In 1999 a prophet gave me a word about going into jungles, staking a claim and shouting, "This place belongs to God!" Being involved in the country of Nicaragua, I could actually see this happening. So, I spent the next year or so waiting on God for more insight into this new and mysterious assignment.

Nothing came in the way of invitations, so I have given myself here. I have trusted that, if indeed this was a true word, I would sooner or later don a pith helmet, pack my bug repellent, misquito net, grab a machete and go off into thicket with a Bible and a promise.

Time has passed and I find myself, instead, navigating through the murky waters of philosophical thought concerning the church. In perusing and excavating the Word of God, I've run across a Holy habitation - buried under post-modern theology - built by Christ, pioneered through the beloved Apostle Paul and confirmed by Peter, James and John. It's like an ancient ruin, obscure and beautiful.

Some places are jungles because they've never been inhabited. Others are jungles because they've been forgotten - whole civilizations wiped out by diverse means, subtle or otherwise - waiting for rebirth. These places are usually discovered by individuals, who give the appearance of being lost enough to stumble, half-seeking, onto what becomes the obsession of their existence. Their lives become a purposeful meandering, exploring and unearthing dense truth, overgrown and long forgotten by the main stream.

This, I find, is my purpose: to answer the call of the jungle, badgering my way through my own encrusted mindsets, past the pretense of my personal status quo, coming to rest inside the city whose Builder and Maker is God. My quest is to dig up and brush the centuries of beguilement from these places, exposing them to a people that are hungry and desperate.

This trek has been unpredictable. Sometimes my journey seems sporadic, like post cards from some sea-faring uncle. At other times my discoveries have come like a woman in the last minutes of childbearing and I have found myself panting to keep up. Whatever the case, that which I've submitted to you on paper is the short summaries of a woman who gropes enigmatically for the reality of Christ.

Finding the Rock

Hearing the call to the jungle has meant facing my greatest fears, like leaving comfortable surroundings, being alone in the dark, and peering into the unknown. What kinds of creatures guard the secrets of the jungle? Am I equipped to wrestle the beasts Paul wrestled at the point of an Ephesian revelation? Will I recognize what I've discovered enough to write about it? Will anyone believe me?

Having all these doubts and fears I took a deep breath and accessed my jungle. I didn't have to go far when I stumbled over a rock. Rising up, I stumbled again. Bewildered, I started out one more time, picking up my foot in order to clear this troublesome stone and, once again, found myself bowing low, head first upon it's surface. I couldn't get past it. Any more attempts would find me completely broken. So, I examined the rock and found an inscription upon its face. It read: "The Stone that the builders rejected."

So, I searched the stone. To my utter amazement, I found that the stone speaks to me. All I have to do is fall upon it - seeking understanding - and it responds by unfolding before me glimpses into the eternal dimensions of it's own faculty.

Like a panoramic view of days gone by, the Stone pulled back the curtain of time, showing me the home of Obed-Edom. There, in the midst of his house was the ark of God. Suddenly, there came a knock at the door. There stood King David with those who would bear the ark to bring it back to the Holy City. Reluctantly, Obed-Edom stood aside. The men put the ark upon their shoulders. Hardly did they get it out of the house when they stopped. An animal was brought forward and right there, in the midst of the congregation, a lamb was slain.

The women began to dance. David began to peel off his clothing and join in the dance. Some of the people were astonished, seeing their King dancing with the women. Six more paces and an ox was slaughtered just as the lamb had been. And the dance continued. David was then clad only in an ephod.

Watching this scene, I blushed. I wanted to speak to David and tell him that this was out of order. He ought not to be dancing with the women, but should act like a King. There was far too much of David being exposed in the dance. I was embarrassed and felt humiliated for him. He was beside himself as the dancing continued.

On and on went the sacrificing along with the dance. The women were thrilled to see the King in their midst and didn't seem shy about dancing with their leader in nothing more that his undergarments.

