perspective

“Gifts”

The Buddhist saying, “the world is divided into those who are right,” is really tearing me up this week. A general rule of ministry is that we are given the “gift” of attack in the spaces we are most vulnerable, in those hard to reach places where we will be wildly uncomfortable. AND that these “gifts” will be given at the worst possible time.

I used to not really believe in spiritual warfare or the devil or demons or anything like that – I thought it was fiction to excuse our own poor decisions and behavior (which, of course, it is, sometimes). But I was wrong, I believe all of it now. I also believe that God can, and does, take these moments and transform them. We grow in/through the battlefield. And most importantly, in the fight, we see that He is there, that He has never left us alone.

Division is probably the greatest tactic of the enemy, constantly whispering our right-ness, our superiority, into our ears. Our heads and hearts are filled with “how they are,” or how to view “them.” That’s why humility is so important, and so impossibly hard.

Socrates says, “wisdom is, above all, knowing what we don’t know. He taught an intellectual form of humility that freely acknowledges the gaps in our knowledge and that humbly seeks to address our blind spots.” What we don’t know?? It’s hard to remain arrogantly superior with gaps in our knowledge, or blind spots.

And Aristotle understood humility as a “moral virtue, sandwiched between the vices of arrogance and moral weakness.” Like Socrates, he believed that humility must include “accurate self-knowledge and a generous acknowledgment of the qualities of others that avoids distortion and extremes.”

Division based on our being right is not generous. Instead, it ignores the qualities of others. And our supremacy thrives on distortions and extremes!

These “gifts,” and attacks can produce a result that is in direct opposition to the one intended. We can see them as the biggest & best evidence that we have much more work to do. We won’t need to prove or defend our imagined superiority, because we will be secure in our identity in him: loved, accepted, forgiven, and made holy. This knowledge will give is the courage to be vulnerable and uncomfortable. We won’t want to build any walls, because we will be too busy tearing them down. And we can keep taking a sledgehammer of love to the fear and inadequacy that draws these silly lines of division. And we can open our eyes to the peace of Jesus Christ, and as we do, we can encourage others to do the same.

This is (and we are) a New Creation, it’s time we act like it.

Todays

Last night, we went to a nearby Catholic school to watch a high school girls softball game. It was my first since I was at college, but that might not count. I was only there to see the Angel, so maybe a game happened, maybe our school won, maybe they played with NERF balls or in ball gowns, maybe, but who could possibly care? Not me, that’s for sure. I had been away for 2 months in California, wasting time post-graduation, and spent most of those 2 months with my brother, sister and their cats, listening to music, writing, and missing my special lady.

Anyway, last night. After an extra inning, our school won. How did I end up at a high school softball game? For a very similar reason to the one in which I previously found myself at a softball game; a girl. My son has a girlfriend who is a star. I know she’s a terrific athlete, but it’s one thing to hear it and another altogether to see it. In the extra inning, with runners on 2nd and 3rd, she came to the plate… I can’t remember anything in baseball being as much of a foregone conclusion. Baseball is a very difficult game, a “high-failure” sport, where nothing is certain. Except this. These runs would score, everyone there knew it, and a bases clearing triple later, we were all proven right.

Earlier in the day, I gave communion to some friends in their living room. (This is something I hadn’t done before, and it’s something I’ll do again.) The man is ill, the prognosis is not too great, but we shared that moment in our sadness and our care, giving each other and God our presence, the most priceless of gifts we ever truly have to offer. I told them I loved them, and left a couple of hours before the eclipse.

As far as the eclipse, the schools closed early, so my family (all 4 of us) and the softball superhero stood outside in those ridiculous looking glasses looking up through the clouds at the sun.

I’m not sure I was overwhelmed by the eclipse, or what I was feeling, but it was big and heavy and significant. Saturday, we attended a funeral for my cousin. I had the honor of speaking, and I chose to speak about my favorite passage in the Scriptures: “Surely God was in this place, and I was unaware.”

Incidentally, I have quite a few favorite passages, but this one holds special meaning to me. You see, I missed so much of my dad before he passed. And I have missed so much of you, missed so much of my cousin, and missed so much of me.

