… and I’m not talking about Hurricane Katrina.

This spiritual storm is forming on the west coast, according to a couple of recent posts by Salguod, and may determine the course – or courses – that churches in the International Church of Christ fellowship may soon take.

It seems that a Los Angeles ICOC congregation has come up with its own version of A Christian Affirmation (drawn up by folks within the Church of Christ fellowship from which ICOC withdrew some years ago – and between whom some have opened a dialog of reconciliation). The new document is called the STATEMENT OF UNIFIED BELIEFS, PRACTICES, AND BROTHERHOOD.

This, apparently in response to former ICOC leader Kip McKean’s statement – also quoted by Salguod, proposing (from Portland, Oregon) to revive “dying, former ICOC churches” by helping “any way we can” in their quest to be “‘free to choose’ whom to submit to.”

I join Salguod and others who are saddened by this turn of events, and hope you will remember this group of believers in your prayers.

I’m not sure it’s ever a good thing when believers feel compelled to draw up documents agreeing on what they must do and must not do and must believe and must not believe and who’s in and who’s out.

– Instead of emphasizing what Christ has done … and that no one in the world is outside of His love … and the incredible fact that He believes in us to share this good news with those He loves.

Okay, it’s 4:30 a.m. and I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve put this thought to pixels.

It’s not a new idea.

It goes all the way back to Isaiah – 29:16, to be exact – where the prophet says we get everything backwards:

You turn things upside down, as if the potter were thought to be like the clay! Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, “He did not make me”? Can the pot say of the potter, “He knows nothing”?

Isaiah’s telling us we need to back off how we think God should have made us; accept His sovereignty, His wisdom; and be what He made us.

It’ll get tough for us if we don’t (45:9):

“Woe to him who quarrels with his Maker, to him who is but a potsherd among the potsherds on the ground. Does the clay say to the potter, ‘What are you making?’ Does your work say, ‘He has no hands’?”

We’ll always be unhappy – with God; with ourselves. But we’ll blame Him instead of taking responsibility for what we’ve chosen and accepting the person He’s made of us through our choices and words and actions.

If we can do that, we’ll be blessed (64:8):

“Yet, O LORD, you are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.”

Then Jeremiah takes up the theme (18:3-6):

“So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him. Then the word of the LORD came to me: ‘O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter does?’ declares the LORD. ‘Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel.'”

But I shouldn’t forget that Paul advises the same humility with the same metaphor, too (Romans 9:21):

“Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?”

“Why did you make me this way, God?” asks us. “Why did you make me with _____ ?” and we fills in the blanks according to us each.

More trouble with greed in my heart than others have? Lust for what isn’t mine? Homosexual cravings? A bad ticker? Cancer? A craving for alcohol? The inability to have children of my own?

Silly us. We blame Him.

When we should thank Him.

Because maybe His answer is: “I wanted you to know suffering like my Son did.”

“I wanted you to know what it’s like to sacrifice, to give up what you want in order to have what you need – and what I give.”

“I wanted you to understand what it means to be despised and rejected so you will be accepting and free of judgment toward others.”

“I wanted you to perceive how important it is to have a good heart for as long as your life lasts.”

“I wanted you to understand what slavery is all about, so you’ll choose Me as your Master and crave living water more than the distillation of death.”

“I wanted you to comprehend how dearly I love all of my children and how precious your adoption makes you to Me.”

Have thine own way, Lord; have thine own way.
Thou art the potter; I am the clay.
Mold me and make me, after thy will
While I am waiting, yielded and still. – Adelaide Pollard

Okay. Now I can sleep.

Is it possible I have nothing to say about Ann Coulter being named as an American Studies speaker at my alma mater Harding University, a conservative Christian institution which would expel any student for using the type of language or living the kind of lifestyle she represents – even if that student solidly agreed with her politics?

Is it conceivable that I have nothing to comment about the fact that Harding will invite Coulter to speak, but not alumnus and minister Mike Cope (possibly because someone misrepresents what he believes about baptism before their board) nor popular speaker writer Jeff Walling (possibly because he once told a group of young listeners that “Jesus liked to party” in connection with His turning water to wine at Cana)?

Sure it’s possible. It’s conceivable.

But most of what I could say has already been said, and better, by others. Look around on my linked blogs. You’ll read what I mean.

