A strange film has been pursuing me lately. Relentlessly, really. It began with a good friend placing this movie squarely in his "Top Five." A very big deal, in my experience. I myself am hard pressed, for instance, to commit even to a firm "Top Ten" when it comes to movies...I continually think of another film or a different method of measuring one against another. So to announce, publicly, that a movie is a definite "Top Five" matters. Deeply.
In addition to that, this film won't leave me alone. At my friend's behest I'd gone out and purchased a copy (really, Top Five movies need to be purchased in my experience) and watched it immediately...but the first viewing left me somewhat perplexed and a bit cold. Even as I endeavored to see my friend in the film...to grasp its importance to him...well, I don't know what else to say, its a tough movie! But in recent weeks it seems to be one of those stories that just won't go away. Flipping through the Encore and Starz channels (I don't subscribe to the biggies like HBO and whatnot) it seems that every time I turn on the TV at night, there it is: No Country for Old Men.
This is a difficult, difficult movie. It is strangely compelling (a Coen bro's production, so no wonder) but frighteningly violent. It makes creative choices (such as a key murder played out off the screen) that seem unsatisfactory, while drawing out unlikely and seemingly unimportant scenes beyond any viewer's expectations. It features haphazard but all too realistic violence and even starts with the prolonged strangulation of an unsuspecting police officer - basically breaking any societal conventions right from the beginning.
I'm telling you, this is a tough, tough film. And its likely not for everyone. But it is also deeply, penetratingly true.
Part of the difficulty with this film stems from its main character: Anton Sugar. He's the killer, a psychopath with a strange sense of fairness and of justice...an oddly crafted code of conduct that suits him perfectly because he is, after all, crazy. The film tricks the audience into believing that he is not the focus by presenting other characters whom we hope to see succeed, but make no mistake - this is a movie about the journey of a killer. The journey of death.
The crystallizing moment for me in this film comes in the midst of a bizarre conversation between Anton and a man he's about to kill. In a moment of strangely poignant clarity Anton asks his victim: "If the rules that you followed have brought you to this, of what use are the rules?" Not long after this exchange Anton shoots the man, with far less effort or concern than I might use to swing a swatter at a fly, and then casually talks on the phone while propping his feet on a nearby bed to keep them from getting wet as blood pools on the floor beneath him.
This is a tough film.
So, then, why is it so important?
Important stories aren't important because of what they tell us about the characters in them - they are important because of what they tell us about us. In No Country for Old Men, Anton Sugar's character is death incarnate and in all its glory. He is calculating and unstoppable but also somewhat happenstance and even casual about the murders he commits. He is not Jason or Michael unswerving in his pursuit of his next victim. He meanders after his prey, certain of his eventual, inevitable success. Its chilling. Watching him weave through two hours of film I am reminded of how unfair and ridiculous life really is.
Who can trust in a God who so readily murders us all? Dispassionate. Unattached. Not even angry, really, so much as uninterested. Isn't that the truth? In the dark of night with no one to stop our minds from racing after our own immortality, isn't that the real aloneness that we feel? And when someone comes along trying to describe this "God of Love" in the midst of the truth that I know is coming, or even has come to someone around me, close to me, well...of what use can that really be? Really.
"If the rules that you followed brought you to this, of what use are the rules?" (Anton Sugar)
If my pursuit of life (any life, by any means) only brings me death, what the hell is the use? (me)
"If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins...If only for this life we have hope in Christ we are to be pitied above all men." (1 Cor 15:17-19, NIV)
I have never seen a movie that so faithfully portrayed the dark and persistent question that every person wrestles with at some point in their lives: How can any of this matter...when it all comes to nothing in the end? And the film doesn't pretend to hold an answer. If it is true that all is for naught, there is no answer. Even Paul admits that faith for the sake of avoiding this question...faith as a source of false hope...has no merit. In fact it is worse to have false hope than to have no hope at all, according to him.
So then why hope?
In the film, Anton tracks down the wife of a man he has murdered in order to keep a sick promise because of his strange principals. He finds her and confronts her and offers her a way out: the flip of a coin. Choose correctly and the girl lives, incorrectly and she dies. But she refuses to choose. She refuses to rely on luck and demands instead that Anton make his own choice. She refuses to play his game because he doesn't really offer her anything more than any of us have at any moment of our lives: the possibility that we'll unexpectedly, inexplicably die. As though we are constantly flipping a coin and we've had a life-long run of great luck...but we could always get it wrong tomorrow.
She chooses not to play his death game.
But that doesn't save her either.
If choosing not to believe in death could really save us, we'd all play along.
How then is any of this redeemed? Clearly you know my world view. I won't walk you through Romans or try to explain Original Sin and the Fall of Man...I won't re-tell the Christmas Story or quote John 3:16. But I will say this: if death is the big problem standing in the way of faith, if it is unavoidable and unreconcilable in our minds to a loving God, what is the only way a loving God could redeem this issue?
You can only redeem death through death. Not death that is the final word, but resurrection that puts death in its place. Perfect life sacrificed and returned to unravel the lie that grips our hearts. Can you not see the perfect beauty of this? The truth of it?
That is the gospel as revealed through Anton Sugar.
And if I am wrong I am a fool to be pitied.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Go Time
Disney never ceases to amaze me. For my family it has become a familiar destination as we can't seem to avoid a trip for longer than a year or two. It is a fun tradition that marks time among us: "How old was Riley when we did that?...Graydon wasn't even born that year..." etc. The magic of meeting characters...the rides that cater to the entire family...the rides that don't (you'll be big enough next year, etc.). We love it, manufactured joy or not!
This year's trip was more of the same. Great family time together focused purely on being together. Plenty of difficult and rough moments as well, but truly overshadowed by all of the fun. I could probably pick from many memories and write, and perhaps I will, but there was one specific ride that was HUGE for me and my two oldest: "Mission Space." Epcot really hit the mark with this one, I believe. From the start we were each handed warnings to read...basically big fat "caution you are entering dangerous territory" statements that even provided an "opt out" if you wanted to go on the lower impact version. Nothing better to create a sense of adventure than giving a hint of danger, you know?
So after waiving aside the warnings we enter a room to get a mission briefing. Gary Sinise, still sporting his unfortunate haircut from the movie "Mission to Mars," was our virtual instructor. Makes sense because, you guessed it, we're heading to Mars...at least heading into a simulated flight to Mars. This is the point where things start to get really, really cool. Each of us has a job to do in flight. Not only do we have a job, we have a role to play. Riley is the Navigator. I'm the Pilot. Tate is the Commander. Do you begin to see just how cool this scenario is? We've been warned...this is dangerous...this is a mission and we could get physically sick or disoriented...there is RISK and we have individual, important jobs to do. Each of us.
So, after following our team's line, painted on the floor, through the hallway and waiting outside the door for a bit (we were team 8, I think), we filed into the chamber and climbed inside our capsule. I locked the kids into their seats, right and left of me, and they immediately started worrying because the controls are too far away for them. Not to worry - as the lights go down the entire panel comes to us - each of us watching an individual display screen and looking at our own buttons, switches and joystick. I'm *so* not doing this real credit - it was incredibly cool.
As the simulation got fired up and moving I was floored by the replicated motion we all felt. When we blasted off it really felt like we were pulling G's and I thought back to the warnings we'd so easily dismissed earlier. I have NEVER felt so purely like I was actually in motion (maybe on Soarin' across the park, but that's different in several ways). We are immersed at this point. The kids and I are loving this and whooping about how cool it feels and enjoying the ride of it...and then the call of duty begins.
At first, Riley had to push a button to execute our separation from the rocket. Then Tate had to initiate a slingshot maneuver around the moon. As we neared our objective, we each had buttons to push and jobs to perform. The computer prompted each individual to get prepared and then "execute" on cue. We had an empty seat in our ship, so the computer over-rode any "Engineer" processes to help keep us on track. As we approached our landing, a systems error had us overshooting our mark (or maybe it was me, I am the Pilot, after all). Suddenly, as we tipped precariously over the edge of a chasm, all three of us were called upon to engage our joysticks and initiate some serious maneuvers in order to right the ship and safely land. All of this couldn't have taken more than, I don't know, three to five minutes...but we were captive to the experience. We were a team.
As we "disembarked," both kids pleaded to go again. It was tempting - for whatever reason the park was slow that day and there was virtually no wait for this ride. I can admit, even now, that I would gladly experience that trip again with them...but I also knew that we could never quite experience it again, ever. Not in that forum. Not without it becoming "just another ride." I reminded them of the FastPass tickets we had for Test Track and we all quickly moved on to the next fun destination.
I hope this hasn't gotten entirely lost in translation - but there was nothing better than this moment for me. This sense of working hand in hand with my kids, of seeing them come alive in the experience - seeing them live into the roles they had been given. Three minutes, five minutes, it didn't matter. How long does it really take for someone to "come alive?" Last summer it took 4 hours as we negotiated the New River in a canoe together for the first time. I don't know what it will look like next time...a weekend? An evening?
But I love seeing it happen. It was an utter surprise...not something I would expect from Disney.
I wish I could manufacture it and bottle it and shoot it into my veins. And I suppose that is what some do...or try to do. And, oddly, even just pursuing "it" for its own sake...climbing mountains, tackling rapids...visiting Disney World every few years...even those are all the same, aren't they? In the end? Empty?
But in contrast to that, there is nothing better than having someone say "you have something important to do" and then giving you the chance to go do it. Nothing. Wouldn't it be great if someone did that for me? For us? Do you believe, or dare to hope, that someone might? Not my boss giving me a goal. Not my job being the culmination of my last job being the culmination of my college diploma being the culmination of my ability to scrape through high school. Not the next step...but the mission. The calling. My calling. Could that be real?
"But I do more than thank. I ask - ask the God of our Master, Jesus Christ, the God of glory - to make you intelligent and discerning in knowing him personally, your eyes focused and clear, so that you can see exactly what it is he is calling you to do, grasp the immensity of this glorious way of life he has for Christians, oh, the utter extravagance of his work in us who trust him - endless energy, boundless strength!" (The Message - Eph 1.18)
Man. I don't mean to openly doubt scripture...but can I believe in that? Can I trust it? Really?
For me, not as a guy promoting an event or even as a guy trying to open myself up to others through this blog, but just as a guy trying to walk this life out, its worth the chance. Its worth hoping for...that God would even give me a hint of that is worth it. Certainly worth a few days of my life and a couple hundred bucks.
Gary Sinise, in our briefing, introduced us to the phrase, "Its Go Time." Not that I hadn't heard it before. Not that it isn't cheesy or hackney or silly in other circumstance. But inside the experience that we shared, "Go Time," came to be a call to action. And it has lingered for a time as an inside reference between us three. A shared secret that, to a degree, transports us back to the shared experience. I can't really fathom what it might be like to have the Lord our God tell me: its Go Time. But I think I'll go take a chance that he might...if you care to join me visit www.piercing-the-veil.com and sign up for The Calling retreat with Gary Barkalow. Sincerely hope to see you there.
This year's trip was more of the same. Great family time together focused purely on being together. Plenty of difficult and rough moments as well, but truly overshadowed by all of the fun. I could probably pick from many memories and write, and perhaps I will, but there was one specific ride that was HUGE for me and my two oldest: "Mission Space." Epcot really hit the mark with this one, I believe. From the start we were each handed warnings to read...basically big fat "caution you are entering dangerous territory" statements that even provided an "opt out" if you wanted to go on the lower impact version. Nothing better to create a sense of adventure than giving a hint of danger, you know?
So after waiving aside the warnings we enter a room to get a mission briefing. Gary Sinise, still sporting his unfortunate haircut from the movie "Mission to Mars," was our virtual instructor. Makes sense because, you guessed it, we're heading to Mars...at least heading into a simulated flight to Mars. This is the point where things start to get really, really cool. Each of us has a job to do in flight. Not only do we have a job, we have a role to play. Riley is the Navigator. I'm the Pilot. Tate is the Commander. Do you begin to see just how cool this scenario is? We've been warned...this is dangerous...this is a mission and we could get physically sick or disoriented...there is RISK and we have individual, important jobs to do. Each of us.
So, after following our team's line, painted on the floor, through the hallway and waiting outside the door for a bit (we were team 8, I think), we filed into the chamber and climbed inside our capsule. I locked the kids into their seats, right and left of me, and they immediately started worrying because the controls are too far away for them. Not to worry - as the lights go down the entire panel comes to us - each of us watching an individual display screen and looking at our own buttons, switches and joystick. I'm *so* not doing this real credit - it was incredibly cool.
As the simulation got fired up and moving I was floored by the replicated motion we all felt. When we blasted off it really felt like we were pulling G's and I thought back to the warnings we'd so easily dismissed earlier. I have NEVER felt so purely like I was actually in motion (maybe on Soarin' across the park, but that's different in several ways). We are immersed at this point. The kids and I are loving this and whooping about how cool it feels and enjoying the ride of it...and then the call of duty begins.
At first, Riley had to push a button to execute our separation from the rocket. Then Tate had to initiate a slingshot maneuver around the moon. As we neared our objective, we each had buttons to push and jobs to perform. The computer prompted each individual to get prepared and then "execute" on cue. We had an empty seat in our ship, so the computer over-rode any "Engineer" processes to help keep us on track. As we approached our landing, a systems error had us overshooting our mark (or maybe it was me, I am the Pilot, after all). Suddenly, as we tipped precariously over the edge of a chasm, all three of us were called upon to engage our joysticks and initiate some serious maneuvers in order to right the ship and safely land. All of this couldn't have taken more than, I don't know, three to five minutes...but we were captive to the experience. We were a team.
As we "disembarked," both kids pleaded to go again. It was tempting - for whatever reason the park was slow that day and there was virtually no wait for this ride. I can admit, even now, that I would gladly experience that trip again with them...but I also knew that we could never quite experience it again, ever. Not in that forum. Not without it becoming "just another ride." I reminded them of the FastPass tickets we had for Test Track and we all quickly moved on to the next fun destination.
I hope this hasn't gotten entirely lost in translation - but there was nothing better than this moment for me. This sense of working hand in hand with my kids, of seeing them come alive in the experience - seeing them live into the roles they had been given. Three minutes, five minutes, it didn't matter. How long does it really take for someone to "come alive?" Last summer it took 4 hours as we negotiated the New River in a canoe together for the first time. I don't know what it will look like next time...a weekend? An evening?
But I love seeing it happen. It was an utter surprise...not something I would expect from Disney.
I wish I could manufacture it and bottle it and shoot it into my veins. And I suppose that is what some do...or try to do. And, oddly, even just pursuing "it" for its own sake...climbing mountains, tackling rapids...visiting Disney World every few years...even those are all the same, aren't they? In the end? Empty?
But in contrast to that, there is nothing better than having someone say "you have something important to do" and then giving you the chance to go do it. Nothing. Wouldn't it be great if someone did that for me? For us? Do you believe, or dare to hope, that someone might? Not my boss giving me a goal. Not my job being the culmination of my last job being the culmination of my college diploma being the culmination of my ability to scrape through high school. Not the next step...but the mission. The calling. My calling. Could that be real?
"But I do more than thank. I ask - ask the God of our Master, Jesus Christ, the God of glory - to make you intelligent and discerning in knowing him personally, your eyes focused and clear, so that you can see exactly what it is he is calling you to do, grasp the immensity of this glorious way of life he has for Christians, oh, the utter extravagance of his work in us who trust him - endless energy, boundless strength!" (The Message - Eph 1.18)
Man. I don't mean to openly doubt scripture...but can I believe in that? Can I trust it? Really?
For me, not as a guy promoting an event or even as a guy trying to open myself up to others through this blog, but just as a guy trying to walk this life out, its worth the chance. Its worth hoping for...that God would even give me a hint of that is worth it. Certainly worth a few days of my life and a couple hundred bucks.
Gary Sinise, in our briefing, introduced us to the phrase, "Its Go Time." Not that I hadn't heard it before. Not that it isn't cheesy or hackney or silly in other circumstance. But inside the experience that we shared, "Go Time," came to be a call to action. And it has lingered for a time as an inside reference between us three. A shared secret that, to a degree, transports us back to the shared experience. I can't really fathom what it might be like to have the Lord our God tell me: its Go Time. But I think I'll go take a chance that he might...if you care to join me visit www.piercing-the-veil.com and sign up for The Calling retreat with Gary Barkalow. Sincerely hope to see you there.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Bad Dad
Well, I finally fell from grace yesterday. After years of perfection, I blew it with my son. As I'm sure this is hard to believe, I'll relay some of the details...I think many people might find them oddly familiar.
