invisible ones

Years ago I had the joy of writing a spoken word script for a video called  "Fast Forward: A History of the Church" as part of the Global Leadership Summit, (2007-ish).  This is an excerpt from the piece.  


This is about the unseen saints and heroes that keep the Church, with all its foibles and faults, alive.  There have been many of these strong, quiet souls over the centuries, whose names we will never know... as there are today.


You know who you are... 

invisible ones 
             

i want to ask you Church

how have you survived?

what mighty engine keeps your cells alive

what great heartbeat has sustained you

when pain contorts you

and sin stains you

through the trough of human sorrow

who has lifted you

to tomorrow?

there are

and always have been

the invisible ones

who never made a name

rejected fame

the brick and pillars

the crossbeams of the church

they have stood up for justice

stooped down to serve

reached out to heal

sheltered the defenseless

mothered the motherless

lifted the depressed

and loved the despised

it matters that they lived

it matters how they died

it matters that they answered the call

without them

the foundations would groan and crack

and finally fall


--
I just (!!) discovered (through Google archaeology), that Fast Forward: A History of the Church is posted

in its entirety, subtitled in Spanish:

http://www.godtube.com/watch/?v=6DWZGNNX

It's also posted in 2 parts, subtitled in what i believe to be German:


part 1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jet-Dx8DD7E&feature=related
part 2
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T2WoK9LoPlE&feature=related


Caveat:  This video is many years old now :-)

lyrics to "He Knows"

I wrote this song some time ago...about God's familiarity with all our ways, light and dark, best and worst..the whole of our lives all indelibly in His mind and heart.

I sang it last week in Stuttgart, Germany, at the FOKUS leadership conference with the Willow Creek Association.  At the bottom of this post is a link to a video with part of the song captured in the arena by my friend Bruce Smith.

he knows

He knows

He knows

He knows

that’s what I want to say

He knows, I know He knows

He knows your name, He knows

He knows your pain, He knows

that’s what I want to say

He knows your smile, He knows

He knows your joy, He knows

He knows your fear, He knows

that’s what I want to say

He knows your secret thoughts

your worries and your doubts

the dreams that keep you up at night

and toss and turn you

He knows the things you worry about

He knows the things you wish you could stop

He knows the ugly words you say

that you don’t understand

He knows the things you wonder about

He knows the million questions

He knows the hunger and the burning

curiosity

He knows the victories you’ve won

and He knows all you loved and lost

and what it is that rips you up inside

the things that make you cry

He knows the truth you wish you knew

He knows the good you wish you’d done

He knows the things you wish you’d never seen

or thought about

He knows the private agony

He knows the secrets you can’t hide

He knows the ones you wish you’d never hurt

the hearts you’ve broken

He knows as you’re moving closer to Him

sometimes you just want to run

He knows you want to tell Him things

you’ve never told anyone

He knows you want to fall down on your knees

knows you want to beg Him please

He knows you need just one more chance

He knows all that and more

He knows

He knows

He knows 

and never walks away

© 2006 Greg Ferguson

link to video He Knows

flow

Exploring what it means to be "in the Zone.."


flow

i want to understand the Flow of the Spirit
in the art of
creation,
invention,
communication.

this much i now know..
Flow is not an achievement.
not a switch we turn on and off.

it is a gift bestowed..
a phenomenon.

i have felt the difference.
i recognize it.

the dictionary on artifice: 
clever or cunning devices or expedients

i was trained
as many performers have been for centuries
in how to work by artifice,
by craft,
by strategy.

important tools.

but Flow is organic,
real..
not technique,
not fabricated,
and it comes only from
the Spirit of the Holy One.

it is a gift that we cannot work our way up to,

or strive to achieve 

as though it were an Olympic sport 

or a parlor trick.

it is not

sleight of hand.

it is a zone that can be slipped into.
but only by God's initiative.
i can't muscle my way through that door-
i can only trust my way in
and then enter only by permission,
by grace.

it is a seismic shift
in the center of my soul.
there is a deep central peace,
an eye of the storm.
then everything is fluid.
without anxious striving around the edges.

breathing becomes normalized.
a smile is real and not prefabricated.
there is lift,
free flight.
wind. glide.
insight. vibe.
the moment comes alive.

you can't just call this a brain wave.

