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.
Monday, June 8, 2009
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)