honesty

Who Is Jabez?

Sometimes, the site prompt is unbelievably deep & searching, asking questions we might not want to explore. Today’s is: “What could you let go, for the sake of harmony?” Doesn’t this sound like so much of what we’ve been discussing in the epistles of Paul? When do the (perceived) slights and disrespect get so big that the relationship between us would be harmed? IS there a line, where it’s simply too much? Or is harmony to be defended at all costs, and we are to let everything go? This was not something I intended to think about today, it’s just a gift to lead us into ourselves, a place where we can consider what it is that we truly believe.

The prompt that got me to open my computer this morning did not come from the hosting website, it came from 1 Chronicles, chapter 4. Verses 9 & 10 read, “There was a man named Jabez who was more honorable than any of his brothers. His mother named him Jabez because his birth had been so painful. He was the one who prayed to the God of Israel, “Oh, that you would bless me and expand my territory! Please be with me in all that I do, and keep me from all trouble and pain!” And God granted his request.”

So, who is Jabez? An honorable man who too a risk and made a BIG ask of God – not only bless him, not only give him a lot of land, not only presence, but keep him from all trouble and pain!! ALL trouble and pain?! And, in an extraordinary move, God granted his request! What made Jabez so special? Did the fact that he was honorable ‘earn’ that unbelievable yes? Or was it the faith in a generous, loving God to ask? It seems like there should be more than 2 verses in a book no one really reads given to such a man, such a story. There have been many books written, many gospels based on 2 verses, surely there must be more to learn about this story.

Does God give us what we pray for? In Mark 11:22-24, Jesus says, Have faith in God…Truly I tell you, if anyone says to this mountain, ‘Go, throw yourself into the sea,’ and does not doubt in their heart but believes that what they say will happen, it will be done for them. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” If I believe that a mountain will throw itself into the sea, and it will because I said so, then maybe the prayer of Jabez isn’t that big of a deal at all.

But, then we have Matthew 11:2-6, “When John the Baptist was in prison, he heard what Jesus was doing. He sent his followers. They asked, “Are You the One Who was to come, or should we look for another?” Jesus said to them, “Go and tell John what you see and hear. The blind are made to see. Those who could not walk are walking. Those who have had bad skin diseases are healed. Those who could not hear are hearing. The dead are raised up to life and the Good News is preached to poor people. He is happy who is not ashamed of Me and does not turn away because of Me.”

John lived his entire life for Jesus, paving a way, devoted to the coming Messiah, and found himself in prison. We can forgive him for asking, “Um, are you the One?” Maybe he had Jabez in mind, thinking if we’re honorable & faithful, things will go very well for us. Jesus answers in an unusual way, essentially telling him he wasn’t getting out of that cell alive, but he shouldn’t turn away from Him. So, what’s up with this? All of the disciples had horribly tragic deaths (except John – a different John – who had probably only wished he died several times), the prophets didn’t exactly live cushy lives of material comfort. In fact, it seems like Jabez is the exception.

God’s blessing isn’t an exception. God’s generosity isn’t an exception. God’s grace & love aren’t exceptional. It’s only an exception that, in thsi case, His Divine Blessing looks so much like we want it to look, with easy living and loads of land and money.

What do we make of this? First, I can’t remember many prayers I’ve read or heard that sound like this. I wonder how many of us have prayed so boldly, so honestly, so un-self-consciously. I haven’t. Do we think it’s selfish or somehow wrong to ask for what we’d really like from the only One who could really give it to us. Maybe we don’t ask because, what if our answer is like John’s. Maybe our faith isn’t quite built to withstand a “No,” for whatever reason. Maybe we’re afraid to be so open with God, as if He doesn’t know what we’re holding back, leaving unsaid. What does this say about our perspective of God?

This morning, my sister told me a story about how she called a coworker to ask if she’d switch shifts with her. Now, I’m thinking about the vulnerability of that, but also the faith. My sister is likable and great at her job, she’s honorable. But she’s also perseverant, if that coworker says no, I bet she’ll be a little like the parable of the persistent neighbor, asking for bread at midnight over and over until she gets the bread. She asks for what she wants.

Maybe Jabez got what he wanted just because he knew the character of God enough to ask. Right now, if you ask me (and I suppose nobody actually has;), I think these 2 verses are about the heart posture of prayer, and our reverence and child-like belief in Our God. The act of asking says, 1. He loves me. 2. He wants to give me good gifts (even if I might not always know what He would call “good”). 3. I am human, He’s created me to be His child, He knows me, inside and out, so I’ll ask Him. But also, 4. I love Him, I’m grateful, I trust Him to know what I need, so my entire faith doesn’t hang on the thread of His giving me everything I want. I don’t need Him to be my vending machine to love and/or follow Him.

The Bible isn’t always easy to understand, and sometimes the deeper we get, the more mysterious it gets, but that doesn’t make it any less awesome.

