Who Were The Nephilim? Part 1 Or: The Post I Did Not Want To Write

I do not want to write this post. I have literally been putting it off for years. Don’t get me wrong, my excuses were top notch: I needed to do more research, I didn’t want to disseminate false or inaccurate information, it’s a peripheral issue within the Bible, and I certainly didn’t want to be lumped with all the crazies out there who are going nuts over this. Yet, even as I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t a deadline on this, that I could wait to write about it until I felt more comfortable, I kept being bombarded with questions about this issue. Online, in the grocery store, sitting around the campfire, random phone calls, and at a friend’s wedding – someone every single week, and sometimes daily, asks me the same question: Who were the Nephilim?

Grab your Bibles, kids, and follow along. We start our journey in Genesis 6: 1-4:

When man began to multiply on the face of the land and daughters were born to them, the sons of God saw that the daughters were attractive. And they took as wives any they chose. Then the LORD said, “My Spirit shall not abide in man forever, for he is flesh and his days shall be 120 years.” The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also afterward, when the sons of God came in to the daughters of man and they bore children to them. These were the mighty men of old, the men of renown.

Now if you pulled out your Bibles, which I hope you did, and you let your eyes wonder down to the sections heading you will know that these verse precede the Flood narrative. This is going to be a rather important bit of information, for now just file it away until we need it.

So let’s begin with the obvious questions first, and the one that must first be addressed before we can get into the Nephilim – who in the world are the “sons of God”?

The first rule of Biblical study is “Scripture interprets Scripture.” This means any time we run up against a word or phrase whose meaning is unclear, we find that word or phrase elsewhere in the Bible to see how it is used there. By doing this we keep our interpretations consistent, and it helps us approach the Bible with integrity while not allowing us to explain away uncomfortable truths.

Thus we begin by doing a search of the Scripture, where else do we find the term “Sons of God” and how is it used? We will begin by looking at how this phrase is used in the Hebrew Scripture. Later, we will consider it’s use in the New Testament.

Now there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan also came among them. Job 1:6. (Job 2:1 says almost exactly the same thing.)

When the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy? Job 38:7

Ascribe to the LORD, O sons of God, ascribe to the LORD glory and strength. Psalms 29:1 

Who among the sons of God is like the LORD? Psalms 89:7 

I said, “You are gods, sons of the Most High, all of you; nevertheless, like men you shall die, and fall like any prince.” Psalms 82:6 (This verse does not contain the exact Hebrew phrase for “sons of God”, but I believe that intent conveyed is the same.)

But I see four men unbound, walking in the midst of the fire, and they are not hurt, and the appearance of the fourth is like a son of the gods. Daniel 3:25

Now, I have only provided snippets, but I suggest that you go back and read the entire passages I have cited here. Ask yourself a few questions: Who presented themselves before God in Job? Who was present when God laid the foundations of the earth? What beings are also described as “morning stars” in Scripture? In your Bible, what differences do you see in the translations, does it say “sons of God” or “Heavenly beings”? Who was the fourth man in the fiery furnace? Was it just another man? Why would he be likened to a son of the gods?

I would be remiss not to note that there is some resistance to accepting this phrase as universal reference to supernatural beings. God refers to Israel as his son (we will address this point when we get to the section over the New Testament uses of sons of God), and some believe that this title can also refer to the judges of Israel, men not necessarily anything greater. However, I believe that in doing so the plain reading of the text is rejected in favor of explanations that are easier for us to accept. Furthermore, the entire Bible is a history of supernatural events, so why should we resist this one point as too far out there while accepting things like the plagues of Egypt, the parting of the Red Sea, Daniel’s deliverance from the lion, a fish who found Jonah nauseating, or above all, the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus? Aren’t they all just a little crazy if you really stop and think about it?

Proponents of the idea that the sons of God were simply men are adherents to what is known as the Sethite theory. In other words, they believe that the sons of God were descendants of Seth and the daughters of men were the descendants of Cain. This leads to some interesting questions that must be answered if anyone is to approach this passage with intellectual integrity. Why was it wrong for the sons of God to marry the daughters of men? There has been no Biblical prohibition against intermarriage at this point, and there will not be any for some time yet. Why did these union produce such noteworthy offspring? What is the biological and spiritual reasoning for such an event? Was there such a marked difference between the daughters of Seth and Cain? Was Cain inherently evil? Go back to Genesis 4:17-22, the names are interesting study in a person’s attitude towards God. (I discuss this in Leah's Romance.) I am not going to do an in-depth analysis of each name, but note how many end in “el” which is a direct reference to God.

