Over winter break, I've been trying to catch up on my reading. When I was in high school, I was always baffled by the college students who said that they were so busy that they didn't have time to read anymore. "Well, I'll make time!" I declared adamantly to myself. Well. Confession. Didn't happen. I, too, have been clumped into the category of busy college students whose best attempt at reading is completing homework assignments. Thankfully, this isn't all bad, as most of my college textbooks were quite enlightening and unquestionably beneficial. Still, it's not quite the same as sitting down with a small paperback book that doesn't take all the weight in your arms to keep positioned correctly. So, as I've been reading this past month - books both old and new - I've been reflecting on those books that have meant the most to be over the years.
So you, dear reader (I assume you exist, of course. Sometimes I wonder if I am the only one who reads this, after all. But I have quite decided that even if I am speaking to a blank void, this blogging business is still worthwhile.) will be hearing from me more frequently (hopefully) these next couple of weeks as I attempt to post some of my favorite books, or as happens to be the case today, one of my favorite books of poetry.
The first book, then, is not necessarily my favorite, but it was quick in coming to mind. Simply put, I love Amy Carmichael. If you're looking for a book that is both convicting and encouraging, pick up her collection of small poems titled If. It is a small book that has no more than seventy pages, yet it is not a quick read. I find the best way to absorb it is to read a poem a day in order give myself time to mull over the ideas that she expresses. Here's a poem to give you a little taste.
If there be any reserve in my giving to
Him who so loved that He gave
His Dearest for me;
If there be any secret "but" in my
prayer,
"Anything but that, Lord,"
then I know nothing of Calvary love.
(Amy Carmichael)
Ouch.
Showing posts with label book reviews. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book reviews. Show all posts
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Crazy Love
"It's crazy if you think about it. The God of the universe - the Creator of nitrogen and pine needles, galaxies and E-minor - loves us with a radical, unconditional, self-sacrificing love. And what is our typical response? We go to church, sing songs, and try not to cuss. Whether you've verbalized it yet or not...we all know something is wrong. Because when you're wildly in love with someone, it changes everything." [Francis Chan]
Francis Chan wrote Crazy Love for people like me, people who have lost sight of how very small we are in light of God's great and unapproachable holiness. The only reason we read our Bibles is because we feel like we should, not because we want to. We pray without thinking about the Being that we are praying to. It is all routine. In short, in our "Christian cultures" we take God for granted. As a result, we think that we can go to church, change nothing about our everyday lives, and still get to heaven. Getting to Heaven, after all, is the only reason we go to church. It often has nothing to do with cultivating a relationship with the God of the universe, and more with avoiding punishment. Is this really the way it is supposed to be? This is the question Francis Chan attempts to tackle.
As believers, we should be appalled by how many professing Christians live their lives this way. We avoid suffering at all cost. Chan makes note of how often we pray, "Lord, we pray for safety as we travel. We ask that no one gets hurt on this trip. Please keep everyone safe until we return, and bring us back safely. In Jesus' name we pray, amen." Sound familiar? How often have we heard that one? Chan goes on to say, "We are consumed by safety. Obsessed with it, actually. We've elevated safety to the neglect of whatever God's best is, whatever would bring God the most glory, or whatever would accomplish His purposes in our lives and in the world." As American Christians, especially, we are experts at staying in our comfort zones and assuring ourselves that we are not "called" to do the hard things like mission work, sacrificial giving, or community service.
A changed life should be synonymous with a radical life. If the world understands the way we are living, something is wrong with our lives. The way we live should shock the world. The way we love should call attention not to ourselves, but to the great God whom we serve. As John Piper says, "It is one thing to have an answer ready. It is another to live a lifestyle that causes people to ask you for it." This is the rut we, as the church of America find ourselves in. We have all the answers to all of the questions, but we are so preoccupied with being "relevant" to the culture, that we forget that we, in fact, not called to be relevant, but different. Gandhi said, "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." That should sadden and scare us.
We are completely preoccupied with ourselves. Our safety. Our friends. Our habits. Our comfort. Were we there when God created the world? No. Where we there when He sent His son into the world? No. In Heaven, when angels surround the throne saying "Holy, Holy, Holy" will they be bowing down to us? No. Chan says it well: "Frankly, you need to get over yourself." This isn't about us. This is about God. Our lives are not about our needs, our wants, our desires; they are about God. Anything short of a life lived purposefully to glorify God is a wasted life. Chan goes on, "Throughout time, somewhere between forty-five billion and one hundred twenty-five billion people have lived on this earth. That's 125,000,000,000. In about fifty years (give or take a couple of decades), no one will remember you. Everyone you know will be dead. Certainly, no one will care what job you had, what car you drove, what school you attended, or what clothes you wore...The point of your life is to point to Him. Whatever you are doing, God wants to be glorified, because this whole thing is His."