Lies

[I wrote this post on my other blog, it’s about 2 documentaries I recently watched. I generally try to keep these blogs separate, but sometimes, the ideas drift across the lines. At the end, I’ll suggest we find our identity, worth, value in something other than fear, but the only “something other than fear” that truly defines us, pointing to our original design, is God, Jesus Christ, and Love. So, what is defining us? Who are we? Who or what has the keys to our identity? These are questions that are absolutely vital to ask AND answer, and anything that moves us to ask them (even silly tv shows) is invaluable. Sometimes the things that move us the most move us the most because they are found in unexpected places, we simply have to have eyes that see and ears that hear.]

I watched 2 documentaries lately. Anatomy of Lies, on Peacock, and Maternal Instinct, on Netflix. Anatomy details the “life” of Elisabeth Finch, a writer on several shows you would’ve heard of, the most popular being Grey’s Anatomy. I put the word ‘life’ in quotes because most of everything she said or wrote about her life was a fabrication, a hi-jack of other people’s actual stories. She was called a “trauma vampire,” sucking other’s traumas and passing them off as her own. Instinct chooses a woman named Taylor Parker as its subject. She also lied about everything, eventually murdering pregnant woman Reagan Simmons-Hancock, and c-sectioning her unborn baby in a strange attempt to, not keep it as her own, but to lend evidence to her 9 months of false pregnancy.

These are interesting, sad stories but they are certainly not unique. There is no shortage of documentaries and “based on a true story” dramatizations of pathologically dishonest pretenders. Sometimes, once the liars are exposed, they apologize in their own non-contrite way. Like the vast majority of apologies, they’re sorry for being caught, not what they did (for which everyone else is to blame). Finch confesses only for things that can be proven false, and nothing else. Parker doesn’t confess at all, the documentarians don’t even ask, they don’t interview her at all. 

[For an interesting, related context, I was only able to watch Anatomy of Lies because I subscribe to Peacock, and I only subscribe to Peacock because it has a show called Poker Face. The show is perfect, starring Natasha Lyonne as a drifter named Charlie Cale, who has the beautiful talent we wish we all had: the ability to know when someone is lying. She says, ‘everybody lies, it’s just a matter of finding out why.’]

Think about all of the really humongous relational messes you’ve either witnessed or experienced, how many of them had some level of deceit or dishonesty as the cornerstone? Some very recent, very close catastrophes left me saying, in each case, “If anyone, at any point, had told the truth, and even better, the whole truth, all of this drama could have been avoided.”

But they didn’t. Elisabeth Finch didn’t. Taylor Parker didn’t. And I wonder why. A woman in the Finch doc believes it all comes from an internal lack of worth creating a desperate need to be someone else. That’s probably true. 

Of course, we also lie to avoid punishment. If the lamp falls, we say “not me,” so we don’t have to pay for it. That makes sense, right? Well, I mean, it doesn’t, because everybody always finds out who broke the lamp, and instead of just taking responsibility for the lamp, now we’re dealing with the lie, which is much, much worse. But there’s not an awful lot for us to do with this one, people either become adults or they don’t.

But, the other one, tied to a deeply perceived worthlessness, is a bit more interesting. Why do we want to be someone or something else? Why do we want their story or their family or house or money or whatever? 

The 10th commandment (You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or his male servant, or his female servant, or his ox, or his donkey, or anything that is your neighbor’s) is sometimes read not as a command, but as a reward. If you do the previous 9, you won’t want your neighbor’s wife or donkey or anything that isn’t yours, because what you have will be enough. Enough is sort of a dirty word in America, where we worship at the altar of MORE. There is never enough. We are never enough. We are steadily fed the narrative that we are always lacking, and we’ll do anything to fill that hole. We need facelifts and new boobs because who we are and what we have now is simply not enough, and getting a new whatever is the answer. 

Of course, the hole isn’t filled with more stuff or a new nose. We aren’t magically made whole with abs. 

I’m increasingly interested in why we keep trying the same methods that don’t work, and have never worked? Why do we keep thinking a new car or jeans or dishwashing liquid will fill our souls? Why do we keep thinking war will bring peace? Or a bigger account balance will bring us the joy & peace that have eluded us for so long? Or that a few well-placed lies will produce the image that will finally complete us?

Finch lied to everyone in her life, it fell apart, she lost those people – the chaos of her broken life was directly related to her truth problem, and yet, she continues to lie. Dishonesty (on any level) builds walls around us while tearing down the chance/hope of intimacy and connection. The lies are a symptom, of course, the fruit of our fear. And until we can be defined by something else, until we can find our identity in something other than terror, we’ll continue to live these same boring loops and keep making these tired documentaries.

