I believe in truth. I believe in absolutes. I believe that circumstances in life often erode the confidence we have in what is right and true. Because of this, I have a gnawing temptation to question God’s care over the details that are my life.
I like golf. It’s a thinking man’s game and even when you’re a head-case on the course; it’s still a nice place to be. I started taking some lessons in hopes of making the whole experience a little more enjoyable not to mention a greater source of confidence. The funny thing about taking lessons, at this point in my life, is how much I have to unlearn. My instructor says that I have a good swing…BUT…there’s too much extra stuff going on – hips not rotating, heels lifting too much, head moving, hands breaking…blah, blah, blah. My defense is, why be a minimalist when I can pimp my swing with all the extras?
The ounce of hope I operate with is my swing is actually a better swing than my average score indicates. He said the greatest problem with my swing (mostly because of all the extra movements) is that it’s not reproducible, at least in a way that will cause my score to improve and my mind to rest a little easier. Did I mention I’m a head-case on the course? I recently played a round with my instructor and I saw what he was talking about. His swing was so concise and streamlined it looked effortless. The best part about it, though, was that he could reproduce it.
Unlearning what comes natural or what I’ve always known is my greatest problem. It seems natural to look out for me first, to judge others, to fear faith and vulnerability, and feed myself a steady diet of immediate gratification. The security of my life is built on certain reference points – mom makes the best waffles, dad can fix most anything, my wife’s love is without condition, or my kids really think I’m cool, or that God cares about every detail of my life.
The longer I try to follow in the way of Christ the more I find myself re-learning, or reminding, what I cherish about knowing God. In many ways and at this point, my journey is discovering who God isn’t. It’s sort of growth by subtraction, which makes for a better golf score than pleasurable pursuit. It’s not my first choice, mind you. I find myself committed to the way of Christ but minimizing a few of my expectations (ie getting my way, loving the timing, ignoring the answer, etc). This is where I need to unlearn that God is a micro-manager, that he’ll make tough decisions for me, or that he’ll get me out of messes I create. I’m realizing that God does not enable. I’m learning how he speaks in ordinary ways and how all of Creation resounds with God’s whisper…
“Restore. Repair. Grieve. Rest. Forgive. Heal. Help. Grow.
Come closer. Cherish more. Worry less.
Give. Serve. Sacrifice. Listen. Act. Stop.
Yes. No. Maybe. Wait. Not yet…
I will comfort, not make you comfortable. I’ll guide, but you need to step out. You are loved. You matter. You’re my masterpiece and still and work in progress. You are valuable. Have worth. Are missed.”
What you do hear? The Truth is that he speaks, lives, and breathes in us.
“I’m here. You’re closer than you think.”
I believe I’m created to hear and care as much as I am created to wait, give, and be comforted. I think it’s natural for me to grieve, heal, and rest. It just doesn’t always come easy.
And, when things don’t come easy, I tend to wonder “where’s God in that?” I have to learn and remind myself that restoring, repairing, and renewing what’s lost, broken, or regretful is work. But it is good. And God is in it.
What gets put on display is what gets nurtured within. That’s reproducible.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Overwhelmed
Pop culture overwhelms us with mass messaging that challenges our levels of satisfaction and our sense of status among equals. Pleas are made for money and time. Simplicity is undermined under the banner of “new and improved”. Busyness gauges one’s worth. Perfectionism is championed as noble. Perception is regarded as truth. Convenience is the new American ideal. Accessibility is expected. And technology is masked as our servant when it is becoming an altar we bow to. With all this surrounding a faith that is unseen, how do we “seek first his Kingdom”?
