love

Reputation Management

Mark Manson wrote this, in today’s mass email, “Your actions reflect who you really are. Your words are simply reputation management.” Reputation management?!!? That’s as perfect of a phrase as I have ever heard, and one I think I’ll use until everyone think is it’s mine, and mine alone. I’ll never give him credit again, after this post.

In Sunday’s message, we discussed honesty, authenticity, and the overwhelming temptation to create images of shiny, perfect people who have everything together. Social media is the only logical extension of this, it had to go this way. We finally made a place where we only show the parts of us we decide you can see. There are no missed shots on Instagram. There are no zits or awkward pauses, no bad lighting, no pictures where we aren’t looking. It’s awesome. When the aliens come, they’ll know that we have achieved the pinnacle of human evolution.

Of course, that conclusion will be as honest as we are. This has always been an obstacle of ours. We like to think the Bible isn’t too relevant, anymore, but it is. Solomon wrote to ancient people, and may have been writing to us, now, here, today. Actually, Genesis 3 is just as on-the-nose as it ever was. We will seek to find our worth in our work and/or relationships, to our own assured destruction.

Over and over, God addresses this, explicitly, in words, and implicitly. in which books were included in His collection of holy works. He doesn’t want empty ritual or mindless routine. He doesn’t want pretense or masquerade. He wants us. Me & you & your neighbor. He wants all of us, as we are, the worst parts as well as the ones we like. He wants the burned, ruined meals alongside the ones we post. I think He probably likes the hundred thousand missed shots even more than He celebrates the ones on Dude Perfect.

So, yes, it’s all over the Scriptures, and we still try to avoid looking out of control or imperfect. I wonder why??? We say things and do others. I want to lose weight, and this morning, I bought a box of Pop Tarts. Those things don’t live together in loving peace and harmony. When I tell you I want to lose weight, I think I am managing my reputation. I want you to think I do. I want you to think that is important to me. I think I want me to think that, too. But my actions say something else altogether.

Hm. I really love this discussion. I guess I now really love uncomfortable conversations, and I bet I know why. Uncomfortable conversations really only happen when we set aside our fears (at least a little), sit in our vulnerability, and begin to talk about who we really are and what that means. What do we really value? What do we really want? I often hear that word in my head, when I speak or write… really????

“I really love this discussion.” Really? You really like to think about the parts of us that hurt and make us want to run and hide? That make me want to run and hide? Really?

Maybe.

But that word reminds me of my other favorite question, “What now?” They both lead us into dimly lit rooms and dark paths where we have to trust that we might not actually be lost, at all. We might just have our eyes closed as we follow Our Creator, like it’s our birthday, and when we open them, we’ll have to deal with a whole new reality. What could be more exciting and hopeful and terrifying?

It’s very good we’ve been given each other to hold onto when we open our eyes, isn’t it?

To Pause

Today is Good Friday. When I was young, most stores were closed. Good Friday was a holiday. (At least, that’s what I remember.) Sundays were, too. Nothing happened, really. We’d eat meals together, watch a game on tv together, or go outside together.

[I just wrote “Nothing happened, really,” and then I proceeded to describe the most important things in our lives. Nothing happened? Anyway.]

These days when business (and much of everything else) paused forced us to pause, as well. We could breathe, rest, be renewed.

I used to deliver medical equipment, and then I did that and what I’m doing now (being the pastor of a faith community), then I left that job to focus solely on the Bridge. I found, at the delivery job, that I had time on and time off of work. It was a difficult transition, because now there was no “time on.” I worked from home, when I did, answered phone calls when they came, met with people when they could. There was no “time on,” which meant there was no “time off,” which meant all time was equally appropriate for work.

Sundays were our “time off,” and now, there is no “time off.” No time to unplug and go outside, no time to read books or play. There’s also no time to think.

Today is Good Friday. With the exception of Resurrection Sunday (and perhaps Christmas), there’s not a more significant day in the life of a human being, each created in the image of this loving, gracious God. This is the day of His selfless sacrifice, the exchange of His life for ours. One perfect, divine life given for all the lives. What does that mean? Have we ever stopped to truly think about the weight of today?