This post is full of GREAT BIG MOMENTS, but our lives are made up of what is often mistakenly called “ordinary” time. This “ordinary” time is so easily missed, and only then do we realize that it was never ordinary at all, never common. It, and we, are wildly unique and spectacular. A ticket agent’s help in Dallas who was “just” doing her job, a softball dad’s handshake, a dog laying on the floor in a living room while 4 people share communion, laughing at the dinner table, and walking outside in the grass…when did we stop realizing these things were miracles of divine presence? Love isn’t only rose petals and grand gestures, and life isn’t always extra inning RBI triples, it’s sometimes pushing shopping carts & quiet nights reading in bed. It’s not always mountaintops, it’s simply ok. And I don’t have to tell you that other times, it’s heartbreaking.

But these are our lives, each of our todays are gifts, God is in all of these places, and it’s really time to stop missing them, stop taking them for granted, believing the lies that they are anything other than wonderfully, fantastically extraordinary.

Fruit

Do you know you can get married in AT&T Stadium (where the Dallas Cowboys play)? Or have a sweet sixteen party or quinceañera? These are just 2 of the things I learned on my tour of the stadium. And to answer your question, they never addressed why you’d want to.

My son & I went to Dallas earlier this week to see an NBA basketball game, except they had rescheduled the game (I’m still waiting for a response to my email that includes a heartfelt response from Mavericks owner Mark Cuban), so we just went to Dallas. While we were there, we toured the home stadium of everyone’s favorite football team, America’s Team, the Dallas Cowboys – I wrote about it on my other blog, lovewithacapitall.com. The spoiler is that I didn’t really love it like I thought I would, but I’m not writing about that, specifically, here.

Something else happened, while I was there, that I am writing about. In last week’s post, I shared about our disappointment with the game. I have very many people (i.e. you) in my life (much more than I could ever deserve) who are beautiful and care for me in such lovely ways. One of them has a Good Friend in Dallas and offered to reach out to help us, with what I expected to be suggestions, directions for an aimless trip. I was mistaken.

We were met at a cool lunch spot by a young woman, who had arranged our day for us, booking tours and making dinner reservations. She spent the day with us, enjoying the experience as much as we did. As it turned out, she was also paying for everything (as representative for the person she worked for, the Good Friend). I can only guess what everything cost, an extraordinary sum, but the actual amount was actually sort of irrelevant, as far as we’re concerned.

What IS important, and the sermon they were preaching to us was on generosity, on our relationship to our money.

You see, Jerry Jones (the owner of the stadium) chose to use his money to create an obscene tower to the heavens, a monument to himself and his own desperate bid for “greatness.” The Cowboys might play there, but there is no mistaking that it is the home of Jerry Jones.

(You don’t have to worry, I will continue to love my Cowboys…but I will not be back to that stadium, unless I’m giving the Sunday morning Gospel message there;)

The Good Friend chose to use his wealth to give to my son & I, 2 people he had not, and still has not, met. He chose to give what he had earned to us, to give what he had been blessed with, he chose to love us. It speaks to the relationship he has with the person we do know, but it speaks more to the character of both. They are conduits. What they have been given, they will give.

Their money is a way to connect, a way to provide, to pass along their faith. Their legacy is gratitude, experience, generosity, care, ministry, and beauty. The legacy of Jones is a massive silver egg in Arlington.

In a story in the Bible, Jesus tells a rich young man to give away all he has and follow Him. The young man can’t, and walks away with only his wealth. He has corporations and empires to build, bank balances that need to grow. Money isn’t evil, it’s just a thing, a tool, that can be used to connect or to destroy. The love of money is the problem; that love is a ravenous monster that devours everything in its path in its insatiable quest for More.

I don’t pretend to know Jerry Jones, and to infer things about his character and his god may be unfair. I am not his judge, thankfully. But I don’t know the Good Friend, either. Sometimes, all others have is our fruit to express our hearts. Our time in Dallas was just a day, but the questions it asked and the contrast in the answers, will last forever.

A Heartbreaking Disappointment

For Christmas, the past several years, I’ve taken my son to an NBA basketball game. We live in Pennsylvania, so we go to a game when the 76ers play the Dallas Mavericks.The Mavericks are his favorite team because Luka Doncic is his favorite player by a mile. Last Christmas, I thought it would be amazing to take him to Dallas (his first flight) to see them at their home arena, to play a team other than the 76ers – in this case, Steph Curry & the Golden State Warriors. This was a bigger decision than it might sound, because we can’t exactly afford a flight, hotel, car, and game, but sometimes paying for a debt all year is absolutely worth it. The game is next week, and the season has gone in a direction for both that makes it a very big game. How exciting, right?