As you can tell, this not a simply question to answer. Oh, sure, I could give you my thoughts, but I want you see more than just my opinion. I want you to be able to see the Biblical reasons I hold this view. We are going to be camping out here for a while, because as I have studied this, I have come to believe it is far more than a peripheral issue and has a significant bearing on how we read the Bible, how we view God, how we view the existence of good and evil, and even our own reality.

Be sure to post your questions in the comments. I will try to address each one in turn. Having them here, instead of scattered across the internet will help me not to miss any of them. I also welcome opposing views. I am more than willing to entertain the idea I might be wrong. Blessings, everyone.

For the next post in this series, click here: Who Were The Nephilim? Part 2

Where Was God?

 “Prayer doesn’t do anything. Where was God when you were getting the shit beat out of you?” she sneered.

My heart broke a little bit more. It is the one question I really don’t have a good answer for. I can’t point to some supernatural intervention. I can’t claim divine deliverance. I can’t even say that I saw a glimmer of light in the dark. I just took it hoping that it would all be over soon, and at her words I felt stripped naked as if my whole life had been a sham.

For days, that question haunted me. I knew he was there. I knew that I had not endured that for nothing, and that he had not missed my suffering, but I didn’t how to convey that truth. I didn’t even want to look for a way. That chapter of my life is closed and opening it up to sift through the pieces in hopes of finding anything concrete meant opening up a lot of old wounds. I didn’t think I had the stomach for all the gore.

Over the years, I have talked a lot about my previous marriage. I have shared my story in churches, schools, and in my book. I have been commended for being “brave in my transparency” and praised for “daring to be so open about such a painful topic.” I can give you a rundown of the abuse without batting an eye. I can recount the feel of his fingers around my neck without fighting down the need to flinch. I can even tell you why the physical violence was far less traumatic than the emotional and mental abuse he doled out as he worked up his nerve to finally strike with his fist.

God and I were good. We had worked through all the heartache of those years. I had yelled and screamed at him for abandoning me, for leaving me alone, and ignoring all my cries for help. I had even taken the radical, and some claim blasphemous, step of forgiving God for all that – not that he needed it, but rather I needed to let go of my bitterness. I had to be ok with his way of doing things, and I had to take responsibility for my foolish pride and rebellion that landed me in that marriage to begin with. I don’t resent those years anymore. There is a huge part of me that still grieves and always will grieve the effect it had on my children who witnessed those events, but for myself, it is a time that has been redeemed as I have witnessed my story help so many others.

Maybe the question stung because I had gotten used to be lauded for my ability to rise above the circumstances of being an abused woman and then a single mom. And I was stunned that this scar that I had wielded like weapon for so long had now been turned against me.

So I have been thinking about the answer demanded of me, and I have been trying to find the words to express the truth that has been hidden in my heart, to quantify it in some way that would make sense to someone who is not inside my skin.

The only time my ex would lay a hand on me was if I was holding one of our children. He never attacked unless my daughters were in my arms. The first time, I was holding my oldest daughter as he grabbed me from behind putting me in a choke hold and shaking me like a rag doll. She was only two weeks old. All I could think in that moment was, “Don’t drop the baby.” So I didn’t. I held her tighter against me with one arm and with the other I gripped his arm taking the pressure off my neck. The last time he lunged at me as I was putting nightgowns on the girls, and he sat on my chest screaming as he tried to strangle the life out of me.

He might have succeeded. I wasn’t scared, and I didn’t fight. As the waves of blackness washed over me, I was tempted to let them sweep me away, but then one of the girls made a sound that caused me to look over at them. They were small and scared of what was happening, and all I could think was how if he killed me, he was the only parent they had left. So I fought back. I got free, and I got him out of my home and my life.

Where was God in those moments? He was holding my arms around my baby so I didn’t drop her. He was showing me why I had to fight to get free. He gave the courage to do the scariest thing I ever did. He gave me the strength to endure the years of being alone and trying to keep it together for the ones who counted on me. I screwed up so many times, and I made more mistakes than I can even remember. There were days when I was certain that they would be better without me, but every time that those dark waves of oblivion seemed more enticing than returning to the battle, he was there reminding me that love does not give up, that love does not get to indulge in that depth of selfishness.

Were there any burning bushes? No. Clouds parting, voices from the sky? No. Just my kids. Just the ones who had been entrusted to me, and the ones who relied on me to keep fighting. This is probably not the answer that anyone is hoping for. We all want the presence of God to be some over the top display and then are angered when he doesn’t reveal himself that way. We think we deserve a fairy tale, for him to make everything perfect and easy when he is near, but that’s not how he works, that’s not how faith is built.