Yesterday was a hectic one. We've been getting over illness at our house (literally every one of us...both me and my wife...all four kids...) and simultaneously preparing to go on vacation. At the same time, my daughter turned 9 on Monday and my wife's birthday is today. Busy.
One of the things my daughter wanted to do this week to celebrate was have friends over for dinner. We originally had this planned for Tuesday, but the aforementioned illness(es) forced us to push the date out a bit. Last night we caught up - a family down the street that pretty well matches up with ours (four kids, each within a year of our four) came up to the house for dinner. One of the great things about having this family over is that the kids all get along fairly well. Sure it's chaotic and there is no shortage of conflict, but you could do far worse with eight kids in your house between 7 months and 9 years old, believe me!
After a fun evening of play, their family headed for home and we began preparing for bed. This is where the "bad dad" in me came to life. My five year old, Tate, mentioned that we were supposed to play a board game. The request was new to me and completely out of any context - I casually declined (and directed him to pajamas and teeth-brushing instead). Tate is an unbelievably amiable kid who has always rolled pretty well with the punches, but when he doesn't he shuts down. And he did.
Whether or not he is adept at pushing my buttons or whether I have my own private baggage regarding this reaction, shutting down pretty well ticks me off. He averts his eyes (or stares at the floor). He is pouting. He is non-responsive and, particularly, won't talk. I, on the other hand, am somewhat verbal (in case you didn't know).
My perspective: Tate, five or not, overtired or not, needs to celebrate the fun evening he's had and not sweat it when a board game doesn't figure in because bedtime is upon us.
My perspective: Not talking about why you are mad makes me mad.
My perspective: Go to bed.
So, I execute on my response and my perspective. Frustrated but sure in the knowledge that he will soon be asleep and that this is just a small bump in an otherwise pretty good day, I put him in bed and ignore my own anger as he pulls the quilt over his head, completely rejecting me. Bad Dad? Just hang on...
Walking down the steps I run into my wife and throw the circumstance at her in passing: after all the fun we've had, you're son is mad that he can't play a boardgame instead of going to bed - you better go talk to him. That's when I find out that the reason the game came up was my wife. That's when I find out that the "fun time" I thought they'd been having included the two oldest kids excluding him from some game even to the point of forcing him out of the room and locking the door behind him. That's when I find out that the boardgame was a lifeline that my wife had offered to comfort him in the midst of rejection.
Bad Dad.
Now, let me be clear: I'm not beating myself up. My son shutting down does hit a nerve, but its also not something productive insofar as it doesn't promote healing or relationship or risking that the other person (me, friends, wife, kids) wants to change or wants to make things better. Big idea for a five year old? Yes - I don't expect him to get it...but I hope to lead him away from shutting down - though, in case you missed it, this is the familiar part for me. I'm likely frustrated because I have had far more time to master the art of shutting down...and its more pervasive and harder to recognize because I'm better at it. How 'bout you?
So now I have a choice. Move on or dig in. Hurting son has deeper wounds that I wasn't aware of, but now I've contributed to the pain and I would love to take it back but, in some ways, it is what it is. But I can love him, now that I have perspective I can love him better. I climb into the top bunk and wrap my arms around him and whisper in his ear that I love him and then play at tickling his leg or punching him in the gut and it gets a little better, though not really better...but I'm in it with him now and I'm happy to hold him for a while and, lets be honest, he'll be asleep soon.
Not so Bad Dad, yeah?
Laying there with my son, quiet and less distracted than I'm usually intent on being, I had this incredible thought that has stayed with me ever since: God is not like this. I mean He "is" in that He loves me and wants me to be healed and would wrap His arms around me in my time of hurt. But He "is not" in that he never doesn't know the context, never doesn't know why I'm shutting down, never isn't intimately aware of my circumstance and my failings - of the real battles and the superficial echos of the real battles. Does that make sense at all?
I'm laying with my son trying to redeem my mistake and trying to keep him from accidentally believing that I would hurt him, by mistake or not, and I suddenly realize that the cool thing about God is that he never blows it like that, never has to try and fix it, never doesn't have our best interest...our best hopes...our truest desires perfectly in view - and, far more important, never doesn't have His own best hope for us in His heart. But, more often than not, whether because my Dad made the same mistakes I do or because of some other reason for my consistent and pervasive doubt, I believe that He 1) doesn't know 2) doesn't love 3) doesn't care...or that if all three of those are true, that I won't like what He has chosen for me.
There's a story in the Bible where Christ is sitting with a group of guys and He says something like, "Seriously. If your son asked you for a piece of bread would you give him a stone?" And then He goes on to connect the dots and call these guys out: "Do you think your Father in heaven would do anything less!?" And the honest answer is both "yes, yes I do think He would do something less" and "no, but I've given my son plenty of stones...and I got a few of my own, too."
Hard to believe in a loving God in the midst of our own failings...and in the midst of all those times we've been failed.
Yesterday was a hectic one. We've been getting over illness at our house (literally every one of us...both me and my wife...all four kids...) and simultaneously preparing to go on vacation. At the same time, my daughter turned 9 on Monday and my wife's birthday is today. Busy.
One of the things my daughter wanted to do this week to celebrate was have friends over for dinner. We originally had this planned for Tuesday, but the aforementioned illness(es) forced us to push the date out a bit. Last night we caught up - a family down the street that pretty well matches up with ours (four kids, each within a year of our four) came up to the house for dinner. One of the great things about having this family over is that the kids all get along fairly well. Sure it's chaotic and there is no shortage of conflict, but you could do far worse with eight kids in your house between 7 months and 9 years old, believe me!
After a fun evening of play, their family headed for home and we began preparing for bed. This is where the "bad dad" in me came to life. My five year old, Tate, mentioned that we were supposed to play a board game. The request was new to me and completely out of any context - I casually declined (and directed him to pajamas and teeth-brushing instead). Tate is an unbelievably amiable kid who has always rolled pretty well with the punches, but when he doesn't he shuts down. And he did.
Whether or not he is adept at pushing my buttons or whether I have my own private baggage regarding this reaction, shutting down pretty well ticks me off. He averts his eyes (or stares at the floor). He is pouting. He is non-responsive and, particularly, won't talk. I, on the other hand, am somewhat verbal (in case you didn't know).
My perspective: Tate, five or not, overtired or not, needs to celebrate the fun evening he's had and not sweat it when a board game doesn't figure in because bedtime is upon us.
My perspective: Not talking about why you are mad makes me mad.
My perspective: Go to bed.
So, I execute on my response and my perspective. Frustrated but sure in the knowledge that he will soon be asleep and that this is just a small bump in an otherwise pretty good day, I put him in bed and ignore my own anger as he pulls the quilt over his head, completely rejecting me. Bad Dad? Just hang on...
Walking down the steps I run into my wife and throw the circumstance at her in passing: after all the fun we've had, you're son is mad that he can't play a boardgame instead of going to bed - you better go talk to him. That's when I find out that the reason the game came up was my wife. That's when I find out that the "fun time" I thought they'd been having included the two oldest kids excluding him from some game even to the point of forcing him out of the room and locking the door behind him. That's when I find out that the boardgame was a lifeline that my wife had offered to comfort him in the midst of rejection.
Bad Dad.
Now, let me be clear: I'm not beating myself up. My son shutting down does hit a nerve, but its also not something productive insofar as it doesn't promote healing or relationship or risking that the other person (me, friends, wife, kids) wants to change or wants to make things better. Big idea for a five year old? Yes - I don't expect him to get it...but I hope to lead him away from shutting down - though, in case you missed it, this is the familiar part for me. I'm likely frustrated because I have had far more time to master the art of shutting down...and its more pervasive and harder to recognize because I'm better at it. How 'bout you?
So now I have a choice. Move on or dig in. Hurting son has deeper wounds that I wasn't aware of, but now I've contributed to the pain and I would love to take it back but, in some ways, it is what it is. But I can love him, now that I have perspective I can love him better. I climb into the top bunk and wrap my arms around him and whisper in his ear that I love him and then play at tickling his leg or punching him in the gut and it gets a little better, though not really better...but I'm in it with him now and I'm happy to hold him for a while and, lets be honest, he'll be asleep soon.
Not so Bad Dad, yeah?
Laying there with my son, quiet and less distracted than I'm usually intent on being, I had this incredible thought that has stayed with me ever since: God is not like this. I mean He "is" in that He loves me and wants me to be healed and would wrap His arms around me in my time of hurt. But He "is not" in that he never doesn't know the context, never doesn't know why I'm shutting down, never isn't intimately aware of my circumstance and my failings - of the real battles and the superficial echos of the real battles. Does that make sense at all?
I'm laying with my son trying to redeem my mistake and trying to keep him from accidentally believing that I would hurt him, by mistake or not, and I suddenly realize that the cool thing about God is that he never blows it like that, never has to try and fix it, never doesn't have our best interest...our best hopes...our truest desires perfectly in view - and, far more important, never doesn't have His own best hope for us in His heart. But, more often than not, whether because my Dad made the same mistakes I do or because of some other reason for my consistent and pervasive doubt, I believe that He 1) doesn't know 2) doesn't love 3) doesn't care...or that if all three of those are true, that I won't like what He has chosen for me.
There's a story in the Bible where Christ is sitting with a group of guys and He says something like, "Seriously. If your son asked you for a piece of bread would you give him a stone?" And then He goes on to connect the dots and call these guys out: "Do you think your Father in heaven would do anything less!?" And the honest answer is both "yes, yes I do think He would do something less" and "no, but I've given my son plenty of stones...and I got a few of my own, too."
Hard to believe in a loving God in the midst of our own failings...and in the midst of all those times we've been failed.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Unbeliever
I've come to realize of late that, for the most part, I'm pretty bad at this whole "belief" thing. That sounds so nonchalant; the statement itself is strikingly symptomatic of my problem. My ability to distance myself from that problem, not just here but far more importantly in my daily life, IS the problem...if that makes any sense?
I've started this badly - let me clarify: across the board, in the midst of wide and varying circumstances, I all too often make poor choices. Not intentionally, of course, nor exclusively. And not, as you might fear, in the midst of the "big" issues. I'm not talking about the monumentally "obvious" choices that might come up in any person's life - to be faithful to my wife, to tithe, to be committed to my family or my job - but its the smaller, daily questions that seem to illumine my, well, somewhat shallow and horribly flimsy personal ethics.
There is a book called, "The Shack," that everyone should read. It is a great picture of a God who is really interested, really involved, really pulling for His people, individually. A friend of mine, one whom I thought would love this story, remarked that she didn't think it was good for people to read because she was afraid it would "get their hopes up." I'm synopsizing, of course, but the idea appears to be that reading a book like The Shack is dangerous because it sets an expectation that God might actually be involved...and clearly we shouldn't, well, expect that? Isn't that troubling? Colossally, I mean?
And yet that same issue of expectations seems to be at the heart of my problem: belief.
Her warning is just more obvious somehow - more public then my own.
You see nobody but me recognizes my doubt when I choose to be dismissive rather than embracing of a friend in need. Nobody but me knows when I watch a skirt walking slowly away or click one time more than I should. Nobody but me knows the times I turn right when I should have turned left or the time I thought ill of my neighbor or...
Wait. "Nobody but me?" Were you with me there, just for a moment? Do you see how pervasive that is? Do you see how easily, in the moment, simply by word choice, I find myself living in the land of no expectations!? Of no real belief? And now, just as quickly, my only attempt at evoking a God who cares is in the context of a God who stands ready and able to judge me deficient. No wonder I struggle with belief! No wonder the man's plea to Christ: "I believe! Lord, help my unbelief!" Heal my unbelief. Heal me.
What does that look like?
For one, it isn't about God acting as a hall monitor. At least I don't think it is. I try to envision how people experience success, how they are led into success, in other circumstance. In the armed forces it does begin with a "tearing down" of sorts - a breaking of bad habits and a filling of new. Woven into that is the idea that obedience is requied because it serves the greater good. To doubt or faulter is to betray the larger plans of one's superiors. But is an enlisted man's allegiance really just to his orders? Or is the dutiful obedience to orders a living testament to his belief?
Here's a different circumstance, closer to (my) home. In sales I have been managed by those who feel compelled to bury themselves in every detail of my efforts...and I have been managed by those who set a high mark, made themselves available, and set expectations that the "little things" are being addressed in service to the goal. As a manager I tend far more to the latter (with some necessary granularity that I hope still points ahead). Some might even call this "leadership."
So how does this come back to my belief problem. Or, more important, the help for my unbelief?
1) My problem is important - the small things I let slip are not horrible or dire, but they point to a deeper disbelief...the belief that God's plan isn't worth my obedience. So while repentance might be called for on any one issue, the greater need is to repent my lack of faith and be healed.
2) Healing is dangerous. It requires that I ask God to show me the real source of my faltering - the real depth of my distrust, rather than the effects of it. These wounds run deep and are painful to operate on.
3) I need, more than anything else, to believe in a higher calling, the upward call of Christ. I need to believe in "The Big Idea" and begin to hope for some way that I figure into it. That belief, that direction on which I can focus; that hope and, yes, expectation that God is up to something and it matters what I do, will begin to be reflected in the smaller choices I make. Because they matter...to something and Someone.
4) God wants to lend me His eyes to see. He put it in His book. He raises up people around me who act as guides...even as He raises me up to act as a guide for others.
One opportunity to gain ground on God's vision in my life, His Calling, is a retreat coming up this January at Wintergreen Resort. Gary Barkalow (The Noble Heart) will spend the weekend orienting men toward God's unique call in their lives - in pursuit of their glory in Him. I encourage you to find out more about the event and even register to join me there by visiting http://www.piercing-the-veil.com/.
I've started this badly - let me clarify: across the board, in the midst of wide and varying circumstances, I all too often make poor choices. Not intentionally, of course, nor exclusively. And not, as you might fear, in the midst of the "big" issues. I'm not talking about the monumentally "obvious" choices that might come up in any person's life - to be faithful to my wife, to tithe, to be committed to my family or my job - but its the smaller, daily questions that seem to illumine my, well, somewhat shallow and horribly flimsy personal ethics.
There is a book called, "The Shack," that everyone should read. It is a great picture of a God who is really interested, really involved, really pulling for His people, individually. A friend of mine, one whom I thought would love this story, remarked that she didn't think it was good for people to read because she was afraid it would "get their hopes up." I'm synopsizing, of course, but the idea appears to be that reading a book like The Shack is dangerous because it sets an expectation that God might actually be involved...and clearly we shouldn't, well, expect that? Isn't that troubling? Colossally, I mean?
And yet that same issue of expectations seems to be at the heart of my problem: belief.
Her warning is just more obvious somehow - more public then my own.
You see nobody but me recognizes my doubt when I choose to be dismissive rather than embracing of a friend in need. Nobody but me knows when I watch a skirt walking slowly away or click one time more than I should. Nobody but me knows the times I turn right when I should have turned left or the time I thought ill of my neighbor or...
Wait. "Nobody but me?" Were you with me there, just for a moment? Do you see how pervasive that is? Do you see how easily, in the moment, simply by word choice, I find myself living in the land of no expectations!? Of no real belief? And now, just as quickly, my only attempt at evoking a God who cares is in the context of a God who stands ready and able to judge me deficient. No wonder I struggle with belief! No wonder the man's plea to Christ: "I believe! Lord, help my unbelief!" Heal my unbelief. Heal me.
What does that look like?
For one, it isn't about God acting as a hall monitor. At least I don't think it is. I try to envision how people experience success, how they are led into success, in other circumstance. In the armed forces it does begin with a "tearing down" of sorts - a breaking of bad habits and a filling of new. Woven into that is the idea that obedience is requied because it serves the greater good. To doubt or faulter is to betray the larger plans of one's superiors. But is an enlisted man's allegiance really just to his orders? Or is the dutiful obedience to orders a living testament to his belief?
Here's a different circumstance, closer to (my) home. In sales I have been managed by those who feel compelled to bury themselves in every detail of my efforts...and I have been managed by those who set a high mark, made themselves available, and set expectations that the "little things" are being addressed in service to the goal. As a manager I tend far more to the latter (with some necessary granularity that I hope still points ahead). Some might even call this "leadership."
So how does this come back to my belief problem. Or, more important, the help for my unbelief?
1) My problem is important - the small things I let slip are not horrible or dire, but they point to a deeper disbelief...the belief that God's plan isn't worth my obedience. So while repentance might be called for on any one issue, the greater need is to repent my lack of faith and be healed.