The God who created 350,000,000,000 galaxies and gave the caterpillar 228 different muscles in its head is the same God who loved us, sinful and depraved humans who never did anything except try to steal the glory that is rightfully His own. It is merciful that God would allow us to escape our deserved punishment of hell. It is unbelievable that He would give us a relationship with Himself and see us as blameless because of Christ's sacrifice. This is, indeed, a crazy kind of love.
Francis Chan wrote Crazy Love for people like me, people who have lost sight of how very small we are in light of God's great and unapproachable holiness. The only reason we read our Bibles is because we feel like we should, not because we want to. We pray without thinking about the Being that we are praying to. It is all routine. In short, in our "Christian cultures" we take God for granted. As a result, we think that we can go to church, change nothing about our everyday lives, and still get to heaven. Getting to Heaven, after all, is the only reason we go to church. It often has nothing to do with cultivating a relationship with the God of the universe, and more with avoiding punishment. Is this really the way it is supposed to be? This is the question Francis Chan attempts to tackle.
As believers, we should be appalled by how many professing Christians live their lives this way. We avoid suffering at all cost. Chan makes note of how often we pray, "Lord, we pray for safety as we travel. We ask that no one gets hurt on this trip. Please keep everyone safe until we return, and bring us back safely. In Jesus' name we pray, amen." Sound familiar? How often have we heard that one? Chan goes on to say, "We are consumed by safety. Obsessed with it, actually. We've elevated safety to the neglect of whatever God's best is, whatever would bring God the most glory, or whatever would accomplish His purposes in our lives and in the world." As American Christians, especially, we are experts at staying in our comfort zones and assuring ourselves that we are not "called" to do the hard things like mission work, sacrificial giving, or community service.
A changed life should be synonymous with a radical life. If the world understands the way we are living, something is wrong with our lives. The way we live should shock the world. The way we love should call attention not to ourselves, but to the great God whom we serve. As John Piper says, "It is one thing to have an answer ready. It is another to live a lifestyle that causes people to ask you for it." This is the rut we, as the church of America find ourselves in. We have all the answers to all of the questions, but we are so preoccupied with being "relevant" to the culture, that we forget that we, in fact, not called to be relevant, but different. Gandhi said, "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." That should sadden and scare us.
We are completely preoccupied with ourselves. Our safety. Our friends. Our habits. Our comfort. Were we there when God created the world? No. Where we there when He sent His son into the world? No. In Heaven, when angels surround the throne saying "Holy, Holy, Holy" will they be bowing down to us? No. Chan says it well: "Frankly, you need to get over yourself." This isn't about us. This is about God. Our lives are not about our needs, our wants, our desires; they are about God. Anything short of a life lived purposefully to glorify God is a wasted life. Chan goes on, "Throughout time, somewhere between forty-five billion and one hundred twenty-five billion people have lived on this earth. That's 125,000,000,000. In about fifty years (give or take a couple of decades), no one will remember you. Everyone you know will be dead. Certainly, no one will care what job you had, what car you drove, what school you attended, or what clothes you wore...The point of your life is to point to Him. Whatever you are doing, God wants to be glorified, because this whole thing is His."
