More Than Mere Audience

The Audience. Culture and business thrive and depend upon it. In fact, human extistence seems to run on the fuel provided by the energy of the audience.  Consider today's technology. Nearly every component of social media are contingent upon having an audience. These audiences go by various names: followers, friends, pluses, links, etc. We all have them, we all - it seems - need them. Yes. We have become suspects in and victims of the idea that the world is an audience. An audience for whom we are the central player, in the central act of the central narrative called 'Our Amazing Life.' The stage is cluttered with pictures of last evening's meal and comments about one's latest revulsion and desire. All in the name of 'the audience.'

Of course, the need or longing for an audience exceeds both cultural and industrial dependence. A deep and abiding truth, shared by all of humanity in all ages, is the truth that we long to be 'connected' with others. We long for relationship. In a highly individualistic and consumerist society, it is mere logic that 'the audience' would seek to provide for this deeply human need. I have friends who work with young people in a variety of charitable organizations from churches to civic clubs. These friends speak with one voice when they exclaim that teens depend upon technology because it keeps them connected with others. This dependence feeds hunger and stirs craving for more, bigger and better audience. Thus, teens (and adults) sink ever deeply into their own audience even as the hunger for connection and craving grows.

A Father's Prayer

Recently, my wife asked me to write a 'blessing' for our daughter in honor of her 12th birthday.  Her request inspired a poem entitled A Father's Prayer.  I hope you enjoy!!

Unburdened

Unburdened

Darkness wrapped in silence 

Slinks sadly down my hall;
Recognized by only one
Sallow fear known to all

who love and hope to

Live again.

A pain unburdened 
Life’s cruel change;

Now an end.

How does one

                Capture hope once more?

Look, dear child, just east
The sun’s warmly gentle glow
Leaks forth light’s last release

No, not last.

Another with

Hope!

For she to rise again
Health and robust;

Will wipe the tears from our eyes.

To welcome eternal we upon that far

Eastern shore;
Anew.

Those who cannot come back,

We with them

though now no more;

This brief spell to end in delight.

Sleep at last this terror

Deep in this ashen, lonely

Night.

Sacred Song

Sacred Song

Sacred song sung in
Hallowed hall;
Honored voice springs forth.

Havoc now birthed
In chaos beneath.
Life roars to life,
Signals sound in the deep.
     Chaos whispers
     In the deep of the night
Wondering . . .
Translucent fright;
Knowing.

Thunderous joy from beyond all once known
Just beneath
     The deep cry
Site has brought life;
And death to the dead of the night.
A source unseen
The light has come.

Array the light;
The light does array!

Chaos squirms
Chaos shivers
Chaos quivers
     takes flight
     takes flight!

Fleeing!
Sleep dark one, sleep;
     Dissipate.
Never again to reign;
Supreme!

A glimmer of hope has burst violently forth,
Marshaling order
In triumphant light;
Renewal renewed
Among the cursed of the deepest curse

Sacred song now sprung;
Let there be . . .
     Let there be . . .
          Let there be . . .
Light!

Poem: Disembodied

Disembodied

Crafted by Biz Gainey

To love that which is loss of worth

Descent in pain;

Wanton birth.

Warped to fit both large and small;

Dis-heartened.

Without hope;

None and all.

Such has the stained touch print of man.

This breech of hand and heart replete

These twain once part in fatal retreat.

This thread now frayed

all boundaries flee;

Brings to aim a frightful plea.

To love that which is loss of worth

Awash in a mist;

Barren self defeat.

Razed to dust,

Blown lone a green sea.

Love’s lost worth?

Its center;

Me!

Poem: To Love

To Love

That which I love

I slowly become.

A thin whisper of night;

 hollowed face in the sun.

This life we now live,

Marked by that which we chase,

Grasping at dreams 

     soaked in soul starved space;

Yet to love is not wrong

For how could it be?

Its beauty captured in song

Initialed on tree

Boldly exclaimed

The world all to see!

For to love is to be;

To bear witness to we!