Monday, June 8, 2009
Killing Self To Live
A while ago I finished reading, Killing Yourself to Live by Chuck Klosterman, where he visits 50 sites over the course of 3 weeks where rock stars had died. He wanted to experience the connection b/t our mortality and pronounced sense of greatness. He questioned the mediocrity of many of them but, after dying, they became almost a messianic prophet (ie Kurt Cobain). His conclusion was that death only made them dead. Their life was nothing more after they died. Everything else is human construct. It's how we memorialize them they makes them more famous, more talented, or more great. However, there was a parallel story line of his own life and failed relationships, drug use, hopeless, predictably cynical, etc. At the end, he's having a conversation with a friend lamenting about his trip and own life. He makes the statement, "I can't let go of the past. I can't stop loving these women (3 former girlfriends). I can only exist in the past and the future."
To me this was profound. It seems the cry of a generation. I talk with so many people who treat their past with total disdain or intense nostalgia. Either way, they struggle to move ahead. I also see people look at the future with idealism but no real strategy to improve their plight (short of winning the lottery). Many seem to live in the present with really bad habit of wishing their life away. Does it seem like many people live with an unmet expectation, thinking their lives would somehow look different by now?
I believe in the God who sees – past, future, & present. God Sees our debt, our addiction, our hypocrisy, the abuse, lack of care, and our tears. He sees our discipline, extra effort, integrity, anonymous contribution, compassion, and generosity. He is the El Roi, the God who Sees.
And because He Sees, I believe he hears, cares, acts, and grieves. To the extent I understand God’s character, identity, and authority is the extent that I live an integrated life of faith and practice. One observation we could make is that our emotions are never an end in themselves. Much of the way we experience life is our feelings.
But, What if a large part of what we feel about injustice, greed, scarcity, abuse, wealth, accomplishment is supposed to help us see what God sees? What if much of what we feel is more like a road than it is the destination?
Emotions should lead us somewhere, not get us stuck.
I tend to think we see because God sees. The question is, what do we do with what we see? Again, he wants us to see it even if it means sticking around to deal with it. Maybe the invitation is to be a part of a solution, in the present.
To me this was profound. It seems the cry of a generation. I talk with so many people who treat their past with total disdain or intense nostalgia. Either way, they struggle to move ahead. I also see people look at the future with idealism but no real strategy to improve their plight (short of winning the lottery). Many seem to live in the present with really bad habit of wishing their life away. Does it seem like many people live with an unmet expectation, thinking their lives would somehow look different by now?
I believe in the God who sees – past, future, & present. God Sees our debt, our addiction, our hypocrisy, the abuse, lack of care, and our tears. He sees our discipline, extra effort, integrity, anonymous contribution, compassion, and generosity. He is the El Roi, the God who Sees.
And because He Sees, I believe he hears, cares, acts, and grieves. To the extent I understand God’s character, identity, and authority is the extent that I live an integrated life of faith and practice. One observation we could make is that our emotions are never an end in themselves. Much of the way we experience life is our feelings.
But, What if a large part of what we feel about injustice, greed, scarcity, abuse, wealth, accomplishment is supposed to help us see what God sees? What if much of what we feel is more like a road than it is the destination?
Emotions should lead us somewhere, not get us stuck.
I tend to think we see because God sees. The question is, what do we do with what we see? Again, he wants us to see it even if it means sticking around to deal with it. Maybe the invitation is to be a part of a solution, in the present.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Healing a Memory by Cherishing
I have a weird job, which possibly qualifies me a bit of weird person. On the one hand, if you know me, I’m pretty normal, albeit needy at times. But then there’s this part of what I do that throws me into these unique environments as a minister where you have to be freak to be proficient, let alone comfortable.
I remember one funeral service I hosted that came together well. Since he was a local area car club enthusiast president, we had his two mini coopers parked on each side of his casket. I enlisted my wife and friend to sing. And we were able to piece together a nice power point show chronicling the vibrancy of his relationship, efforts, and passions. But it was the benediction that I’ll remember most. We released around 100 helium balloons all with a note and $5 bill inside. The note read, “My name is Keith. Here’s $5. Have a beer on me and take a moment to stop & enjoy your life like I got to enjoy mine”.
