But you, O Israel, my servant Jacob
whom I have chosen
You descendants of Abraham
my friend
I took you from the ends
of the earth
from its farthest corners
I called you
I said, "You are my servant,
I have chosen you
and have not rejected you
So do not fear
for I am with you
Do not be dismayed
for I am your God
I will strengthen you
and help you...

You are mine
and I will not leave you alone
For I am the Lord
your God
Who takes hold of your
right hand
and says to you,
'Do not fear;
I will help you
Do not be afraid,
O worm Jacob
O little Israel
For I myself with help you'
declares the Lord
your redeemer,
The Holy One of Israel.

The poor and needy
search for water
but there is none
Their tongues are
parched with thirst
But I the Lord will answer them
I will make rivers flow
on barren heights
and springs within the valleys
I will turn the desert into pools of water,
And the parched ground into springs,
I will put in the desert
the cedar and the acacia
the myrtle and the olive

I will set pines in the wasteland
the fir and cypress together
So that people may
see and know,
May consider and understand
That the hand of
the Lord has done this
That the Holy One of Israel
has created it."

-- Isaiah 41

"I will lead the Blind
by ways they have not known
Along unfamiliar paths
I will guide them;
I will turn darkness into light before them
And make the rough places smooth
These are the things I will do
I will not foresake them."

-- Isaiah 42

"But now, this is what the Lord says--
he who created you,
O Jacob,
He who formed you,
O Israel.

'Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name;
You are mine.

When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you

When you walk through the fire,
You will not be burned

For I am the Lord, your God,
The Holy One of Israel, Your Savior."

-- Isaiah 43

"It is not the healthy that need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but the sinners."
-- Mark 2:17

I have been thinking about dependence. Over the last year, it seems, I've been walking through the fire that has been burning away my illusions about strength, assumptions and agreements about the debts I owe, expectations that have kept me bound, matters of self-acceptance and belonging based on false criteria.

There is a stop sign on the street just over from my apartment that has been given an addendum: a sticker has been affixed, turning the traffic signal into a message that reads "Stop Listening to Awful Music." I first noticed this addition last weekend as I rode my bike downtown for a cup of coffee, my mind swirling with an inordinate amount of anxiety about all the things I do not understand and cannot control, can't seem to ever master. I started thinking about that message-- how often we drive around in our cars listening to terrible music simply because it is "what's on," or because it was a free download or something. We don't always think about that-- how many awful things we simply take in until they become the gray matter of our lives. But the thing that really spoke sentences to me was the thought of how much awful music is continually playing in the background of my heart and mind. How many terribly destructive songs am I singing along to as I pedal through, thinking that is is worthy music? Or maybe I am not even able to recognize the lyrics repeating over and over among the notes.

What is this awful music I've been listening to? It seems the enemy's most common tactic is getting us to believe that we don't need a doctor, that we are just fine, thank you very much. Is it possible that the assumptions that we make about our own righteousness are the very things that keep us from the heart of the father? I get to thinking that He will love me more, that the things that I long for most will be given if I can just pull myself together, figure out the right answers and follow the rules. I fall into the hole of believing that there is something I can do to get the life that Jesus offers.

In reading over the second chapter of Mark again this week, I began to see this statement from Jesus in a slightly different light. It seems that we often interpret what Jesus says about the sick and the healthy as some kind of statement about the "saved," and the "lost." It gets turned into some evangelistic slogan about pity and those who are more needy than us religious folks. I think, however, that Jesus was making a deeper statement about our hearts. For who truly is "healthy" in honest consideration of the Holy Father and His Perfect Son?

"I have not come to call the righteous, but the sinners." Although this statement is in context of a comparison between pharisees and tax collectors, I'm not sure Jesus is really talking about Jews and Gentiles. He is speaking about our hearts, addressing a sort of spiritual honesty. Who will respond to His call but those who realize their need for him? How can we be healed of that which we will not aknowledge?

I think much of my life has been geared towards independence. There is something in me that has bought into the belief that I will be loved and accepted if I can do things on my own, if I can cease to be a burden upon others, if I can prove my own intelligence, if I never make a mistake and if I never lack wisdom. The unforgivable sin is to do something stupid. Someone has been whispering in my ear some terrible music about the the value and accompanying inevitability of doing things alone.

However, contrary to popular belief, God isn't a Father who walks around patting us on the back for our independence from him. Why in the world would a God, who sent his very son to suffer a brutal and bloody death just to get us back, be happy when we come up with enough easy answers to make it through a mediocre life without his involvement? Why would a God who compares himself to the most lavish Father imaginable be content to leave us with only what we can attain for ourselves when he offers a life beyond our wildest dreams and most exorbitant imaginations?