And what good is prayer? It changed me. It is still changing me. I am learning to be okay with how he doesn’t split the skies open because I think I deserve that type of affirmation. He is showing me how to see him small moments, and to how to feel is presence in the chaos. He is teaching me how to become more like him – love more like him both in the times I rage before him in my frustration and in those moments I quiet my heart to listen and to know him. Prayer is where I learn, where I see the connections, and find the answers to the hard questions of life, as I allow him to change me. For never in a million years would I have understood his the depths of his love if he had not connected the dots for me, and showed me that if I as a mere human can rise from edges of death motivated by nothing more than the love of my children, then how much more does the one who rose from the depths of the grave love me? Does he love you?

Two Legs And A Piece Of An Ear

The coyotes were thick that year. Paw prints around the chicken coop and their howls sounding just beyond the edges of the porch light were constant reminders that they were on the prowl, waiting for their next chance to kill. It was spring. With young pups in their dens, mamas were lean and hungry. Their normal reserve was wearing thin, and they were willing to take risks that ran contrary to their timid nature. We should have known it was only a matter of time before one of the cows would become vulnerable as they began dropping that year’s calves.

But the coyotes weren’t the only mamas lean and hungry. I was in my second year of seminary. Every week I spent nineteen hours on the road, to and from class. I juggled Greek and Hebrew vocabulary and grammar, the needs of my children, the obligations that came with living on the family farm, and the constant strain of simply trying to survive.

The first semester of grad school, I had tried working until my body rebelled. It seemed that I wasn’t super woman after all, and twenty hours of work combined with fifteen hours of class, homeschooling, that massive commute, and various other needs that had to be tended were more than I could take. Not that I would admit that. In my mind, failure just meant that I hadn’t tried hard enough, and I was livid when I was forced to “self-terminate” my job. Officially the paper work states it was due to lack of availability to work. The truth was I was terminated due to my lack of availability to the womanizing manager, thus beginning a downward spiral into student loan debt, but even then money was virtually nonexistent.

I could write a novel on the obstacles I had faced just trying to get by. My love life was a shambles. The church I attended underwent a major shift that led to me leaving, and not on good terms. I was living on cigarettes and coffee. Five hours of unbroken sleep was a luxury, and I was having to work double time to keep up with my classmates whose previous degrees had prepared them for the classes we now took. Even the most common terms tossed about by my profs were foreign to me, and I was looking up almost everything they said so I could understand the lectures – Reform Theology, Liberation Theology, documentary criticism, redaction, pericopes, types and shadows, all of it left me wondering if I really belonged here. My fellow students seemed to know I didn’t belong there and only a few were willing to be more than polite, and few weren’t even willing to do that.

Emotionally, mentally, and even in this place where one would expect to be fed spiritually, I was that the end of my rope. Don’t get me wrong. God provided in ways that defy explanation, but sometimes it is hard to see him at work when your world is crashing down around you.

“As a shepherd recuses from the mouth of the lion two legs or a piece of an ear, so shall the people of Israel who dwell in Samaria be rescued.” Amos 3:12

These words roused me from the open-eyed nap I had perfected for chapel, and I briefly tuned in to hear the rest of the speaker’s sermon. “Why in the world would anyone bother to save two legs and a piece of an ear?” I wondered, and then my sleep deprived mind turned grouchy. “You’d better hurry up,” I mentally told God, “or that’s going to be all that is left of me. And what good is that going to do you?”

That night after the kids were asleep, I sat on the front porch and dined on ramen noodles and steak sauce, and considered dropping out. What type of mother was I being to my children? How could I possibly get through this when I was constantly so lost on my assignments? Maybe I was never meant to fit in with all the people who had really been called to be in seminary, and I needed to come to grips with the fact that my pride had led me into an impossible situation. The coyotes screamed in the darkness, and on impulse I screamed back hoping to scare them away. Instead, they joined me filling the night with their song until it seemed as if everything dark and black hid hundreds of their kind. I laughed, wasn’t this how it always goes? Stand your ground only to learn that the enemy has you out numbered and surrounded?

The next day, one of the cows limped to the barn. That she had calved was obvious, but the baby was nowhere to be seen. I pulled on my boots and began searching the forty acres. In the far back corner, I found what the coyotes had left.

Two legs and a piece of an ear.

People claim that God doesn’t talk to us these days, but he spoke to on that one. I didn’t need words. It was spelled out in blood before me. Was my God any less loving or caring than me? Was he any less compassionate towards me than I was for this animal? And if I trudged through the heavy grass, to find what was hidden from me, would the God who saw everything miss my struggles? Here I was examining the aftermath of a vicious attack, but he swore to be there to reclaim what was his even from the mouth of the lion. Not to simply view the remains after the enemy had left.