Well, apparently the Dallas Mavericks and/or the NBA thought so, too, so they rescheduled the game. The first, the one I bought and gave as Christmas gift, was Tuesday, April 2, Warriors AT Mavericks. Yesterday, I received confirmation for my tickets: Friday, April 5, Warriors at Mavericks. Tuesday, the Mavericks are now going to Golden State. My game tickets are still good, the game has just been moved. Just.

Sometimes, NFL games are “flexed” and change times or even dates, depending on the importance of the game. That is usually ok with me, because, like everybody else, I don’t think much about the impact of a dumb game on others. Things mostly only matter to me in direct correlation to their proximity to me. In other words, I only care if it happens to me. I recognize that isn’t something exclusive to me, it’s a human disease, and if we are interested enough to change, we spend our whole lives taking baby steps to open our minds and hearts to notice and understand the lives of others.

I did think of those poor suckers who have sports tickets to a game to only get it flexed, or rescheduled, away. Today, I am that poor sucker. I am not the usual poor sucker, I know full well that tv contracts drive sports leagues far more than ticket sales. And I know the ticket sales of once/year fathers & sons really doesn’t move any needles at all. Yes, I know these things, and today, I don’t care. I think it’s awful. And I think it’s awful I have to tell my boy the biggest part of the trip we’ve been planning for months has disappeared. I wonder if it’s worth it to fly to Dallas to rent a car and stay at some hotel to eat a few meals out? I wonder if the trees or sun look different there. 

Of course, like everybody else, we’d like to see the stadium where the Cowboys play… Is it worth a year of debt? If they let us work out in the team weightroom with the team, maybe. But now that I think about it, I like the Cowboys because of the star on the helmet far more than the name on the back of the jersey (at least since Troy Aikman retired). If I don’t ever do curls with Dak Prescott, it’s not a loss I’ll regret. 

When I say it’s awful, I do it in full awareness that in the eternal scope of things, a family missing an NBA game is very low. But relativity simply doesn’t matter when it comes to heartbreak. When a teenage girl breaks up with a boy, the tears don’t come less because the Middle East is in a perpetual war. The diagnosis of a 90 year old woman in Tennessee certainly isn’t as big as the bombs in Ukraine that will kill many, many more over a line on a map (yes, it’s an oversimplification, but you get the point). But it’s not inconsequential to that woman in Tennessee or to her family. It’s seismic and earth-shattering. The boy who has lost his first girlfriend will find another, we all know that, but it doesn’t make it better, it never has and never will. 

Our pain is just that, ours. And it doesn’t have much at all to do with relativity. Yours is yours and mine is mine, and one moment spent comparing the 2 is pointless and disrespectful. A broken finger is not a fractured rib, but it still hurts like crazy. We talk honesty here, right? How many times has it made sense when a friend told you what they were walking through but didn’t want to tell you because others have it worse? None. Not one. Not now, not ever. 

Because we hurt doesn’t minimize their suffering. We can hold them all in our great big beautiful hearts. I’m angry and disappointed over this ticket catastrophe, but in no way do I confuse it as being a monumental global disaster. Or even as any bigger than it is. But I do think the God that created and loves me cares. A LOT. And is disappointed withus (not in us). I bet He saw that reschedule and all of the fathers & sons who will lose the experience and was disappointed. I bet He saw me when I read that email and longed to hold me with His human arms and ease the storm inside my chest. And that’s good enough for me.

So maybe I’ll see you in Dallas, on Tuesday, at some awesome bbq restaurant or working out with the offensive line. And maybe I won’t.

One Word

I have another website I write on. It isn’t always explicitly spiritual. Of course, it is spiritual; It’s me, and everything is spiritual, but I don’t always use specific verses and I sometimes just write about songs or movies or books. Anyway, the platform that hosts both sites (WordPress/Jetpack) gives a prompt every day, in case you don’t have anything to write about and want to write anyway. This is not usually a problem for me, but it does sometimes set me down an interesting path I didn’t know I wanted to walk. Today I was going to write about a familiar subject, the painful freedom of boundaries, how hard they are to keep, especially as we are all such soft-hearted loving souls. We don’t want to set them, and we second guess, sometimes being terribly rough on ourselves, and go back on them frequently. You see, I have a very good friend… (this is the conception of so many posts – my filthy pens and the beautiful people that are in them with me.)

