Chad Bird Quotes

The glory of Advent and Christmas is camouflaged by humility, anonymity and even foolishness, for our God likes to hide himself beneath his opposite.

In every instance, forgiveness morphs into a self-serving tool of manipulation we use to control other people. Inside our clouded minds, we convince ourselves we’re doing what’s ultimately best for us.

When Jesus “starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably,” when his work in our lives “does not seem to make sense,” then he’s really getting somewhere. He’s pounding gaping holes in the painted drywall of our own wisdom to reveal the termite-infested 2x4s on the other side. Ripping up the carpet to point out an inch-wide crack in the foundation. What we thought would take a few months to fix and fancy up will, it turns out, require a lifetime of labor. But Christ is okay with that. He was, after all, raised in the home of a carpenter. And he’ll take his sweet time. C. S. Lewis says he “intends to come and live in it Himself,” but the truth is, he’s already moved in, put his underwear and socks in the drawers, and buckled on his tool belt. He’s here for the long haul.

The forgiveness of the Father doesn’t wait for us to demonstrate adequate, sincere repentance. It doesn’t let us humbly accept a servant position in the household, or a chance gradually to earn our Father’s favor again through a life of obedience. Christ’s forgiveness precedes our repentance—and calls it forth.

Psalm 24 doesn’t ask us any questions to which it doesn’t give us the answers: “Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord? And who shall stand in his holy place?” The answer: the person with clean hands, a pure heart, a true soul and honest speech. And that puts us in a bind. For in one way or another, we all have dirtied our hands and muddied our souls in a selfish life. So who’s going to ascend this hill? Stand in God’s holy place? The King of Glory, that’s who. The Lord, strong and mighty, the Lord, mighty in battle! The Lord of Advent stayed clean to make us clean. And he became unclean with our evil on the cross to strip it away from us.

Жираф Сегодня, я вижу, особенно грустен твой взгляд, И руки особенно тонки, колени обняв. Послушай: далёко, далёко на озере Чад Изысканный бродит жираф. Ему грациозная стройность и нега дана, И шкуру его украшает волшебный узор, С которым равняться осмелиться только Луна, Дробясь и качаясь на влаге широких озёр. Вдали он подобен цветным парусам корабля, И бег его плавен, как радостный птичий полёт. Я знаю, что много чудесного видит земля, Когда на закате он прячется в мраморный грот. Я знаю весёлые сказки таинственных стран Про чёрную деву, про страсть молодого вождя, Но ты слишком долго вдыхала тяжёлый туман, Ты верить не хочешь во что-нибудь, кроме дождя. И как я тебе расскажу про тропический сад, Про стройный пальмы, про запах немыслимых трав... Ты плачешь? Послушай... далёко, на озере Чад Изысканный бродит жираф. The Giraffe O, the look in your eyes this morning is more than usually sad, With your little arms wrapped round your knees and body bent in half. Let me tell you a story: far, far away, on the distant shores of Lake Chad, There roams a most majestic giraffe Blessed with a handsome build and graceful carriage And a coat painted hypnotic, magical patterns, With which none but the moon above dare compare When her light falls down to be scattered and rocked on the waters, Passing like a blazing sail far out at sea As she runs by, nimble and carefree as a bird in flight. I hear tell the earth has seen many wonderful things When the giraffe hides herself away and the sun sets into night. I know fabulous tales of far off, alien lands, Of a dark maiden, of a young captain’s burning desire, all this I know, But you’ve breathed in the damp marsh air for so long You don’t want to believe in anything but the rain out your window. I still haven’t told you about her tropic garden, with the slenderest palm trees, The sweetest wildflowers, meadows of unbelievable grass . . . Are you crying? Let me tell you a story: far away, on the distant shores of Lake Chad, There roams a most majestic giraffe.