Tomorrow is the Saturday In Between. The day after the horrific drama of the crucifixion. It’s like the Sundays when I was a kid, nothing is going on. With nothing to do but think and reflect, can you imagine the overwhelming hopelessness? Everything they thought was true, turned out not to be true, at all. The One they thought would fix everything was broken, murdered in the most public of executions. He was their Teacher, Mentor, their Friend. Now what???? What could they do now? Where could they go? Sadness isn’t a strong enough word to describe their despair. Their probably isn’t a strong enough word to describe their despair.

…But Sunday is coming… The day when everything changes.

I’m only writing to ask, to encourage, us to pause. We don’t get to do that in our world where there’s no “time off,” only the oppressive march of time. The beautiful rhythm of Genesis has been replaced with the breakneck speed of modern progress and productivity.

To reflect on today, on the tremendous, unthinkable sacrifice of Jesus Christ is to celebrate our lives. Before today, the story was a story of separation & death. Now, it’s one of reconciliation and LIFE, real life. Each breath, kiss, taste, flower, orange, tree, breeze, photo, song, slice of pizza, laugh, smile – they’re all proofs of life, the life He gives.

The Life He gave, today.

So. Pause. Feel the hurt of Jesus, crucified. And feel the exhilaration of our redeemed lives. Practice gratitude, because that’s all there is to do, this Easter season. And then do it all again, every season, because that’s all there is to do, then, too.

Resurrection

The homework this week was, essentially, to pay attention. Pay attention to our lives, the small, subtle, seemingly insignificant prompts and choices that bombard us on a moment-by-moment basis. These prompts usually skate by, unnoticed, as do the choices, which we will often ignore. Then, we wake up and it’s days, months, years later and we ask, “How did I get here?” as if we’ve been blown by the wind to spaces we never meant to go.

It’s sometimes hard to see any ability to steer our own ships. We can feel out of control, swept along in the endless ticking of the clock, as the world batters us with circumstance and situations we didn’t ask for and don’t particularly like. We’re in a consistent state of fear – our internal fight-or-flight mechanism is always triggered, reacting, never ever acting out of intention. We put out the fires that spontaneously erupt.

The homework is an invitation to investigate if all of those fires are truly ‘spontaneous.’ If we really aren’t asking for the circumstances and situations, and if we don’t actually like them. Are we blown about by the wind, or are we simply acquiescing to the wind, without anchors or roots? Have we forgotten to wake up? Forgotten to lean in and engage?

Resurrection means coming back to life after death, and now is a great time to talk about what that means. Jesus Christ was killed, crucified, and, 3 days later, was resurrected. In His sacrifice and empty tomb, we are given new life. Through Him, and Him alone, we are reborn.

Now, what does that mean in our lives? Can the lives we’ve allowed to exist on life support, each day the same monotonous loop, live again? Can our relationships, our marriages, friendships, families, which have grown stagnant and distant, rise from the grave? Are we really this powerless, or is it the delusion that accompanies a death of hope? Are we made to be this afraid, constantly stressed, anxious, overwhelmed? What if the world (nations, communities, etc) needs us to show up, fully present, and we can’t, because we’re numb, checked out, fully sedated by comfort, convenience, inside bubbles of self-interest?

Everything. YES. YES. NO. NO. Then the world is missing something/someone absolutely vital and will not be whole, until we do.

The homework is my way of asking us to look around. But it’s not mine, at all. I believe the question is built into every book, chapter, verse, and word of the Bible, asking us to acknowledge our design to live, and live again. To love again. To refuse to accept death as “just what it is.” To hold a revolution against the world that continues to lie, telling us that if the tomb was empty, it has nothing to do with us, our lives, our relationships, our hearts, today. The world that lies, telling us that there are no prompts or choices, and that, instead, we are the insignificant.

The homework in the Scriptures is to open our eyes, wake up, and see them, and us, for what they are, and to see God for who He is. The homework is to see the question crackling all around us. Who is He? Who are we? And what will we do now? The homework, I suppose, is to say YES, and see that we can be resurrected, too.

Characters

The site is wondering, if I could be a character from a book or movie, which one would I be?

Well, I have always wanted to be Superman or Luke Skywalker. And, with the terrific portrayal in the MCU, I can add Captain America. Those are who I wanted to be, and as I look at them now, they are characters with very little conflict. They’re squeaky clean and always good.

