Audio Message

Meaningless?

I’ve been reading Ecclesiastes the past 2 days. I’ve said it’s one of my favorite books in the Bible, but I’m not exactly sure why anymore. That’s not to say it’s without value or beauty, it certainly isn’t. The 12 chapters are overflowing with wisdom and application, but the refrain of “everything is meaningless” is honestly pretty depressing and sounds/feels hopeless.

I’m here at my dining room table reading, because I am the kind of man who sits at the dining room table to read my Bible. That’s an unusual thing to say, but here’s what I mean: I carefully place guardrails along the road we’re walking, so when I get lazy or distracted or overly rebellious, I can bump into them and remember why I put them there. More specifically, I am reminded who I am. This has been a topic before. We discover who God says we are, decide (with the guidance of the Spirit) who we are becoming and going to be, what we value, what weighs more, so that in times of stress and trial, we’ve already answered those important question regarding our identity. This helps to eliminate overreaction or inconsistency, and decreases the time we are forced to spend reconciling our behavior and our beliefs.

Now, with these guardrails, when I begin to sway or follow the directional signs not meant for me, I can pull the wheel back onto the path. Lately, this has been the case for me. I have wavered in my commitment and focus, making unhealthy, unhelpful choices. For instance, I haven’t read my Bible in some weeks (gasp!). I mean, my work requires study of the Scriptures. But it’s like this, I date the Angel because I like to and I like her in addition to the daily tasks and routines involved in creating a functional home together. In other words, I like to read my Bible for pleasure, because I like to and I love God and He reallly loves me.

I’ve decided this is an integral part of who I am (or who I have been created and called to be, and who I will become), and when I slide away from this lovely, loving practice, I feel incomplete. I am the kind of man who sits at the dining room table to read my Bible. See? Everything isn’t meaningless. This is meaningful.

Of course, this isn’t what Solomon meant, that everything is meaningless. The things we spend so much time chasing, thinking will fill us, satisfy us, are temporary. And compared with the eternal, temporary is sort of meaningless. But we don’t compare, and these things, to us, aren’t meaningless at all. This day, this breath, this table, this song, Samuel, board games, laughter, pulled pork sandwiches, are all gifts from God, blessed by God. I imagine He makes pineapples and thinks about how great they’ll taste, and how much you’ll love them. “God has made everything beautiful for its own time.” (Eccl. 3:11)

So what are we supposed to do with these wonderful lives of ours, given that everything is temporary, vapor, meaningless (in a manner of speaking)? Well, “Enjoy every minute of it! Take it all in.” (Eccl. 11:9) “Enjoy what you have!” (Eccl. 6:9) “Live happily with the woman (or man) you love through all the days of of life that God has given you in this world.” (Eccl. 9:9)

I wonder if we miss those people we love or the things we have thinking/wishing for things we don’t have? Maybe we’re not enjoying them. Maybe we’ve been given those delicious pineapples and we’re disappointed they aren’t blueberries. Maybe we can’t tear our eyes off of the ‘meaningless,’ taking the gift for granted.

SO, the invitation/confrontation of Ecclesiastes that I’m seeing today is that we dive into these messy, beautiful lives of ours, love the people around us well, and eat all of the pineapple we can, and we do it all with an overwhelming gratitude. Now I’m starting to see why I like Ecclesiastes so much – it’s not depressing or hopeless, it’s here and now, it’s the same wisdom of my dad from Bull Elephant Day, it’s presence, and it is, above all, loving engagement with the God that made it all.

Elephants

In my living room, right in front of me, is a beautiful photograph of a line of elephants, led by a gigantic bull elephant. It was a gift. It’s always a wonderful surprise when you receive a gift that is perfect, that someone really knows & understands who you are.

Anyway. At the end of the Bull Elephant Day service at the Bridge, the invitation was, as always, to be present to the gifts we’ve been given by our Creator. Especially each other. This invitation was given by my dad, who taught me (in an excruciatingly painful way) that we don’t always get another day, another conversation, another game, another sunset, another moment.

So I’m thinking about you & me and him.

We had a baseball game last night. It was a Big Game. So Monday we practiced with the intensity a Big Game requires, and yesterday I was thinking about what to do, who to play, where to play them, situations, and on and on. Then I remembered Sunday morning & my dad. He missed so much of his life, was often distracted thinking about this game he loved, this game we loved. We spent a lot of time together, and lost a lot of time together, because of this game. There are times when you’re alone together, when you are unbearably lonely inches from another, right?