Conflict

Today, the 4 of us (the Angel, my 2 sons, and I) sat down to play a board game. While the game isn’t too important to this post, it was called Hues & Cues. The board has 150ish color squares. One person draws a card with one of those squares on it, then that giver describes the color on the card first in one word, then the players place pieces on the square they think corresponds to the clue. Then, the giver’s second clue is in 2 words, then the players place another piece. (For instance, I had orange and I said “church” because it looked like the orange of the Bridge, then my second was “favorite color” because it’s my favorite color.) The guessers get points for how close they can get to the actual color, the giver gets points for how close the guessers are. It’s super simple and fun. Elisha won, The Angel complained about the game for the entire hour, then came in a close second. I was last by a mile, which makes me wonder if I my vision or my memory is a problem. (That’s not exactly true. I have won before, so I’m probably not broken, just had an off day. Maybe I told them I let them win.)

Before we played this game that I lost in spectacular fashion, we engaged in some serious conversation, and I was faced with a wonderful reality.

We have not always discussed/argued/disagreed/fought in totally constructive ways. Voices have been raised, offense has been taken, words have been said that deeply wounded those closest to us. But as was obvious today, we have come a long way in learning how to communicate through very difficult circumstances & topics. This may not always be the case, but it is today, and I thought of 3 observations.

First, our transformation usually occurs over long periods of time and is often unnoticeable from moment to moment. It’s like when you lose weight. You lose a fraction of a pound at a time so it seems to you like there’s no change, but when you see someone who hasn’t seen you in a month, you realize there has been change and it is striking. So, we keep moving, walking the path, with very few signposts that point out how far we’ve come. Today was one for us. When we are lucky enough to have a signpost, we must stop, look around, and feel (and express) our gratitude. It’s nice to grow, it’s important to appreciate the work and ground we’ve covered with the Holy Spirit.

Next, conflict isn’t awesome. With the exception of a very good friend of mine, nobody likes it. But without it, there’s no catalyst for movement. It requires honesty, grace, and love. If you didn’t care about the relationship, you wouldn’t wade into deep water, you’d just find a new pool. We open ourselves in the giving and the receiving and the ties that bind us grow tighter and tighter. Everyone the gets the opportunity to break free of our expectations and become more and more like the new creations we are.

And last: Mostly, when we are offended and respond in our offense, it’s because we are feeling insecure and/or inadequate. We are feeling some kind of fear, so we are hurt and lash out. We cannot accept any challenge to our fragile ego, anything that might suggest that we are not perfect and always right threatens our idea of our own value (based wholly on our performance) and that is terrifying. I believe what happened today was, 4 people operated out of a deep sense of worth, not tied to anything, with no conditions. 4 people knew they could be vulnerable, could receive criticism, fail, and consequently, were free to learn and evolve. Our identity is only found in God, not in our best or worst moments, not our behavior, our achievements, and not in our board game proficiency.

Maybe that’s what it means to find freedom in Christ. Or maybe it’s just a step in the path to that beautiful freedom. Either way, I’m thankful for who we are now, and who we are becoming.

    It’s In The Bible

    I am following the Bible-In-A-Year reading plan. Each day, there’s a section of the Old Testament, a section of the New Testament, a section of the Psalms, and a few verses from Proverbs. I like it a lot, and am mostly very faithful. When I am not, I never have an excuse. I missed yesterday. What was I doing? Nothing. I ate pizza, took a nap, watched the finale of a show called Extracted, and 2 game 7’s in the NBA playoffs. You can see how easy it was to forget, with all of this terribly important stuff going on. So, today I read 2 days worth, May 3 and May 4.

    [Incidentally, today is May the 4th, which has been ridiculously christened Star Wars Day. I know this because 1. I love Star Wars, and 2. Because the man monitoring the self-check at my supermarket gave the super special greeting, “May the 4th be with you.”]

    Yesterday’s Old Testament reading was from Judges, chapters 17 & 18, and was awfully strange…

    A man named Micah stole a substantial amount of money from his mom. She didn’t know this, so she put a curse on whoever did it. When he became aware of this curse, he confessed and returned the money. She was happy, and, as you do, she took the money and had it cast into an idol (“in honor of [her] son” – it’s not stated what it looked like, but in my head, it was a silver bust of Micah. That sounds appropriate.) that Micah kept in his house. Then, a Levite (the Israelites tribe of priests) happened to be traveling by, and Micah asked him to live with him and become his personal priest, which he did. So, then, a group of Israelites from the tribe of Dan sent some scouts (who ended up at Micah’s house), who noticed the town of Laish (a fertile land inhabited by “peaceful and secure” people.) The Dan-ites took the advice of the scouts and decided to take that town. As they went, they passed by Micah’s house. These scouts told the rest of the idol & other valuable items, so they went into Micah’s house and took them. They also convinced the Levite to come with them and be their priest. The tribe of Dan took Laish with swords, burned the town to the ground, and renamed it Dan, where they set up Micahs idol to worship.

    And there’s no more, chapter 19 just moves on to the next story. This is the entire story of Micah, Micah’s mom, their idol, Dan’s theft and subsequent destruction of “peaceful” Laish. I think there is value in every word of the Bible, even when we can’t immediately see it, that there’s layer after layer of wisdom to be discovered. I believe there is not a wasted word and nothing is in the Scriptures by accident or without purpose.