That’s why Star Wars fans had such a problem with The Last Jedi, the avoidance & moral ambiguity of Luke Skywalker tainted his reputation. The film is my favorite of the bunch, mostly because, as I get older, I recognize that everyone has those gray areas. Captain America keeps most personal things a secret and is a horrible friend. Superman… well, if you would call sleeping with Lois before marriage a moral flaw, that might be the only one, but he is Superman.

When I read High Fidelity, by Nick Hornby, I could see myself in Rob, the record store owner with relationship issues. I still can, in lots of ways. I will sometimes get my priorities mixed up, misplacing pop music and culture much too high in the hierarchy of values. I can receive too much of my worth in the way others perceive me, too. But he’s also funny and cool and loves (people, art, and things) easily. I feel like, in real life, we’d really like him.

I can happily also see me Kung Fu Panda’s Po. I’m fairly paunchy, hate cardio, own action figures, love violence and noodles. I have studied my own dragon scroll and have found there is no secret ingredient in me, either. I am just me, and have found that absolutely, wonderfully freeing. But I also make a mess and eat too many cookies. 

In the Bible, there’s a disciple named Peter. He speaks quickly, without thinking, and is often wrong. He’s zealous and excitable, he probably talks too loudly and too much. There’s a moment when Christ is transfigured, and Peter is one of three to actually see it, and instead of being present to this sacred glimpse of the Divine, he wants to build altars to His God and this space. He wants to do something, fix something, explain something. He wants to prove himself through what he can/will do, through his devotion. He fails in big spots, chooses the easy, comfortable way, and likes things to be his way. He also loves Jesus with every ounce of himself. He wants everybody else to love Him, too. He is the rock upon which Jesus can trust to build His Church. After the resurrection, when he sees Jesus, he jumps right out of his boat and swims to the shore. I’d like to be a rock Christ can trust…but otherwise, I can certainly relate to this person in a Book.

I guess that’s the difference between a boy and a man. I can see me in Rob, Po, and Peter – the good parts and the bad. I can hold the different sides of being human, I appreciate their flaws, and love them deeply anyway. Maybe this mirrors our own journey. We want to have superpowers and win all the time, so we can’t look too hard at the cracks in our self-created images. But now, as a grown up, I can see my bad, aged skin from a life lived, and I don’t hate that skin anymore. This skin is mine and tells the story of me, then, and me, now. It tells the story of God’s creation & grace: in spite of the mess I’ve made (and continue to make) of His work, He loves me desperately anyway. He sees tremendous value and beauty in that skin, in me, so maybe I should, too. 

I wanted to be superheroes and Jedi knights when I was young(er), I don’t want to be them anymore. I don’t really want to be anyone other than who I am, only who He’s created me to be, anymore.

A Delusion

We talk an awful lot about a 2 Hands Theology, right? That just means the human experience is complex and complicated. Almost nothing is just 1 emotion. To look at one example: When you have a baby, it’s amazing, exciting, hopeful…AND… it’s terrifying, overwhelming. It’s also the end of that stage of your marriage, where you could pick up and go anywhere, anytime, without days and hours of planning and a packed diaper bag. It’s the best. And this monumental life change is also the loss of who you both were before. It’s a great change, but all change involves some sort of loss, and every loss must be mourned. To ignore either hand is to eliminate half of your life, it’s pretense, and it’s pretty unhealthy.

Now. Every day holds this same invitation into an authentic, engaged life. Your friends move, people pass away, relationships end, you’re promoted, your book comes out, the doctor calls, and on and on. It’s a BOTH/AND life that we lead, and we are wonderfully present.

But sometimes, it’s a lot, isn’t it? Sometimes, it feels like the hand that holds the pain, sadness, and overwhelm parts is heavier than the joy & celebration. Sometimes, it seems the scales tip, our shoulders slump, it feels like an anchor is attached to our hearts, dragging them underwater.

Most people run from this darkness, pretending that the clouds are not just lined with silver, but made of gold. We pretend that the sadness is a lack of faith, a dismissal of God’s goodness & sovereignty. It isn’t, it’s honest, overflowing with a faith in a Creator that would be big, awesome, and loving enough to take it all with us. In His mercy and grace, He weeps with us.

That’s what we often do, run from the suffering. And other times, we fall into the delusion that the dark side is winning, that the hand that holds the pain IS actually heavier. This isn’t true, either.

