At 9:35 last night I hopped back out of bed after talking with my wife, realizing that sleep wasn't going to come soon. We had just had a discussion about all the possible impending changes in our life, all the current struggles, and all the typical things that come up in life as spouses and parents. Right before bed is a bad time for me to talk about these things, since my head needs time to find some sort of peace and sleep will not come until peace does.

As I shot out of bed and into the living room I flipped all the lights back on in the house and turned on the television to watch the end of the Angels vs. Red Sox game. Soon, I wasn't paying any attention to the game, and instead was trying to put a finger on what my heart was feeling that my words and actions have failed to express. For over a year, in periods and degrees, I have had this underlying, spiritual groaning that has been a friend and a shadow. What is this feeling?

Eventually I flipped the tv off, went and checked my e-mail (a good thing, since I got an important one), then went back to bed and quickly fell asleep. As I was falling asleep, I knew that the same questions and confusion would be waiting for me upon awakening since nothing had been resolved. I knew it was going to weigh especially heavy on me in the morning because I knew I was falling asleep and was trying to resist it, yet was overcome. Darn. Sweet dreams, Joe Beck.

I woke this morning with the same sense of weightiness and wishing I could sleep for several more hours. It's dark now when I wake up, which makes the feeling of sleepiness worse, and almost inevitably I fell asleep in the shower and ran late. All of this served as a distraction from the issue, as did sports radio and a rain storm on the way in to work.

When I arrived at my desk, I realized that it was going to be a slow day and I'd have to sit for awhile. There was no more avoiding the matter at hand. I called Pastor Richard and unloaded on him, which he always handles with grace and admonition. I love him dearly. At the end of that conversation, I knew exactly what I was feeling: grief.

I'm grieved that I've had to learn so many things the hard way.

Grieved that I take so many things for granted and have wished so many great things away.

Grieved that the world is a wicked, crooked place that's under a curse, and grieved that I don't do more to give people the cure.

Grieved that so much Christianity today hates Christianity and is doing everything it can to look as much like the world as possible.

Grieved that these people call looking like the world "holiness."

Grieved that the modernists think that the glory days of the faith were in the 50s, and grieved that the emergents think the glory days are here now.

Grieved that churches divide over the things of this world and not the things from above, then self-righteously proclaim to agree to disagree.

Grieved that I cannot give grace as I have received it.

Grieved that I do not love my wife and child with my entire being, much more my God.

Grieved that I am cynical so often towards the church.

Grieved that I do not trust God to provide for my needs.

Grieved that I relate better to Lot than to Peter and Paul.

And yet what of this grief? Where is my hope in all this despair? To what does it all amount?

"Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light."

Nothing has changed in the world, still I rest. My flesh demands wickedness and would exhaust me in the search for it, yet I must rest in Him who gives me His righteousness. There is work to be done, and in His power, as I work, I must rest. Though my heart is heavy with the cares of this world, there is indeed rest. There is love to be given, and I rest in Christ's love.

Any Given Sunday

I arrived at church at 8:15 yesterday morning to an empty sanctuary and a lot of silence. It was exactly what I was hoping for. It was sort of a vintage Sunday for me, since there was a ton for me to do during the actual service, and I showed up feeling rather unprepared. After fumbling into the small congregation hall with my Bible and my guitar, I plugged up on the music platform that sits off in left corner and began to look over the sheet music of the songs for worship. David Ask picked out 4 songs I'm really comfortable with, which I'm thankful for, since he wasn't entirely sure how much of the service he'd be around for. I'd be relieved later to know he would be there for the first three songs. My only responsibilites would be offertory music and the benediction hymn.

After figuring out what channel my guitar was plugged in to and turning up the microphone, I start going through offertory. Rather nasally. Darn. I was hoping the congestion was gone enough to be able to sing clearly. I continue through the song, making eye contact with empty seats to remind myself to project my voice, then fumble through the songs for worship, making sure I remember all the songs as well as I had assumed I would. With this level of comfort, the only question is whether I should finger pick or strum, or both, and where to provide volume breaks to stop songs with lots of verses from seeming repetitive. I love playing guitar.

After the half-hour it took to feel comfortable with the material, I sit down to the baby grand piano long enough to remind myself that I still stink at piano, but that i've gotten substantially better since I first started. I've hit a major wall with guitar, and am hoping that piano becomes my new favorite instrument.

Eventually I return back to the Bible and start looking over my text for the adult Sunday school class. I've been looking forward to this one. I've known exactly what I'm going to say for over a week, which is rare for me. This message, though, is too close to my heart. It's about contentment and not seeking comfort and wealth. 1 Thessalonians 4 and 5 spoke to me again as I read through both chapters and mentally re-divide the weeks that i'll be spending with them. About this time, everyone starts piling in, and I make the conscious effort to get up and start talking to people.

After assembly, class starts. Within a few seconds I realize that it was going to be a special day for Sunday school. Everyone responds to the text in an appropriate way, with confession mixed in with discussion mixed in with moments of convicted silence. Something so endearing about the Church is that when done right, you've got a group of people coming to learn how to grow closer to God and willing to admit that there are areas where they've hurt their ability to reach forward. I sincerely have missed facilitating these sorts of moments, and for about 45 minutes I get a strong sense of being right in the middle of something I naturally love doing. It puts everything into perspective and even gives me a renewed sense of purpose in doing the things I don't naturally enjoy. Moments like this, even though they are work, are in their own way a form of rest.

Just now, upon writing the word "rest," I realize how it felt to be back at Faith Presbyterian Church, doing the things that God has called me to do for that church. The work was in the preparation and the joy was in the participation. Though so much talking and singing and playing goes on, it is all simply my part in partcipating. Everyone comes to participate and everyone has the way they are called to participate. This Sunday morning, in participating very busily in the morning worship, I rested.