neumatikos

Valerie insisted that I share this:

Exodus 33:18-23

Then Moses said, “Now show me your glory.” And the LORD said, “I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the LORD , in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But,” he said, “you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.”

Then the LORD said, “There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. 22 When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen.”

Exodus 34:5-7

Then the LORD came down in the cloud and stood there with him and proclaimed his name, the LORD. And he passed in front of Moses, proclaiming, “The LORD, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin. Yet he does not leave the guilty unpunished; he punishes the children and their children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation.”

So, Moses asks God to show him His glory. The Hebrew for glory literally translates, “weight.” Moses wanted to be a witness of the full weight of God. And God basically says, “tell you what: I’ll show you my goodness. You couldn’t handle my full weight. It’d kill you. So I’m going to hide you in the cleft of the rock and cover you with my hand. I’ll walk by you, and when I have passed, I’ll lift up my hand and you can see the back part of me—the part that is bearable.”

And that’s what happened. God hides Moses in the cleft of the rock, and covers him, protects him from face of God. When He has passed, He lifts his hand from Moses, and Moses gets to see the backside of God. That is, Moses got to perceive the part of God that is humanly bearable.

We don’t get a description of what it was that Moses *saw*. But we do get a verbal description of what parts of God’s character Moses perceived: “the *compassionate* and *gracious* God, *slow to anger*, *abounding* in love and faithfulness, *maintaining love* to thousands, and *forgiving* wickedness, rebellion and sin. Yet he does not leave the guilty unpunished; he punishes the children and their children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation.” That is, we get a picture of God that is *very* bearable. In fact, by all accounts, the backside of God is quite alluring. *Everybody* wants a God like that. Who wouldn’t? Even the “not leaving the guilty unpunished” part seems to apply to someone else—those bad guys “over there.”

And that’s the mistake that most people make. “But God is love,” they say. “He is forgiving. He would never…” The mistake so many people are making is that they have an idea of the *back* of God, and they are calling it *all* of God. But “gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love” is not the totality of God’s nature. In fact, when God shows that aspect of himself, He qualifies it by saying, “I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion.” That is, when God decides to show us this pleasing, alluring side, he is by default saying, “since I’ve decided **not** to kill you, this is the aspect of myself I’m going to reveal to you.”

Oh, how gracious of God not to kill me.

Nevertheless, while it is in some sense an honor for God to truly reveal any part of Himself to us at all, it is clearly the lesser honor for God to show us only His “goodness” and not his “glory.” In no culture or language in the world is it any great honor for a person to say to you, “tell you what: you can see my butt.” To see someone’s face is clearly the greater honor, an honor from which we are generally prevented by the simple fact that it would kill us.

But if “gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love” is the *backside* of God, what is his front side, his face? What is the far weightier part of God, which, if we were confronted with it, would destroy us on the spot? Allow me to suggest:

*The LORD, the LORD, the holy and righteous God, perfect in his judgments, incapable of any failing, perceiving every flaw in every man, and demanding purity in all who would walk with him. Yet he does not forget the humbled, restoring the repentant to a favorable place with him.*

Yesterday, I wrote about the fact that people tend to pit the Bible against spiritual experience, as if one of the two were necessarily more reflective of reality than the other. This tendency is what the literary deconstructionists called “binary opposition.” The human tendency is to pit one against the other as intrinsically better. It’s sort of inevitable, a knee-jerk reaction: even if opposition doesn’t necessarily require one to be better, we instinctively raise one up above the other.

I’ll admit up front that my tendency, despite the fact that I actually *like* systematic theology, is to make the mystical experience more important than the letter of the book. Which is why I’m kind of hard on the “Theology people.” I just usually **get it** first through some mystical experience. **Then** I can find support from the scriptures. This means that I need to be especially critical of my “experiences” because if I’m going to screw up, it’s going to be on that side of the road. Conversely, I know a lot of “Theology people” who could stand to be a little more critical of their doctrine, to ensure that it actually plays out in the real world, because if they’re going to screw up, it’s going to be on *that* side of the road.

That said, I had this experience…

Last Friday night, our plans (whatever they may have been) were a little bit subverted by a friend who had a bit of a spiritual emergency. So we talked, and we prayed, and we decided at the last minute to go to church. I happened to know of a church nearby that had services on Friday night. It’s a great church: sound teaching, mindblowing worship… In fact, I’d probably still be a member there if I hadn’t had such a problem with their government structure. Too episcopal. Basically I had a series of problems blow up in my face because there was an insufficient system for feedback from the congregation.

