Contemplations and Theology

What we Cannot Do and What we must Do.

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A list perhaps of all the incredible things we can do. It has built a veritable tower of our civilization. Progress or regress, the things we take for granted is enormous.

For thousands of years, wisdom has been garnered and if we take the time, we can find some of this. Of course, reading is an acquired skill set along with the desire to do so. Not common for many of us. There are already tasks of reading that we must do and we are not inclined to do more.

“Where’s the manual for the vacuum cleaner?” Does anyone really have that much organizational skill to put their hand on that information quickly? Some do. I have a folder on my desktop that says ‘manuals for various devices’ Some how. the one manual I really need to find doesn’t seem to be in there. A search ensues. A search for knowledge and wisdom to apply it

A recent search I did not know I was doing, revealed a quote from a much larger collection of books. “Without God we cannot, Without us, He will not” A.

I must have read that quote ten times, to understand what it said. Still reading it, I love it.

There are a lot of people that I have met lately that are consumed with grief. They approach me and tell me of those things. I am good at listening, (finally after decades of talking about myself and thinking I was relational.)

I have learned not to try and ‘fix’ a person grieving. It is good to grieve and it never helps to immediately tell your story and worse yet, tell them platitudes of relief coming their way if they just listen to our advice. After all, didn’t we survive all the deaths from close friends and family? Not really. It’s still there, deep inside our hearts, locked with our emotional Swiss army knife. You know the one. The death of a thousand cuts.

I also have learned, very recently, that I must unlock my heart and actually grieve. It’s good for me, it’s also what we all must do. There were professional wailers at funerals long ago. They got paid to make a lot of noise and ‘comfort’ the ones footing the bill. That alone was grievous in itself. I listen now and feel others grief, tears come sometimes and it is good and right. It’s called compassion which translated means to suffer with. Jesus wept. There’s never been a Son like this before.

The loss of our daughter before she was born is still hard for us. At a big family dinner I was nodding off on the living room couch and had a vision of a young girl running into my arms. Stunning as I remember her every detail. God’s still voice told me, “It’s all right, It’s Greta your daughter and she is with me” That is the kind of comfort that we need. We ache for those words with that mighty and gentle assurance. It has been a great gift and I didn’t have to look for it. It just came. Surrender to the lover of our souls and he will hold you close and never let go.

“To teach is a necessity, to please is a sweetness. To persuade is victory” A. It’s pretty good. Jack

A. Augustine Fifth century AD

Bullfighter

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

A saying I attribute to Sitting Bull. He spoke of the two wolves inside of us as well. I wondered about this wisdom this morning and ran across more wisdom from Michelle O’Rourke. The little bulls are the battle we have with the little deaths we all must experience in our lives.

The loss’ of physical strength or stability in using what I have left. The bull of my early times swinging spike malls and 16 pound sledge hammers. I agonize over that when I should just join that death with me being the matador and the bull, joined with that blade.

We all have them, those little bulls we embrace. Perhaps the world inside that speaks failure and personal weakness or loss as the source. To rise up from the sand and brandish the blade and put that snorting thought to death. There are also the worlds many wolves that linger, just beyond the glow of our inner campfire. Eyes lit and eager to pounce upon our sense of worth and trample the fire.

That indeed is the leader of the wolf pack, sense of worth destroyer. I think I am worthless because of changes that come to us all. Physical strength, provision fears. What will become of me when those around me see this?

We indeed do change as we approach death. In old age or in disease or accident. All of us.

My favorite quote from Woody Allen: “I am not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens” Why do I cling so hard to my little bulls when I know they must die with me as everyone knows. Playing games within that perhaps Jesus will return and I will just be caught up with Him. Maybe I am akin to Enoch and will just ‘leave’ (after a long life) or perhaps Elijah who ascends in a flamed out custom chariot with really fancy custom wheels.

Better to listen to our God with his Mighty hand and outstretched arm that delivers time after time and tells me how much He loves me and will never leave me. Loves me the way only He does.

