Rash Vows and Beautiful Grandchildren: Random Spiritual Thoughts

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Random Spiritual Thoughts

Two thoughts from church today:

New chorus - entitled I will glory in my Redeemer had the following phrase: .... my life He bought, my love He OWNS. I am still troubled by the use of the word OWNS. I of course believe that He bought my life, but isn't love a choice? SO anyway - I would change the OWNS to DESERVES. What do you think?
Sermon Illustration - a guest speaker was speaking on Moses, the burning bush and God's command that Moses remove his shoes. We have read, taught and heard this passage taught many times - but for the first time this speaker had the entire congregation take off our shoes and keep them off. He then had us all stand up. We learned that with your shoes off - standing you are shorter! AND that your feet are exposed to the elements (Cold today in WI) and unprotected. He then had us think about what our shoes represent to us - i.e. when/where we got them, what we have been through wearing them etc. (I had on my favorite boots that Bill bought me on a ski trip to Steamboat Springs since I wasn't skiing! I always think about that special trip when I wear them.) The point of all of this was that we must put that all aside to have an encounter with God. Key lesson - To have an encounter with God - something must change. What do you need to put aside to have an encounter with God today?

5 comments:

MJ Krech said...: Do you think OWNS might just mean IN POSSESSION OF? That might make it a tad easier to live with!; February 11, 2008 at 10:21 AM
christian said...: I think I am with you on the OWNS part. He bought my salvation and for that he has WON my love. I would go with WON.

As to the shoes...I get his shoe analogy, but it seems rather 21st century to me. Wasn't God's point that Moses was on holy ground? I'm not sure a present day application.; February 11, 2008 at 12:03 PM
neverlie said...: I figured I would chime in on these if that's alright. In reverse order- I hate to do this, but I pretty much have to agree with Christian about the shoe thing. Its a fun illustration, but it seems to ignore the text for the most part. Moses "encounters" God before he has his shoes off, its only after he meets God that he is required to remove his shoes. That seems to me the preaching point, I guess, you never leave an encounter with God the same way. I really struggle with this sort of reading of Scripture though.; February 12, 2008 at 5:40 AM
neverlie said...: Onto the praise song- I like your move towards deserves, and I also like Marcia's qualification of "own as possession of." Having said that, the whole chorus seems sketchy to me. I presume that they don't literally mean bought and own (Who exactly did Jesus have this transaction with? Did he pay with cash? Did he get a receipt?)but have imported a metaphor that is supposed to clear up something of the relationship between Jesus and us. The consumeristic language of the metaphor doesn't clear up anything though, and I suspect just continues to fuel our strange understandings of atonement and sanctification. I think you were 100% right to have your radar up on this song, but I suspect that the problem is a bit more systemic than you may have initially thought.; February 12, 2008 at 5:49 AM
Rash Vows and Beautiful Grandchildren said...: Thank you all for your comments. I love being to dialogue with you all even though we live so far apart. Thanks for your honesty.; February 17, 2008 at 2:07 PM

The Inspiration for the title of my Blog - What is a RASH VOW!