Earlier, I met Anne because I was the pastor on call. Her husband was battling cancer and growing spiritually cold. We talked and prayed for their home and his heart. A year later, I got another call about a man in ICU dying of cancer wanting “last rights”. Coincidentally, I met Anne in the lobby. The husband was Keith. Despite his breathing apparatus, he was able to talk but now he seemed open and obviously vulnerable. We talked about pain, struggle, life, and home. We both agreed on how, if life we an end in itself, I want my money back. We prayed together. He surrendered. I think most of us struggle to rationalize God when we’re staring at our own mortality. I guess one way to look at it is how situations like cancer help us see how vulnerable we really are. Most of the time, we see our lives as our own, measuring our own control, and believing in our answers.
The day Keith died was, predictably, hard about a month after our time together in ICU. It wasn’t unexpected but it still stung. What was unusual was the home visit. I seemed to be the only one thinking it odd, yet pleasantly surprised, to be greeted by and sit with three women for the next few hours. I sat with his current wife now widow, his sister, and his ex-wife. All of whom were friends. I’m used to family drama and friction especially in moments like these. The house was like a boarding home bringing together an eclectic group from all over step children, girlfriends, cousins, aunts…but it soon felt normal. I sensed the support and the connections they shared.
In general, I tend to think most of us aren’t good at healing, specifically grieving. Instead, we’d rather move on and think “happy thoughts”. Meanwhile we have grown adults carrying themselves with delayed adolescence b/c of unresolved wounds.
The Israelites were great at grieving. When a family member died, they’d enlist wailers, or professional mourners, because if you’re supposed to be sad you gotta be loud. And if you’re gonna be loud, why not make it a chorus? They wore grieving clothes – sackcloth (aka goat hair, not exactly comfy) and ashes. We, on the other hand, put on the most plush, baggy threads and eat our way toward feeling better. They understood that discomfort – be it emotionally or physically – was assumed. Healing requires it. To know comfort is to know pain.
This whole episode reminded my of the story of Jesus being late to the funeral of Lazarus (Jn.11:1-3, 17-20). I love that he himself was moved by the circumstances. I love the support surrounding the extended family. I even love how they interact with Jesus suggesting that if would’ve arrived earlier he could’ve saved this from happening.
Family and friends gathered for a very intense period of mourning involving loud expressions of sorrow and lament. After the body was prepared, it was carried to the cemetery in a procession, which included professional mourners hired to express the appropriate public grief. Often someone playing the flute joined them. The period of mourning varied. Some believe that it lasted 7 days as it does today in Orthodox Jewish tradition. However, a rabbinical document refers to the mourning period lasting 3 days, possibly because after this amount of time it was certain that the person was actually dead. Following the sealing of the tomb, mourning continued for a total of 30 days.
(One side note worth mentioning, in Jewish culture the issue wasn’t how well they knew the dead individually. But they were a part of the larger community...and no one should suffer alone.)
A friend once said when asked why it hurts so much to remember. “Because it’s in remembering that we cherish. If we didn’t cherish we wouldn’t hurt”. Simple but true. I sat with these grieving women helping them cherish the man they loved as I asked them to help me know him better by drawing out fun memories. We looked at pictures, heard the skinny, even saw his tricked out cars.
Funerals are unique events. We describe them as places to “pay our respects”. While this is true, I think of them as places where we’re publicly allowed to grieve, emotionally bring closure by saying goodbyes, and initiate the healing process. I think people need room, if not permission, to cherish…whether that be crying or laughing out loud. I hear people describe that they “want to be strong…” for their family. I wonder if the ability to show healthy and appropriate emotions is the picture of strength we all need. I just know there’s healing in that when we take the time to cherish.
I remember one funeral service I hosted that came together well. Since he was a local area car club enthusiast president, we had his two mini coopers parked on each side of his casket. I enlisted my wife and friend to sing. And we were able to piece together a nice power point show chronicling the vibrancy of his relationship, efforts, and passions. But it was the benediction that I’ll remember most. We released around 100 helium balloons all with a note and $5 bill inside. The note read, “My name is Keith. Here’s $5. Have a beer on me and take a moment to stop & enjoy your life like I got to enjoy mine”.
