Waiting On, Hanging On Hope

Earlier this week I had a conversation with a friend experiencing frustration with his job situation and work life, something I'm all too familiar with.  Below is an e-mail I sent him about working out my own faith in this situation.  If you find yourself in a similar place, maybe this will offer some encouragement.

I'm having one of those days at work like you talked about Monday.  My job makes my life feel worthless.  Its not only unfulfilling, its counter productive.  Surely we were made for something more, though its hard not to feel defined by the lacking.  But I hear the Lord saying the value of our lives is beyond our sight.  We don't have the scope or vision to see or understand.  We seem stuck, trapped even, by the situation.  Circumstances appear more powerful than they are because they're difficult to see past.  Circumstances live in the immediate and situations apply pressure.  On days like this I cling to the Lord in scripture.  Romans 5:3-5 comes to mind.  We know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.  And hopes doesn't disappoint because we've been given God's love through the Holy Spirit.  

Most days I just want God to give me an out and instantaneously change everything for the better.  Give me a new job, a better job, a better paying job, etc.  I want this because I don't have much hope.  I can't see a way out of here, can't get no relief (I'm channeling Bob Dylan).  I believe God when He says He has big plans for us and that He wants us to prosper. I believe He wants us to toil and work for something valuable, something meaningful.  And I believe that one day we will find what that is and walk in it.  BUT, in the meantime I'm looking for hope, because hope is what I need to get me through until the seasons change.  And hope starts with perseverance.  Stick-with-it-ness.  Perseverance means being vigilant and staying tuned in to the Lord so that when the time comes we don't miss Him.  It means building the character necessary to proceed into what the next season brings.

Admittedly, I haven't persevered much.  I've just complained and therefore missed the point of the current season.  The Lord gives us a way for our sight to pierce our surrounding circumstances and situations, a ray of hope about the future.  Persevere, build character, gain hope.  Paul said hope doesn't shame us, that it will not let us down because the Lord loves us.  He wouldn't do that to us.  But we have to risk having hope in order for Him to prove it.  How awesome is that?  Its like hope is a requirement.  So today, in the midst of a lot of confusion about personal value and worth with my job, I'm choosing to persevere with the Lord (not just endure) in this dead-end, crap chute, hell hole of a job in hopes that the Lord will not leave me here and that one day I'll do something more fulfilling that what I am now.

-Matthew

Broken Bones and Mangled Hearts

This morning I held my niece. I rocked her gently to sleep while I waited for her mom, my sister, to return home. I listened to her breath, at first anxious and staggered through cries for "mamuh". But the tears quickly relented as a held her tight and rocked. Savannah held a fist's grip around my index finger, a simple act of comfort she's formed with me in her first two years. I was half asleep myself but somehow managed a quiet observation in that peaceful state; how fragile is this tiny hand that squeezes my finger. I thought about how easy it would be for each precious finger to be broken.  I can wrap my hand around her entire arm with room to spare. It's amazing how weak young bodies are, how fragile. And yet somehow they grow and strengthen. And even when bones break they can be healed with such ease and will be even stronger than before. It's an amazing thing God has made, the human body.

What stood out to me in my near sleep state this morning is how similar our spiritual bodies are to our physical ones. In our young state we are so fragile, so impressionable, so vulnerable. And yet somehow they grow and strengthen as we follow Christ. And even when our hearts break with the trials of life, God heals them with such easy and makes them even stronger than before.

I had a lot of spiritual broken bones when I was younger. So many I often wondered if they'd ever heal. With time the Lord has mended and set straight what had been undone. I can't help but wonder if He ever looked at me they way I did holding my niece this morning, with such understanding of how fragile I am and how easy it would be for my heart to be broken. I bet He held a compassion in His heart to want to secure, protect and defend me, even more than I did Savannah. And that's a great feeling, especially at 6:30 AM in a half slumber.

Selah.

Morning Shower

I got up this morning and promptly took a shower. I stood in the shower naked and shivering, the water not you turned warm and tried to recall my dreams from the night before.

But they were fleeting.

So instead I diverted my attention to a spot of green mold in the corner where the rolling door meets the tub. “I really should clean this shower,” I thought to myself.