2) Healing is dangerous. It requires that I ask God to show me the real source of my faltering - the real depth of my distrust, rather than the effects of it. These wounds run deep and are painful to operate on.
3) I need, more than anything else, to believe in a higher calling, the upward call of Christ. I need to believe in "The Big Idea" and begin to hope for some way that I figure into it. That belief, that direction on which I can focus; that hope and, yes, expectation that God is up to something and it matters what I do, will begin to be reflected in the smaller choices I make. Because they matter...to something and Someone.
4) God wants to lend me His eyes to see. He put it in His book. He raises up people around me who act as guides...even as He raises me up to act as a guide for others.
One opportunity to gain ground on God's vision in my life, His Calling, is a retreat coming up this January at Wintergreen Resort. Gary Barkalow (The Noble Heart) will spend the weekend orienting men toward God's unique call in their lives - in pursuit of their glory in Him. I encourage you to find out more about the event and even register to join me there by visiting http://www.piercing-the-veil.com/.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Hi & Lois...Really!?
I am a stalwart reader of the comics. I don't know how or why I fell into the habit, but I generally manage (to my wife's chagrine) to read the funnies every morning before leaving for work...even when it means that the kids need to ask twice to grab my attention and get, say, more milk in their cereal bowl...or maybe a spoon with which they can, you know, eat... said... cereal.
While I read the comics every day, I don't generally expect them to speak to me...not with a message from God or anything. Which made it doubly-strange when they did, this morning. He did, I mean. I guess. And it seemed particularly odd when He chose "Hi & Lois" to do it...I mean, really: Hi & Lois!? Well, at any rate, take a look:
While I read the comics every day, I don't generally expect them to speak to me...not with a message from God or anything. Which made it doubly-strange when they did, this morning. He did, I mean. I guess. And it seemed particularly odd when He chose "Hi & Lois" to do it...I mean, really: Hi & Lois!? Well, at any rate, take a look:
Original Image published online at http://www.timesunion.com/comics/index.asp?feature_id=Hi_and_Lois&feature_date=2009-10-21
Now allow me to explain: Over recent weeks a group of men (myself included) have finalized all the proper steps to establish an organization called Piercing the Veil. It's purpose? Well...in a nutshell, to help enable men to find their purpose in life. God's purpose to be more exact...His calling, for each of us. The Life He promises, now.
So here we are - a group of men who have labored together to establish and register an organization...to create and post a website (http://www.piercing-the-veil.com/)... to reserve space at Wintergreen Resort this January in hopes that 60 or more men will gather in pursuit of God's calling in their life, and I'm reading the comics over my coffee this morning when, in the third panel, that baby hits on the real bottom line we all face.
Is everything I'm doing...most of what I'm up to, I mean...is it all really just, well...crap?
Certainly it is...or can be...in my life. And why wouldn't it be? What am I pursuing? To what do I hold myself accountable? To what do I aspire? For what do I hope? And pray? Any given day my priorities and actions and thoughts and efforts point to "important" things like my paycheck or vacation plans. And those are just a few topics that seem "safe enough" to disclose on a blog...what is my real pursuit, moment by moment? Lust? Power? Money? Fame and Ego? Seriously. How far removed from a baby's diapers are all of my apparent pursuits, in the big picture I mean?
Oh wait...a big picture? A larger story? You mean there might be more?
The last poll data I saw (published in Parade magazine, a reputable source in any good theologian's book) indicated that something like 80% of adults in America muster up a prayer of some sort any given week...so there is at least a collective hope that something more is out there...something more matters.
If that were true, is true, what if that "something more" actually wanted more than a happenstance prayer now and again...and not for His sake, but for ours? What if He wanted something more for us? What if, against all odds, He wanted to tell us what that looked like? Not with layers of duty and ritual or in some type of demeaning "you can't really ever do it" kind of way...but with an invitation and a desire and a hope to chase. Something to pursue.
Wow. What if He were to sit next to you on the couch and say, "Boy you're lucky. Your purpose is to..."
That would be pretty cool, I think. Might He? Do you hope He would? Join me, and others, and a guy named Gary Barkalow (find out more about him at http://www.thenobleheart.com/) at Wintergreen this January 8-10. Learn more about our group and register for the event online at http://www.piercing-the-veil.com/.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
One Thing I Question
For no good reason that comes to mind I turned on the radio this morning on my drive to work. I don't often do that. If I can maintain "upward" focus on my drive (instead of spiraling into thoughts about work, my to-do list or, more often, picking up my phone to make a call), I sometimes use the 15 minutes from my house to the office to engage in prayer...but rarely, if ever, do I turn any "sound" on in the morning. No real aversion, just not something I do - except for today.
Scanning through the available stations I came upon a song that I later discovered to be called "The One Thing." A youtube or google search indicates that title has been used and reused for quite some time, but the iteration that caught my ear is by a guy named Paul Colman. The refrain went like this:
"But the one thing I don't question is You. You really love me like You say You do..."
The song was wonderfully done featuring what sounded like a trio of men. Acoustic guitar. Beautiful harmonies. And that chorus was featured over and over again...haunting, almost. I suppose I choose the word "haunting" to a purpose because I found myself deeply moved by the purity of that line: "The one thing I don't question is You."
It feels pure and deep and completely untrue.
"The one thing I DON'T question is You!?" Are you kidding me? That is, to a fault, the one thing I horribly, fundamentally, frequently and fervently DO question! Should I? Well of course not! BUT DO I? Yes. Oh Lord I'm so sorry but yes. Isn't that at the heart of it all? Isn't that really the brokeness of my heart, inherited through generations going back to the original, "Did He really say? Does He really love..." question planted by the enemy? Acted on by Adam and Eve!?
And now I'm in the car with this phrase rolling over me again and again. I'm sinking into it. It feels familiar. It feels like conviction and I'm lost in the darkness, in the gap between who I want to be and who I really am. I am literally going to drown in it. But then, just a little at first, it doesn't feel quite so dark or convicting. I mean the song is over and I've, thankfully, turned off the radio; but that phrase is in my head and on my lips and the music is driving it home, even with just me singing, a capella, and the harmony only playing out in my head as I continue to mouth the words, to sing these words...and, against my understanding, they grow larger. They grow lighter. They even begin to resonate, cleaner.
Have you seen, "Good Will Hunting?" I hope so. As I played this chorus over and again in my head I was suddenly reminded of the scene from that film when Robin William's character keeps saying over and over again, "Its not your fault" while Will first dismisses then battles against then finally succumbs to the truth of that phrase. It isn't his fault - it really, really isn't. I've seen that movie several times and, even moreso, I've seen that clip used to demonstrate the love that God has to offer. The fathering He desires to provide to us. To me.
This felt like that. Penetrating. Haunting. Like there was a truth inside of it that I couldn't really get at on my own. Something important but impossible.
"But the one thing I don't question is You. You really love me like You say You do..."
And the remarkable thing was to find my conviction not "forgiven" but, rather, disarmed. I had the dawning awareness that this -- THIS -- is the deepest lie that I must battle: that I live in disbelief of Him.
It is a lie, you know. It is an agreement I make that, even at its worst, is just a misconstrued misunderstanding that turns "but how can this be" into "it can't be true." Quick. Simple. Deep. An arrow straight into my heart.
Do you see this? Can you catch a glimpse of it? It seems so apparent yet horribly elusive, even writing this and trying to grab hold, to hang onto it, I can feel the idea slipping from my grip.
My heart believes. My NEW heart doesn't question. "I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. (NIV Ezekiel 36:26) My truest self knows -- KNOWS -- He really does love me. Because He rescued me from my real disbelief. Because He gave me the new heart that can't forget and doesn't question. And, yes, sometimes I fail to live from that new heart. In fact, I fail to live from my new heart far more often than I care to admit. But, ultimately, those failings cannot undo the heart change that He has already wrought. My failing cannot reform what has already been transformed.
In the song, the chorus gives way to a simple plea: "So hold me. Hold me." Its breathy and deep throated and hungry and satisfied. Because I am transformed and my new heart doesn't question and I know You love me, hold me. Hold me. Like Will held tight by his doctor, like a child held tight by his Mom. Hold me...because it is true.
Scanning through the available stations I came upon a song that I later discovered to be called "The One Thing." A youtube or google search indicates that title has been used and reused for quite some time, but the iteration that caught my ear is by a guy named Paul Colman. The refrain went like this:
"But the one thing I don't question is You. You really love me like You say You do..."
The song was wonderfully done featuring what sounded like a trio of men. Acoustic guitar. Beautiful harmonies. And that chorus was featured over and over again...haunting, almost. I suppose I choose the word "haunting" to a purpose because I found myself deeply moved by the purity of that line: "The one thing I don't question is You."
It feels pure and deep and completely untrue.
"The one thing I DON'T question is You!?" Are you kidding me? That is, to a fault, the one thing I horribly, fundamentally, frequently and fervently DO question! Should I? Well of course not! BUT DO I? Yes. Oh Lord I'm so sorry but yes. Isn't that at the heart of it all? Isn't that really the brokeness of my heart, inherited through generations going back to the original, "Did He really say? Does He really love..." question planted by the enemy? Acted on by Adam and Eve!?
And now I'm in the car with this phrase rolling over me again and again. I'm sinking into it. It feels familiar. It feels like conviction and I'm lost in the darkness, in the gap between who I want to be and who I really am. I am literally going to drown in it. But then, just a little at first, it doesn't feel quite so dark or convicting. I mean the song is over and I've, thankfully, turned off the radio; but that phrase is in my head and on my lips and the music is driving it home, even with just me singing, a capella, and the harmony only playing out in my head as I continue to mouth the words, to sing these words...and, against my understanding, they grow larger. They grow lighter. They even begin to resonate, cleaner.
Have you seen, "Good Will Hunting?" I hope so. As I played this chorus over and again in my head I was suddenly reminded of the scene from that film when Robin William's character keeps saying over and over again, "Its not your fault" while Will first dismisses then battles against then finally succumbs to the truth of that phrase. It isn't his fault - it really, really isn't. I've seen that movie several times and, even moreso, I've seen that clip used to demonstrate the love that God has to offer. The fathering He desires to provide to us. To me.
This felt like that. Penetrating. Haunting. Like there was a truth inside of it that I couldn't really get at on my own. Something important but impossible.
"But the one thing I don't question is You. You really love me like You say You do..."
And the remarkable thing was to find my conviction not "forgiven" but, rather, disarmed. I had the dawning awareness that this -- THIS -- is the deepest lie that I must battle: that I live in disbelief of Him.
It is a lie, you know. It is an agreement I make that, even at its worst, is just a misconstrued misunderstanding that turns "but how can this be" into "it can't be true." Quick. Simple. Deep. An arrow straight into my heart.
Do you see this? Can you catch a glimpse of it? It seems so apparent yet horribly elusive, even writing this and trying to grab hold, to hang onto it, I can feel the idea slipping from my grip.
My heart believes. My NEW heart doesn't question. "I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. (NIV Ezekiel 36:26) My truest self knows -- KNOWS -- He really does love me. Because He rescued me from my real disbelief. Because He gave me the new heart that can't forget and doesn't question. And, yes, sometimes I fail to live from that new heart. In fact, I fail to live from my new heart far more often than I care to admit. But, ultimately, those failings cannot undo the heart change that He has already wrought. My failing cannot reform what has already been transformed.
In the song, the chorus gives way to a simple plea: "So hold me. Hold me." Its breathy and deep throated and hungry and satisfied. Because I am transformed and my new heart doesn't question and I know You love me, hold me. Hold me. Like Will held tight by his doctor, like a child held tight by his Mom. Hold me...because it is true.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
This New Man Idea
I try, best I can, to be candid about my lack of piety (at least with you the reader, if not truly with myself). I'm not as diligent as I "should" be about reading my Bible...my prayer time is often the few minutes I can focus on the Lord as I drive to work (or the even fewer minutes I can steal away from my cell phone as I run between appointments throughout the work day). Yet I am continually surprised, regardless of my commitment, by how committed the Lord remains to me.
This morning my wife and her mom took our infant son and my daughter (the oldest) with her on a trip to Richmond for the weekend. I'm left with the two boys (three and five) to brave the elements together -- a boy's weekend! As they build a fort out of the pillows from the family room couch, I'm also left with more free time on a Saturday morning than I'm usually afforded...and as I try to steer them away from the television, I find myself unable to break my own rules by preparing for the college football day with ESPN - what better time to crack open the Good Book?
On a hunch I went to our church's website to find today's reading - for those who are better committed - in the "read the bible in a year" plan. The first, and longest, recommendation comes from Isaiah chapters 48 through 50. While I am no scholar, I was deeply struck by warnings like, "I will feed those who oppress you with their own flesh, And they shall be drunk with their own blood as with sweet wine (Isaiah 49:26)." I'm sure these can be applied directly to Israel's historical enemies...but isn't it poignant that the Lord's warning is that we will feast upon ourselves...and find the feast sweet? Grotesque but perfectly on target, for me at least. Even today, this morning, left to my own designs, how easily can I look inward...how readily can I be lured to my own lustful desires that offer the promise of life, but only result in sluggish destruction? (Particularly with no good wife to reign me in.)
Contrast that with today's corresponding verse in Ephesians 4:17-24. The Message calls this "The Old Way Has to Go," but for once my wife's New King James speaks more clearly to my heart when titles this section "The New Man:"
"This I say...that you should no longer walk as the rest of [them] walk, in the futility of their mind...alienated from the life of God...because of the blindness of their heart; who, being past feeling, have given themselves over to lewdness, to work all uncleanness with greediness...that you put off, concerning your former conduct, the old man which grows corrupt according to the deceitful lusts, and be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and that you put on the new man which was created according to God, in true righteousness and holiness."
Oh that I could keep my heart from being blind! And to whom is Paul speaking but to me, to us, to the church!? He doesn't assume that we are living as "new men" but that we need to be encouraged to do so. That we are ABLE to do so! He recognizes - God recognizes - that we all too readily feast on our own flesh even as we sit at the foot of His table...and so He takes the time to remind us NOT that we are messing up, but that we are CAPABLE of so much more. That we don't need to look at the feast He has prepared - the desires and promises He offers us - and yet settle for the hyphenated and false desires that would have us drinking our own sweet wine.
He has better wine for us.
He is faithful to invite me into the new life He promises; inviting me to be the new man He knows and loves. Does He blame me for my blindness? Or does He rather understand and shine a light...even offering me new eyes AND a new heart?
Maybe there is more to this "read the Bible every day" thing than just duty and obligation after all. I think I'd like some more of this...
This morning my wife and her mom took our infant son and my daughter (the oldest) with her on a trip to Richmond for the weekend. I'm left with the two boys (three and five) to brave the elements together -- a boy's weekend! As they build a fort out of the pillows from the family room couch, I'm also left with more free time on a Saturday morning than I'm usually afforded...and as I try to steer them away from the television, I find myself unable to break my own rules by preparing for the college football day with ESPN - what better time to crack open the Good Book?
On a hunch I went to our church's website to find today's reading - for those who are better committed - in the "read the bible in a year" plan. The first, and longest, recommendation comes from Isaiah chapters 48 through 50. While I am no scholar, I was deeply struck by warnings like, "I will feed those who oppress you with their own flesh, And they shall be drunk with their own blood as with sweet wine (Isaiah 49:26)." I'm sure these can be applied directly to Israel's historical enemies...but isn't it poignant that the Lord's warning is that we will feast upon ourselves...and find the feast sweet? Grotesque but perfectly on target, for me at least. Even today, this morning, left to my own designs, how easily can I look inward...how readily can I be lured to my own lustful desires that offer the promise of life, but only result in sluggish destruction? (Particularly with no good wife to reign me in.)
Contrast that with today's corresponding verse in Ephesians 4:17-24. The Message calls this "The Old Way Has to Go," but for once my wife's New King James speaks more clearly to my heart when titles this section "The New Man:"
"This I say...that you should no longer walk as the rest of [them] walk, in the futility of their mind...alienated from the life of God...because of the blindness of their heart; who, being past feeling, have given themselves over to lewdness, to work all uncleanness with greediness...that you put off, concerning your former conduct, the old man which grows corrupt according to the deceitful lusts, and be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and that you put on the new man which was created according to God, in true righteousness and holiness."
Oh that I could keep my heart from being blind! And to whom is Paul speaking but to me, to us, to the church!? He doesn't assume that we are living as "new men" but that we need to be encouraged to do so. That we are ABLE to do so! He recognizes - God recognizes - that we all too readily feast on our own flesh even as we sit at the foot of His table...and so He takes the time to remind us NOT that we are messing up, but that we are CAPABLE of so much more. That we don't need to look at the feast He has prepared - the desires and promises He offers us - and yet settle for the hyphenated and false desires that would have us drinking our own sweet wine.
