Quick Note on Redemption

So this morning, I decided to sit in on a Youth Sunday School class being taught by Josiah Henderson and we had a brief discussion at one point during his lesson about redemption. I have been meditating a bit on this today so I thought I should write up a post about it!

Sometimes, I feel like the word 'redemption' is very Christianese. We throw the word around all the time, because it is a bit part of our belief! The Gospel is the good news that Christ died to redeem us! But what I find fascinating about this word is that, at least in English, it seems to have two meanings.

To redeem is to:
1. Claim something or cash it in for its value (such as points or a lottery ticket)
2. Restore something to its full value.

What I think is especially neat about this is that both of these apply to the redemption we talk about when we're talking about the Gospel! Our redemption through Christ is, quite literally, a restoration of full value and God's way of claiming us as His beloved chosen ones! I think that's amazing.

That's kind of all I've got to say about this right now! Just a quick thought haha. I'd love to hear what you guys think about this! Leave a comment! :)

Ave Maria

Hey guys,

So this morning I was listening to Ave Maria on Josh Groban's "Noel" album. Super amazing, obviously. But it got me thinking about the lyrics. I don't speak Latin, but I understand some of the words in there, and was reflecting on them this morning before the service at Emmaus. Words that pop up in there, apart from the titular 'Hail Mary,' are gratia, dominus and benedictus. Gratia is a word that provides the root for English words like grace and gratitude. Dominus tends to refer to someone in authority, a position or power (such as a Lord or clergyman). Benedictus has to do with blessings. After googling the meaning of the lyrics, I realized this song is, in some part, a prayer thanking God for the blessing and grace He poured out over Mary.

That being said, it was a really neat parallel when Keith Ganzer started his sermon this morning, found here on the Emmaus website, and, continuing his series on the Gospel of Luke, talked about the passage where Mary learns of her pregnancy. Sort of the main point of his sermon was focused around the fact that Mary was probably like 12 years old, and had such an incredible faith and commitment to God's will for her life. He emphasized the fact that it's really unfortunate that in this day and age, people seem to take a stance when it comes to young people that none of them are mature, that none of them can have truly strong relationships with God, and that none of them can commit their lives to Him until they're much older. And he used this message as a way of encouraging our congregation to encourage the kids and teens to step out in their faith and give themselves to God in powerful ways. We're obviously not asking them to get pregnant with His incarnate Son or anything, since Mary did that already, but we're asking them to show that same kind of faith and devotion.

So, while meditating on this sermon, I realized just how powerful this message is to anyone involved in Youth & Childrens' ministries. Sometimes- and I'm willing to admit I often fall into this- it's too easy to expect little of young people, because we live in a society where we don't trust them to drive a car until they're a certain age, and sometimes we don't even trust them to work until they're "old enough." But one thing we can't allow ourselves to fall into is the thought that because somebody is young, they aren't capable of committing their lives to the Lord. And it seems ridiculous to me that I would have trouble with this myself, given that I'm a pretty decent example of one of those young people who *does* sacrifice themself for His Kingdom.

So, I pray for myself, and for other youth ministers, that we would be able to encourage our students to be more like Mary in their selfless faith and willingness to commit to God's cause. I also pray that we wouldn't be blind to the truth that they're capable of this!

So, thank you, Mary, for being such a poignant reminder that young people are capable of demonstrating fantastic faith in huge situations.

Prayerfully yours,

Tom

A Servant's Heart

Yo!

Sometimes my non-Christian friends will ask me why I do so many things* (youth group, worship, etc) and usually follow up by saying that I'm such a good Christian for doing these kinds of things out of "the goodness of my own heart" (what the heck does that even mean?). And while it might be true that doing things to serve others is definitely good, and I am definitely a Christian, I don't know if I would say that being a good Christian necessarily has anything to do with our actions. I'd like to say no, since our salvation comes from the blood of Christ alone, but I also definitely acknowledge that we are called to be faithful servants, to love and serve the poor and needy without condition, and to give of ourselves for others.
*For the record, I do so many things because I love God, He loves me, and I want other people to experience that love.

