Life in the Vine (My Ninevah Project)

Christmas Day, 2009

If you've ever read the book of Jonah in the Old Testament, you'll appreciate the experience of doing something out of sheer obedience, even if it doesn't make full sense at the time, and only to get all the nagging to stop. This blog is a lot like that.

Don't misunderstand. I don't have an important message from God to share to strangers in a strange land. I'm not sure that I have a message at all. But I do share something in common with Jonah, which is why I'm subtitling this blog "My Ninevah Project:" I'm heading off on a task with a great deal of resistance and hesitation.

Quick backstory so that this all makes sense: God tells Jonah to go to Ninevah and deliver a message to the people there. Jonah thinks the idea is stupid for many reasons (most of which we don't learn about until much later in the story), and simply refuses to go. In fact, he gets in a boat and goes the opposite direction.

You know the rest, or at least you know the most famous part of the story, the part talk people talk about in some children's Sunday School class: There's the boat, the storm, the big fish. The very frightened Jonah, praying psalm-style inside the fish with one of those fervent "ohpleaseohpleaseohplease" prayers (I thought I was the only one who prayed those). Sitting on land covered in fish vomit (I know, right?), God asks again and, low and behold, Jonah agrees to do the task he was assigned.

But that is not the end of the story. Far from it. Jonah goes to Ninevah, tells the people what God has to say, the people repent, and God forgives them. Happy ending. But not the ending. Here's what happens next: Jonah gets ticked. Ticked. At God. Read for yourself:

"But Jonah was greatly displeased and became angry. He prayed to the LORD, "O LORD, is this not what I said when I was still at home? That is why I was so quick to flee to Tarshish. I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity. Now, O LORD, take away my life, for it is better for me to die than to live." Jonah 4:1-3 (NIV)

I like Jonah. I like his spunk. For most of my life, I've spent a great deal of my time talking to God in quiet and sniveling low tones, with lots of compliments and praises and very little inner honesty. Most of the real feelings -- especially anger and confusion -- would get buried in shame for the very feeling of it, and telling God that I thought his plan was stupid is, in my book, a lot like telling anyone in my polite WASP family that I didn't care for their Christmas gift and did they have the receipt because this gift is heading straight back to Sears. It just doesn't happen.

Jonah tells it like it is. He's way, way off base and doesn't get it, but he's brutally honest about it. I am often way, way off base and somehow know that if I speak up, I'll be shown to be the fool I am. But that didn't stop Jonah.

Good thing, because here's where things get interesting. God lets him be mad. Then God teaches him a gentle lesson about His love -- for Jonah and everyone else. No shaming, no lightening rods. Just a little vine that grows and then dies to make a simple point. I assume Jonah got it. I assume he thought about that vine for the rest of his life.

I don't have a message from God. That's not what this blog is about. But I have, for years, felt the nagging, the restlessness, the tugging at my sleeve from God. There's something that I need to work out about my faith walk, and for some reason, God wants me to work it out publicly. For whatever reason, I need to write it down, and someone needs to read it.

Let me be clear: I write for other people all the time. I write academic papers and publications. I write for a government contract as well. The writing is often slow and difficult, because there are high stakes for what others think about what I write: tenure, future contracts, respect from my peers. I speak a lot, too. In fact, I'm much more comfortable presenting than writing -- it feels so temporary and in the moment.

But the nagging, I can tell, has to do with me writing about God. I'm supposed to write about my daily walk, about the constant metaphors and images and insights that He sticks in my head. I'm supposed to wrestle on my keyboard for the world to see. I thought it was supposed to be in a book, but it looks like He's satisfied with a blog.

And, let's be honest: I think it is a stupid plan.

Stupid because I have NO credentials for this. No advanced theological degree. No shining example of a life. True, I have surrendered my heart to Jesus, but so has millions of other people, most of whom have a better track record than I do. The world does not need another book or blog, especially about Christianity. And I don't have the time. And I don't have any of it figured out. I have nothing to say.

That is what my argument to God has sounded like for several years. But God is persistent. Relentless. The nagging in my head won't stop, and I think the entire point is to help me overcome my spiritual ADHD. Writing every day will create a discipline for me that I need -- a chance to focus my spiritual thoughts and get them down in my own heart rather than watching them float away without the lesson being learned. Maybe God wants to show his people struggling for answers. Maybe He thinks the religious teachers have become to glib with their insights. And maybe this really will help a person or two along the way. That would be great.

But I'm still not feeling very confident, and I'd much rather curl up on the couch and watch mindless reality television, or play endless rounds of Spider Solitaire. I can feel the digestive juices of the big fish turning me into jello every time I try.

So, here I am. Obeying. Writing a little bit each day about life in the vine. That's the real lesson from 2009, a year full of adventure, fear, debt, doubt, unresolved illnesses and endless struggles to ignore the unhappy circumstances and find true joy. The big revelation from 2009 is that we are (or can be) connected to the Vine. We're plugged into this energy source much like the alarm clock next to my bed, the one I use to charge my iPod. Without the connection to the electric current that runs through my house, there's no power, no charge. No music.

Simple concept. Profoundly challenging task. I often feel powerless, uncharged. Life just drains me sometimes, and I find all the wrong ways to get some energy, some of which drain me more. Looking for love in all the wrong places, even though I know better. I've read the Scripture hundreds of times:

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. 6 If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. 7 If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. 8 This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples. John 15:5-8 (NIV)

But living it? I mean, spending every day fully attached in the Vine? Hasn't happened yet. So I'm going to try and use this blog to take on a year in the Vine. I invite you to come along with me. Let's do it together. I promise to share the real "Jonah" gripes and even, I'm sure, a few "ohpleaseohplease" moments.

But the goal is to bear some fruit. in 2010 I turn 50. Hard for me to believe. Living around college students makes me feel much younger. I'm determined to figure this out -- to enjoy the time I have left on this planet and make the most of every moment. And I now think that the only way I'll be able to do that is to strengthen my attachment to the power source. It's time to thrive.