perspective

WAR

A very good friend asked me yesterday why we did not pray for Israel on Sunday morning. She thought it was something we should (and would) do, and she’s right. My embarrassing answer is that I simply did not know, had not heard. I read news email letters and blogs, but had not for days, and when I stood up to speak about the needs of the Church in Jerusalem in the early A.D.s, I did not know about the needs of the Jewish people in the early 2023.

The Church, and all local churches, have a duty to speak openly about everything – we can’t hide our heads from the intense glare of any subject, no matter how controversial or uncomfortable it makes us. This includes money, sex, homosexuality, politics, and on and on. This also includes war.

I prayerfully considered what to say, how to react to this heartbreaking reality. Last night I read a post on Instagram from a church in California called Mosaic, and it’s pastor Erwin McManus. Sometimes, the words of another capture our own perfectly. This is the post:

“We stand with Israel. We are all aware the conflict between Israel and Palestine is violent, tragic, and complicated. In war, innocent people die on both sides. However, the slaughter of innocent civilians including women, children and the elderly is not complicated. It is evil. Over 260 innocent Jewish people were killed by Hamas at a music festival. In comparison to the US population, it is the equivalent of murdering 9,000 citizens.

The actions of Hamas are not only tragic for the Jewish people, but they bring an inevitable escalation of violence that will result in the deaths of countless innocent Palestinians as well.

We extend empathy to the people in Palestine while condemning the actions of the Hamas terrorists who claim to act on their behalf.

We grieve with those who have lost loved ones and the comfort of feeling safe in their own homes. We stand with Israel and their right to not just exist, but to defend themselves.

We cannot believe the lie that peace between Israel and Palestine is impossible.

We stand in the gap with prayer. We pray for Israel. We pray for Palestine. We pray for peace. We pray for healing. We pray for the miraculous.”

We do stand with Israel. We stand with humanity. We stand against the horrors of violence, terror, and war. Period, full stop.

And now 2 things for us, thousands of miles away, to think about.

First, are our prayers enough? When someone is shivering outside on a cold January morning, do we walk by and say, “thoughts and prayers,” as we so often do? The Jewish people (and the innocent Palestinians, who are not part of Hamas) are shivering, freezing to death, what now? Is there anything for us to do, individually, corporately? Maybe. Maybe prayer is much, much more than enough.

Do we believe in the power of prayer to affect situations, in our lives, communities, or in conflicts halfway across the world? Do we really believe this?

That’s the 2nd – What exactly do we believe? Jesus says, “love your enemies,” what does that mean today? What does it look like to turn the other cheek, or to give them your cloak when they take your tunic? Jesus tells Peter to put his sword away, after he severs the ear of one of the Roman soldiers who had come to arrest Jesus, and ultimately lead Him to the cross. That is righteous violence, maybe the most righteous cause anyone has ever fought for, and Jesus tells him no, and then heals the soldier, who was actively participating in killing Him.

When McManus says, “the right…to defend themselves,” what does that mean? Of course, we are called to stand, to protect, to defend, but what do those words mean?

As long as we’re on the subject of words, what do forgiveness and grace mean? Do they apply? Who are we supposed to forgive “70 x 7 times?” Do we love? What does love look like in spaces like this? Does our forgiveness, grace, and love include Hamas?

They are still children of God, whether they know it, or whether they care, or whether they act like it – now what does that mean? What would Jesus do?

Is our theology realistic here, now, in 2023?

I might know what I think. I might know what I want to think. I might acknowledge that they are sometimes different. These are incredibly complex questions, with no easy answers, but it’s absolutely vital that we keep asking them.

We stand in the gap with prayer. We pray for Israel. We pray for Palestine. We pray for peace. We pray for healing. We pray for the miraculous.

“Amen. Come, Lord Jesus. The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen.” (Rev. 22:20-21)

Influence

The Halloween season is here again, and there is almost nothing I like about it. I don’t like giant spiders and killer clowns, hate being scared, and generally don’t appreciate the pall of darkness. The last horror movie I saw was Saw the week Samuel was born, who is now 18 years old. I can’t imagine the circumstances where I’ll ever see another – I turn the channel or look away when trailers come on tv.

