Bible

Inbetweeners

One of my least favorite parts of coaching baseball were game days with a threat of rain. Maybe it would drizzle. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe the radar shows lots of activity right about the time we are scheduled to get to the field. Maybe it shows it at game time. I would check the hourly weather every 10 minutes, then check the hourly weather on all of the other sites, I’d call the other coaches to see what they thought, then I’d call them again, then I’d call my wife and grumble that it should either rain or not. I never liked the in between. I wanted God to make it easy for me, sunshine or pouring rain. Actually, that’s not true, I can’t say “easy,” because so many of our choices and the consequences aren’t easy, but I wanted to know the path to take. Even if it wasn’t the path I wanted, I wanted to know it was the path I was supposed to take.

Um, “supposed to?” Who decides what’s supposed to happen? Who we’re supposed to be? How it’s supposed to go? Is there ever a path we’re supposed to take? … Anyway.

We are in the midst of a building decision. I presented the paths several months ago and we’ve been praying ever since. The last 2 weeks, we began sharing our thoughts, answers, prompts. I hoped we’d all have the same conclusion. I hoped it would rain or not.

Of course, it was drizzly with colors possible on the future radar. 47% chance, which means it might rain. And it might not. Now, we’ve lived long enough, and if we’ve been even half-awake, we’ve experienced 0’s & 100’s that didn’t pan out. We don’t hold anything to be, as my son says, a “for sure-ski.” But we do like black and white, gray is uncomfortable. Gray also invites the Second Guessers, who are laying in giddy breathless anticipation to tell us we’re wrong and how could we possibly have made that decision???

So, is it going to rain or not? Then, we’re super spiritual and say, “if God is in it, we’ll know.” But is that really true? Probably not if we read and believe the Bible. When the Israelites were preparing to cross into the Promised Land, they were faced with a Jordan River at flood stage. The raging water could have been interpreted as God not being in it, right? If He was, He would certainly make it a shallow slow trickle, right? But instead, they were to send the priests with the Ark of the Covenant into the water. Do you think there was a chance they wondered if they misheard? Is that really what He said? Maybe He said “wait, and then send the priests in,” or maybe we were late to listen and He said “DON’T send the priests with the Ark into the water.”

Jesus got out of a boat in a storm and asked Peter to get out with Him. Maybe He’d save him. I wonder if Peter thought, John the Baptizer followed Jesus into the unknown and it ended…well, it didn’t end awesome for him. What if He’s going to say, again, “Blessed are those that don’t fall away because of Me,” after I drown?

We don’t usually get assurance for the next step. That’s what faith is, the “substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. (Hebrews 11:1)” The Israelites didn’t know what the Jordan would do or how they’d cross – they hoped. But they didn’t know.

And add to that complexity and confusion, sometimes faith means to go and sometimes faith means to not go. Sometimes, we have a choice between 2 good paths. Do we follow the Law and leave our donkey in the hole or cross the street to avoid a dead/dying man, or do we get the donkey out and rescue the man and put him up at a nearby inn? All of those are good, they are all the right answers. Now what? And then, sometimes we do the right thing and it doesn’t turn out very great. Does that make it not the right thing, do the ends define the means?

We are inbetweeners. Maybe it will rain and maybe it won’t. Maybe we will grab our donkey, and maybe we’ll send the priests into the Jordan, but what I can say is that we probably won’t know if it’s the ‘right’ thing. Maybe there isn’t such a thing as one ‘right’ thing.

Maybe the point of all of this is a relationship WITH Our Creator, and if we hold His hand, trust Him with us and with the gifts He’s given, put (and keep) Him first, then every choice is the ‘right’ choice. And if we don’t, then none are. I guess we’ll see. Unless we don’t. Ha. I like this last choice, this last “maybe,” the one that doesn’t have us choosing a building or now, but instead, has us choosing only to be WITH Him. Yes, that’s the one, where we’re with Him in the gray, if it rains or not.