He has better wine for us.
He is faithful to invite me into the new life He promises; inviting me to be the new man He knows and loves. Does He blame me for my blindness? Or does He rather understand and shine a light...even offering me new eyes AND a new heart?
Maybe there is more to this "read the Bible every day" thing than just duty and obligation after all. I think I'd like some more of this...
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Accountable for Parables
A few weeks back I spent some time thinking through (and writing about) the invitation to participate that is inherent in parables. Christ is asked a question. Christ answers with a story. The "asker" must apply himself (or is invited to apply himself) to the question of "what in this story addresses my question...answers my need?"
Last week I was able to listen to a good friend of mine as he presented a message entitled, "The Restoration of Masculine Sexuality" to a men's group. It’s interesting to be in that room as a variety of men struggle to interpret and apply a heady message such as that. I can guess, with 25 some-odd men listening, that circumstances ran across the spectrum from "in desperate need of rescue" to "casually interested but in fairly good shape," and all points in between.
My friend is a huge fan of film. He even refers to movies as "modern parables." And I agree. During his presentation he showed several clips, not as illustrations of a point, but as launching platforms for new perspectives on masculinity, on rescue, on beauty. I spent the 90 minute presentation both drawn into his material and separately observant of the other men in the room. For the most part they seemed stalwart - hopefully intent on absorbing information to the exclusion of interacting, but perhaps in some ways opposed to what they were hearing (I've gotten encouraging reports since the event that lead me toward the former, by the way).
As we watched these clips together, the men and I, and listened to my friend invite us all into a deeper understanding of God the Father's hope for our lives as men, I began to realize another aspect of parables that has intrigued me in the days since. I've already pointed to the parable as an invitation - but I hadn't realized, until now, how strikingly accountable we are each forced to become for our own response.
I don't want this to become confused with some kind of invitation to the altar or anything. I've come to new terms with this idea of "once and for all," you can be sure. I mean to say that I’ve learned to differentiate the start of a journey from the journey itself. You can certainly start on a journey "once" but if your time ever after is spent simply re-starting, you aren't really journeying at all. But I digress...
Isn't it amazing, back to my point, how the process of extending an invitation shifts the weight of accountability fully to the invitee? If I explain things in detail, step-by-step, through process, I seem to have mounting accountability for the transfer of my explanation to my listener. I can check - test, even - to see if the information is understood and assimilated. But when I invite someone to participate, through a film clip or a story...a parable, I am only responsible for the invitation - the remaining onus ("what do I make of this?" "why is this important?") rests squarely on the hearer...the seeker, so to speak.
I suppose this idea intrigues me most because, whether writing or speaking, I feel a burden to translate my ideas in a relevant way that impacts those who will listen. To begin to acknowledge where my responsibility might end in this regard is a powerful concept for me. Many people I know, pastors, part-time speakers, teachers, often get caught in a performance struggle: "Did I say that right?" "Did I make the best case?" And I'll often hear people settle back to a hoped-for truth that "God will make what He wants from it" as they seek to lay that responsibility down.
I'm beginning to pick away at the inkling of an idea that this responsibility was never really mine to take up.
Last week I was able to listen to a good friend of mine as he presented a message entitled, "The Restoration of Masculine Sexuality" to a men's group. It’s interesting to be in that room as a variety of men struggle to interpret and apply a heady message such as that. I can guess, with 25 some-odd men listening, that circumstances ran across the spectrum from "in desperate need of rescue" to "casually interested but in fairly good shape," and all points in between.
My friend is a huge fan of film. He even refers to movies as "modern parables." And I agree. During his presentation he showed several clips, not as illustrations of a point, but as launching platforms for new perspectives on masculinity, on rescue, on beauty. I spent the 90 minute presentation both drawn into his material and separately observant of the other men in the room. For the most part they seemed stalwart - hopefully intent on absorbing information to the exclusion of interacting, but perhaps in some ways opposed to what they were hearing (I've gotten encouraging reports since the event that lead me toward the former, by the way).
As we watched these clips together, the men and I, and listened to my friend invite us all into a deeper understanding of God the Father's hope for our lives as men, I began to realize another aspect of parables that has intrigued me in the days since. I've already pointed to the parable as an invitation - but I hadn't realized, until now, how strikingly accountable we are each forced to become for our own response.
I don't want this to become confused with some kind of invitation to the altar or anything. I've come to new terms with this idea of "once and for all," you can be sure. I mean to say that I’ve learned to differentiate the start of a journey from the journey itself. You can certainly start on a journey "once" but if your time ever after is spent simply re-starting, you aren't really journeying at all. But I digress...
Isn't it amazing, back to my point, how the process of extending an invitation shifts the weight of accountability fully to the invitee? If I explain things in detail, step-by-step, through process, I seem to have mounting accountability for the transfer of my explanation to my listener. I can check - test, even - to see if the information is understood and assimilated. But when I invite someone to participate, through a film clip or a story...a parable, I am only responsible for the invitation - the remaining onus ("what do I make of this?" "why is this important?") rests squarely on the hearer...the seeker, so to speak.
I suppose this idea intrigues me most because, whether writing or speaking, I feel a burden to translate my ideas in a relevant way that impacts those who will listen. To begin to acknowledge where my responsibility might end in this regard is a powerful concept for me. Many people I know, pastors, part-time speakers, teachers, often get caught in a performance struggle: "Did I say that right?" "Did I make the best case?" And I'll often hear people settle back to a hoped-for truth that "God will make what He wants from it" as they seek to lay that responsibility down.
I'm beginning to pick away at the inkling of an idea that this responsibility was never really mine to take up.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Risk Affirmed
I've had an interesting 10-14 days. Remarkable, in some regards. Trying in others. I live in a constant state of risk/reward - its the life of sales, I suppose...but it is somehow still true in my walk, as well.
Saturday before last I had the opportunity to speak at my church's Men's Breakfast. I hoped to present some avenue of insight into my personal story and preview a concept that will be revisited this coming weekend as we tackle the topic of sex and the lies we believe from the enemy about our own desires. While sex and lust are far more compelling topics for men, I hoped to reveal the same subject matter -- the lies of the enemy -- in a different facet.
In my life I've wrestled quite a bit, life-long I suppose, with ego and validation and pursuit versus loss. Risk/reward. I've come to understand that one tactic of the enemy is to point to my victories, particularly those in pursuit of kingdom goals, and whisper a lie into my ear: "Its all about me."
What's remarkable about kingdom living is how God works to heal wounds...even when we are trying to reveal His truth in the midst of those wounds. That sounds difficult, so I'll explain: I was preparing to expose myself in a venue to discuss my "ego issues" -- a position that lends itself exactly to the "ego issues" which I hoped to describe!
So, preparing to talk with some candor also lent itself to feeling a need for affirmation, validation, and...well...a stroke or two of the old ego! What I found is that God provided me respite and prepared my heart through good friends and men around me, timely reminders of His desire to delight in our achievements (and His invitation to enjoy that delight) and, even more remarkably, a sense of peace and the chance to rest.
Resting is not something I do very well.
It is through that growing peace...with myself and my role in God's economy, that I feel called to share that talk (for those who care to listen) without carrying quite the same burden I have in the past for any accolades...or more specifically any lack thereof. If you have 33 minutes and 50 seconds to spare, please feel free to listen to the story I shared about the loss of my daughter, the writing of a play, and the crushing lie of the enemy in my life.
UPDATE: Player stopped working at some point so please use the link below...
Clicking on this link will take you to a 4shared.com page where you can listen on an embedded player...or I think you can download and even rip/burn/whatever a copy of the MP3 here: 4shared.com link. Happy listening!
Saturday before last I had the opportunity to speak at my church's Men's Breakfast. I hoped to present some avenue of insight into my personal story and preview a concept that will be revisited this coming weekend as we tackle the topic of sex and the lies we believe from the enemy about our own desires. While sex and lust are far more compelling topics for men, I hoped to reveal the same subject matter -- the lies of the enemy -- in a different facet.
In my life I've wrestled quite a bit, life-long I suppose, with ego and validation and pursuit versus loss. Risk/reward. I've come to understand that one tactic of the enemy is to point to my victories, particularly those in pursuit of kingdom goals, and whisper a lie into my ear: "Its all about me."
What's remarkable about kingdom living is how God works to heal wounds...even when we are trying to reveal His truth in the midst of those wounds. That sounds difficult, so I'll explain: I was preparing to expose myself in a venue to discuss my "ego issues" -- a position that lends itself exactly to the "ego issues" which I hoped to describe!
So, preparing to talk with some candor also lent itself to feeling a need for affirmation, validation, and...well...a stroke or two of the old ego! What I found is that God provided me respite and prepared my heart through good friends and men around me, timely reminders of His desire to delight in our achievements (and His invitation to enjoy that delight) and, even more remarkably, a sense of peace and the chance to rest.
Resting is not something I do very well.
It is through that growing peace...with myself and my role in God's economy, that I feel called to share that talk (for those who care to listen) without carrying quite the same burden I have in the past for any accolades...or more specifically any lack thereof. If you have 33 minutes and 50 seconds to spare, please feel free to listen to the story I shared about the loss of my daughter, the writing of a play, and the crushing lie of the enemy in my life.
UPDATE: Player stopped working at some point so please use the link below...
Clicking on this link will take you to a 4shared.com page where you can listen on an embedded player...or I think you can download and even rip/burn/whatever a copy of the MP3 here: 4shared.com link. Happy listening!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Christian Membership
I have two books on my desk at work right now. The first is called "32 Ways to be a Champion in Business" by none other than the inimitable Earvin "Magic" Johnson (this appeared on my desk the other day with no inscription or explanation and I can only take it to be a practical joke...so if you happen to be the one that left it here, please solve the mystery and present yourself along with an explanation) and the second is a daily readings compilation from C.S. Lewis called "The Business of Heaven." Magic Johnson is not the inspiration for today's entry, by the way...
The Lewis quote centers on the idea of "Membership" and, more specifically, the Pauline / Christian meaning behind the word "member." I recommend you take a quick read through this link as a reference point:
http://tinyurl.com/ku7qfy
Maybe I'm pulling too much out of Lewis's text...or, far more likely, I am carrying way too much baggage into it! I think I am just hard-wired to assume, by default, that God is a generalist...and that the only battle in Christianity is the line that seems to be drawn somewhere between me in my seat and me kneeling at the altar - the "in or out" line of forgiveness that is the foundational cry of evangelical churches: come to the altar and you will be saved.
Not that this foundation isn't critical...but there are after-effects that can sometimes linger when we allow ourselves to be identified simply as "in" or "out." Such a simplistic valuation lends itself to the very definition that Lewis is, I think, rallying against: the unfortunate idea that we are generic 'units' in God's economy.
We are not generic. We are not units. We are not simply one more chip on an othello board turned from black to white. We are individual and important and even critical to His plans. We have a role to play that is exclusively ours. Not that God's will depends upon us, but we are invited to play our part in uniquely fulfilling His will...His plans.
Even more important, I think, is this idea that the body of Christ suffers damage when it loses a member. I don't mean this like the body of Christ is cumulatively 100% and then drops to 99%...I mean it in the sense that losing my pinky-toe impacts my ability to maintain balance and to fully function in the manner I was created to be. And, to me, the idea of "losing a member" isn't about death or distance - it is about letting our brothers and sisters in Christ be taken out by the enemy...or, worse, watching them slumber and allowing them to continue to sleep (the ultimate and most successful of Satan's attacks).
Man, that's like trying to walk when your leg is asleep - or waking up with your arm dangling limp at your side and trying to make coffee!
The promise and hope of Christ is freedom. Out of the pulpit I tend to hear incrimination..."why aren't you free - why aren't you pursuing - why aren't you being more?" (This is not an indictment of my pastor, it is an indictment of my ears.) Among my group of brothers I tend to hear..."I wish he could be free - I hope his heart comes alive - I would love to see him experience this better." Sounds better, doesn't it...but it is still about that person, that "other," and not about "us" as a whole.
What I guess I hear Lewis saying here is that our motivation needn't be purely altruistic because it isn't just about having a good heart for others...it's about having a heart to see the entire body healed! It's about realizing that every individual member, EVERY INDIVIDUAL MEMBER, must become fully alive and functioning and playing his or her part. Otherwise we all suffer.
Lets say I read this morning that 7 soldiers were killed yesterday in Afghanistan. I can make note of that fact. I can, perhaps, mourn that statistical loss. I can even add it to a running total of soldiers "lost" in the war effort this month, this year...this war. But, somewhere in Afghanistan, a patrol is adapting to overcome the loss of a real person who provided unique value to their collective objective. Men are adapting to that specific loss and its impact on their ability to function. Heck, leaders are likely requisitioning new people with similar skills because they can't stop doing whatever that soldier was doing, but they don't have that soldier -- that 'member' of their team -- available to do what they need anymore!
You see...if this idea of "membership" in Christ is more than just an "in" or "out" proposition, I am forced to operate under the assumption that members of the body MUST be fully functional or I CAN NOT FULFILL my role in the body, either. Seems like God would cover this somehow in the bible...oh wait, see 1 Corinthians 12.
So...do I want to see men come alive in Christ and experience the freedom He has to offer? Yes I do. For their sake...and for mine.
The Lewis quote centers on the idea of "Membership" and, more specifically, the Pauline / Christian meaning behind the word "member." I recommend you take a quick read through this link as a reference point:
http://tinyurl.com/ku7qfy
Maybe I'm pulling too much out of Lewis's text...or, far more likely, I am carrying way too much baggage into it! I think I am just hard-wired to assume, by default, that God is a generalist...and that the only battle in Christianity is the line that seems to be drawn somewhere between me in my seat and me kneeling at the altar - the "in or out" line of forgiveness that is the foundational cry of evangelical churches: come to the altar and you will be saved.
Not that this foundation isn't critical...but there are after-effects that can sometimes linger when we allow ourselves to be identified simply as "in" or "out." Such a simplistic valuation lends itself to the very definition that Lewis is, I think, rallying against: the unfortunate idea that we are generic 'units' in God's economy.
We are not generic. We are not units. We are not simply one more chip on an othello board turned from black to white. We are individual and important and even critical to His plans. We have a role to play that is exclusively ours. Not that God's will depends upon us, but we are invited to play our part in uniquely fulfilling His will...His plans.
Even more important, I think, is this idea that the body of Christ suffers damage when it loses a member. I don't mean this like the body of Christ is cumulatively 100% and then drops to 99%...I mean it in the sense that losing my pinky-toe impacts my ability to maintain balance and to fully function in the manner I was created to be. And, to me, the idea of "losing a member" isn't about death or distance - it is about letting our brothers and sisters in Christ be taken out by the enemy...or, worse, watching them slumber and allowing them to continue to sleep (the ultimate and most successful of Satan's attacks).
Man, that's like trying to walk when your leg is asleep - or waking up with your arm dangling limp at your side and trying to make coffee!
The promise and hope of Christ is freedom. Out of the pulpit I tend to hear incrimination..."why aren't you free - why aren't you pursuing - why aren't you being more?" (This is not an indictment of my pastor, it is an indictment of my ears.) Among my group of brothers I tend to hear..."I wish he could be free - I hope his heart comes alive - I would love to see him experience this better." Sounds better, doesn't it...but it is still about that person, that "other," and not about "us" as a whole.
What I guess I hear Lewis saying here is that our motivation needn't be purely altruistic because it isn't just about having a good heart for others...it's about having a heart to see the entire body healed! It's about realizing that every individual member, EVERY INDIVIDUAL MEMBER, must become fully alive and functioning and playing his or her part. Otherwise we all suffer.
Lets say I read this morning that 7 soldiers were killed yesterday in Afghanistan. I can make note of that fact. I can, perhaps, mourn that statistical loss. I can even add it to a running total of soldiers "lost" in the war effort this month, this year...this war. But, somewhere in Afghanistan, a patrol is adapting to overcome the loss of a real person who provided unique value to their collective objective. Men are adapting to that specific loss and its impact on their ability to function. Heck, leaders are likely requisitioning new people with similar skills because they can't stop doing whatever that soldier was doing, but they don't have that soldier -- that 'member' of their team -- available to do what they need anymore!
You see...if this idea of "membership" in Christ is more than just an "in" or "out" proposition, I am forced to operate under the assumption that members of the body MUST be fully functional or I CAN NOT FULFILL my role in the body, either. Seems like God would cover this somehow in the bible...oh wait, see 1 Corinthians 12.