one is being acted on from without.
infused from within.
it is a state of grace
and from it
a sacred moment
may proceed
and spread
rippling its way into
anyone in the vicinity
who is receptive.

quantum physicists
and cellular biologists
are racing
at great expense
to understand it.

i plunge into scripture for clues--
ransacking the pages of St. John and St. Paul,
grateful for hints and instructions
from this essential user manual for something Wild.

one thing is sure--
this is a blessed state,
a fount that we have the privilege of drinking from
upon occasion
at the prerogative of the
Great Creator.

i choose Flow over 

machination, 

over powering up, 

over strategy 

and device. 

i choose Flow over artifice.  

o Lord God,
Name above all names,
may i have more sips from this fountain?

key-click prayer

sometimes just the act of writing 
gives me 
an uncommon peace. 

God i feel closer to You 
clicking these keys

as i still my spirit.

i sense You 
in the rhythm of the click,

on the wave of the exhale, 

on the smooth, the flow, the jazz of silent. 

You are here, inhabiting this space.  

flow.  ahhhhhhhh.

following down the current like water to its pool. 

settling me now

moment by moment. 

i sense You at work setting me right.

this feels like true prayer.  

connected to the body,

to the breath. 

sometimes my prayer is distracted..

i have to push toward heaven, 

pressing it uphill, 

not quite sure it's real--

was my heart was in it?  

today, i breathe this prayer.  it lives.  

i release it to the care of God.

i bid it bon voyage...

see you in heaven good friend.. 

do your work.  

this requires time
patience  

and no sense 

of needing to be somewhere else.

war zone

My friend Jay reminded me of something I told him long ago:  We walk, live and move on a battleground of the spirit. Sometimes I lose sight of the intensity of the conflict behind the scenes of our visible physical world, but some days it doesn't take much to remind me.  

the spiritual world 

it is a war zone  

it is skirmish and schrapnel

tripwires and rocketfire

it’s not the garden of eden 

not a game 

not lord of the rings 

it is scruff and red wound 

and life leaking away 

concussions and car bombs 

sabotage, innocent hostages 

and no cease fire in sight

it’s the flesh

the human souls

one or two at a time

walking heads up
eyes darting
in this battlefield 

every last soul is loved 

and worried over in Your sight 

You watch each cell

down to the DNA  

with maternal concern

You scrutinize the iris of every eye  

is there color in our face 

symptoms of shell shock 

battle fatigue

you are on night watch

scanning for any lurking ambush trap set  

around the next dark corner

and how provisions are holding out

who might be there 

if anyone 

to wipe the tear off

prayer is the lifeline

the GPS

chopper touchdown 

the airlift 

Christ is the soldier 

who gives himself for his friend

in a firefight

and so here are we...

singed
but still standing

thanks be to God

something's coming

The Lord had said to Abram, "Go from your country, your people and your father's household to the land I will show you. "I will make you into a great nation... and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you..."

So Abram went, as the Lord had told him...  Genesis 12:1-4

Abram was 75 when You gave him the word.

He and his wife were beyond childbearing age, and she had been unable to conceive anyway, when You called them to parent a great nation.  

He trusted and pulled up stakes and took his possessions and servants and accoutrements and went off because You told him to.  

He left familiarity, the established life he had built, and became a nomad.  A stranger everywhere he went. And not just an anonymous hobo, but a wealthy stranger, a traveling city, with a huge entourage and herds and flocks: a nomadic zoo, a traveling road show. 

He couldn't slip in and out of a town or a country unnoticed. 

This move was a huge commitment for him and would change his status, his life, everything he had built and gathered.

But he had had a clear message from You:

Abram, leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you...

You must have given him hints along the way.  This must not have come entirely out of the blue. 

Then, there was no Israel.  There were no chosen people. No scripture.  No prophecies to consult. He was the first of the tribe. Plucked out of obscurity.

But he believed You.  

Did he believe you earlier in life, in his formative years before You said these things to him? Did he practice-believe?  Work up to trust?

He had no earthly reason to expect anything.  He was a senior, and may have felt unblessed, unknown by the heavens, abandoned, because even with all his herds and flocks, there was no son, no heir.  He may have felt inadequate, unprospered, because offspring were everything in those days.  And the lack of a familial heir made all the herds, flocks, servants, and assets empty and hollow. 

