Review: The Seraph Seal

I'm not much of a fiction reader, but when I saw Leonard Sweet's name on the cover of this book, I decided to give it a spin*. Co-written with Lori Wagner, The Seraph Seal (Thomas Nelson, 2011) is a genre-blurring book the authors have dubbed "engaged fiction". The meat of the book is an apocalyptic journey through the end of days that borrows in structure from barn-burners like the DaVinci code, book-ended with Sweet's trademark provocative, prophetic decoding of the often-disparate clues embedded all around us. "(I pay) attention to the signs of the times and (follow) the traces and trails that lead to places of intersection, especially where our story meets God's story," he explains. To that end, Wagner's fiction grabs signposts from all sorts of places: ancient Christian traditions and writings, Kaballah, Mayan prophecies, global warming theories, political realignments, social trends, advances in the tech world and more.

The book's 560 pages (!) follow one Peter Binder, University of Virginia history professor, as he pieces together the clues in a race against time to bring together the chosen "horsemen of the apocalypse" mentioned in Revelation before an anti-Christ figure (who happens to be the President of USAmerica) can arrive in Israel's Upper Galilee with his own anti-horsemen at 9:00 PM on December 21, 2048. There are multiple characters and plotlines, skipping all over the globe. Wagner is a capable writer, pulling Sweet's understanding of semiotics into a readable page-turner of a book. Though the first 20% of this lengthy volume was slow going for me, though eventually the mysteries and connections hooked me into the story.

The good news about this story is that it is not another Left Behind (dispensational) vision of the end times, which is not an eschatological system I embrace. Instead, Sweet and Wagner offer a vision of the last days that has many elements that feel far more faithful to Scripture than does Jenkins and LaHaye's - with a giant "but" tacked onto the end of the sentence: While The Seraph Seal leads the reader to a new heaven and a new earth at the end of the book, it is these human horsemen and the sacrificial death of their very human companion that brings us there. I understood the symbolism, but I experienced a disconnect between that symbolism and the real, recognizable world these characters inhabited so fully throughout the book. My own "through a glass darkly" reading of Revelation has Jesus at the center of these events in a more literal manner, one that matches the literal destruction of the world imagined by Sweet and Wagner. 

One of Sweet's appendices at the end of the book describes and categorizes some of the signs of the times to which the book refers (ranging from Abaddon to Zero Point Energy). This reading adds value and understanding to the story told by Wagner, and left me with some haunting food for thought as I try to do what Christ has asked each one of us to do: Pay attention to the signs of the times. The Seraph Seal, a work of fiction, offers readers a reminder that God has equipped them to do just that, if only they'll see and hear.

*I received a review copy of this book from the publisher.

The taste of daily bread

"Our driver is running a few minutes late. Is that O.K.?" The voice on the other end of the phone waited for my answer.

What was I supposed to say? I'd been sitting in an office with nothing much to do except wait for the guy from the office equipment company to come pick up his copier. "Sure. I'll be here."

It is the mundane nature of days like this that threatens to numb us from savoring the activity of God in our lives. 

I diddled with some paperwork, wrote a few emails, and watched the minutes tick by like migrating geese. At last, there was a knock on the door. "Sorry about the delay." A man in his early forties wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Hot one out there, eh?" 

We exchanged weather-related pleasantries and I shot a glance at the clock. I could still make it out of here before rush hour starts. We talked through the logistics of how he'd get the aging copier out of the office building and into his truck, and discovered we had an acquaintance in common. He busied himself unplugging cables and readying the machine for transport, then stopped and looked at me. 

"So what do you do?" 

It kind of a funny question to be asked while I was standing in an office, though he did know that I did the bulk of my work for the organization from home.

"My primary job is writing," I told him, and explained that I have a variety of different gigs going these days, most writing-related, including the one that brought me to the office that day. 

His curiosity was piqued. "What do you write?"

When I tell people I've written two books about the parables of Christ, the conversation usually goes in one of two directions. Either they smile at me like I am a deluded fool and change the subject, or they begin to tell me a little about their own faith story.

