love

Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning’s End

I’ve coached my last game, spent my last day in the high school weight room. My youngest son has graduated, and will be leaving for college in August. My oldest son has a great job. Better yet, they are 2 of the best human beings I’ve ever met. The Angel is The Angel (and yes, it’s still very obvious I’ve married well out of my league, but that’s her problem, not mine – I say that a lot, and I really, really like to say it). The church is on solid footing, or at least as solid of footing as a ministry can be. God can call any of us in a different direction at any time. It’s best not to be too comfortable with these sorts of things. I could lose some weight, but probably many of us could/would say that. Maybe I will. Maybe not.

But the question that keeps rearing it’s bright-eyed, exciting, excited head is one I love: Now what?

I referred, in my last post, to a hope for the time & space on vacation to bring some clarity, some light in a dark hallway for the next steps. It didn’t, exactly, which is both disappointing and awesome. 

So, here’s what I’m thinking…

I am a rescued, redeemed child of God, husband, dad, brother, friend, pastor, possibly exceptional dancer, lover of everything, including this life I have been given, you and pop songs. My ministry is to love, and to tell everybody how much they are loved, what the Gospel is, and why that matters so much. That is who I am. 

Now, what will I do, in service of that ministry/life?

I am always working on the sermons for Sunday mornings, and will continue my commitment to this call to pastor our beautiful community – an increased imagination will probably lead to more Saturday evening events, and different risks, at the Bridge. There will be a focus on a marriage curriculum. I do some marriage counseling (pre- and post- marital) and will make myself available for more and more of that, in pointed, individual & group, class-ish contexts. There is a new book in the works, which will be called, We Have a Weight Problem, which is not actually about body weight. (Well, it’s a little bit about body weight. It’s more about the value we give to things in our lives and how we’d go about changing those lives.) It’s a good title, right?

I post in 2 places every week (the Bridge Faith Community, and Love With A Capital L), and may increase that frequency. I should probably do some interesting things to get those posts in front of more eyes. 

[I often treat my work as if it is a secret. I guess it’s residual ash from from setting fire to my imposter syndrome. As if I think you might not want to see or read it, and if you did, you might not like it. That’s silly. Of course it’s true!! You might not like it, but that’s ok. I don’t like all Morrissey songs, and I’m not the greatest singer of all time. I’m not for everyone, you might actually hate my work, but you might not, too. In fact, it might be cool, it might give you a new perspective, you might think it’s awesome. I’m going to stop treating these things as if they’re a fancy club, where you have to know the password to get in. I’m going to invite you to the Bridge.]

There’s a new series that will show up somewhere called “What I’ve Learned,” I just don’t know where. Maybe here. I might begin a podcast-type thing, like the old Facebook minis (10 minute shorts), but with other people and their ideas and viewpoints. I’ll follow up on the Bull Elephants (if you know what that means, you know, if not, I’ll explain it another time). I’ll make a new Instagram Bridge page, where I’ll invite you to the Bridge, and keep you posted on any-/everything else. I’ll be at our mid-week prayer group, and increase the opportunities for connection with the people I know, and the people I meet. These connections will be to counsel or coach, to provide space to ask questions and discover the answers, to study the Bible, to discern spiritual gifts, or to build & strengthen the bonds of friendship. 

I don’t think the Church is a place people come to, I think the Church is a group of people that go from a certain geographical, local home. Our ministries are in places you are, at town squares, malls, grocery stores and fields. We cannot just walk around trying to build attendance in our local churches, as altars to ourselves. Instead, we’re called to GO. Much of the next steps, as far as I can see today, are loosely tied to where I/we already are (but maybe that’s bound to be the case) . 

I am not discouraged at this. (I once would have been, and would have thrown this all away immediately.) What this means now is that I show up and am faithful with what is here in my ever-growing circles. Maybe there will be time for all of this, maybe just for one or 2. All I can be is fully present in where I am, what I am doing. But I am also paying attention to all the burning bushes, looking for the ones that aren’t consumed, because it’s often there that God gives our specific GO. 

So, what now? Well, I’ll love who & what is in my path – Jesus, you, me, everybody, this lovely creation – in the ways I can, and if (and when) my path changes, or expands, I’ll love there, too. And i’ll be really, really grateful for all of it.

…And Yet

One of the most significant differences in me, now, and me, for the previous nearly 50 years, is the amount of lies running around in my head. Before I fell in love with Jesus, one of the things I absolutely knew about myself was that I was not enough. Of what? (There’s a cool movie called The Wild One with a young, awesome Marlon Brando. In it, he’s asked, “What are you rebelling against?” He answers, “What have you got?” That’s my answer…) What do you have? Wherever it’s possible for a person to be inadequate, I was. Not a good enough husband, son, daddy, worker, athlete, not pretty enough, strong enough, funny enough, and on and on.

Then, when I fell in love with Jesus, He slowly began to unwind those ties that bound me in their ever-tightening grip. Unwind and Replace with Truth, His Truth. It’s been very nice, to feel some peace & quiet, some rest.

I’d be lying if I said I never hear those lies anymore. When I do, the big problem is that they sound so much like truth. They’re the same old lies – I can’t do it, I’m not enough, and I never will be. They deserve better, someone more…well, not me. Someone more than me.