Spirituality & Righteousness

The site through which we create and operate our websites (both the Bridge and my Love With A Capital L) asks a prompt every day. The idea is that we gain engagement by posting a lot, as much as possible, like every day, even several times a day. Whether that’s true, I can’t say. It seems to me that an avalanche of content would dilute each one. They probably know better than I do. I’ll probably keep writing once/week. Anyway, today’s prompt is: How important is spirituality to you? And I think that’s funny, because spirituality is the glue that holds any- and everything together, gives meaning to routine, significance to each moment, weight to all of our relationships. How important? The question doesn’t make sense because nothing exists without spirit/Spirit, it’s like asking, how important is breathing to your workouts? There isn’t a workout without breath, there isn’t an us without the spiritual element (whether we acknowledge it or not).

But that’s not why I’m writing today.

We began a new series on the Breastplate of Righteousness yesterday, and anytime we discuss righteousness, or holiness, our senses heighten and our defenses rise. We simply don’t like to be told what to do, no matter who is doing the telling. And the slightest hint that what we’ve chosen is not particularly healthy is a code red to our fight-or-flight response. Maybe we dig in and argue, maybe we pack our bags and move on.

It’s as if we desperately need the freedom to ruin our lives. And that’s what this is about, a plea from our Creator to not ruin our lives, relationships, to not take a wrecking ball to our world. When He asks, without even thinking, we bristle indignantly and prepare for destruction. I always had such a problem with all of the “shall not’s” of the Bible. Thou shall not lie??? What?!!? How can a Loving God command something like this, how can He take my freedom away? I neeeed to be able to deceive and spend my anxiety-ridden moments afraid of being discovered and reaping the consequences of the lies. Good times.

Our definition of freedom is an interesting one.

I often use sexuality as examples, but that’s because the Bible so often does. I could use alcohol (I hate alcohol the most, by far, and it’s not close), gambling, laziness, anything. It could be any tool we use that might “miss the mark.” Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial. The key is to bypass that initial automatic rebellious response, so that we can clearly consider our behavior without stirring up the rage of our pride. I wonder how we do that? Probably the same way we do anything – acknowledging that it’s there, without judgment or fear, and taking baby steps (with each other, with the Spirit) into an unknown future, with trust and hope.

I’m pretty sure we don’t have to viciously defend our self-destructive streak anymore. Maybe we could try on some new clothes, like a shiny new breastplate? And maybe we could do that the only way we’re designed, together?

The Pigs

There’s this story in the Bible: “And when He came to the other side into the country of the Gadarenes, two demon-possessed men confronted Him as they were coming out of the tombs. They were so extremely violent that no one could pass by that way. And they cried out, saying, “What business do You have with us, Son of God? Have You come here to torment us before the time?” Now there was a herd of many pigs feeding at a distance from them. And the demons begged Him, saying, “If You are going tocast us out, send us into the herd of pigs.” And He said to them, “Go!” And they came out and went into the pigs; and behold, the whole herd rushed down the steep bank into the sea and drowned in the waters. And the herdsmen ran away, and went to the city and reported everything, including what had happened to the demon-possessed men. And behold, the whole city came out to meet Jesus; and when they saw Him, they pleaded with Him to leave their region. (Matt. 8)”

So, the first way I read this story was of the exorcism of the demons for these 2 men. Incidentally, in Luke’s version, there is just 1 man, who calls himself ‘Legion,’ because there are so many demons inside of him. And, we can get stuck when the stories don’t exactly line up. So about that… These aren’t textbooks. These are 2 men writing their accounts of events. Have you ever asked 2 of your friends who were at the same party how it was? After they answered, you probably wondered if they were actually at the same party, right? I think, sometimes, these men had different purposes other than precise historical accuracy. And I don’t think their differing accounts necessarily makes them unreliable, I think it makes them people who saw the party through different lenses, from different couches, different rooms. One man or two is a pretty minor detail, as far as I’m concerned, though I do wonder how their accounts could conflict about that.

Anyway. The exorcism is a fantastic miracle, and a great way to read it. But then, the phrase he (Legion)/they (the 2 men) use: “Son of God.” In the Scriptures, the only group never confused about who Jesus was are the demons. That’s an interesting note, isn’t it? The disciple named Thomas doubts, the demons don’t. The religious elite questions Jesus over and over about His identity, the demons don’t have to, they know who He is. I spent 20+ years in disbelief, demons don’t spend a second.