I think one of the biggest things about having the heart of a servant in the Kingdom of God is the attitude behind it. We have to be loving in ways that are unconditional; this means that if the motivation behind our good deeds is anything but to bring glory to God by showing love to His people, then our actions are empty. Sure, they're still going to make people feel good, but they're meaningless without Jesus. This is why I argue that service is more of a heart issue than an action issue. If your heart's not in the right place, that doesn't mean you shouldn't do whatever you were planning on doing- because God can use that to bless people all the same- but you definitely need to pause and re-evaluate your priorities, and pray that God will help you lose whatever idol you're clinging onto that is preventing you from dedicating everything to Him.

It can be really easy to fall into the habit of doing things for God that are really for us. I won't lie- I have to constantly check myself to make sure I'm not being selfish in my service. But I think it's super important for a leader to acknowledge that we are all broken, selfish humans, and to be actively praying against the attitudes that come to us so easily.

/End rant

A Guest Post from Carl Jones!

Hey guys,

So, those of you who are regular readers know that a little while ago I wrote a guest post for my friend Carl's blog! Tonight (or today, depending on what time zone you're in, word to my international followers) we have the pleasure of receiving a guest post in return! Carl is American, which is pretty cool, and it's my understanding that they have some kind of strange ritual this time of year that we Canadians celebrate in October. Thanksgiving! My favorite mostly-secular holiday ever. Anyways, this isn't my post, it's Carl's! So I'll stop talking now, and let's just jump right to it! :)

When Tom asked me to write a guest post for him about "American Thanksgiving," I admit the sound of those words hit me a bit funny.  I know that Canadian Thanksgiving is earlier- in fact I just saw an episode of How I Met Your Mother in which the very Canadian character of Robin comments that Thanksgiving in November just seems odd.  But truth be told I never really think of Thanksgiving as "our" holiday.  I know the history of it all- the Pilgrims and the Native Americans sitting down over a feast to celebrate surviving another year.  I, like so many others, will enjoy sitting down today with family and friends for a feast- and I will eat way too much.  There will be parades and football games to watch, and there will be the realization that the Christmas season is now officially here.   I realize that many USAmericans (technically, Canadians are Americans too.  So are Central & South Americans. I'm just saying...) manage to turn most every holiday into an excuse for patriotism, but I do not think of Thanksgiving as a day that belongs to God and country.  It simply belongs to God.  It is a day to give thanks for the many blessings in each of our lives, even in times when we do not feel as blessed as we might hope.  

I have always used a very simple exercise to help keep me focused on the meaning of this day, and I thought I would share it with you all today.  We used to sing a song at camp and youth group that went like this:

"Thank you, my LORD for the day, 

Thank you my LORD for they day.

"Cause you've given me your Son 

and you know I've just begun,

Thank you my LORD for the day."

We would sing those words over and over again, but each time through we would ask for suggestions on words to substitute for the words, "the day."  For instance, we might substitute "friends" or "turkey" or "family."  The list of things we were thankful for was usually endless. Each year on Thanksgiving I use this song as my morning devotion, taking time to list many of the things I am thankful for.  Taking time to thank God for our blessings is at the very heart of this day, whether you live here in Tampa, Florida or you live in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan.  Today, even more than usual, we should remember the words of the psalmist in Psalm 118 when he tells us that "this is the day that LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!" Live today in God's glory, filled with the love and grace of Jesus Christ, and no matter where you are or what you are doing it will be Thanksgiving Day!  Be blessed!

Because of Jesus

Carl Jones

http://youthguy07.blogspot.com

Prologue to The Sought

Good afternoon, all.
Now I know Tom has introduced me as an aspiring creative writer, and so far you've only read a post about mind-reading, so I figured I'd post something I've written.

I'm also ditching the whole pen name thing. From now on, I am Oliver James Morello. Morello, for short.

This next piece is meant as a prologue for the book The Sought, by a good friend of mine.
Enjoy:

Varoram stood in the fields just outside of Faromey, eyes closed, his bare feet damp from the dew that covered the grass. He opened his eyes and breathed in the moonlight. It had been so long since he’d felt the wind on his face. He started walking toward the remains of what was once the great city of Faromey. Ever since the massacre, it had become but a pile of ruins and mangled, bloody cadavers. The glory that had once emanated from that city was long gone, crushed by the abominations that had slaughtered the citizens of the city. With each step he took, he left a burnt footprint on the grass, the tiny droplets of dew sizzling into the night air. The sounds reminded him the burrowers that used to sing any time a god would approach Faromey. Their long snouts would produce a flute-like sound, and tens of thousands of them would stick their heads out of the ground and produce a magnificent melody for the gods.