What then? What if the perceived evidence supports the lie? Is the evidence an illusion that should be discarded? This is one of the hardest things about a life of faith: it requires trust in steps we can’t see, and distrust in steps we can.

What I am learning is actually pretty simple: patience. These lies, once you know the Truth, don’t generally hang around too long. When Jesus gets the first & last word in your head/heart, the noise in the middle can get drowned out after their initial deafening detonation.

The other big plus is the Gospel. What I mean by that is that this story is His. We can’t earn it or be great enough to punch our own tickets. So, when the lies roll in, screaming how “not enough” of whatever that I am, they can be met with a resounding, hilarious “that’s TOTALLY right! I’m NOT!!” which disarms this enemy, transforms the evil piercing attack of the lie into a reminder of the beautiful affirmation of the Truth.

“You’re not enough.” That’s right…and yet.

What would an enemy say to that?? It mostly neuters him with the sword of the Spirit, the Scriptures, and the shocking Truth of Jesus.

Of course, the ‘initial deafening detonation’ hurts. I guess the best analogy is a stubbed toe. It hurts like crazy, feels like our toe is broken, but it does go away. The pain of hitting the edge of the bed isn’t forever, it fades and is forgotten. Sometimes, it does break the bone. In that case, it lasts a little longer, but that doesn’t change the fundamental reality, that the toe is not broken, will heal and be whole again.

I’m not a good enough husband, daddy, pastor, teacher, whatever – all true. (This is what I mean by evidence. I lose my temper, say the wrong thing, don’t come through, swing and miss, all of the things that come with being a beautifully flawed human being.) These people I serve – you – are all made in the image of a wildly, passionately loved by The Creator Of The Universe. How could anyone possibly be enough for someone like that, for someone so valuable to Him? In other words, how could anyone possibly be enough for you?

…and yet.

We get back up, we move on, we show up with all we are and love these treasures of His. (By the way, we are one of these treasures, too. Imagine how He feels hearing us run down His beloved with all of our mean, nasty self-talk.) We show up the best we can, in any & all situations, every moment. You’re right, I’m not enough, not what you deserve, but I’m sure going to love you, from where I am, now. I’m going to keep moving forward, becoming more and more of who He has created me to be. I’m going to love this world of His, and I’m going to tell everyone who He is, and who we are. I’m imperfect, messy, I get it wrong a lot, I will let you down, but I am really really loved, anyway.

This is probably what Grace means to me, personally, right now. And it’s also what it feels like to have Jesus destroy the prison walls I’ve built that keep me from Him.

These Next Two Weeks

In the next 2 weeks, my youngest son will graduate from high school, coaching youth baseball will be over, and my time in the high school weight room will be over, too. Also next week, the Angel & I will celebrate 24 years of marriage together. It’s a lot to process. Last Saturday, we held an event at the Bridge for a pair of extraordinarily talented musicians, and the HS baccalaureate was Sunday evening. Today was the dentist, and tomorrow is the awards assembly.

I’m not telling you any of this because I’m particularly unique. Everybody is busy, the grass keeps growing, the wheels on the bus go round and round and round and round and round. You have these moments that you are aware/awake to the fact that they hold tremendous significance, that maybe your life will change, marking a deeply etched line separating before/after. There are much too many things on your mind to keep them all straight, but it’s the weight on your heart that is exacting the true toll.

These things are hard to hold. They are wonderful, your heart feels like it might actually explode from the joy. You cry those tears of celebration, and then, at some point, somehow, they morph into sadness. Where does that come from?? Why are you so sad? Because your life is not what it was before. Maybe it’s better. Maybe not. Who can tell here, now? How does one define better or worse? But it is certainly different. And all change is, in fact, loss, and all loss has to be mourned, or it sits in the corner of your soul (sometimes it’s very noisy, sometimes it’s quiet, almost unnoticeable), taking up space, waiting to be addressed.

But we are asked to hold them. Instead of what we would prefer to do, which is avoid them, run from them, numb ourselves so we don’t have to look at them, or simply pretend they don’t exist.

One of my favorite passages in the Bible is the shortest, “Jesus wept.” There may be a million different interpretations, but to me, this is Our Savior climbing into our complexity and staying there. He does not say (as we surely would), “It’s ok, don’t cry, you’ll see Lazarus again, watch this!!!” He knew that. But He knew what we often don’t, these tears are an integral part of the human experience, they’re necessary, honest. In His actions, He is giving us permission to be exactly where we are – more than permission, He’s encouraging us to be exactly where we are. He’s telling us that holding this life that He has given takes more than 1 hand. He’s showing us the value in presence, that here and now is more than enough.

I feel like Mary and Martha right now, so full of emotion. Like He knows how this movie ends, but He also knows I don’t, so He is weeping with me. We start with the joy, moving into and through the crushing sadness of missing something and/or someone, (of course, this is all awe at the scope of His Creation, this is all in gratitude, as it pours out of us for the time and the moments He’s blessed us with) and then back into the joy and wonder and pleasure of breathing His air and living the life He has given. He knows my love for Him, as much as I am able, yet paling compared to His love for me. He holds me as I’m experiencing all of what He’s made us to experience. And I imagine His delight as He sees how deeply I love all of it.

I don’t know what we’ll do tomorrow, in 2 weeks, or what the future holds for you or me or any of us, but I do know how we’ll do it – with both hands and our whole hearts.

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.