So as theeffect picks up steam, I thought I should at least put a placeholder here. As soon as the book is to bed, I plan on posting here more regularly, especially as a means to stay in touch and stimulate discussion with effect members.

So it’s been a long time coming for both the book and theeffect. The book, called The Fifth Way, should be (self) published in another month or so; I’ll let you know when its available. Keep checking our site for updates on theffect and changes on the ground here. And I’ll see you back here soon…

The smell of apple, almond, and sycamore trees in blossom. The sight of riotiously colorful wildflowers in bloom on a hillside above the Sea of Galilee. the sound of thousands of variegated waterbirds–egrets, herons, and cranes–following their intricate and beautiful migratory patterns up the Jordan River rift valley, just at the right time. The black basalt hills above the Sea of Galilee, providing rich, dark, but very thin soil upon which to sow. The strong winds blowing in from the Mediterranean at particular times of the day.

In such a setting, timing was essential for success in planting. In Yeshua’s day, the whole area of Galilee was much wetter than it is now–virtually a jungle in many areas. Water buffalo and lion roamed about. To travel safely through this wild landscape depended on knowing when certain areas were flooded, when animals that might be dangerous to humans were present, and when and where one could find edible food.

Yeshua experienced all of these sensations of the natural world around him as it followed the rhythm of Sacred Unity. To describe this ryhthm of rightness and ripeness, the Aramaic language uses the word taba, usually translated “good.” (from The Hidden Gospel, Neil Douglas-Klotz)

The people of 1st century Galilee, just like people today living in agrarian and subsistence cultures, were intimately connected with the rhythms of nature, of the turning of the globe, night and day, the circuit of the moon through its phases, the slow progression of the seasons. They lived close to the earth, they could hear its heartbeat and depended on its pulse for their very lives. To be in harmony with the land’s rhythm was certainly”good;” it was critical to maintaining their lives: when to sow, when to reap, when to go out, when to come in. But we as modern, industrial people don’t understand this anymore. We can spend years of our lives completely isolated from the rhythms of nature, in hermetically sealed, air-conditioned cars and houses, never seeing a sunrise or sunset, our bare feet never really touching the earth–even electrically isolated from the ground by rubber-soled shoes. To us, “good” means something else entirely.

When Yeshua said taba, good, he meant ripe, ready, mature, at the right place and the right time. In harmony with and capable of flowing seamlessly with everyone and everything. This is “good.” And so then, the opposite of all this, is bisha, usually translated ‘bad” or “evil.” But not evil as we think of evil, bisha simply means not ripe, not ready, immature, out of harmony and rhythm.

Let the significance of these words wash over you for a moment and really sink in.

When we think of being a good person, we think of someone who does “good” things, right things. But a good person is not someone who simply does the right thing, but someone who has learned, is ready and capable of seeing the goodness of true relationship, the goodness of really being as one with someone else, in unity with God and each other. And as a result, will do everything and anything in his or her power to foster and protect that unity and those relationships. If this seems a subtle difference, look deeper; it makes all the difference in the world. Being “good” is not about behavior, about following codes or rules, but about being in love with unity, loving being one with someone else, and living accordingly.

Being “bad” then, being evil, is also not about doing bad things, but about being incapable, unready to see the possibility of unity anywhere, of being too unformed to see the goodness, the necessity of true relationship in life. The actions of such a person are random with respect to relationship building–harmful, hurtful, even catastrophic, because they aren’t ready to see what is really good. Everyone wants the best for themselves, but the ripe person understands that the best, the taba, is centered in unity, and the unripe person searches everywhere else, leaving a swath of destruction in their wake.

Yeshua said, “Be perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect.” This saying either fills us with dread, because no one is perfect, and how can we ever hope to be…or we just let it pass over and through us as one of those incomprehensible sayings that doesn’t have a lot of meaning in the real world. But Yeshua is saying something critically meaningful and doable here. The word for perfect doesn’t mean perfectionistic or without mistakes, but complete and whole, mature, ready…ripe. It’s the same concept. We can be as whole and complete as our Father in heaven is, in the sense that we can also see the goodness in being at the right place at the right time for each relationship and moment in our lives.