In much the same way that 1 negative comment can eclipse 15 positives, the pain is loud, intense, and obsessive. But that doesn’t mean the other hand has disappeared. And that isn’t natural or healthy. It’s a 2 Hands Theology, very very rarely only 1.

So, when it’s raining and feels like it’ll never be sunny and dry again, how do we reclaim our full perspective, that is faithful, beautiful, and authentic? The answer is the same as when we skip through the streets in a monsoon, pretending we’re not wet: we open our eyes, look up, look around. And in the opposite case, when it might be tempting to fall, we look to the other hand. Because simply because it seems that the scales have tipped and the anchor is permanently fastened to our soft, lovely hearts doesn’t make it true. The hand that holds the wonder of each other, the blooming flowers and blinding sunlight, the abundance of gifts and blessings, is still there, hasn’t gone anywhere. We just need to notice, and say thanks. Gratitude is the antidote to despair, it always was, and it always will be.

God doesn’t take us out of the rain, He holds us in it. But He also doesn’t say that it’ll never stop raining. The resurrection tells us that there’s a day coming when it won’t rain, when there will only be 1 hand (and it’ll be His.) But until then, He’s there with us, loving us, not for our myopia or our faking, but for everything we truly are.

Both Trash Collectors And Hoses

After service, a brilliant woman who I am thrilled to call my friend said to me, “we’re garbage collectors, picking up the trash on the road to Jesus, then becoming the hoses that wash it down.” How great is that??!!

Of course, this makes no sense, if you hadn’t been there. In the last few months, I’ve made 2 specific analogies. The first is that we are conduits for the love of God. He provides the love, filling us, transforming us, then we become hoses that His love flows through, getting all over everyone. The second, last week’s illustration, was of a path to a door. God has built the house, set the table for the feast, built the door, then paved the road to that door. We don’t do any of that, He does. But, as we’re studying in Paul’s letter to Titus, it is our job to partner with The Spirit to clear away the obstructions that we so often set on this path to Him. We set up this spiritual obstacle course, in so many ways, then we are tasked to remove them. I like my analogies, but the picture she painted, tying the 2, was so good, I badly wished I had made it.

I’m telling you this story for a few reasons. 1. Our small community has so many fantastic talents, it never ceases to surprise. This is a testament to the abundance of God’s blessing. The leap is not a huge one to assume that we all are overflowing with gifts, just sitting, waiting to be unlocked and taken out of the package and played with. That’s what I have always guessed – it’s nice to be affirmed in every interaction & conversation. 2. We are a nation, a world, a galaxy, a Church, of priests. I happen to have a position called ‘pastor,’ but I am absolutely not the only minister. All of us together, using our individual, unique interests, passions, gifts, skills to reach others IS the walking, talking, living Great Commission. I don’t, can’t reach all people – as you know, I am not for everyone. Maybe this woman isn’t, either. Or you. But all of us together… It’s like the outside of a Venn diagram, where a number of circles overlap in the middle, signaling a shaded area of similarity. All of our separate circles, millions of them overlapping in many places (sex, color, hometown, taste in music or pizza, etc) – the only big overlap, as The Church, is Jesus – create an enormous mosaic/flower-type shape that covers the entire human race.

I use movies and songs and dead lifts and baseball to connect us. This woman connects these concepts easily, using her wild creativity to make it easy and memorable. You should be me for a Sunday, and hear the incredible insight I do as people are leaving, sharing their thoughts with me. My sister gave me the analogy of going out past where the ocean water turns from light to dark, where you can’t see the bottom – can you even imagine how many to whom that will make the perfect sense that starts them on a journey that leads to that feast? A very good friend works with numbers, another with flowers, others use guitars, voices, dance, organization, fabric, my mom makes the greatest lemon meringue pie this world has ever tasted.

Sure, all of these celebrations make me appreciate and love you. I pray you know how great you are. It’s a great pleasure/privilege to notice them everywhere, in everyone. But it makes me appreciate and love this God of ours even more. I see His attention, care, and love in each of us (I can now even say, “including me”), my mouth hanging wide open in wonder and awe. I am grateful, 100%.

We simply need to open our boxes and play. To paraphrase everybody’s favorite singer, Morrissey: Trash Collectors and Hoses of the world, unite and take over!