In Exodus 22, we are told that if man gives livestock to another for safekeeping, and it is torn to bits that that the caretaker should gather the remains, and hand it over as proof that he was not a thief. As I walked away from the bloody bits of the calf wishing I could have done more and being confronted with the fact that I could not, I realized that while I had done all I could in the natural, I still had a job to do in the spiritual. I was not a thief. I had not neglected the gifts that had been given over to my care. My life may have been shredded by the teeth of an enemy who roams about like a lion seeking who he could devour, but I was still responsible to get those pieces back to the rightful owner. So that day, I gathered up the remains of my life and presented them to God.

I realized that in keeping those bits of my ravaged hopes and dreams, I was condemning myself as a thief. I was hanging onto what did not belong to me, and hiding the evidence of my own innocence in their demise. And I think this is where most of us miss a step. We see the death, and we see the gore, and so we walk away without completing the task set before us.

Some of us need to go back to the far corner of that field in our lives where our dreams died, we need to pick up the scattered pieces, and return them to the One who gave us that dream. They belong to him, not us, and we need to finish what we started. Walking away, leaving the remains on the ground, shouldn’t be an option. For as we march to God’s throne to offer up even these fragments, we are walking in defiance of our enemy, and bearing witness to the world of our God’s goodness and mercy. We are rejecting the lies of the one who devours, proclaiming that he does not have the final word, he does not get to define our reality, and we will not be branded a thief based on his actions. We are affirming that God sees through it all, he knows who bears the blame, and that we can trust him in our brokenness.

So get to walking, look for those pieces. Stop bearing the guilt that belongs to the one who destroys. Don’t entertain the shame for the deeds of the one who kills. Move in faith towards the King who surrounds us with love, and who never saw death – even the death of dreams – as final. Then stand back and watch what he can do with two legs and a piece of an ear.

Seeing Jesus In Genesis

Today, class, we are going to review our parts of speech. Okay, so I know that this does not sound like the most exhilarating topic for a blog, but follow me on this one and I think you will see why the journey is worth it. I stumbled across this as I was working through Genesis one word at a time, taking them all apart, letter by letter, and doing my best to understand the Bible at molecular level, if you will. And this just blew me away. So let’s dive in.

The Bible opens with these words:

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Genesis 1:1

Pretty straight forward, so it would seem, but the truth is we could spend a life time on this verse and barely begin to touch the depths of knowledge that is revealed here. If you don’t believe me, just stop and consider what it means to create heavens and earth, what it tells about the one we worship, and how it informs us as to why he is worthy of worship. Look at all the components needed just to create one aspect of this reality we inhabit, a slug perhaps. Forget about the complexity of a snail, just consider a slug – can you speak one into existence? I didn’t think so. Now consider solar systems and galaxies, how powerful do you have to be for your words to make that a reality? I don’t think I will ever get over the wonder of these words, but it gets even more amazing when you have the privilege of reading them in the Hebrew.

Now this where things really start to get interesting.

One of the first things we have to recognize is we are reading translations of the Bible which are, for the most part, very well done and trust worthy. However, Hebrew is a language and not a code to be broken. In other words, you can’t just swap out the Hebrew letters for English letters and have a book that the average English reader could understand. Translators have to make judgement calls about which words best capture the meaning and intent of the passage for their audience. This is why the King James reads so different from the NIV or ESV. English was a different language back in the day, and people have ceased to talk that way, so the translators had to adjust to keep step with the evolution of our language.

Even more fun, English and Hebrew sentences have a different construction. In English, we typically have a subject>verb>direct object construction of sentences. We can look at a sentence and determine by the word order which part of speech is which. An example:

Sally hit the ball.

The ball hit the fence.

The electric fence shocked Sally.

We know that the ball did not hit Sally. We also know that fence did not hit the ball, and that Sally did not shock the fence.  No one has to tell us this, because despite the fact that each of the words serve as both subjects and as direct objects within the sentence, the forms and structures of our language tell us which part of speech the words function as.

In Hebrew things get a bit trickier as the sentences do not always follow the subject>verb>direct object formula. Instead, direct objects can float around all over the place in a sentence, so we need some way to know what is the direct object of a sentence verses the subject of a sentence.

Now if you have slept since your last English class, let’s do a quick review on what direct object is. A direct object is the object towards whom the action is directed. Another way to say this is that direct object is the noun that receives the action of the verb. So the ball in the first sentence received the hit, the fence received the hit in the second, and Sally received the shock in third.