I don’t hate handing out ever-shrinking sizes of candy to cute neighborhood children dressed like Woody & Buzz walking with their parents. But sometimes they’re vampires or clowns, and the fun of Halloween is gone.

Now, if you know me at all, just because I’m not a Halloween person doesn’t mean you can’t be. I don’t want to make clown masks or scary yard cobwebs and skeletons illegal. Enjoy. Perhaps you don’t love everything I love, either. It’s the differences that add texture and color to our lives.

There is a family who lives in my town who, every Halloween season, creates a horrific hellscape of death in front of their house, complete with life-size bodies hanging by their necks from a gallows along main street. Again, I’m not suggesting the township legislate just how creepy or disturbing anybody’s house can be, but it does have me thinking about the verse in 1st Corinthians 15, “bad company corrupts good habits,” and the many ways we’re influenced.

When my boys were very young, the Angel and I noticed a peculiar causation. When they would watch extended periods of Tom & Jerry, they would become increasingly aggressive and violent. We would put Kipper or the Backyardigans (NEVER Caillou!!!!!!) on instead, and the peaceful sweetness would immediately return.

The things we put into our ears, eyes, heads and hearts matter, they have the power to subtly (or not so subtly) change us.

I know, I know, we are not the type to be swayed. We are the exceptions. We’re “mighty,” like Thor (in Age of Ultron), unable to be manipulated, right up until the point where he is manipulated. There is a reason bazillions of dollars are spent on advertising & marketing. So, even though we are very mighty, it’s still very important that we pay close attention to what, and to whom, we are giving our time and attention.

Spend time with The Complainers at work, and see if we don’t begin seeing half-empty glasses all over the place.

We can think our marriages are boring and broken because the carefully curated marriages we see for hours scrolling through Facebook are soooooo wonderful, everybody’s perfect and totally fulfilled. Except they’re usually not.

If we watched tons of pornography, we might start to think it’s real, that sex is actually like that, or that we are actually like that.

It matters what food we put into our bodies. If we ate nothing but candy bars, that would have an effect on how we feel, how we think, what we do, right? Why are the songs we listen to or books we read any different? Or the people we follow, on TikTok or in real life?

They’re not.

The good news is that it works both ways. There are people who bring out the best in us, movies that inspire us, Instagram feeds that engage & push us forward. I think Paul probably had in mind this family in my town and their Halloween decorations when he wrote (in Philippians 4:8), “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

Here’s what’s interesting: maybe Halloween is “lovely” and “excellent” to you. Maybe this nightmare-ish scene inspires you and helps you to see the boundless creativity that God gave to all of us. Maybe you see Jesus as she plays her version of the Gospel song. Just because I don’t understand that doesn’t make it impossible. Tom & Jerry didn’t make me want to punch anyone. But we need to ask the questions for ourselves, with the guidance of The Spirit, we need to step back and look at what is going into our souls, what all of that input is doing once it gets inside, and if the effect is really a positive one.

We’ll just stay away from Caillou and clowns, though, ok?

A Short Post On Perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday Afternoons

Last week in this space, I wrote that I sometimes get the overwhelming privilege of officiating weddings. I’ve always liked weddings, because I have always really loved marriage. Even before I fell in love with Jesus, I found this particular gift of His deeply significant. I’m certain I wouldn’t have used the word sacred, but that’s exactly what I felt. In the best of situations, the space is thin, God stands with them as they make their promises before Him to each other. It’s impossible to understate the weight of this moment that will affect the rest of their lives.

Last Saturday, at a cool old barn in the country, I had the opportunity to do it again. I can be found on an app (a story too long to explain here, maybe another time), which means I don’t often know the couple as well as I’d like. These 2 were lovely, I knew that, and I liked them a lot, but at the time, as I arrived for the wedding, I didn’t know how extraordinary they were. (I could write forever, with great detail, but I’ll try to do my best not to. Try.)

