Announcement for my Dear Readers: This is the first of a series. No, I haven’t given up my other series (Early Marriage and whatever comes next). I’m just searching for a sane way of planning my blogging life. So beginning today, I’ll post regular (not daily) comments on George MacDonald’s sonnets for the month of July, as found in his Diary of an Old Soul. Read the rest of this entry »
I’m writing this on July 4, Independence Day in the USA. A day that’s all about freedom. That intangible, inalienable ‘right’ highly valued in our national rhetoric.
When I was teaching theology I couldn’t help noticing how many seminarians defined Christian freedom as free will. The kind that makes choices—yes or no. As some said with fervor, ‘You can take away my house, and even my life, but don’t you dare try to take away my free will!’
I understand what they want to protect—their own freedom of choice, as a kind of inalienable right. Something God gave them that needs to be protected at all costs. The freedom to choose right or wrong, this church or that church, to believe and live this way or that way.
The ability for human beings to makes choices of any kind comes from our Creator. Yet I wonder. Do we understand the meaning of Christian freedom?
Even if I’m speaking of generic freedom, I’m not free to choose just anything. If I think I am, I’m overlooking most of my history.
In fact, I didn’t get to choose much of anything when I entered this world.
On the other hand, I don’t believe everything about me and the course of my life was or is chosen by a higher power or some shadowy political system.
My decisions count, though not every decision is equally weighty. What I wear today isn’t nearly as life-changing as choosing to marry this person instead of that person.
Still, I can choose to live in what I’d call false or make-believe freedom—as though I were God. Or the Queen of the Universe. But I am neither of these, and acting as though I were wouldn’t make it so.
My freedom as a Christian is about one thing.
It’s about freedom to choose life as defined by the Holy One
who created life and chose Jesus Christ (not me)
to be the person who shows us what a free and faithful life looks like.
My Creator doesn’t force this on me. Yet as a follower of Jesus, it’s the only truly free choice. Anything else would be pledging allegiance to some other god — to myself, or to some other human being or system of thought.
I’ve chosen to frame my life choices with reference to the narrative that runs through Hebrew and Christian Scriptures. That doesn’t mean it’s easy to negotiate relationships or the moral and ethical dilemmas that face all of us daily.
It does, however, mean I’m committed to being guided by (1) the life of Jesus Christ who shows us what freedom looks like, and (2) by the reality that I serve but one God—my Creator, Redeemer, and Sustaining Spirit.
It also means I’m free to be who I am—one of God’s beloved daughters and sons. Nothing more and nothing less.
I’m free to choose to love and serve God with all my heart, follow Jesus, and love my neighbor as myself. I’m also free to return home to God as often as needed—as the prodigal daughter I am, or as the self-righteous stay-at-home daughter I also recognize in myself.
Finally, I’m free to say No to others who demand my unswerving allegiance, or pretend to be my King or Queen for a day or a lifetime. In the end, saying No might mean my death–as it did for Jesus Christ and still does for many of his followers.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 4 July 2015
Image found on internet at seedquote.jpg
Here’s a happy follow-up to yesterday’s post. I’m guessing Amy Carmichael and I are not of similar temperaments when it comes to heavy daily burdens. Maybe you can identify with this poem better than I can! Read the rest of this entry »
I seem to have inherited—or imbibed from some putrid well—a long-faced, morose and sanctimonious approach to duty.
When I was growing up, my parents and teachers sometimes made us say we were sorry for hurting or disobeying someone. Sometimes I pretended to be sorry. That’s because the way I saw it, it didn’t really matter whether we were truly sorry, or who was really in the wrong.
What mattered most Read the rest of this entry »
What kind of tree am I? I don’t know for sure. I’d like to be a poem tree. Reaching out and up to the heavens, blown by the wind of God’s Spirit, sheltering birds, bearing fruit, sinking my roots deep into the ground, soaking up water, thriving in sometimes hostile circumstances. The kind of tree Psalm 1 describes.
A tree planted by living water
That brings forth its fruit in its season.
Its leaves don’t wither;
Whatever it does, it prospers.