The Security of Inadequacy

This is the 2nd post this week, and that’s fairly unusual, but so is the Bible passage I read this week. These posts are like the concept of tithing for me. Give 10%, but you can give more. It isn’t a ceiling, it’s more like a floor. I post once a week. I only have one entry on my to-do list that says “Bridge Post,” but that doesn’t mean the internet police will break down my door if I open this app for the 2nd time. (Actually, it’s quite the opposite, the internet – and especially this app – wants me to post EVERY DAY!!! We’ll call this a compromise.)

In 1 Chronicles 13, David tries to transport the Ark of the Covenant, in the way he figured was appropriate (but was not according to the specific laws of the Torah.) The Ark teeters, Uzzah reaches out to steady it, and is immediately struck dead. David is angry, and very afraid. Now what? In chapter 15, they transport it again, according to law, without incident. He even says, “we failed to ask God how to move it in the proper way.” No excuses, no blame. This was a natural consequence of transgression. There was punishment, but not from an unhinged, wrathful God, this punishment was meted out by the sin itself.

Sometimes, I eat lots of cake and, as I’m doubled over with a vicious belly ache, wonder why God is so mad at me.

When my boys were small, I’d say, “If you hit your brother again with that bat, you’ll lose it and have to have a timeout.” Inevitably, they’d lose the bat and have timeout and ask why I was so mad at them, why I wanted to punish them. It wasn’t really my decision, it was theirs, wasn’t it?

David is called a “man after God’s heart,” and that is always such an interesting conversation, because it’s not like he was perfect. The Scriptures are very clear about his shortcomings and poor decisions, and remain clear about his standing as a faithful follower/friend/person of God. We often think God is holding a clipboard in His arms, noting our missteps, looking for reasons to be mad at us, when the Bible seems to show a very different God; One who has destroyed the clipboard and is, instead, easily forgiving, and filling His arms with us.

What made David so extraordinary is obvious in this Ark situation. His heart is contrite in his error, he’s humble, repentant, teachable. He offered no justification. Yes, he was angry, but he never pretends to be more than human. I wonder who/Who he was angry with, God or himself? Maybe even Uzzah. Anger’s best characteristic isn’t it’s logic. David was angry when he was angry, afraid when he was afraid, then did the next right thing. How do we move this Ark? Then, he did that.

The Angel and I used to have arguments, BIG arguments, and I’d forget the beautiful picture we were painting. I’d only be able to think of the piece in front of me. I couldn’t apologize, I had to win. I’d show her. You would not have used words like “humble, repentant, contrite, teachable.” You also wouldn’t have used careful, patient, or particularly loving. You wouldn’t have called me a man of God. You wouldn’t have called me a man, at all.

You WOULD have used stubborn, prideful, myopic, small.

So, we still have arguments, but we now aren’t so caught up in proving our right-ness, that we can’t write a chapter 15, “I’m sorry. I am/was wrong. We/I failed.” What a cool, free-ing place to be. Where we no longer have to build our résumé’s to defend our worth. Where we can simply rest in who we are, put it down, and take the next step, do the next right thing.

I heard a sermon once where the big phrase was, “you don’t have to live like that anymore.” We don’t have to live with the insecurity of inadequacy. The Bible (in this story of David, and countless others) testifies to the peaceful security of inadequacy. There is a bigger masterpiece at work. We don’t have to be right, or do it our way. We just have to move the Ark.

Opportunities

I am an excitable sort of man, running hot and cold. Like with most things, it’s both the best and worst thing about me. Over the years, I have learned to, first, reluctantly accept this characteristic, then drop the ‘reluctantly,’ and finally mostly loving those parts of me, even when they hurt or causs a great deal of tension or misunderstanding between us. Yesterday, even I was a little surprised how high my emotions were running.

I’m not sure I should have been surprised.

What I see all around us is division and incivility. Battle lines have been drawn, and, as Gandalf commands the Balrog in The Fellowship of The Ring, “You shall Not Pass” over these lines. Nuance and complex, complicated positions have been thrown out with manners, we point fingers, call names, and race to see who can dehumanize the other first. [I started to write, “Outside of the church it’s even worse.” I thought it was a clever twist, a way to shine a light on our own behavior, as we all assumed the characteristics were, of course, about them. But I realized I wasn’t clever, I was just wrong. It’s not worse outside of the church.]