I coach baseball for the connections: with my life, the game, the players, other coaches, and my dad. What a tragedy if the thing I use to connect disconnects me from all of it. What if I woke up today with a win last night saying, “surely God was in this place and I was unaware?” Then what? That win wouldn’t mean much, wouldn’t matter at all. And then, conversely, if we lost in the middle of 3 hours of engaged sacred activity and interactions, respecting & celebrating our many many gifts (not least of which is the amazing gift that we are able to play at all), what a wonderful loss!

My pregame talk (On another note, can you imagine how much and how often I talk???? The combination of preacher and coach has to be a very dangerous thing;) with the team consisted of de-emphasizing the “big” part, and instead, holding the “game” half with grateful hands. I looked them all in their bright faces. As the season began, they asked if they could paint their faces with anti-glare eye black. There was a time I would’ve said no, but I’ve learned a lot, and now to see the wildly creative ways they express themselves is one of my favorite parts of every game. So I looked in each of their wide eyes and soaked in their company, totally present.

Then last night after the game, tired and spent, I met (over Zoom) a lovely couple from Texas I’ll marry in a few weeks. both of my boys came home from different places – Elisha from basketball games and Samuel from fishing. We all sat in my and the Angel’s bedroom watching videos of the game, seeing photos of hooked fish, and hearing shockingly detailed stories of everything. Then, too late, I kissed my wife and immediately fell asleep.

It was an awesome day.

And to think, I might’ve missed it all. I might’ve paid so much attention to a final score that I missed all of the important stuff. That’s why the word “remember” is found a million times in the Bible, because the God who made us knows we’ll forget anything and everything. I’ll surely forget that we won (that is the only word that would have been different in this post if we hadn’t – “I’ll surely forget that we lost…”) but I won’t forget those fish, the buckets, the painted faces, and that smooch. And I won’t forget the Living, Loving God who generously gives all of those amazing gifts.

Last Times

So I had this pet rabbit (I can’t even tell you how depressing it was to change the word “have” to “had”) for over 9 years. Her name was HoneyBunny. The Angel named her, and I loved it because Tim Roth’s character in Pulp Fiction called his special lady (Amanda Plummer) Honey Bunny, and I can always hear him say, “I love you, Honey Bunny,” in my head. Bunnies live 5-7 years, it says on cards at pet stores. They live much fewer in the wild, but in houses, there are far fewer predators. Ours live forever, in rabbit years.

Smoothie lived to be over 11. We asked the vet if he looked good for 11, and he answered, incredulously, “I don’t know.” He had never seen one that old, which made him in GREAT shape.

I work from home, so I was the primary caregiver for HoneyBunny. Every day for over 9 years, I let her out of her cage, feed & water her, change her litter box, and love her. Thursday was the last day I did any of those things. I let her out and she went under the ottoman, as was her recent practice. I gave her lettuce and treats on a plate under there. Then, around 4, she had an ‘episode’ that I can’t accurately describe. I held her tightly while my boys called local-ish veterinarians. We finally found one to see her by the time the Angel came home, and went there immediately.

She fell asleep in my hands, with the Angel stroking her ears and back. Of course it was horrible, but way too many pass alone, I’m grateful she had 4 hands on her with care and love. She deserved at least that much.

At home, I dug a hole to place her in and watered it with my tears.

Now, why I tell you all of this is because of Thursday morning, when I let her out and gave her the last treat I’d ever give. Sometimes we know when the last times are…

Friday morning Samuel went to the Annville-Cleona high school as a student for the last time. Last night he and his friends said goodbye to a young man who came as a foreign exchange student and was leaving as a close friend.

And others we don’t. How often do I reference Genesis 28:16, “Surely the Lord was in this place and I was unaware?” It’s a serious danger to live these beautiful lives of ours asleep, walking through the days & moments in a daze, oblivious to the fact that the ground on which we’re walking and the people we walk alongside, is all holy. I’d like to think I spoke to her with kindness and intention many many many many more times than I was absent or in a hurry or treating her like she was a nuisance, under my feet or chewing cords, boxes, and furniture. I’d like to hope I was as good to her as she was to me.

The message is always the same – God has so graciously given these blessings to us, we need to stay alert, keep showing up expecting wonder and beauty, keep our eyes open to/for this extraordinary grace.