At this point, my friend needing ministry is kind of incidental to my experience that I had. But my wonderful experience at this church is key. I’ve already gone over all that stuff a million times, so I don’t want to dredge it up again, so I’ll just say this: It was unpleasant. I mean, bad situations happened, and I got over them, but what kept nagging at me was the sense of powerlessness and uselessness that I had there. What do you do with a church that is constantly *already* at a state of high-pitched revival? There were tons of areas where I could contribute and sort of become a part of the “machine,” but none where I felt I could really *contribute.* The church was already crawling with leadership, and it was just redundant for me to try to shout my own contribution loud enough. It was enough that for a good period of time, I basically gave up the idea of a calling to ministry on the grounds that there just wasn’t a need. (Talk about myopia!)

This is important. I spent years whining to God about *why* did I have to go through all that mess. I got glimpses: Remembering my stupid (stupid!) prayer that he would truly break me down to powder and mold me entirely according to His purposes. The story I wrote, about six months in (now lost) about waking up in a house that looked like it had been hit by a tornado, only to see it immediately swallowed into the earth, and finding myself in a throne room asking “Am I dead?” only to hear a voice saying , “No, but you will be.” The oft repeated (experiential) reminders that God was in fact in control, that He did in fact have a plan, and that He was determined to follow through with answering my stupid prayer… All well and good, but though I got the what and the how quite frequently, the why was always elusive.

I did get a piece of the why once, in a general sense, before I ever moved here. It seems appropriate to the story, so I’ll go ahead and quote myself here with a journal entry that’s about seven and a half years old. Please pardon the quirky language…

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I am the foundation, you are the walls. Will you then sacrifice yourself to be a building to house my presence?

I saw the inside of a house–a large mansion, and I knew that this was the house that God was building out of the living stones of us.

“But,” I thought, “If we are the stones that comprise the building, who will live in the house?” Then I saw many visitors enter the house, who were not part of the work of God. They were truly in awe of the glory and the splendor of the house.

“Surely this house is not for sinners and people who refuse to partake of the vision!” [I thought *-ed.*] Then I saw that as these people laid down their lives, they became part of the house.”

“No, the house is not for them.”

Then I remembered that we are the temple of God, fashioned with living stones. And we are the body of Christ. We are earthen vessels to house the presence of God!

Then I noticed that the glowing air in this place, which is the glory of God, was not merely resting, but flowing regularly. And I noticed that the whole house was oddly shaped and not rectangular, and each room was constantly changing. Some were expanding and collapsing, causing the air to flow regularly throughout the entire house, expanding the life. Some were growing and dividing, causing the house to increase in size and change shape. And some were moving from place to place around the house. And I saw from the outside that the house was in the shape of *”one new man”*

Heb 12:26-29 –

But now He has promised, saying, “Yet once more I shake not only the earth, but also heaven.” Now this “Yet once more,” indicates the removal of those things that are being shaken, as of things that are made, that the things which cannot be shaken may remain. Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom which cannot be shaken, let us have grace, by which we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear. For our God is a consuming fire.

I saw a giant earthquake come to the house, and I thought the house might be broken in two. Many places fell off of the house, but the house was not broken. When the dust had cleared and the fires had stopped, I saw that the house had changed. Instead of pristine, chiseled blocks, they were smoke blackened and scarred. Not one block was left untouched. Chips had broken off, cracks up and down. Dark ravine-like lines traveled the course of every block. At a close glance, it was meaningless. Why would God do this to the living stones of His own dwelling place? It was hideous! But as my view expanded, I saw the purpose. Huge statues covered the entire house. Ever wall was bas-relief, every pillar was a pose. Floors and ceilings were mosaics.

Shammah! Awesome beauty brought by destruction. Such are the working and purposes of God.

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*(for clarification for those who care, I did not have some kind of out of body experience. This was written from a picture in my head.)*

Anyway, after I left, visiting my old church was always a huge pain for me. I remember several times when I would sneak in to a service and have to leave in the middle because something would happen, or somebody would do or say something, and I would think of what *I* could have said or done, had I been able to get in there and function at my prime. Over time I got over it. (I’d like to think I also got over myself, but that’s debatable.)

This time, it was different. The service starts, and like usual, I start seeing all the areas where I could have made a difference. I’m seeing things being done in a particular way that I had first thought of doing them, but had been prevented from even telling anybody.

The overheads were the clincher for me. For two years or so, I had been “vice-president-in-charge-of-the-overheads.” Somebody else was in charge, made all the decisions while I did a huge chunk of the work. Eventually I quit and ran away, but somewhere in there, I had a really great idea about including a full video/multimedia display that went along with the music, in addition to just putting the words up. It was so grandiose it would never happen. I didn’t even mention it to anybody. Today, this church has something like that. It’s actually pretty cool. Sometimes, it’s even powerful, the way the video feed, clips, etc. interact with the words.