At the same time, I’d just like to say that it’s a pity that an entire fellowship gets caught by the world airing our dirty laundry in public even while technology makes it possible to communicate our feelings on this controversy more quickly and efficiently than ever before.

It was – and still is – a pity when the current technology was mostly “brotherhood newspapers.”

It’s not as if our communication could ever be private through these channels.

But we of the Church-of-Christ fellowship too often write/speak as if we are completely unaware that our words are out there for all to see and hear – or worse, as if we don’t care what “the world” thinks.

“If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God.” – I Peter 4:11a

I need to find a new job in four weeks.

Things haven’t worked out well in my current one, and my supervisors and I agree it’s time for me to find something else – and probably for them to dissolve the position.

I need to do good work that glorifies God, directly or indirectly, and I need to earn a living to support my family.

Beyond that, I am open.

So I’m beginning to update my résumé and portfolio site, and scan the available position sites/classifieds. That’s why I haven’t blogged faithfully of late, and why I’m behind on developing templates for the revamped New Wineskins site; and why I haven’t made a big deal about my ten-thousandth unique visitor (whoever it was) because I just noticed this morning that the counter had passed it.

Thanks for dropping by, whoever you are, and please pencil me in on your list of petitions to the Father.

I’ve been doing it for years at bedtime with my kids. I’ve been doing it other places for about the last year and a half. At home, at church during Bible class and worship and committee meetings, even occasionally at a restaurant before a meal.

It’s awkward. My knees complain about it. I usually only go down on one knee, since it was injured several years ago and doesn’t always submit to the “unbend” request and I need the other one to get back up.

I’m not really sure what started it. I had been doing some self-study about prayer, and began noticing how many good people in scripture knelt to pray: from Ezra to Daniel, to Jesus Himself, to Stephen while being stoned, to Peter, to Paul, to the disciples (including their wives and children) on a beach to send Paul off for the last time with prayer.

I also caught mentions of it with regard to people in the Bible when appearing before their kings and masters.

Then I began to notice how many people knelt when they encountered Jesus with a heart-wrenching need or a word of praise: a man possessed by a legion of demons; a leper; a ruler whose daughter had just died; a rich young ruler; the apostle Peter.

And, while – throughout scripture – good-hearted people pray while standing (Hannah; various leaders of Israel; the sinner who stood and prayed at a distance), for one reason or another I have tended to associate the practice with the Pharisee who stood praying to be seen.

I don’t kneel to be seen. I kneel out of respect for God, for His Son, for His Spirit.

Something my friend Bob McClanahan said twenty years ago about piloting a plane has long seemed relevant: “Your altitude has a lot of effect on your attitude.” While he was talking about roll, pitch and yaw – and the fact that a pilot is more keenly aware of them when she/he’s closer to the ground – I’ve found that my altitude has had an effect on my attitude in prayer too.

I don’t know whether kneeling is a right or wrong way to pray. God loves us, and He listens. Jesus bears the message to Him. His Spirit groans for us when we lack the words.

Kneeling in prayer often feels especially right for me. When my knees give consent, so do I.

For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge — that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
~ Ephesians 3:14-21

I’ve just finished eating lunch, but I’m still hungry. A different kind of hungry.

I didn’t get to commune Sunday, you see. In my fellowship, we celebrate eucharist each week. Sunday morning, my 12-year-old son was feeling queasy right after his Bible class and we went home before worship.

How do folks of other fellowships get by without that communal meal each week?

It’s all a matter of what you’re used to, I suppose. If I were reading this as a Catholic, I might be thinking, “How can he stand to not go to confession? I would feel so guilty; so dirty.” If I were from a church that sings with an organ or an ensemble, I might be thinking, “How can he bear to just sing, and not hear the fullness of the music? It would feel so incomplete.” If I were from a charismatic church, I might be thinking, “How can he pray only with his head bowed in silent assent? I would feel like I wasn’t participating.”

I could have sneaked a wafer and a cup later, I suppose. But it wouldn’t have been the same. It would have been like standing at the cross alone; or at the tomb by myself. Lonely. Empty.

When I drink and eat this special meal, it’s a tiny fellowship meal that recognizes the body of Christ in all of its meanings – including my church family around me.

And it seems that with each passing year, when I miss a chance to recline at that table, the hunger goes a little deeper.