Yes, she was just a rabbit, but if only you knew her, you’d know there was nothing “just” about her. And now the cage she slept in is empty and I miss her. This is the deal – to love something or someone means, at some point, it’ll hurt, it’ll break our heart into a bazillion pieces. Those pieces are a wonderful gift. She’s gone, but I had her for a long time, forever it rabbit years. My heart is broken but it grew 9 sizes while she was here. I’m really thankful.

I loved that HoneyBunny, and I love her still.

Disruption!

My focus seems to be pulled in many directions. It’s hard to stay on one path of thought or on one task. Lately, I don’t always listen, and certainly don’t remember all I hear. These months are very full with responsibilities – and that is a factor – but they are also full with MAJOR life markers/events. Our people are changing. Our home is transforming. Yes, it’s transforming into something wonderful, but it is transformation and that sort of stretching and metamorphosis is painful. Distraction is a danger every day, but especially in times of overwhelm. How do we focus and find peace in that?

I have found distraction to be a wholly negative state, but a word that sounds similar – disruption – is usually positive, even as it is uncomfortable. Disruption shakes us out of our ruts, out of our mindless routines. This season is one big disruption of the status quo. We are faced with new, unpaved roads to travel.

What I’ve learned is to hold myself gently (as I would hold others) in my own disruption. My heart is overflowing, with everything. So I’m not writing a new Bridge post, other than this introduction. But what I have done is included the post I wrote about songs and albums earlier this week for my other website, for 2 reasons. A, because maybe you want to read something. And 2, because it includes an answer to the earlier question (How do we focus and find peace in times of overwhelm?), which is, of course, jigsaw puzzles. You already know jigsaw puzzles are simply a tactic I use to remember to get, and stay, present and engaged, right? Whatever our “jigsaw puzzles” are, we just can’t miss the invitations, the disruptions, or the attention. We do what we must to turn our hearts to thankfulness – the pain and grief of the loss is simply gratitude that we had those people or relationships or journeys or moments or years for a time, and the glorious celebration we now get to share as new people or relationships or journeys or moments or years begin.

It’s called Round Here, and I hope you like it. I’ll see you soon.

Round Here

The site prompt today is asking if I remember life before the internet. Yes, I do. For some reason, I’m often very nostalgic lately, so at those times that life B.I. seems preferable. Whether the time actually was more simple, or I was, doesn’t really matter in my head.

I love to put together jigsaw puzzles. Don’t ask me if I do that on an app – you already know the answer. I still read physical books, still turn pages. Now that I think of it, it’s mostly for the same reason. When life gets noisy and heavy, finding pieces that fit perfectly (or opening a book and turning pages) turns that volume down. These small acts reduce the complexity of everything that surrounds me. It’s a little like that aphorism: a journey of a million miles begins with a single step. We can’t finish a puzzle now, we can only give our time and focus to finding the next piece.

The puzzle on the dining room table is one called Rock ‘n’ Roll, and is made up of artists, album covers, ticket stubs, and instruments. It’s pretty good puzzle artwork, the overwhelming sadness in Kurt Cobain’s eyes is obvious and as heartbreaking on my table as it was in real life. There is Ray Charles, The Beatles & The Stones, Joan Jett, and Kiss to name only a few. There is also the album cover from the 2nd best album ever recorded: August & Everything After, by Counting Crows. (The best is, of course, The Queen Is Dead.) 

So now I’m listening to the live version of August & Everything After. It’s the whole thing, in order, and it’s unusual in that Counting Crows live versions are mostly unrecognizable from the studio album tracks. You have to know the lyrics to know Mr. Jones at a concert to realize it’s Mr. Jones, but you still can’t sing along. This particular release, though, sounds like the original, but…extra. They’re a terrific band, even as they sort of under-achieved, never building on the perfection of this debut. But how could they, honestly? I am sometimes angry at the Goo Goo Dolls. I want them to make an entire great full-length album, and they don’t, they won’t. It’s like an act of rebellion. But Counting Crows made this 100% A+ masterpiece, and they deserve a pass forever.

Round Here is the first track and makes me cry every time I hear it (with both hands, it’s so sad and so beautiful. Like the great philosopher Rob Base once said, “joy and pain.”) 

