Gold and Steel-Toed Shoes Part III

Christ and Steel-Toed Shoes
The history of the Christian church is a creedal history. No institution in the history of man has produced more literature, or more literature about it, than Christianity. And in 451 A.D. the creed ofChalcedon was codefied. It dealt with the nature of Christ. It collated it, and declared that Christ was 100% God and 100% man.
Two natures, one person.
I think it can be said that Christ was the first "real" human. He was the first, and only since, to practice self-less compassion. There was no deceit found on the tip of His tongue. No guile resided in His heart, and no sin within His soul.
What made Him the only "real" human is the fact that He did not possess in Himself what we possess in our very being. A heart of stone.
His heart was one of flesh. It's sinew beat a rhythm of honesty, love, and forgiveness.
His heart was on His sleeve, and He wore it proudly.
He loved those who were considered un-loveable. He cherished those who were thought to be of no worth. He was the only one who could really sympathize with pain, and later to empathize
with it. Mine and yours. His humanity, and His fellowship with all of humanity, is brought to us in bright colors in scripture.
"Now a certain man was sick, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha It was the Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment, and wiped His feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was sick. So the sisters sent word to Him, saying, "Lord, behold, he whom You love is sick." But when Jesus heard this, He said, "This sickness is not to end in death, but for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified by it." Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus."(John 11: 1-5 NASB)
Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. In this sentence His affection is spelled out concerning the two sisters and Lazarus.
Here Jesus puts Lazarus' sickness into context. He gives it meaning. His sickness is not the sickness of a dog which dies and is then discarded. No, his sickness is purpose laden, and Christ puts the sickness in perspective, it is " ... for the glory of God, so that the Son of God
may be glorified by it."
This dying man could not ascend Jacob's ladder here for "transcendence." He could not escape his conclusion, to hide in the shadows of a supposed placebo. Songs, and dances cannot quell the fear that grips his heart. Death is coming, and all he can do is wait.
But Jesus does not tend to Lazarus immediately. He waits also.
He waits until,
"..Lazarus is dead and I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, so that you may believe;
but let us go to him." (John 11:14-15 NASB)
When He finally arrives at His friend's house He finds that not only is He late for the funeral, but he's already been dead four days. Again, death was on time. It had set a schedule that it'd been keeping for centuries. And now it had descended upon Lazarus and claimed another victim.
Mary and Martha, Lazarus' sisters were distraught. The many smiles they had' shared were now forever entombed behind a boulder. His many teasings. Maybe even his practical jokes. They were all left to the past of two sisters who were now left in mournful confusion.
No more were they to enjoy his companionship. No more were they to go about the task of the day together, for death had interrupted their abode. And now they resigned themselves to life without their brother.
But Christ tightens the laces on His "steel-toed shoes."
Listen to their hearts and see if they sound familiar.
"Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, about two miles off; and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary, to console them concerning their brother. Martha therefore, when she heard that Jesus was coming, went to meet Him, but Mary stayed at the house."
But it's too late now Jesus
"Martha then said to Jesus, "Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died."Even now I know that whatever You ask of God, God will give You."Jesus said to her, "Your brother will rise again. Martha said to Him, "I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day."
It seems that all of eternity stands on the edge of it's seat. All of man's hopes lend an ear. For here He is. Face to face with our worst fear. Death.
Prepare yourself, dear reader, for meaning and reason and rhyme to your life and your death. For the next phrase sums up all of our breaths, our pain, our tears, our hopes, our dreams, our longings, our desires. Our superstitions have followed us here. Our nightmares, that only we know about, have
come to this place before this tomb. And we listen to His words that cause an explosion of joy
to our souls like the waves on the ocean's surface during a tempest.
"Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life' he who believes in Me will live even ifhe dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die. Do you believe this?" (John 11: 18-26)
And that is the question. In order to  escape the absurdity of life an answer is required.
Steel-Toed Shoes and the Cross
What has no meaning at the cross is our efforts to grasp the transcendent or purity. Even death, if we die with our "steel-toed shoes" of arrogance still on, will leave us meaningless.
For we have sought meaning in that which has none, namely ourselves and our good deeds and self
goodness. And that kind of death is the vanity of vanities.
Here, at His death, we must despair of ourselves, and unlace the "steel-toed shoes" of our own perceived goodness, or righteousness, which we so proudly shine and parade around in. But He still sees them as worthless, dirty work boots, which need to be thrown into the fire, for this is holy ground and the proud are not welcome.
When we unlace and place our "steel-toed shoes" at the foot of the cross, through faith, He then
gives our lives meaning and depth. Our celebrations, our songs and dances, our joy, our laughter, our tears, our pain are now bursting with meaning because of Christ and His cross. Even, and especially, death. Because here on the cross death has finally found it's meaning.
Resurrection.
Gold and Steel-Toed Shoes
The joy that must have enraptured John's soul that day when he begin to pen the book of Revelation. Thoughts of gold and silver, pearly gates and crystal rivers were far from his decided to pay him a little visit.
Tradition has it that John had just been dipped in oil and sent to the Isle of Patmos to live out his remaining days. The church had started to endure great persecution and hardship.
James was beheaded.
Paul was also. Peter, again tradition tells us, was crucified upside down.
Why?
Because they believed in the antithesis of death. The resurrection. And more concisely the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and they were quite stubborn in their resolve.
Pretty soon Nero would line his gardens with Christians on stakes, and set them on fire to add light when the night came to Rome.
The Emperor Domitian will also cause Christians to be thrown to the lions.
But as John reached the end of his life, as most scholars believe, he had a vision. And the book of Revelation tells the story of that vision. (There is plenty of disagreement between
Christians on how to interpret Revelations)
In Revelations 20:13-14 an astonishing statement is given:
"And the sea gave up the dead which were in it, and death and Hades gave up the dead which were in them; and they werejudged, every one ofthem according to their deeds. Then death and Hades were thrown into the lake of fire. This is the second death the lake of fire"
Death and Hades are finally destroyed.
In Revelation 21 it is even more astonishing:
"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven aDdthe first earth passed away, and there is no longer any sea. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, made ready as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne, saying, "Behold, the tabernacle of God is among men, and He will dwell among them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself will be among them, and He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be anymourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away. And He who sits on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new." And He .said, "Write, for these words are faithful and true." Then
He said to me, "It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega,the beginning and the end. I will give to the one who thirsts from the spring of the water oflife without cost."
 Gone are the anxieties.
The disease.
The crying over lost loved ones. For: "... when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality,then will come about the saying that is written, "Death is swallowed up in victory. "0 death, where is your victory?0 death, where is your sting' (I Corinthians 15:54-55 NASB)
 I've often heard a saying about that day. I've heard it called "that great getting up morning." On that
morning, ALL believers, my grandfather, my father, will leave these frayed steel-toed shoes behind for good. For what need are steel-toed shoes in a city where "the street...was pure gold, like transparent glass"
So grandpa, dad....I'll see y'all in the morning.
Amen.