I pondered a moment longer, not yet fully alive, when the mold, quite to my astonishment, jumped! For it wasn’t a mold at all, but rather a chummy little green frog that looked at me with what I sensed was a smile. It was as if he had spent the night in the lonely underworld of plumbing beneath my house and was eagerly waiting to greet someone, anyone.

It took me a moment to regain composure, after all, I was naked and shivering and, until that moment, still half asleep.

Not wanting to be rude, but definitely not in the mood to make friends, I splashed some water his way. I thought he might like that.

He didn’t.

He took a couple quick hops up the shower wall and rested just below the faucet.

I thought about turning the shower head off and letting the water shoot out the mouth of the faucet. Not that it would have bothered the frog on the wall. However, with the faucet on, water leaks out of a small gap between where the fixture meets the wall, right above the frog. I thought this gentle but steady flow might be more to his liking, but when I bent down to turn off the shower head the water temp suddenly shot up and I had no use for boiled frog.

So instead I just finished my shower, carefully eyeing the frog for any sudden movements.

Only one false alarm.

I left the shower and the frog, got dressed and headed to Waffle House for a late breakfast.

The end.

Saving Trees = Killing Babies ???

I have long been a critic of the pop culture of American Christianity. It is too often nothing more than a revamped, God-flavored version of the very culture they preach against and seek to counter. Same pop tunes. Same entertaining gimmicks. Same mindless/artless productions that are marketed by the secular media. Many of these artists may have meaningful and Godly motivations behind their songs and books and what-have-you, but its a market just like any other and it exists in no small part to make money. Once in a blue moon will a true gem surface in this market, just like the secular market.

But today I came across something even more revolting than these thieves and salesman in the temple courts found in a song by the band Casting Crowns. Having experienced first hand how this band falls into the category of my previously mention grievance (that’s for another rant) I never expected much from the group in the first place. But now I'm more disillusioned by them than I am indifferent.

The song in question is called, "While You Were Sleeping," which begins as a nice, if not cliché, commentary on the birth of Christ, but quickly degrades into political propaganda that the conservative community is all to savvy for.

Here's the verse:

United States of America
Looks like another silent night
As we’re sung to sleep by philosophies
That save the trees and kill the children
And while we’re lying in the dark
There’s a shout heard ‘cross the eastern sky
For the Bridegroom has returned
And has carried His bride away in the night, in the night

This is ridiculous. I'll start by saying that I am not a fan of abortion (I'm also not a fan of killing those who have them). There are major problems with legislative law over this issue and the fact that it is happening at all shows a major point of degradation in our society. But what in the world does caring about the planet GOD made for us have to do with being blind to tragedy of human death? Are you kidding me? This is clearly an attempt to label those who care about the environment as liberal idiots who cannot possibly know Christ. This is non-sense. God created this planet. We had better dang well respect that and take care of it. It was a gift to us. We are called to be good stewards of ALL that He has provided, not just money (which I think would be better used helping needy people than fueling political lobbyist groups) and not just babies (though babies are VERY important). It is funny how short sighted we can be. What good is saving the children when the place we're leaving behind for them is wasted?

Ironically, Casting Crowns speak of awakening Christians to the importance of our roles in communities. Sadly, this shows that (in this case) they are still very much asleep. We need to stop letting our politics inform our faith and start letting our faith inform our politics. If that was the case we would be saving babies and saving trees.

The first time I knew I was in the presence of God I was three, maybe four years old. And I remember the experience clearly. My family was driving through the California Redwood forest. I remember telling my parents that I could "feel Jesus everywhere." I think that is my parents' favorite story of me as a child. I want my children to be able to feel God everywhere too. And what would be better than them feeling His presence in the center of His creation and the center of their heart?

There's A Fly In My Grits

So it has been a while since my fingers have tickled the plastic on my keyboard. To the few who have actually read my blog in the past, please forgive my negligence. 2007 has been a very interesting year thus far. I’m currently sitting in Waffle House waiting on my eggs and grits. While I wait I’ll regale you with a brief summary of the year so far.