My wedding Anniversary was Saturday, and my son graduates high school on Friday. Those are the bookends to a week marked with the challenge of holding 2 life-changing events carefully and joyfully. I married the Angel 22 years ago, and the term soul mate is casually tossed around but rarely appropriate. She is easily mine and I hope I’ve risen to even 3% of what she deserves. My son is 18 and steps into an adult life that I get to watch from a front row seat, the best one in the world. He is everything I dreamed he’d be and more. 

This week will have baseball games and work and blog posts about music puzzles and phone calls and workouts, but the majority of the week in my heart will be a staggering gratitude. I began this by talking about nostalgia, and I sort of miss Swatch watches and Atari 2600’s and getting up to change between 3 TV channels, but preferable? Baby, I wouldn’t change one thing about this amazing, messy, wonderful life that I have been so graciously given, and I wouldn’t miss these people and this week for anything.

Hands

Last night I gave a talk for a big room full of students who will graduate in 2 weeks and their families. It’s still shocking to me to find myself in these spaces, standing in front of people, talking, yet there we were.

Events like this (singular significant moments, like weddings, funerals, etc) can be particularly heavy, where the usual Sunday morning butterflies become birds and I find myself nervous. I’d tell you that’s a good thing, those disruptive birds mean you’re alive and that it matters. I’d say the problem would be if you didn’t feel anything, if you were indifferent to the gift you’ve been given. And now it makes perfect sense that you want to punch me in the mouth when I say those things, whether they’re right or not.

The birds aren’t nearly as big as they were years ago, when all of this began, but seconds before I was scheduled to go up onto the stage, they were certainly active.

The students plan this Baccalaureate service. I have no idea what this word means or how/why this has become a tradition. I’ve never been to one and had no idea what to expect. And I guess they have to plan it without teachers direction because church and state are separate and must remain that way. So, they plan it and I got to attend their meeting. They chose hymns, Scripture passages and readers, and ordered them. Mostly, I kept in quiet deference to their leadership, but I did suggest that one Joshua (1:1-9) passage might fit perfectly right before the message. That passage ended:

“As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous, because you will lead these people to inherit the land I swore to their ancestors to give them. Be strong and very courageous. Be careful to obey all the law my servant Moses gave you; do not turn from it to the right or to the left, that you may be successful wherever you go. Keep this Book of the Law always on your lips; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful. Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

How many times can you command someone to “be strong and courageous?” I suppose until it takes, right? “Don’t be afraid…for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Sometimes moments are so noisy, it’s hard to hear God’s voice. In those spaces, it’s awfully helpful if He repeats it.

What is remarkable is the extent of the care God gives freely to us. We often think of God’s presence in one moment, comforting us, giving us peace, deliverance here and now. But this was proof that His hands had been working all along, even into this seemingly insignificant detail that meant the world to me. If His hands were holding me weeks earlier in the meeting, they were there months earlier as I was writing it, and they’d be there on the stage, behind a truly enormous pulpit.

And they were, the entire service was really beautiful, and I got to tell everyone in that room how much that same God loved them and would be with them wherever they go. I’m not right about everything, but I’m absolutely 100% spot on about that.

Youth Sports, pt ???: Fathers & Sons

I think I said I was finished writing posts on youth sports. Apparently not…

As my son Samuel’s final high school baseball season comes to a close, and Elisha’s final summer baseball season begins, I’m doing quite a lot of reflecting on fathers and sons, baseball, sports, and just how deeply all of it has shaped me.

I grew up with a dad who was a ball player. He was very very good, played professionally, and cast a wide shadow. I was never nearly as good as he was – as much as I asked, nobody ever paid me to play – and never stopped to consider if I even wanted to play. I simply did; I was a ball player raised by a ball player. He coached me for many years, we connected on fields and in dugouts and on our back porch reliving each inning of each game. It was really the best. And it’s what we do here, too. Maybe these boys value it as much as I did or as much as I do (probably not, we have a different kind of relationship), but when we coach, play, watch, and rehash every pitch and at-bat, it’s like there are 4 of us in that room instead of the 3 we can see and touch. I wonder if my dad would make the same decisions I do – he would almost certainly not. But mostly, I think about how much he’d love to meet and watch my boys play, or do anything, how much he’d love to see them live their lives and become the men they’re becoming. I miss him more than I can tell you, especially in baseball season.