So...do I want to see men come alive in Christ and experience the freedom He has to offer? Yes I do. For their sake...and for mine.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Strength and Weakness
I attended my first men's breakfast recently - my first at this church, I mean. I've done a terribly good job of being distant and unengaged at my church - particularly among the general congregation. The senior pastor and I have a good relationship and I'm on familiar enough terms with many...but many more I wouldn't know the names of or wouldn't connect names to faces, if I were pressed.
I think this stems from my experiencing such dramatic transformation among the small group of men I have come to know and trust well...and the fact that none of them attend my church. Its unfortunate that I find myself unwilling to extend similar trust and risk among others whom I see every Sunday (well, many Sunday's at least). I am, to an extent, working to change that by the way.
As breakfast ended and we came to the time of announcements and the morning's agenda, our pastor was called upon to kick things off. He is better than I at maintaining the daily devotional according to our published "read the bible in a year" schedule and chose a verse he'd read that morning (I believe) to remind us of our need to lift one another up: "We who are strong ought to bear with the failings of the weak and not to please ourselves. Each of us should please his neighbor for his good, to build him up," Romans 15:1-2. His message, generally speaking, was a reminder that we who are strong in Christ should look for opportunities to lend our strength to others who may be weak. He also alluded to the concept that we are each, individually, both weak and strong at different times in our lives and, potentially, in different circumstances. So, in relationship, we are called upon to offer strength into another man's weakness knowing that we might one day be leaning on the strength of others even as we come to feel weak.
I agree. Though I found myself thinking of another concept having to do with strength and weakness...one that had me searching through the Bible in hopes that I wasn't completely unsupported by scripture in this idea: God is made strong in my weakness. Turns out, Eureka! and Hallelujia! that I am not completely off-book (although it was probably a song lyric that I remembered moreso than a scripture reference, to be honest). 2nd Corinthians 12:9 has Paul saying, "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'"
For me "power" and "strength" are somewhat synonymous (though we could certainly go down a long path differentiating the two) and so I find myself caught between two verses having to do with strength and weakness...one in which I am called to be strong and the other in which I rejoice in God's strength made perfect when I am weak. So, if God's power is made perfect in my weakness and I am called to be strong in the midst of another man's weakness...what am I to make of that!?
I believe God is a God of relationship and that He utilizes His people in the midst of circumstance to deliver on His promises. I believe that genuine relationship among, well, "believers" requires genuine risk and that genuine risk requires our willingness to be genuinely weak. We are not the hero's of our stories - we are victims and perpetrators and the greyness within which we live, while sometimes revealing momentary and unique strength, is far more often a reflection of our deepest weaknesses and failings.
I believe that appearing weak is the most difficult thing for a man to do - and it is often only that: appearing. To be truly weak to the point of truly needing another - any other, particularly a man or a father or a friend - may be the deepest and most compromising crack at the bottom of the dark chasm that separates us from God.
But...
There is incredible hope to be had, not in spite of this weakness but because of it! Among the men whom I trust and love I sometimes, though rarely, dare to be truly weak. In those moments I am begging for and requiring them to be stronger than I. Through that time, among believing men who are for me and for one another, I believe God gives these men His strength - inviting them to deliver on His pledge to perfect His power only in my weakness.
And so, in those transcendent moments, we are fulfilling through one another the promise of God to His people.
I think this stems from my experiencing such dramatic transformation among the small group of men I have come to know and trust well...and the fact that none of them attend my church. Its unfortunate that I find myself unwilling to extend similar trust and risk among others whom I see every Sunday (well, many Sunday's at least). I am, to an extent, working to change that by the way.
As breakfast ended and we came to the time of announcements and the morning's agenda, our pastor was called upon to kick things off. He is better than I at maintaining the daily devotional according to our published "read the bible in a year" schedule and chose a verse he'd read that morning (I believe) to remind us of our need to lift one another up: "We who are strong ought to bear with the failings of the weak and not to please ourselves. Each of us should please his neighbor for his good, to build him up," Romans 15:1-2. His message, generally speaking, was a reminder that we who are strong in Christ should look for opportunities to lend our strength to others who may be weak. He also alluded to the concept that we are each, individually, both weak and strong at different times in our lives and, potentially, in different circumstances. So, in relationship, we are called upon to offer strength into another man's weakness knowing that we might one day be leaning on the strength of others even as we come to feel weak.
I agree. Though I found myself thinking of another concept having to do with strength and weakness...one that had me searching through the Bible in hopes that I wasn't completely unsupported by scripture in this idea: God is made strong in my weakness. Turns out, Eureka! and Hallelujia! that I am not completely off-book (although it was probably a song lyric that I remembered moreso than a scripture reference, to be honest). 2nd Corinthians 12:9 has Paul saying, "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'"
For me "power" and "strength" are somewhat synonymous (though we could certainly go down a long path differentiating the two) and so I find myself caught between two verses having to do with strength and weakness...one in which I am called to be strong and the other in which I rejoice in God's strength made perfect when I am weak. So, if God's power is made perfect in my weakness and I am called to be strong in the midst of another man's weakness...what am I to make of that!?
I believe God is a God of relationship and that He utilizes His people in the midst of circumstance to deliver on His promises. I believe that genuine relationship among, well, "believers" requires genuine risk and that genuine risk requires our willingness to be genuinely weak. We are not the hero's of our stories - we are victims and perpetrators and the greyness within which we live, while sometimes revealing momentary and unique strength, is far more often a reflection of our deepest weaknesses and failings.
I believe that appearing weak is the most difficult thing for a man to do - and it is often only that: appearing. To be truly weak to the point of truly needing another - any other, particularly a man or a father or a friend - may be the deepest and most compromising crack at the bottom of the dark chasm that separates us from God.
But...
There is incredible hope to be had, not in spite of this weakness but because of it! Among the men whom I trust and love I sometimes, though rarely, dare to be truly weak. In those moments I am begging for and requiring them to be stronger than I. Through that time, among believing men who are for me and for one another, I believe God gives these men His strength - inviting them to deliver on His pledge to perfect His power only in my weakness.
And so, in those transcendent moments, we are fulfilling through one another the promise of God to His people.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Modern Parables and Hidden Meanings
My kids, returning from one of many VBS experiences that my wife has lined up for the summer, gave me a simple definition of the word "parable" the other day: a parable is a story with a hidden meaning. (My kids also carried home words like "propitiation" and "expiation" with similar, straightforward definitions...but ones that caused me to do a little research so that I didn't fall too far behind their newfound and growing theological acumen. Seriously, do YOU know the definition of "expiation!?")
So my kids are talking about parables and I'm at breakfast the next day with my buddies and we're digging into each other's struggles and hopes, etc. And I have this rare moment where I inadverdantly find myself using a parable to make a point instead of making a direct observation. I don't mean, by the way, that I pulled open my Bible and referenced a parable told by Christ to His followers...I mean I had one of those opportunities to use a story about someone else to illuminate an issue faced by my friend.
This story that I told was only loosely on target (I won't retell it here; it's not important) and I actually questioned how much it mattered or resonated at the time. In fact, as sometimes happens when telling a story, it seemed to be less on target the further along I got in the telling. Regardless, I didn't give it much additional thought. I connected the dots as best I could and then moved on. Only later did I get some feedback from my friend, via email, that made me think that this story had mattered in the least (and I'm still not sure how much it mattered; again, not important).
Flash forward to last night. I'm watching Gran Torino on loaner from someone who recommended it as one of those movies I "had to see." It really was a must see, by the way - I highly suggest you rent or buy it. In the midst of this watching I found myself doing what I often do while viewing or reading something proffered to me by someone: I wondered "why is this important to them...what does it reveal about my friend." And, quite suddenly, I finally realized why parables are so important...why this method of telling stories "with a hidden meaning" mattered so much to Christ.
Parables require our active participation.
When someone asks for advice and I give it - when someone has a question and I answer it, they have my answer and they do with it what they will. When someone asks a question and I tell them a story by way of giving an answer, it forces that person to actively search within the story I'm telling in order to understand why I think it is relevant to them. They must participate and digest the story with an eye for "where is the answer to my question in this" that is deeper and truer than any answer I or anyone else could give. Because it is internal.
Of course Christ told parables - they aren't elusive, they are personal and revealing to each of us as we seek to find ourselves within them.
How is this important to my conversation and storytelling the other day...and to my viewing of Gran Torino!? Well, let me try to connect the dots...
1) I realized how vital it was to me (and to other followers of Christ) that He used parables to impact my life - because each is an invitation.
2) I realized the compelling impact it can have on others when I'm willing to risk sharing a story that casts light on their situation, without taking the entire burden of interpreting that story on their behalf.
3) I realized that sharing a story also reveals my heart better to someone than sharing an answer.
You see, just like I watch a movie that someone gives me wondering "why is this important to so-and-so," I believe that we search within the parables we're told seeking for their relevance to us as well as their revealing of the teller's hopes for us. When I watch Gran Torino in this context I am both asking "why does this matter to him" and "how am I revealed in this" AND "what does he hope I find in this - what does my friend hope to see revealed." All different aspects of similar questions. All requiring me to participate.
So while parables may have a "hidden meaning," by definition, the meaning and purpose of Christ using parables is in no way hidden. His parables are an invitation to join Him in the journey. They are snapshots of the things He loves and holds most dear - and He makes them available to us with expectant hope that we'll participate and discover His hopes for us within. His heart is good.
So my kids are talking about parables and I'm at breakfast the next day with my buddies and we're digging into each other's struggles and hopes, etc. And I have this rare moment where I inadverdantly find myself using a parable to make a point instead of making a direct observation. I don't mean, by the way, that I pulled open my Bible and referenced a parable told by Christ to His followers...I mean I had one of those opportunities to use a story about someone else to illuminate an issue faced by my friend.
This story that I told was only loosely on target (I won't retell it here; it's not important) and I actually questioned how much it mattered or resonated at the time. In fact, as sometimes happens when telling a story, it seemed to be less on target the further along I got in the telling. Regardless, I didn't give it much additional thought. I connected the dots as best I could and then moved on. Only later did I get some feedback from my friend, via email, that made me think that this story had mattered in the least (and I'm still not sure how much it mattered; again, not important).
Flash forward to last night. I'm watching Gran Torino on loaner from someone who recommended it as one of those movies I "had to see." It really was a must see, by the way - I highly suggest you rent or buy it. In the midst of this watching I found myself doing what I often do while viewing or reading something proffered to me by someone: I wondered "why is this important to them...what does it reveal about my friend." And, quite suddenly, I finally realized why parables are so important...why this method of telling stories "with a hidden meaning" mattered so much to Christ.
Parables require our active participation.
When someone asks for advice and I give it - when someone has a question and I answer it, they have my answer and they do with it what they will. When someone asks a question and I tell them a story by way of giving an answer, it forces that person to actively search within the story I'm telling in order to understand why I think it is relevant to them. They must participate and digest the story with an eye for "where is the answer to my question in this" that is deeper and truer than any answer I or anyone else could give. Because it is internal.
Of course Christ told parables - they aren't elusive, they are personal and revealing to each of us as we seek to find ourselves within them.
How is this important to my conversation and storytelling the other day...and to my viewing of Gran Torino!? Well, let me try to connect the dots...
1) I realized how vital it was to me (and to other followers of Christ) that He used parables to impact my life - because each is an invitation.
2) I realized the compelling impact it can have on others when I'm willing to risk sharing a story that casts light on their situation, without taking the entire burden of interpreting that story on their behalf.
3) I realized that sharing a story also reveals my heart better to someone than sharing an answer.
You see, just like I watch a movie that someone gives me wondering "why is this important to so-and-so," I believe that we search within the parables we're told seeking for their relevance to us as well as their revealing of the teller's hopes for us. When I watch Gran Torino in this context I am both asking "why does this matter to him" and "how am I revealed in this" AND "what does he hope I find in this - what does my friend hope to see revealed." All different aspects of similar questions. All requiring me to participate.
So while parables may have a "hidden meaning," by definition, the meaning and purpose of Christ using parables is in no way hidden. His parables are an invitation to join Him in the journey. They are snapshots of the things He loves and holds most dear - and He makes them available to us with expectant hope that we'll participate and discover His hopes for us within. His heart is good.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Battling Waves
Back and recovering from vacation at the beach. I suppose a more committed blogger may have spent some of that time posting new thoughts - I spent it avoiding anything technological (all the way from my laptop to my blackberry), and have no regrets!
Lots I might report from my time at the beach and subsequent visit with my father - perhaps this will be the first of a flurry of posts...but the focus of this post is an image that has stayed in my mind's eye since our return - with implications that still seem to be unfolding for me.
My oldest son, now 5 and looking forward to his first year at kindergarten this fall, discovered the fun of jumping waves this year. The beach we visit, Isle of Palms (just north of Charleston, SC), is fairly sedate in this regard - so while I often found myself joining him and his older sister to bounce over the small crests, there was little danger in letting them both explore the water on their own, as well.
Tate's romping in the waves really kept my attention (which is good, since I'm playing the role of lifeguard...not just observer). He doesn't just jump in the surf -- rising up and over the crashing waves, turning his head to avoid the spray of foam getting in his eyes and mouth -- he attacks them! I can remember my own exhilaration as a child, facing the onslaught of the water, struggling to gauge the magnitude, anticipating the jump...or, later - as I grew older, working to time my entry into the wave as it breaks with a boogie board beneath me. Catching that phenomenal ride.
Watching my son, my personal remembrance of childhood seemed palpable - including the rush and feeling of power...even the conversations that I remember having with the water. I don't know if anyone else has done this, but both Tate and I seem to have the imagination and the lack of self awareness that is required to facilitate such chatter with the ocean. Between waves I could see him stretching his hands out to take measure of the water with his palms as his mouth kept moving, too far away for me to hear his words, but clearly ranging from challenging the sea all the way to pleading - for the next wave to be bigger or for a reprieve, I don't know.
So as my own memories played out live in front of me, I began to connect some ideas...from my son to me to my Father (in heaven - don't really know if my Dad ever spoke to the ocean, to tell the truth). There is an immense feeling of personal power in the midst of nature's power when you are jumping waves, if that makes sense. This huge force is all around you, literally, but you have strength in its midst... to cooperate with it, even to apparently battle against it. A mock battle, of course, but a powerful one nonetheless. Jumping up and being carried along feels much like I would imagine walking on the moon - large sweeping moves are your reward for very little effort. And, in the time that you are caught up in the play of wave-jumping, it seems to be all there is in life...it seems whole and, well, perfect.
Like being in the center of God's will.
But then the unexpected happens. A jump ill-timed. A too-soon wave appears. Distraction enters. Or we are simply wrong-footed. Regardless, the play-at-being-powerful is revealed for the game it truly is as the real power, unrelenting, unaware and uncaring of our fate, suddenly catches us, me, my son, and throws us into and under the water spinning and gasping and desperate for rescue.
Like being in the center of God's will?
You see, though I may not be doing it sufficient justice here, the reason that this scene - exhilarating and joyful both for its rekindling of my memory and for the pleasure I gain from watching my children come alive - has lingered and played out in my mind for more than a week since our return from the beach...the reason I can't seem to shake its implications is this: I live my life all too often believing that God's "universal love" is indifferent to me, personally. I don't "believe" this as something I would tell someone in Sunday school, like its a doctrine of some kind.
No, this belief is far worse, far deeper.
I believe that living in the center of God's will is powerful and empowering and rewarding and exciting...but in the back of my mind, or deep in my heart, I also believe that He is somewhat indifferent to me, individually, and just as likely to throw me gagging and coughing and gasping for breath when I least expect it, as He is to propel me upward into his embrace. I believe it in the way I plan for tomorrow, react to today, walk across the street. It is the deep lie about which the enemy persists - and I too readily conspire to maintain.
You see, now, why this lingers? I desire to swim in deep waters, to risk and be empowered, to catch a wave and turn to find the next one. When asked, I believe God's desire for me is the same - but my fear of His indifference sucks at my feet like a rip tide.
Lots I might report from my time at the beach and subsequent visit with my father - perhaps this will be the first of a flurry of posts...but the focus of this post is an image that has stayed in my mind's eye since our return - with implications that still seem to be unfolding for me.
My oldest son, now 5 and looking forward to his first year at kindergarten this fall, discovered the fun of jumping waves this year. The beach we visit, Isle of Palms (just north of Charleston, SC), is fairly sedate in this regard - so while I often found myself joining him and his older sister to bounce over the small crests, there was little danger in letting them both explore the water on their own, as well.