And then, now I always end up focused on that last sentence: “They pleaded with Him to leave their region.” And I wondered why. But the pigs represented food, as well as income. These pigs were their economy, careers, sustenance, comfort, identity, etc. These pigs illustrated a way of life. And they chose the pigs. When we are faced with the Son of God, and His life & teachings, they very often come into conflict with our accepted notions of ‘how life is’ or what we want/think we need, our identity, our priorities, our comfort, our rights…well, He very often comes into conflict with everything we accept as reality, too. And we can choose the pigs, too.

[A funny side note is that, when I opened my computer to write, the pigs of the title of this post were my Guinea Pigs, but then I thought about this story and these pigs, and intended to weave the two stories together, in the way I do. That won’t happen, I won’t get to my Guinea Pigs today.]

At the end of our series on forgiveness, yesterday, I said that in all of the ways we don’t choose peace or unity (like politics, religion, issues, rights, race, sex, style of dress, the way we wear our hair, and on and on), in the endless ways we choose division and chaos, we are really saying that the sacrifice of Jesus, His blood, His amazing love, simply aren’t enough. So, when we divide along party lines or condescend to another with a perspective other than our own, when we have to win, when we don’t forgive and hold on tightly to violence, resentment & bitterness, or exercise our rights at the expense of another, we choose to ignore Jesus, we choose to worship an idol, we choose another Gospel. We choose the pigs.

And that’s where I get stuck. Each step is stickier than the last. What are my pigs? Where do I choose other, inferior gospels? Where do I need to let my pigs run into the sea and drown? This could go forever, because there is never a shortage of cultural pigs to be examined.

I’m not ready for a new reading just yet. This one is deep enough.

[And next week, for sure, we’ll talk about my piggies and their breakfast carrots.]

Something Happened

So, a bad thing happened. One of us had a car accident, and that happens. It’s an expensive lesson, but it is a space where life teaches out loud, and maybe someday, we’ll be very thankful for the lesson and the cost will be very low.

Before the sermon yesterday, I read the account of Jacob & his dream, from Genesis. This is not unusual, I refer to it often. But sometimes, the message of “surely God was in this place and I was unaware (Gen 28:16),” or, as I paraphrase, “don’t miss your life and the people in it (Chad 24:365),” hits differently.

Everything valuable in that accident was ok. The most valuable to me got in our car & came home with the Angel & I. The other valuables had minor damage to their vehicles, but went home, as well. There are a million ways that day ends where everyone doesn’t come home. I am grateful, in ways I can’t express.

When I read that passage yesterday, I nearly began to weep, because “What if…” The beautiful gift of this life we’ve been given, the beautiful gift of each other, can be very fragile, and what if (one of those million inexplicably horrific ways that too many have to endure)? Our hearts don’t seem big and/or strong enough to hold all of this love. But they are – we’ve been made in the image of our God.

We keep loving, and keep loving, and keep loving. Of course, it can hurt like crazy, where it feels like the pain won’t ever stop. And we love anyway. The only way to ensure this doesn’t happen is to be alone, and that won’t do at all. Being made in the image of a triune God means being alone is “not good,” according to Genesis 1 & 2. Loving with a whole heart, mind, and soul requires living with the possibility of the dreaded “what ifs.” I hope the “what ifs” never, ever happen to anybody. But I certainly do hope we all know the love that makes the “what if” so vicious.

The tears are an offering poured out from a fully present, engaged, working, thankful heart. A heart that is created to keep loving and loving and loving.