Yet that which you love, beware;

         Quenched shall it never be.

So we chase . . .

Love unbound

Eternity’s fierce hound

In sheer delight of pursuit

There is no danger known

No life dethroned

No walk . . .

No step . . .

No grasp  . . .

Nor control . . .

Will break down the bough of the

Pursued

Well loved soul!

No empty space.

No time without place.

That which I love

I slowly become.

Poem: These Little Ones (inspired by The Just Church)

I recently downloaded a copy of Jim Martin's, The Just Church.  I have been reading this book in spasmodic fashion over the course of this year.  Truth be told, I had hoped to read it in one sitting.  The book however carries a weightiness that requires 'bite size chunks.'  The writing is excellent and the story telling draws you in to the narrative with effectiveness.  The content, however, is alarming, disconcerting and heart breaking; as well as victorious and courageous!

I have read with tears the plight of little ones suffering across this globe at the hands of 'men without chests' (Lewis reference).  While I do not know how deeply moved I will be and what action I will take, the reading caused a 'poem' to stir in me that I have taken time to put on paper.  

This poem might be somewhat graphic and is 'raw' in its vision of what type of person and world would tolerate such sin.  It also captures the reality that if we continue to tolerate such evil, we will do so to our own demise.  The poem is completely unedited and I am open for your feedback, questions and perhaps suggestions for revisions.  However, my deepest hope is that it will cause you to explore International Justice Mission and the life and culture saving work in which they engage.  If you wold like to have the scales scrapped from your own eyes as I have mine, then pick up the book, The Just Church by Jim Martin.  Here is a link for you: http://www.thejustchurch.com/

These Little Ones

These little ones

Sunken eyes and swollen Heart

Torn apart from family

Future no more.

Torn not by love,

But desire disturbed, distorted, deflated;

Pus filled.

These little ones

Sold

Traded

Stocked

Branded

Lost

What manic world allows Human self will

Imposed on those less easily kept?

Break the yoke;

The chain, the boulder

Imprisoned and sexed

And carried by neck

Through the throttle

Of one’s distorted desire.

Corrupted!

Children now burn in this fire.

Open our eyes to the hurt;

Pain . . .

Loss . . .

More than we know

The loss also ours;

Flesh is transformed,

In our zombie like compulsion,

Consumed.

All we of dust.

Awaken our heart;

Beat in rhythm for these

Little ones without names

Numberless

In sex ditches

Will truth prevail?

Will the heart reignite?

Might we rescue these little ones

Lost in the dread of this fright?

Naught without will

To bring justice to bear.

By those who would

See,

Fight,

Stand!

A voice to their silence!

Fierce eyes to their sight!

Protect these little ones!

Save us all in this plight!

Poem: Northern Wind (Inspired by a prayer from Thomas A Kempis)

I came across a prayer of Thomas A Kempis in my daily devotional reading recently.  In his prayer he asks that God would ‘command the winds and tempests of pride to cease.’  The idea of the winds, metaphorically representing our struggle with sin of all types, resonated.  In this poem you will journey with one who sees the winds, and indulges desire in the midst of their torrent.  His indulgence leaves him dashed on the altar of his own desire. 

Yet, this is not the end of the story.  She ‘lives again’ to face the ‘winds a howl’ that seek to leave him battered and bruised.  In this moment she is found by hope and rests within the enshrinement of God and the freedom found in the safe harbor He provides.  While you will note the tragic and deeply painful exploration of our desires improperly aligned, the ultimate aim of the poem is one of hope bound in God’s presence.

Northern Wind

Northern wind sweeps closely by

Swagger near my heart;

Swooned by its tempestuous song.

Body entangled

Captivated;

Time does creep, creep

Idly by.

Tic, tic - tock along.

Mind gratified

Such tempest knows

No line it dare not cross.

Once tingling, now burning through

I wreak the stench of loss.

The power of its crippling crush

Lay me dashed on my desire.

Wreckage beneath

though naught is heard

stifled is its cry.