Tate's romping in the waves really kept my attention (which is good, since I'm playing the role of lifeguard...not just observer). He doesn't just jump in the surf -- rising up and over the crashing waves, turning his head to avoid the spray of foam getting in his eyes and mouth -- he attacks them! I can remember my own exhilaration as a child, facing the onslaught of the water, struggling to gauge the magnitude, anticipating the jump...or, later - as I grew older, working to time my entry into the wave as it breaks with a boogie board beneath me. Catching that phenomenal ride.
Watching my son, my personal remembrance of childhood seemed palpable - including the rush and feeling of power...even the conversations that I remember having with the water. I don't know if anyone else has done this, but both Tate and I seem to have the imagination and the lack of self awareness that is required to facilitate such chatter with the ocean. Between waves I could see him stretching his hands out to take measure of the water with his palms as his mouth kept moving, too far away for me to hear his words, but clearly ranging from challenging the sea all the way to pleading - for the next wave to be bigger or for a reprieve, I don't know.
So as my own memories played out live in front of me, I began to connect some ideas...from my son to me to my Father (in heaven - don't really know if my Dad ever spoke to the ocean, to tell the truth). There is an immense feeling of personal power in the midst of nature's power when you are jumping waves, if that makes sense. This huge force is all around you, literally, but you have strength in its midst... to cooperate with it, even to apparently battle against it. A mock battle, of course, but a powerful one nonetheless. Jumping up and being carried along feels much like I would imagine walking on the moon - large sweeping moves are your reward for very little effort. And, in the time that you are caught up in the play of wave-jumping, it seems to be all there is in life...it seems whole and, well, perfect.
Like being in the center of God's will.
But then the unexpected happens. A jump ill-timed. A too-soon wave appears. Distraction enters. Or we are simply wrong-footed. Regardless, the play-at-being-powerful is revealed for the game it truly is as the real power, unrelenting, unaware and uncaring of our fate, suddenly catches us, me, my son, and throws us into and under the water spinning and gasping and desperate for rescue.
Like being in the center of God's will?
You see, though I may not be doing it sufficient justice here, the reason that this scene - exhilarating and joyful both for its rekindling of my memory and for the pleasure I gain from watching my children come alive - has lingered and played out in my mind for more than a week since our return from the beach...the reason I can't seem to shake its implications is this: I live my life all too often believing that God's "universal love" is indifferent to me, personally. I don't "believe" this as something I would tell someone in Sunday school, like its a doctrine of some kind.
No, this belief is far worse, far deeper.
I believe that living in the center of God's will is powerful and empowering and rewarding and exciting...but in the back of my mind, or deep in my heart, I also believe that He is somewhat indifferent to me, individually, and just as likely to throw me gagging and coughing and gasping for breath when I least expect it, as He is to propel me upward into his embrace. I believe it in the way I plan for tomorrow, react to today, walk across the street. It is the deep lie about which the enemy persists - and I too readily conspire to maintain.
You see, now, why this lingers? I desire to swim in deep waters, to risk and be empowered, to catch a wave and turn to find the next one. When asked, I believe God's desire for me is the same - but my fear of His indifference sucks at my feet like a rip tide.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Stale
If you have never written, or tried to write, it might be hard to understand the monumental effort that this particular post represents for me. This is the hurdle point, the wall that must be climbed...I've let things go stale.
Every book I've begun to write, every play, every screenplay...everything short of poetry (because it can usually be tackled in a single sitting, apart from editing and picking it apart later) hits this moment of blockage. This painful period where time and distance have entered between me and the work - and pressing on is the hardest thing in my life.
This "blogging" practice shouldn't be subject to the same pain, should it? I'm starting fresh with a new thought each time I sit down...but there is a continuity of consciousness here that, at the very least, feels the same. Each time I sit down to write I find the well dry or I hate what I'm writing (like I do now, in fact) and i allow it to dissuade me from pressing on.
But I must press on, right?
The truth is that this mirrors my life as well. In the past two (or is it three?) weeks I have seen my walk with God grow somewhat stale and distant... I've not sat with the people in my life that matter most and experienced that "set apart" time that is so necessary to me for proper (upward) orientation. I've not really just been going through the motions as I've had great, rich experiences with my wife and kids...but even in the midst of great times I have felt somewhat stifled. Somewhat small.
Among my little group we would call this "living in the small story." It implies a reluctance to be engaged and to be pressing forward for something bigger and better, greater than myself. Passionate pursuit of the prize even amidst understanding (or perhaps more because of the understanding) that it isn't all about me...but that I do have something important to offer.
Driving into the office this morning I remembered an oddly appropriate scene (well, a very appropriate scene, though from an odd source) featuring the incomparable Keanu Reeves. Please note the tongue-in-cheek usage here.
The Replacements is an odd, funny little movie that starred both Reeves and Gene Hackman, among some others. A story of throw-away football players recruited to walk in as "scabs" during a labor dispute in the NFL (or whatever they called the "NFL" in the film). In a team meeting Reeves describes the feeling of being caught in quicksand...its a great message that likely redeems the entire film.
Quicksand - that feeling that you are stuck and that every effort you make only serves to make things worse. A missed play that leads to another and another. A day away from a blog or a script that seems to grow insurmountable as each additional day mounts. Yeah...that's just what it's like.
So here is my only hope - in the midst of this, He still shows up. Its a striking reminder, for me, that God's will for my life doesn't depend on me - it only enables me. Even as I struggle to properly orient, God injects Himself into my life in ways that can only be His. In this instance an email about preparations for surf fishing led to one more instance of God using The Parable of the Talents to remind me that he is actively at work.
But that story will have to be the source of inspiration for my next post. For now I have somehow clamored over the wall and found a way to click the "submit" button, and that's enough for me to inject a small measure of life into the seemingly stale story. Enough to slip free from the quicksand.
Every book I've begun to write, every play, every screenplay...everything short of poetry (because it can usually be tackled in a single sitting, apart from editing and picking it apart later) hits this moment of blockage. This painful period where time and distance have entered between me and the work - and pressing on is the hardest thing in my life.
This "blogging" practice shouldn't be subject to the same pain, should it? I'm starting fresh with a new thought each time I sit down...but there is a continuity of consciousness here that, at the very least, feels the same. Each time I sit down to write I find the well dry or I hate what I'm writing (like I do now, in fact) and i allow it to dissuade me from pressing on.
But I must press on, right?
The truth is that this mirrors my life as well. In the past two (or is it three?) weeks I have seen my walk with God grow somewhat stale and distant... I've not sat with the people in my life that matter most and experienced that "set apart" time that is so necessary to me for proper (upward) orientation. I've not really just been going through the motions as I've had great, rich experiences with my wife and kids...but even in the midst of great times I have felt somewhat stifled. Somewhat small.
Among my little group we would call this "living in the small story." It implies a reluctance to be engaged and to be pressing forward for something bigger and better, greater than myself. Passionate pursuit of the prize even amidst understanding (or perhaps more because of the understanding) that it isn't all about me...but that I do have something important to offer.
Driving into the office this morning I remembered an oddly appropriate scene (well, a very appropriate scene, though from an odd source) featuring the incomparable Keanu Reeves. Please note the tongue-in-cheek usage here.
The Replacements is an odd, funny little movie that starred both Reeves and Gene Hackman, among some others. A story of throw-away football players recruited to walk in as "scabs" during a labor dispute in the NFL (or whatever they called the "NFL" in the film). In a team meeting Reeves describes the feeling of being caught in quicksand...its a great message that likely redeems the entire film.
Quicksand - that feeling that you are stuck and that every effort you make only serves to make things worse. A missed play that leads to another and another. A day away from a blog or a script that seems to grow insurmountable as each additional day mounts. Yeah...that's just what it's like.
So here is my only hope - in the midst of this, He still shows up. Its a striking reminder, for me, that God's will for my life doesn't depend on me - it only enables me. Even as I struggle to properly orient, God injects Himself into my life in ways that can only be His. In this instance an email about preparations for surf fishing led to one more instance of God using The Parable of the Talents to remind me that he is actively at work.
But that story will have to be the source of inspiration for my next post. For now I have somehow clamored over the wall and found a way to click the "submit" button, and that's enough for me to inject a small measure of life into the seemingly stale story. Enough to slip free from the quicksand.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Still Under the Gate
You know the great thing about this outlet, this process, is that it forces my beliefs to become concrete...and then I am forced to deal with them. So often I find that the ideas in my head are very credible, right up and until I articulate them to my wife or to a friend or maybe even to a son or daughter. Saying things out loud (or writing them down or publishing them online) brings them into the light and gives us a chance to view them for what they really are; to test them against reality.
I spent some of my free time today thinking about my post from last night (drive time is my only real free time these days so long as I don't dial the next number on my call list). If you haven't read that, I'd suggest you take a quick look...this post pretty much picks up where that one left off - with Campbell standing under the gate.
Characterizing Campbell's individual struggle to hold up the gate, his self-sacrifice (or near sacrifice) for his brethren and their cause, as a metaphor for sanctification...well, that was pretty dangerous. I'm not shying away from it because I've already wandered all the way around it today only to land back where I started, but I realize after holding it up and turning it left and right a bit that it needs a little more definition so as not to be mistaken for something unintended.
I fear it would be easy to misinterpret my thought as a celebration of Campbell's strength. Within my application of that scene as a metaphor for sanctification that would seem to imply that I believe sanctification only begins at the point where we begin to fail in our own efforts. We work in our own strength, not God's.
Dangerous. And, by the way, very wrong.
But here's the thing: in the case of Campbell his heart is already sacrificed to the cause of Scotland. He is living into the hope of his transformation. Perhaps it is better to say he has been transformed and now has hope that transcends the fear of death. Love (of Scotland) has indeed conquered death...get it? Regardless, the missing link in my metaphor is to point out that Campbell's strength and sacrifice are a direct outpouring of his love, faith, and hope. The result of his changed heart.
Campbell is not working in his own power. He is living transformed.
The whole idea of sanctification has always been relayed to me in the context of "getting out of God's way." Have you heard this before? This message is steeped in the tradition of the sin nature and basically states, "your heart is bad, you will do evil if you can, as a new child of Christ your only hope is to kill your flesh and let Him run the show." There's that guilt again...everything I "do" only gets in God's way. And there is some apparent measure of truth to that message.
But is that really the promise of Christ?
I love this new picture of sanctification, of Campbell standing under the gate, because it illustrates the change that was wrought in my heart by Christ and the reaction that the change demands of me moving forward. I have a heart for Him (like Campbell's heart for Scotland). I am willing to risk for Him (like Campbell risks his life at the gate). I cannot succeed without Him (like Campbell must be rescued from his own self sacrifice).
I do not celebrate my own strength or Campbell's...I celebrate the strength of the One who changed me and the freedom that comes in risking and sacrificing myself for that freedom. Only to be rescued again and again.
I spent some of my free time today thinking about my post from last night (drive time is my only real free time these days so long as I don't dial the next number on my call list). If you haven't read that, I'd suggest you take a quick look...this post pretty much picks up where that one left off - with Campbell standing under the gate.
Characterizing Campbell's individual struggle to hold up the gate, his self-sacrifice (or near sacrifice) for his brethren and their cause, as a metaphor for sanctification...well, that was pretty dangerous. I'm not shying away from it because I've already wandered all the way around it today only to land back where I started, but I realize after holding it up and turning it left and right a bit that it needs a little more definition so as not to be mistaken for something unintended.
I fear it would be easy to misinterpret my thought as a celebration of Campbell's strength. Within my application of that scene as a metaphor for sanctification that would seem to imply that I believe sanctification only begins at the point where we begin to fail in our own efforts. We work in our own strength, not God's.
Dangerous. And, by the way, very wrong.
But here's the thing: in the case of Campbell his heart is already sacrificed to the cause of Scotland. He is living into the hope of his transformation. Perhaps it is better to say he has been transformed and now has hope that transcends the fear of death. Love (of Scotland) has indeed conquered death...get it? Regardless, the missing link in my metaphor is to point out that Campbell's strength and sacrifice are a direct outpouring of his love, faith, and hope. The result of his changed heart.
Campbell is not working in his own power. He is living transformed.
The whole idea of sanctification has always been relayed to me in the context of "getting out of God's way." Have you heard this before? This message is steeped in the tradition of the sin nature and basically states, "your heart is bad, you will do evil if you can, as a new child of Christ your only hope is to kill your flesh and let Him run the show." There's that guilt again...everything I "do" only gets in God's way. And there is some apparent measure of truth to that message.
But is that really the promise of Christ?
I love this new picture of sanctification, of Campbell standing under the gate, because it illustrates the change that was wrought in my heart by Christ and the reaction that the change demands of me moving forward. I have a heart for Him (like Campbell's heart for Scotland). I am willing to risk for Him (like Campbell risks his life at the gate). I cannot succeed without Him (like Campbell must be rescued from his own self sacrifice).
I do not celebrate my own strength or Campbell's...I celebrate the strength of the One who changed me and the freedom that comes in risking and sacrificing myself for that freedom. Only to be rescued again and again.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Holding Up the Gate
For Christmas this year my company gave me tickets to the PGA golf tournament that comes through Charlotte, NC. With four kids at home...and one that was just six weeks old when the tournament came 'round a few Saturday's back...I was a little concerned that they'd really, really missed the mark. But my wife encouraged me to slip away and enjoy the gift (this encouragement came well before she gave birth, by the way, but she continued to prod me even after our family grew) and I eventually realized my company's gesture as more than a gesture; this was one of those "perfect" gifts because it really is something I would never buy for myself or prioritize, but it did give me the chance to do something I wouldn't normally do on my own. Yes?
To make the most of the experience I invited my friend John to come along. He's a former resident of Charlotte and still has a loft apartment near downtown, so I was able to benefit from the company of a local native and transition some of the "travel" money I'd gotten from the company away from hotel expenses and into food and fun for us both!
John and I approached the event with a different set of priorities than most badge holders, I suppose. We spent most of the day talking about God, sex, and women... and debating where and how they all intersect. Mostly we talked about God (of course we did - this is a "Christian" blog, isn't it?).
As a brief aside, just so you don't think we're completely lost, we managed to see Sergio blow a drive (complete with his characteristic-too-quickly-released-grip-after-a-lousy-shot that ended with him scowling over his just-dropped driver) and of course a few choice shots from Tiger, among many others. We aren't completely clueless, you know.
Still, more than anything, John and I wandered the grounds digging into varying layers of religious thought. It was in the midst of these conversations that he evoked one image from the movie "Braveheart" that really hit home with me...and has lingered ever since.
Anyone remember Campbell?
I confess, I did not remember the name. Campbell, the elder Campbell, is the father of the recovered boyhood friend of Mel Gibson's character, William Wallace. You remember...Wallace comes back and attends a party and gets in a rock-throwing-fight with the physically overwhelming Harnish Campbell. Harnish launches a boulder right over Wallace's shoulder and then Wallace rattles a small stone off the center of his forehead...Harnish stumbles and falls in a strangely Goliathan manner? Come on...try to stay with me on this, please!?
Like I said, I didn't remember Campbell, his father's name (or his name, for that matter), but IMDB helped me fill in the gaps. Regardless, the scene that my friend, John, evoked is perhaps the single most critical for the character, Campbell...
It's early in the film, Wallace's wife has been murdered, and the Scot's are storming the gates of the English lord. They've caught the English by surprise and have advanced quickly, but now is the critical moment. Campbell, aging father to the red-haired Harnish, is first to the gate and urges all his strength to push it upward over his head, locking his arms just in time to stare into the face of his enemy...who charges straight for his heart.
Wow. Do you remember the scene? It only lasts a moment, maybe 2 seconds if you timed it, but it is HUGE in my memory. The audience knows that Campbell is about to be killed. He is defenseless. He is committed to his task and his plight. He is literally about to die for the cause.
This is sanctification.
Perhaps the only true picture of sanctification I've ever seen, to tell the truth.
"Sanctification." What a terrible and difficult and weighty word. It rarely comes to the surface apart from its implied counterpart: guilt. For me, at least, "sanctification" has always been this horribly futile struggle to "try harder" even as I am reminded of my paltry sin nature that seemingly makes "trying" quite literally futile.
But THIS...this standing at the gate...this risking everything to charge forward toward, well, something...this is REAL sanctification. This is sacrifice. And it happens in community - in relationship that depends on and demands from each other. Where would Campbell be if not for his fellow soldiers?