I watched the procession enter the gates of the city. I looked around. From a window high above the courtyard stood a woman. Michal, David's wife, took in the scene. I felt sorry for her - what must she be thinking? After all, her father had been King. He would never have been so inappropriate. I saw her face turn from curiosity, to disbelief, to utter scorn.

I looked at David. The dance had become a wild expression with spinning and whirling. More and more of the women entered in, leaping and frolicking with this boy King in his underwear before the ark of God. I wanted to run out to David and warn him. I wanted to tell him to pull himself together and take his wife into consideration. I wanted to rebuke him so he could get his act together before he faced his distraught wife, but as I moved to do so, I stumbled and fell. I pulled my head up once again and found a whole new scene before my eyes…

I was in a large house with Christ. He was sitting and eating with a man who seemed very dignified and I knew he was a leader of some sort. Suddenly, a woman ran into the room weeping. She came to where the Lord was sitting and began to let down her hair. The man started to get up and it looked like he might throw her out. She hadn't even bothered to ask permission to enter his house. Jesus put up his hand in order to stop her from being tossed out the door. The way she was fawning over him seemed almost sexual in nature. I didn't understand why He was letting her do this to Him and I felt a need to protect him from this kind of show. I saw the Lord saying something to the host, but the woman continued to weep and make such an open display of her affection that I couldn't even hear what the Lord was saying, so I started to move closer only to wake up, laying prostrate the rock.

Then the rock spoke:

"Coming to Him as to a living stone, (lithos: stumbling stone, millstone)
Rejected by men, but chosen by God and precious,
You also as living stones, (lithos: stumbling stone, millstone),
Are being built up a spiritual house,
A holy priesthood,
To offer up spiritual sacrifices
Acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.

Behold I lay in Zion
A chief cornerstone, elect, precious
And he who believes on Him
Will by no means be put to shame

Therefore, to you who believe
He is precious
But to those who disbelieve
The stone which the builders rejected
Has become the chief cornerstone
And
A stone of stumbling
And a rock (petra: massive stone) of offense.

We can't fall upon this rock too many times without some of our mindsets being altered. What I find offensive, He - the Rock - sees as true worship. It's at that point - that place of offense - He looks to build something in us. He is the builder. Any time we become the builders we automatically reject the Stone. As builders, we won't choose Him, because he ruins our reputation and we find that we cannot save our lives when He is around. Either He builds or we build. This is the Foundation Stone I found on my first trek into the jungle.

Roots

Nestling down in this Rock a second time I felt a great stirring and movement, much like an earthquake. I became aware of an upward movement and felt much like a child nestled securely in the protective arms of a parent, being lifted to a much higher altitude.

Looking out from the cleft of this Rock, I gazed upon a plain. There stood a people of profound language, gathered with purpose. I heard them saying, "Come, let us make bricks… Come, let us build a city and a tower whose top is in the heavens; let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be scattered abroad over the face of the whole earth." There arose from the ground everything that was in their hearts to do. I saw a city with a great tower springing up from the seedbed of their definitive language.

As this was happening, there came from the center of my Hiding Place a noise like the sound of war. As this sound grew, I found myself mesmerized by what was taking place on the ground. The people began to scatter aimlessly, speaking in various tongues, the meaning of which was shrouded in darkness. Confused and lost, they took comfort in finding those with their own impotent words. Thus, they became tribes according to speech.

My attention shifted and I was astonished by what was happening with the city; there grew a large root at the base of the tower, splitting the ground and moving in all directions. The root was called Babylon.

As the root traveled, ancient history was laid out before me. I saw Abraham in Haran with his wife, nephew and father. Suddenly, the heavens broke open like a sack of grain. While it poured over Abraham I heard these words all around me, "I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you and whoever curses you will I curse; and all peoples on the earth will be blessed through you."

That which poured forth also hit the ground and the earth broke open. Another root was formed and took its place along side Babylon. This root was called Promise. As these two roots pushed past the gates of time I saw, as it were, two histories according to the two roots, interlocked to appear as one, yet they are two.

