From the time that I was doing small group ministry, I doubt that I can count on two hands the number of times I was accused of being a cult leader. Either to my face or as vague rumors. Of course, it was a combination of flagrantly abusing the word ‘cult’ and not quite knowing how to respond to a really tight knit small group.

We never passed around poison juice. We never entered into death pacts. Although, one time I did shave my head which, over the next few days, was copied by a number of the guys.

Even though the group had it’s problems and I still had a lot to learn about leading people (and still do), the reality was that good things were happening. The guys in the group and myself were learning a lot about what it meant to follow God and be a believer and have faith.

But every time one of these cult rumors would spread, on the outside I would laugh it off. But on the inside I was really insecure. I didn’t want people to think that about me. Eventually, criticisms like those caused me to respond at least a little reclusively. Reading in Nehemiah today reminded me of that time in life and ministry.

Nehemiah is rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem in the face of pretty heated opposition from it’s neighbors. After trying to convince him to stop several times before, a group of men write a letter to king Artaxerxes full of slander that, although from the outside it appears as though it could be true, it simply isn’t. The men present Nehemiah with the letter their threatening to send.

Then I sent to him, saying, "No such things as you say have been done, for you are inventing them out of your own mind." For they all wanted to frighten us, thinking, "Their hands will drop from the work, and it will not be done." But now, O God, strengthen my hands.

In hindsight, I would have liked Nehemiah’s insight and wisdom to take the accusations from his opponents and turn with them to God and say, “But now, O God, strengthen my hands.”

I think that’s pretty cool. Live and learn, I suppose.

As a younger reader of the bible, I used to think about the people who witnessed Jesus’ miracles. It seemed to me that they had an unfair advantage over people today. After all, who could argue with seeing someone raised from the dead? Yet, people today can only read about it.

But, as I grew into a better understanding of ‘destiny’, I also grew to understand that there are some people that will simply remain slaves to their own devices and will not believe, no matter what they see or hear.

That’s at least part of the idea I find in Jesus’ parable of Lazarus and the rich man. Lazarus was poor and hungry and he longed for the scraps off the rich man’s table. The rich man refused and eventually Lazarus died. Then some time later, the rich man did as well. Lazarus was ushered into paradise, while the rich man condemned to hell.

The parable goes that the rich man, from hell, calls out to Abraham who he sees far off in the distance. He asks him to send Lazarus to his brothers to warn them so that they wouldn’t suffer the same fate. Abraham’s answer may not be what we wanted to hear, but it’s the reality we live in:

"[The rich man asked], ‘Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my father’s house, for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.’ Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.’ ‘No, father Abraham,’ [the rich man] said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’ [Abraham] said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’ “

Of course, we can’t know who those people are, so in the details, it’s a somewhat moot talking point. However, if we have already believed, this is only more reason to thank God that we have been freed from our own bonds of stubbornness and rebellion.

I came upon Matthew-Henry’s exposition of parable of the shrewd manager in Luke 16:

The unjust steward is not set before us as an example in cheating his master, or to justify any dishonesty, but to point out the careful ways of worldly men. It would be well if the children of light would learn wisdom from the men of the world, and would as earnestly pursue their better object. The true riches signify spiritual blessings; and if a man spends upon himself, or hoards up what God has trusted to him, as to outward things, what evidence can he have, that he is an heir of God through Christ? The riches of this world are deceitful and uncertain. Let us be convinced that those are truly rich, and very rich, who are rich in faith, and rich toward God, rich in Christ, in the promises; let us then lay up our treasure in heaven, and expect our portion from thence.

I find it so interesting that a plain and perfectly just understanding of Jesus’ parable lies right before us all the while we read it. Yet, most people, me included, tend to have trouble reading it in any other way than a seeming permission of unjust behavior.

A strange perspective into the proneness of man’s heart.

I was having a discussion earlier today about how strange the power of music is. It’s can almost be like a drug whose primary affect is nostalgia. But more than simply reminiscent nostalgia. Like an intense nostalgia. Depending what you’re listening to, you can be instantly transported to a whole other era of life. You can feel just as you felt at another time.

There are times where a smart playlist on my iPod comes across a song from high school and, depending what I’m doing at the time, for those brief few minutes, I get to look at the world through eyes that have long since grown into something else.

It’s nothing short of bizarre. But after the conversation, it got me thinking about the time in Kings when Elisha couldn’t prophesy until they brought him a minstrel. When the music started playing, he was then able to prophesy (2 Kings 3:15).

“…Bring me a harpist."
      While the harpist was playing, the hand of the LORD came upon Elisha”

Although it probably doesn’t matter and there’s no way to know for sure, I can’t help but wonder what song it was that the minstrel played for Elisha. I’m betting that in God’s sovereignty, it wasn’t altogether supernatural that the song affected Elisha the way it did.

Of course, that’s just my speculation. Who can know for sure?

 
(photograph: artificial sunlight, 1/200, f/3.5, artificial light via 580ex)

Smoking hookah is one of my favorite new activities. My original experience with the hookah was several years ago when some friends started going to a local hookah bar on a regular basis to smoke. At the time I found it really annoying—mostly because I sensed a hint of pretention which may or may not have actually been there. But either way, I masked my personal bias against the hobby with some spiritual mumbo-jumbo which I’m sure I’d scoff at if I heard it today.

It’s a different story though. I can’t get enough of it (as a figure of speech, I’m not addicted to it. I just really enjoy it).