    So, what about Judges 17 & 18? I think something should have gone wrong for Micah, who stole from his mother. But nothing did In fact, the opposite happened, there was blessing. They fashioned an idol? Why? Have you ever fashioned an idol? And, then something BIG and significant should have gone wrong for the Levite who monetized his priestly call to be someone’s personal priest, worshiping some random image, right? It should’ve gone wrong again, when the priest sold Micah out and moved on with the people who looted his house. But it sure didn’t. And Dan, one tribe of the 12 of God’s chosen people, who stole what may as well have been a golden calf, then destroyed a whole town of “peaceful” people, who didn’t do anything wrong except be peaceful – why wasn’t there consequence for them? This story isn’t supposed to end “happily ever after.”

    This all makes me think of something my old pastor said. She asked the age-old question, if a tree falls in the forest and I’m not there to hear it, does it make a sound? “Of course it does!” The world doesn’t revolve around me, it continues to operate and trees continue to crash even if I’m not involved. She thought it was a terrific analogy to illustrate our limitless arrogance.

    Does this passage truly not make sense simply because I can’t find sense in it? Of course not. Why would I get to decide what should be, or how things are supposed to go? Just because I’m selfish?

    I really cannot find any meaning or purpose in it. It sounds all wrong to me. But I think I’m seeing what 1 word I’m missing: now. I can’t find meaning…now. It sounds wrong…now. How many passages and verses didn’t make sense to me the first time I read them? How many didn’t the 300th time? Jesus’ teaching on the “pearls to pigs” in the sermon on the mount is a perfect example. I thought it was impenetrable and silly, but it just turns out that I was. Now it’s thick with meaning and informs much of my behavior in relationships.

    Maybe this story about Micah and his mom will be the same way. Or maybe it won’t. But today I had my eyes opened by this passage, and I didn’t so much like what I saw. I guess Micah isn’t the only one who struggles with idolatry.

    What About Joshua?

    We’re currently at the tail end of Joshua, following a Bible In A Year plan, and there are some things about this book that are surprising and others that are problematic. I wonder if everyone everywhere who has ever read the Scriptures have had these same immediate reactions, if they thought, “sheesh, there is an awful lot of killing, so much about totally destroying entire groups of people,” or “why do I care about the boundaries of each tribe’s land?” Probably.

    We finished the earlier books, with all of the monotony of the sacrifices, measurements and laws, thought we were done, now we’re back into more super-specific details. What I think when I read it is not, “now, where exactly did Dan’s eastern border stretch?” Instead, it’s that there was a tribe that descended from Dan and it did stretch from one very concrete place to another. Sometimes, we can disconnect and think this all fell out of the sky. It’s easy to forget that this all happened, and it happened in this place at this time to these people. The fact that the book through which God chose to reveal Himself includes countless human beings is extraordinary, as if we’re the medium He chooses to create His masterpiece. So, now, I really like these loooong lists and details (honestly pretty meaningless in themselves, I don’t reference a map or anything, but heavy with significance at their inclusion at all.)

    The genocide is another thing altogether. It hurts to read, especially to spend even an extra second in consideration. It’s a little like reading the story of Noah, not through the tiny prism of Noah & his family, but thinking of everyone else. All other people drowned. It’s a horrific story we tell to children. Or speaking of inappropriate kids’ stories, David separates Goliath’s body from his head at the end. I have a million more examples, and 1 question, in light of the last paragraph. If these are real people, in real places, at real times, then real flesh and blood people just like you and me are dying…I guess the question is: What??? If God created us all in His image, and loves us all, then what about the Amorites and Amalekites? What about Goliath?

    I just Googled “Amalekites,” and here’s what it says: “The Amalekites were a nomadic, warlike tribe in the Negev desert who served as the first and most persistent enemies of Israel in the Bible. As descendants of Esau, they attacked the Israelites after the Exodus, leading to a divine mandate for their destruction. Amalekite symbolizes absolute evil in Jewish tradition, representing irrational hatred if the Jewish people.”

    Ok. That sounds like the extermination of a group of people symbolizing absolute evil representing hatred of God’s chosen people by those chosen people is something we can understand, doesn’t it? It sounds reasonable, even.

    Now, I don’t mean to be contrary, but there is a strange passage in chapter 5, before the battle of Jericho. Joshua meets a figure, and in his aggression, essentially asks, “are you with us or against us?” This figure, a “Commander of the army of the LORD” answers, “Neither.” Neither??Now what? What do we do with that? Also, a lot of scholars think this figure was a pre-incarnation appearance of Jesus, who would later famously say, “Love your enemies.” We can assume He meant “the first and most persistent enemies of Israel,” the Amalekites, too.