Let me begin with the conclusion of 2006, namely, Christmas Day. Mom, Dad, Sarah and I loaded up Beatrice, my 1990 Buick LeSabre, early in the morning and headed up to Blue Ridge, GA to spend the day with my Granny and family. I honestly wasn’t looking forward to the trip. My Dad’s side of the family leans more towards the back woods, country Mountain Baptist side of the cultural spectrum. Largely uneducated and proud of it. The newest uproar amongst them is how the ‘govment’ is trying to take Christ out of Christmas, something I’ve known about for years (spring time, when the annual reunion rolls around and is held at the Patterson family farm, is my least favorite time of year). Anyway, we reached Granny’s around 10:30 and were the first ones there, per usual. Granny was in her usual spot of the sofa puffin’ on oxygen and Earnest, my step-Grandpa but the only one I’ve ever known, was in his recliner watching TBN, which was running a marathon of clay-mation Christmas programs. I’ve never prayed for the rapture so hard in my life. Time ached by but Jesus didn’t come, not yet anyway. The rest of the family arrived, which included too many of my Dad’s sisters to count, one of his brothers, and the only family member I actually choose to claim, my cousin Alicia and her fiancé (who I’m not related to, I hope). An hour into our lackluster celebration of our Lord and Savior’s birth my Aunt Karen arrives on the verge of tears. To make a very long and complicated story short, she just divorced her husband and is having parental problems with her fifteen year old daughter. Earlier that morning my rebellious cousin took a butter knife to my aunt’s neck and basically threatened her life. Merry Christmas Mommy. Karen is the youngest of my aunts and has an especially close bond with my father. When she came in he hugged her for a very long time and tried to console her. She quietly slipped into my Granny’s bedroom to try and pull her self together when the other sisters stepped in to intervene. What resulted can only be called a Holy Ghost visitation. Before I knew it the whole family was in the living room holding hands and crying out to Jesus for grace and forgiveness. And when Mountain Baptist folks get to prayin’, it isn’t a sight for the leery. Howls were let out that would put a hound to flight. I though for sure a demon had done manifested. Martha, the hippy aunt, is crying a river. Aunt Dorothy is pleading with the Lord. Poor Aunt Karen is wailing at the top of her lungs. My Mom’s in silent tears and Dad is completely beside himself. I just soaked it all in. My sister looked at me, scared for her life. To me this was just another Saturday night at First Love Ministries. Then a funny thing happened. Granny broke out in tongues. Now I’ve always known that Granny had the goods. I remember being a little kid and getting growing pains. She’d lay hands on my legs and they’d instantly feel better. Stomach aches were her moments to shine and when I was sixteen, the day before I was diagnosed with diabetes she called my Dad and informed him of my medical condition. So I shouldn’t have been surprised with she popped into her personal prayer language with God, and I wasn’t. Here’s the funny thing though. Granny is on oxygen. She breaths it in the O2 mist through a long inhaler. So periodically throughout her pray she would pause to take a puff of oxygen. So her prayer with something like this. Heshelabat heshadoniah (pause for puff) acodonishetahay creaynashadalayta (pause for puff). It was almost more than I could handle. It was all I could do to keep a straight face and if the moment had not been so God induced I would have killed over laughing. To top it off, Earnest broke out in the prophetic with a “thus sayith the Lord.”

One holy anointed prayer cloth from Robert Tilton: a love offering of $19.99

One portrait of a starving, dying African child from the pink haired lady on TBN: $24.99

One Christmas Day with the Pattersons: priceless

I’ll never look at family reunions the same again.

New Years Eve was quite uneventful. As a matter of fact, I can’t even remember what I did New Years Eve. New Years Day, on the other hand, is quite a different story. I was working at the Galleria Mall when around lunch time Mall Security and a Centerville Police officer walked into GNC and asked it I drove a maroon colored Buick. “Why yes I do officer. Why do you ask?” “Well, a vehicle of that description was just reported stolen. Would you mind coming with us to verify if it was your vehicle?” We booked it to the employee parking lot and sure enough, the spot where I had part Beatrice that morning was empty, a pile of glass rather than my precious Buick. Happy New Year to me. I filled a report with little hope of recovering my car. A week later I called the police department to see what they were doing about finding my vehicle, “Well, sir. We have it listed in the National Registry of Stolen Vehicles.” Hell-of-a-lot-a good that does me. Honestly though, I was more upset about the loss of all my CD’s rather than the car itself. Some people have a habit of smoking cigarettes. I have a habit of listening to music. And I had a lot of it. Over $600 worth in that car I’m sure. Plus some books, including my Bible. But instead of getting overly upset about the whole situation, I just counted my losses and moved on. God had a plan I was sure.