This is how God continues to love us even when we are following unlovely ways. Committing unlovely acts. God sees beyond the actions themselves to the seed of ripeness that lies within each of us, the possibility of bearing ripe fruit that we all carry with us, no matter how immature we may be at the moment. No matter how how much we don’t understand that our unripe actions are directly defeating the purpose of having the completion that each of us desires in our lives. And when we act unlovingly, Yeshua says, “Forgive them, Father. They don’t know what they are doing.” And this is literally true.

This is why Communion is so important as a symbol of the Christian faith. For two thousand years, it’s been the primary focal point of the faithful. Firstly, it’s a time of gathering and community, where we sit around a common table and eat as one with a common minds and hearts. But something more. Yeshua uses bread and wine to get his point across. Bread, lakhma, in Aramaic doesn’t just mean bread, but as it shares the same roots with hokhmah, the word for wisdom, it means the source of all sustenance, physical, emotional, spiritual–the very wisdom of God, everything we need or will ever need. Yeshua is saying that that wisdom, that provision, is his body. He and the Father are one. Everything that the Father is, Yeshua is–it has become part of himself. So he invites us to eat, to take it in, and become one with him just as he is one with the Father. To become “perfect” as he and the Father are perfect. Take this and eat, make it who you are as well.

And at the end of the supper, he took the cup. The cup of his dama. His blood. But dama doesn’t just mean blood, but also juice, sap, essence, in some contexts, even wine. To the ancient Jews, the blood was the life force; it was what carried life, and so was sacred. It was literally the essence of all that a person was. Yeshua says to drink. Take this life force, this animation of who he is and make it who you are as well. The wine, the Jewish symbol of joy and celebration mixed with the essence of Yeshua’s life is the powerful symbol Yeshua is using to bring us to taba. And when we eat and drink, we remember Yeshua, as he asked us to, in the fullest sense of that word. We remember not just by thoughts in our minds, but by every action, choice, and the living out of each relationship in our lives. Every moment of our lives.

Taba and bisha–ripeness and unripeness. Lakhma and dama–wisdom and essence. These are the words and symbols Yeshua used to help us become complete. But words lose their meaning with time and translation. And symbols lose their ability to point to truth as they devolve into ritual. It’s up to each of us to keep the meanings written on our hearts. Not to simply follow cold rules and forms, but to see the goodnes in each face and life we encounter. And because we have eaten the lakhma and have drunk the dama, to take our place as a taba people, a complete people–full of ripe fuit–ready, willing, able, at the right place, at the right time to celebrate the unity we experience with God and each person who shares this moment with us.

that was so needed something drew me to this web site tonight ive listened to your station forever. my life and family have been going throug so much the past few years and ive been finding myself wondering why? i stopped praying for awhile because it only depressed me more when praying was only a reminderof how awful things have become. then i felt detached not only from my life, but from God. that is when i realized just how much God has been there step by step keeping me from going insane. I have 6 kids and 2 stepdaughters yes total of 8. My husband turns out to not be as much of a Christian as he made out to be 6 years ago. so there is sucha struggle. To makea long story short thank you for letting me feel like its okay to feel whatever and He wont leave me

I’m posting this open response because Deb wrote anonymously, so I can’t respond to her directly.

But maybe she’ll come back and see this. And if she does, I want her to know how grateful I am that she wrote and shared a bit of her life with us. As I read her note, my heart was breaking for her, and at the same time I was so grateful that she found a bit of relief and solace in the words she found here. How often do we all need just a bit of peace in difficult situations? A moment when the wolves are held at bay so we can catch our breath and find strength to move out once more.

Deb, yes, it is perfectly okay to feel whatever you’re feeling right now–with all the pressures and responsibilities in your life, with all the faces in your home that look to you for so much–there is so little time for anything but the daily necessities. And though just about every line in your message could generate an entire book in response, I do want to emphasize just one thing right now: that you’re not alone, even when it feels that way. That God really is there in the silence or the loneliness or the craziness of our households. And you’re also not alone because there are so many of us out here going through the same thing, feeling the same disconnect at times, and then finding new ways to understand our relationships with God and each other that weren’t necessarily taught in Sunday school.

