There was a story during devotions tonight among the ten of us, as they usually are, about how one can feel like we are so close to the pinnacle of God's touch, that the second we look away we realize the fall was so great. We try and jump across the expanse like a Christian Neo from "the Matrix" and when we fall, we get absorbed into the asphalt. We bounce back, but the ego, that sense of failure, wakes us to an alarming truth. It reminds us that we really weren't that close to begin with. What were we doing that made us fall so hard?
This is my third mission trip to help tornado victims rebuild. Oklahoma, Arkansas and now Brookport, Illinois, a small rural community just outside of Kentucky across the Ohio River. I didn't realize that rebuilding wasn't really what our team was doing before coming here. We did cleanup. We cleared a wheat field in Oklahoma to help a farmer plow his crop. We cleared debris from a house that had been obliterated. We purchased toys to give to several families who had no home so that their kids could have some sense of comfort. But here, starting tomorrow, we actually help someone who has begun to lay the foundation of a new home. Rebuilding.
It occurred to me tonight during devotion time that rebuilding has so many connotations. In one sense it can all deal with construction. But it implies that what came before it was insufficient, or that it was not up to code. It has to be torn down before it can be rebuilt again. Renovations aren't rebuilding. Renovations is putting new paint on the stains of before, adding a semi-gloss to the walls so that no one will remember what was there.
What does it look like when we rebuild ourselves? That was a hard look. A fall from God's touch like some three dimensional scene from the Sistine Chapel. Almost there, Adam, but don't look down at the glowing fruit of knowledge that Eve just took a huge bite of, handing it over with the look in her eyes that says it's fine. Go ahead. Surely we won't die if we take a bite.
Perhaps that is what my spiritual life is really like. A total obliteration of what was before. I have used the God coming in to renovate the rooms in your heart metaphor more than once. It makes sense to me for someone who has moved so many times in my life. God wants to come in. Replace the kool-aid stained carpet, replace the linens, paint the walls, cover up the stains. But tonight the metaphor didn't quite capture the feeling I had looking back on my life, my current life actually, the one I'm trying so hard to keep together.
You see, rebuilding for me means that God wants to lay a new foundation. Coming to Christ several years ago painfully awakened me to the realization that the roots I had established in God were either withered, chopped away or had grown sour. My efforts were not producing good fruit. There was still work that needed to be done to the basement. There were cracks in the concrete. I have always felt that I could seal them over, cover it up like my own personal version of the Tell-Tale Heart. I can cover up the body beneath the floorboards but the sin that trues so desperately to get out creeps back. Moldy soul.
It's a hard truth to realize that God will destroy my house of idols to rebuild my foundation. This does not imply that God needed to wreck the homes of the several hundred here in Brookport. I don't believe that God needed me to suffer either. He wanted a simpler route. It was I who continues to distrust, who continues to disobey. Even through this process, he's been equipping me along the way. You see, you cannot hope to rebuild a foundation in Christ alone. There are others with gifts who pour out their love upon me, sometimes without me even knowing it. I'm totally pouting upstairs in my make-shift home i'm so desperate to keep, while Jesus, the master carpenter, is arranging the chess pieces of my life downstairs, setting up this surprise party that's only for me.
So our group of ten is setting up tomorrow for a rebuilding project. God has maneuvered our lives to intersect in such a way that it will help pour the foundation for a family in need. Already, we have been blessed beyond measure. The church here, Mt. Sterling Presbyterian, is between a graveyard, a dirt road and farmland on all directions. It's a congregation small enough to know that when the pastor testifies to the dwindling attendance at Bible Study, you know exactly who he's referring. But my contemporary worship style met a small town feel this Sunday. Singing from a hymnal, revisiting Jeremiah 29:11 (and a blog of its own perhaps one day), and worshipping with townspeople who have all been impacted by last year's storm.
I sat in an adult Bible study class where the adults had the same concerns I did just 6 hours away in Reynoldsburg. How can we support my church? What gifts do I have? Ho do I utilize them to their greatest potential? I heard the nuances and voice inflections that reminded me that they were concerned about loved ones who lived far away from the Lord. They too were wondering if what they did mattered. It's funny because I wasn't headed towards the adult Bible study class (our groups was going to sit in at some of the youth classes), but before I made my way upstairs, one of the ladies who I had met that morning tapped me on the shoulder and said, "We're meeting downstairs," with the assurance that she was showing me exactly where I needed to be. There's God again. Those nudges to get me closer.
During worship today, the pastor revealed a truth from his own life. Instead of praying for the blessings he so desperately wanted, he asked God to "put me in your plans." At home we have had a huge dry-erase calendar that sits next to the fridge. It helps my wife and I keep our schedule, to make sure we don't double book any appearances. It helps us maneuver our lives. But no where on that board is there anything that simply says, "God's plan." How many "good things" and I filling up with my life that I potentially miss the great things He's so willing to offer? God intervenes in our schedule even when we have a calendar of events. He's always trying even when we sometimes think we have been inconvenienced. That traffic jam. The student who pesters me to have lunch with them even when I'm busy. The phone call or email that needs attention.
It's late here as I'm typing. The kids are below in the sanctuary, not yet ready for bed on the night before rebuilding. There won't be wreckage to be found, unless we dig deep and listen to the stories of hope and loss. We don't know if the home is being rebuilt on something that was before, or that it will serve a new occupant. What we do know a little more about is that cornerstone foundation. Is there really more to give from each of us this week? Luckily we have enough clothes and tools for a week to find out.
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