The Practice of Doing Nothing

Sunday morning, I commented on how the American Christian Church has often espoused, sometimes subtly, sometimes not, a salvation by works instead of by grace. Of course, it might not be explicit, but it’s there. There are things we have to do so that we can ‘go to Heaven,’ ‘get His reward,’ or ‘get saved.’ Things we have to do to earn our “free” gift. Things like going to church on Sundays, confessing our trespasses, knowing the right theology, praying the right prayer, reading our Bibles every day, and on and on. We’re a prideful culture, with an historically strong work ethic, a mean streak of independence, and boot straps crafted solely to be pulled. These characteristics are fine at the workplace or on the basketball court or, well, literally, everywhere else. We give our best effort, everything we have to give, with courage, resilience, and perseverance. How can that possibly be a negative? It is only in the context of grace. The only requirement for rescue is to be rescued. Anything and everything else, to deserve this rescue (or worse, to rescue our own selves) is noise and only moves us further away from actual rescue. The American Dream is not the Gospel, as much as we might like it to be. The salvation story is one of Christ Alone, and we must no longer perpetuate this false teaching. And I’m very indignant about it, right?

But earlier, in the same sermon, I said a practice, any practice, takes practice. We turn our heads to Truth, to Him, we focus on God as our “Strength and Shield,” we do the things. So there it was, I also may have given a contradicting, competing, message that illustrated how easily this inadvertent false teaching happens.

I’d like to think I had very clearly contrasted salvation with sanctification (of which practice IS most certainly necessary), and not been within miles and miles of a theology of works. I am a naive, optimistic person, but I’m not blind or crazy. I know that not everyone is hanging on every word of a 45 minute talk on a Sunday morning, in lock step with every word and thought. I know not everyone is giving 100% attention. (I look in your faces while I’m up there, I know;) I also know that I’m probably not as clear as I mean to be, or believe I am, either, no matter how many hours I spend in preparation and how hard I try.

It’s a simple concept, but quite difficult, too. We don’t do anything, except the things we do. Ha! Order matters in this. We don’t do anything FIRST, we do the things AFTER. We are rescued, SO THAT we can do the things, SO THAT we can live these beautifully faithful lives we are called into. We have practices, we must have practices, but they’re not to earn anything, they’re only to experience the thing is already ours.

This is a whole lifetime of learning, and it is a lesson that runs in a totally different direction of everything we’ve ever been taught. It might be the most important truth we will every understand, and we’ll miss the mark over and over. The Good News is that He is graceful. The bad news is that we are not. We will expect others to be exactly where we are, understand exactly what, and how, we understand. We’ll judge with planks in our eyes. We’ll hit each other with our theologies, often viciously, and often with this false teaching that has crept into our solid, true theology.

The point is that we continue to soak in the truth that we are already loved, wildly, without limit or end, and also without our participation. It’s not about us, it’s not our story. There is so much peace there. We’ll continue to root out the me in the Gospel, and when we’re done, and think we have it all together, we’ll understand that thinking we’re done, and that we have it all together IS me in the Gospel, and start all over again. We’ll continue to call it false teaching, because that’s what it is, and we’ll love each other in all of it.

Reflections

In my reading today, I ended up stuck on Proverbs 27:19. My Bible is a New Living Translation, and the NLT of that verse says, “As a face is reflected in water, so the heart reflects the real person.”

Sometimes, I’m just moving right along. Sometimes, I take notes. Other times, I simply soak in the words and the feel of the pages in my hands. (Incidentally, when I purposefully study the Scriptures, I use a computer and lots of translations. The physicality of the paper or the hard cover has no draw for me. Instead, then, bridging gaps and making connections are the point.) Today was a little bit different, though by no means rare or unusual. Reading for pleasure and communion became study, then back again, translations mixed, computer screens and the thin pages held hands with each other, to the extent that it wasn’t either study or communion, either work or rest, it was both, and. It was everything, dancing together, blending seamlessly into one.

And I was stuck. My eyes wouldn’t skip down the 1/8” to verse 20. This isn’t that unusual, either, and when it happens, I know I’m about to be laid bare and kneaded like dough.

“The heart reflects the real person.” Who am I, really? Would my heart agree? When I think about my heart, it’s the motivation, the why behind the actions you see. Why am I doing these things, any things? Is it ministry, like I think/hope it is. Or is it obligation, vanity, ego, simple image-making, people-pleasing, or something else that I haven’t yet considered at all? I wish I could tell you, once I was open and totally authentic, it WAS ministry!!! But I don’t know yet. I pay lots of attention to this very thing, but “the heart is hopelessly dark and deceitful,” (as it says in Jeremiah) – it’s why I ask, seek, knock for clarity, to be shown my dark, deceitful parts before they can take root and lead me down paths not meant for me. But just because I pay attention doesn’t mean I can’t fall, or get confused, or misled.