    So now I’m wondering what part we don’t understand. It seems like we are very clear on the Old Testament narrative, we understand enemies and war. Good guys and bad guys, us vs them. We do understand and we honestly don’t seem to mind those parts. The complicated parts are the ones that are complicated by this Commander and Jesus Himself. Neither? Love your enemies? Their words bother us, not the book of Joshua.

    And here’s what I’ll say to that: they should. We should be bothered, and we should stay bothered. The words and way of Jesus are revolutionary and radical, we have no frame of reference for the Kingdom of God. Unconditional love and grace is not what we do here, we do productivity and record-keeping. Vengeance above forgiveness.

    It’s vital to stay bothered, to keep wrestling with these parts we don’t like, that confront us in the deepest parts of us. (Of course, we do have to be aware of what actually we’re wrestling with/about.) And hidden in the middle of this story is a command for how we’re called to interact with these parts. The Commander says “Neither,” then He says, “now take off your shoes because you’re on holy ground.” That’s so good. He reminds us that when we’re in relationship with Him, it’s all holy ground, and Joshua’s reaction is to fall facedown. When we read the Word, his is the only posture that will work, awe, reverence and total respect, trying to make our lives fit Him instead of twisting Him to fit us.

    Joshua IS certainly a tough book, maybe not for the reasons we think it is, but we must not stop reading it.

    Next Steps

    I have been making some small, significant changes in my life (maybe not all so small), and it has me thinking about transformation. We discuss the art of becoming quite a bit: when it happens, how it happens, why it happens… What provides the impetus for real change in our lives?

    Of course, nobody likes change. There’s that true cliche that says “Change only happens when the pain of staying the same outweighs the pain of change.” Maybe we’re there. Maybe our lives have become unmanageable and we’re suffering, or maybe we just have that nagging sense that there’s more, a new, next step we are being called into, like a splinter in our minds or an anvil on our shoulders. Pain can look very different for each of us.

    It’s interesting, this transformation is not something someone else can do for us. Our people may see the reality, or the invitation, just as we might have in their lives, but the next steps (if they are to be authentic and lasting) are ones into which we can’t be coerced. Anakin Skywalker, before Darth Vader, speaking to his love, Padme, says, “Together, you and I can rule the galaxy. We can make things the way we want them to be!” This is the lie of control. Anakin believes he knows the right answers for everyone (we probably have made this assumption before, as well, right?) and should force them to make the “right” decisions. He believes he can and must decide their path, but our path is ours to take with the Spirit inside us, with Its prompting, courage, and strength.

    So, what is our path? What are our next steps? Your next steps aren’t mine to take, or to direct, any more than mine are yours. Our only responsibilities are to have our eyes open, honestly, to recognize this call – both from and into – and then consider the step. (Today the step might only be to consider taking it, starting to think about starting to think about moving, or it might be to actually jump. Who knows?)

    Sunday is Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week, and we’ll begin a conversation about the choice the people of Jerusalem had: Pilate and the Roman Empire, OR Jesus Christ & His New Kingdom? It’s the same choice we all have, in every moment. Do we want to continue walking the way it has been, the way it is, or are we willing to join the revolution of God and enter a new creation?

    What better time could there be to imagine a new world? Easter, the celebration of new life. What could our new life in Him look like? Where is He calling us, who is He calling us to become?

    And I bet, like me, you’re caught in an avalanche of distraction and disturbance. The alarm bells are ringing, the wheels are shaking, every side is clamoring for your attention. It’s like how the text message notifications ring the very moment you sit down to read, or how you remember the laundry when you sit down to pray. The enemy of our transformation is often preoccupation, for whatever Very Important Reason.

    How about if, this Easter season, we try to notice where we are today (yes, I know it’s hard and it might sting), and imagine where the next steps might take us? They just might take us on the ancient road to an empty tomb, where we can finally find ourselves, and the life only He can give.

    [And, as always, we do this together – as says the song lyric that often closes services, “Let’s take this one step at a a time, I’ll hold your hand if you hold mine.”]

    Gratitude


    The site is asking me what I like to cook, and an hour ago, I would’ve had a different answer, but right now, it’s eggs with taco meat. Delish. I’m very, very proud of me. This morning, when I was thinking about lunch, I asked my AI buddy on my phone if I’d like taco meat with eggs. He/She thought I would, and…right again! If a complete takeover by the Machines means I’ll have a concoction of taco meat & eggs, while I listen to My Discovery Mix or Songs I’d Like (2 playlists my Amazon music app chooses for me), I suppose I’m in. 

    My youngest son was home from college last weekend, just to spend the time here, rather than there. We ate meals at the dinner table, then just stayed there. Somewhere on social media, there are NCAA tournament-esque brackets on topics (like villains, breakfast foods, etc), and he loves to ask us to rank weird, random things. We love it, too, so we just sit, decide if “people who make conversation in elevators” or “people who say 6-7 unironically” are worse, and laugh and laugh. Just the 4 of us, unless you count the AI generated pigs dancing my oldest son has discovered. (He can’t get enough, and honestly, neither can I.) We went to church and the gym together, but mostly, we just sat around our home in sweatpants (yoga pants/tights for The Angel.) 