Gold and Steel-Toed Shoes Part II

I first penned this article in 2001. Since then a different texture has been added to the recipe.
Just three years later from the writing of the article, death would pay me a more stark and memorable visit. It would paint in more vivid colors this time, because, although my grandfather was an emblem and symbol in my life, a father is more so.
Those moments in 2004 still hang on my wall like ugly paintings which are hard to give meaning to. My explanatory and interpretive tools have a problem with their hue. Those painting's mix of color give a sickening portrait of the scene and the artist. But the artist's talent for making the viewer's interpretation to be obtuse and confusing is enough to make any abstractionist to wonder.
The same devil came to visit again.
Even more ironic, for death seems to like to swim in those waters, was that the same devil came back to the same place intending on a different conclusion.
Melvin Kegley first got cancer when he was twenty two and a new husband and father.
My father survived that little dance. But the next time, 36 years later, he would not.
Death settled over his body on a Thursday morning around 5:30 am October 21, 2004.
And that event still hangs in the air I breathe.
Eat, Drink, and be Merry
So we tread gingerly on that thread extended from the womb to the tomb,
while our conscience is obliged to shove the prospect of death to the dark corners. Death, as a proposition, shares the cobwebs with the darkest of our secrets. And we care not to sweep there, lest we wake some old monsters.
The vow that the bride and groom takes, "until death do us part," is not a
cognizant reality for them, as they await for the honeymoon and the consummate celebration.
But some lives become a never-ending search for honeymoons and celebrations. It's not that the desire for joy is an evil intention of humanity, it's just that the joy is fleeting. Searching, and seeking for fulfillment in tangible things, or desiring the fruits of materialism, while the reaper waits, becomes the quintessential act of futility. We seek to please the heart, which has a fatal disease, by materials that, themselves, fade, gather dust, or that exist in tomorrow's memory that in itself is enveloped in cobwebs, broken chandoliers, and floors that need sweeping.
Our habitation, in these "steel-toed shoes," bear the ocean depths of vanity and
insignificance. Our labors become the miniscule trappings of paupers.
Even kings and queens go down into the grave, while their crowns, thrones and
jewels are abdicated to another. Rich men allocate, liquidate, buy and
sell, but beyond the pomp of their own funeral procession, lies a decaying remnant of one whose breath has been stolen.
We all share in the community of life, and we all share in the community of death. We will all participate in the consummation of this vanity, for the Lord of heaven has declared it and we shall not escape it;
"It is appointed unto man once to die, and after this the judgment."
And herein lies our greatest fear. But for the believer, our greatest victory.
The heart whispers, "Eternity."
The heart can be said to be the seat of the emotions. It is the garden of our desires out of which bloom those precious dreams. At times the sunshine of joy shines ubiquitously over it's meadows. At other times it rains.
But the Bible gives another picture of the heart. It speaks of it as being a heart of stone. Unable to act. Unable to feel. Unable to acclimate itself. Dead.
But even on stones, the wind blows.
Sometimes ferociously. Sometimes softly. Yet it still blows, giving respite from the heat or announcing the coming stonn.
So it is with the heart. Sometimes it nudges our conscience softly, "You're going to die."
Other times it shouts it. (As it did with my grandfather and father's death)
In spite of the little buds that seem to creep through the cracks, the heart remains stoney. Hard. Bitter.
But death, and the prospect of death, softens the rocky exterior.
Yet the heart speaks of something else. And somewhere, an echo from the
cavernous depths of our soul, we hear it's message. Although quiet, we are unable to dismiss it.
Above the clatter of the busy day.
Beyond the sound of much chaos.
Even when death calls, we can still hear the heart, for it warns of a truth we know too well. It reminds us loudly of our impending
demise, yes, but more than that...
The heart whispers "Eternity."
The Search for Meaning
There are certain proclivities of humanity that, I think, are understandable.
The desire for wine, and our propensity for cursing.