The site prompt today is “What is one word to describe you?” Or we can modify it into “What one word would you want to describe you?” because I don’t want us even thinking of going down some self-loathing path the enemy has paved for us.

So, who are you, in one word?

It’s a coincidence (if you believe in that kind of thing – another very good friend calls them God-incidences) that I have been thinking about this, in a slightly different way. I want to be the kind of man who is taken for granted (I know that’s 3, but it’s my exercise, so I can use a phrase if I want). I want everyone to know I will always show up, give them my heart, my best, that I will love them, that they are safe and cared for. I want everyone to know I’ll make lots of mistakes, and say sorry & mean it afterwards, and then I’ll grow. I want my boys to forget to thank me when they have a game and I am in the stands, because I am just always in the stands. I want that to describe me. I want everyone to know I believe them, believe in them. That I don’t care who they think they were, but that I care a great deal about who they are, who they will become, Whose they are. I want everyone to take for granted that I am a Genesis 1 (and not Genesis 3) man.

But what started me down this path lately, is that when I am hurting and breaking, I begin to resent that I am taken for granted. It’s the big warning light on my dashboard. I consider closing the pen door, and opening it only for people who say “please,” and “thank you.” This is only for a second, maybe, or a day, but it magnifies who I am created to be, Whose story I am in, and quickly opens my eyes to who I want to become. Painful moments looking into a mirror are terrific teachers. There doesn’t have to be judgment, just conviction and a gentle invitation into this new creation I am. (That is a fairly new understanding.)

Who I want to be doesn’t change. The Gospel doesn’t change. I just turn a little, and I no longer like those sometimes smooth clean wide paths of the enemy. They are not for me, not even close. And I repent. (That is an example of a word I don’t use too much on the other site – I’d say “turn around,” but you know that’s what Jesus meant then, and what I mean now.)

So, what’s your word (or phrase)? Tell me what it is. I’ll show up, I’m safe, a terrific listener, and will be awfully careful with you. And you can take that for granted, please.

Colors

The youth group is going through some changes. (Sometimes, God answers prayers before you even know you have a need for the prayer.) A few weeks ago, the new leader asked a deeply profound question, and I’ll ask it here. We’ve asked variations of it a million times, but maybe that’s the point. Keep asking, seeking, knocking, until our perspective changes, until we change.

So, he says look around this room at all of the blue things. Then, after a few moments, he has them close their eyes, and he asks them, “Ok, what did you see that’s red?” Right?!!? Of course, nobody knows. There are plenty of red things, but none of them were looking for red things.

This is so important, because we find what we’re looking for. How many times have you been looking for that specific lost sock, and then, days later, look for a different sock, and remember that you’ve seen it, but can’t remember where? We find what we’re looking for.

Once, I went to a lecture/sermon given by a famous author named Shane Claiborne with some friends. He blew our minds with his talk of kindness, grace, simplicity, loving like Jesus in real life. His was one of those talks that left you different. You might not yet be sure how, but the you that walked out was very different from the you that entered. The 4 of us went out to eat afterwards and talk about what just happened, and ask important questions of ourselves: What did this mean, for each of us, how would we react tomorrow/next week/next year, what would our dreams look like now, and on and on.

One of us, though, stated, with more than a little offense, “I just wish he wouldn’t have slammed the Catholic Church like that.” None of us remembered anything like that, and when pressed, she referenced 1 line in the middle of a long story about something else entirely. We often find exactly what we’re looking for. We were going to be inspired, and she was going to be offended. We each got what we paid for, that night.

When you leave your house today or tomorrow or Sunday morning, what are you going to be looking for? Will the world be a dangerous place where people are selfish and untrustworthy? You will find that, to be sure, because some of us are dangerous, selfish, and untrustworthy. But what if your eyes were open for the opposite? What if you are searching for beauty and generosity and love? That, too, is there. I would suggest in far greater supply. But I would, wouldn’t I? Because, for me, that is always the “blue” of the exercise.

The question is, what are our blue’s and what are our red’s? Are they what we want them to be? Are they authentic, or are they simply reflections of someone/something else? Are they serving us well? Do they inspire us to love more and more, or limit us? Are our world’s bigger or smaller because of our blue’s? Do we need a shift in our perception?