The ceremony was outside on a perfect day, and as the guests filed in, they were dressed peculiarly. I didn’t know what was going on, except to say it was wonderful. I’d later ask and discover the style was called “steampunk.” As a very old man, I try to stay up on things, knew the word, had heard it before, but was unfamiliar with it in the wild. If you Google “steampunk” and choose images, you’ll see exactly what I saw.

Culturally, we are moving towards a blurry, undifferentiated everything. Nothing is set apart, nothing is special. People regularly show up late for everything, and that’s a shame, but we also show up late for weddings, and that is much worse than a shame. That is heartbreaking in its disrespect – for the couple, the commitment, and the institution, as well as for themselves. But we also now arrive dressed in t-shirts and shorts, as well. The lines defining common and sacred are erased, and in these cases, it doesn’t make everything sacred, it does the opposite.

These steampunks had prepared for weeks or months, and looked like all the money in the world. They cared so much for their friends and the day to set it aside, to make it different from all others. We should all have ‘family’ like them. Each one was absolutely stunning, fit for the first day of a new marriage.

My message is usually about the kind of love called agape, which is a love that doesn’t care if we want to. We see love not as selfish, temporary feelings and emotions, but as vital decisions made every minute of every day. This couple chose a film quotation to be read, and that passage, with lines like, “when [love as a feeling] subsides, you have to make a decision…love is not breathlessness…not excitement…not eternal passion…love is what’s left over…an art.” This “left over” love are “roots that grow towards each other.”

Then, then!!! The vows they wrote for, and read to, each other left all of us awestruck. He is not an overly gushy, public orator, but he was eloquent and soft, kind, awake to the gift he had been given. She began and spoke of love as noun, how he made her want to believe in it, but she still did not. She believes in the noun as verb, as a choice. In the most gorgeous poetry you’d ever hear, she detailed a list of “I will choose you’s.” I will choose you when we do this. I will choose you when we do that, when we feel this, when we don’t feel that, over and over, each one more impactful than the last.

When she finished, this professional officiant had no words. The right words were “please put the ring on her finger and repeat after me,” words I had said a hundred times, words I could utter in my sleep, and words I started no less than 3 times before realizing I could not say them at that particular moment.

We had not planned anything together, didn’t share messages with each other, this was solely the work of the God that was there, then, celebrating in that moment, and is also here, now, present in this moment. He moved in each of us, in our solitude, in our individual preparation (which was obviously never individual at all), to craft a masterpiece of divine love and revelation. Of course, I was speechless, how could I be anything else?

This matters today, because there are many things I don’t understand and cannot fix, that are emotionally exacting a great toll. Just one specific example of too many is the local school district, which is in ruins, crumbling around our heads as we whistle through the debris. I ask why? What is happening? What good could possibly come from this wreckage? What now? Doesn’t anyone see?

And as I ask/scream those questions, I am reminded of Saturday afternoon. I am reminded of the many previous “Saturday afternoons,” where God spectacularly revealed the Hands we were in, and were always in. If He was there, He might be here, too. Maybe instead of crumbling down, instead of falling apart, maybe these things are falling into place. Maybe to build His new masterpiece, He (or we) have to tear down the old. I’m not sure, I don’t have any evidence of any of it, but that’s what trust is, right? To have faith that the same God who brought Rachel & Brandon together and has been creating their wedding day for who knows how many years is also working in the schools, relationships and offices we think are broken beyond repair. Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe if we have eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts that work, He’s going to take our breath away, like He has a million times before.

Imagination

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

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

Others make me want to sing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How It Was Supposed To Go

Sunday’s sermon was supposed to look a different way, supposed to feel a different way. Usually, I create inside of a narrative (sometimes stated, but more often in my head giving directions). There is a thread that runs through everything, each point, connecting the verses we study like a puzzle.

Last week’s message in my notebook/iPad was not unusual in this regard. It was entitled “Loving?” and followed this framework. The transitions were in place, the pieces formed a single cohesive talk. This was how it was supposed to go, as if we were walking a smoothly paved path – even if we didn’t know quite where it would lead.

Of course, it wasn’t smooth and it wasn’t cohesive. I was pretty surprised to discover that it was much more of a series of bullet points, rather than a story. And, added to that, the natural conflict & dissonance contained in the topic (boundaries) was more pronounced than expected. Instead of a smooth path, it was a trail that was poorly marked with uncertain footing.