I’m Captain Florida, the state history pimp Gatherin’ more data than a DEA blimp West Palm, Tampa Bay, Miami-Dade Cruisin’ the coasts till Johnny Vegas gets laid Developer ho’s, and the politician bitches Smackin’ ’em down, while I’m takin’ lots of pictures Hurricanes, sinkholes, natural disaster ’Scuse me while I kick back, with my View-Master (S:) I’m Captain Florida, obscure facts are all legit (C:) I’m Coleman, the sidekick, with a big bong hit (S:) I’m Captain Florida, staying literate (C:) Coleman sees a book and says, “Fuck that shit” Ain’t never been caught, slippin’ nooses down the Keys Got more buoyancy than Elián González Knockin’ off the parasites, and takin’ all their moola Recruiting my apostles for the Church of Don Shula I’m an old-school gangster with a psycho ex-wife Molly Packin’ Glocks, a shotgun and my 7-Eleven coffee Trippin’ the theme parks, the malls, the time-shares Bustin’ my rhymes through all the red-tide scares (S:) I’m the surge in the storms, don’t believe the hype (C:) I’m his stoned number two, where’d I put my hash pipe? (S:) Florida, no appointments and a tank of gas (C:) Tequila, no employment and a bag of grass Think you’ve seen it all? I beg to differ Mosquitoes like bats and a peg-leg stripper The scammers, the schemers, the real estate liars Birthday-party clowns in a meth-lab fire But dig us, don’t diss us, pay a visit, don’t be late And statistics always lie, so ignore the murder rate Beaches, palm trees and golfing is our curse Our residents won’t bite, but a few will shoot first Everglades, orange groves, alligators, Buffett Scarface, Hemingway, an Andrew Jackson to suck it Solarcaine, Rogaine, eight balls of cocaine See the hall of fame for the criminally insane Artifacts, folklore, roadside attractions Crackers, Haitians, Cuban-exile factions The early-bird specials, drivin’ like molasses Condo-meeting fistfights in cataract glasses (S:) I’m the native tourist, with the rants that can’t be beat (C:) Serge, I think I put my shoes on the wrong feet (S:) A stack of old postcards in another dingy room (C:) A cold Bud forty and a magic mushroom Can’t stop, turnpike, keep ridin’ like the wind Gotta make a detour for a souvenir pin But if you like to litter, you’re just liable to get hurt Do ya like the MAC-10 under my tropical shirt? I just keep meeting jerks, I’m a human land-filler But it’s totally unfair, this term “serial killer” The police never rest, always breakin’ in my pad But sunshine is my bling, and I’m hangin’ like a chad (S:) Serge has got to roll and drop the mike on this rap . . . (C:) Coleman’s climbin’ in the tub, to take a little nap . . . (S:) . . . Disappearin’ in the swamp—and goin’ tangent, tangent, tangent . . . (C:) He’s goin’ tangent, tangent . . . (Fade-out) (S:) I’m goin’ tangent, tangent . . . (C:) Fuck goin’ platinum, he’s goin’ tangent, tangent . . . (S:) . . . Wikipedia all up and down your ass . . . (C:) Wikity-Wikity-Wikity . . .

I thank God that he didn’t choose a rule-following, t-crossing and i-dotting, cream of the moral crop, most-likely-never-to-do-anything-shameful man to be the patriarch of the OT people of God. He chose Jacob. He chose a disciple with a shady past, a troubling future, a dysfunction family, and a heart drunk on ego to be his #1 guy. Christ wanted it to be patently clear that being his follower is not about climbing a ladder of spiritual success but being greeted by mercy at the bottom of the ladder by the Lord who climbs down to us.

In forgiveness we lose the control we thought we had, because there is no controlling the unrelenting, radical grace of a forgiveness-crazy Father. This love is frightening to the careful, reprehensible to the legalist, dangerous to the moralist. But if you’ve experienced it, you know it’s like being yanked out of the grave and having your coffin lid pried open. It is the most unexpected pleasure in the world to be loved without condition by a God who makes no demands.