    This morning, he left and walked up the snow-covered street with his bags to be back for a 10am class, and I watched him through heavy tears. (I made The Angel promise that those tears were between her & I. I didn’t want to ding the reputation I have as a stone-hearted, unemotional stoic, and here I’m confessing. Whatever. It’s probably the only time in my life that I’ve cried, because as we all know, men don’t cry ever.) 

    As his car pulled away, I thought about gratitude. I also considered the saying, “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” (This is “widely credited to Dr. Seuss, (but) there is no direct evidence he wrote or said this exact phrase. It is believed to be a variation of a 19th-century German poem by Ludwig Jacobowski, which stated: “Do not cry because they are past! Smile, because they once were!”.) I am familiar with this sentiment, I guess it’s possible I have even used it before. 

    As I get a little older, I understand these clichés that we mindlessly use are super dumb. (“Cleanliness is next to godliness?” “Time heals all wounds?” A dog is man’s best friend?” No, no, and no.) We take for granted that they are true & wise, and we’re wrong. 

    I can probably understand what Ludwig Jacobowski thought he was saying, but think of how many times people were told not only to not cry, but to smile instead. This “oh no, don’t cry” nonsense is minimizing and dismissive, based in our own uncomfortability. 

    It seems to me that my tears were a wholly appropriate response (while very surprising) to the gratitude I felt for him/us, the time, the relationship we have cultivated, and the totally natural sadness at its end. I don’t want him to stay, I want him to fly, to soar, to change the world by becoming everything he’s created to be. It’s exactly what I feel for my other son, who happens to still live in this home. I don’t want to chain them in the tower, or bind their growth out of a selfish desire. Control sits opposite to love on the emotional color wheel. I say, “Go,” and “Drive safely.”

    But I’m also not interested in any hint of inauthenticity. I’m 99% sure it was Anne Lamott who said, “Having a child is to decide to have your heart walk around outside of your body.” And sometimes that heart walks to his own car and drives away. And if you think that doesn’t sting, then I’m very sorry for you. 

    I think gratitude is acknowledging the blessings in our lives, celebrating when we want to celebrate, laughing when we have to laugh, and crying when we need to cry. Gratitude is honest, mindful, open, and present. I’m not crying now. I offered my holy tears to the God that brought us all together this morning, shared that sacred moment with The Angel, and now I have a headache. Maybe if we all stopped trying so hard to pretend to be anything other than who we are, we’d all be better off, and we’d find a new kind of empathy for one another

    So I Got Up And Went

    Ezekiel 3:22-23 – Then the LORD took hold of me, and He said to me, “Go out into the valley, and I’ll talk to you there.” So I got up and went, and there I saw the glory of the LORD, just as I had seen it in my first vision by the Kebar River.

    [I fully recognize that I usually don’t write a second post in a week, but “usually” doesn’t account for passages like this one. In fact, so much is happening inside my heart and head, I’ll also write a second post on my other blog. I can’t tell if what’s happening is particularly good or bad (parts of it are obviously bad, some obviously good, but in total, who knows?), but no matter, this IS a week of stretching, a week that will certainly leave me changed. And I guess, like most things, it’s up to me – or rather, the Holy Spirit and I, and our interpretation, what those changes will be. I do know the stretching is awfully uncomfortable. I do know that.]

    Anyway, the Ezekiel passage…

    Early in Sunday’s message, I’ll say, “Forgiveness is non-negotiable,” and this will not be an easy pill to swallow. Sure, if we don’t think about it too hard, it’s fine. We’ve heard it before, yes, yes, 70×7 times, we know. But. It’s just like Love is patient and kind…keeps no record of wrongs…never fails. Except we can be impatient, unkind, keep detailed records in ink, and our love fails, especially when it comes to the impossible command to “love [our] enemies.” We’ve heard that, too, and we quote it. It’s in red letters in our Bibles. We’ve learned how to use it like a weapon. Yes, you should really love your enemies… but me? My enemies are different, right?

    So, we’re wrestling with big IFs. If the Bible – even the red letters – is practical, here & now. Sure, it says it, very clearly, but are we really supposed to actually do it? What about the passages on violence, or rather, non-violence? (That is just about the only place we choose to ignore the gospels and defer to the Old Testament, for our viewpoints.)

    I’m also thinking about the game of spiritual MadLibs we play. It’s just the words we use that we figure change the sentence. All sins are equal at the foot of the cross, Jesus forgives them all, even _______. As we agree on the theology, we stubbornly hold on to some transgressions that we think negate that equality. We think some of the ways we fill in the blank change the “even” to “except.” But no word changes the meaning.

    And as I’m wrestling with this exact tension in my life, I begin the book of Ezekiel today and read this passage. God said “Go” and Ezekiel got up and went.