Weakly strained sadness now felt

Self loathe born forth in fire.

It warms until it burns me whole;

Less human I become.

The warmth I sought now found me out

Swept deep into this Northern wind;

Its fury leaves me numb.

O Northern wind, stay your course;

Blow not closely by my stride.

For in your song, your sweet, sad song

Leaps one's heart for joy.

To be dashed, entangled now;

In dance best left untried.

Your brutal force is known by all

Swept in your wind a howl.

Yet if I live

to live again

wholly human in your gale;

To protect my inner self,

Will I?

Or there I be deceived?

Indeed your wind will blow once more

                There hope I pray to find.

I land safe harbor,

Refuge,

Respite.

I Am

A soul enshrined!

Pining no more

                Kept holy warm;

                Peace embodied.

Deep!

Within me.

Once thought forsaken

Enfolded now.

Splendor grows;

Yet by degree.

It is the Table of the Lord

Earlier this week Melissa and I spent some time together practicing an ancient Christian Discipline called contemplative or sacred reading (this discipline is one in which we read a passage of Scripture together several times.  After each reading, we sit in silence, praying for God to reveal to us His message from the passage).  During this time a phrase came to me that I chewed on for a couple of days until the following poem came forth.  It is a poem considering the experience of Communion.

I invite you to read the poem and spend some time with it.  The more I dabble in this form of art the more I realize how deeply personal it is and how difficult it is to translate the message with mere words on a page (or web browser in this case).  Indeed, I think it might be best if I actually recorded it audibly or via video so that you are able to hear the cadence, the pauses and the various pronunciations of words and turns of phrase.  

However, if you take a moment and sit with this piece and attempt to take it in, I believe you might capture the sense of wonder and awe inherent in its words.  In other words I suspect some amount of effort will be required on your part.  At the end of the poem, I will spend some time explaining it, but I would rather you read the work itself first, then seek the explanation after you draw your own conclusions (Of course, as with everything I have written thus far, I am not sure the poem is complete just yet).

As always, feedback is welcome.  Even that which is negative will be considered carefully if disseminated properly (in other words, as Woody (Toy Story) said to Sid, "Play NICE!")!  At any rate, thank you for your time!

IT IS THE TABLE OF THE LORD

Biz Gainey

I sit as a guest

At a table not my own.

Though a comfortable discomfort

I am welcomed;

I am known.

Helplessly;

Wonderfully;

Lovingly;

I’m Home!

Those who dance adorned in splendor,

Those who sing the soul to render

One who did so gasp  . . .

Humbly ready, now surrender.

And how the wine does flow;

Oh and how the wine does flow!

I sit as a guest

At a table not my own.

Sights unseen, the eyes astound

Sheer light caresses in the wind

His touch arouses that most hidden

He invites all who dine;

Come in.

Gowned august and robed as royal

Found without fault or blight

To dine in His presence with each other

Life tastes of sheer delight.

I sit as a guest

At a table not my own.

To reach, to take, so easy

The lavish feast I’m set before

Yet I sit in silence

Humbled

By the host whose eyes now bore

Such warmth into my core

Hands extended though all striving ceased

Before this food that lay me bare

Whittled

Chiseled

Free indeed

At His abundant fare

I see you though you see me not

All ye who long to dine

You eyes betray your real dis ease

Scream, “Invite me” . . .

As though that place were mine

Memory of this moment my thoughts

Stored on His mind

He speaks with silent voice

I hear with ears un seen

Reminded in His dear presence

We must all be invited

by the King

For I dine with others still

Not too different or alike

Guest gathered at His table

In this company we so delight

I sit as a guest

At a table not my own.

The journey is a long one

The path is muddied clear

I cannot invite you to join me

But I know the one you hear

Who speaks with voiced silence

You heed not though you know

That to dine as guest at his table

Means your pride you must swallow

Release is what’s required

To feast so lavishly yet rare

Surrender joy to He whose joy

Is magnified in this fine fare

I sit as a guest

At table not my own

This day we dine together

Here in this space of peace

Where heart, soul, mind and body

Taste freedom’s true release.