Forgiveness, like life itself, doesn’t have our name scrawled on it. It isn’t our property, much less our tool or weapon. Those who sin against us don’t owe us an apology. They don’t owe us repentance, tears, promises of improvement, vows never to repeat what they’ve done. Nothing is what they owe. When we forgive, we are pressing into the palm of a fellow transgressor the coin of freedom with which Christ has enriched us. We give only what we first received. When the Spirit reveals this to us, we discover what a joy it is to bury the hatchet in an unmarked grave.

Rather than whitewashing the flaws of their characters, the biblical authors paint them in lurid and glowing colors. In fact, some of the narratives are so embarrassingly honest that I cringe to think that these poor souls have had their dirty underwear swinging in the breeze of Scripture for millennia.

Read a hundred libraries worth of self-help books. Train for triathlons and learn breathing techniques. Listen to the right life coaches and eat kale every day. Whatever you wish. All it takes is a lump in the breast, a drunk teen behind the wheel, or a short in the wires of your attic, to bring your little ideal world crashing

As you follow Jesus, do not expect your personal weaknesses and unwelcome character traits to disappear. They will not. Do not expect to get everything right all the time. You will not. Do not expect, as a disciple, that life will be a little easier for you than for unbelievers. Most likely, it will be more difficult, for the world is an unwelcome place for citizens of the kingdom of God.

With some regularity, people caricature God in the OT. The picture him as a mean, bloodthirsty, sadistic tyrant who gets off on steamrolling sinners with plagues and other nastiness. Even if they don’t go to those extremes, they still depict him as a God of wrath, who is then juxtaposed with the God of love in the NT. This is theological hogwash, of course, a false dichotomy utterly untrue to the witness of both the OT and NT. But that doesn’t stop people from thinking this way.

The Greek verb for “made perfect,” teleo, is the same verb spoken by Jesus on the cross when he cried out, “Tetelestai,” that is, “It is finished” or “It has been made perfect.

The Hebrew phrase, “drew up his feet” is unusual. The impression is that Jacob, on his bed, assumes a kind of fetal position. He whom we met at the beginning of this book, while still in utero, at the start of his life, now finishes his life in much the same way. Then, he was already wrestling with his twin brother; now, his fights are over, his race is run, and he is “gathered to his people

Following Jesus, we gimp our way down the dark and slippery paths of life. As we do, we discover, ironically, that the longer we follow him, the weaker we become, and the more we lean on our Lord. Finally, at our most mature, our eyes are opened to realize that we’ve never run or walked or even limped a single day of our lives. We’ve been on Christ’s shoulders the entire time.

Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” the Psalmist asks. Just as the glory of God was concealed beneath Jesus, a common-looking man; just as his victory over sin was hidden beneath the shame and blood and suffering of the cross; so God is also veiled beneath the darkness and grief as we travel the crooked path leading from brokenness to healing.

I think it’s safe to assume that we all have Labans in our past. Perhaps our present, too. Maybe it was a boss with a demeaning and dictatorial attitude. A spouse who came into our lives like a warm April breeze and left like a frigid

This witness that we give, this invitation to become co-citizens of the heavenly Jerusalem with us, is fostered within the culture of the church. Here is a key truth: the only way we are able to “participate in everything as citizens” is by ongoing participation in the life of God’s people. I don’t mean following a celebrity preacher on Twitter and Instagram. I don’t mean listening to our favorite theologian’s podcast or the local Christian radio station on our morning commute. I mean butts in the pews, eyes on the altar, ears attuned to the pulpit, mouths chewing the bread of the Supper, tongues red with Communion wine, hands clasping the hands of fellow believers, vocal cords singing hymns, knees bent in prayer. The only way we can be fully present in our modern Babylons is by simultaneously being fully present, bodily present, in a congregation we call home.