If we go back and apply this to Genesis 1:1, we see that God (subject) created (verb) the heavens and the earth (direct objects. Yes, there can be more than one). Or in other words, the heaven and the earth received the creation, God’s action in this sentence

How do we know this? Aside from the fact that this is one of those times the Hebrew does follow the English structure for sentences, there is included within the Hebrew text a little word that indicates which words are the direct objects. It is called…..a direct object indicator. It looks like this, את.

It is not included in English translations, because we don’t need it. The sentence structure tells the reader what they need to know, and there is no English word that operates as its equivalent.

This is such an established and accepted fact that when I was going through Genesis, I almost breezed by it without a second thought. The only reason I decided to pay it any attention at all was out of a desire to be thorough and consistent with my work. And I am so glad I did, because these two letters blew me away.

If you look this word up in the Brown-Driver-Briggs, the gold standard of Hebrew definitions, you will find a rather lengthy and in-depth discussion of this word as a direct object indicator, but if you flip over a page, you will find another word that looks identical. It is only used in a handful of verses, but here is the most familiar:

Beat your plowshares into swords, and your pruning hooks into spears; let the weak say, “I am a warrior.” Joel 3:10

Do you see it? Remember a direct object is what receives the action of the verb. So direct object indicator would prepare the reader to see what is receiving the action of the verb. Which one of the items above prepares something to receive something?

Congratulations, if you picked plowshare, because that is exactly what a plowshare does. It prepares the earth to receive the seeds.

I know, this is all well and good, but someone out there is saying, “But, Emily, I want to hear about Jesus not all this grammar stuff.” We are getting there, just keep going!

Let’s skip back over to Revelation, where Jesus proclaims:

“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.” 22:13

How many of you know that’s probably not what he really said? Pick up your jaw, Ethel, and think about this with me. Was Jesus Greek? I don’t think so. In fact, I am pretty certain that he was Jewish, and being Jewish he would have probably referenced the Hebrew aleph-bet, not the alpha-beta, or even the alphabet.

And in the aleph-bet, the first and last letters are the aleph and tav, our direct object indicator. The word that prepares the reader to see the word that will receive the action of the verb. The word that shows us action alone is not enough if it is not received, if reality is not impacted, changed or transformed, then the action of the verb is an exercise in futility. And here is Jesus saying, he is the one through him God’s actions are translated into this realm, that it is through him we receive God’s goodness, love, and grace. Through Jesus the world sees the Father and witnesses our Father’s heart for us.

As I worked my way around this, I was brought back to the Gospel of John where we are told that:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God.  All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. John 1:1-3

Do you see that? All things were made through him. Just as the action of the verb flows through the direct object indicator, creation flowed through him. It is the same picture we see in Genesis 1:1.

But despite all this, it wasn’t until I wrote it out in the paleo-Hebrew that I just sat staring at the goodness and wonders of our Lord. In the paleo-Hebrew, the first letter of our word is an ox head. It stands for strength, power, authority, and protection. The second letter is two sticks and symbolizes a sign or mark. When you put the letters together in the paleo-Hebrew, you also put the ideas together. So one possible translation is a “sign or mark of authority and power.” Or perhaps “the authority and power of the sign.” Either way, all I know is that when I look at the picture, I see Jesus. Right there, in Genesis 1:1, always and forever, the beginning and the end.

The Best I've Got - For Now

Last week, I hit a wall. As I scurried from one crises to another, wondering what in the world God was up to, I got smacked with a rather brutal realization. I had forgotten how to pray.

Yeah, you read that right. I forgot how to pray.

I know that must sound weird to you, but think about how I felt. All of these years where prayer was such a huge part of my life, and then suddenly, I just couldn’t do it anymore. Every time I tried the words got in the way, and I felt as if I had been betrayed by my best friend.

Words are a huge part of my life. My days are spent sifting through them, polishing them, and placing them in a precise order to create an image, to illicit an emotion, or provoke another to thought. It is what I do, and it is a natural as breathing for me. They are my tools and my weapons in this world. They help me make sense of what is around me, and they offer a comforting order to the chaos of my life. Yet, here I was unable to string two together without them rebelling against my attempts to align them according to my need.

Oh, I would start to pray and then I would realize that I wasn’t praying at all. Sure the words still flowed through my head, but it wasn’t prayer. Instead, I was thinking about how I was going to use them for a blog post or in the next book. I was writing articles in my mind about how I pray or what I was praying about. I was formulating the next idea I was going to present to the world, trying to find the most brilliant arrangement of words to impress you, my reader. In short, I was talking about God but I wasn’t talking to God.

And there is a huge difference.

