Following the Light

December 12, 2011 By Richard Dahlstrom 2 Comments

light and fog - what will prevail?

The latitude here in southern Germany is nearly identical to Seattle, which means that the number of daylight hours this time of year is very short.  Add a layer of fog to the shortness, and the daylight becomes so muted as to barely qualify as light.  The fog hides the sun, mutes the shadows, and makes forward progress challenging because one isn’t looking at vistas – one is simply looking for next steps.

This was the situation when I, along with my daughters and some friends, set out on a hike just outside Kandern, Germany.  Our destination, some centuries old castle ruins, had a slight elevation gain to it.  On the face of it, this didn’t appear to be a hiking day at all.  The damp and cold were so penetrating, the visibility so poor, that it seemed perhaps that a good book and some coffee, some games, even “It’s a Wonderful Life” would be time better spent.  But the magic and mystery of fog, light, and weather, is that one never really knows what the next step, next hour, will hold.  So, one goes anyway, to see what’s around the corner, above the fields, at the end of the road.

Conversations, in the midst of the fog, were rich.  After a very full autumn, and a very challenging past month of activity, it was pure joy to simply walk with some friends and my daughters, just being together and talking.  I spent the most time with my daughter Holly, having enjoyed rich conversations with my other daughter the weekend prior in a different part of Germany.  We spoke about the challenges of living in a world of light and darkness, how at one moment the darkness can be so overwhelming that you feel like giving up on trying to make any difference in the world, and then you see something and realize that, no, you can’t save the world, but you can take this one single step to be a blessing in some simple way.  Darkness and light.  Despair and Hope.  Sorrow and Joy.  Disengagement and Presence.  These, it seems, are the clothes we must all wear, not just alternately but sometimes, simultaneously as well.

We turn a corner and because I’ve been this way before I know there is a hut just ahead, but with the fog, it’s not to be seen.  Look for it, wait for it, keep walking.  Then, slowly, the shape is visible. This is the way of life.  We know that hope is there, that shelter awaits, even while we’re out in the cold of loss, or doubt, or uncertainty.  We keep walking upward, believing that, when the time is right, the shelter from the storm will be there for us.  “Do I keep walking upward, to the light, when I can’t see?” I ask myself.

 

conversations about the future, as the shelter becomes clear

As I sit with my lovely daughters on the steps of the tiny hut, it becomes clear that the sun is doing battle with the fog.  We’re right on the edge, but darkness and light, uncertainty and clarity.   Fog settles in the lowlands, and sometimes if you can just keep walking upward, you come out of it, into clarity, where you can not only see what you need to see, but see too that the light is working it’s magic, dispelling the fog below, slowly but certainly winning the war.

We press on and soon we’re utterly above it.  The tower comes into view and we arrive, bouldering on the sides of it, shedding our packs, and making our way up the spiral staircase to the ultimate view.  Before ascending though, I’m smitten by the beauty of the sun and shadows formed in the courtyard, creating a Narnia like scene, where I nearly expect Aslan to appear and surrender himself on the stone table.  It’s a moment of worship because I believe that every good gift is from God:  this sunlight, this beauty, these daughters, these friends, this health that enables us all to enjoy it all.  My God… what a giver you are!

the courtyard of the ruins: might as well be Narnia

From the top we can see that the sun is banishing clouds and fog, and I realize that this is what life is to be about.  We who follow the light of the world will, even in the midst of our own fogs, become light for others.  We do this when we practice hospitality, or generosity, or forgiveness, or simply when we continue believing that the son is banishing the darkness even though we’re in thick fog in the moment.  We are the light of the world, and as I watch the clouds depart, I pray that I’ll live into that calling more fully.

 

from up here, you'd never know there was a light/fog battle

Like Peter with Jesus when they climbed a mountain in the Bible, I want to stay up here.  But we must return, and as we do, we descend into the fog once again.  We pass through a section where the battle between light and fog is intense, right on the edge.  Then, just a bit lower, it appears that the fog has won.  But of course, we know better now.  We know that it’s just a matter of time.  We know because we’ve seen.  Sure enough, by the time we’re back to the city, the fog has been banished by the one true light.  It was beautiful.  Everywhere.