Delving into the psychology of both I think we find a searching for the transcendent while the fruit of the lips condemn the search as futile. Something akin to looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. This transcendence is elusive and shadowy. To escape and touch the "wings of
angels," or a transportation into the realm of "the gods," we know, instinctively, is an ability that cannot be adduced from this frame. And
escaping this frame through abdicating, or inebriating, it's pain through the exercising of innate driving passions, becomes a base way of
exorcising that constant "whisper" from our hearing.
Psssssst. Death awaits.
In ancient pagan cultures, Roman and Greek, wine was a religious tool for the
participant to enter into an "altered state of consciousness" so he could touch the fingertips of "the gods." Maybe the underlying motive is the same today, for our hearts know the truth of our existence, but it is a rude companion.
So we long for transcendence.
Purity.
Something other than our own reality.
Something not touched by our hands or by the decay of this clay.
And we curse when we find that those moments of "purity" are fleeting, as if they were only illusory to begin with.
Our cursing comes from the vacuum of our souls.
This increasing desire for ''purity'' is evident in our culture, and it's artists.
Musicians strive for ''purity'' in the surreal. Their songs are ensconced in the search for "otherness." They dwell, and make their living, in the realm of imagination and the quest for ''perfection.''
Somehow this human experience leaves something lacking, for our hearts reach for something which exists beyond our capacity to grasp.
But, consequently, since the shadows are elusive, it adds pain upon pain, and despair upon despair.
We never seem to be at rest. We pour every smile, every cheer, into a brief speck of time. But in the end, when death comes, our lives, our passions, our celebrations, or even our tears have no meaning. In fact, when that which
we have feared our whole lives, comes to collect the debt due him, we are faced with the meaninglessness of deaths duty. We are left just being an exercise in existential absurdity and futility. Why would death be meaningful if life is meaningless?
Except...
"Sarxe egenetos en ho Logos"
The Word became flesh.
This life is rescued from the pits of absurdity by three words.
God became man.
He who was with the Father from eternity past, became man.
In Philippians 2 Paul writes:
"Have this attitude in yourselveswhich was also in
Christ Jesus, who, although He existed in the form of
God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be
grasped but emptied Himself, taking the form of a
bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men.
Being found in appearance as a man He humbled
Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death,
even death on a cross." (philippians 2:5-8 NASB)
*(this is considered to be a very early Christian
hymn)
He was in the form or ''morphe'' of God, being God Himself.
But He did not grasp at His equality with God. He, in a matter of speaking, let go.
Alas, the "transcendent," the "purity," the "otherness," became a man. He whom we seek in wine, women, and song stepped on this soil in feet of clay.
In John 1:1 His eternality and His intimate relationship with the Father is carefully delineated. Using the Greek verb "en, " which means "continuous action in the past," John defines His existence as being before anything that exists.
En arche (en) ho Logos.
In the Beginning was the Word.
As far back as you can push "the beginning" the Word already was. (James R.
White "The Forgotten Trinity")
But the shock to the Jew and the Greek is "sarxe egenetos en ho Logos. "Our labors to acquire "purity" or to catch the tail of what "transcends" this dullness, and this experiential "sameness" is quieted. Our hopes and dreams, which before swam in the depths of inconsequence and insignificance, are
buoyed by the incarnation. The transcendent becomes imminent.
Now sense can be made of our existence. Because of Christ, our lives are placed in a definitional context, and are no longer left to forces of condescension, which have no meaning.
Christ, His death, burial, and resurrection, gives rhyme and reason for us.
Without Him coming in the flesh, we have "beings" who exist for no reason "to be." All is futile and vain.
"Then I said, "Behold, I have come
(In the scroll ofthe book it is written of Me)
To do Your will, 0 God." (Hebrews 10:7 NASB)
So on a night in Bethlehem about 2000 yrs ago, our past, present, and our future took on a new meaning. For the hearts desire, became Immanuel. God with us.
Christ put on "steel-toed shoes."