Here’s a prayer from Thomas Merton that has helped me immensely over the years:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

You’re in a very difficult situation right now, Deb, but your desire to please God, your desire to be a good mother for all your children, to be a good wife, a good person is, in itself, so incredibly pleasing to God that you can’t even imagine his pleasure in you and how he loves you. No matter how you may be feeling about the job you’re doing or the results you see, God sees your desire and is one proud papa.

Start there, Deb. Plant a stake in the ground at the place of God’s love for you, and let everything else in you life revolve around that point. Don’t let that stake move. Let it convince you all over again of God’s love and pleasure in you. As Merton says, we can’t always see it, or how it will work itself out, but God’s love will never leave us, and everything really will be alright. And here’s the kicker, we don’t have to wait for heaven for this to happen, because once we really begin to understand and see how we are loved, heaven comes to us. Right here and now. Even if our circumstances don’t change right away, we can begin to see them in a different way, with less fear, that allows a way through with the awareness of God’s presence in every moment.

I don’t know if this helps any further or if you’re even reading this, Deb, but just know I’m praying for you to begin seeing yourself the way God sees you–because that’s what it really means to be born again.

Pastor Dave

“The relational dynamic with God is mysterious, personal, intimate, lively, and vibrant. Some days it’s effervescent; other days it’s serious. There are times in our relationship with God when we want to worship Him radically, to explode with adoration for Him. Other times we’re drawn to lie on our faces and be still in His presence. Some days He wants us to get out of the prayer room and go do something. Other days He wants us to stop being busybodies and sit down and chill out. Don’t ask me why He wants what He wants. The Christian life involves a mysterious, relational dynamic with a loving God, and lots of people have trouble navigating its ambiguities. But we are like Him, and He is like us—more than we might think.”

I was thinking how pervasive is the explicit and implied message today in the church and religious/spiritual circles that we need to be feeling God’s presence and action in our lives. That feeling him is the actual indicator of his presence. The truth is, some days you feel…nothing at all.
Is that acceptable? Is the non-feeling of God the indication that something is wrong with our relationship with him?

Yes, it’s acceptable. And no, it’s no indication that anything is wrong. In fact, the non-feeling is really the essential part of the process. This is important for us to understand because it can be the source of so much grief, personal recrimination, and distraction. The spiritual journey is actually an unfelt process. We don’t “feel” things of the spirit, because they reside below human emotions and thoughts. But often the spiritual breaks through and out into the emotions and cognition, and there we are, feeling something. And it can be wonderful. But the spiritual process is cooking along whether we feel it or not, if that is our desire, and we are pursuing God earnestly in our lives. As Thomas Keating says in his book, Invitation to Love, “We don’t have to feel it, but we do have to practice it.”

The ancient church always understood this. They considered emotional responses, and charisms/gifts of the spirit to be “consolations,” felt responses that the new believer needed to begin the journey–a honeymoon of sorts. As the person matured spiritually, those consolations faded, the training wheels removed so faith could function as it should–without a safety net. So there is the spiritual process, and there are emotional responses, and there are gifts of the spirit. The confusing part is that they can and often do occur together, but they are not one and the same thing. And emotions and gifts of the spirit are certainly no indication of spiritual growth or maturity. Think for a moment. We see very young people expressing emotion in religious settings and performing spiritual gifts, with little or no spiritual maturity. Sometimes the gifts occur spontaneously in someone completely unprepared spiritually. Conversely, we see older people who’ve dedicated their lives to God for decades, with little or no felt responses or manifested gifts.

Emotions and gifts and spiritual connection seems to have gotten connected as romantic notions of love became more culturally pervasive after the Renaissance, but it’s essential to de-link these parts of our lives. Why? Because often we make emotional ecstasy and spiritual gifts the proof of our or others’ spiritual status. We put pressure on ourselves and burdens on others. Or we end up chasing the emotional highs or spectacular gifts for their own sake–becoming emotional junkies–rather than seeking the true spiritual identity of our Father. In fact, the ancient church traditionally looked at spiritual gift with suspicion, as a realization that the more spectacular the gift, the harder for the person to remain humble, which the church understood was much more important.