I’m sappy and sentimental because it was our first game last night (I coach Elisha’s 16u team). He pitched, the boys were terrific and we won comfortably. I am not too great as a head coach (we’ll get to that in a minute), but the players on this team are as talented as they are beautiful souls, so that means they make me look ok.

As a player, I looked for my value in wins and losses, just as my dad always did. We were competitive – it made him great and it made him awful. It just made me moody, with a fragile identity that hung solely on performance.

So I’m a coach that isn’t awesome. In fact, I’m so not awesome that last year the president of the league walked up and down the line of both sides of spectating parents and spectators (including THE ANGEL!!!!!) detailing my many faults as a coach. He’s right. I have 3 great friends (Paul, Bryan, and Justin, not to name anyone) who coach circles around me, I’ve ridden their coattails to several championships. But how awesome (or not) doesn’t matter at all to me anymore. I’m a different sort of coach.

My dad taught me to be a ball player, and then in my 30’s, my Father taught me to be a human being, taught me to be a man. As that New Father (always there, present, always holding His arms open) loved me, as me, regardless of performance, separate from wins, losses, hits, or strikeouts, He re-wrote my identity. Of course, this process is taking years and years, but I notice it’s effect.

Sometimes I notice it more than others. Like game day. I want these kids to know I love them. They’ll make errors, sometimes soooo many errors, and I’ll yell at them, but they will know they are loved and that they have a group of men who would do anything for them. I want them to understand that baseball is like life in so many ways, that how they show up here is how they’ll show up everywhere. I want them to know they have a Father, too, whose love is bigger, deeper, wider, than all of us put together could ever dream of.

This Father gave me my dad, my boys, the lovely Angel, those friends, this team, every day, every moment, and you, and I am very full and very thankful. But today, I’m mostly thinking about how He opened my heart and gave me me.

Un/Aware

In Genesis, chapter 28, verses 10-22: 10 Jacob left Beersheba and set out for Harran. 11 When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep. 12 He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. 13 There above it stood the Lord, and he said: “I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. 14 Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring. 15 I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

16 When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.” 17 He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.”

18 Early the next morning Jacob took the stone he had placed under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on top of it. 19 He called that place Bethel, though the city used to be called Luz.

20 Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me and will watch over me on this journey I am taking and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear 21 so that I return safely to my father’s household, then the Lord will be my God 22 and this stone that I have set up as a pillar will be God’s house, and of all that you give me I will give you a tenth.”

I know you’ve heard this story. I know you’ve heard me tell you why it’s so important. But it doesn’t hurt to hear it again. Some of us are moving to new homes in new towns. Some of us are welcoming new grandchildren. Some of us are struggling through transitions, celebrating transitions, probably struggling and celebrating at the same time. Some of us are graduating, and some of us are the parents of those graduating.

There is a joy in growth, but there is also a pain in the growing as well. We have been conditioned to eliminate (and if we can’t, ignore) that pain, but that pain is just as much a part of the growth as the joy. Most experiences, if we are engaged and authentic, are bittersweet, equally heartbreaking and euphoric. It’s the 2 hands theology; we hold everything with 2 hands. One hand is for the loss that is present in every change, the other is for the hope and wonder of those changes. In both hands is presence, beauty, depth, in both hands is boundless love.

It’s a short one today. Lean in, see that the LORD is surely in this place, shout “How awesome is this place!!!” And really live these amazing gifts He given of here, now, grace, peace, breath, this season, this day, and each other.

Words

My reading lately has been pointing in the same direction. Everything I see or hear, intentionally or otherwise, sticks to the theme, like neon arrows moving me along a certain path. It feels as if it’s a conspiracy to make absolutely sure I don’t miss it, subtle as a sledgehammer.

This obvious theme is the words we use.

This shouldn’t be a surprise, if you’ve been awake and aware. The manner in which we speak to each other is disheartening, at best. We cut, we divide, we use our mouths violently to inflict the most damage. We used to try to retain some semblance of civility, even courtesy, but now that is mostly gone. Our fear and insecurity has outweighed our humanity, so we weaponize our posts and remarks, using tones we wouldn’t have dreamed of a few short years ago. Even when they’re not directed purposefully at others, our words are hopeless and cynical. We obsess over problems and worst-case scenarios.

I’m finished doing the same thing here, pointing out the broken parts. Instead, we’ll use one of my very favorite questions: What now? Where do we go from here? Is it really as inevitable as we’ve accepted?