Many times He has shown me my true worth. Small things that are even bigger than the wolves that whisper and howl. He says, “Go here and talk to someone I will show to you” A purpose and all I have got within me. The reason I have had things happen that I cannot explain as excellent and good. My life unfolding with a mystery of loss and gain. Not embracing my mind and the abilities that I have been given as my very own brilliance and creation.

Indeed, the blade must go deep and true to put to death all those thoughts of self importance.

Listen to the creator of all things brilliant. He will give you all the encouragement and worth you ever have needed. He will turn your losses, your grief, and sadness into joy as you dance in the light of His light. Sit at His campfire and the wolfs of the world will not dare approach. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

ANECHONIC

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Absolute silence. A place where you can hear the blood circulating in your body, not just your heartbeat but flowing. No sound reflection, no outside sound nor vibration. Nothing. An anechonic chamber that does not reflect or transmit sound. No echo when you clap your hands or pop a balloon.

After about an hour, hallucinations begin in the dark and your mind begins to hear and see things that supposedly, are not there. How do we know this? The world’s record is around an hour and a half to be in there. Try one sometime and let me know how long you lasted.

How much of our life is in silence? None of it really. I remember sounds from my childhood that still move me. I hear melodies after they have ceased. Several repetitions of my son’s alarm clock when I am up ahead of him. “Is it still playing those few staffs? No” Why do I hear them?

Even the washer and dryer which sing ten note songs. Silent in the house as I am in the kitchen at 4 am. I hear them several times, clearly and I know it is not playing. It only does it once when it’s done.

The desert fathers in Egypt in the first and second centuries knew silence. Pretty quiet then. The whisper of wind. What did they hear? Something we do not hear well, if at all. Right now I hear my tinnitus and the wind of the humidifier. The clatter of my keyboard and the slight rustle of a paper bag with a cat in it. Noisy.

I remember when I was living in the big city of Minneapolis and the roar of the freeways nearby could be heard 24/7. I got used to it and then I moved to Northwest Wisconsin. I visited the old west bank neighborhood and wondered what the noise was. Sounded like an amp on with no input, just white noise from a big 15 inch JBL and a crossover with an EV horn.

I often wonder at the small amount of wisdom I been blessed to read about Father Anthony, one of the more well known desert fathers. Also the Maharishi of the Himalaya’s, these were some of the early ones who heard whispers from our creator. He is often been described as speaking in a still, small voice. I know this to be true from a few precious experiences.

“Silence is Golden” Why? Sounds like it’s worth a lot! Scarcity always drives prices up. “Hold your tongue”, awkward thing but we get the idea. Try to listen. There is a voice crying in the wilderness and it is crying ‘Holy, Holy, Holy’ I will have to do more of that perhaps! Instead of chattering on and on about me, I could just listen and find out who I am and why I am here. Were the desert fathers and mothers bored? I don’t know, I wasn’t there.

I get bored when there is no one to hear me dazzle them with acquired wisdom. I usually don’t acquire it the hard way, I read and repeat, and write and give credit where credit is due. I am usually just a wise guy but ‘I got better!’ those who know me know what I am referring to with those three words. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Jury Rigged

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Another word that means different things but is spelled the same is called a homonym. The rigged jury is familiar to most of us. Money or clever selections can rig a jury.

The other rigged is used also as Jerry Rigged which is an old nautical term. A quick fix with material on hand, usually cheaper and somewhat functional. Actuating controls for engines is common. Why replace a broken choke cable and dash knob with an expensive part when mechanics wire wrapped around a small bolt will do! A few classy variations like a rubber grommet in the dash or some spiral wire wrap helps the illusion of good repair. It works.

There is another, less used speaking of our lives that uses this term of patchwork or worse.

There is a traumatic event recent or past that lingers in our spirit. I have several of those and usually it is me that the event happened to. So, I just Jerry rig the memory with small platitudes that make it more tolerable. Making excuses for those things then push them back to a place not quite so dark. ‘Gramps was always crabby and that’s why he said that or did that’ Very forgiving and a good way to turn the darkness into someone else’s. Still, the sting remains.