Earlier things like that had merely rankled. It was frustrating seeing somebody else come along and accomplish my ideas. This time, it clicked. God doesn’t need me to accomplish his purposes. That line in Esther about if God doesn’t use you, he’ll find somebody else? It’s quite literally true. Everything I’d wanted to accomplish at that church was being done, right then, just as if it had been my hand in the process. Everything. I shouldn’t feel irritated that I wasn’t the one who actually *did* it, I should be honored that God felt like enlightening me about cool stuff *regardless* of who actually got to do it. It should be enough for me that God is glorified.

It should be enough for me that God is glorified. That’s the key. Call it the gospel of brokenness. God in his glory and his wisdom has seen fit to exalt some and grind others into powder. Who can say whether, in God’s eyes, the greater honor goes to him who is exalted, or to him who has been ground to powder? The issue for both should be that God is glorified. Perhaps, in the greater perspective of things, my brokenness is used as a part of those huge statues to display Christ’s body, torn from scourging, in bas-relief. Perhaps, my exalted brother has the honorable position of portraying Herod’s flawless nose. Who is to say? It should be enough for me that God is glorified.

Perhaps The Little Flower, St. Therese of Lisieux was writing a lie, trying to build a legacy, before she died, but I doubt it. If the story she described was true, then it is possible that all she really wanted was to share the gospel of brokenness, that God can be delighted in my brokenness, and that it is truly enough to know that you have given joy to God. More than that, it seems to me that humility and brokenness have intrinsic value, that there is a hidden kind of glory to a limp like Israel’s, and to know that it is only a few who can see it for what it is, and say, “Who is this who comes up from the wilderness, leaning on her beloved?”

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Now, that was an experience, a revelation compiled and compressed from a history of experiences. The trick is, at this point, to reflect and see how clearly this kind of thing matches up with the testimony of experience. The experience I had was real enough, though it could be said to be subtle until it was amplified by writing it down. Now it must be tempered by scripture. I’ll go ahead and point out that tempering is usually done by taking the thing and dumping it in cold water. Any takers?

EDIT: Excuse me. The test is to see how clearly it matches up with the testimony of scripture. The experience is already out in the open.

As I’m getting into the swing of my seminary class, I’m noticing a strange trend, particularly among “Theology people:” They have this… tendency to criticize the modern church for putting too much emphasis on experience, apparently at the expense of scripture. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that not all is well and good with the church in the world today. There’s all kinds of stupid stuff going on. Nevertheless, it’s a rather disingenuous dichotomy

As I’ve said before, it’s very difficult to honestly say that scripture and experience are opposed to one another and then proceed to pass judgement on experience while lifting up scripture as a better reflection of reality. The people who are the most successful in making a distinction between scripture and experience usually proceed to throw out the bible, because most people understand that people whose experiences don’t match up with reality usually end up very carefully medicated, sitting in little padded cells.

Have no fear. I’m not saying that scripture doesn’t match up with reality. I’m saying that scripture and experience *both* match reality. In John 5:39, Jesus is speaking to an unspecified group of Jews and says “You diligently study the Scriptures because you think that by them you possess eternal life. These are the Scriptures that testify about me.” Basically, he was saying that Scripture and experience matched up perfectly in the presence of the Messiah. You might even say that he was raising experience *above* scripture, because he was saying that the scripture only spoke *about* him, yet here he was, the reality in fact. Nevertheless, the two matched up, as far as Jesus was concerned. He went on to say “yet you refuse to come to me to have life,” indicating that their failure to recognize him as Messiah didn’t have anything to do with a discrepancy between the Scriptures and the experience, but with the evil in their own hearts. That is to say, it was an interpretation problem brought upon evil men by darkened minds. They had a moral failing to recognize reality.

In case you have any doubt that the Scripture and experience can match up (at least as far as the bible’s own testimony is concerned) 2 Peter says that Scripture actually came into being by means of experience: “Prophecy never had its origin in the will of man, but men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.” “Carried along,” huh? sounds to me like these prophets had “an experience” and that the bible came into existance as a result.