But did you speak into his ear time and again, in preparation, over the years?  Test flights? Did he get an occasional little spasm of hearing a voice?  

Abram.

Abram.

Wait for it.  Wait for it.

Was he like the character Tony in the movie West Side Story?  Given an uncanny sense of expectancy which defied all known natural patterns?

Could be..

Who knows..

There’s something just out of reach

Down the block on a beach

Under a tree

I’ve got a feeling there’s a miracle due

Gonna come through

Coming to me

Could it be

Yes it could

Something’s comin’

Something good

If I can wait,

Something’s comin’

I don't know what it is

But it is gonna be great.

        --(from West Side Story)

So maybe, like Tony, Abram had a recurring sense of destiny that wouldn't leave him alone.

Do I have that?

Hmmm.  Sometimes.  Strangely, at 55, yes. Quirky. Fascinating.

No grand vision, really.  Certainly not an Abraham thing (we have no children and I don't have delusions of grandeur).  

Not a radically strong sense, nor unmistakable.  Often I chalk it up to self-deception.  But I have it nonetheless. A sense of expectancy.  As though I have something to do yet that I must prepare for.

Maybe we all do.  Are we listening?  

With a click

With a shock

Phone’ll jingle

Door will knock

Open the latch...

just one exhale away

So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.  Luke 11:9-10

Help. Flowing.

For every dead end 

or dense fog, 
every disorientation. 

It is not blocked,
Not scrambled at the source.
Not log jammed.

It is not tied up in red tape.

It is not confounded or confused,

It has not lost its way.

God You are flowing Your help this instant.
In real time.

I am not alone on this planet without guidance or assistance.
Ever.

The thing is, 

I must remain wide open, 

not crimping the reception 

with my inattention, 
or doubt.

What if I

lived this day expectantly,

confidently,

assured that the great gates are open

and the rushing river of rescue is available,

waiting only for us to open our souls

and receive it. 

Just a little bit of trust,

And we’re there.

Just one exhale away.

two lenses

I have two lenses through which I can view my world.

They're very different.

I can look at life as a
position to be defended

or as an
adventure to be explored.

The first lens feeds a bubbling undercurrent of anxiety.

The second opens me up to new worlds
and recovers my smile.

A thousand voices tell me to choose the first lens, because the world is a hard place and it will steal what you've been given--the millisecond you're not vigilant.

One Voice tells me to toss that worthless, blurred-up lens of anxious grasping, and start the adventure.

As a person of faith, I must believe I'm not locked in by DNA or past history or the dire warnings of the world.

So... I can choose which lens I look through.

Which will it be today?

the twenty minute window

A word with power is a word that comes from silence. 

So say the Egyptian Desert Fathers of the third century A.D. 

So says one of my old spiritual mentors, the late Henri J. M. Nouwen.

So says the life and speech of Mama Maggie of Cairo, one of my new spiritual mentors.

Our world is wordy, says Nouwen, and we all know that. A conflicting, chaotic rush of verbage. Often we are word-saturated and we tune it all out.  Often it won't let us ignore it.

Where is silence to be found? 

For me it’s a window of about twenty minutes in the early dawn.  Before the dog rushes in, tail flying, near missing my coffee.  Before news and music and blogs and vehicle engine noise rush into my world. 

For those early twenty minutes, I am relatively still.  Sometimes, as Mama Maggie prescribed, I silence my thoughts; listen to my heartbeat.  Then I listen to my spirit.

Then...I silence my own spirit, and try to listen to God’s Spirit.  It’s hard to sort out what exactly is happening in those moments—what are brain synapses firing, what is sleepy REM half-dreaming, what is  true listening, and whether I’m listening to myself, or to God.

But I believe that

in the heavenlies

at the recesses of the dawn

God, always attentive

is sorting that out for me,

or in spite of me.

I do know I get blips, impressions.  I probably receive them throughout the day, carefully customized for me from the Creator.  Spoken in love to me. 

Do I hear them?  Sometimes. But the highest probability of my hearing them is in that sacred early morning twenty minute window--

when I’m still and listening

when the car engines are not humming

when the school buses haven’t arrived

when the sunrise is still a distance away

when silence

calls.

Is there a place, 

a time in your day or evening, 

in your world, 

to listen 

in silence 

to the Great Creator?

sing out loud

Do what you love to do.... a lot.