Earlier, I met Anne because I was the pastor on call. Her husband was battling cancer and growing spiritually cold. We talked and prayed for their home and his heart. A year later, I got another call about a man in ICU dying of cancer wanting “last rights”. Coincidentally, I met Anne in the lobby. The husband was Keith. Despite his breathing apparatus, he was able to talk but now he seemed open and obviously vulnerable. We talked about pain, struggle, life, and home. We both agreed on how, if life we an end in itself, I want my money back. We prayed together. He surrendered. I think most of us struggle to rationalize God when we’re staring at our own mortality. I guess one way to look at it is how situations like cancer help us see how vulnerable we really are. Most of the time, we see our lives as our own, measuring our own control, and believing in our answers.
The day Keith died was, predictably, hard about a month after our time together in ICU. It wasn’t unexpected but it still stung. What was unusual was the home visit. I seemed to be the only one thinking it odd, yet pleasantly surprised, to be greeted by and sit with three women for the next few hours. I sat with his current wife now widow, his sister, and his ex-wife. All of whom were friends. I’m used to family drama and friction especially in moments like these. The house was like a boarding home bringing together an eclectic group from all over step children, girlfriends, cousins, aunts…but it soon felt normal. I sensed the support and the connections they shared.
In general, I tend to think most of us aren’t good at healing, specifically grieving. Instead, we’d rather move on and think “happy thoughts”. Meanwhile we have grown adults carrying themselves with delayed adolescence b/c of unresolved wounds.
The Israelites were great at grieving. When a family member died, they’d enlist wailers, or professional mourners, because if you’re supposed to be sad you gotta be loud. And if you’re gonna be loud, why not make it a chorus? They wore grieving clothes – sackcloth (aka goat hair, not exactly comfy) and ashes. We, on the other hand, put on the most plush, baggy threads and eat our way toward feeling better. They understood that discomfort – be it emotionally or physically – was assumed. Healing requires it. To know comfort is to know pain.
This whole episode reminded my of the story of Jesus being late to the funeral of Lazarus (Jn.11:1-3, 17-20). I love that he himself was moved by the circumstances. I love the support surrounding the extended family. I even love how they interact with Jesus suggesting that if would’ve arrived earlier he could’ve saved this from happening.
Family and friends gathered for a very intense period of mourning involving loud expressions of sorrow and lament. After the body was prepared, it was carried to the cemetery in a procession, which included professional mourners hired to express the appropriate public grief. Often someone playing the flute joined them. The period of mourning varied. Some believe that it lasted 7 days as it does today in Orthodox Jewish tradition. However, a rabbinical document refers to the mourning period lasting 3 days, possibly because after this amount of time it was certain that the person was actually dead. Following the sealing of the tomb, mourning continued for a total of 30 days.
(One side note worth mentioning, in Jewish culture the issue wasn’t how well they knew the dead individually. But they were a part of the larger community...and no one should suffer alone.)
A friend once said when asked why it hurts so much to remember. “Because it’s in remembering that we cherish. If we didn’t cherish we wouldn’t hurt”. Simple but true. I sat with these grieving women helping them cherish the man they loved as I asked them to help me know him better by drawing out fun memories. We looked at pictures, heard the skinny, even saw his tricked out cars.
Funerals are unique events. We describe them as places to “pay our respects”. While this is true, I think of them as places where we’re publicly allowed to grieve, emotionally bring closure by saying goodbyes, and initiate the healing process. I think people need room, if not permission, to cherish…whether that be crying or laughing out loud. I hear people describe that they “want to be strong…” for their family. I wonder if the ability to show healthy and appropriate emotions is the picture of strength we all need. I just know there’s healing in that when we take the time to cherish.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)