Realizing that everything that has happened is why I am the way I am and that is the grace of God operating in my life.

“ As long as we stay resentful about things we wish had not happened, about relationships that we wished had turned out differently, mistakes we wish we had not made, part of our heart remains isolated, incapable of bearing fruit in the new life ahead of us. It is a way we hold part of us apart from God” A.

We jury rig our lives with fantasies, self condemnation and internal rage at our life. Embrace God’s vision and grace for our life and see what has been given to us. We grow when we see the way we have grown and indeed, become wounded healers for those we meet.

A. Henri Nouwen ‘Turn my mourning into dancing’

A Seminary for the Blind

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It seems like a great idea, perhaps it is. The information age has confused, obfuscated and presented knowledge in compartments of illusion. How do we know which is a conspiracy theory and a conspiracy? How can we be certain of anything that relates to our lives? I usually go up to my communication central and ask for truth. It’s not too hard to find and I have written a column on it. I call it ‘The Cathedral’

A bench, facing a long row of 40 foot tall pine trees. A path goes straight ahead of the bench with other paths parallel to it. High up on a ridge so the pines sway in a gentle breeze and the wind is the backdrop to silence.

This day I was, as usual, shouting a bit and waiting for answers from the owner of this place. He has always been around and helped me plant those trees. He made my son that built the wood bench too. He has many names, my favorite one is a secret to you, not to Him.

As per usual, the reason I came to the sacred place was to get directions, answers and to just complain about things I do not understand. It’s a good place to do that. Aso as usual, the answer I got was a parable of sorts. An answer to a study some friends and I are enjoying about a blind man that was healed of a lifetime of blindness. The story in the Bible is pretty basic in ways and simply states he was blind and now he can see.

Of course the blind man had heard stories too. Words telling him of the wonders of colors. Reds and Blues and Yellows if he could only see their beauty. The words meant nothing but longing to know what they meant. Given sight, most likely 20-20, he saw color and movement and shadows and light. The story tells us nothing about the blind man’s knowledge or study. It just tells us he was blind and now he could see. Everything.

I asked the owner and creator of all things where I was sitting; what does this mean to me?

He told me that there was no great mystery behind the story. The blind man is me and I have studied and analyzed and taken tests on my knowledge of the words I have read about the Man who wrote all the words of life. My Lord wrote them so I could seek His face and touch eternity.

The words promised this but I did not know why I was still seeking His light. Stumbling around, tripping over the worlds roots under my feet. I read more and more and suddenly I was given a gift. The words were guides but they were not what I sought. I listened into the wind up there among the trees. I opened my innermost self and waited for a long time.

He came and told me that this was what I needed to open my eyes and see him in His glory. Everywhere, as much as I could do so. The words said beauty, until my eyes were open I did not know what that word meant. All those words kept me looking for Him. Song of Solomon puts it well. “Tell me if you see Him, I am lovesick”

A deaf man can read music but it again is just words and notes. The sudden sound of a miracle of healing and he hears; “I love you and will never leave you” A whisper that shakes the world.

The blind man has never been the same and you will not be the same either. Thunders and lightnings and a storm all around the Man with eyes of fire will show you what the words say. Intimacy. Embrace Him, whisper back to Him and your secrets will become a pathway and a song sung to you.

Words, they fail me right now. How can I describe the touch from the lover of my soul. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

The Agate Hunt

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Often referred to as ‘rock hounds’ they are at home on the shore of the biggest fresh water lake on the planet. Superior. Walking among the big and medium rocks and peering down to see what treasures the fresh wash reveals. The pros have a flashlight to shine through the crystalline formations and see what is in there.

Julie and I visit the ‘North Shore’ once or twice a year and wander several beaches that are known to have agates hidden among the clutter and clatter of stones. The waves wash up and that’s a good place to look too.