This is what I sense from You, God, this morning.  


Because You made me to gravitate toward certain lifegiving arts, recreations and adventures-- why would I not engage in what you pull me toward with such joy and vigor?


I'm sitting in a Caribou café, and at the checkout, on a little card, I saw the phrase, Sing out loud.  After I forced myself not to think of it as a marketing slogan, I saw something real and deep in it.


Sing out loud... like... for the sheer joy of it.


Singing (when you're not a professional singer, and if you have no aspiration to be one, and/or it's not all about impressing your friends or wanting to be a rock star) is a sign of inner well being, of a basic happiness.


Remember the old show song from the musical Oklahoma?  Oh what a beautiful morning... sang Curly, the leading man.   He was just grooving, enjoying the cornfields, and the haze on the meadow, and he opened up those vocal cords and let it fly.  The old baritone sang it out and it rang through the cornfields, or...OK... the sound stage.


Why would we not sing out loud for the joy of it, as a gratitude?


Maybe because we're not that happy. Or we're scared, or stressed.  Or we just don't have time to be that free and relaxed in spirit.


Singing, or writing, or playing volleyball, or biking, or board games, or hiking, or playing banjo...exulting in what we can do since we have the ability and health to do it--for the sheer joy of it, brings health to our bones and joy to You, God, who made us, as You take pleasure in our joy, like we take pleasure and delight in the joy in the posture and play of our children or our pets when they are clearly happy and at ease with the world and comfortable in their skin.


But when these pastimes, these natural expressions, become a performance, they can become something less real than when they were done for their own sake, and out of pure gratitude.  And then it becomes about us, and what people think of us, and it's just one more stress-producer.  Defeats the whole purpose.  


Becomes a little idolatry.


It's too easy in this world to go sad;  too easy for healthy people with a good life, to go dark. I'm sure that breaks Your heart.


So... reminder for me for today--
When I can, why would I not breathe and enjoy and make Your heart warm,  and sing out loud-- for You, just for the sake of the ability to do so, for the cornstalks, for the haze on the meadow, for having basic health, and because I'm blessed with people who I love and who love me?

Cain and me

Now Abel kept flocks, and Cain worked the soil. 3 In the course of time Cain brought some of the fruits of the soil as an offering to the lord. 4 And Abel also brought an offering—fat portions from some of the firstborn of his flock. The lord looked with favor on Abel and his offering, 5 but on Cain and his offering he did not look with favor. So Cain was very angry, and his face was downcast.

6 Then the lord said to Cain, "Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? 7 If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it."    Genesis 4:2-6

Lord of all perfection of design, wild art and heart-stopping beauty, some offerings You accept and look on with favor, and some You don't.  If we were to get angry at the lack of delight and support from You upon our offering, maybe there is something mucking it up, either in the offering itself, or in the spirit in which it’s given, thus tainting the gift.


Maybe it’s something lurking in our lives, our attitude, our relationships.  Maybe it’s greed, or selfishness. Maybe it’s a spirit of self-elevation, pride in our stratospheric position, scrapping competition for your favor, ego gone wild.

Sin is crouching at our door, like a wildcat, says the Lord.


Licking its chops,
sharpening its eye,
instinctively knowing our abilities and our vulnerabilities,
wanting to have us,
and eat us alive.

Like Obiwan Kenobi, or Mr. Miagi, You spoke to Cain:

It desires to have you, young Jedi,

but you must master it.

Cain had enough anger and jealousy in him to kill. Much like Joseph’s brothers years later.  Enough envy to murder.  God, You saw that and favored the other, the one who was pure.  You did not support envy. 

So the question hangs out there for artists, or leaders or influencers:


Is inflammable ego, or smoldering envy, crouching at the door of our inner house, of our bodies, our spirits?

Somehow we need to learn to show up in our world stripped of the toxins, as servants only.


Open handed inner poverty.


The goal is to be able to say in truth:


Nothing in my hand I bring except a desire to help and to serve.  If I be exalted, God keep my soul pure of pride.  If I be abased, I serve at the pleasure of my Lord, whether in the highest elevation or the lowest abyss.

God, giver of my joy, enabler of the work of my hands, is there anything within me that might taint my gift, my sacrifice to You?  What might make it unacceptable and not at all delightful to You--You whom I so want to please?