Why Blog?

On March 12, 2005 Stan Grenz died. Stan's words changed me. Words can do that. I write to process, so I wrote a memorial to Stan, but I had nowhere to put it. The day before, someone told me they were surprised I didn't have a blog. I hadn't before thought of myself as bloggable. I felt somewhat hollow as I thought of no more words coming from Stan. Maybe some new words would help fill up the hollow feeling. Maybe a new blog would be an appropriate response to a loss of words. So, here it is, the blog, Trembling Aspen; and the memorial, a tribute to the power of the written word, hope for change. I'll leave it at that for now, we can talk about other stuff later. ////


I'm not a family member, I'm not a close friend, I don't attend Carey or Regent, I don't even attend First Baptist; yet, Stan has had a profound impact on my life.

I talked to Stan only once. I bought him a chai tea. I had called him, out of the blue. Though he didn't know me from Adam, he graciously agreed to meet. I remember thinking Stan was a keen and intense listener, I can't say what specifically made me think this, maybe it was everything about him. I also remember thinking his was a breathtaking intellect. I would babble something, and he would repeat back what I had said, but in a way that now made sense. He would then add something better. It had taken me weeks of thinking to come up with mere babbling, in the moments it took Stan to repeat it, he had clarified it and added to it. It was stunning. But, he was no cold intellect. Here he sat, with a complete stranger, fully engaged, sipping chai tea. Gracious was the word I often used to describe the encounter.

I knew Stan best through his books. In That regard, I could say, along with thousands of others, I've been mentored by Stan. His books were a double edged sword. The content spurred me to write, but how he wrote, the clarity, was a stern caution; "This is the standard you must attain to." I was reading page 538 of "Theology for the Community of God" when my wife called to tell me Stan had died. Suddenly the words were just useless black blobs on a white piece of paper. "God," I had prayed the whole day before, "we can't afford to lose this man." Now a husband, a father, a grandfather was gone. This isn't right. This isn't how the story goes.

I have a page in my note book; "Questions to ask Stan." That says it all doesn't it? I wanted to make sure my theology wasn't flying off into outer space, so of course I'd ask Stan. If you wanted to be gently tethered to solid ground, who else would you talk to? I didn't get a chance to ask him, and now that little scrawled page says it all again. A memorial to loss. This just isn't right.

I think I accidentally wrote something about Stan. I wasn't writing about him when I started, but it seemed to fit when I finished. I knew Stan the author best, somewhat mediated knowing, but maybe not. Those who knew him well, tell me if this wasn't Stan:

We are in a battle and I was born to fight. I was born to fight with words like swords and with words that bind and heal. I was born to fight with wit and wisdom, but most of all to fight with the mightiest affront mounted against the powers of darkness; a life of rich celebration, a life of deep commitment.

It seems like there should be more. But, that's the way this whole thing feels. We've taken a wrong turn somewhere. There should be more.

The blobs have started becoming words again. Right there on page 538:

"The future dimension is evident in Jesus' promise at the institution of The Lord's Supper: "I tell you, I will not drink of this fruit of the vine from now on until that day when I drink it anew with you in my Father's kingdom." (Matt. 26:29) Through this promise, our Lord invites us to see his sacrificial death within the grand sweep of the biblical drama. This narrative moves from the past to the future, climaxing in the end of history. The Lord's Supper, therefore, is a celebration of the story of Jesus in its finality and totality, from cross to crown."

It isn't suppose to be this way. We were created for glory. We weren't meant to feel this loss. It shouldn't seem right. In a broken world, a broken country, a broken city, Stan fought to bring people a taste of glory. He fought to bring people he loved reconciliation to a God he loved more. It would be precisely in this moment that Stan would point away from a broken world, and toward "the grand sweep of the biblical drama." Of all the words Stan put on paper, the one he really gave me, the one I really came to know through him, was "eschaton." I think I'll hold on to that word more dearly now.