Sure, it’s scary to reflect and question our tightly held ideas (that have become like our childhood security blankets, soft and comfortable), but we only grow when we choose to have the courage to turn the lights on and discover/re-discover the people we’re called to be. And things are much less scary with hands to hold.

Is It Worthy?

Last week, I wrote about dancing, romancing, and “killing grooves.” Today, it is occurring to me that there are some fundamentalist religious communities that seemingly exist to “kill the groove,” who don’t want us dancing and certainly would not encourage romancing. I don’t know why.

We make tons of rules and laws for living proper Christian lives, a simple remake of the Torah, based on our modern societal and moral characteristics. Am I allowed to dance? How close? How fast? How long? And with whom? My instinct is, obviously, to say, “YES!!! Dance!!! Dance now, today, and forever, for as long as we can!” But maybe that’s also pretty simplistic. Maybe none of this is that easy. Or maybe it’s even simpler.

We really like complex, and that’s probably so we have plenty of excuses and exit ramps. And we also love the idea that we are the ones who understand the complex, like a 2024 Gnosticism. “I have the special knowledge required to be a “good” Christian.”

[Here’s something I just noticed: I have never used the word “Christian” before without much consideration. It’s a loaded word with baggage in many of our lives. And we’ve somehow shoehorned it into a completely different part of speech, making it an adjective. It’s not, it’s a noun. It is a follower of Jesus Christ. And, like many other words – like church, sin, etc – to leave it behind because it’s been misunderstood as problematic is foolish and in desperate need of reclamation. We follow Christ, we are Christians. Nice.]

Ephesians 4:1 says, “live a life worthy of the calling you have received.” It is, at the same time, simpler and heavier, clearer and more open to interpretation. The question we all are invited to ask, through this verse, is, “is this (action, thought, word, post, meal, practice) worthy of my call?” And maybe it is, and maybe it’s not. Maybe you can have a drink with dinner and I can’t, based on a host of different factors. Maybe I can dance in a hot sweaty small room with flashing strobe lights, and maybe that’s a horrible idea for you. Maybe you can have an Oreo and I can’t. And timing is important, too. Maybe it’s time for you to add and maybe it’s time for you to subtract, and maybe the thing to be added or subtracted is the same thing.

I can’t tell you if you can dance or how close or for how long. I can’t say if those things hurt your soul and heart and take you farther from Your Creator. Maybe they do. And maybe they do today.

Of course, some things are always beneath us. Addiction, abuse, objectification, oppression, deceit, infidelity, and on and on, are unworthy of our status as children of The King. There is no circumstance where they are not, and that’s why we feel so gross when we participate in them.

This maybe business, this “live a life worthy” of your call, is not easy. It’s not a handbook that tells us in black and white. That might be frustrating, but that’s purposeful, too.

We can never forget that the point of all of this is relationship, a life lived WITH Him. We can’t do it on our own, weren’t supposed to, so we hold His (and each other’s) hand and say, “is this worthy?” We rely on Him to guide us, to show us where we’ve compromised, to tell us again and again who we are.

Then, we just have to believe Him. And dance. Or not. But probably dance.

Thankful Again

My last post was on the 8th, which is too long between conversations. That post was about a high school basketball game (sort of), and you may be interested to know that in the meantime, the local high school boys basketball team made the district playoffs. That was a pleasant surprise. What was not quite as pleasant was the result. They were soundly beaten by the higher seed, and as I sat watching the wheels fall off, I began thinking about gratitude.

This morning, our local mechanic called me with some terrible news about my car. I had a very reliable Ford Focus for roughly 15 years that I loved more than a reasonable person should love an inanimate object. So, when it reached the end of it’s life, of course I’d replace it with another, newer Focus. What I could not have known is that the first Focus was the wild exception. Ford Focuses (Foci) are rolling trash cans – at least the later year models, before they were put out to pasture. A basic Google search (which I did not do…) returns a long history of recalls and transmission defects. The terrible news is a price tag that is much too high. In retrospect, this isn’t a surprise, it’s just the latest in a long line of too-high price tags for repairs.

I’m fairly certain it’ll be the last, though. Before I pay another one, I’ll set it on fire and roll it into Memorial Lake. Incidentally, if you happen to be looking for an as-is money pit, I have a Ford Focus that I’d part with for only the remaining payments. Message me if you’re interested.