Something like that. I don’t think there’s a blueprint, or that I would look like every other tree.
Poem trees—surely you’ve seen one—don’t have just one way of communicating. Yet their impact is simple. They point (like a good sermon or lesson) to the inexplicable. The way a life sometimes can.
This brings to mind Jesus Christ. Not just as a human being and God’s beloved son-child, but as a tree. What kind of tree was he?
Maybe he was a poem tree. Able to point with ordinary words to the inexpressible, to what we discern through and beyond spoken or written words. The truth about God and about us. Grand, yet simple.
As simple and grand as a common, ordinary apple tree. Known and loved worldwide. Dependable, not full of exotic promises about heavenly hybrids that may offer curb appeal, but end up being a disappointment. Just another pretty ad.
Jesus Christ the Apple Tree. I first heard this song in the 1980s when I was studying theology. The lyrics captivated me. I can’t be Jesus Christ the apple tree. Nonetheless, as a poem tree I want to bear a small resemblance to the simple, poetic significance of this one life. I also want to rest a while, a very long while, beneath its shade.
To hear a performance of Elizabeth Poston’s haunting tune, click here. It takes only 2 minutes, 42 seconds. Well worth a listen!
Jesus Christ the Apple Tree
The tree of life my soul hath seen
Laden with fruit and always green
The tree of life my soul hath seen
Laden with fruit and always green
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the apple tree
His beauty doth all things excel
By faith I know but ne’er can tell
His beauty doth all things excel
By faith I know but ne’er can tell
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the apple tree.
For happiness I long have sought
And pleasure dearly I have bought
For happiness I long have sought
And pleasure dearly I have bought
I missed of all but now I see
‘Tis found in Christ the apple tree.
I’m weary with my former toil
Here I will sit and rest a while
I’m weary with my former toil
Here I will sit and rest a while
Under the shadow I will be
Of Jesus Christ the apple tree.
This fruit does make my soul to thrive
It keeps my dying faith alive
This fruit does make my soul to thrive
It keeps my dying faith alive
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the apple tree.
* * *
Lyrics published in Divine Hymns and Spiritual Songs in 1797,
written by Joshua Smith/William Northup
Tune by Elizabeth Poston, 1905-1987, sung here by
The Choir of King’s College, Cambridge, about 1993.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 25 June 2015
Photo from ashridgecider.co.uk
My blogging friend Bill was diagnosed with ALS in 1996, the same year my sister Diane was. His journey is different, yet his spirit has the same razor-sharp focus on what’s really important. This recent post is for all of us. Enjoy it! Then go to About Bill and read his story. You won’t be disappointed.
Some might be disappointed, but this is not one of those quizzes like I see posted on Facebook. (There actually is one of those quizzes with this same title, but I didn’t take it because I was afraid that the results would show that I was Charlie Brown’s Christmas Tree).
Ten or twelve years ago, let’s just say eleven, Mary and I were shopping at Home Depot. After finishing our shopping in the store, we wandered out to the garden department to look for some small trees. It was November, and most of the plants were marked down because they were making room for Christmas trees.
Mary got hung up looking at wreathes and other boring items, so I cruised my wheelchair over to go look at trees. As it turned out, there were not many trees left, and I didn’t see anything I was interested in. Just when I was…
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Saint Cecilia with an Angel, Orazio Gentileschi (1563-1693)
Amy Carmichael’s life might be summarized by one word: Interruptions. Here’s her poetic internal dialogue about this daily dilemma. My comments follow. Read the rest of this entry »
When I was studying theology in the late 1970s, I got excited about Karl Barth’s descriptions of sin. Weird? Maybe. At any rate, I’ve been thinking about one sin in particular—sloth. It’s one of the seven deadly sins. Often understood as laziness, as aptly demonstrated in the photo above.
It all started with my post about the mouth of a labyrinth. Read the rest of this entry »
Mature Dawn Redwood at Longwood Gardens
Yesterday we returned to Longwood Gardens. The photo above is from a stand of towering old trees. George MacDonald’s sonnet for the day had already caught my eye. Here it is, with my take on it below. Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 