 

all is clear... and perfect... and beautiful

This isn’t just a hike.  This is advent.  We who live on the edge of light and darkness are often wondering which reality will prevail, in our lives, our families, our world.  It’s understandable to wonder, but the truth is quite clear:

I will lead the blind by a road they do not know, by paths they have not known I will guide them. I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I will do, and I will not forsake them.

Isaiah 42:16

 

returning to the fog as people who have seen the light

 

lights will prevail - don't lose hope

 

Are you longing for the light?  Keep walking upward, looking upward, hoping, believing, because the light is here and coming, battling and winning – all at the same time.

you can see the entire light/fog adventure in my photostream here.

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Easter: making all things new

April 5, 2011 By Richard Dahlstrom Leave a Comment
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“Behold, I make all things new.” -Jesus the Christ

Do you remember (either the book or the movie) in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, the part where the thaw begins?  Do you remember later, when new life sweeps through the corrupted castle, bringing to warming that which was frozen?  Do you remember that none of this is possible unless Aslan, the Christ figure, is risen from the dead?

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Crossings…

November 21, 2010 By Richard Dahlstrom 3 Comments

“How is it that you, being a Jew, ask me for a drink since I am a Samaritan woman?”  (For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans) – John 4:9

One of the things that offended the religious establishment in Jesus’ day was the fact that Jesus crossed social barriers.  He did it all the time:  touching lepers, partying with “sinners” (a hysterical categorization that reveals the self righteousness of the religious crowd), and then of course there’s the case of the Samaritan woman.  She’s thrice an outsider:  she’s a woman, she’s an adulteress, and she’s a Samaritan.  Respectable people who studied their Bibles all day would literally go out of their way to avoid her.  Not Jesus – instead, he goes out of his way to see her and converse with her.

He’s showing us how we’re to live.  That’s why I’m so encouraged when people in our congregation “cross over” those barriers that normally divide us.  My friend Lars is part of an immigrant resettlement project, and though I don’t know all the details of what that entails, I know that it means befriending those who are resettling here in the U.S.A. from other parts of the world.  ”Another part of the world” that’s losing people these days is Iraq, which is where Lar’s new friend is from.

It turns out that he was an Imam in Bagdad, a Muslim spiritual leader in the center of that city.  There’s too much to his story to tell in this short space, but this man asked Lars if he could meet his pastor, and that’s how Lars and I met in a little Greek place by Greenlake with this man and his translator.  I learned a great deal about Islam as we sat eating calamari, lamb, and pita bread – learned about the boatload of suffering he endured.  If I told you even the little bit I know, I fear you might miss my point, so I’ll spare you the details.  It was, though, one of the richest conversations I’ve enjoyed all year.

I asked him what he thought of America and he told me that, because of many things he and his family have suffered, he had a very low view of America – and Americans…until he met Lars.  He reached out and held Lars’ hand and it was clear that they were friends.  Lars has crossed the street, has invested in a life, would tell you he’s been blessed by the friendship, and all this with a people group many Americans are quick to objectify, fear, or loathe.

I’d forgotten my credit card when I left the restaurant, and so a few minutes later, back out my church, I saw Lars and the Imam outside my office window (he’d come by the church with my credit card).  I went down, and gave him, per his a request, a tour of our church building.  He asked what happens when we gather for worship and I pointed to the wall where we display words to songs, and scriptures to be read.  He glanced at the pew and asked about our book.  I told him it was a Bible, and soon I was reading the passage from which I spoke this past weekend.  The translator worked hard to express things; the Imam listened with fierce intensity.  The passage was about becoming like innocent children, coming to Jesus, and finding rest.

He asked if we had an Bibles in Arabic and I told him we didn’t but that I’d get him one.  He brightened.  The translator wanted one too.  I told that about Deuteronomy 6 and how we believe in the declaration that our God is One.  He spoke of “the prophet”.  We spoke, together, of the need to listen; and then we parted.

If crossing social barriers is the way of Jesus (and it is) then Lars, I want to thank you for being the presence of Christ in this man’s life, and for giving me a glimpse into what it means to offer a space of hospitality in our broken world.  On Thanksgiving Day our church will open it’s doors to serve people, whoever God might bring, with a big feast and the hope is that people from many stations of life will come together and enjoy genuine community, a snapshot of God’s good reign.  Thanks to my friend Tom, and his team for all that cooking, and the friends like Karen, and Ben who are showing me the way of Jesus when it comes to crossing.