So I did something radical. I took some time off. I put away my computer and I didn’t write anything other than replies to messages. I have to tell you it was weird. After years of arranging my days around time to write, I felt a little out of sorts and at a bit of loss at what to do with myself. I am writer, writing is what I do, and so who am I when I am not writing? What defines me if I am not doing the one thing I know I have been called to do? What if this was permanent? What if God decided that I needed to just put it down for good? What if my writing had become too much of an idol in my life, and I had to smash it if I was going to be faithful to him? So many moments of existential angst!

And it wasn’t like I could talk him about it, I had forgotten how to pray. Remember?

That meant the next step was trying to remember. My first attempts were less than eloquent. In fact, they were pretty much just groans and a repetition of the “Father…Father, Father…….Father….. Father, Father, Father.” If I attempted any other words, I would fall back into my pattern of writing in my head. Somewhere along the way something began to happen, the words stopped being important. And my mind began to fill with images of me standing before him, holding out all the broken things and people in my life. I didn’t need words to define the image. It was all there. Me small and powerless to fix things standing before my Father and King with my tangled kite strings, broken dolls, and shattered teapots, making my silent appeal for him to take them from my outstretched hands.

I fell asleep that night feeling as if I had experienced a major breakthrough. I wasn’t trying to contain or define God with my words. I had allowed my mind and heart to be opened to just being in his presence, but then I was reminded – this was God I was dealing with. Things are never that simple, even when they are.

The next day, we began phase two of remembering how to pray and this is where things got icky. It seems just giving God all my broken stuff wasn’t good enough. He wanted more, and more specifically, he wanted me. He wanted me to get real with him, to be honest about how this was affecting me, and what I thought about it. This meant I had to actually feel all the stuff I was trying hide behind a façade of faith and spirituality. Wounds had to be probed, some dead tissue removed, and some pride amputated. It wasn’t pretty, and it hurt like blazes.

And none of this could happen if I was trying to get out of it by just writing about it. It seems that I have become rather proficient at using words that describe the condition of my heart to distance myself from actually experiencing the condition of my heart. I could not judge my progress by a word count or pages written. I was having to confront me, without the one thing that I had begun to think made me, well, me.

The whole process was too much to do sitting still. So I started walking more, and resisting the urge to take a trash bag with me to pick up cans or plugging in a podcast to distract me. I did a lot of fishing, contemplating life, God, and me. It is amazing the amount of thinking you can do while staring at a bobber dancing around on the water.

And then something happened. When I put aside all the things I had been using to hide out, the words started to flow. Angry words, hurtful words, and heart wrenching words. Not the kind of thing you put in a blog post or book, or at least not one where you are trying to encourage people to seek God. I began to tell him about how mad I was that all of this was happening in my life. I started explaining to him how he was falling down on his job, and how I was sick and tired of him not taking care of me and the ones I loved. I told him that I was hurt and mad that he hadn’t stepped up to defend the hearts and minds of those I love, and how he needed to stop them from being stupid, from hurting themselves. I told him my faith was wearing a little thin, and he needed to do something quick because I wasn’t sure that it was going to hold out much longer.

Then there were no more words. Just that sad empty feeling you have after you’ve released all the anger that held the sadness at bay.

I wish I could say this when I saw a burning bush or the clouds parted and a voice called down from heaven telling me that it would all be okay. Heck, I would have settled for a phone call telling me that the ones I love had come to their senses and there was sizable check in the mail box. But the truth is, nothing happened. Nada, zip, zero.

The wind just kept blowing across the water, the birds kept singing, and fish kept snubbing my minnows. No major revelations, no change in the state of the world, just me and God sitting on the lake shore not talking to each other.

I don’t know where we go from here. I can’t shake this idea that God is real and he has a purpose and plan in all of this. Intellectually, I get that, but I am still upset by the things that are happening in my world. It hurts. I hurt. Knowing that he loves me is all fine and dandy, but sometimes you just get the itch to feel like he loves you. To get a break from all this operating in faith and have something a bit more tangible, a bit more comfortable and secure.

For now, I am not operating on my feelings. My feelings are still a big tangled mess of kite string that are keeping me grounded. I am making the choice to believe, to trust, and to love. He knows I am not happy with how he’s handling all this, but right now I don’t have a whole lot of joy and happiness to give him. So I am giving him what I do have the anger, the sadness, the doubt, the confusion, and all those icky emotions that make so many Christians uncomfortable. I am not giving them to him because they are pretty or that is what he deserves. I am giving them to him because they are real and right now it’s the best I’ve got - for now.

It's Love. It's What I Do

This year has been a doozie. If one thing isn’t falling apart, another thing is exploding. Things, plans, people, and ideas going up in great big giant flaming balls of stupidity and lack. Most of the time I can just roll with the punches, walk it off, and move on to the next minor emergency, but lately that hasn’t been so easy to do.