Explanation

The title is important as it captures the thrust of the entire poem: the table belongs to God. You will note this theme captured in the phrase that came to me during my time with Melissa: 

"I sit as a guest

At a table not my own."

This idea of being an invited 'guest' is the primary metaphor of the entire poem!

Stanzas 1 - 6 comprise the bulk of the story and attempt to capture the joy inherent in dining with the King.  There is abundance, there is song and dance, wine flowing - a true moment of celebration. There is also a subtle (though minor) tension.  The guest longs to 'reach out and take,' but is overwhelmed and sits in humility to receive.  The guest is finally and at once, home!!

Stanzas 7 - 8 are interesting to me.  In total candor, I am not sure they (7 and 8) should be included in the poem.  I am introducing a perspective that tends to move the story in another direction.  I have left them in because it represents a reality we all deal with: we long for others to join us at the table, but know that it is not in our power to grant them a seating.  In essence that is what these stanzas attempt to capture. The guest is suddenly aware of others who are watching, yet remain distant.  He sees them in a way they are unable to see themselves - a gift reserved for those who dine.  As such, he hears a scream unsaid yet very real.  Alas, he cannot invite them - He is a guest in a delightful company who all share a common reality - they have been invited by the King.

Stanza 9 is a moment in which the guest engages those who do not dine in the only way he/she can - encouragement to hear and see for the very first time.  Embedded here is an important posture that we all must have before the King and at his table: humility and surrender.  Here the great human obstacle to faith is met head on (no it's not intellect or experience, it is simply pride), addressed forthrightly, yet with compassion and desire.  Note this stanza does not diminish the tension of 'hearing and seeing' rightly.  Phrases like 'muddied clear,' and 'voiced silence' attempt to convey the very real tension we experience as we journey this life together.

Stanza 10 is an exclamation mark on the entire piece.  To dine with the king is not merely to occupy a place, but a space - in other words because of this experience every space occupied by our bodies can now be (is) a space of freedom and true release.  The word usage is important and it is intended to convey the reality that to participate in communion is to have it change us - to transform us over time and to be captured by the vision of an eternal unending feast that changes the space we inhabit on a moment by moment basis!

Grace and Peace

I Long

Another poem exercising my 'right brain.'  I hope you enjoy!

I Long

By Biz Gainey

I long

Awake.

I lay

   yearn

   desire

   long!

A well kept day secret 

   weeps in 

   a crevice in the night.

Warming

Haunting

Burning!

Quenched and parched

   Filled and thin!

Is this as it should be

    as it ought?

For when one longs no longer

    does one cease?  Is one dead?

No, numb.

Starved by addiction

Filled by angst;

Thined

Hollowed

Shallowed

Wearied

Worn!

I long and hear

"I thirst."

I too thirst

Yet I bleed not;

I thirst

Yet I sacrifice not;

I thirst

Yet I strain not;

"I thirst"

His thirst is

Thirst aright.

I thirst.

My thirst is

Tilted bent;

Un satisfyingly satisfying

I lay cored

   longing no longer

Agony!

Yet my longing lurks!

In my longing I see

   my only hope;

To be filled by he who thirsts

    who invites.

Drink from a cup

    eat from a table;

Dine, Dine with Me!

Long, but dine!

I long

This is as it ought be;

I drink

I dine with he who thirsts

    fills

    loves me

To thirst for more!

Longing ceased.

Dine with Me!

Drink with Me!

Dine alone no longer!

Drink alone no longer!

I long . . . 

Here it goes . . . a poem, written by yours truly, for all to see!

This poem,  Just Passin Thru, attempts to capture the world as one set on 'razor's edge' and the wisdom of a wise old sage who, in simple fashion, encourages a younger man/womanto ease his/her grip. The thrust is to remind us that we are but passin thru and our best life is yet to come. Indeed, it is a life which may well be determined or shaped in the context of the life we live now.  

