more about this sight

"you're packing a suitcase for a place that you've never been...a place that has to be believed to be seen"...'Walk On' by U2

WATERSHED: A voice in the wilderness. DARYL UNDERWOOD.

 

The concept of Centerpoint Christianity briefly stated is:

Christianity from the centerpoint outward.

Christianity from the climax forward.

This blog constitutes concepts for a new view of Christianity that begins with what is foundational and moves forward from that point. It is based on the assumption that we are being pulled towards something unseen and pushed from a place that once was.

What Centerpoint Christianity attempts to do is bypass some of the constraints imposed by metanarratives by using the life of Christ and particularly the climactic actions of Christ as beginning points.

It supports the conviction that God is essentially timeless. From this beginning point we endeavor to move outward from the definitive moment of the parousia (visitation) of Christ and forward to the future which functions as a type of magnet to "what can be--and is coming".

When we begin at the life of Christ and move outward as from the centerpoint of a web, rather than in a linear timeline of history, another wide picture emerges.


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« paul simon and js bach | Main | a poem »
Saturday
Feb122011

father's house

'A man can be an artist at anything, food or whatever if you're good enough at it. Creasy's art is death, and he's about to paint his masterpiece!'

'Where'd you get those scars? 'Birthmarks'. 'No they're not'

'These are the wounds I was given at the house of my friends'.

As I sit alone late into the night or early into the morning (which is it at 3 AM) I wonder what went wrong in my life. How did I get here? Am I the lost son of prodigal prose? Did I bring this on myself? I feel like I have landed in the pit of the swine sometimes. It feels like if I dwell in the house of disgrace. People pass by me and they say, 'What happened to you, didn't you used to be a pastor....?'  Sometimes what  I hear is 'he said he could save others, let's see if He can save Himself'. They don't say any of it aloud and they don't say it to my face. All the same it is said somewhere.

Exile. What makes for exile? Did I make my own trouble? Why do I feel like I dwell east of Eden? Was I expulsed, shown the door, or did I just walk away one day?

And I think about Jesus so much. He was exiled from the city by His own. He was rejected from the community by his friends. Did He bring this on Himself? Surely He knew how this would play out. It wasn't as though passion week and its tragic end took Him by surprise. I wonder 'Did he contribute to the scene?', and if so was there any other way? Is he like the 'lost Son' finding Himself outside the 'holy place'? 'Surely you knew you would find me in my Father's house', he once said with a confidence of a person who felt at home in the Temple courts. But he died outside the temple as a man. He died in the most ignominious way, figuratively in the deep. He descended into the lowest place on earth...death bu crucifixion--death alone---slow death exiled outside the city.

From time to time I long for Father's House but am not really welcome there anymore. I think perhaps the elder son, my brother, my friend, tends the door now. The Father is hidden away. His house has been ransacked. I think He knows about it all. It occurs to me that He has departed to find another place to dwell. A place not made by human hand. If someone asks,

'What are these wounds on the heart of your soul?' Jesus will reply, 'These are the wounds I was given at the house of my friends'. Sometimes I feel that now. I see Jesus all over. I saw him in a movie called 'Man on Fire'. Little Dakota Fanning quizzically questions Denzel Washington when she sees marks on the top of his hand.

'Where'd you get those scars?'

'Birthmarks' he quips.

'No they're not' she says with conviction.

I think Jesus was born with a mark. A stigma. We say stigmata. All the same. He was marked for this. He carries that scars. I have a scar. I had my lower colon removed. The wound infected following surgery. It left a gaping hole three inches below my belly button. I say it looks like I was shot by a revolutionary war musket. It sinks down. It hurts still. Almost all the time. It is a reminder of the wound. Scars are reminders. Jesus scars remind us of the cross. He was wounded in the house of his friends.

Our church hosted a musician named Michael card once. He told a story about a song he wrote entitled 'Known by the Scars'. He wasn't certain that the song should be released. He thought it might be theologically askew. he was visiting a hospital for kids with cancer. A small girl came up for nowhere. She said, See these scars. One day they will all be gone and I'll be in heaven. But Jesus still will have his scars. He released the song. I am not sure what to make of these sorts of things; why they happen and all. But I think Jesus will be known by His scars. They are wounds of war.

People don't get it when I say such things. They won't ask any more questions usually. They simply go on their way. I don't really blame them. I mean who wants to be in the lowest place by choice? We do all we can to avoid this place.

So I stay clear of my Father's house and I don't answer their questions anymore. I have learned to keep my mouth shut here in the pit with Jesus. He comforts me with his presence. He chose to be here. Who wants to be in a pit by choice? Who finds himself outside the gates, outside the door? Jesus does. And here you will find Him with all of the prodigal children. They tabernacle here with the Father's favored son. And when I walk through the shadow of the valley of death He is with me. He knows what it is like here.

'He saved others but can't save himself! He is the king of Israel. Let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him.'

But late at night I miss my Father dreadfully.  Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?

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