"But the Lord said to Samuel, 'Do not look on his appearance, or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.'" -1 Samuel 16:7
"They say blood is thicker than oceans, still we box our brothers in. I find hope and it gives me rest. I find hope in a beating chest. I find hope in what eyes don't see. I find hope in your hate for me. Have no fear when the waters rise. We can conquer this great divide." -Great Divide, Hanson
In the past 10 years, 1/3 of all of the couples getting married met online. A THIRD! The world is certainly changing.
About a year ago, I decided to jump into the pool and try this thing out. So I filled out a couple of profiles on a few different sites. I filled out some simple information about myself: my name, height, favorite foods, dreams, job, etc.
Every morning I'd get e-mails from these services with the profiles of a few potential matches. And I'd get the same information that I'd put into mine. And from that information, I'd end up trying to construct an idea of what these girls were like. What are their dreams? What wakes them up in the morning? What are they passionate about? Are they fun to talk to? I was trying to deduce all of this from some simple demographic information on an online profile. I was trying to deduce who they were and what they were about from a few facts.
But one time, for no reason whatsoever, I decided to ask one of these girls on a date. And she said yes! So we went and got dinner and ice cream. And a crazy thing happened. She was NOTHING like the girl I expected to meet. She was nothing like the girl I had imagined in my head based on her profile.
I gave up pretty quick on the online dating thing, but I did learn a valuable lesson.
People are complex and complicated. We're not just one thing or another thing. We all have labels. We're men or we're women. We're college graduates and dropouts. We're black or white or Latino/a. We're young or we're old. Some of us vote Republican. Others vote Democrat. And yet we're so much more than these labels.
We have so many labels to define us. And what often happens is that we surround ourselves with people who fit our labels and fall into the same circles we fit into. And unfortunately, we usually set boundaries around ourselves to push away people who aren't like us and don't look like us and don't love the same people we do.
We expect people to be one way based on one or two pieces of information about them.
In the Old Testament, the prophet Samuel is sent to Bethlehem to find the next king of Israel after it becomes clear that Saul isn't going to cut it. So Samuel goes, and he finds Jesse and says, "Bring out your sons, because one of them is going to be the next king."
So Jesse grabs his first son, Eliab, and brings him before Samuel. And Eliab looked the part. He was strong and strapping and brave and tall. You know, the things kings are made of.
And just as Samuel is preparing to anoint him with oil as the next king, God whispers in Samuel's ear, "Not so fast! You're looking at all the wrong things," God says. "Yes, I know he looks good and looks like a king. But I'm not looking for someone who looks the part. I'm looking for someone with the right heart."
Samuel was looking for all the wrong things. So Jesse brings out his other 6 sons, and they all look good, but Samuel keeps saying, "Not quite it." And when all of the sons have passed, Samuel asks Jesse, "Aren't there anymore?" (As if 7 sons isn't enough?!?!)
"Well," Jesse replies, "there is one more, but he's not the one you want. He's my youngest, and he's out with the sheep watching the flock."
Jesse thought so little of David that he left him in the field! He was sure one of his older sons would be what Samuel was looking for. But God was looking for something else. And when David arrived, Samuel saw his future king and anointed him with oil.
David didn't look the part, but he was exactly the kind of person God was looking for.
A couple hundred years and a few pages in the Bible later, we come to a story of three wise men traveling to Bethlehem looking for a newborn king. (Sound familiar?) And just like Samuel, they must have been shocked at what they found.
They must have been looking for a palace and a strong family. After all, the Israelites were under Roman rule, so any new king needed to be a strong boy who could fight off the Romans and restore Israel to its rightful place.
And yet, what they found was a boy born in a feeding trough for sheep because there was no room left for him in the inn. And not only that, this baby was born to a mother who wasn't married and his birth certainly wasn't celebrated.