Just Passin Thru

By Biz Gainey

Just passin thru, said the old man to one

Bloodshot through the eyes, veins now come undone shaped by the space

Our heart does control through good or ill

Joy, might, love and fright

Life

This life is as but a blink

A simple space may seem as time in a dream

We are shaped and formed by the grip which we hold the vein stretched response too easily we unfold

By its force we are seized

Eyes and hands reveal

Life

The life in deep bleed

Yes, ease dear child

Run the red from your grip! Loose the chain to your lip! Free yourself be not bound

In this place is one found as

Children formed in

Life

The life in rich ground

We ascend and descend this space by degrees

This cacophonous life ill at ease in such fear gripped blood wretched pain not unborn

disfigure the silence and sound and the form

We find deep truth in mockeries’ scorn

Life

This Life oh so tattered and torn

So relent let the heart beat at ease

Released by the fear which so easily seize light in the eyes peace now to see

captured by love and life’s gentle breeze

we find old words spoken so true

Life

This life, we are just passin thru

Marrionettes, Minaj and Masking our Desires

Bed time comes early in my home.  Our children hate this - it truly cramps their style.  In order to become a non style cramping parent on issues of less importance my wife and I have begun to  allow the kids to stay up later than we do: from time to time.  On the nights in which we allow this extravagance we usually descend the stairwell and check on them and what their viewing habits are as we retire for the night.

This past week we experienced one such night.  Two of our three children were home, resting on the couch as they viewed America's favorite talent search competition: Idol.  When I entered the room, I was taken back by the 'turn over' in Idol judges.  In fact,  there was only one judge that I recognized from previous seasons and, of the four judges, I could not personally identify the fourth and newest judge.  The new judge had a 'plastic' look to her.  If you  have seen The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause, the look of the new judge was somewhat akin to the 'supple sheen' of the replacement Clause featured in this film.  I thought even of the marionettes I so loved when watching The Sound of Music as a Child.  She appeared, somewhat like a marionette, to be stiff and plastic - a shell of a being.

So, I asked my eldest (who is 15 years old), "Since when did American Idol start using the Von Trapp children's marionettes as judges?"  He glanced at me with a look that fell somewhere on the continuum of confusion to disgust and simply said: 'huh?'  To which I replied, "you know, the Von Trapp children from The Sound of Music.  There is a scene in this masterpiece where they entertain their father with a puppet show.  The puppets are wooden marionettes - dolls that look almost, nearly human while showcasing human-esque characteristics.  This new Idol judge looks like a 'sport model' version of one of their marionettes.  Of course, the Von Trapp marionettes did not possess (among other traits) the 'dual inflatables' with which this new judge was equipped.  Indeed; it was evident that if her ship struck an ice berg she would be afloat for weeks on end with no fear of drowning.

Aggravated both by my interruption of his viewing enjoyment and my lack of cultural knowledge, my son abruptly snapped: 'That's Nicki Minaj, a huuuuuuge star.'

"Oh, she looks almost human, almost real... But not quite."

"Dad, go to bed."

"Okay, son, you come soon."  (A link for those of you who are unfamiliar with the marionettes of the Von Trapp family:The Lonely Goatherd)

As I ascended my stairwell to join my bride, I reflected on this new judge and how unnatural, to me, she looked.  I do not know her nor have I, to my knowledge, ever heard her sing.  However, I would surmise that she is a talented artist in her own right and her appearance as a judge on American Idol would seem to confirm her success.  If that is not enough, then surely the throngs of teenagers who follow her and love her music must attest to its quality and caliber.

Honestly, her musical talent (or lack thereof) is not my concern.  Rather what struck me was her nearly human appearance - somewhat like a person encased in an outer shell.  In one sense, she appeared to be both there and not there at the same time.  While I do not know what is true of her and what isn't, I did find that a simple Google (this should not be a verb) of her name will direct one to thousands of sights that refer to various surgeries and implants she has endured in order to become encased in a shell.  In  my mind, she has missed her intended target.   No doubt, some will disagree with my assessment of her appearance.  However, I also confess that her intention to become more than she is - or appear that way - is closely tied to an urge we all share; an urge to be more than just 'better' or 'more pleasing,' but to be wholly other.  There is a term that describes the desire to be wholly other.  The term is transfigure, which means "to transform into something more beautiful or elevated."  In short, to be wholly other.  Interesting.  On some levels,  it is quite human to desire and long for the opportunity to be transfigured.