(next week Part III)

Gold and Steel-Toed Shoes Part I

(Following is an article I wrote in 2001)

In memory of Wilson Munroe Lamb and Melvin Lewis Kegley

I can remember the little girl next door. Barely in Elementary School she is suddenly stricken with a disease called Leukemia. After years of fighting the disease, she never approaches her teen years before it takes her life. My first experience with death was at her viewing. The heavy cloud of depression hung in my mind for awhile.
I can remember a little boy being hit by a car on 14th street while riding his bicycle.
I remember a young man in High School losing his life in a fire, saving his little brother.
I remember my Grandpa and Grandma Kegley, with him in his wheelchair, in their mobile home right off of Beltline road in Coppell, TX. Death, after a series of strokes, took possession of his life in 1978. In 1990 his wife, my grandma, lost hers after a heart attack.
Old man Milton, my Cowboy and wrestling watching buddy, lost the same battle.
The graveyards are filled with such memories and our memories are filled with such graveyards. Loved ones.
Moms and dads.
Brothers and sisters.
Friends.
We all experience the pain and
trepidation of death.

Death and It's Shadow
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow
of death. " (Psalms 23)

So here we are. The light of existence is now obscured by the ominous presence of death.
It hangs above our heads like Damocles' sword swearing to cut us off from the land of the living if we tread to close.
And we live in it's shadow.
It's shadow covers every aspect of our lives.
Relationships.
Dreams and goals.
What we do, think, see and say is extended out to the end our own finiteness and no further. When the breath of man is stilled then his dreams are stilled with him. He lives and dwells in the corridors of mortality never knowing when the dimly lit flame will be extinguished and the corridor will be darkened.

the curse of finitude

Life.
To experience this dynamic is God's most gracious gift. There are many things about "life" that
each individual could resurrect from memory to encourage the crease of a smile at the corners of
the mouth. We remember smells of summer, spring, fall and winter. We remember moods.
We recall sunrises and sunsets. We reminisce about vacations and anniversaries with pictures,
videos and scrapbooks at the ready. We learn from triumphs and failures. In the midst of our sojourn on Earth, we enjoy her exquisite beauty, while gazing up into her heavenly chambers, wondering.
Our senses are inundated with sights, sounds, and touches of grace akin to the dew softly touching the morning fields.The ambience of this existence is sweet like honey, but, like clouds that bring rain and
then whither from their ferocious intentions, this vapor of life extends it's aroma so far then drifts
into the evening shadows. This life buds, blooms, and fades. And like the rose, when in full glory suffers the irony of the thoms, our lives are tinged with sorrow. We are tender flowers that stretch their stem to breathe in the ebullience of the sun. We strive for growth and then we weep over the
fading of the vibrancy of our frame. Here in this garden of finitude, we of flesh and bone, drink
in the rain until our roots become weak, and the wind desecrates this rose of vitality, and scatters
it to a plateau of uncertainty. This valley of "being" is illustrious with colors and fragrances;
This banquet of hope sets dreams on wings to soar; These mountains flow with lively streams
of sustenance. And it is here, in this existence called life, where we find, hiding amongst the
shadows, our worst fear.
Death.
Whether the sun is shining or the shade of clouds cover the blue, this foreboding is everpresent.
It's shadow is cast deeper than the easy smiling veneer of man. It goes beyond his polite conversations and social gatherings. Here in his inner sanctuary, a quiet corner, the truth of his
future resonates with clarity. It drinks tea with him. It eats breakfast with him. It works with him. And finally man will capitulate to the will of this master. All who are born, are born to die.
But man suppresses it with diversions and extra-curricular activities. Thus is the motive of this temple of clay, to set the mind wandering from the reality of his own finitude.
But whatever trails of life that wechoose to trod down cannot dull the senses enough to shed the innate despondency that grasps us when we wonder, "Is that just a bend
in the road, or is that the road's end?"
In some ways this existence is condescending. It at times seems to be an arbitrary whim of forces unseen and unknown. Our hands are in constant motion in preparation not for the expiration ofthis human event, but rather for the continuation of life. The future calls to man and bids him forward with courage, but she holds promises and despair.
Man spends the Sunday afternoons of his youth hoping for tomorrow, and the Sunday evenings of old age wishing for yesterday.
But the human predicament thrives on this slippery slope. This violent thread of life extends into an abyss of which we are not experientially cognizant of such an experience. We neither know, exhaustively, when the epilogue will be written, nor the nouns, verbs, adverbs, and adjectives used to describe it.
Our breath is bated and borrowed, for a thing that can be easily consumed, cannot said to be ours. And on some island within the heart we know this to be true. We live in the middle between two
extremes. The painful whelp of birth and the hopeless whimper of death. Never knowing when the pendulum will swing to knock us from the balancing beam into the waiting arms of Hades.
We place our hearts on wings that fly only for a little while, if they fly at all. But for
most these wings are broken. But such is our ironic fate. We wish for the extension of this life even though it is ripe with melancholy and pain, for it lasts but just a second in time. It is here, and then it is gone. We are here, and then we are gone.