That weekend I went on a retreat with First Love Ministries to St. Simon’s Island. We stayed at this Methodist camp called Epworth By The Sea. We go down there every summer for a weekend, but decided to go down this winter also. It was one of the most enjoyable weekends I’ve had in a while. The weather was beautiful and it was a smaller, more intimate group than usual. The meetings were very inspired and the presence of God’s spirit was sweet and strong. Saturday night was especially powerful to me. Towards the end of the worship session a very quiet lady in the ministry who I’ve known for about 6 years and said about as many words to walked up front and began to dance. Now I’m not a fan of anything hokey and I sure as heck have no patience for much of the nonsense I see in worship sessions today, but this pure and honest act of worship by this shy child of God so deeply moved me that before she had finished I was on the ground in heaving sobs before the Lord. The whole service I had been asking God to show me His love for His children in hopes that if I could see how much He cherishes them, I could love them the same way. This woman’s dance washed the scales from my eyes. Her heart was ablaze with her love for Him and His heart for her was too much for me to bear. I later found out that many others had experiences similar to mine. A canon could have blown through my heart, but her affects much longer last.

That same weekend I received a check covering the remaining payment I owed on my car (which only had liability insurance) and then some.

God does work in mysterious ways.

I spent the ride home Sunday afternoon in awe of God and how he defies even simple expectations.

Monday, the very next day, I was working again. This time here in Perry. Around lunch time I got a call from the woman who sold me Beatrice, my Buick.

“Matt! They found your car!”
“What?!”
“It’s in the Wal-Green’s parking lot in Warner Robins.”
“What?!”

Her friend had driven past it and recognized the car. Immediately the police had been called and the car recovered. A $65 towing fee and she was mine again. Besides a broken window and a busted steering column, everything was okay.

Oh, and my CD’s, books and Bible were all where I had left them. Every single one.

My waitress just brought my food. It has taken a little while, but I don’t mind. My eggs look a bit runny and there is a foreign black something in my grits. “Ma’m,” I call to the waitress. She finishes her flurting with the toothless fellow behind me and comes to my aide.

“There’s a fly in my grits.”
“Really? Where?”
“That’s what that black thing is.”“Sure it ain’t burnt grits?”
“Yep.”“You want some fresh grits?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. It’ll be a few minutes. I just put an order in.”
“That’s fine.”

She goes back to the toothless guy and I eat my eggs, runny side up.

The following Wednesday morning I took a trip down to Andersonville with my friend Karen who was visiting from Connecticut with her boyfriend. Andersonville is a National Historic site from the Civil War. It was a Confederate Prison Camp that saw the deaths of thousands of Union POWs due to poor living conditions and lack of nutrition. We watched a mildly informative documentary, one of those with the cheesy reenactment monologues of letters from long dead soldiers, in a make shift bookstore (the museum was closed from improvements). The site itself is a very hallowing place that always stirs something deep within me. It’s a place I feel a strong connection with though I don’t know why. And every time I leave there I can’t help but be moved by the sheer awesomeness of its history. We walked to grounds reading monuments and markers. My favorite spot is a spring that supposedly sprung from a bolt of lightning back when Union soldiers were in dire need of fresh water and had cried out to God for His providence. It is now enclosed in a beautiful memorial and flows down through a few reflecting pools before feeding into the creek the soldiers used for water. It is on the grassy banks of this little stream that I am most profoundly impacted by the magnitude of what happened in this place. The death, the disease, and the suffering become real to me and the dead cry out to me from their grave. The blood on the earth lets their suffering linger.