So back to the matter at hand, why was I stuck on this verse 19?

The NIV translates it as, “As water reflects the face, so one’s life reflects the heart.” Now, my life reflects my heart, which reflects the real me. What does my life say? And does it actually say what I think it does? Or what I want it to?

I don’t always know why I write these posts, sometimes it’s in writing that I discover the point. But I already knew, today. I knew before I opened my computer to type a letter.

The Scriptures are never simply one thing. This library of books is not just instruction, not just history, not just poetry, not just allegory, or parable, or prophesy, or love letter – it’s all of them. It cuts us, wounds us, and puts us back together and heals us. It tells us we are here, now, and we are special and loved extravagantly, and then invites us to grow and move beyond the here and now. This library also serves as a mirror, reflecting our faces, hearts and lives, back at us.

I’m pretty sure the answers to all of these questions I’ve asked aren’t important. (And if they are, maybe they’re the sort of questions that are answered with the Spirit in private;) But what IS very important is that we ask them. It’s important that we jump in enough to get stuck, that we acknowledge that we’re stuck, and that we care enough about the answers to stay stuck until we’ve asked the questions. Maybe today isn’t a day for answers, maybe just for questions. Maybe I need to ask if the values I think I hold are really the ones illustrated by my life. Maybe I need to ask myself, “is it, really?” Or “Why are you doing that?” Or “Why did you just say Yes (or No)?” Or “Is this love?” Maybe I need to be laid bare and kneaded like dough to awaken me to my own beautiful life. Today, I did. I don’t always listen, don’t always ask.

So anyway, what did I find in this reflection? Me. Like all reflections, I saw me, for all that means, the good (of which there is much more that I can see than ever before), the bad, and the places we (He & I) need to address. I saw guilt and forgiveness. I saw love. I saw the same thing I always see: a new creation.

It’s a new year, I wrote this to get to this one line: May we all follow Him into our own reflections, see the intense, boundless, endless love He has for each of us, and may we ask all of the questions.

Everywhere

Last night, we watched the 6th and final episode of the second season of Loki, a series on Disney+. As everyone who has spoken to me even once is well aware, I love superheroes and my interest in their stories seemingly knows no bounds. The Marvel Cinematic Universe is bent on testing my commitment. I now have reservations about each new release. I didn’t see the 3rd Guardians of the Galaxy or Black Panther 2 in the theater, and the Marvels came out last night and I was not there. I still see them all, but my rose colored glasses are off. My child-like excitement has been replaced with weary hesitation. Which brings us to Loki.

There are many many things to say about it, both positive and negative, but just one is going to remain long after this series is forgotten. I am going to ruin the ending, sort of, and for that I’m a little sorry.

First, Avengers:Endgame ended with the completion of the Tony Stark/Ironman arc. When we were introduced to him, he was an arrogant weapons dealer, selling to the highest bidder, building a life built solely on the next selfish pleasure. Over the course of the Infinity Saga, he transformed, finally meeting his heartbreaking demise in the climax of Endgame. His death was the ultimate sacrifice, giving his life to defeat the Big Bad, Thanos. He gave his life so everyone could live. Of course, it’s not hard to draw lines to the Bible, and to the passion of Christ – His sacrifice to rescue us, His death so we could live.

Now, to ruin Loki… His story began as a villain, selfishly seeking nothing but power, everything to bring glory only to himself. Through the years, films, and stories, like Tony Stark, he eventually became the kind of character who would also sacrifice his own life so everyone could be free to live theirs.

The stories that move us, really move us, that make us feel something beyond ourselves, are the ones that point to deeper truths about our world, our selves, our purpose, our humanity, and Our God. What that means is, they point us to Jesus.

Of course, we’re drawn to the relationships and connections between people. We’ve been made this way, and the further progress takes us from this original creation, the more we ache for it. So when Black Widow, in an early moment, leans in when her friend Hawkeye is in danger, that matters. Her movement touches us in those parts way down inside that we don’t always acknowledge and certainly don’t talk about.