Seek first the Kingdom and all else will be added. What may be added are beautiful emotions and gifts. Cause for celebration. But let’s remember that the Kingdom to Jesus is simply the awareness of God’s presence in this moment through our identification with his Spirit. That’s what we seek. And it’s very quiet and still. And it needs no visible means of support. And provides none. As it should be.

The senior pastor of one of the mega-churches here in Orange County who just stepped down for at least 6 months to re-evaluate his life, told a friend of mine that he was “post-theology” at this point in his life. It was an interesting way to put something I’ve been experiencing myself increasingly for the last couple of years as I’ve tried to pastor and teach both within and outside a formal church setting. I’ve taken certain beatings for my beliefs/models through this period, and I’ve been thinking about this whole concept and process of theology to which I’ve dedicated a great part of my life. I’m now convinced that theology is simply our best expression of the inexpressible, our attempt to make sense of things we just can’t know herenow. Or better, a way of describing the experienced action of God in our lives. And so, by definition, it’s all only partially accurate at best, and complete nonsense probably more than we’d ever want to imagine. And yet we fight wars both large and small, kill, excommunicate, and generally hurt each other’s feeligs over these models we construct–not realizing that no one has it all right anyway. Do we really think that any one of us has it all right? That we really have God all figured out? As Thomas Aquinas said, “A comprehended God is no God at all.” And to paraphrase Brennan Manning, I wouldn’t want a God I could understand.

But having said all that, theology is still necessary and useful if we put it in its proper place in life. Our own personal theology can be beautiful in that it can drive us forward in love and help us see over the disabilities life has handed us or we have handed ourselves. Like my friend, we can use the lever of theology to see God more clearly moment by moment. Or not. Theology is a two-edged sword that can cut the other way and debilitate us further, if misconceived or misused. And so I’m at the point of just wanting to know the tree by the fruit as Jesus instructed. Anyone who is caring for children and treating others with respect and love is someone I want to know, someone I’ll stand shoulder to shoulder with anytime, anywhere. The rest just doesn’t matter. If our intellectual understanding of ultimate reality is what ultimately saves, then truly, God help us all. No, our understanding doesn’t matter in such things except as the means by which we get to the point in our lives that caring for children and showing respect and love for each other becomes vitally important. Getting to that point. That matters.

And how do we get there? How do we develop a personal theology? It’s in our own prayer life that we become convinced, that we see clearly something that we know to be true. A Catholic priest once told me this when I was trying to argue a theological point from the Bible about 15 years ago. He help up his hand and said, “All I can tell you is what I’ve become convinced of. Go become convinced of what you’re convinced of.” I thought it was a cop-out at the time. Now I know it’s the only way to live this life. Our personal theology will come out of our personal experience of God in our lives. There is no other way to learn such a thing, because such a thing is not transferrable between humans. What we become convinced of is ours alone. Our ruby slippers. We may find ourselves lined up with someone else’s conception, but we all must arrive under our own steam. Teaching theology, as I still do, really is a contradiction in terms, but at the same time, I realize that in order to help anyone to get to the point that they are willing to let go of everything they think they know in order to become convinced of what God is really showing them, we need the classic tools of theology to deconstruct old forms rather than to construct new ones. Take us down to ground zero, to the moment where God really lives.

The Chinese philosopher Chuang Tzu once said, “The purpose of a fish trap is to catch fish. Once the fish is caught, the trap is forgotten. The purpose of a rabbit snare is to catch a rabbit. Once the rabbit is caught, the snare is forgotten. The purpose of words is to convey ideas. Once the ideas are grasped, the words are forgotten. Where can I find a man who has forgotten words? He is the one I would like to talk to.”

The purpose of theology is to catch God, to get us to the point of trusting God enough to fall back into his embrace and experience who he really is and not who we might imagine him to be. And once the personal experience of God is grasped, then the theology can be forgotten. In this way, theology is properly formed and useful. If not, then not. Theology is not and never should have been a litmus test for our acceptability to God. Or to each other. That’s abomination. We can properly use theology to build belief, and belief to promote faith, and faith to produce experience and trust in God. Then wrapped in his embrace, as Paul Harvey says, we get the rest of the story. And we become convinced, and our lives begin to shine–full and heavy with sweet fruit. Beyond words. Beyond ideas even. Spirit to spirit. Heart to heart. Life to life.