Very old stories of rocks and water wash through our minds. How long has that incredible Agate been polished and tumbled about? Where did it originate from? Grasped with thumb and forefinger and turned around a bit in the light. Plunk. Into the handy bucket you are carrying or, if it is reasonably flat, and not an agate, it is skipped out across the water. Skip, skip. Skip, Skip plunk. “nice one, four! A little curl on the forefinger, spin and whip flat to the surface.

Tedious work and it can lead to forward bending that lasts a bit longer than the expedition. Bring the treasures home and then put them in a larger container. Everyone around here has one. Some polish them in tumblers and even cut them and make them into jewelry. Usually though, they wind up in a glass canning jar and the lid gets a bit dusty. Treasure, it’s like that. Acquisition is the thrill and the exchange of worth is one man’s treasure is another man’s..rocks.

This is why when I haul the garbage container up the driveway (empty) I look down at the gravel and every now and then, stop and pick up a likely candidate of Stone treasure. Nope. Maybe! Nope. It was raining today so I didn’t have to spit on one to see if it was what I hoped it was.

That’s’ my life. Treasure hunting. Books are the best place for me to hunt. Suddenly words catch my minds eye and I look a bit closer and see treasure. Stop and look. Can I see or hear without getting in the way? Centuries of beauty in plain sight and there is no purchase involved. Just look and gaze into eternity flowing into you. Don t’ forget to breathe. Tears are OK. They wash our stony hearts and the glow is seen that was always there. Once again Adonis is mine, and I am His. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Why Do We Pray to our Lord

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Immediately after the illuminating and inspired message from a man before us is an invitation for those in the room to come to the front if they wish for prayer. It was my first assignment to assist, to help those who would know their hunger enough to be bold and come forward.

My first experience at this large church gathering as I came out to a landing high above the room I began to weep, immediately. I was overcome with the hunger I felt from a thousand souls facing forward. Was it my hunger I asked. “Yes it is also their hunger that is now overwhelming you with all men’s hunger.” Like all of us as children when we need bread for our body, we run towards our parents for food but it is first of all we need their love.

I went down the long side stairway to the main floor and did not trip with my worn shoes and soul. I went forward to stand before the huge bass bins (speakers) and faced the room with my friend who knew what to do and knew I was in the right place with him. Still stunned by the voice that told me it was hunger that all of us have. What can I say to them that ask me for prayer? Those words are suddenly given.

A handful of a thousand felt that hunger and came to us to tell them once again, that He loves them, in that moment. They needed to know that He would never leave them when their world grows dark and holds them in His arms and loves them the He way he always does.

The real needs we have for healing and assurance are always known by our eternal Father. His desire is first for us to reach towards His heart and loving presence. The giver of life wants to give us Himself and indeed tell us once again of His love. His Spirit in our hearts is kindled to flame and His tender voice is heard.

The tears flow among them as the hunger for Him brings forth His presence once again, in that moment, He holds us close and fills us with the bread of life. The one thing that we needed, the only thing. It is the wonder of the words, audible at times when we are alone, that indeed say, “It’s OK, I am with you right here, right now.”

Most of us are a bit shy about asking for prayer and just the moving forward to ask another to join in with you is brave surrender. In the past, prayer with others was done by a handful of us behind doors. It started in our pastors office, then we moved to a small room that had a sign on it. Prayer. It’s a declaration of hunger for God to others and the others are most likely just as hungry to join you. After all, Jesus said when two or more of us join together this way, He is among us.

It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

Thanks once again for George MacDonald and Jon Thurlow for truth written and often sung.

The life of a Lover of Jesus

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

How can this be? A quilt of life that is surprisingly delightful and just as easily not comprehended. Everyone has this road of travel and when trying to explain our lives. For me, it seems like I am bragging about adventure and failure, fear and success and a thorough drifting about life as a blown about maple leaf in the street. Just there by some random wind. Wrinkled by the forces that put me there, run over a few times and still seen as it once was. Life that hangs onto creation, fluttering in the blown wind of God’s breath and now, seemingly bound for …somewhere.

