesome God, desperately dependent upon him to come through, for his breath and living water. "And like a volunerable bud on a wide western plain, whose hopes outreach its strength as it streches for the sun and laments for the rain..."

This is my heart's cry in this day, Lover of my Soul. Rescue me

Who I am in Christ

Christ has...

drive out the prince of this world. John 12:31

disarmed the powers and authorities. Col 2:15

been given all authority in heaven and on earth. Matt 28:18

made himself your life. Col 3:4

given you new life. Rom 6:4

made himself God's abundant provision of grace. Rom 5:17

made himself your strength, through whom you can do all things. Phil 4:13

out of his great love remembered you, not the sins of your youth. Psalm 25:7

You have...

fullness in Christ, the head over every power and authority. Col 2:10

Christ as your life. Col 3:4

been given authority to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you. Luke 10:19

the Counselor with you forever. John 14:16

the Holy Spirit as your encourager. Acts 9:31

not chosen Christ, but he chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit... the Father will give you whatever you ask in his name. John 15:16

the Spirit of truth, to guide you into all truth. John 16:13

every spiritual blessing in the heavenlies in Christ Jesus. Eph 1:3

the angels as ministering spirits sent to serve you. Heb 1:14

You are...

the righteousness of God. 2 Cor 5:21

the apple of God's eye. Psalm 17:8

not put to shame, because your hope is in the Lord. Psalm 25:3

rescued from the dominion of darkness and brought into the Kingdom of the Son. Col 1:13

counted as dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus. Rom 6:11

alive with Christ. Eph 2:5

from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world. 1 Jn 4:4

included with Christ, marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit. Eph 1:13

living with the Spirit, keeping in step with the Spirit. Gal 5:25

strong in the Lord and in the might of his power. Eph 6:10

We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about the hardships we suffered in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us, as you help us by your prayers. Then many will give thanks on our behalf for the gracious favor granted us in answer to the prayers of many. 2 Cor 1:8-11

My Heart Aches...

My heart aches -
like the ache of the sun before it rises to shine, to warm;
like the ache of the sea as it washes onto the shore
from the ancient and mysterious deep, longing again for life on the floor-
like the ache of the monarch before it finds its wings,
before it dares to dream of its life in the sky, braving to fly,
yearning and earning its life on the wind.

And so, the leaves - they dance and spread like fire,
and the mountains reach forever to find a song to sing.
And so it is in me.

You've taken me-
like a thief steals his gold
Like the sun steals the sky you've stolen my breath
And, though it may be my death,
My heart aches, Lover of my Soul...
it aches for You.
©2005, Brian Fidler

Hungry for the Really Real

I'm feeling today especially hungry and worn out. I plow through so many competing thoughts in any given day. They're not "bad" or necessarily "lustful" or anything like that, just competing, rival thoughts. And in that regard, they are "bad". It's like I spread wide my sheets for the whores of vain imagination. I'll start thinking of how I feel about this person or what I think this person feels of me. I'll start fantasizing of what I'll say in this situation or how I'll act there. It's all surface. It's all less than God.

I don't know exactly how to eliminate those things in this day. This morning I asked in desperation for God to simply break me, to peel me away, no matter how painfully, from these things that I'm inundated with and always eventually give myself over to, in one form or another. I keep repeating, so that maybe this will become real for me, that "brokenness is knowing God is all I have, hope is knowing that He is all I need, joy is knowing that He is all I want." There's busyness of body and there's busyness of heart. It's the distraction and diversion of the latter that wears me out, disconnects me somehow in a profound way from the Fount, and leaves me flopping around like a wet fish in the cold air - gasping and hopelessly dependent upon Someone to rescue me.

I forget things, like those citizens of Macondo in "100 Years of Solitude" forgot even that God existed and had to paint a large sign to the entrance of the village stating simply, "God Exists." It's not facts so much that I forget, but just these deeper Truths, like who I am, really; that there is a Really Real, a Reality, and that it is expressed in the face and life and death and rebirth of Jesus, the Image of the Invisible God; and that this Image is the One who made me and the One for whom I am made; and that, finally, there is this precious fellowship - bold, good, true, given as a gift but a desperately needed one, like soup for a starving vagrant, a fellowship that loves because the One who is Love abides within and who fights with violence and force because they are the offspring of the Lion of Judah. Everything else is illusion.

Why, then, does everything else feel weightier than these?