Starting with the 3rd question, of course it isn’t. The tomb was empty, and nothing ever again can be said “is what it is,” because it’s simply not. It can be different and it can be today.

As for What now? and Where do we go from here? I have some ideas.

Proverbs 15:4 Gentle words bring life and health, a deceitful tongue crushes the spirit. Proverbs 18:4 A person’s words can be life-giving water. Proverbs 12:6 …the words of the godly save lives, and 12:18 …the words of the wise bring healing. James 3:9-12 Sometimes [the tongue] praises Our Lord and Father, and sometimes it breaks out in curses against those who have been made in the image of God. And so blessing and cursing come pouring out of the same mouth…this is not right! Does a spring of water bubble out with both fresh water and bitter water? Can you pick olives from a fig tree or figs from a grapevine? No, and you can’t draw fresh water from a salty pool.

The tongue has the power of life and death (Prov 18:21), and I’m guilty of both not acknowledging that overwhelming fact and not caring. That James passage cracks me like a giant egg with that praising God AND curing those made in His image. Right? I’m too often a salty pool. I’ve crushed spirits instead of healed, brought death instead of life.

So, here’s the idea, and there is an order. Waiting for others to change first, for us to respond got us all in this mess. Let’s just operate as if we’re the answers to our own prayers of reconciliation, and go from there. Let’s be fresh, life-giving water. Let’s be springs (instead of salty pools). We’ve tried to gauge & match the temperature of the world around us, and it has been a resounding failure. That temperature is way too cold. It’s time for us to set the environment. We can decide to forgive, to not hold grudges, to call up, build, point out beauty everywhere we see it, give grace, give the benefit of the doubt, throw away our scorecards and start new.

Yes, of course, this is sometimes going to end up hurting. Some of us are monsters and will take advantage of our kindness and love. It’ll feel like we’re alone, and we’ll second-guess, “what can we really do?” Yep, that’s all true. But it already hurts, we’re already taken advantage of, beaten up and attacked, the only difference will be why.

We can start to push against the tide of darkness. You know, the more I think about it. We only think we’re pushing against the tide. It’s probably more like this garbage of inhumanity is like a dam – that our original bend, present since our creation, to worship, to engage in authentic relationships, to love extravagantly, is actually the tide and once we can all bang hard enough to cause a few cracks, it’s only a matter of time until it all comes down. And that all starts with a word.

Friction

We’re working through a particularly challenging passage in 1 Corinthians (11:3), but why is it so challenging? It’s about headship, head coverings, and hairstyles. Aren’t there other passages that invite us into this kind of struggle? Probably Love your neighbor’ should be a major sticking point, or “Love your enemies” even more. What about the rich young ruler who is told to sell all of his stuff? Blessed are the poor in spirit?!? Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness? Why don’t these give me butterflies the size of birds, like this verse in Corinthians?

Maybe it’s because we’ve heard them so many times, we’re sort of numbed to the weight of what has actually been said. I’ve heard “Let It Be” 1,000 times, and it doesn’t break my heart anymore. So maybe that’s it, but I also wonder if it’s because we don’t take them quite as seriously as we could. This is a conversation worth having with ourselves, with each other, and especially with God, but it’s one we’re not going to have today.

This principle of headship is in our laps, what are we going to do with it? In fact, what do we do with any and all challenging, perhaps disagreeable, controversial, polarizing ideas and circumstances in our lives? What if your co-worker thinks very differently than you do? What if your sister voted for the “wrong” candidate? What if the person next to you in church holds a different interpretation or understanding of a parable of Jesus? What if she thinks a man is the head of a woman, or what if he doesn’t? What do we do with these treacherous areas between us in all relationships?

I know the Bible is teaching us about these principles – now, learning what, exactly, they’re teaching us is why we read and study, and probably changes over time, as we do. We don’t read the same book or step in the same river twice. These aphorisms, I suppose, are misused in this case. The book and the river remain the same, we do the changing. It’s a different Chad that reads that same book, a different foot that steps in the same river. Either way, you understand.

But the Bible is also teaching us how to handle the material, and how to handle the material in community. Do you think for a second all of the people at the church in Corinth were in lock step on every point? Actually, I bet Paul and Timothy (his apprentice) had conflicting ideas. We know the disciples did, they saw different behaviors, took different meanings from the words of Jesus. What do we do then? What if they disagreed with Paul, like we sometimes do?