The stuff breaking down is one thing. Fix the tractor, replace the air conditioner, and buy a new phone. It’s life. It’s what you do. Plans falling apart and dreams not coming true that hurts, but you get up and make a new plan, dream a new dream. It’s life. It’s what you do.

But the people, oh the people, that one is rough.

If you know me, you know that I am pretty good at separating you from me, my life from yours, and the things you chose from the things I want. It’s life. It’s what you do. But then there are people that you love, that you let in so deep that there is no separation. Their life is your life, and the things they chose are things that are now a part of your world, for better or worse. And when you watch the fuse to their life ignite, all you can do is duck and cover because you know this is going to hurt.

The temptation in these moments is to cut ties, to run away, and deny them the right to be a part of your world at such a deep level. God knows it would be easier. And I honestly find more than a morsel of comfort in the fact that even he felt this way.

If you don’t remember the story, it goes something like this –

God had just demonstrated his undivided love and devotion to the Children of Israel. He does amazing and wondrous things to secure their freedom when they turn into snot nosed little brats. Here he’s rained terror and destruction down on the Egyptian nation that had dared to abuse those he loved, and they are dying to go back to their abusers. And on the particularly rough days, I find his solution rather appealing:

“I have seen this people, and behold, it is a stiff necked people. Now therefore let me alone, that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them, in order that I make a great nation of you.” Exodus 32: 9, 10

Obviously, God did not carry through with this threat, but the point is this is his emotional response the situation. It is him being so honest about the feeling he has that it is shocking!

I think that so often in the Christian community we are told that if we really love someone you will never feel anger over their actions. We are told to forgive and forget, deny those oh-so-human emotions, and recognize that you have not say in the lives of others. Anger, we are told, is selfish and shows our need to control, but I don’t think that’s always the case.

Maybe my interpretation of this event is skewed, but I don’t think that God was angry just because people dared to worship another god. (In fact, that wasn’t what was going on at all. Check this out to see the story behind the story.) He’s not that selfish. I think his anger was the result of watching these people do something that he knew would hurt them. He knew the consequences of their actions far better than they did, they had been warned, and given the tools to make wise decisions. And instead of heeding his words, they acted out of their own wisdom and based their actions on the fear in their hearts.

Okay, so we aren’t God. I get that. I know that he has rights and privileges that are way beyond our paygrade, but I think there is something to be learned here – actually, there are a lot of somethings to be learned here, but let’s just focus on one.

God was angry because he loved those snot nosed brats, they were his snot nosed brats, and he was not going to let anyone needlessly hurt them – including themselves. His anger was proof of a love that can only be kindled by those you are passionate for, a love that demands the best for those we call our own, and a love that refuses to allow anyone to be less than who he created them to be.

Yet, even in this, he did not act in anger. He acknowledged his pain and frustration. He had a conversation with someone who also had a vested interest in the wellbeing of these people. He allowed them to receive the consequences of their actions, he continued to speak truth over them, setting boundaries and refusing to be okay with their self-destructive ways, and then when they came to their senses, he renewed his promise to be there by their side through the battles that lay ahead.

I wonder how many of us need a friend who will not let anyone hurt us – including ourselves? How many of us can use a friend who will become enraged at our own self-destructive tendencies and will go toe-to-toe with us when we go full blown idiot in our lives?

And I wonder how many times the person who almost stepped up was told that they had no right to be angry? No right to have a say in the lives of those they love? How often have people been told that this type of passion for another is a sin? So they step back, cut ties, and remove themselves from a relationship that is too painful to bear in silence and believing that to speak up would be improper and unloving by the standards of so many.

I don’t want to be that friend. I want to be the one who makes you mad occasionally, who sets you off for calling it like it is, and hurts your feelings with honesty. I may yell. I may scream. I may call your mama, daddy, or the cops if that is what it takes to keep you safe, but I never want to be the friend who was more concerned with being polite than I was in protecting your heart. So if you were on the receiving end of my harsh words over the past few months, know that this – It’s is love. It’s what I do.

Time Travel and Eternity

Time travel, the almost unavoidable constant of all thing sci-fi. Whether is slingshotting around the sun, the worm hole that somehow gets diverted due to the sun’s gravitational pull, an ancient ruin that acts as a gate, or some alien technology that allows us to travel back and forth between the future and the past, the idea of time travel has fascinated us as few other concepts have. For most this is but a flight of fancy, an errant hope of somehow correcting the evils of yesterday, or the hope of knowing what tomorrow holds. It is far flung dream of what we may one day achieve as the human race, the ultimate demonstration that we have cast off the chains of this temporal existence to experience wonders that are inaccessible in our present being.