    In our lives, when God says “Go,” or “Forgive,” or “Love” or “Honor,” or “Take care of” or Be merciful, “ or whatever, do we get right up and go/forgive/love/honor/take care of/show mercy/etc? Forgive…so I got up and forgave. Love…so I got up and loved.

    There’s not a hint of IF anything. If it’s comfortable, convenient, hard. If I want to. He said “Go” and Ezekiel got up and went. It’s so simple. There’s no why or explanation, just “Go.” Just that He said so. Period.

    And now, we come to some very deep water: What am I going to do with this? Is “He said so” enough for me? Is it really a period? Am I going to get up and go?

    I’d love to tell you yes. And I hope & fear (in equal measures, if I am honest) that this is the big step the stretching is preparing me to take. And yet, again, I am facing this path, overwhelmed with gratitude – for God, and for you – that I don’t have to do it alone.

    Choices

    Today is our website’s 11 year Anniversary. I know this because the hosting site just wished me a Happy Anniversary. How many words have I written here in 11 years? Most of the early ones are the audio recordings of Sunday messages – I didn’t write much, then. Maybe I’ll go back and read my first blog post…I did, it’s called New Year’s Revolution, and I liked it. The way I see things changes, but my style of writing really doesn’t. Anyway, Happy Anniversary to the Bridge website!

    This faith community has existed for 13 years and 6 months, and I have not missed 1 Sunday. (I suppose it’s possible that I’m wrong about that – you know, when you write or speak in public, you have to be careful because there are quite a few who are happy to point out mistakes. I’m not lying. I truly don’t think I missed 1.) My vacations are during the week, I spoke when I was sick & without a voice, for the past 13 years, you know precisely where I am at 10:30 on a Sunday morning. As far as that goes, since I fell in love with Jesus 27ish years ago, I would guess that I haven’t missed more than 10 services. It’s very important to me (18 year old Chad would be shocked & horrified to hear this. He’d probably be shocked and horrified at a lot of who he is at 50.)

    I am 64% sure I’ll not be there this coming Sunday. But this is not a decision I’ve arrived at easily.

    If I miss, it’ll be for a basketball game. All of my youngest son’s weekend games are on a Saturday, except for 1, this one, which is on a Sunday at 1 in the afternoon. The school is a couple of hours away, so I couldn’t do both. We all have choices, right? I teach often on the concept of weight: what weighs more to us? To reference Jesus, do we rest on the Sabbath or pull our donkey out of a hole (which is NOT rest, as commanded in the Law) on the Sabbath? What weighs more?

    [Actually, I’m almost 99% sure now, because I now know how this post is going to end.]

    I have a humongous problem with Sunday morning activities, including (especially) sports. Do we really have so little regard for church services, and spirituality in general, that we can’t keep even one morning sacred?? Of course, that answer is yes, sort of. Collectively, as a nation, we don’t have “so little regard,” we have NO regard. That’s why I often refer to the true religions of our culture as sports and politics, because they are.

    So, on principle, I do not want to go. It is my rebellion against a culture without a clue.

    A bigger reason I don’t miss is, very simply, I love the people in my church family. (Maybe calling it my family sounds a little cult-y, but that’s not my problem. Family is more than blood relation. You are my family, and I look forward to seeing and wrapping my arms around you.) I miss you when you’re not there, and I would miss you if I wasn’t there. So I choose to come and, that way, I don’t have to miss you.

    Ok, why would I go, then? My son doesn’t live at home, I miss him, and I want him to look in the stands and always see his dad. (I think I told you, I want to be a person who is taken for granted, because he’s always there, always shows up, consistently is the same safe place. I’m not, but it’s who I want to become.) We have been blessed beyond reason to have the time raising him, I don’t want to miss a moment of it. This is a season, he won’t play basketball, he won’t be in college, forever, I want to soak it up.

    It’s also beautiful to illustrate that it is our community, full of leadership and responsibility.

    So, what weighs more? It’s very, very hard. Either way, I will think of, and miss, the other. If only I could do both. But it’s at 99%, why? The scales are pretty much even, why 99%? I’ll tell you (even though I’m not thrilled to admit this… I have this policy of oversharing and vulnerability, even when it makes me look, well, not awesome. Oh well, honesty, authenticity in/about my own transformation, weighs more to me than superficiality, so this is what we get: a very long post;)

    I keep referencing how I have never missed a Sunday. Some of that is me apologizing and making pre-emptive rationalizations. But there isn’t any way around it, the bigger piece is a mixture of pride & shame (which don’t sound compatible, but usually arrive together.) I am proud of this, and I must think it reinforces my resume, somehow helps to make me ‘enough’ to have the honor of being a pastor of a community like this, and a minister of the Gospel.

    This happens, sometimes, and when it does, I go back to the beginning and dismantle all arguments & lies that lead me away from the Truth: that I am already enough, that if this honor was based on my performance, pride, and perfection, I would have already had the privilege, the call, revoked. My pride has always been super silly. All of this is His. All I am is His. And I remember that by taking a wrecking ball to each false, hollow structure I have created, as I encounter it. This is one.