God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved” (Ps. 46:5). The heavenly Jerusalem, which will come down from God on the last day, already comes down every Lord’s day into our midst as we gather around his Word, his baptism, his meal (Rev. 21:2). In the Jerusalem of our local congregation we learn how to live in the Babylon of our local community. Our hearts are taught the love of God and neighbor, our eyes are directed to the face of our Father, our minds are set on things above, our feet are trained to walk in paths of righteousness, our hands are schooled in the sacrifice of service for those in need. In other words, we are immersed in true religion, the Spirit’s piety. The more at home we are in the Jerusalem of the church, the safer we are in the Babylon of this world. And the more productive we will be in that Babylon, because we will live as

To the Roman church, he said that we are “individually members one of another” (Rom. 12:5). To the Ephesian church, he repeated that “we are members one of another” (Eph. 4:25). To the Corinthian church, he said that “in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body” so now “you are the body of Christ and individually members of it” (1 Cor. 12:13, 27). There are no solitary Christians, leading independent lives, needing only Jesus but not the church, just as there are no solitary toes or ears or eyes, leading an existence apart from the rest of the human body, needing only a personal relationship with the Creator but not the rest of the body.

But if he does three key things—demonstrates adequate, sincere repentance, humbly accepts a servant position in the household, and gradually earns his father’s favor again through a demonstrable life of obedience—then perhaps everything will be made right again.

The redemption of the Messiah is a gracious, creative act, prefigured already in the opening two chapters of the Bible. Isaiah describes his kingdom, in which we participate in a now-and-not-yet sort of way. Now, by our baptism into Jesus, we are members of his kingdom and citizens of the New Jerusalem. But we do not yet fully experience this, of course, for we await the return of our Lord, the resurrection of our bodies, and a life of joy and peace in the new creation.

The most astonishing, countercultural truth in the kingdom of Jesus is that love and acceptance have zero basis in worth or accomplishment. A billionaire in the Upper East Side in New York City is no more worthy of love and acceptance than the schizophrenic homeless man sleeping in an alley in the Bronx. Before any of us build a business or declare bankruptcy, before we earn a PhD or drop out of high school, before we establish a soup kitchen or star in a porn video, we are equally loved by the God who shows no favoritism. Our personal success does not attract his love, nor does our failure expand or contract it. The God who is love loves us indiscriminately, passionately, furiously. That love was on cosmic display when, atop a Roman tree of crucifixion, Jesus became the millionaire and the addict, the nun and the stripper, the newborn baby and the wrinkled octogenarian. All humanity—with its sores and wounds and twisted souls and barren lives and evil-infested pasts—he became, that all humanity might become, in him, resplendent in the eyes of the Father.

Franzmann, a Bible interpreter and theologian, was also a hymn writer. In a hymn on the Reformation, he concludes with a beautiful, unforgettable prayer. He asks that the Holy Spirit would breathe on his “cloven church once more, That in these gray and latter days, There may be men whose life is praise, Each life a high doxology, to Father, Son, and unto Thee.”3 When our theology becomes doxology, it not only is sung but creates lives of “high doxology”—lives in which we truly no longer live, but having been crucified with Christ, we live in and through him (cf. Gal. 2:20). As Jesus prayed, “that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us. . . . I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one” (John 17:21, 23).

[O]ne learns that boredom is a disease of civilization. It seems to me that what boredom mostly is is that people have to keep themselves entertained or occupied, because if they aren’t, then certain anxieties, frustrations, discontents, and so forth, start coming to the surface, and it makes them uncomfortable. Boredom is almost non-existent once you’ve adapted to life in the woods. If you don’t have any work that needs to be done, you can sit for hours at a time just doing nothing, just listening to the birds or the wind or the silence, watching the shadows move as the sun travels, or simply looking at familiar objects. And you don’t get bored. You’re just at peace.