On the way home I got a call from my mother. My granddad in New Jersey had suffered another heart attach, his seventh, and wasn’t expected to make it. My mother flew up that night, thanks to the help of my Church and pastor, to be with him and my Nanny. Until now, the joke the family had been that he was just too stubborn to die, or to weak. One or the other. He is eighty three years old and has also had two strokes. His heart works at 10% and kept alive basically by a pace maker, which he was due to have surgery to replace the battery later that same week. I didn’t sleep well that night. The house was empty, and lonely. My Dad was out on the road and my sister was staying with a friend. I called my mom first thing that morning and, to my amazement, my granddad was doing fine. At the last minute he had made a turn around and looking to make a recovery. Go figure, he just won’t die. They kept him a few more nights, even did the surgery for the pace maker, and sent him home. My mom is coming home tomorrow.

My fresh grits are here, but I’m not very hungry. I’ve been staring at the fly this whole time. Plus it is almost two o’clock in the morning. They are already fishing in Japan. Fish. I think I’m going to be sick.
The next few weeks are going to be busy. Between work and school I’m not going to have a free day for three weeks, including weekends. I’m supposed to be in my church’s Easter play. I got the role of Judas, surprise. I get to wear leather pants and play a guitar, but I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make the practices.

I miss writing though. Whether or not I’m good at it, and whether or not anyone reads what I have to say, I think I’m going to try and stay regular with it. It’s therapeutic, for me anyway. Good night.

I had to pay for two things of grits…

A Staring Match With God

God has a sense of humor, and sometimes it is at my expense. I’m goofy by design. Things come out of my mouth before I have the time to realize how silly they sound. I worked in construction a while back and discovered how uncoordinated I truly am. I’d be off day dreaming about standing on mountains and running through valleys, then realize I’d installed a cabinet door up-side down or mis-measured the lengths for a door frame, after building the frame. Not only did God let out a little laugh, my work crew did too.

There is a darker side to God’s humor though. One I am all too familiar with. It comes out in the form of discipline towards my hardened heart when He is calling me back to intimacy after I’ve wondered off to pursue less passionate lovers and less satisfying pleasures.

God is constantly working on the hearts of his people. Sometimes breaking, sometimes mending. Sometimes molding and sometimes holding. Personally, He’s breaking me… again. Pride has slipped in, bitterness has taken root and the pain that has caused these things has led to numbness. God’s work in me is repetitious and comes in cycles. I cannot count the number of spiritual heart surgeries I’ve had, but its been a few. I’m not really a fan of them, but every time He’s finished I’m thankful. Its like an extension on life. We sometimes call it grace and it is very sufficient, even if it is painful.

I think it is cool that God is jealous after me like this. It is intimidating though, and I resist it. Yet somehow I find myself in a boxing ring. I’m all alone, sitting in a folding chair in the center of the ring. All the lights are out, save one dim yellow bulb hanging overhead that casts a pale glow all around. There is an empty chair across from me. I hear footsteps in the dark as a silent God approaches. I am anything but calm. My insides tremble violently, but I don’t show it. I just breathe slowly and smoothly. God steps into the ring, but I look away, as if I don’t notice Him. He sits in the chair facing me and waits. And waits. And waits.

Then it begins. I turn my head slowly and catch His eyes. I stare at Him, unflinchingly, as He stares into me. Cold and calculating, I have prepared for this, to resist to the death. Unmoved by the piercing gaze of heaven. Surely He cannot love me, will not love me this much.

Unmeasured time passes while an invisible, unnoticed audience of heaven holds their breath in anticipation, though they already know the outcome. They’ve seen it all before. The watching and the waiting are only penance to witness this glorious struggle.

They are as not to me, however. I’m focused on fortifying my wall of will against the battering ram of God’s gaze, tender and patient though it is. He speaks to me in His silence, softly and firmly, “You are mine.” I remain stoic and steadfast. “You’re more than you think, you are mine.” Tired of His approach I lean back from being hunched over, elbows on my knees. I cross my arms but never lose His unbreakable stare. How long will he continue on with this.

Then something happens. Maybe because of my shift in position, something gets caught in my throat. I clear it out and remain resolute in my aim, to out-will the love of God. More time passes, though I barely blink at the breaking of the Lord. Again His silence speaks, “You are more because of me and you are mine.” I sigh a little, breathing out an air of indigence into the face of undeterred grace.

