300 words a day

Grab a generic black bird. Take a one-inch wide paint brush and a small bottle of white paint. Paint one white stripe across its back, about two inches from the end of the tail. Open a pint can of red paint, closer to crimson than maroon. Wrap some masking tape around the bird’s beak. Dip the bird head first in the red paint, to the line where it twists its neck. Quickly wipe its eyes. Set it up on a tree branch to dry.

Grab another generic black bird. Look for one a little smaller, a little rounder than the first. Take a small bowl, the kind you use for custard. Pour some of the white paint into the bowl. Dip the bird, feet first, into the paint. Like dipping molasses cookie balls into the sugar. Set it on the ground to dry.

Grab another generic black bird. Take another one-inch wide paint brush and the red paint. Dip the brush into the paint. Tickle the bird, under the wing. When the wing opens a bit, right where it attaches to the body, paint a small red patch. Put it on a cattail to dry.

Grab another generic black bird. Mix a little blue paint into the red paint. Add some black paint. Try for a midnight purple. Mask the beak of the bird. Dip the head of the bird into the paint, up to its shoulders. Put it anywhere to dry.

Grab another generic black bird, a little smaller than the last one. Using the rest of the midnight purple paint, pour it over the whole bird. Put it on a birdhouse next to a big open field with lots of mosquitos.

The woodpecker, junko, red-wing blackbird, grackle and martin will be grateful to their Creator for creative differences.

As I sat down to write about the next part of the creed, I realized that I have talked about sin and forgiveness of sin a lot.

• I wrote about Jesus and a sinner, a woman from a different culture and life than Jesus.
• I wrote about the hard work of repenting, the process of turning around, of rebuilding relationship.
• I wrote about Good Friday and the forgiveness in the middle of excruciating pain  I wrote about the same thing in Like God.
• I wrote about Patrick’s forgiveness in going to Ireland, the land where he had been held captive (About the saint in Patrick).
• I wrote about five ways that David journaled his prayer, including asking for forgiveness.
• I wrote about the importance of personally acknowledging my sin (I did it).
• I wrote about the Mary who poured perfume on the feet of Jesus (It’s okay to not know everything) in gratitude.
• I wrote a whole series on the part of Matthew 18 where Jesus talks about how to handle sin in the context of church. (It’s here in one document: Matthew 18)

As I looked through these posts I see that apparently I believe in sin. That’s the first part of this clause. In order to believe in the forgiveness of sin, there has to be something to forgive, there has to be something more than a mistake, a slip up, an error. We’ve got to see that there is something that was wrong.

And then that there is someone that was wronged. someone who deserved right.

And then that the person wronged has the capacity to forgive.

And then that the person wronging asks for forgiveness.

It’s not complicated, this forgiveness of sin I believe it. But it’s often quite hard. Because it means I’m the one who wrongs.

We talked about Rich’s Ride several months ago here at 300. (Rich Dixon Rolls) Rich Dixon is a regular participant in conversations here.

This week, Rich and Becky talked about the ride for awhile at their church, Timberline Church. 

Here’s Rich’s post with a link to their conversation. It takes about 45 minutes. It’s worth watching this weekend.

And congratulations Rich.

I’ve been looking in the archives to see if I’ve ever told you this story. I don’t think I have. Not here anyway. I’m sorry. Because it’s about the one time in my 53 years I heard God talk with words.

Back in the old days, back before Social Media, I was at the end of a long week. I was doing my usual work as an associate pastor, I had a couple tough situations, and I did a wedding. Friday night we had a long (and wonderful) rehearsal where I talked with the couple about the connections between communion and first-century Jewish wedding customs. On Saturday, I performed the wedding. And Saturday night, I was getting ready to teach a class the following morning.

I was exhausted in every possible way. I wasn’t ready to teach. But I knew that it wasn’t because I had procrastinated. Finally, after dozing at the computer at midnight, I gave up and headed to bed.  Like Andrew, Hope and Nancy had already done.

Our house is a split level. To get from the office to the bedroom, you climb six steps to the living room level, then seven steps to the bedroom level.  I turned off the lights downstairs and climbed the first flight. As I turned to go up the next flight I hear, “It’s okay son. Go to sleep.”

I heard it. Whether loud enough for others to hear, or only inside my head, I don’t know. But I heard it.

I went to bed. I went to sleep. And teaching went very well the next morning.

Others have heard more exciting things in their one time hearing God’s voice. But when I think about my approach to talking with people, I think I heard right.

Have a good weekend. Sleep well.

I’m not a good curator. (I am a curate, in the old sense of the word. I care for souls.)

But I finally realized recently that what I am not is a curator. People often ask me about books. “Have you read a good book on this? Do you know a good book about that?” And I hardly ever know how to answer. I often point them to something I’ve written, or I offer to write something. But I don’t much read books for sharing.

My friend Todd is a curator, both modeling it and teaching it. A curator gathers the best specimens, the representative samples. A curator is a librarian, building a collection and making it available and pointing people to the best places. A curator points us in the direction of the best sources.

I’m not really a translator, either. Translators work precisely, trying to take something in one language and express it clearly and accurately in another. A Bible translator looks at the Greek and puts it in the language that people are speaking, in their heart language.

And though I am creative, I am not a creative. Creatives make something out of debris and pieces. But they aren’t so much worried about making us understand something as understanding themselves.

What I am is an interpreter. I explain. I explore. I find metaphors that illustrate the idea. I sit and listen to a story, to your heart, to God. And then I try to take us into that listening.

But I need curators. And translators. And creatives. I need the people who are finding the great sources. I need the people who are making sure that words are turned into other words accurately. I need people who make stuff up, who delight us.

So use your gift.

–

This is an exploration of ideas found in Not the Same

A couple weeks ago I looked at a younger friend and told him he was doing well. Last week I started working with an intern, showing her how I approach video as storytelling. Last week I encouraged another younger friend to explore a new way of thinking about career.

I do these things because they were done for me at crucial turning points. I know how much the words of people with experience helped me. Cliff and Reid and Charles gave me hope.

It’s a long tradition, hope-giving.

Peter was the loud one of the closest followers of Jesus. And ended up as the first leader of the group. Peter wrote a couple of letters to people he wanted to encourage. Toward the end of the first one, 1 Peter, he starts talking to leaders, elders he calls them. “Fellow elders,” he says, identifying with them though he had the right of first among equals. And as he talks to these leaders, he tells them about being shepherds. His words suggest he is talking about shepherding people the way he learned about shepherding people–from shepherd Jesus.

Then Peter gives his autobiography:

And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.

Peter’s not offering a pep talk. He’s describing the night that Jesus told him, “You are going to be tested. But I’m praying for you. You are going to turn away from me. But when you turn back, be one that strengthens others. ” And he was (tested). And he did (turn away). And he was (brought back). And he is (strengthening others).

Even after the cock crowed, Peter was restored by Jesus.

There’s hope for us, too.