Wilson and Steel-Toed Shoes

He was a gentleman from the old ways, as most elderly folks are. He was a testament of integrity and respect. His manner was the one of a quiet confident man. Although he was Irish and his temper could flair at times, he was consistent in his temperament towards others ..
He was well respected and liked by everyone who knew him.
He was my grandfather from my mother's side.
Wilson Lamb.
In the days of my childhood when the world was still a strange place and misunderstood by me, his springs and summers were spent in the field behind our house, tilling, planting, and keeping the garden that he and my father would cultivate. Plenty of times were spent putting coffee cans over the tomatoes to protect them from the frost.
My grandfather never missed church. If the doors were open then he was there with my grandmother. I can recall the many times I would walk into that little church on Skyline road, and he would already be seated about 4 pews in front of my seat in the back (for that's
where the sinners and backsliders sat). He would turn around, give a little wave and place a fake
scowl on his face.
Also, If you were a guest in his house he would make sure that you had a chair even if it meant he had to stand up. And if you liked diet Coke, boy were you in luck.
But of all the things I remember about him, the one little quirk I'll remember most is his running gag about steel-toed shoes. What he would do was lift up one of his feet, as if to stomp you on your big toe, and ask,
"Are those steel-toed shoes you're wearing?"
I'll recall that gag fondly the rest of my life.
He was 82 yrs old when cancer was found in his pancreas.
The ensuing battle that he went through was like watching the wind and sun drain an oasis. His strength and his life slowly ebbed from his body. This elegant, austere man was being spoiled by an enemy he could not fight.
As the cancer begin to win, his face became hollow and helpless. When he was in the hospital, for the
last time, the pain caused by this insidious parasite was evident to the family that was present.
He at one time leaned up in his bed and cried to my mother, who stood near by with tears in her eyes.
"Help me," he said weekly.
But she could not help him, nor could the many hands that clutched for his.
Now upon reflection, they're times like these when our communal reality slaps us out of our sleep. Each one of us that shared his bedside, from his wife to his grandchildren, sought some solace where solace was a stranger, for death was no longer considered in the abstract but now was settling down upon the heaving breast of a loved one. There, what we saw, was not the hyperbole from a preacher or stories weaved from imaginations that are made of little consequence. There, on that morning, death made sure everybody was paying attention. On that little hospital bed, in the body of a frail old
man, death was putting qn an exhibition. His labors seemed to wear the cloak of futility when the thread he was laboring upon was finally shredded.
But death treats us all the same. It gazes at our deeds with sarcasm, while the vanity of this endeavor haunts the memory of those of us who have yet to trod down it's dark road.
Death is a communal experience. We all experience the despair because we'll all experience the reality.
So with clenched fist with whitened knuckles, and the pounding within the breast we wait. And wait.
On February 15th, 1994 my
grandfather took off his "steel-toed shoes," as
his heart was stilled, forever.

(next week Part II)