The God who created 350,000,000,000 galaxies and gave the caterpillar 228 different muscles in its head is the same God who loved us, sinful and depraved humans who never did anything except try to steal the glory that is rightfully His own. It is merciful that God would allow us to escape our deserved punishment of hell. It is unbelievable that He would give us a relationship with Himself and see us as blameless because of Christ's sacrifice. This is, indeed, a crazy kind of love.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
A Severe Mercy
A Severe Mercy has been my favorite book for a couple of years now. It was required reading for the British Literature course that I took in the tenth grade, and I wasn't expecting much. The fact that C.S. Lewis was mentioned on the back cover gave me a little bit of hope. (If you haven't noticed, I am an avid C.S. Lewis fan.) The first chapter was typical: a lot of descriptions. I was preparing myself to be very, very bored. But, let me tell you, after three pages of chapter two, I was hooked. Severe Mercy is the autobiography of Sheldon Vanauaken. It follows the story of him and his wife, Davy: their love story and their conversion. Their love story is fascinating, although they are unashamedly obsessed with the protection of their relationship about all else. And I mean, all else. Then they meet a group of Christians, and their lives are irrevocably changed. Sheldon and Davy both fight Christianity for a while, trying to come up with every possible logic that could refute it, but to no avail. During this time, Sheldon begins to correspond with C.S. Lewis. After addressing several of Sheldon's questions about Christianity in a letter, C.S. Lewis closes with, "But I think you are already in the meshes of the net! The Holy Spirit is after you. I doubt you'll get away!" And it's true. Sheldon and Davy do not get away. They become Christians. He realizes that in order to put Christ first, that must mean that his and Davy's love cannot be supreme, cannot be invincible, cannot be preeminent. C.S. Lewis tells Sheldon, "You have been treated with a severe mercy. You have been brought to see that you were jealous of God. So from US you have been led back to US AND GOD; it remains to go on to GOD AND US." The tragedy that follows their conversion is, indeed, a severe mercy. Of course, Sheldon and Davy's story is wonderful, but the theology is unlike any that I have ever seen in a biography. Here is just a glimpse:
"How strange that we cannot love time. It spoils our loveliest moments. Nothing quite comes up to expectations because of it. We alone: animals, so far as we can see, are unaware of time, untroubled. Time is their natural environment. Why do we sense that it is not ours? C. S. Lewis…asked how it was that I, as a product of a materialistic universe, was not at home there. 'Do fish complain of the sea for being wet? Or if they did, would that fact itself not strongly suggest that they had not always been, or would not always be, purely aquatic creatures?' Then, if we complain of time and take such joy in the seemingly timeless moment, what does that suggest? It suggests that we have not always been or will not always be purely temporal creatures. It suggest that we were created for eternity. Not only are we harried by time, we seem unable, despite a thousand generations, even to get used to it. We are always amazed at it – how fast it goes, how slowly it goes, how much of it is gone. Where, we cry, has the time gone? We aren’t adapted to it, not at home in it. If that is so, it may appear as a proof, or at least a powerful suggestion, that eternity exists and is our home. "
Sheldon Vanauken
from A Severe Mercy
"How strange that we cannot love time. It spoils our loveliest moments. Nothing quite comes up to expectations because of it. We alone: animals, so far as we can see, are unaware of time, untroubled. Time is their natural environment. Why do we sense that it is not ours? C. S. Lewis…asked how it was that I, as a product of a materialistic universe, was not at home there. 'Do fish complain of the sea for being wet? Or if they did, would that fact itself not strongly suggest that they had not always been, or would not always be, purely aquatic creatures?' Then, if we complain of time and take such joy in the seemingly timeless moment, what does that suggest? It suggests that we have not always been or will not always be purely temporal creatures. It suggest that we were created for eternity. Not only are we harried by time, we seem unable, despite a thousand generations, even to get used to it. We are always amazed at it – how fast it goes, how slowly it goes, how much of it is gone. Where, we cry, has the time gone? We aren’t adapted to it, not at home in it. If that is so, it may appear as a proof, or at least a powerful suggestion, that eternity exists and is our home. "
Sheldon Vanauken
from A Severe Mercy
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The Great Divorce
I recently finished The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis. If you have not read it, I would definitely recommend it. It's less than 200 pages and a pretty easy read. In The Great Divorce, the narrator is taken to Heaven and Hell. Lewis claims in his introduction that he was not trying to paint pictures of Heaven and Hell. Rather, he wanted to challenge his readers to examine their actions in light of eternity. I gathered quotes as I went. Here are a couple:
"There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, 'Thy will be done,' and those to whom God says, in the end, 'Thy will be done.'"
"Ah, the Saved… what happens to them is best described as the opposite of a mirage. What seemed, when they entered it, to be the vale of misery turns out, when they look back, to have been a well; and where present experience saw only salt deserts, memory truthfully records that the pools were full of water.”
"There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, 'Thy will be done,' and those to whom God says, in the end, 'Thy will be done.'"
"Ah, the Saved… what happens to them is best described as the opposite of a mirage. What seemed, when they entered it, to be the vale of misery turns out, when they look back, to have been a well; and where present experience saw only salt deserts, memory truthfully records that the pools were full of water.”
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