I didn’t like the feeling. I felt exposed and vulnerable. This was not how it was supposed to go at all. I prepare well, write and write, edit, soak in the teaching before trying to convey it; I am very careful and aware of potential turbulence or danger zones.

Each week, I say to the Angel afterwards, “did everything make sense?” Sunday I didn’t. Never ask a question if you’re not prepared for all answers, right?

Immediately following the message, in the narthex during the final worship song, it clicked in my head, the path and the connections clearly emerged. It would have been very nice to see a few hours earlier, but we don’t always get to choose.

And after a full day reflecting on the morning, that’s probably the point. We don’t always get to choose. When I say, “how it was supposed to be,” how else could my posture be but arrogant? As if I know! How is it supposed to be? Who knows? Why couldn’t God have spoon fed me that realization hours earlier? Maybe to illustrate my futile attempts to control Him…

This, obviously, doesn’t discount my preparation. I know the message backwards and forwards, so that I can be sensitive to The Spirit and to the hearts of the listeners. We control what we can, and then we release the rest. Except when we fall into the lie that all is “what we can” control and try not to release anything. Except when we decide “how it is supposed to be.” I think I know, and again and again, I am faced with the harsh truth that His ways are higher than mine.

This message, the one that felt disjointed and awkward, left the room dead quiet as we all (me too, the disruption opened me up in new ways to these truths) wrestled with, first, the fact that boundaries are just an extension of our too-narrow definition of love. Then, then: Love (agape) without action might not be (and most likely isn’t) love at all.

No story of mine, no amount of craft or artistry could clarify those lessons. In fact, perhaps craft and artistry could’ve unintentionally obstructed their impact. Maybe they needed the unsettling atmosphere to tear down our tightly constructed walls of comfort.

I sure wasn’t comfortable, my walls were certainly exposed to those wrecking balls (and many others) and agape doesn’t care. Agape doesn’t care how I think it’s “supposed to go,” and couldn’t possibly care less about my control. I don’t know that I would’ve chosen this new route. But it’s best that He leads this, and every, journey, because when we can finally let go and stop trying to strangle each second with our white-knuckled expectations, we get to experience some very sacred moments together. Like Sunday.

Agape Doesn’t Care, but I Do

I’m sitting here, still dreaming. Sunday morning, I suggested something that I often suggest: Love could/would change everything about the world we live in, on every level. So I’m dreaming about that.

I’m thinking about marriages and friendships, churches and schools. This pyramid scheme of love, where we love someone (or 2), then they love someone (or 2), allowed to naturally multiply using the agape definition, would leave modern culture virtually unrecognizable.

Without dishonoring posts & comments on our social media sites, it would just be an open space for family pictures, cat videos, and memes. Entire industries would vanish. Imagine a life free of envy, free of wanting anyone’s donkey. How different would our lives be if we were simply grateful for our own donkey’s? If kindness were the currency in grocery stores and classrooms, we would not be so afraid, hiding behind masks to keep from being today’s targets.

There was a story of a group of people keeping reminders of grudges and vendettas – what would we be able to do with the intellectual/emotional bandwidth we currently devote to bitter resentment? What about if we always protected, always persevered?

It’s a really good dream, but I think maybe my biggest problem is that it doesn’t feel so impossibly far away. It’s more like a parallel timeline that would easily merge with a few small adjustments from each of us. Like if I didn’t say those things about those people, that’s it. I don’t drag them through the mud, and I don’t feel horrible for opening my mouth. Then that negative energy never sees the light of day, is never expressed. What has been done in our impatient frustrated rage disintegrates, as we breathe and pray instead.

Sounds simple when I say it, right? It’s probably not. But it helps me “always persevere.”

I’ve already tried the other path, where I’m sarcastic, cutting, self-loathing. Where I assume the worst of you and me. Where I tear down before I am torn down. Where I am desperate and hopeless, endlessly searching for more evidence that it’s all broken beyond repair. Where it is what it is, and we are what we are.