All these crossings, all this hospitality and serving – this is the Christian life.  But it’s more:  this is the hope of the world.   The  Word crossed over… emptied Himself… moved in for a while… served, loved, and laid down his life.  Now it’s our turn.

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The Divine Invitation: Higher, More Beautiful…

September 21, 2010 By Richard Dahlstrom 3 Comments

At end of his life, Paul declares that he’s not done growing spiritually when he says, “Not that I have already obtained it or have already become perfect, but I press on so that I may lay hold of that for which I was laid hold of by Christ Jesus.  Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what Lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 3:12-14

These were the theme passages when we ran a ministry in the mountains, because the notion of the “upward call” was compelling, as the rugged glaciated peaks of the North Cascades were our constant companions.  We’d hike them, climb them, rappel off them, glissade down them – always with an eye toward teaching students about the Upward Call of God in Christ Jesus.

You’re in your tent, warm and toasty, at 3AM, when your guide unzips the flap and says, “it’s time to climb!”  He’s already munching a power-bar, wide awake, and as you drift into consciousness you need to decide what to do with the invitation.  You can role over in your bag, and stay in base camp, or get out, get dressed, roped up, energized, and climb.  The invitation upward has been offered – it’s your move.

I’m seeing this same theme of “upward call”  in Jesus’ invitations, scattered through the gospels, as he asks people to follow him.

1. The invitation is always higher – This is why Paul was never finished, and the truth is that we’re never finished either.  I’m perpetually bothered by those that think they have the Christian life figured out, sewn up, mastered.  If Paul didn’t have it fully mastered by the end of his life, then I’ve a suspicion that I won’t either.  I need to be open to God’s perpetual call to move higher, as he exposes the ground beneath my feet and shows me that there’s a better way.   There’s a better way than violence, a better way than fear, a better way than the American dream, a better way than… you fill in the blank.  When I stop hearing God’s call to move higher, it’s probably not because He’s stopped calling, it’s because I’ve stopped listening.  Are you hearing from the Guide these days?

2. Higher always means leaving some things behind – Part of the reason we become hard of hearing is because we become attached to the security of “the ground beneath our feet”.  That ground though, has a theological name once we’ve become attached to it:  stronghold.  It’s why you can find 19th century theology books justifying slavery through a crass misreading of Genesis 9, or why the American church, or how the earlier church of Puritan settlers could justify land theft by appealing to God’s calling for Israel to “take the land” in Joshua.  I wonder what ground, right under our feet, we’re holding onto today?  Are we letting God challenge our notions of acceptability when it comes to things like consumerism and environmental degradation?

3. Higher is dangerous – We live in a world that isn’t climbing higher towards God’s upward call.  Our world is fighting for the mythical safety of lower regions on the mountain.  People aren’t moving higher, because to do so means abandoning our present bastions of security.  Moving higher means we’re no longer trusting in our savings account, or credit card limit, or job, or reputation, or tall fences, or military might, or whatever it is we trust in to make our lives meaningful.  We’ve met the Guide, begun to follow Him, and discovered that He’s taking us away from these sources of meaning, as we begin to give generously, live simply, bless others, lay down our lust for revenge, and forgive our enemies.  Following could cost us our lives.  It will cost us our lust for autonomy and control.  But higher is where we’re called to move.

Historically, when the Guide has called the church higher, the those who’ve responded faced the greatest antagonism and persecution, not from the world, but from the church, who’d set up outposts in the lower regions and were exposed as posers by those going still higher.  Read about it here.

4. Higher is more beautiful – We can stay in middle-earth, but the problem is that the Guide is going higher.  I’ve stayed behind on climbs before, because someone became sick from altitude and couldn’t continue.  The rest of the group went higher.  They risked more, were challenged more, and they saw more.

Do you want to see the heights of God’s love, the clarity of His power, the matchless beauty of the story He’s writing in history?  You’ll never see on the middle of the mountain.  You’ve got to keep climbing – and so do I.

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