Now. I’m angry at my poor decision to purchase such an albatross. I’m angrier at Ford for the sick joke they’ve played on me, a loyal customer. (I’ve had only Fords since I was 16; an Escort, Probe, the Greatest Focus, and this current wreck. The Greatest Focus was the only wholly positive experience.) I’m not angry at my mechanic, they’re trustworthy and seemingly sorry for my plight.

Immediately after the terrible news, as I was screaming, alone in my wife’s car, my mind turned to Tuesday’s playoff game and gratitude. The team was lucky to get into the playoffs, the boys are healthy and some of them are quite extraordinary at the sport. Do you know how rare exceptional athleticism is, how this gift is something most people in the world would love to have? Can you imagine what so many would give for the privilege of getting trounced in a playoff game? We are so lucky to go to a school with sports like this, safe travel, parents & fans that can attend. Of course, it’s disappointing to lose, but the real loss for me was my perspective (even if only for a few minutes).

And we have 3 cars. Only 18% of people in the world have 1, 10% of Americans don’t have a car at all. And we have 3. I can pay the too-high bill. I work from home, and got the terrible news as I was driving home from the gym. I took a hot shower, put on clean clothes, and ate breakfast. Samuel is home today putting together a massive LEGO set. I really like him – which is not something to be taken for granted. I have to love him, but he’s really wonderful to be around. I would want him to be my friend, if he wasn’t my son. I’m able to drive the Angel’s car while mine is in the shop, which means I take her to work and pick her up, which is no problem at all. She’s the best, so far out of my league and ridiculously more than I could ever deserve. And I get to kiss her at drop off and pick up.

This is the trouble with gratitude, for me. When the terrible news comes, my vision narrows until I can only see the terrible news. The challenge is to notice this myopia and adjust my perspective, until that period where I am lost is shorter and shorter. I’m not convinced that we can eliminate it altogether, but we probably can reduce the time we check out of our real lives full of blessing. We can compress the disappointment of losing into a few minutes, and then regain our perspective. The Bible says to always be thankful, and maybe that’s a bit much. How about if we are thankful now, whenever now is, so that when we inevitably lose the plot and aren’t too thankful for our rolling Ford Refuse, we can always start again, here, now? And maybe our verse can be “always be thankful, again.”

Those People, pt 2: Sports & Sandals

Last night was a big high school basketball game. Our local high school hosted a hated (as hated as high school rivalry is, which is to say, manufactured and superficial) rival school, the winner would go to the playoffs, the loser would not. The teams are very well matched, the schools are mirror images. The officiating was abysmal, again, and had more of a role in the outcome than any of us would like. The good guys lost, in overtime, in a too-stressful, exciting, if not overly well played, game.

There is no reason to write about that, nothing unusual or noteworthy – in sports, people & teams win, and others lose. Lessons are learned, we develop (or not) through both results.

However, what happened after the game is what I want to tell you.

High school kids are mostly the same, loud, and loudly obnoxious. We don’t think they’re all that similar, but that’s because these are ours and those aren’t. We think their student section is worse, absolutely horrible, their players and coaches are unsportsmanlike, and they think the same about our student section, players and coaches. It’s situational blindness, and it’s common in all -isms.

Our student section was boisterous and aggressive, their players played to that increased energy. When their player hit a 3-pointer, he’d turn and glare at them with 3 fingers raised, which threw our kids into a frenzy. It was hot and noisy and passionate and looked like we were heading for a bench clearing melee.

The game ended, emotions soared, our players cried at a missed opportunity where a game was won/lost in 1,000 different ways and could have easily gone our way. They may look like adults, but they are 16 years old. They are kids, and we can say it’s just a game, but at 16, everything is of the highest importance. Do you remember having your heart broken, thinking you’d never recover? That you would never love again? That she was your soul mate, your person, and there would never be another like her? And now we don’t remember her name or what color her eyes were. We held strong opinions on trivialities, fought over pro football teams, and made list after list of best albums (and whoever didn’t agree was wrong, and was only embarrassing themselves.) A basketball game does matter, A LOT, to a 16 year old who had sweat for months, or in the case of my boy, the last several years, thinking, dreaming of this moment, and to come up short is absolutely devastating.

They would be forgiven for an angry outburst or moment of regret.