In this environment, I can’t help but feel the crushing disappointment of our (as yet) squandered opportunity. In the Scriptures, the followers of God are commanded to be “set apart,” to think, look, and act differently. Different from who we were, but also different from the rest of the culture. We’re called to carry packs 2 miles, wash each other’s feet, and love our enemies. These examples are shocking behaviors, totally counter to the rest of the culture. They will know us by our love, right? But I’m more and more convinced they won’t know us at all.

Of course, I don’t agree with everybody. As a matter of fact, we might passionately disagree. I have strong, big opinions, principles, positions that I hold. Do you remember all of those conversations we had about the concept of “weight?” Not our bodies on bathroom scales, but the weight of priority. Essentially, we will surely reach a place where we have to choose between things, and the only criteria is the value we place on those things. Will I (1) rest on the Sabbath OR (2) rescue my donkey, which has fallen in a hole? Will I (1) stay up late tonight, sleep in tomorrow OR (2) go to bed so I can get to the gym early tomorrow morning? Do I (1) save my money OR (2) go out with my friends? And on and on, a million times a day.

So, let’s say you & I don’t agree. We could fight out loud, shake our fingers/fists, stop talking to each other, you stop coming to the Bridge (or wherever you go, whatever you do, whoever you sit next to), and you can tell your other friends that I’m dumb, uneducated, and heartless. I’ll tell my other friends the same thing about you. That’s 1, and it’s the preferred method of our current situation. Corporately, we’ve decided it’s a good path. We like it.

Or.

We could ask each other why we think what we do, and actually listen to each other (because we love each other), we can try to understand (we don’t even have to change our minds, just hear the other), continue to sit next to each other in front of the cross (because we love Jesus, and because we love each other), worship together (because we love each other), we won’t tell our other friends anything nasty about the other (because we are choosing to continue to love each other). That’s the 2nd.

I think if we choose the 2nd, cats and dogs living together under God, it would be so wildly new and radical, we would stand out like neon lights in a field of total darkness. We would draw others, like mosquitoes, who would seek our light, and then, we would point them to the only light we know, the source of the light we’ve seen & experienced, the only light that could bring something so new and wonderful, which is Jesus, who can (AND WILL) breath neon light into everybody. It’s a gigantic opportunity to change the story, to cut new paths. We can go a different direction, but it’s still the same old roads. We desperately need new roads.

Messy?

So, what I’m thinking, after several weeks of relational discord and the nagging sense that “things are not as they should be,” is that I might not agree any longer. Maybe things are exactly as they should be.

First, of course they aren’t. We have been made for eternity, made by a loving God for shalom in paradise, walking with Him, filled by Him. We are living in times bathed in tears, our own and everybody else’s. There’s war, hate, and on and on and on, we are covered by a general blanket of anxiety, rage, suffering, and unworthiness. The idea of sin simply means “missing the mark,” which implies that there is a mark, this is not it, and as long as we are missing it, everything cannot be “exactly as they should be.”

However. We have a trinitarian God, 3 in 1 – this God expresses Himself/Themselves in perfect community, a divine dance, selflessly giving and receiving, Each pointing to the Other; Father, Son, And Spirit. One of the most interesting implications of this wildly unfathomable Trinity is that, being made in His image, we are made to be in relationship. This is clear in the Garden, before the fall, when the man alone was called, “not good.” Eden is not Eden without relationship, without others.

But, then, given that fact, what do we do with the fact that other people are awful? We think that we could really follow Jesus, really give ourselves to Him, truly offer all of our mind, body, and soul to Him, without the mess of our neighbors. (We all know loving our enemies is almost impossible, it’s hard enough to love those who live in the same house!!!) It would be easier for you to maintain pure thoughts without my dumb jokes and bad decisions, wouldn’t it? (Imagine how hard it is to live with me.) If politics is just the science of the way we organize ourselves in a society, the absence of people would mean we have no need to organize a society… wouldn’t it be much more reasonable to be peaceful, patient, and disciplined without politicians? And we could all breathe like monks if there weren’t any other cars/drivers on the roads, right?

When the refrain of a social life is “messy,” it rings like a lament. Messy, messy, messy. Like milk spilled on the floor, out of order, disruption. But the more I see & experience of God, the more I see that a life without brothers & sisters or enemies or politics or getting cut off on the road, or even my dumb jokes, isn’t following Jesus at all. It’s just another way we “miss the mark.” [A full life is marked by periods of intentional solitude, rest, and communion with God – but a life built on solitude is absolutely contrary to this amazing creation. It’s not good to be alone.]