The thing that drives us apart isn’t a divisive issue, it’s usually how tightly we hold those issues. We grip them so pridefully, tying our identity and worth to our right-ness.

What if we’re wrong? Does that exclude us from the love of Jesus? Certainly not. And what if they are wrong? They are still children of the Loving God. According to the 8th chapter of Romans, nothing at all can separate us from His love.

Of course theology is important, but as Paul is teaching us about what we believe, he is also giving lessons about how we believe. In the next chapter, he’ll tell us that the specific tenets of our faith, if they aren’t held in love, are just noise. Headship, homosexuality, abortion, war, money, materialism, authority, submission, sex, the list just goes on and on, we’re bound to hold different perspectives. I’m convinced the issues don’t divide, it’s us, when we stop talking and refuse to sit down together as family.

I’ve seen a new dynamic at the Bridge, one that allows us to walk right into these topics without hesitation. It’s why my mood is one of excitement instead of fear or trepidation. What we get to see on a weekly basis is how it can be, where the people are more significant than our fragile egos. It’s a beautiful picture of a Gospel identity, where hands are held, and the only name that matters is Jesus.

Dreams

I just finished reading My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You She’s Sorry, by Fredrik Backman. This isn’t my first time reading it and I cried just like I did each of the others. It’s absolutely beautiful. It’s inspiring and hopeful, and reminds us all why we don’t just give up when the news gets so bad and the searing pain of engagement gets so intense.

I turn down corners of pages that contain words, sentences, and/or passages that move me. When I re-read books, I look forward to those pages and sometimes I read the page several times and have no idea why I turned down that particular corner. Others, I know immediately. One of those turned down corners held this peach: “Because not all monsters were monsters in the beginning. Some are monsters born of sorrow.” 

I’m thinking about the things we like and why we like the things we like. Maybe we choose the books/songs/movies, for whatever reasons (we like the cover art or it’s cheap or our friend gives us a gift). Or maybe those books/songs/films choose us (and we’d find them in our path somehow, over and over, until we finally pick it up when we’re exactly ready and explode). Do we like those things because we’re a certain way, or are we a certain way because we like them? Or a wonderful dance between the two? Maybe we are predisposed, open to the impact of a book about an 8 year-old girl, her grandmother, wurses, and monsters born of sorrow, and when we find each other, we join this dance.

On another page: “And probably a lot of people think Maud and Lennart shouldn’t do that, and that types of people like Sam shoudln’t even be allowed to live, let alone eat cookies. And those people are probably right. And they’re probably wrong too. But Maud says she’s firstly a grandmother and secondly a mother-in-law and thirdly a mother, and this is what grandmothers and mothers-in-law and mothers do. They fight for the good. And Lennart drinks coffee and agrees. And Maud bakes cookies, because when the darkness is too heavy to bear and too many things have been broken in too many ways to ever be fixed again, Maud doesn’t know what weapon to use if one can’t use dreams.”

I hope we’re all fighting for the good. In fact, I believe we’re all fighting for the good, in the way we fight for the good. (Well, mostly all – some people are selfish psychos who want to cause damage, but there are so few of them… Well, it’s like this. Bad pizza exists, but pizza is so rarely bad that it’s hardly worth ordering our lives around. Most bad pizzas aren’t psychos, they’re bad pizzas born of sorrow and loneliness and despair, and that sort of pizza doesn’t want to be awful at all.) So we’re fighting for the good, trying to find what weapons are ours to use. 

Dreams are a Swedish cookie, that’s what Backman and Maud and Lennart are referring to. But when the darkness is too heavy to bear and too many things have been frozen in too many ways, maybe the other kind of dream is necessary, as well. (Actually, Maud and Lennart are the only ones referring to the cookie. Backman is obviously referring to both.) We get our imaginations drummed out of us very early, until we believe this is simply “how it is,” that people are untrustworthy, and all pizza is inherently bad. Reclaiming the truth requires, first, a dream. A dream that things can be better than they are, that we are worth fighting for, and that holding hands is still the best way to remember that all isn’t lost, that we are alive and that we are together.

Maybe amazing art like this is what made me so naive and awesome. Or maybe these books affirm my naïveté. It’s fun to think about but, in the end, who really cares? We have dreams to bake, people to love, and fighting to do.