I wonder if Jesus got so frustrated with the Phrisees and the teachers of the law because of how much life he knew they were missing out on. Notice how Jesus praises those who give everything, become as humble as possible to seek him out-- he knows that the kingdom of God belongs to the hungry, the thristy, the poor in spirit. And why is that? Because in thier humility, in thier emptiness, in thier nothingness, they are able to recieve his everything-ness. I often think that this is really all he wants-- to give us absolutely everything.

But we are so stubborn. We settle for these half sort of lives because we want to have control. We want our own way so badly that we don't realize that the only thing we really get out of it is our pride, which, in the end is only imprisonment. It is so limited, so empty, so fleeting.

Through my position with the Kindergarten Enrichment program, I've been studying some educational models that address the needs that lurk beneath difficult behaviors in children. A particular issue addressed in the study deals with children who see adults as advisaries and opponents rather than allies. As teachers, we often have to teach the children under our care that we are on thier side. As I've thought about this, I've begun to reconsider the view I hold of the Father-- do I see him as an opponent or as an ally? I find that I have walked through life trying to please a God whose love never changes. I find myself seeking to be made whole so that some of my hurts will go away, so I can feel less alone, so that i can accomplish that goal or attain this certain level of success. It has rarely occured to me that perhaps God has a vested interest in my wholeness so that his Beauty can be displayed in me. I place myself in the inappropriate position of self-repair so that I might present a better case for myself rather than placing myself in the gentle and loving hands of one whose very nature is to re-create and heal-- not to mention the one who deserves all glory and praise.

So here is the thing: there are gigantic peices of my heart that are absolutely and totally wrecked. I am a shredded, bleeding mess inside. There are rock-hard masses of gray heart that no amount of effort on my part can replace, repair, or soften. I am only the created. There are stretches of time-- days and weeks-- that I find I can do little more than simply peer into the gaping holes, wondering how long they've been there.

Yet, I think this is the sort of thing that Jesus was getting at with his rebuke of the "righteous." We've gotten so good at hiding, ignoring, managing our broken hearts because we think that which we cannot master, explain, or deal with on our own is of no value. We might as well lock it away and get on with our lives as best we can. At least there is a chance of being accepted and loved for a little while by those who are fooled by our pretense.

But the problem is that there is still death lurking about inside. We are only whitewashed tombs. Jesus says he came for the sick. And luckily that's me. But the healer can do nothing until we dig through the roof, break through the crowd, shamelessly touch the edge of his robe. We have to take our hands off of our wounds-- allow them to become vulnerable to the open air, raw and exposed, before he can come close.

I am a mess inside. There are deep hurts that continue to reverberate off the hands and faces of every new person I meet. I walk through life, reminded of the disconnect, the separation from the very thing I was made for. I cannot think myself into believing that I am loved. As many times as I remind myself I am not alone, I cannot change the ache in my heart. As many times as I sign up for memberships and subscribe to groups and enroll in classes, it does not change the sense that I may never belong. And no matter how many lusts I chase, no matter how many addictions I indulge in, no matter how many people I seek to prove me wrong, no healing, no relief can be found until I honestly and passionately present the whole mess to the Creator. Make me new.

And I think this is what he really wants. I am learning, very slowly, that the Father's value system has nothing to do with the cleanliness and "perfection" we hold so dearly here on earth. What he is interested in is our hearts and being close to us. It is strange to think of Him as a lover who simply wants to be with us. He is not pleased when we locate fig leaves and olive branches to cover our nakedness-- do you ever think about the fact that he probably liked us better before? He isn't interested in hurrying through the process and he doesn't care a bit about the inconvenience and mess that gets laid out all over the floor. He isn't worried about all of the mistakes we make along the way-- in fact, these are usually the very media through which the real work is done.

He has no desire to leave us alone. The Father finds no joy in our independence from Him, no pleasure in our self-made intelligence and well-maitained pretense. I think that perhaps, more than anything, he wants us to know how far beyond us he is and how the entirety of that infinite space is occupied by his love for us. How great the father's love for us, how vast beyond all measure. Yes, I am faced with my own darkness, I am perched on the edge of what seems like the infinite abyss of my own heart. Yet, this is the place the Lover has led me because he knows that this edge is where I begin to understand his infinite grace and mercy-- and this is where his life begins. I do not sit here alone, nor do I walk a solitary journey-- he takes hold of my right hand, he guides and leads me. He does not ask me to offer up all that I hold so tightly out of spite, wrath, or punishment, but rather out of his great love that seeks to fill my emptiness with his great and unfathomable goodness.