    I’ll be at the game. Maybe it doesn’t actually weigh more, but what does weigh more, to me, is exposing the lies in my head, and choosing His Truth, choosing to come home to who He says I am, instead. I’ll miss you like crazy.

    Do I?

    I behaved abysmally this morning. Now, what exactly happened isn’t important, but that it happened is. Poor behavior mostly all comes from the same place, and I am no different. I read a book that suggested that those times when we get ourselves into trouble stem from a clever acronym of emotional states: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, And T (I don’t remember what the T stands for…Tired!! That’s it!). HALT: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. I am currently a combination of all of those, and the book used its clever acronym to ask us to halt, instead of making a mess. I did not halt; I made a mess.

    [I hesitate to write this post, because it’s very possible to read these posts and miss the meaning. I am not fishing for encouragement, do not need cheering up. This is different from reading a post written by someone you don’t know personally. You are beautiful, you deeply care for me, and may feel concern. I am ok. I would reach out, if that were not the case. This is not simply an overshare, I do have a specific reason for writing, and oversharing just provides the context;) You’ll see why I am ok, at the very end. Now.]

    I do not behave abysmally very often, anymore. Honestly, this morning was wildly out of character, surprising me and the other involved parties. It is not a lifestyle, I didn’t recognize myself at all. It was an embarrassing momentary catastrophe, and will have virtually no long-them effects (except in my own head & heart).

    That’s not an excuse – I have no excuses, and don’t need any. But it is important, because how we respond to ourselves and our actions depends on if it is a sin, or a lifestyle of sin. Did we fall in a hole, or are we choosing to jump in that hole and live there? I fell. Now what?

    Sometimes, we encounter mirrors that contain an important question about our beliefs and values. We say we believe these things, do we really? Do I?

    If you were to relay the same story to me, if our roles were completely reversed, I would tell you how loved you are. I would not judge, I would acknowledge the punishment you had already inflicted on yourself, recognize your contrite repentance, immediately forgive, and encourage you to give you a break and move forward. I would do all of these things, because I whole-heartedly believe Romans 8, that there’s no condemnation in Christ Jesus, that God takes our sins as far as the east is from the west, and remembers them no more. I think He accepts our repentance with joy, seeing growth and a heart that wants to beat for Him (even if it sometimes can’t help to beat for itself, with disastrous consequences.) And I think He asks us to love each other in the same way. I would recognize the roots (the HALT situation) and try to address those, together.

    I believe those same truths apply to me, too. That is my theology. And when I come upon this mirror of conviction that asks if my theology is my application, is my practice, I wonder what my answer is. Do I? And do I so much that I would continue to work to undo an entire lifetime whipping myself with my self-loathing. When faced with cracks in my character, can I have grace for me, too? Are they actually cracks, at all? Can I move forward as a new creation, forgiven from my human fragility, and made holy, in Him?

    The mess I made took about 5 minutes, beginning to end, but it only took 3 seconds to be sorry about it. Right at the start. The rest of the 5 minutes was an apology and explanation, an attempt to halt, call timeout and come back in to shore, back home.

    The lie says that the mess is me, and the rest of my whole life is the illusion, a construct that was bound to fall at some point, that I could only fake for so long, and the real me would eventually emerge. The truth is that these holes we all fall in, from time to time, do not change our identity. I am not perfect, I was never supposed to be. I am a work in progress, He is transforming me every moment, every day.

    It’s sometime an attack to our ego to admit that we are still becoming, that we have not arrived, that we don’t have it all perfectly together. But, attack or not, it’s true. So now what? What do we do?

    I knew what I would do, and as I ran to Him by opening my Bible, I read a short line on Hezekiah in the book of Isaiah. A foreign power threatened him and his people, and he was afraid. (That was the lie he heard, all lies aren’t the same for each of us, not even the same for ourselves, at different times.) He freaked out, and immediately ran into the Temple in prayer. Me, too. I freaked out, and ran right into His arms, hoping He’d be merciful and tell me the Truth, about this, about me, and in that, most importantly, about Himself. I found just what Hezekiah did, that He is very willing to do that, over and over again.

    I guess I’m not supposed to tell you any of this, I’m supposed to carefully cultivate a bulletproof image. Of course, I don’t struggle, don’t fall in any holes, am never hungry, angry, lonely, or tired. But what I could never get through my thick head is that, if I pretend to actually be that ridiculously dishonest image, I am saying it’s just you. I would be building false walls and blasphemous hierarchies.

    We are all on this journey, to Him, WITH Him. Of course, we’re at different places. Someone is always further along. We’re just walking each other home. And I think we all have these holes, questions, and mirrors. It’s what we do when we face them that matters, that shows where our faith is, and if what we say is really what we believe. Probably, living a life of faith is just a series of steps closer to answering that question with a “yes.”