After moving through the line, shaking hands, their players moved quickly in the direction of our bleachers… We held our breath and waited.

We’ve been talking about divisions, right? And how we build our walls so high and thick to emphasize the difference between US and THEM. We are right, obviously, and they are wrong. And this week’s quote/question was about if our relationship with Jesus, His sacrifice, His Kingdom was more important than any and every difference we have with others.

What would these pretend distinctions lead to, in a high school gym in Pennsylvania? We already know, have read countless news stories and watched too many new stories, where it has already led, so many times before. We already know we’ve too often chosen our walls over Jesus.

So, what happened? They shook hands, smiled, appreciated the terrific environment for high school sports, affirming the discipline, effort, and skill of the contest. They celebrated the experience they were privileged enough to share.

Then, afterwards, they all met up again to talk, as friends might, with more that united them than could ever divide, in the hallway on their way to the bus.

I watched, with tears in my own eyes. Sure, from the loss and my boy’s crushed spirit, but also from this gorgeous picture of the Sandals of Peace. If we can just keep our eyes open to the divine all around us, I think we’re probably treated to beauty like this, to the sight of God’s Kingdom breaking through into this hurting world, more than we can possibly imagine. We just get so cynical sometimes, believing the darkness will never lift, believing that we’re mean, nasty, untrustworthy and irredeemable in our broken-ness. We can close our eyes and lose hope, but sometimes, in an unlikely place, we see that our faith has not been misplaced, that Jesus, and love, wins.

Those People

Sunday, we discussed a gigantic question that sprang forth from a quotation by David Guzik in his Bible commentary.

Guzik wrote, “If the Lordship of Jesus Christ is not greater than any difference you have with others – be it political, racial, economic, language, geography, or whatever, then you have not fully understood what it means to be under the Lordship of Jesus.” And the question was, “is it?” Or “Has it?” Or something like that. Have we decided that our wholly arbitrary love of the Dallas Cowboys and hate of the New York Giants is bigger and more important than a cross and empty tomb? Or where we live, or what we do, or what we think about the tax code? Are there places in our lives where we use the phrase that can so easily expose the innermost parts of our own perspective, “those people?”

Then, as so often happens, I was immediately faced with a situation that confronted me with the implications of living a life without walls, and free of “those people.” It’s a bit of an occupational hazard, but more than that, it’s a human phenomenon. When we decide to consider our own patience, for instance, we immediately receive opportunities to practice that patience, where we can easily see where we are deficient.

A boy on the basketball team is academically ineligible for the rest of the season and playoffs. He is very likable and a nice basketball player, and he is also lots of other things we might infer from his situation that takes him out of the game. And probably those inferences are the gate to a path we don’t belong. Maybe those inferences are right, too. But does their rightness matter?

Inferences invite us to look at their motivation from across the room, empathy asks us to imagine from inside their skin. Jesus asks neither. Jesus asks us to love them, without thought of motivation.

Now, as a side note, it can be important teaching & learning to explore the behavior of others. In addition, it’s vital to practice empathy (whether we are gifted with it or not) to make connections and allow us to better agape someone else. We can use another person as case study to look inside our own motivations. They become, in effect, mirrors. It’s not gossip (unless it is), it is curiosity and accelerates growth.

But back to this boy. When I heard, I was disappointed and frustrated at the impact upon the team. I inferred, and began the foundation on a wall that separated us. In my initial reaction, I was one thing and he was another, both of which are completely irrelevant, “under the Lordship of Jesus.” In this Kingdom, we are not different in the least, we are both children of the Living God, created in love, by love, and for love. He’s ineligible, I wasn’t (but could have been as a high school junior), but neither matters in the way Our God sees us, and the way we are called to see each other and bring peace.

Now, is it ineligibility, or is it the party designation on our licenses, how we maintain our yards, cars, and garages, or our habits and/or personality quirks? There is no us & them, only we.

To be honest with you, it’s uncomfortable and a real nuisance when this happens. It’s just eligibility on a high school basketball team, I’d like to leave it there, just once. Offhand thoughts and comments might not be windows into our souls. Not everything is a matter of divine significance. Except, of course, that it is. And that is kind of a pain in the neck.

The choice we’re asked to make, that plays out in a bazillion different ways, several bazillion times per day, is simple (yet never easy), “He is either the Lord of our lives, or we are.” Now what?