Of course, we’re drawn to themes of guilt and forgiveness, atonement, courage, and sacrifice. The Story we have been born into is one of a Redeeming Savior, Who saves us from lives of loneliness, meaningless pleasure and destructive (of self and others) behavior, Who rescues us from avarice and superficiality. And Who calls us into that Story, too.

Of course, we’re drawn to good and evil. We fight darkness wherever we find it. We’re not super-soldiers, incredible hulks or spider-men, but the impulse is the same. We are called to create and protect new, kind, gentle, safe worlds for our families, neighbors, and communities, no matter the cost.

Of course, we’re drawn to love. As pride is the catalyst for all wayward paths, Love is the engine that drives everything wonderful and pure. Love points us to Jesus Christ.

And of course, of course, we’re drawn to anything that reminds us of Jesus Christ, any and everywhere we find it (even superhero movies).

Questions…

“…as we contemplate how we spend our time and money, it’s important that we realize that being a healthy member of a healthy church will have a direct impact on those issues as well. There’s nothing we can do for our families that will have a greater positive impact than making sure we’re members of a healthy local church.

I’ve seen evidence of this firsthand as I’ve had conversation after conversation with fathers and mothers who are committed to family discipleship, but who are struggling tremendously as they either attend an unhealthy church or no church at all. These families don’t testify of overwhelming joy and fulfillment because “family is enough.” On the contrary, they testify to struggle, strain, loneliness, fear, isolation, and despair.

Family discipleship is absolutely critical, but there’s no substitute for healthy membership in a healthy local church.”

Voddie Baucham Jr wrote that in a book called Family Shepherds. It’s the perfect kind of book; it’s convicting, challenging, an absolute call up to me (and, honestly, probably all of us), but it is also a book with which I don’t always agree. These parts engage me, invite me to dive a bit more deeply into what I say I believe, what I truly believe, if they are the same, and why I believe those things. Then I am satisfied because I still disagree (based on solid teaching, learning, understanding, and/or practice) or, in a very uncomfortable twist, I am left untethered to my own ideas (either because they come from a faulty theology, a cultural hijacking of my spirituality, or from nowhere at all, simply because I’ve never examined them) and have a decision to make. Do I let go of the known past and step into the unknown abyss? Or do I continue to cling to old, wrong, misguided baggage?

You already know which I’d prefer to choose. You also know which I actually choose.

This is not why I included the earlier quote, it’s just why I care about the book, and why I like it so much.

I included the passage because it confronts all of us, on some level or another. Do we belong to a local church? Should we? Do we take it seriously? What exactly is family discipleship? What do we testify to, in our own lives and families? Is it joy and fulfillment? Or is our story one of struggle, strain, loneliness, fear, isolation, and despair? What does it mean to have a “healthy” membership? What is a “healthy” local church? Is the Bridge one of those?

3 small-ish paragraphs that beg soooo many questions. Are we asking them or just turning the page? Are we wrestling with these concepts or falling asleep as we try to finish the chapter?

Is there really “nothing we can do for our families that will have a greater positive impact than making sure we’re members of a healthy local church?” It feels like a conflict of interest for me to ask these questions, because I happen to know of a local church that would love to have you. But if I take my job seriously, my purpose isn’t to increase Sunday morning attendance (well, I suppose it is a purpose, or part of a purpose, but it’s nowhere close to THE main purpose, which is to share the Gospel, point everybody to Jesus, tell & show them He loves us here and now, loving in the way I do all along the way). My professional and my personal missions happen to be the same, so my call is to ask questions that will lead us to who we really are, which will always, always lead us to Him.

Maybe there isn’t a clever last line to this post. I usually like to do that;) But maybe we’re just asking questions and figuring out if we’ll answer them honestly, and then, if we’ll move based on those answers. Who knows? I just love that we can find out together.

A Short Post On Perspective

All 4 of us who live in this house eat dinner together nearly every night, and I dream it’s the best part of each of our days. It certainly is, for me. I am very grateful. So last night, the boys shared a cool story of 2 local brothers making music on SoundCloud (a music sharing website). I can’t tell you how much I love the idea of everyone having the opportunity and space to share their God-given creativity.