Our ensuing conversation was in the latter camp, but with a confessional twist. For a moment, he looked like he was about to break down, then the words poured out of him like a river. "This economy has been brutal on my business. I'm the owner, but can't afford to pay a delivery driver right now. I am a person of faith and love to share it, but the first and the fifteenth of each month when I have to pay bills, I take my eyes off of Jesus. I'm scared." He paused, an attempt to dam the river. His face reddened a bit. "I don't know why I'm telling you this..."

I nodded. Maybe he thought that because I wrote a book, I'd have a solution for his fear. Honestly, I'm a little scared these days, too, in several different areas of my life. I told him briefly about my own struggles, and referenced the words we pray but sometimes struggle to believe when fear's shadow threatens to block out the truth about who God is. As we talked, the copier and the truck and the clock metering out the moments of our respective workdays faded into the background as if it was bad scenery from a high school play, and the kind of fellowship found only in the kindgom of God filled the space between two struggling strangers. A tiny fragment of eternity had invaded our now.

Our conversation came to a resting place, and the clock again came into sharp focus. "I better get going," he said, glancing at it. "Before I do, I was wondering if you'd think it was weird if we prayed together?" 

Weird? It was the only logical place we could go. As we said our Amens, each of us let out an involuntary sigh, lightened from the release of lifted weight from weary shoulders. 

"Thanks," he said. "By the way, my name is John."

"Nice to meet you, John. I'm Michelle." After he left, I stood in the office, chastised by the echoes of my grumbling just a few minutes earlier about the inconvenience of the delay to my precious schedule. I didn't deserve the grace that filled that conversation, and remembered again that these sorts of encounters are exactly what daily bread tastes like. 

At The Table: A Reading For Two Voices

Once upon a time, I used to write a lot of readings for use during church services. Some of the pieces were meant to tell a story in a unique way, other readings were simply a creative division of a Biblical text that would allow a congregation to listen to familiar words with fresh ears because 2-5 voices proclaimed them.

This summer at our church, there was a call for the congregation to bring our "Living Psalms" to one another. Below, you'll find my psalm, the first script I've written in a quite a while. If you know of a congregation interested in using this piece (about 1:30 in length), you're welcome to share it with them with my blessing!

At The Table

This psalm, to be read by two people (Voice 1, a male reader and Voice 2, and female voice), is inspired by the parable of the banquet found in Luke 14:15-24. This piece would be suitable as an intro. to communion.

Voice 1: The world says I am not invited to its party.

Voice 2: There is no place card for me at its table.

Voice 1: The world says my name is Poor.

Voice 2: Crippled.

Voice 1: Blind.

Voice 2: Lame.

Voice 1: The world calls me Loser.

Voice 2: Awkward.

Voice 1: Burden.

Voice 2: Ugly.

Voice 1: Failure.

Voice 2: Disappointment.

Voice 1: Sinner.

Voice 2: The world’s labels have branded me.

Voice 1: The identity they gave me was as comfortable as an old pair of sweats…

Voice 2: And as ill-fitting as a prom dress three sizes too small.

Voice 1: Sometimes, when I dream at night I imagine a different name for myself.

Voice 2: Those dreams are the true desire of my heart, hopes I don’t dare to voice when the world has already pronounced its verdict over my life.

Voice 1: Heavenly Father, you authored my desire.

Voice 2: You gave me those dreams.

Voice 1: Yet in the cold florescent glare of the world’s light, those dreams seem nothing more than a hazy fantasy of my own invention.

Voice 2: When I heard about invitations going out to the best party of them all, I shrugged it off.

Voice 1: I wouldn’t be invited to an event like that.

Voice 2: Why would I be?

Voice 1: Never had been invited before.

Voice 2: Never dared to dream I would be today.

Voice 1: And then, there was a knock on my door.

Voice 2: And then, a kind messenger handed me an invitation.

Voice 1: My name engraved on the envelope.

Voice 2: It was the name I’d only dreamed of hearing from you, Lord.

Voice 1: Friend.

Voice 2: Others just like me…

Voice 1: Others who’d been wounded with labels like the one I wore…

Voice 2: …received invitations that day, too.

Voice 1: Their invitations had names like ‘son’.

Voice 2: ‘Daughter’.

Voice 1: ‘Holy’.

