Sunday’s sermon was supposed to look a different way, supposed to feel a different way. Usually, I create inside of a narrative (sometimes stated, but more often in my head giving directions). There is a thread that runs through everything, each point, connecting the verses we study like a puzzle.

Last week’s message in my notebook/iPad was not unusual in this regard. It was entitled “Loving?” and followed this framework. The transitions were in place, the pieces formed a single cohesive talk. This was how it was supposed to go, as if we were walking a smoothly paved path – even if we didn’t know quite where it would lead.

Of course, it wasn’t smooth and it wasn’t cohesive. I was pretty surprised to discover that it was much more of a series of bullet points, rather than a story. And, added to that, the natural conflict & dissonance contained in the topic (boundaries) was more pronounced than expected. Instead of a smooth path, it was a trail that was poorly marked with uncertain footing.

I didn’t like the feeling. I felt exposed and vulnerable. This was not how it was supposed to go at all. I prepare well, write and write, edit, soak in the teaching before trying to convey it; I am very careful and aware of potential turbulence or danger zones.

Each week, I say to the Angel afterwards, “did everything make sense?” Sunday I didn’t. Never ask a question if you’re not prepared for all answers, right?

Immediately following the message, in the narthex during the final worship song, it clicked in my head, the path and the connections clearly emerged. It would have been very nice to see a few hours earlier, but we don’t always get to choose.

And after a full day reflecting on the morning, that’s probably the point. We don’t always get to choose. When I say, “how it was supposed to be,” how else could my posture be but arrogant? As if I know! How is it supposed to be? Who knows? Why couldn’t God have spoon fed me that realization hours earlier? Maybe to illustrate my futile attempts to control Him…

This, obviously, doesn’t discount my preparation. I know the message backwards and forwards, so that I can be sensitive to The Spirit and to the hearts of the listeners. We control what we can, and then we release the rest. Except when we fall into the lie that all is “what we can” control and try not to release anything. Except when we decide “how it is supposed to be.” I think I know, and again and again, I am faced with the harsh truth that His ways are higher than mine.

This message, the one that felt disjointed and awkward, left the room dead quiet as we all (me too, the disruption opened me up in new ways to these truths) wrestled with, first, the fact that boundaries are just an extension of our too-narrow definition of love. Then, then: Love (agape) without action might not be (and most likely isn’t) love at all.

No story of mine, no amount of craft or artistry could clarify those lessons. In fact, perhaps craft and artistry could’ve unintentionally obstructed their impact. Maybe they needed the unsettling atmosphere to tear down our tightly constructed walls of comfort.

I sure wasn’t comfortable, my walls were certainly exposed to those wrecking balls (and many others) and agape doesn’t care. Agape doesn’t care how I think it’s “supposed to go,” and couldn’t possibly care less about my control. I don’t know that I would’ve chosen this new route. But it’s best that He leads this, and every, journey, because when we can finally let go and stop trying to strangle each second with our white-knuckled expectations, we get to experience some very sacred moments together. Like Sunday.