A few months back a friend who has long been into smoking hookah started inviting friends over to enjoy it together. That’s where I finally had my first experience with it. Shortly after that, my sister’s boyfriend gave me a small (but quality) hookah pipe that had gone unused in his basement for years. Since then, I’ve developed a great appreciation for it.

In a nutshell, for those who don’t know, a hookah is a water-pipe, usually used to smoke shisha—a wet, sticky, flavored tobacco. It was developed originally in India, then moved throughout the Middle East and is now gaining big popularity here in the States.

In a hookah, the tobacco is burned using indirect heat from a coal. The tobacco is placed in a ceramic bowl, covered with a tin screen, on which the hot coal is placed. When the user smokes, hot air is pulled through the screen, across the tobacco, filtered through cold water, and then inhaled. What is inhaled is a mix of water vapors from the shisha flavoring and smoke from the tobacco.

While it’s not altogether better for you than smoking anything else, the experience is completely different and almost entirely non-addictive. Which of course is a big plus.

But why do I write about this here? Because the hookah is more than a really soothing, relaxing activity to do while reading or watching a movie. It’s also an excellent conductor of conversation in the context of small community groups. Many of the best conversations I’ve had over the past few months have happened around a hookah pipe. I would equate it, in a way, to eating a meal together. But, hookah has a naturally mellowing affect on people. So conversations have the tendency to spend less time on flippant matters and more on things that really matter.

And, because it’s a mutually shared activity that groups can have a sense of shared “progress” in, It’s also a less awkward excuse to sit and have a conversation with someone than, say, coffee.

I have loved smoking hookah, and plan to continue to do so. I think in communities where people are open to it, it’s a great way to facilitate conversation without intimidating or creating a sense of expectation on people. Give it a shot. You might love it as much as I do!

Yesterday I hit Proverbs 7 in my reading. And in all of scripture, I think there is narrowly a poetic passage that cuts so cleanly.

For at the window of my house
   I have looked out through my lattice,
and I have seen among the simple,
   I have perceived among the youths,
   a young man lacking sense,
passing along the street near her corner,
   taking the road to her house
in the twilight, in the evening,
   at the time of night and darkness.

And behold, the woman meets him,
    dressed as a prostitute, wily of heart.
She is loud and wayward;
   her feet do not stay at home;
now in the street, now in the market,
   and at every corner she lies in wait.
She seizes him and kisses him,
   and with bold face she says to him,
"I had to offer sacrifices,
   and today I have paid my vows;
so now I have come out to meet you,
   to seek you eagerly, and I have found you.
I have spread my couch with coverings,
   colored linens from Egyptian linen;
I have perfumed my bed with myrrh,
   aloes, and cinnamon.
Come, let us take our fill of love till morning;
   let us delight ourselves with love.
For my husband is not at home;
   he has gone on a long journey;
he took a bag of money with him;
   at full moon he will come home."

With much seductive speech she persuades him;
   with her smooth talk she compels him.
All at once he follows her,
   as an ox goes to the slaughter,
or as a stag is caught fast
   till an arrow pierces its liver;
as a bird rushes into a snare;
   he does not know that it will cost him his life.

In the story, there are three main rolls. One of Solomon, the witness, seeing the youth walking to his doom. There’s the youth, who’s oblivious to the danger he’s walking into. And there’s, of course, the temptress representing whatever sinful desire allures a man—in the case of this proverb, lust.

While there are volumes that could be spoken about this set of verses, I noticed on in particular. While there are three rolls in this story, as Christians, we often fill all three of them.

I often times know the temptress and my approaching long before I get to her making me the witness. Yet, at the same time, by sheer power of will, I am able to convince myself into obliviousness making me the youth. And all the while, in many cases, it is my own sinful heart drawing me there, making me also the tempter.

Much like what we find in James 1:13-14:

“Let no one say when he is tempted, "I am being tempted by God," for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one. But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.”

The sin and the flesh are a mess of convoluted psychological and spiritual battles. Perhaps the most difficult of which is learning not to do the fighting ourselves.

Over the past few days, it’s been bizarre to see the social phenomenon surrounding Michael Jackson’s death.

People who had no real interest in Michael Jackson’s music are now pining to get their hands on it. People who, just days ago, were saying what a weirdo he was, are now extolling his qualities as a brilliant artist and businessman. Kids—most of whom are too young to have have any real nostalgia about the artist—are calling out for even some of the more obscure tracks.

Not unlike the King of Rock & Roll, people are coping with the loss with conspiracy theories and allegations that he’s not really dead, or that he was murdered. It’s likely that in 20 years we’ll be hearing scattered reports from seedy bars in Nevada of a skinny woman in a single white glove ordering martinis and a grizzled once-pop-fiend will shout, “Michael Jackson lives!” while the rest of us roll our eyes.

Now, I personally have never been a big fan of Michael Jackson. I’d be a liar if I didn’t get some laughs during his many various media scandals. But I think I’ve shared a respect for him because he was the conduit through which much of the music I do love has come (and of course his influence over Justin Timberlake). Last night, I made a very late night trip to 711. On the way, I felt compelled to listen to a few of Jackson’s tracks. And although I had no real grounds to, I did feel a certain sense of nostalgia and regret for the loss.

It was a weird experience, but I think that my mother really nailed it on the head. She said, “Michael Jackson is Americana.” Regardless of what we’ve thought of him, in so many ways he has been an embodiment of the American experience. Of American entertainment, publicity and gossip.

From an unbiased standpoint, I’m not sure there’s really much more you can say. It’s really nothing short of bizarre.