Voice 2: ‘Beloved’.

Voice 1: Father, these were the names you gave to us before we were even born.

Voice 2: While each one of us was still in our mother’s womb.

Voice 1: You, Lord, prepare a place at your table for us.

Voice 2: You, Lord, invite us to come to your table.

Voice 1: To revel in your presence.

Voice 2: To feast on your goodness.

Voice 1: To savor your mercy.

Voice 2: To be transformed by your grace.

Voice 1: And so, we respond to your invitation here in this place.

Voice 2: Grateful.

Voice 1: Humbled.

Voice 2: In awe of all you are and all you’ve done for us.

Voice 1: We say yes to your invitation with our new name on it.

Voice 2: We come to your table.

Voice 1: And as we do, we are fed…

Voice 2: …restored

Voice 1: …and renamed.

Trying to look on the sunny side

"My husband reads your blog, and he commented that you seem to have a lot of complaints about the Church," a friend told me recently.

A number of responses came to mind, mostly of the "Well, yeah" and "No duh" variety.

There are lot of voices offering criticism of the church around the blogosphere. A sizable percentage of these critics sing the laments that jilted lovers do. Their minor key songs are the kinds of songs sung by those who gave time and money and the best parts of themselves to a congregation, only to be neglected, used or abused in return. I would definitely put myself in this category. When I tell sad stories or ask questions about church, I am doing so because I want to use my voice to encourage others who've been hurt by the people who are meant to be your family in the best, healthiest sense of the word. I use my voice because there is nothing more affirming and empowering than discovering that you're not the only one.

That said, every once in a while it's good to tell a different kind of story about a church leader. I am still a part of the body of Christ, which means that either I'm completely nuts for sticking around after some of the horrors I've experienced in the Church - or I have learned that those people are not the sum and total of who the Bride is meant to be.

So with that, a good leader story. I first wrote about it in more detail here, but it is a story worth repeating. It is a beautiful picture of how a leader's response to a messy person can bring incredible healing. It remains one of the most transcendent moments I've ever had in a church.

I'd been, as they say, thrown under the bus several years earlier by a leader with a secret to protect. (The secret was that he was a porn addict and was thisclose to having an affair.) It was devastating at the time, but by this point, I figured I'd worked through the worst of it and I was now all right. Really. Fine, thanks.

I was at an organizational meeting in a new church in a new state years later when I saw a face, an image that transported me back in time to the point of impact. A PTSD microburst. I freaked out inside, but did my darndest to maintain a calm, rational exterior.

I nearly pulled it off, except for the fact that I'd begun shaking uncontrollably. I prayed that no one noticed, and tried to figure out how to excuse myself from this room of near-strangers so I could go to my car and cry. 

A leader at the church, Mike, noticed. He gently asked me if I was OK. I tried offering a brief explanation that would have allowed me to preserve a scrap of dignity, but I'm not sure I made any sense. My chattering teeth didn't help the effect.

Mike quietly directed the others in the room to gather around me, lay their hands on my shaking body, and pray. He'd been a grade school teacher for years, and he knew just what to do when someone got hurt at recess.

None of them knew what they were praying about for me. But the Holy Spirit knew, and he moved them to pray prayers of freedom and release that hit their mark. They could have branded me an emotionally-disturbed woman, and they'd have been right.

Instead, fueled by compassion and directed by Mike's shepherd leadership, they didn't label me with any other label - except that of a friend in need of prayer.

This is how a leader who is following Christ is supposed to respond to someone else's mess. In fact, this is how each one of us who has been filled with the Holy Spirit is invited to respond. Think Good Samaritan.

Mike did that night. And I am grateful. 

 

The electric fence

"I'm wondering if you and your husband have run into issues of sexual sin among any of the leaders in your congregation." My query paused the conversation while my friend reviewed her experiences in the last year or so since her husband had become an elder in a mid-sized, non-denominational congregation.

The fact that she had to pause and think about it answered my question.

"Well, there's a couple dealing with infidelity on the part of one of the spouses," she said at last.

"Are they in leadership roles?" I asked.

"Oh no," she said, a note of shock in her voice. "No problems at all like that. Why do you ask?"