And after that, all I felt was miserable. But loving you (and me and my neighbors and the cashier and the tv stars & politicians) and thinking about the pure, true, and beautiful makes every moment brighter. We get to choose the stories we live, and the glasses we wear through which we see our surroundings. We can choose something new and fresh. As it says in the book of Deuteronomy, it’s all set before us, we can Choose Life.

Last Night

This is what I just wrote for my personal blog (lovewithacapitall.com). I’m posting it here, for you, a little because baseball has taken so much of my time. But mostly because you care for me so much and so well, and I think you’d like to know what happened…

With this blank screen in front of me, I know what I want to say, I just don’t know how to say it. Or even if I should, Our words should be used to build, and that is usually what I try to do in this space, but sometimes the point is in our bad behavior, hidden in our our most regrettable moments. And writing anything is about honesty, especially in a non-fiction blog situation. If we feel like the writer is curating an image, what on earth is the point? Anybody can wear a mask and lie. The only way to find connection is through a mutual authenticity, and sometimes that is ugly on the outside.

Last night the baseball season ended. The first day, I sat the boys down and said something like, teenage boys are awful a lot of the time. But that’s only because they usually deal in Lord of the Flies type social dynamics. They’re mean, sarcastic, cutting. They mock and tease, try to shrink others to make themselves appear taller. This is ridiculous and rooted, as everyone knows, in fear and a raging insecurity. They wear masks to try to hide the overwhelming inadequacy in their hearts. 

Of course, this is not just teenage boys. It’s just as much women at your office or men at the grocery store. We act out of our perceived lack, and that makes us nasty and awfully dangerous.

So I tell them we will not do that here, we will operate from a different reality. You don’t have to be insecure here, you don’t have to be afraid. We’ll stand up straight, support and love each other. And that’s largely what happened. Errors and mistakes were easily forgotten, lots and lots of encouragement was poured out like water, and we won everything there was to win.

A side note: It’s not often enough that the best people are the best performers. The kindest, gentlest, most caring people don’t always win. When they do, as was the case this season, it must be acknowledged and savored. As written in the masterpiece Horton Hatches The Egg, “and it should be, it should be, it should be like that!”

Last night was the league celebration, where they got the trophies they had earned through hard work and commitment – to themselves, their gifts, the game, and each other. The second place team in the year end tournament was also there to collect theirs, as well. 

Then the coach was invited to give the medals to the players, and he (clad in sunglasses and a skull t-shirt instead of a team/sponsor/uniform shirt), wearing an uninterested disguise, walked to the front, using foul language and disrespect as weapons.

Another side note: I don’t mind foul language, not much is offensive to me, but there is a time and a place. A youth sports event, in front of the league administration, players and parents, is not the place (whether they’ve all ‘heard it before’ or not.)

He handed his medals to the players without regard for them and their work. Then as we got ours, he made a derisive comment and they all refused to acknowledge any of us, as we collected tournament and league championships, and our players received their all-tournament & MVP awards. 

It was so so sad. It might have been something, anything else if the behavior wasn’t so hollow and obvious. My heart broke out loud, I wanted to cry and give him a hug.

My question was, why? Why would anyone want to discount or diminish an achievement, any achievement, of another? But I already know. The desperate quest for proving your worth, and the accompanying terror of not knowing if you’ll ever find it, is very powerful and has crushed far more than just him.

I don’t know if my team made the connection. When we were alone, I reiterated the importance of living free of the inadequacy/insecurity that weighs down so many of our moments – I wonder if they recognized that they were given a perfect illustration of the result of a lifetime under the vicious boot of unworthiness, like the ghost of Christmas future.

As for the boys I coached, I told them they were beautiful, that I was so proud of them (championship or not), and that they were loved. I told them every minute we spent together was an honor for which I could never adequately express. Then we said goodbye for the last time this season.

As for that guy, I wish he hadn’t embarrassed himself so thoroughly. But more, I wish and pray that he finds some sort of peace in who he is and feels the familiar arms of a loving God around him, whispering in his ear that he is, and has always been, loved.

And as for me, (to again borrow from Horton and his egg), they sent me home happy, one hundred percent.

Meaningless?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elephants

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was an awesome day.

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