Jesus wasn't what people were looking for. Israel thought they needed someone to set them free, and Jesus didn't fit the bill. And yet what the kingdom God had in mind for God's people looked a lot different than the people thought they needed it to look. God had something bigger in mind, just like with David.
When we make the leap to start following God's call, it's very possible that God may lead us to places we never thought we'd go, just like Bethlehem. And when we get there, it's very possible that God may have things for us to do we never would've expected. And when we get to those places to do those things, it's very likely God will put people in our path that are not the kind of people we'd surround ourselves with.
But that's the call of discipleship. Because while we try to surround ourselves with the right kind of people, the kind of people who look and think like we do, God seems to keep drawing the circle bigger to remind us to see God's image in every person, even the people who are hardest for us to love.
We have expectations of people the moment we see them. We see the labels and the categories they fit into and make assumptions. He must be like this because he is from the North. She must act like this because she voted for a Republican. They must be boring because they're old. They must be rebellious because they're young.
But like Samuel and the wise men discovered, when we let God put people in our paths that don't fit any of our expectations, God has a way of inviting us into the most beautiful stories!
So may we begin to recognize the imago dei in our neighbors, all of our neighbors. May we go out of our way to include people who don't fit our labels and our circles. May we remember that we are not defined by one or two facts or labels or moments in our past. And may we go out looking for the places and the people that God is calling us to every single day.
forever unfinished...
Friday, October 30, 2015
Monday, September 7, 2015
Kim Davis...
"Why do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' while the log is in your own eye?" -Matthew 7:3-4
"The gunfire around us makes it hard to hear. But the human voice is different from other sounds. It can be heard over noises that bury everything else. Even when it's not shouting. Even when it's just a whisper. Even the lowest whisper can be heard--over armies...when it's telling the truth" -The Interpreter
I've rarely found it in my best interest to comment on current events. When anger boils to the top, an added measure of heat is scarcely needed and most often only makes matters worse.
However, the things I've read and seen in this particular situation have inclined me to break my silence, if only in hopes that in some small measure, a faint whisper of peace can make its way through the shouts of anger and hatred.
In case you don't know, a few weeks ago Ms. Davis, a county clerk in Kentucky, made the conscious decision to decline an application for a marriage license to a gay couple applying for one. This action falls in opposition to the recent decisions of the U.S. Supreme Court legalizing same-sex marriage in the United States. For her actions, Ms. Davis was arrested and has been in jail for the past few days.
Supporters have flocked to her side, declaring in full vigor the biblical support for their position.
Opponents have mobilized in full force against her, decrying the hypocrisy of her position in light of her life experience and the call for acceptance of love in all of its forms.
My own opinions on the matter are quite irrelevant. However, in people's furor to claim the mantel of right and lend support to their position, they have attacked Ms. Davis in a way that truly makes me quite sick.
I've seen her marriage history posted for the whole world to see.
I've seen her Twitter page blasted to the ends of the earth to be lampooned.
I've seen despicable comments about the way she looks and her "backwoods ignorance."
I must say I am shocked, even heartbroken. And to be quite frank, it is most heartbreaking to see those of my friends who claim the title "Christian" leading the charge in this attack. It tears at my heart to read and hear the comments these people are making in the name of a God whose action in history has been resurrection, taking things that are broken and wrong and breathing new life into them, restoring them to the depths of beauty for which they were created.
And yet, in our rush to be right, we've become more interested in tearing down. Those who shout from the rooftops, "Love for all," have become selective in who they would call "all." It doesn't seem Ms. Davis fits into that group.
Some say she is a hypocrite. She may be, but I know I most definitely am. Some say she is a bigot. She may be, but I know there are places in my heart that fear and mistrust of my neighbors find home. Some say she's hateful and vindictive. She may be, but I would unfortunately also find myself in a line for hateful and vindictive people more often than I wish.