Yet God presses on. Now He leans forward, elbows to His knees, with an increased intensity and startling boldness. Unsettled by His move I waver a little, unsure of how not to respond. The mounting tension begins to affect me and it is harder to hold on to my futile resistance. He speaks again, only this time audibly with ferocious veracity and fierce determination, “You are my child whom I have made, I have crafted, I have called. Unmoved is my resolve and ever will it be, my boundless and endless love for the one I have called my own.” He stands to His feet with his exploding words ringing in my ears, “You, son of God, are mine and I love you.” Shattered are my defenses and broken is my heart. I fall uncontrollably to the floor of the ring, pushing my chair back, out of the light. Tears pour from my eyes that can no longer gaze into His, but I undoubtedly see His heart and am completely undone by its gaze. I’m moved to utter collapse by the powerful love of a gracious God, who picks me up and restores my contrite soul.

This is the God I know, the God I serve, the God I love. I’m often shocked by His majesty and even more dismayed by His unending love for me and concern for the condition of my heart even in the face of my rejection and blasphemy. If I had one prayer tonight it would be the words of a poet, John Donne:

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to'another due,
Labor to'admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly'I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me,'untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you'enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Who Is God, Actually?

A.K.A... the most insightful thing I've ever written, ever.

Note: I have to thank my buddy Chad for helping me find scripture that has lead to these conclusions and his father Chip for posing the question to me in the first place.

“Is the Holy Spirit a person,” I was asked tonight. It is an interesting question if you think about it. Go past your immediate response and consider the options. First we must define what it means to be a person. To me, in context with being a human being, a person is defined by a three-fold combination of body (our physical selves), soul (our mind, will, and emotions), and spirit (that metaphysical quality that is beyond the mind’s full comprehension because it is not a part of it). My faith obviously dictates this belief. Our being made in God’s image (see Gen 1:26) is reflected, in part, by our three part identity. Just as God himself is a combination of three entities (the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit), he made us to function as a whole composed three separate, yet dependant members.

Of course this philosophy of humanness raises many questions, some of which I don’t have answers for. Such as, “is an individual handicapped by mental retardation or comatose not considered a human person?” A legitimate concern for another time, as my purpose is to discuss the character of God, not of man.

If our three-part being is a reflection of our Creator, then mustn’t our Creator also be of three parts? Scripture is clear in its explanation of God as a three-part being. And it is no more evident and beautifully revealed than in Matt. 3:16-17:

When He had been baptized, Jesus came up immediately from the water; and behold, the heavens were opened to Him, and He saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting upon Him. And suddenly a voice came from heaven, saying, “This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.

Return to Genesis 1:26. God is hinting at this truth from the very beginning. Notice how, when Moses writes about us being created in God’s image, the Lord declares, “Let Us make man in Our image.” The first time I ever read that verse my mind went racing. What is this Us about?! Who is this Our? I thought Christianity was monotheistic. There is only one God, right?

This is why the question of the Holy Spirit as a person becomes so important. If the Holy Spirit is a person, then Jesus is a person and so then the Heavenly Father. That’s three persons, not one. And that is not how the Bible describes God. The concept of God as 3-in-1 is essential to our faith, possibly its most fundamental concept. If this were not true, the whole concept (that’s a bad term here) of Christianity would unravel.

In the early days of the Church, in order to reverently present the image of God, painters used icons and symbols to express the concept of the trinity. An angel from heaven (representative of the Father) would be looking down upon the Christ-child Jesus who is reaching for a dove (the Holy Spirit). We’ve all seen the image of the three equal-sized circles interlocking with each other. Early disciples understood the relevance of this concept of a triune God, and we would fare well to do likewise.

Let’s talk about this triune God. We associate different aspects of our God with each part of God, and that is because each part serves a different function. Often we view the Father in Heaven as a mighty disciplinarian. He is who we think of when we hear, “Fear the Lord your God!” This part of God is active throughout the Old Testament; leading, judging, and guiding the people of Israel. We encounter this part of God with Moses at the burning bush and, in the new testament, Paul on the road to Damascus. Then there is the Holy Spirit. Its grand entrance (literally) can be found in Acts 2:1-4. The disciples are empowered by the Holy Spirit to do with work of the Lord. Christ referred to the Holy Spirit as the great comforter and empowerer. Then there is Jesus Christ himself, existing before the dawn of time (Prov. 8:22-31), coming to Earth as a baby, living, dieing, then raising again. But they are all a part of one ultimate supreme being, the 3-in-1, as it were.