Understand that as a changed man, a transformed person in Christ, I truly WANT to be more and to do better. I want to go "all out" in the battle. And, with a changed heart, I am better armed to do so. But I can't ever truly win alone. In fact, my only growth seems to come from risking to the point that I MUST FAIL unless someone else comes to my rescue. Unless Christ shows up.
In the film, Campbell's comrades slip under the gate (literally under and around his outstretched arms) at the last moment just in time to glance aside the blow that is so determined to end his life. In my life it is John or Tad or Karl or Mike or my wife or an unexpected or an expected "other" stepping in on behalf of Christ to rescue me only when I am beyond rescuing myself. I don't mean "rescue" in the sense that I am in a deep hole or stumbling in the dark...I mean only to say that I am closer to Christ when I am standing at the gate, exposed, truly alive, lost in my hope and in my role in His story, and utterly dependent on Him to show up (queue blinding light from the sky or heroic rescue from my brothers) and effect my rescue.
John hit on the one illustration that made this crazy idea of being more Christ-like (in spite of my sin) palpable and, yes, even desirable. I'm inspired and encouraged to realize my dependence on Him really does translate to and demand my strength, regardless of the "gate" I'm driven to storm. Regardless of the truth that, in the end, I would be lost at that gate if it weren't for Him.
To make the most of the experience I invited my friend John to come along. He's a former resident of Charlotte and still has a loft apartment near downtown, so I was able to benefit from the company of a local native and transition some of the "travel" money I'd gotten from the company away from hotel expenses and into food and fun for us both!
John and I approached the event with a different set of priorities than most badge holders, I suppose. We spent most of the day talking about God, sex, and women... and debating where and how they all intersect. Mostly we talked about God (of course we did - this is a "Christian" blog, isn't it?).
As a brief aside, just so you don't think we're completely lost, we managed to see Sergio blow a drive (complete with his characteristic-too-quickly-released-grip-after-a-lousy-shot that ended with him scowling over his just-dropped driver) and of course a few choice shots from Tiger, among many others. We aren't completely clueless, you know.
Still, more than anything, John and I wandered the grounds digging into varying layers of religious thought. It was in the midst of these conversations that he evoked one image from the movie "Braveheart" that really hit home with me...and has lingered ever since.
Anyone remember Campbell?
I confess, I did not remember the name. Campbell, the elder Campbell, is the father of the recovered boyhood friend of Mel Gibson's character, William Wallace. You remember...Wallace comes back and attends a party and gets in a rock-throwing-fight with the physically overwhelming Harnish Campbell. Harnish launches a boulder right over Wallace's shoulder and then Wallace rattles a small stone off the center of his forehead...Harnish stumbles and falls in a strangely Goliathan manner? Come on...try to stay with me on this, please!?
Like I said, I didn't remember Campbell, his father's name (or his name, for that matter), but IMDB helped me fill in the gaps. Regardless, the scene that my friend, John, evoked is perhaps the single most critical for the character, Campbell...
It's early in the film, Wallace's wife has been murdered, and the Scot's are storming the gates of the English lord. They've caught the English by surprise and have advanced quickly, but now is the critical moment. Campbell, aging father to the red-haired Harnish, is first to the gate and urges all his strength to push it upward over his head, locking his arms just in time to stare into the face of his enemy...who charges straight for his heart.
Wow. Do you remember the scene? It only lasts a moment, maybe 2 seconds if you timed it, but it is HUGE in my memory. The audience knows that Campbell is about to be killed. He is defenseless. He is committed to his task and his plight. He is literally about to die for the cause.
This is sanctification.
Perhaps the only true picture of sanctification I've ever seen, to tell the truth.
"Sanctification." What a terrible and difficult and weighty word. It rarely comes to the surface apart from its implied counterpart: guilt. For me, at least, "sanctification" has always been this horribly futile struggle to "try harder" even as I am reminded of my paltry sin nature that seemingly makes "trying" quite literally futile.
But THIS...this standing at the gate...this risking everything to charge forward toward, well, something...this is REAL sanctification. This is sacrifice. And it happens in community - in relationship that depends on and demands from each other. Where would Campbell be if not for his fellow soldiers?
Understand that as a changed man, a transformed person in Christ, I truly WANT to be more and to do better. I want to go "all out" in the battle. And, with a changed heart, I am better armed to do so. But I can't ever truly win alone. In fact, my only growth seems to come from risking to the point that I MUST FAIL unless someone else comes to my rescue. Unless Christ shows up.
In the film, Campbell's comrades slip under the gate (literally under and around his outstretched arms) at the last moment just in time to glance aside the blow that is so determined to end his life. In my life it is John or Tad or Karl or Mike or my wife or an unexpected or an expected "other" stepping in on behalf of Christ to rescue me only when I am beyond rescuing myself. I don't mean "rescue" in the sense that I am in a deep hole or stumbling in the dark...I mean only to say that I am closer to Christ when I am standing at the gate, exposed, truly alive, lost in my hope and in my role in His story, and utterly dependent on Him to show up (queue blinding light from the sky or heroic rescue from my brothers) and effect my rescue.
John hit on the one illustration that made this crazy idea of being more Christ-like (in spite of my sin) palpable and, yes, even desirable. I'm inspired and encouraged to realize my dependence on Him really does translate to and demand my strength, regardless of the "gate" I'm driven to storm. Regardless of the truth that, in the end, I would be lost at that gate if it weren't for Him.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Is Real Raw?
I've been glimpsing over my posts to date and am beginning to wonder if I'm capable of posing a question online that doesn't, in appearance at least, contain it's own answer. (Interesting choice of word, "posing," but I refuse to chase that rabbit today). I mean I feel as though I am already making myself "the hero" of every story, even if only through this rediculous idea that I can live out, comment on, cast my verdict and then sum up a life lesson about pretty much everything that happens to me...of any real interest, at least.
Let me temper this somewhat severe insight with one brief observation: God is real and He is working in my life. Even reading back over that line it seems to have that religious lilt that so readily drives me absolutely nuts ("God is Great!" "All the time!") but it really is true. It is the whole "eyes to see" thing at work - yes I am a bit lost at times, yes I'm making tragic errors and taking missteps, and yes I am plagued by an overly indulgent sense of self that often feels like a spotlight of harsh condemnation and recrimination. But in the midst of that struggle, there is a consistently brighter light that includes with it clearer understanding both of self and of circumstance.
So, in light of that, perhaps it isn't quite so terrible to start a post with "here's something interesting or hard or dangerous" and end it with an observation that seems to wrap it all up in a neat bow. Particularly as it reflects the real process I'm living in...the process of seeing Him provide answers that I have no hope of finding on my own. Oops - I think I'm doing it again...
Does everyone who tries this blogging thing come to this point? Does everyone hit this wall that begs the question, am I just gonna throw some crap at the wall or am I going to try and make it art, as well?
Regardless, if only for the sake of my own experience and a meager step outside of my "comfort zone," I have no scripture reference and no revelatory anecdote to offer. In fact, I suppose everything up to this is really no more than my self conscious prelude to what's really been on my mind lately.
Today I am wrestling between writer's block and writer's outlet. (Does the droning internal debate rushing out into the world of bloghood give you a hint as to this struggle?) This blog is a great outlet that calls to me regularly, urging me to excercise my imagination and articulate my thoughts. In the midst of the incredible & ongoing opportunity to participate in the ever expanding online community, I have unfinished, seemingly important, work to complete.
40 pages of a screenplay that could be great.
Chapters yet to write in a first novel.
A hoped for collaboration with another man struggling to become an author.
A poem for my wife.
I am concentrating on and dedicating myself to a better writer's ethic through this blogging effort (and the ones before and yet to come), but is it working...or is it another stall in my long history of stalling? Why is it that I can't seem to pick up something that saw such a great start...and that it gets heavier and harder the further away I am?
I've even finished and seen a play produced...seems I should be able to gather some strength through that "finish" - some lesson learned that I could re-apply here and save the day?
But instead I will stop here, leaving this problem unsolved, and hope that the effort to be a little more "raw" strikes another small, internal blow against my unwavering ability to avoid what seems so vital and important.
Besides, I have a beer in the fridge and there's got to be something ready to start on TV, right?
Let me temper this somewhat severe insight with one brief observation: God is real and He is working in my life. Even reading back over that line it seems to have that religious lilt that so readily drives me absolutely nuts ("God is Great!" "All the time!") but it really is true. It is the whole "eyes to see" thing at work - yes I am a bit lost at times, yes I'm making tragic errors and taking missteps, and yes I am plagued by an overly indulgent sense of self that often feels like a spotlight of harsh condemnation and recrimination. But in the midst of that struggle, there is a consistently brighter light that includes with it clearer understanding both of self and of circumstance.
So, in light of that, perhaps it isn't quite so terrible to start a post with "here's something interesting or hard or dangerous" and end it with an observation that seems to wrap it all up in a neat bow. Particularly as it reflects the real process I'm living in...the process of seeing Him provide answers that I have no hope of finding on my own. Oops - I think I'm doing it again...
Does everyone who tries this blogging thing come to this point? Does everyone hit this wall that begs the question, am I just gonna throw some crap at the wall or am I going to try and make it art, as well?
Regardless, if only for the sake of my own experience and a meager step outside of my "comfort zone," I have no scripture reference and no revelatory anecdote to offer. In fact, I suppose everything up to this is really no more than my self conscious prelude to what's really been on my mind lately.
Today I am wrestling between writer's block and writer's outlet. (Does the droning internal debate rushing out into the world of bloghood give you a hint as to this struggle?) This blog is a great outlet that calls to me regularly, urging me to excercise my imagination and articulate my thoughts. In the midst of the incredible & ongoing opportunity to participate in the ever expanding online community, I have unfinished, seemingly important, work to complete.
40 pages of a screenplay that could be great.
Chapters yet to write in a first novel.
A hoped for collaboration with another man struggling to become an author.
A poem for my wife.
I am concentrating on and dedicating myself to a better writer's ethic through this blogging effort (and the ones before and yet to come), but is it working...or is it another stall in my long history of stalling? Why is it that I can't seem to pick up something that saw such a great start...and that it gets heavier and harder the further away I am?
I've even finished and seen a play produced...seems I should be able to gather some strength through that "finish" - some lesson learned that I could re-apply here and save the day?
But instead I will stop here, leaving this problem unsolved, and hope that the effort to be a little more "raw" strikes another small, internal blow against my unwavering ability to avoid what seems so vital and important.
Besides, I have a beer in the fridge and there's got to be something ready to start on TV, right?
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Lost Fishing
Lately I have been fishing. A lot. Too much, to tell the truth.
Don’t get me wrong – I love fishing. I had, for quite some time, forgotten just how much I love it. It is reclaimed territory in my life – a true and recent gift from God that has, in many ways, been His means to convey to me a sense of His fatherhood.
Fishing is something I enjoyed with both of my grandfathers in my youth. It springs to the forefront in my earliest memories of childhood and sprang off the page in my first efforts at writing. My favorite poem remembers fishing. The only short story I care to share with anyone (though few have read it) explores it, too.
I live equidistant from two great rivers -- The James and The New -- and just minutes from the lesser Roanoke River, to say nothing of countless streams and several lakes throughout Southwestern Virginia. Opportunity to fish abounds and I’ve readily taken advantage of it. I’ve found time and borrowed time…stolen time even. As I’ve said, I believe this rediscovered joy is a gift from my Father. So how can I be pursuing it “too much?”
I guess part of this problem is really just a “gut feeling.” Perhaps even the entirety of it comes from the gut. I mean I could probably detail the process of any one fishing trip – the circumstances, the consequences – and easily reveal some specific sin or sins, some aberration of joy. But for me that exercise misses the point – it labors through the rules looking for broken lines and laws when something deeper and more important is really going on: something in my gut tells me that I’m missing God’s gift – that I’ve lost something.
This is a familiar feeling. For me at least.
“The same path that leads into the kingdom can also lead out of it.” That is a likely misquote of an unreferenced CS Lewis passage that my friend Karl said came to mind when I shared my concerns with him. Regardless of the specific source (or even the language), the sentiment is clearly on target – I’ve come to expect this from Karl, by the way, he is in the habit of delivering targeted quotes.
So here’s the thing. God reclaimed the joy of fishing in my life in order to demonstrate to me the joy of freedom in Christ. He offered this experience to me because it connects so readily to my heart, through my history – my unique memory – giving Him the chance to show me His love. Fishing is my road into the kingdom. One road among many. For me.
But I am easily preoccupied. I am easily lured into pursuing the road rather than following it into the Kingdom. I am easily fooled into believing that the road is the promised land, when it clearly is not. And lingering on the road really just keeps me from arriving. Lingering on the road is really quite the same as using it to leave.
So God gives me the gift of fishing in order to show me something greater…but I begin chasing after the activity of fishing as though it were the gift. Does this make any sense? It’s not unlike God’s offer of intimacy through sex in marriage…that translates so readily (and poorly) into empty pursuit of sex or even the relentless and unrequited quest for online lust. Sure I can hear about that sin on any given Sunday – and it surely is a sin – but isn’t the real sin the missed relationship…the lost gift?
In this context, isn’t fishing every bit as sinful…every bit as lust-full?
I want to look forward to the kingdom and walk toward it and enjoy the journey of discovering it. I want to linger there and then discover new roads to greater kingdoms as God works to reveal Himself more fully to me…and to reveal Me, the real Me, in it all. I want to enjoy looking forward to a fishing trip, enjoy a sudden opportunity to unexpectedly enjoy fishing, enjoy setting aside time and really fishing…but, man, I don’t want fishing to be my life.
I have some important living to do that really isn’t about fishing.
I’ve heard that a common and candid truth among mountain climbers is that they are constantly driven to best their last effort either in speed, height or danger. Constantly. Laboring to achieve even in the sure knowledge that they can never fully achieve…because it all starts again as soon as they “arrive.”
Golfers chase handicaps down toward scratch. And maybe beyond.
Fishermen seek the big catch. A trophy or a picture or just a great story to share over a beer.
Is that really all there is? This “relentless pursuit” of the next “relentless pursuit” (my apologies to Lexus)?
Through God’s offer of freedom He reveals opportunities for life and joy because they are the clearest manner for Him to demonstrate to us…His Life and Freedom! This chase?…well, to me it just feels like slavery all over again.
Don’t get me wrong – I love fishing. I had, for quite some time, forgotten just how much I love it. It is reclaimed territory in my life – a true and recent gift from God that has, in many ways, been His means to convey to me a sense of His fatherhood.
Fishing is something I enjoyed with both of my grandfathers in my youth. It springs to the forefront in my earliest memories of childhood and sprang off the page in my first efforts at writing. My favorite poem remembers fishing. The only short story I care to share with anyone (though few have read it) explores it, too.
I live equidistant from two great rivers -- The James and The New -- and just minutes from the lesser Roanoke River, to say nothing of countless streams and several lakes throughout Southwestern Virginia. Opportunity to fish abounds and I’ve readily taken advantage of it. I’ve found time and borrowed time…stolen time even. As I’ve said, I believe this rediscovered joy is a gift from my Father. So how can I be pursuing it “too much?”
I guess part of this problem is really just a “gut feeling.” Perhaps even the entirety of it comes from the gut. I mean I could probably detail the process of any one fishing trip – the circumstances, the consequences – and easily reveal some specific sin or sins, some aberration of joy. But for me that exercise misses the point – it labors through the rules looking for broken lines and laws when something deeper and more important is really going on: something in my gut tells me that I’m missing God’s gift – that I’ve lost something.
This is a familiar feeling. For me at least.
“The same path that leads into the kingdom can also lead out of it.” That is a likely misquote of an unreferenced CS Lewis passage that my friend Karl said came to mind when I shared my concerns with him. Regardless of the specific source (or even the language), the sentiment is clearly on target – I’ve come to expect this from Karl, by the way, he is in the habit of delivering targeted quotes.
So here’s the thing. God reclaimed the joy of fishing in my life in order to demonstrate to me the joy of freedom in Christ. He offered this experience to me because it connects so readily to my heart, through my history – my unique memory – giving Him the chance to show me His love. Fishing is my road into the kingdom. One road among many. For me.
But I am easily preoccupied. I am easily lured into pursuing the road rather than following it into the Kingdom. I am easily fooled into believing that the road is the promised land, when it clearly is not. And lingering on the road really just keeps me from arriving. Lingering on the road is really quite the same as using it to leave.