To that leaf, it seems an exciting life, watching growth and seeing other maples growing nearby. Weathering snapping lightning and severe winds. Basking in life giving light and warmth and envying the oak leaves that are better at hanging on through the winters.

Being reborn every year and feeling the contribution of energy given in enough amount to give again the impossible sap that nourishes the created tree and the people that know the sap is also to nourish them with sweetness that always delights.

What is my purpose in life? To grow and feel my life unfold with reward and danger. Then be gifted and surprised by hearing it’s OK to be what I am and to move with the wind of the presence of God’s breath and guidance. It wasn’t always obvious I was being prepared to a purpose of serving when it seemed that survival and pleasure was my given life. Subjective or Objective reality. The Tau and the famous Greek philosophy or our own versions of truth which are subject to us and our emotions. Instead of listening to the perfect truth of Christ. ‘The abolition of Man’ by C.S. Lewis explains these things better than I can.

The trauma of violence of childhood, and then wandering throughout the land and being blown about by seemingly random events that formed me. Having my own secretary at 16 years old in a mansion in Minneapolis, working with the Boy Scouts communicating via Ham Radio to a far flung camp without a telephone. Then failing my calculus in engineering at MIT, joining the military and being caught up in a war at sea. More wandering and evading death in California many times, once with the audible voice of God I did not know, eventually I started an impossible auto repair business in rural Wisconsin. It was Successful and then I was blessed with marriage and two children and a beautiful and faithful wife. Hearing again those words that can’t be believed by many people. Gifts of God.

I saw my best friend, speak five words to me and enter heaven from 2000 miles away. Many things that eventually lead to leading worship in a tiny rural church that gave me and my wife documents saying we were now pastors. We put them in a drawer. My whole family built a house of prayer in a small empty main street shop if Frederic, Wisconsin and staffed it for almost 4 years. Singing and playing and praying. We were overcome with God’s beauty and love. We also traveled a little around the country worshiping with other lovers of Jesus. Our sons with us in DC and other places.

Now the maple leaf is indeed withered and quieter, still blessed with sustenance and beauty. And now joined with other people that have similar blessings and and need for sustenance and encouragement.

I tap into that flow of life once again that I am given by my creator, that gift of light and love that was always there. I am beginning to watch and stop and listen for the voice that is the best book and the words given to me. What’s next for the weathered one? Excited and puzzled and weary at times, I keep looking ahead to another chapter and move with that breath of life. Often I still look up at that tree of life and know the very atoms I am made from still spin within me. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson and written by Jack Gator

The Lord’s Gift of our Life

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The view from our front porch on an early winter morning is quiet. There are no homes around in view but we know who lives in the ones just over the hills. Quite a few of those homes are lake homes and they are quiet now too. No one home. Gates on the driveways and no tire tracks either. Up the road about a quarter mile there is a township road that leads to a few homes, one of which we can barely see. Just a window glow when the trees are bare. It’s over a half mile away. The picture is of the sunrise over the barn and the maples. Nice clear and cold morning. No yard light on the single power pole, not needed here. Besides, the power company charges five bucks a month to keep you awake at night.

The dog barks and runs to the long windows to the east when a vehicle is heard coming up the long driveway. Such incredible hearing with those long floppy ears. If it is one of the family, she knows that too and turns away and greats her favorite one in the hallway. As for me, she takes a peek, gives a wag and goes back in the kitchen. Oh, it’s only you. Hi. Maybe hanging around for a pat and scratch or two.

The flag is waving off the porch and we wave next to the flag at family and guests there as they drive away. Early or late. That too is a great ritual of rural life. Seems good and right and most an old tradition going way back to old sepia tone photos. “Y’all come back and we’ll fix you a plate!” Southern hospitality.

Obviously, it’s quiet and except for an occasional half ton ford with a rusted exhaust out on the road. Coyotes at night wake us all up and we get out a rifle but they are gone as soon as the door opens quietly. Maybe is the chambering of a round. Not welcome here and chickens out by the barn are protected. The chickens crow and the coyotes howl. Wake up and grab a rifle.