This desire for transfiguration is an inkling which lurks deep within, but often remains buried because we encase rather than release it.  We cover that which is deeply true about us, even as we attempt to become more deeply true.  Our society, culture and personal preference all contribute to the misdirection of this urge.  The urge, so true and so real, expresses itself and society has an answer: "purchase my product and you will be transfigured."  Or, 'read my book and you will be transfigured."  Or, "navigate our web page and become whom you know you are," etc.  So we chase these promises only to remain unfulfilled.  We follow this longing for truth only to be left false: falsely presented, falsely critiqued, falsely accused, falsely condemned.  Perhaps our urge, that truest urge in us, represents more than being transfigured but to be with the One who is transfigured.

If I am correct (and I freely confess my penchant for error), then Augustine's words ring true even now, centuries later, when he confesses: "Thou hast made us for Thyself and our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee."  (follow this link for Audrey Assad's brilliant song which captures this truth: Restless)  Yes.  Augustine reveals how our dilemma is solved.  Rather than striving toward being transfigured and finally capturing or becoming the one we currently are not.  Perhaps we should direct this desire toward being with the transfigured One.  The One who is always whom we are not.  For the desire to be transfigured covers our deeper desire, our truest desire, to be with He who is the Transfigured One - already beautiful and elevated.  As long as we satiate this deeper desire with the counterfeit we will continue to long and search.  Crafting meaning for ourselves rather than having meaning crafted within us.

There was a mountain summit long ago on which folks experienced such beauty.  It was the moment in which Jesus was transfigured.  Those around Him were so overwhelmed by the moment that they longed for it to linger.  Indeed, they wanted it to last.  Alas, it did not.  The returned to the valley to face the struggle and fight the suffering.  They sought to resist the urge to replace the transfigured One with the comfort of being transfigured themselves.  This too is our own campaign and as such our war wages on.  Though we will always be able to achieve transfiguration on some level, it will never be enough.  We will always want more, need more and discover more demand as we attempt to be filled.

As you reflect upon that toward which your life gravitates, maybe you have found that your desires, though true have also been twisted.  Perhaps your craving is intended to force you toward One who is Wholly Other rather than striving to become wholly other yourself.  If so, allow me to show you  a prayer you might utter moment by moment.  I found this prayer in an excellent book by Christopher West entitled, Fill These Hearts: God, Sex and the Universal Longing (Fill These Hearts)

Here is the prayer (there are actually three he suggests):

"Lord, I recognize these twisted, lustful desires within me.  Lead me on the journey of untwisting them so that I might come to experience the fullness of eros as a longing for you."

"Lord, I desire you; increase my desire."

"Lord, into your hands I commend the satisfaction of my every desire."

the shape of desire!

Biz

Parenting: An exercise in repetition with the hope of formation!

As a parent of three children who are either in or nearing their teenage years, I am constantly amazed at how often I have to repeat phrases over and over and over again in order to make them to do something that they have, for years, been expected to do.  No doubt many parents struggle with a similar issue.  Here is an example of some of the directives Melissa and I continually repeat, with which our children often struggle:

1. Clean your bedroom.
2. Brush your teeth.
3. Put the toilet seat down (my daughter screams this one all the time).
4. Wash your hands before coming to the dinner table (washing them hours earlier doesn't count toward your dining experience)
5. Put your book bags in your bedrooms.
6. Elbows off the table.
7. Do your homework before you do anything else.
8. Your shoes should be in the walkways only when your feet are actually in them
9. Feed the dog (and, as of Christmas morning, the bunny)
10. Clean the dishes before you leave the kitchen.
11. No, the floor of your closet is not considered a laundry hamper.