As Varoram thought of them, he looked down at his feet and saw one peering up at him. He bent down and picked it up, admiring it. It tried to move, but he would pass it from one hand to the other. Its shiny mulberry skin reflected the moonlight. He looked at its small legs, its short and pointy tail, and its arrow-shaped, green-tipped ears. It eventually stopped running, and stayed immobile in his hand, flaring its snout in all directions. Varoram smiled, and it suddenly stopped moving altogether. As he tilted his head, the burrower fell to its side and shrivelled up like a wilted flower. He dropped it on the ground and it landed soundlessly as he moved on.

After finally arriving in the city, he felt a strong breeze blowing his long black robe about. The streets of Faromey were meant to channel winds from the South-West, as they were the winds that brought good weather. He remembered, he’d helped design the city.

After a few moments, he felt something cold on his foot. When he looked down, he saw a corpse’s hand. His eyes followed the arm and reached finally reached the head. It was Tyll. He recognized the man. He was one of the city’s apothecaries. Varoram found it ironic that the one who healed people had been one of the first to die in the massacre. He remembered how the kraven had been the first creatures to charge, followed by the rest of the abominations. Kravens looked like dogs, but with a back that was far more arched, and were much, much more vicious. They were meant to be swift, but not to kill. They would maim, wound the opponents, while the other creatures went in for the kill.

With a quick jerk of his foot, Varoram moved Tyll’s limp hand, which turned an ugly shade of brown, as all the flesh dried up. He kept walking, stepping over cadaver after cadaver.

It was when he looked up that Varoram saw it: Nyusatar. Faromey’s great temple. It took up a large part of the city, since the city itself had been built for the gods. Nyusatar had been built out of the finest hewnstone in all of the land. It had once stood, proud and tall, towering above all the other buildings of Faromey, with spires that could be seen from miles away. But now, it was merely a pile of stone, a broken memory of a paradisiacal edifice, a crushed mirror of the beauty of the heavens. As Varoram approached it, he smiled as lines from the stone lit up in a bright powder-blue. When Nyusatar had been erect, these lines traced vines all around the exterior and interior of the temple. Leaves and flowers had been drawn on the hewnstone by magic from Nyunamey herself, and these drawings of divine beauty were meant to shine as soon as any god approached the city. Whether it be bright as mid-day, or dark as a moonless night, the beautiful lines never went unnoticed.

Varoram entered the temple, looking around him. It was strange to see it from this angle. He’d come in and out of the temple many times, but he was always in his ceremonial colossal self, never in human height. And as he walked through the halls, his marmoreal hand feeling the cold, hard walls, tracing the vines, he heard nothing. It was a deep and utter silence. There weren’t the usual cacophonic cheers from the citizens or the music of the fays and sprites. Even his feet didn’t make any sound. The corner of his mouth began to curl into a smile.

When he reached the courtyard at the center of the temple, it was exactly as he’d expected. On the floor of the courtyard, in those same lights as everywhere else in the temple, was an accurate astrolabe, a map of the stars under their feet. A true work of art, but now cracked all across. Varoram looked up at the night sky. The stars had once danced for him. With him, even. In the many glorious celebrations they’re had in Nyusatar, the stars, the moon, and even the sun had joined in the great feasts.

But that had been a long time ago.

A long, long time ago.

In the days of old.

He kept walking toward the opposite end of the courtyard, where the eight thrones had once stood. Now, only two of them remained: The one in the center to the left, and the one at the very right. He walked up the three steps and sat on the throne. His throne. He looked to the other one with hungry eyes.

Suddenly, there was the sound of claws on stone getting closer. Varoram slowly turned his head to the courtyard and observed as a kraven walked his way. It walked up to his throne and looked at him dead in the eyes. Then, it turned around and sat at his feet. He reached out and started petting its head. He looked straight ahead.
Somewhere out there, was Raiu.

Somewhere out there, was his son.

Somewhere out there, was the one who would help him, Varoram, the god of passion, of fervor and rage, in his ascension.

Help him in the instauration of his realm of darkness.