When Jesus cried out from the cross, Tetelestai, “It is finished” (John 19:30), he was declaring that all things had been brought to their divinely ordained telos—end or goal—in him. All history had been flowing in his direction. Every river, stream, and rivulet of OT history emptied into the sea of himself. Many of the people in that history pointed beyond themselves, to the telos who is Christ.

qedem not only means “east” and “in front,” but also “past” or “olden days.” This makes perfect sense when you reflect on it a bit. The past is what we have already experienced, already seen, right? So the past is not behind us but in front of us. It is not hidden, but qedem—before our eyes. What about the future? The Hebrews had this one figured out too. Their words for “future,” acharit and acharon, also mean “behind” or “at the back.” Just like we can’t see what’s behind us, so we can’t see the future. It is hidden from us, at our backs, acharit and acharon. Therefore, in the Hebrew way of thinking, we walk backward into the future, with our eyes on “what has been” in order to know “what will be.” The past is our eye to the future.

To follow the Messiah entails following how he interpreted the Scriptures. And judging by his words, he interpreted them, in their totality, as a testimony about himself.

Study Romans, Galatians, Peter’s epistles, Hebrews, James, or Revelation and ask yourself, “Why do these authors quote or allude to the Torah much more frequently than they do the words of Jesus? Because no gospels had yet been written?” No, that can hardly be the reason. Even if Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John were not yet written, the teachings and sayings of Jesus would have been circulating orally. Then why does Moses get more apostolic press than Christ’s own words? The reason is straightforward: Jesus himself repeatedly affirmed that all things had already been written about him in Moses and the prophets. Far from ignoring the words of Jesus in their writings, therefore, the apostles strongly affirm them, for in quoting predominately from the Tanak, they confess, “You know what? Jesus is right. These Scriptures are all about him.

What is going on? To begin, language is lifted from the Torah and prophets, rearranged and repurposed to show how Jesus is the Son of God, Servant of the Lord, New Isaac, and Prophet like Moses.

Metalepsis is a literary technique of citing or echoing a small bit of a precursor text in such a way that the reader can grasp the significance of the echo only by recalling or recovering the original context from which the fragmentary echo came and then reading the two texts in dialogical juxtaposition.

Our Father, grant us humility, that in our lowliness we behold your exalted grace. Amen.

God will snatch away the forgiveness which our repentance, humility, and obedience made possible.

We’ll manipulate forgiveness, because ultimately it is ours to give to whomever we desire, under whatever conditions we choose, to achieve whatever ends serve us best.

Reflected in a rippling pool of gutter water a metal hawk razored across the midday sky, belching a long trailing shriek as she crossed zenith and descended talons-first into her nearby nest on the horizon. The prophet Austin’s shined black loafer described a high arc over the pool and onto the waydrive of a one-story dwelling. Close behind followed his brother in Christ, Chad, though his loafer did crash into the pool-water and split the image of the metal bird asunder.

You have had a good deal of pain in your life, and you have been a good steward of it.”13

He threw Scholscher a challenging glance. The major was thinking of the motives that could drive a man like Haas to live alone for twenty-five years among the elephants of Lake Chad. It was again that spark of misanthropy which most people carry in them, a presentiment of some different and better company than their own kind, a spark that sometimes blazes up and takes astonishing, unpredictable and explosive forms. He thought also of the old Chinese who never move without their pet grasshoppers, of the Tunisians who take their caged birds to the cafe with them, and of Colonel Babcock who spent hours with his eyes fixed on a jumping bean, which kept him company. He was slightly astonished to hear that Haas believed in God — there seemed to be a contradiction there; it’s true, he thought, taking a pull at his pipe, that God hasn’t got a cold muzzle a man can touch when he feels lonely, that one can’t stroke Him behind the ears, that He doesn’t wag His tail at the sight of you every morning, and that you cannot catch sight of Him trotting over the hills with His ears flapping and His trunk in the air. One can’t even hold Him in one’s hand like a nice warm pipe, and since a spell on earth after all lasts fifty or sixty years, it’s perfectly understandable that people should end by buying themselves a pipe or a jumping bean.