A Defence of Rash Vows by G.K. Chesterton An abridged version of a chapter in Chesterton's book The Defendant.
If a prosperous modern man, with a high hat and a frock-coat, were to solemnly pledge himself before all his clerks and friends to count the leaves on every third tree in Holland Walk, to hop up to the City on one leg every Thursday, to repeat the whole of Mill's 'Liberty' seventy-six times, to collect 300 dandelions in fields belonging to anyone of the name of Brown, to remain for thirty-one hours holding his left ear in his right hand, to sing the names of all his aunts in order of age on the top of an omnibus, or make any such unusual undertaking, we should immediately conclude that the man was mad, or, as it is sometimes expressed, was 'an artist in life.' Yet these vows are not more extraordinary than the vows which in the Middle Ages and in similar periods were made, not by fanatics merely, but by the greatest figures in civic and national civilization -- by kings, judges, poets, and priests. One man swore to chain two mountains together, and the great chain hung there, it was said, for ages as a monument of that mystical folly. Another swore that he would find his way to Jerusalem with a patch over his eyes, and died looking for it. It is not easy to see that these two exploits, judged from a strictly rational standpoint, are any saner than the acts above suggested. A mountain is commonly a stationary and reliable object which it is not necessary to chain up at night like a dog. And it is not easy at first sight to see that a man pays a very high compliment to the Holy City by setting out for it under conditions which render it to the last degree improbable that he will ever get there.
But about this there is one striking thing to be noticed. If men behaved in that way in our time, we should, as we have said, regard them as symbols of the 'decadence.' But the men who did these things were not decadent; they belonged generally to the most robust classes of what is generally regarded as a robust age. Again, it will be urged that if men essentially sane performed such insanities, it was under the capricious direction of a superstitious religious system. This, again, will not hold water; for in the purely terrestrial and even sensual departments of life, such as love and lust, the medieval princes show the same mad promises and performances, the same misshapen imagination and the same monstrous self-sacrifice. Here we have a contradiction, to explain which it is necessary to think of the whole nature of vows from the beginning. And if we consider seriously and correctly the nature of vows, we shall, unless I am much mistaken, come to the conclusion that it is perfectly sane, and even sensible, to swear to chain mountains together, and that, if insanity is involved at all, it is a little insane not to do so.
The man who makes a vow makes an appointment with himself at some distant time or place. The danger of it is that himself should not keep the appointment. And in modern times this terror of one's self, of the weakness and mutability of one's self, has perilously increased, and is the real basis of the objection to vows of any kind. A modern man refrains from swearing to count the leaves on every third tree in Holland Walk, not because it is silly to do so (he does many sillier things), but because he has a profound conviction that before he had got to the three hundred and seventy-ninth leaf on the first tree he would be excessively tired of the subject and want to go home to tea. In other words, we fear that by that time he will be, in the common but hideously significant phrase, another man. Now, it is this horrible fairy tale of a man constantly changing into other men that is the soul of the decadence. That John Paterson should, with apparent calm, look forward to being a certain General Barker on Monday, Dr. Macgregor on Tuesday, Sir Walter Carstairs on Wednesday, and Sam Slugg on Thursday, may seem a nightmare; but to that nightmare we give the name of modern culture. One great decadent, who is now dead, published a poem some time ago, in which he powerfully summed up the whole spirit of the movement by declaring that he could stand in the prison yard and entirely comprehend the feelings of a man about to be hanged.
'For he that lives more lives than oneMore deaths than one must die.' And the end of all this is that maddening horror of unreality which descends upon the decadents, and compared with which physical pain itself would have the freshness of a youthful thing. The one hell which imagination must conceive as most hellish is to be eternally acting a play without even the narrowest and dirtiest greenroom in which to be human. And this is the condition of the decadent, of the aesthete, of the free-lover. To be everlastingly passing through dangers which we know cannot scare us, to be taking oaths which we know cannot bind us, to defying enemies who we know cannot conquer us -- this is the grinning tyranny of decadence which is called freedom.
Let us turn, on the other hand, to the maker of vows. The man who made a vow, however wild, gave a healthy and natural expression to the greatness of a great moment. He vowed, for example, to chain two mountains together, perhaps a symbol of some great relief of love, or aspiration. Short as the moment of his resolve might be, it was, like all great moments, a moment of immortality, and the desire to say of it exegi monumentum aere perennius was the only sentiment that would satisfy his mind. The modern aesthetic man would, of course, easily see the emotional opportunity; he would vow to chain two mountains together. But, then, he would quite as cheerfully vow to chain the earth to the moon. And the withering consciousness that he did not mean what he said, that he was, in truth, saying nothing of any great import, would take from him exactly that sense of daring actuality which is the excitement of a vow.
The revolt against vows has been carried in our day even to the extent of a revolt against the typical vow of marriage. It is most amusing to listen to the opponents of marriage on this subject. They appear to imagine that the ideal of constancy was a yoke mysteriously imposed on mankind by the devil, instead of being, as it is, a yoke consistently imposed by all lovers on themselves. They have invented a phrase, a phrase that is a black and white contradiction in two words -- 'free-love' -- as if a lover ever had been, or ever could be, free. It is the nature of love to bind itself, and the institution of marriage merely paid the average man the compliment of taking him at his word. Modern sages offer to the lover, with an ill-favoured grin, the largest liberties and the fullest irresponsibility; but they do not respect him as the old Church respected him; they do not write his oath upon the heavens, as the record of his highest moment. They give him every liberty except the liberty to sell his liberty, which is the only one that he wants.
It is exactly this backdoor, this sense of having a retreat behind us, that is, to our minds, the sterlizing spirit in modern pleasure. Everywhere there is the persistent and insane attempt to obtain pleasure without paying for it. Thus, in politics the modern Jingoes practically say, 'Let us have the pleasure of conquerors without the pains of soldiers: let us sit on sofas and be a hardy race.' Thus, in religion and morals, the decadent mystics say: 'Let us have the fragrance of sacred purity without the sorrows of self-restraint; let us sing hymns alternately to the Virgin and Priapus.' Thus in love the free-lovers say: 'Let us have the splendour of offering ourselves without the peril of committing ourselves; let us see whether one cannot commit suicide an unlimited number of times.'
Emphatically it will not work. There are thrilling moments, doubtless, for the spectator, the amateur, and the aesthete; but there is one thrill that is known only to the soldier who fights for his own flag, to the aesthetic who starves himself for his own illumination, to the lover who makes finally his own choice. And it is this transfiguring self-discipline that makes the vow a truly sane thing. It must have satisfied even the giant hunger of the soul of a lover or a poet to know that in consequence of some one instant of decision that strange chain would hang for centuries in the Alps among the silences of stars and snows. All around us is the city of small sins, abounding in backways and retreats, but surely, sooner or later, the towering flame will rise from the harbour announcing that the reign of the cowards is over and a man is burning his ships.
©1997, The American Chesterton Society

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Sunday, February 10, 2008

Random Spiritual Thoughts

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