I remember being a kid and thinking how dangerously silly God was for coming to earth as a baby. I pictured Him jumping down from heaven, into Mary’s womb, and then popping out as close to Christmas as He could, all the while leaving the great heavenly war against the Devil practically unattended, save Michael and Gabriel, who could hardly be expected to handle everything on their own (especially since I ordered them to watch over me as I slept every night). I was always afraid that things were going to run amuck in the heavenlies while Jesus was waiting to grow up in human form for He only knows what reason. It didn’t make since to me and now I understand why. When Mom told me Jesus, the Holy Spirit and Big Papa were all the same person my little kid brain couldn’t processes the whole idea if the 3-in-1.

Next to consider is the fact that each part of God is equally important. This creates a balance to God that allows righteousness, forgiveness and freedom to become the central qualities in the lives of believers. The righteousness of the Father is upheld by the forgiveness afforded by the Son to pave the way for freedom and power in the Holy Spirit. Think again of the three interlocking circles to better make my point. Scripture is full of Jesus exalting His Father. And He is endlessly explaining to the disciples that He must leave so the Spirit can come. The Father’s heart for his Son is sung throughout scripture and the Holy Spirit is the great glorifier of the Lord. This is beautiful to me. Not just as a concept but as an actuality. It is the greatest expression of unity imaginable (if you can even wrap your mind around it) and reveals the origin of God’s love. The unity among His members is its source, which is why that unity can never be broken and most always be remembered.

And here is where the trouble starts. Just like me as a little kid, a lot of folks’ brains haven’t grown up to where they can understand this essential quality of who God is. Whenever we hear the terms Holy Spirit, Jesus Christ, or Heavenly Father, we separate these parts of who God is into individual identities. We conceptualize the different parts of our God without bearing in mind the other two. This is a dangerous game to play. We focus on Christ too often with out considering the Father. We teach about the Spirit while forgetting Christ. And, worst yet, we consider the Father without the Son or the Spirit! Why is this a problem? Anytime we take a part of God out of context with the whole we run the risk of drifting too far to the right or to the left theologically and practically with the way we live out or faith day-to-day. We fall guilty of overemphasizing one aspect of God and over looking another. Instead of a holistic faith we end up with shabby religion and TBN, prosperity gospels and bigitrous attitudes towards those that are different from us. Apply the thought throughout history and it becomes all too clear. The Catholic church just seems corrupt from the every beginning so they don’t count. But think about the Puritans. They focused on the righteousness of God and forgot about the love of Jesus. Conversely, hippy-Christians forgot about His righteousness. Then there are the Charismatics that are so obsessed with the Holy Spirit they are sometimes like, “Jesus Who?” Scariest of all are the Baptist (or we could even say “the moral majority”), who slightly resemble the Puritans, enacting the judgment of God upon heathen persons themselves only more oblivious to what they profess to believe in. Disbanding the trinity in our thinking neuters the gospel because it makes it impossible for the full purpose and work of God to flow through our lives.

I see this in my life everyday. I claim to understand what Jesus was all about and how we should be loving everybody and forgivin’ folks and all that kind of stuff. But sometimes I forget the place of the Father’s discipline and the need for righteousness. Thus, I end up screwing the whole thing up because I get mad at other Christians for not shifting their focus to centralize on Christ like I do. The Holy Spirit I just don’t get so I leave Him out of the picture completely. So I walk around most of the time powerless and without freedom. See how this works (err… doesn’t work)?

My senior quote was Isaiah 6:8, “And I heard the voice of the Lord, saying: ‘Whom shall I send, And who will go for US.'” God knows Isaiah is listening, isn’t it funny that in calling His servant He reminds him that God is a trinity? There is another truth to be uncovered here also; to do God’s work effectively we must do it while considering the Father, the Son, and the Spirit because you’re going to need all three of them to chip in if you want to be successful. The next time some starts to spout off about one of the parts (I wish I knew a better word) of God, ask them how it relates to the other two. It will be revolutionizing at best, eye opening at worst.

But back to the original question, “is the Holy Spirit a person?” Good question…