The internet has so many dangers and vicious traps, but it also overflows with beauty and connection. It is a place of possibility.

The boys who made the songs are what I would kindly label, or what we would’ve labeled when I was young, “at risk.” They are often in trouble, of various kinds and of various severity. I have a small relationship with one who comes into the weight room, (the other not so much), and have real concerns about both. Different, but equally serious, concerns for each.

But this SoundCloud situation elated me. I didn’t imagine the songs would be particularly good, not something I’d ‘like,’ but that’s hardly the point, is it? They were expressing themselves in a positive fashion and not in any one of the million negative ways that are open to them. Knowing them fairly well, we laughed at the prospect of what they would consider art. Art is subjective, but let’s be honest, not all is awesome. We found their page and clicked on the first track.

What was funny and wonderful turned on the first word. Smiles immediately disappeared, as our hearts wept together.

One of the best things about artistic expression is that we can learn the things we’d never say out loud. I knew these boys were broken, but had no idea how deeply.

The point is this. The one I know is mostly quiet and lonely, which can come across as surly and disrespectful. The other is surly and disrespectful. Neither is particularly likable, they can be quite nasty and stand-offish. And that can drive us all away. After all, we don’t seek out people who are distant and mean to us.

But these kids are severely broken. We know the ones who appear to like others the least like themselves least of all. And it’s not even close. As followers of the Living Christ, we are called to love everybody, so what does that look like, in this circumstance? It surely won’t look the same for each of us, but the first step is shifting our perspective. They aren’t punk kids, or freaks, or anything else.

They’re our kids, and they’re hurting. Now what?

Imagination

This series on love (based on the Love chapter, 1 Corinthians 13) is awfully uncomfortable. I’m not sure how something so disruptive could have ever made the leap from a wild animal into a soft, cuddly stuffed toy. How could a passage designed to crawl into our hearts, and expose our selfish instincts in such an aggressive way, ever be a sterile poem our grandma’s read at weddings to which no one pays any attention? How could “Love keeps no record of wrongs” not tear each of us to shreds when we so clearly do?

There are songs & artists I love that seem alien. Like what they do, what they are, is something far off that I have no category for outside of themselves. Their creativity is shocking. They keep me at a distance, standing on the sidelines or sitting in the cheap seats.

Others make me want to sing.

Some books make me want to never write again. Yet others drive me right to my notebook.

The basketball world changed when Steph Curry remade the game. We could never in a million years do what LeBron James and Michael Jordan can do, the game is far off, like superheroes and mythology. Steph makes us think we could do it, too. We bought basketballs and went to the local hoops and shot all day. Jordan left us in awe, Steph inspired us to play.

It really doesn’t have much to do with the quality. Steph is an unbelievable basketball player, and the truth is, we probably couldn’t do what he does. He’s one of the greats. High Fidelity is an A+ work of fiction, and makes me want to create an A+ work, and perhaps more importantly, makes me think I can. If Nick Hornby could do it, maybe I could.

What does this have to do with the Love chapter? What does Steph Curry have to do with Paul’s letter to the Corinthians?

The Bible wants us out of our seats, wants us to play. Sure, the ideals of “Love is patient and kind,” are high, maybe we can’t get there (certainly not all the time), but what the Bible does is tell us over and over who we are. We are not space aliens, we are made in the image of he Living God, and we have His power (the same power that raised Jesus from the dead!!!!) inside of us, and with that, all things are possible. If Paul does his job, and if we do ours, the vision is compelling, beautiful, and better yet, the kind that explodes our imaginations to where we actually participate as He changes our lives. This newly engaged imagination inspires us to be patient and kind, to not anger quite so easily, to think about throwing our records of rights/wrongs in the garbage where they belong. We begin to look for people and ways to love.

These words are tickets backstage, they’re invitations to sing. They’re tigers that have never been safe or comfortable, they weren’t supposed to be, but we are told that we are the artists of our lives. We are the songs. And what it means to be made in the image is that we are designed with the creativity to re-write the code of our own game into one where the players always hope, bear all things, and never fail. We simply have to start to shoot.