So God gives me the gift of fishing in order to show me something greater…but I begin chasing after the activity of fishing as though it were the gift. Does this make any sense? It’s not unlike God’s offer of intimacy through sex in marriage…that translates so readily (and poorly) into empty pursuit of sex or even the relentless and unrequited quest for online lust. Sure I can hear about that sin on any given Sunday – and it surely is a sin – but isn’t the real sin the missed relationship…the lost gift?
In this context, isn’t fishing every bit as sinful…every bit as lust-full?
I want to look forward to the kingdom and walk toward it and enjoy the journey of discovering it. I want to linger there and then discover new roads to greater kingdoms as God works to reveal Himself more fully to me…and to reveal Me, the real Me, in it all. I want to enjoy looking forward to a fishing trip, enjoy a sudden opportunity to unexpectedly enjoy fishing, enjoy setting aside time and really fishing…but, man, I don’t want fishing to be my life.
I have some important living to do that really isn’t about fishing.
I’ve heard that a common and candid truth among mountain climbers is that they are constantly driven to best their last effort either in speed, height or danger. Constantly. Laboring to achieve even in the sure knowledge that they can never fully achieve…because it all starts again as soon as they “arrive.”
Golfers chase handicaps down toward scratch. And maybe beyond.
Fishermen seek the big catch. A trophy or a picture or just a great story to share over a beer.
Is that really all there is? This “relentless pursuit” of the next “relentless pursuit” (my apologies to Lexus)?
Through God’s offer of freedom He reveals opportunities for life and joy because they are the clearest manner for Him to demonstrate to us…His Life and Freedom! This chase?…well, to me it just feels like slavery all over again.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
More than Sparrows?
I can't really put my finger on this or perhaps fully articulate it, but I have got to confess that I am strangely worried these days.
Anybody else?
This is a hard thing to describe. A knot in my stomach. A lingering doubt. It really seems closest to that feeling you get as a child when you are about to get caught for something you did wrong. About to get found out. I suppose there are plenty of reasons to be afraid these days: the economy, swine flu, the wait for interest rates to hit my target before they spiral up and out of reach and blow my chance to refinance this crazy loan (ok, that last one is a bit specific). Heck, I'm sure I've done several things - recently, even - that I really could get caught for, if I'm going to be honest!
But here's the problem: In spite of the economy and the swine flu and all the other things that could be worrisome, I'm actually doing pretty well. Great job. Great family. Great friends. Deepening relationships. A future so bright and all that... So what is this pervasive and disquieting doubt?
I have, for the last year or so, been working to unify myself. I've been watching for signs of "work Tom" or "home Tom" or "church Tom" and, little by little, drawing them all into a single "Tom" that doesn't have to work so damn hard all the time at matching his circumstance. In my small circle we call these "other me's" The Poser(s) - a simple and accurate label for a wide ranging problem. What is far less simple, for me, is the manner in which I discern The Poser from The Real Me...I mean, honestly, who can tell? My 36 years of hard work in this regard makes that answer far tougher than you might think.
So this idea of "being caught" makes some measure of sense, given the whole Poser issue, right? And I think the circumstances of life (Global Warming, Economy, Interest Rates, insert-universal-concern-here) are likely accomplices in hightening my fear. I mean the implications of failure, of being caught, really are severely hightened, right? The stakes in this game are fairly great, aren't they? This all makes so much sense that I'm nearly ready to move on, to stomach my fear and "man up." I'm ready to get back to the work of life save for this one, lingering question:
Who am I afraid of?
I mean, really, who exactly is going to do "the catching?"
I do not believe that my God is in the business of lurking nearby, lying in wait to pounce on my failings... ready to celebrate my losses. Or do I? "The currency of the kingdom is belief," my friend Tad often says. Doesn't my ongoing fear betray my supposed statement of belief?
So now I'm in trouble. My fear is obviously symptomatic of my disbelief...my doubt...my sin. I'm blowing it - no wonder I'm afraid of being caught. I fundamentally doubt it all, doubt God's goodness, and my life reflects that doubt through anxiety and fear. So now I've got fear and I've got guilt over my fear and I better find someplace quiet to pray and repent and hope for rescue. Man - where is an altar when I need one?"
Oh, wait. Hope. Rescue. A "unified" me. Transformed.
Man - the enemy moves fast in my life; spiraling through layers into ever deepening darkness. Fear. Death. Anxiety. Bad news yet to come. And guilt over it all. Didn't Christ say something about the sparrows once? Didn't He say "so much more than they?"
I heard a quote today from a fella named Irenaeus: "The Glory of God is man fully alive." Unified. Fully. Alive. No Posing.
And the enemy hates it.
Is it more likely that God is convicting me in all this, or that the enemy wants me to live convicted? If I am living toward His glory by becoming more fully alive, and I can count on that movement being opposed by the one who seeks to devour and destroy, it doesn't make a lot of sense to credit the fear OR the guilt to the Lord...does it?
I do not know how soon God will unknot this fear. I do not know His plan for me in detail (though I think this writing, this working through, is a part of His plan). I do not know what else to do but try to remember, "I believe...please help my unbelief." But I do not choose to carry this burden or the rest of the baggage that the enemy conspires (yes conspires...implying "with me") to heap on top of it. I do not choose to live in my fear or even to "man up" in spite of it.
"The opposite of fear is love," my Dad once said. It is perhaps the truest positive lesson he ever taught me. Heck, it even sounds biblical (ok, see 1 John 4:18 if you like to connect the dots).
Unifying Me is my labor of love to God's greater glory in the midst of fear and doubt...in this face of this fear, I guess I'll choose to love.
Anybody else?
This is a hard thing to describe. A knot in my stomach. A lingering doubt. It really seems closest to that feeling you get as a child when you are about to get caught for something you did wrong. About to get found out. I suppose there are plenty of reasons to be afraid these days: the economy, swine flu, the wait for interest rates to hit my target before they spiral up and out of reach and blow my chance to refinance this crazy loan (ok, that last one is a bit specific). Heck, I'm sure I've done several things - recently, even - that I really could get caught for, if I'm going to be honest!
But here's the problem: In spite of the economy and the swine flu and all the other things that could be worrisome, I'm actually doing pretty well. Great job. Great family. Great friends. Deepening relationships. A future so bright and all that... So what is this pervasive and disquieting doubt?
I have, for the last year or so, been working to unify myself. I've been watching for signs of "work Tom" or "home Tom" or "church Tom" and, little by little, drawing them all into a single "Tom" that doesn't have to work so damn hard all the time at matching his circumstance. In my small circle we call these "other me's" The Poser(s) - a simple and accurate label for a wide ranging problem. What is far less simple, for me, is the manner in which I discern The Poser from The Real Me...I mean, honestly, who can tell? My 36 years of hard work in this regard makes that answer far tougher than you might think.
So this idea of "being caught" makes some measure of sense, given the whole Poser issue, right? And I think the circumstances of life (Global Warming, Economy, Interest Rates, insert-universal-concern-here) are likely accomplices in hightening my fear. I mean the implications of failure, of being caught, really are severely hightened, right? The stakes in this game are fairly great, aren't they? This all makes so much sense that I'm nearly ready to move on, to stomach my fear and "man up." I'm ready to get back to the work of life save for this one, lingering question:
Who am I afraid of?
I mean, really, who exactly is going to do "the catching?"
I do not believe that my God is in the business of lurking nearby, lying in wait to pounce on my failings... ready to celebrate my losses. Or do I? "The currency of the kingdom is belief," my friend Tad often says. Doesn't my ongoing fear betray my supposed statement of belief?
So now I'm in trouble. My fear is obviously symptomatic of my disbelief...my doubt...my sin. I'm blowing it - no wonder I'm afraid of being caught. I fundamentally doubt it all, doubt God's goodness, and my life reflects that doubt through anxiety and fear. So now I've got fear and I've got guilt over my fear and I better find someplace quiet to pray and repent and hope for rescue. Man - where is an altar when I need one?"
Oh, wait. Hope. Rescue. A "unified" me. Transformed.
Man - the enemy moves fast in my life; spiraling through layers into ever deepening darkness. Fear. Death. Anxiety. Bad news yet to come. And guilt over it all. Didn't Christ say something about the sparrows once? Didn't He say "so much more than they?"
I heard a quote today from a fella named Irenaeus: "The Glory of God is man fully alive." Unified. Fully. Alive. No Posing.
And the enemy hates it.
Is it more likely that God is convicting me in all this, or that the enemy wants me to live convicted? If I am living toward His glory by becoming more fully alive, and I can count on that movement being opposed by the one who seeks to devour and destroy, it doesn't make a lot of sense to credit the fear OR the guilt to the Lord...does it?
I do not know how soon God will unknot this fear. I do not know His plan for me in detail (though I think this writing, this working through, is a part of His plan). I do not know what else to do but try to remember, "I believe...please help my unbelief." But I do not choose to carry this burden or the rest of the baggage that the enemy conspires (yes conspires...implying "with me") to heap on top of it. I do not choose to live in my fear or even to "man up" in spite of it.
"The opposite of fear is love," my Dad once said. It is perhaps the truest positive lesson he ever taught me. Heck, it even sounds biblical (ok, see 1 John 4:18 if you like to connect the dots).
Unifying Me is my labor of love to God's greater glory in the midst of fear and doubt...in this face of this fear, I guess I'll choose to love.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Mamer's Lesson
I went to my Grandma's funeral this past weekend. This is my Mom's mom...a great woman, the second-oldest of seven (all six of the rest were boys), who emerges in some of my best childhood memories alongside my Grandpa, now nearly 30 years deceased himself. "Mamer," as we called her (though I don't know that any of us really know why) actually died before Christmas but we laid her ashes to rest this spring in the family lot beside her husband, Tom, my namesake.
We held a brief and informal ceremony for her in the chapel at the resthome of her only surviving sibling, my Great Uncle Randy, before heading out to the cemetary. It was a small service but afforded my mom and her sisters each a chance to remember their Mom to us all.
The three eldest sisters, my Mom included, each focused on the lessons they learned from their mom - a normal topic for such an occasion, of course. They spoke of the expectations she set for them and of the difficulties they sometimes had living up to her standards, though all the time crediting that standard for making them into the women they are today.
Her daughters were giving credit to her for requiring them to become something better - a wonderful tribute...yet somehow this very idea was entirely disconnected, if by nothing else but time, from my personal experience of my Grandma.
Circumstances intruded on my participation of the service at this point. One of my sons was losing interest, demanding my attention, and I was only able to half-listen to the youngest sister share her thoughts. There is about an 11 year difference between the oldest and the youngest in my Mom's family, so my Aunt Cathy had an understandably different recollection of her mom. From what little attention I could spare for her talk, I culled one clear idea:
She remembered her Mother as a friend.
As cool as this was to hear it still somehow missed the mark for me. Though slightly. I remember Mamer as a playmate and hug, as a lap and a bedtime story, as a destination for adventure somehow different from a normal weekend. Yet none of that is quite right either.
Now I don't know about other folks, but I have a hard time attending a funeral without at some point hearing this phrase play out in my head: "we don't mourn as those who have no hope." That's actually my memory's paraphrase of a passage in 1 Thessalonians chapter 4 - something I wouldn't normally be able to reference very handily, but I took the time to look it up this week. I never before realized that this passage of hope comes at the tail end of a fairly long list of what I traditionally think of as, "thou shalt not's." Basically, Paul spends the first 12 verses of this chapter seeking to give us clear directions on "Living to Please God" (or so the NIV labels it).
I think it is incredibly easy to read Paul's words as a list of obligations...an outline of ideals that we should each try to attain, to maintain, yet which we could all agree we're likely to fall short of in one way or another...eventually. But one thing is clear:
Paul is describing a standard.
Sitting in Mamer's funeral, listening to my Mom and her sisters speak, I had a hard time connecting with their remembrance because my experience of my Grandma is so fully encompassed in my memory of the times we came together as an extended family - truly some of the purest joys of my youth. My memory is of four sisters and their Mom telling story after story - interrupting and correcting one another - enjoying their shared history and laughing through it all. My memory is of excited (though long) journeys and anticipated arrivals...and of tearful goodbyes. My memory is of the depth of love and relationship that these women, and me by extension, enjoyed whenever they were together.
The four sister's memory at this time of loss is of the standard their mother set; a standard they all held in common. And of the memory of a friendship lost.
My memory is of the relationship shared and enjoyed between us all.
You know, even on my best days I so readily lose sight of God's promise in my life. His promise of freedom in Him and the idea that He really does have my best interest at heart. I lose sight of it because I all too easily focus on the standard that I continually fall short of...as if the standard was the prize. But its not. Its the springboard to joy. It is imperfectly lived out in my life. It might be perceived by many as rigid or crumbling or ill-stacked...certainly ill-fitting...but for me it is buoyant and even joyous when I recognize it only as a stage that enables my relationship with God to play out. Imperfect though it may be.
The standard, the lessons, the growth are valuable and important and even critical perhaps. But they are not the relationship. It is the relationship I covet. It is the relationship with God that I will never mourn because I do not live as those without hope.
In the midst of our shared loss, it is the relationship that lives on between my mom and her sisters that continues to celebrate the life of the woman we lost. Thanks Mamer.
We held a brief and informal ceremony for her in the chapel at the resthome of her only surviving sibling, my Great Uncle Randy, before heading out to the cemetary. It was a small service but afforded my mom and her sisters each a chance to remember their Mom to us all.
The three eldest sisters, my Mom included, each focused on the lessons they learned from their mom - a normal topic for such an occasion, of course. They spoke of the expectations she set for them and of the difficulties they sometimes had living up to her standards, though all the time crediting that standard for making them into the women they are today.
Her daughters were giving credit to her for requiring them to become something better - a wonderful tribute...yet somehow this very idea was entirely disconnected, if by nothing else but time, from my personal experience of my Grandma.
Circumstances intruded on my participation of the service at this point. One of my sons was losing interest, demanding my attention, and I was only able to half-listen to the youngest sister share her thoughts. There is about an 11 year difference between the oldest and the youngest in my Mom's family, so my Aunt Cathy had an understandably different recollection of her mom. From what little attention I could spare for her talk, I culled one clear idea:
She remembered her Mother as a friend.
As cool as this was to hear it still somehow missed the mark for me. Though slightly. I remember Mamer as a playmate and hug, as a lap and a bedtime story, as a destination for adventure somehow different from a normal weekend. Yet none of that is quite right either.
Now I don't know about other folks, but I have a hard time attending a funeral without at some point hearing this phrase play out in my head: "we don't mourn as those who have no hope." That's actually my memory's paraphrase of a passage in 1 Thessalonians chapter 4 - something I wouldn't normally be able to reference very handily, but I took the time to look it up this week. I never before realized that this passage of hope comes at the tail end of a fairly long list of what I traditionally think of as, "thou shalt not's." Basically, Paul spends the first 12 verses of this chapter seeking to give us clear directions on "Living to Please God" (or so the NIV labels it).
I think it is incredibly easy to read Paul's words as a list of obligations...an outline of ideals that we should each try to attain, to maintain, yet which we could all agree we're likely to fall short of in one way or another...eventually. But one thing is clear:
Paul is describing a standard.
Sitting in Mamer's funeral, listening to my Mom and her sisters speak, I had a hard time connecting with their remembrance because my experience of my Grandma is so fully encompassed in my memory of the times we came together as an extended family - truly some of the purest joys of my youth. My memory is of four sisters and their Mom telling story after story - interrupting and correcting one another - enjoying their shared history and laughing through it all. My memory is of excited (though long) journeys and anticipated arrivals...and of tearful goodbyes. My memory is of the depth of love and relationship that these women, and me by extension, enjoyed whenever they were together.
The four sister's memory at this time of loss is of the standard their mother set; a standard they all held in common. And of the memory of a friendship lost.
My memory is of the relationship shared and enjoyed between us all.
You know, even on my best days I so readily lose sight of God's promise in my life. His promise of freedom in Him and the idea that He really does have my best interest at heart. I lose sight of it because I all too easily focus on the standard that I continually fall short of...as if the standard was the prize. But its not. Its the springboard to joy. It is imperfectly lived out in my life. It might be perceived by many as rigid or crumbling or ill-stacked...certainly ill-fitting...but for me it is buoyant and even joyous when I recognize it only as a stage that enables my relationship with God to play out. Imperfect though it may be.
The standard, the lessons, the growth are valuable and important and even critical perhaps. But they are not the relationship. It is the relationship I covet. It is the relationship with God that I will never mourn because I do not live as those without hope.
In the midst of our shared loss, it is the relationship that lives on between my mom and her sisters that continues to celebrate the life of the woman we lost. Thanks Mamer.
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