Few of us ever consider as anything more than this, but what if time travel were possible? What if time did not have the power to define our reality as we currently experience it?

And why is that we are fascinated by something that every reasonable thought rejects? Why would we devote so much time, effort, and money into creating worlds within movies, books, and TV to explore a concept that defies all known logic? It makes no sense unless…

But wait, let me back up for a second. I haven’t lost my mind, and no, I didn’t suddenly come into possession of some whacky telephone both or magic mirror. I know this sounds as if I completely lost my grip on reality, but just roll with me for second. I know that there is a part of you that is going to resist the idea on gut level. I mean, time travel, come on? We all know how impossible that is, but what if we have been looking at it wrong? What if we have been so wrapped up in our experience of reality  - the one in which time in engulfs us, where we at the mercy of ticking clocks that define our days in terms of hours, minutes and seconds? What if our experience has caused us to look at time backwards and inside out?

So gets some ideas in place. Ideas that do not rely on our perceptions of time and space, but are rooted in the revealed truth of God in Scripture.

1. God is eternal. Psalms 102: 26, 27; Romans 1:20, 1 Peter 1:24, 25
2. God knows the beginning from the end. Isaiah 46:10, 48:12; Ecclesiastes 3:11; Revelation 22: 13
3. God’s experience of time differs from ours. 2 Peter 3:8
4. Time was created by God. Psalms 90, Colossians 1:16, 1 Timothy 4:4, Revelation 4:11

Now all of this has led to some very sticky theological questions: Does God exist outside of time? Within time? Is he eternally present? Just how much did Augustine borrow from Plato? I want you to watch this next move very closely, as I dodge all of them. Why? Because, I really don’t care and it’s not part of this discussion of time travel. The point is that time is God’s. He gets to decide how he experiences it and inhabits it. And I am ok with that, and if even if I weren’t it make a rat’s whisker’s bit of difference to him. One of the perks of being sovereign is you get to have your way every day. This is also where I resist explaining how a lot of you need to accept that little fact, and live your lives accordingly.

But moving on –

Let’s go back to that “unless” I left dangling up there.

It makes no sense unless…we were designed for eternity. For many of us eternity has been flattened into a timeline, two points eternally retreating from each other to the distant edges of our imaginations, but eternity is more than a line. It expands in all directions, more of an endless web rather than a line, encompassing all things past, present, and possible. And we crave it in depth of our being, to the point that we fantasize about being able to transcend the bounds of this time and move freely within the totality of its space. Our collective obsession demonstrates that truth Ecclesiastes 3:11 which tells us that God has placed eternity in the hearts of man.

And if this is a fundamental craving of humanity, how then do we fulfill that hunger that God has given us? I think the answer is simple – to draw near to the one who is eternal.

A plan as simple as the words of Psalm 145 which tells us that God draws near all who call on him. Or James 4:8 that tells us that if we draw near to God he will draw near to us. And Psalm 65:4 that declares that blessed is the one that God brings near to dwell in his courts, and how do we come into his courts? With praise! Psalm 100. I could go on, but I think you should be getting the idea. Praise is a key to being in the presence of the Eternal God.

Something happens when we start to praise, when we proclaim who he is, and let that reality flood our soul. Time and all that it contains is no longer what defines us or the realm we inhabit. We confronted by the God who is both Ancient of Days and the Lord of What Shall Be. We recognize that time does not hold our God captive, nor is his reality engulfed in time's dictates. Time, that cruel dictator of our lives, bows before our God and proceeds at his bidding and good pleasure. The ticking clock, the changing season, and passing moments become nothing more than tools that he picks up and lays aside as it suits him. That alone should stir our hearts to praise!

And when we praise him, we join our voices with those who have sang his praise since the dawn of time, and our songs will echo in the ears of those who follow. For his praises endure forever, as we are told in Psalms 111:10, and by choosing to praise him we are stepping into the realm of the eternal to experience something far greater than the here and now. To live beyond this tangible moment, to proclaim the events of history as a demonstration of his power for this age, and to proclaim his eternal reign not as some distant future event, but the defining element of our lives today. To lay hold of it all - past, present, and future - as our defining reality and reason to life our voice to him.

So perhaps we are not time travelers, not in the sense that we move through time, but rather that in those moments of praise time moves through us. The past, present, and future aligning in one splendid truth, our God is the God of all time and his steadfast endures forever. Love given since before the thought of creation and will endure past the edges of time, love that we chose to embrace today, so that we might know the God of Eternity in this moment.