There are moments in the midst of the mind numbing and frustrating repetition of these basic directives when my anger spikes.  I become aggravated, uttering words such as 'when are you going to get it, this is not rocket science,' or some other up lifting word/phrase of encouragement we parents tend to say.  These moments are usually glorious times of family unity and harmony around which we rally and in which we thrive (note to the to the inattentive reader: that was sarcasm).

There are, however, other moments.  Moments when I remember that the formation of human life (even the type of formation which is basic) requires hard work, effort and a tremendous reliance upon perseverance.  In these moments,  I see the joy in the repetition.  I envision the fruit yet to come from the labor presently practiced.  Yes, in these moments, I remember that being fully human requires something more of me in a fallen and sin stained world.  It requires my participation in matters of life that matter. .. the development of the habits that lead to the practices of behavior that provide one (in this case the children whom I dearly love) with a path toward a future far more rewarding and hope-filled than the moment in which the struggle persists.  So we repeat ourselves again and again and again and again.  Eventually, we hope, they will accomplish the task apart from and independent of our repetitive refrain.

I find this struggle I experience in parenting to be true in all other areas of my life.  Particularly in the area of Spiritual Formation.  Spiritual formation takes resolve and repetition.  These two traits are increasingly difficult to attain in a culture saturated with instant gratification or a church driven by 'Burger King' theology - your way, right away... at  ___________ (insert favorite church, ministry, charlatan here) now.

In fact, most of us who attend church on a regular basis (that means more than twice a month, which has probably ruled out most of my readers) would be hard pressed to point to how such attendance as formed us into the image of Christ.  We would certainly point to thoroughly invigorating programs and exciting new principles.  Perhaps we could even talk about the delightful personality and integrity of the new pastor on staff (as if that is an exception to the rule).  We might even reflect on, with a glassy eyed wonderland nostalgia, a small group or Sunday school class that we loved. .. one that made a deep impression on us at one time in some way.  

Yes.  In these moments of 'glory days' reflection, we tend to fool ourselves into believing that we have advanced in our spiritual walk.  This is of course a self defense mechanism that prevents us form unearthing why we are still stuck and how might become unstuck.  Such rationale, while keeping us faithful in our church attendance, prevents us from assessing our deepest desires and attempting to slay them under the kingship of Christ.  Such thinking, in short, allows us to remain satisfied as beings who are relentlessly dissatisfied.

The reason our churches are long on programs and short on transformation is because we have long since departed from the work of rigorous and life changing spiritual formation.  Spiritual formation requires that the church participate in matters of life that matter.  Spiritual formation further requires that the church view worship as a community endeavor or practice rather than an individually fulfilling experience.  The former is the exclusive realm of the people of faith, the latter is a product of a 'consumer' culture that can be achieved through a variety of mechanisms and experiences.

Even as you read these thoughts, you are saying: but wait a minute - my church is a community.  Perhaps.  But are the practices (habits and disciplines) of your church communal?  An easy way to assess such is to consider your initial thoughts and reactions upon exiting church week in and week out.  Are your thoughts geared toward what you 'got out of the service' (i.e., how it made you feel)?  Or, are they thoughts which consider how your life has been shaped by the experience.  Do you consider the worship experience to be a practice of repeating the things that matter most in a participatory way which shapes your desires toward Christ and His Kingdom?  Truthfully most of us care far more about how we feel than how we have been shaped.  The reason for this is that the 'right feeling' can be achieved in a moment between just you and Jesus.  The right 'shaping' on the other hand occurs over time and participation as you repeatedly practice that which matters most.

Yes.  Church much like parenting should be a glorious exercise in the practices which shape our life toward God's good for His glory.  There is transformative power in such a church and those who faithfully participate will intuitively bring God's kingdom to bear on all of life!

How is the church shaping your desire?  It will do so (as do all things) in one of two ways: back toward you, or forward toward Him.

the shape of desire.

Biz