I'd been reflecting on the devastation that had been wrought by the wandering desires of church leaders I've known over the years. Leaders' porn addictions, adulteries, emotional adulteries, more porn addictions, more adulteries and a few cases of fornication for good measure have pock-marked the narrow road I've walked during the last three decades.    

If a leader is not inclined to confess, then without a moment of hesitation, he or she will destroy anyone who gets too close to their secret. The love the ministry leader may profess for their congregation ends at the electrified fence they've built around their secret. The leader usually has no problem shoving the potential exposer into the fence and watching the person fry. "See? There's the problem in our congregation," the leader will say as he or she points to the now crispy-fried reputation of a brother or sister. And in my experience, they'll resort to this tactic again and again and again until they either get caught or collapse under the weight of their double life. 

Someone once told me I seemed to have trust issues with church leaders. (Ironically, I later discovered that this person was heavily involved in a cover-up of a church leader's emotional affair. But I digress.) When I recently shared some of our war stories with a new friend, I realized that either (a) my husband and I have extraordinarily terrible discernment when it comes to choosing churches or (b) the problems are here, there and everywhere, and when we've prayed "God, please use me", he will take us at our word and escort us right toward an electrified fence. 

The temptation to say, "Forget you" to the Church has been great at times - and there have been periods when simply walking in the door of a service and taking a seat in the back row has been all that I can do. Even then, when I was in non-involvement mode at a church, I once had a woman in leadership decide to befriend me because I seemed safe (because I was non-involved) and confess to me the affairs she and her husband had both had in recent years. Oy. 

I am certainly more guarded these days, but I believe that might be called "Wisdom". I also am learning to trust God, even when his people fail. I fail, and God trusts me to continue to carry his Spirit in spite of my own failures - and because of his bottomless love and mercy.

I also believe that the people I learn from are often not the ones wielding power in a church professing their desire to 'equip me for ministry', but the ones who probably aren't on the church org chart who have the time and openness to sit at a table across from me and share their lives. Our society provides us all with regular tutorials about the relationship of power to sexual appetite - Arnold Schwartzenegger and Anthony Weiner, most recently. Truth 101 here: Power in any sphere can be simultaneously a narcotic and an aphrodisiac, and yes, that combo, applied to the unhealed wounds of a church leader can out a dormant hidden self that will take down others to preserve its secrets. 

The note of shock in my friend's voice sounded a lot like "That could never happen here". That tone of pride was more alarming to me than her answer. Paul, writing to a congregation where sexual sin was center stage, coached them with these words of warning: "So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!" (1 Cor. 10:12) 

My prayer for my friend is that she and her husband will indeed be careful - especially if they find themselves being escorted toward an electric fence. 

Have you ever been in a church impacted by the sexual sin of a leader? How did it affect you? 

Country music words quiz

I've avoided the genre like smallpox, but in recent years, a few crossover hits have captured my imagination. And that Mad Magazine coverboy, also known as American Idol winner Scotty McCreery, got me to thinkin' 'bout tryin' the Country Music for the first time. (!) I challenged myself to give country a chance for a month.

I'm almost done with my 30-day challenge period wherein I listen to pop-hit country US99 in the car when I drive. There are a few songs that I simply can not stomach as a newbie country music listener (like this one), but for the most part, I think I might be getting hooked, at least a little bit. I like the storytelling aspect of the music, and there are bonus points because I don't feel quite as slimy as I do when listening to certain autotuned pop stars who shall remain naLAmeDYleGAssGA.

I'm a word girl, so I have collected a vocabulary list from the songs I've heard in heavy rotation on the radio station. Country music fans, can you name the current song and artist where each of these words are found? 

1. Porch

2. Critter

3. Piece o' wire

4. Mama

5. Daddy

6. Beer

7. Whiskey

8. Tractor

9. Coon dog

10. Conway Twitty

*I know, I know. Some of these words are in thousands of country songs. Seriously. Beer? Whiskey?Just do your best with what's on the current charts

**And yes, some of these words come from the same song. 

***Yes, yes, I do find myself wondering what a nice Jewish suburban Chicago girl like me is doing listening to a song with the words "Coon dog" in it. Thanks for asking.