Where can I find a person who has forgotten theology?

I don’t think most of us Christians would agree with that today. Don’t we believe that direct communication with God is possible? If not, what’s all this worship time and prayer time and gifts of the spirit all about? Of course, some folks don’t believe in the gifts anymore either. Those stopped with the Apostles. But the church all the way up through the Enlightenment had a rich mystical tradition. Now, there’s that word again. Mystical. Mystic. Mysticism. It’s gotten a bad rap, being now intertwined with New Age elements, but a mystic is simply someone who believes in and practices direct experience and communication with God here and now. Seems to be pretty descriptive of any of us sitting this side of Deism.

But at the same time, we place so much emphasis on the Scriptures alone, that the other forms of special revelation are atrophying in our own lives. Before there were Scriptures, there was special revelation alone: direct communication with God, mystical experiences such as dreams, visions, prophecies, and miracles–it was from these experiences that God-inspired, God-breathed people wrote…scripture. And they saw that scripture as living and active–containing the ability to create more special revelation, direct communication, mystical dreams and visions and words of knowledge in the people who read them and took them to heart.

Everything we can’t know about God from simple observation of nature can only come from God himself in the direct communication that is possible between us. Once communicated, once breathed into us, we now have something to talk about, to write about ourselves. And once we are God-breathed, then we are inspired and our writings and talkings will be inspired. Just as inspired as Scripture? I believe so. Without the authority, certainly. And subject to the checks and balances that Scripture provides. Absolutely. But inspired? Yes.

We need to vigorously pursue a full life of special revelation. To look in all the directions from which God speaks. The Bible, the reading of Scripture, is only a third person experience until we make it second and eventually first person in the exercise of our own mystical prayer life. That’s the goal: to hear God’s voice daily. The scriptures are one tool God uses. There are many more.

Also, keep checking the articles at theeffect. Go here and then to articles/thisweek for the new stuff and articles/random for the latest there.

Journal Entry
September 21, 6:45 AM

Down by the pool near the waterfall in semi-darkness listening to the water. Are you in the water, Lord? When the leaves move high overhead, are you in the trees? Where are You? Where do I go to listen? What do I listen for? How do I listen? Do I strain? Do I relax? Is it obvious? Subtle?

Elijah in the cave hiding from Jezebel knew how to listen—what to listen for. Even in his despair and selfpity, his desire to die, to give up. He knew the sound of your voice. When the wind tore into the mountain, he knew you were not there. The earthquake, the fire—the same. But when the still voice, the whisper barely displaced the air at the back of his cave, he wrapped his mantle around his face and went out to meet You. I love that image. Silent compliance. Obedience. Submission.

I look down and I see ants on the ground swarming over something. Carrying off pieces of it in the long snaking column back to their queen. Such great activity, effort. So completely silent. I look—no sound. Yet I imagine if I was suddenly ant-size, standing near, the sound would be of a fierce battle or frenzied construction site. Tearing, scraping, scuffling, buzzing. I’d put my hands over my ears and run. But hearing nothing, I sit and watch. Soundproof. My ears are too big for such things. The mass of my eardrums cannot be moved, vibrated by such small variations in air pressure. If I could somehow thin them out, refine them, a new world of sound would open up until I could hear the ants.

I think that’s where you are, Lord. Right in front of me like these ants. Shouting, talking, waving at me right before my face. But I hear only what I’m capable of hearing. See what I’m willing to see. Relate as my spiritual, emotional maturity dictates. I think your revelation is all around me and I walk right past—through—in despair because I can’t find it.

Does it frustrate you, Lord? That I am so deaf and blind? That my ears and spirit are too thick and heavy to be moved by You? Do You get tired of waving your arms and shouting from behind the glass I put up between us?

Elijah knew how to listen. Yet still despaired. I can’t hear, and despair too. Whose despair is blacker? The despair of knowledge or ignorance?

Elijah came out of his cave at Your call.

I only pray that I hear when You call me out of mine.