Going into the jungle has meant finding roots. Fruit is everywhere, easily accessible and telling, but it falls short of the core issues. Abraham was given a promise and told to journey by faith. The Babylonians camped and built a city in fear. This is seen as obvious, but missed as profound.

I shudder to think of the times I've been given a promise and told to journey by faith only to camp and build out of fear. I see this as a root in the church. We build in order not to scatter. If we were to journey we might be disseminated and we fear dissemination, because we feel powerless without agreement. (Dare I say it?) This is the root of Babylon.

I find it interesting that the children of Israel were making bricks in captivity. Pharaoh's fear was that he would lose the people. He needed the people to make bricks in order to build a city to make his name great, that he might be remembered forever. When we are finding our values in the root of Babylon the people with us will be in no less bondage than the children of Israel at the time of their captivity.

It's easier to build than to stand naked with nothing to show. Building something out of fear comes naturally, but those that truly journey in this life know that building is done by default.

Saul defaulted when sacrificing at Gilgal, feeling "compelled" because Samuel was late and the people were scattering. It was at this juncture that the kingdom was taken from him. It seems harsh until you see the root.

David was rebuked more for numbering the people than for adultery and murder, because the numbering of the people was about how many bricks he had. He was one step away from building and building produces idolatry, whereas journeying produces trust and faith.

Sometimes I think true spirituality is seen best in those who know how to shrug while maintaining hope. He's the builder. Our job is to journey in faith, looking for the city whose Builder and Maker is God.

Adam

My jungle journey starts and ends with the Rock. There is nothing beyond it. This Stone is the Living Passageway into deeper realms of Itself. The destination and the journey are one in the same; a circular orb, where the beginning and the end play together in a middle that conflicts with everything I've come to depend on, like comfort zones and logic. This is what I'd come to expect when I ventured again to this obscure outpost I can only describe as the Rock.

Standing on this unshakable Plateau, a figure stood before me, much like a hologram. Though never seeing him before, I knew instinctively this was Adam; not the Adam we've come to know - this was the original soul, the man who communed with his Creator Friend in the solar wane of the passing day.

I studied him. He hardly looked human as we've come to know it. This man looked celestial - godlike - but human. I wept, looking at this god-man whose countenance had no shadow. I saw no darkness - nothing hidden - yet he was fathomless. What was it? How could I grasp the life of this man? Upon the face of this Rock, my tears formed a vapor like a cloud that rolled, peeling back the outer layer to reveal this canvas of original purpose - Adam.

Life for Adam was a circular orb. The place he started being the place he came to - his journey and destination were the same - he was in God and everything in Adam's world was in this context.

We talk about being "in" God, but we don't really think it's a geographical location. In order for this to be an actual location we would have to transcend our realm, because our realm isn't at all like Adams. Whereas Adam's realm was literally eternal, without death, our realm is a realm of death. Everything is corrupted by death, even the material world. That's why the paint is peeling off my car.

Adam left his realm the day he ate of the forbidden fruit and descended into a place that was not in God. This place was measured in fragments of time, where his very existence came down to the dust he was made of. Eking out a world for himself by himself he looked off into the meaningless distance at a falling off place called death. Instead of God being his context, his context was now self. Adam had become his own god.

Scrounging around for meaning is the plight of fallen man. Our view is one that is flat, measured and temporal. We have a beginning and we have an end. What we build in between becomes the ruler for success. We've produced the offerings of Cain in hopes of doing well. That's what the tower of Babel was all about; what we build makes a name for ourselves. The more we build the greater the name. This is the futility of carnal living that encouraged a song in the sixties that asked the question, "Is that all there is?"

The answer to that question is no; there's another place, a geographical location - in God. When we live in Him our context changes. The futility of building is gone. We no longer desire to build - our desire is to journey in Him. We are going somewhere in Him, but, (paradoxically), we are already there. The whole of our life is about discovery, not accumulation.

"…And upon this rock I will build the church."