Withdrawal isn’t an option. We are made to be a blessing to a world in pain, even as we are a part of that world in pain. We are made to be agents of healing, even as we are sometimes the ones inflicting the wounds. This is all part of the human experience. Jesus asks us to be peacemakers, this implies that we will be living in a world that is not at peace. And sometimes, we are the ones who upset the shalom. All of this is true.

And if being human is inherently messy… If all of our relationships, even the best of them, are messy, at times… Maybe it’s ice to start looking at the mess not as something to be eliminated, but to see it as what it is, life. A full, beautiful, present life IS messy. It has always been. Maybe it was always supposed to be. Maybe it’s the primary vehicle for our sanctification. Or to put it another way, how do we learn patience if not for those who test our patience? How do we learn the loveliness of difference if not for the different?

Yes, we are awful. And yes, we are the greatest. One day, this creation will be totally redeemed, no more tears, hate, or pain, but until then, instead of trying in futility to rid our yards of grass and dirt, maybe we could just lay down and roll around?

Fresh Eyes

Everybody needs a fresh word, sometimes.

Here are some of the lyrics from a song, “Fresh Eyes,” written and performed by Andy Grammer: I got these fresh eyes, never seen you before like this. My God, you’re beautiful. It’s like the first time when we opened the door, ‘Fore we got used to usual…So suddenly, I’m in love with a stranger. I can’t believe that she’s mine. Now all I see is you with fresh eyes, fresh eyes…

There isn’t really any subtlety here, as far as I can tell. He wrote this to his wife. How deep does the phrase “before we got used to usual” cut? We all can point to the things that, once, changed our lives, and now are just…ordinary. I can remember driving to the Angel’s apartment at college to pick her up for our first date, wondering what I’d do about the birds (much larger than butterflies) in my stomach, scared if I’d have to pull the car over to throw up. It’s now 25+ years later, I no longer drive to see her, I see her every day – she’s the first one I see in the morning, the last at night. I kissed her goodnight when I’d drop her off, when we were dating, now I kiss her goodbye at her car door in the morning, and hello at the front door after work, and every other time I can. Like Andy, I can’t believe she’s mine. She’s out of my league, but that’s her problem. When it comes to her, I am grateful to have never lost my fresh eyes.

So, this song is about our wives, but it’s also about everything else. I have these orange flowers next to the pond just outside of my back door that are so beautiful, they could probably knock you down, and I almost never go outside to see them, or even stop to notice them when I bring the groceries inside. They are “usual.” There is a song called “Brooklyn Bridge,” by Alex do Leo (the hook is “come on, won’t you kiss me on the Brooklyn Bridge,” and it’s consistently surprising anything could sound that good) that is absolutely perfect. I’ve heard it 5,000 times and can hear it anytime I want, and rarely do, anymore. It is usual. I could list many more. I wonder how many “usual” things are in our lives, “usual” simply because we forgot how extraordinary they actually are.

And what about the stories of our lives? We can forget how beautiful we are, how talented and full of promise we are. We get trapped in rote cycles of behavior, thinking/believing, and lose our hope & imagination. These lives (overwhelming gifts from a Loving God) become obstacles to be endured, instead of experienced with breathless joy and wonder. Why is that? When did we get so used to usual???

Last Sunday, I was sitting in the front pew at the Bridge before anyone else arrived, reflecting on what we’re building in our community. Do we ever forget? And treat it like it’s an obligation or “have-to?” Like it’s the usual that we’ve gotten used to?

Flowers, songs on the radio, church services, family meals, laughter, phone calls, basketball games…these explosions of the divine are everyday miracles, certainly not the mindless routines we so often take for granted. Just because we’ve held that hand for so long doesn’t make it any less awesome than the first time. If we’re totally honest, it really makes it more awesome.

Sometimes we need fresh words to see the truth of our reality, of our promise, of our story. And sometimes we need to speak those words, bringing new worlds into focus. And to speak them, we need to see them. We need fresh eyes. This may seem daunting, but if we learn anything from the resurrection and the redemption/renewal of all things, it’s that nothing is ever just ‘what it is,’ dead bones can live again, and everything can be new again. Then, “all we see” will be Jesus, the Gospel, you, me, us, them, all of this, with fresh eyes.