I think about the folks in the city as they start their day. No Orion in the clear moonless mornings, just street lights and traffic as the city wakes up. I grew up there. No clink of the milk bottles coming up from the alley, just many vehicles and an occasional gun shot. Not coyotes this time. Here it’s wood smoke and the glow of the kitchen light on the snow, you and the stars saying hello. I live in the country now and it’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Strategic Prayer Command

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It was a white van, one of those tall ones that have a contractor’s business painted on the sides. Sometimes on the front hood as well, but reversed so you can read it in your rear view. That is an oddity of mirrors we get used to. I never even think I am really shaving the right side of my face when it looks like the left.

So the van was parked at a loading dock at the local church building. Right away I want to make that clear. The building houses the church. Usually it is called the church of…something. Named after one of the gift’s of the Spirit. A rarely seen one is the First church of Self Control.

The white van had the sides (and the hood) painted with the name of the group: Easy Yoke of Deliverance. Obviously transporting something that was needed for the people at the church building. e)narevileb fo ekoy ysae seen walking up to the front of the van. That way you can see it in your mirrors!

I stopped to chat with the driver and he had a name badge on and was very friendly. It wasn’t long after that he asked me if he can pray for me. Seemed appropriate with the cross over the loading dock and all. I asked him why he would do so for me, a stranger. He told me that compassion is the fruit of solitude and the basis of all ministry. A pretty old saying from St. Anthony from the fourth century. Wisdom, given to me from two thousand years ago that was timeless. The more I mulled it over, the more sense it made. I called myself a Christian, but had never experienced nor heard these things. Intrigued and stunned, I wanted to hear more.

His prayer was short and unusual. There was no ‘Christianese’ and flowery language. He prayed right into me and told me simple things that I struggle with and that there was great hope in Christ who lives in my heart. Stunned and pleased with that directness, I began to follow the people that hopped out of the van. They waved a plastic pass card and entered into the building.

They knew the driver had prayed for me and waved me in with them.

It was fairly early in the day and the lobby had only a dozen people moving about. It was obvious that ‘services’ were being anticipated and the waft of fresh brewed coffee was in the air. It was pleasant and there was a genuine welcome in the air too.

The driver came alongside of me and showed me about this large and pleasant atrium and the second floor area as well. Everyone we met had a name badge and they were moving about cleaning, preparing snacks in a room for them and popping popcorn! My escort prayed with a handful of them and I saw from the balcony other groups of two and three doing the same for one another. My escort (Bryan) prayed for the popcorn man and we walked about with a fresh bag and greeted and prayed for more staff and volunteers we encountered.

Escorted into the huge empty sanctuary I promptly began to feel tears welling up and asked if it was hunger going on with me or an anticipation of the people soon to fill the empty seats. The answer was yes. This was definitely not church as usual. I was in love and knew beyond doubt, I was in love with the builder of this building, the town, the city and the planet. The builder and giver of life to me and everyone that I saw. Never had this happen before and I have never been the same since. That answer “yes” just came into my thoughts with clarity and authority. Still does.

I stuck around and I was captured by this love. Eventually, I joined this team I met and the joy at praying for people was so refreshing, I had to do this. Not only in the building, but everywhere I went. I began to be bolder and found baristas and store owners along with commercial drivers that deliver packages to me, welcoming the prayers. I now ‘see’ the hunger for that romance of Christ’s love. What a gift! I never seem to run out of that gift I can give now. There was a lot of preparation for me before I saw that white van. It became very clear that my life had been formed and fashioned to cradle the love of Christ. It took a long time for me, but there are similar stories. I thought I was through and tired of life. I was actually tired of death.

A new ‘job’ or calling as the van driver told me. One of the best jobs and the benefits are all written down in the company brochure, the Bible. It’s pretty good. See you there. Jack Gator scribe