The bible speaks in countless other places about spiritual “experiences,” and never once (that I know of) does the bible condemn a person using their experience as a basis for belief or for understanding God’s will and purpose. Nowhere does Scripture indicate that Moses should have ignored that burning bush and stuck to what he learned from his father-in-law Jethro, or that Ezekiel shouldn’t have trusted that experience he had in the valley of dry bones. On the contrary, Paul speaks with some confidence to the Thesalonians, when he says, “We know, brothers loved by God, that he has chosen you, because our gospel came to you not simply with words, but also with power, with the Holy Spirit and with deep conviction.” That “power and the Holy Spirit” thing may just mean really dynamic speaking skills, but it’s very doubtful. Paul was clearly indicating that there was something in the way the Gospel was preached to the Thesalonians that involved something more than the words, and that that “something” was of a supernatural nature. That is to say that there’s a pretty clear precident in scripture that experience can actually work to ratify the scriptures, and very little to indicate that scripture and experience should be placed in opposition.

There is, of course, little verse in in Deuteronomy that people tend to worry over:

If a prophet, or one who foretells by dreams, appears among you and announces to you a miraculous sign or wonder, and if the sign or wonder takes place, and he says, “Let us follow other gods” (gods you have not known) “and let us worship them,” you must not listen to the words of that prophet or dreamer. The Lord your God is testing you to find out whether you love him with all your heart and will all your soul.

To me, the hypothetical experience described here is something like the happily married man who is sitting absently in a public place when suddenly a strange woman walks up to him and plants a solid smootch on his lips, and proceeds to say things like “come away with me, baby.” Any self-respecting man (who *is* happily married) would know exactly what to do in this situation: run away fast. The experience of being kissed by a strange woman in a public place, no matter how impressive, is not to be compared with being kissed by his own wife. A kiss from the wife communicates a sincere and devoted affection. A kiss from a strange woman in a public place is… violently scary. There is absolutely no chance that her advances could ever lead to anything good.

Nevertheless, a man who is afraid of being kissed in public places by strange women (a very nervous and jumpy man, to be sure) does not retreat from kisses. He retreats from strange women. He does not rush home and forgo the physical attentions of his wife in favor of reading through old high school love letters. For one thing, he will quickly discover that his wife was actually a quite terrible writer in high school, and for another, the man who avoids the experiential knowledge of his wife eventually ends up in the same position as the man who goes off in persuit of strange women: divorced. And from every indication in scripture, to be divorced from God is a very terrible thing indeed.

Of course, God has never been a terrible writer (unless you’re refering to the fact that Leviticus is really boring for the bedside table), and I’m sure I know what they’re after, those theologians who warn against putting our trust in experience: I don’t think they’re really worried about us putting trust in our experience. Who could really trust in a god with whom they had absolutely no experience? Even the simplest kind of faith requires the intervention of the Holy Spirit, which would be a kind of experience. Even reading the bible is a kind of experience. I think what causes them alarm is not that people put *trust* in experiences so much as that people so often *persue* experiences. Like Baby in the muppet sit-com Dinosaurs, we get thrown across the room by some experience and, instead of saying “wow, I just put a hole in the living room wall. Maybe screaming and yelling isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” we just cry out “Again!!”

Persuing experience for the sake of experience is, if not evil, more than a little foolish. It’s like the college girl who receives a bouquet every day from an admirer. Every day she rushes to the mail room expectantly, and sure enough, she gets the most beautiful bouquet anyone has ever seen. And every day she cries out, “oh! I *love* flowers!” The flowers are real. There’s no doubt about that. But if she doesn’t put some serious thought into what those flowers mean, she’s going to end up in real trouble. She needs to find out who it is that’s sending the flowers, and what exactly he means by it. She needs to find out if his intentions are honorable, and if she’s truly interested in the relationship he intends for her. If she doesn’t put in the necessary thought, she’ll be setting herself up for some unfortunate possibilities. Her admirer (assuming the best aims on his part) may eventually give up if she doesn’t ever get the hint. Worse, some other schmo may come along and claim credit for the flowers and who knows what this other guy wants?

Jesus told the Sadducees, “You are in error because you do not know the scriptures or the power of God.” The Sadducees had it bad because it wasn’t like they didn’t have the scriptures or the power of God. Both were quite available to them. They were certainly *aware* of the scriptures, and Jesus himself was living nearby; if they had cared to inquire about the scriptures and the power of God, info was available. Today though, its a rare sort that drives off both sides of the road at the same time (you can do it, but it’s difficult). Usually, we pick our favorite curb. “Theology people” tend to err on the side of the guy who ignores his wife and reads her letters. “Mystics” or “Spiritual people” tend to err on the side of the girl who loves flowers, but doesn’t do the research to find out what they’re supposed to mean.

Nevertheless, I believe that both are important to the church and *both* need to be examined in the light of each other.