Some have suggested she's only out to make a point and gain some instant celebrity status. If so, her goal has only been met because social media opponents have taken the bait. In our fear of being known and allowing our sins to be made public, we've made sure the world is aware the failings of another. In our rush to point out the sins of someone else, all we've done is point out the sins of our own hypocrisy and insecurity.
The tools of anger, hate, and violence are tried and true. Wars have been fought in the attempt for peace. Insults have been hurled for vengeance. Fights have been waged in the name of justice.
Perhaps it's time we learn to fight with a new weapon. Perhaps it's time we wrestle with a love so radical that its fruit cannot be ignored. No, I'm not suggesting we passively ignore issues and injustices and situations because we believe that to love means to be nice. Love deserves more credit than to cheapen it with such a flaccid definition.
Instead, perhaps it's time we ran towards our enemies and opponents with arms as wide as a father running down the path towards his prodigal son slumping up the driveway. Perhaps it's time we share a meal with those we most oppose. Perhaps it's time we speak words of such radical affirmation that we leave no space for hate and exclusion. Perhaps it's time that we not only open our first, but that we take those open hands and embrace those we most despise. Perhaps it's time, in our rush to "be like Jesus," that we learn to humble ourselves like a servant, even unto death, instead of waging wars built on power.
What might the world look like if we were willing to love so unconditionally that it made waves louder than any bomb ever could? What might our communities look like if we embraced our enemies so tightly that the world couldn't help but take notice? What might our relationships look like if our words were so drenched in affirmation and reconciliation that any word of hate seemed out of place?
I think that's what the Kingdom of God looks like. For love to win, it must exist for all people. It cannot come in force wrapped in violence and hatred. Hate and love cannot co-exist. The weapons of love must evolve. If God is in fact a god of resurrection and restoration, tearing down with hate cannot be a tool for fighting the injustice and oppression which so desperately demands our attention. If we are really going to claim to be a people of love, boundless love for all people, we had better stop drawing the lines around only the people who love the same people we do.
To live this kind of love is not easy. It is a lonely island upon which few find shade. To join the chorus of the crowd is an easier task. The shouting can become overwhelming and the whispers of peace may seem inaudible.
And yet, it was not in the thunder or the lightning that God spoke to Elijah. Rather, in the midst of the storm and away from the camp, God's voice spoke to the prophet in a still small whisper. And sometimes what the world really needs is simply a whisper.
So may we learn to see the work God has begun in our own lives so that we can extend it towards our neighbors. May we learn to offer confession and ask for forgiveness of our own imperfections before we rush to point out the sins of another. May we draw the lines of love so wide that no one ever finds themselves on the outside. May we learn to see in our opponents the same affection with which God so adores us. And may the God whose story has been resurrection continue to breathe new life into the broken and imperfect stories our lives are telling in this world and in our communities.
forever unfinished...
"The gunfire around us makes it hard to hear. But the human voice is different from other sounds. It can be heard over noises that bury everything else. Even when it's not shouting. Even when it's just a whisper. Even the lowest whisper can be heard--over armies...when it's telling the truth" -The Interpreter
I've rarely found it in my best interest to comment on current events. When anger boils to the top, an added measure of heat is scarcely needed and most often only makes matters worse.
However, the things I've read and seen in this particular situation have inclined me to break my silence, if only in hopes that in some small measure, a faint whisper of peace can make its way through the shouts of anger and hatred.
In case you don't know, a few weeks ago Ms. Davis, a county clerk in Kentucky, made the conscious decision to decline an application for a marriage license to a gay couple applying for one. This action falls in opposition to the recent decisions of the U.S. Supreme Court legalizing same-sex marriage in the United States. For her actions, Ms. Davis was arrested and has been in jail for the past few days.
Supporters have flocked to her side, declaring in full vigor the biblical support for their position.
Opponents have mobilized in full force against her, decrying the hypocrisy of her position in light of her life experience and the call for acceptance of love in all of its forms.
My own opinions on the matter are quite irrelevant. However, in people's furor to claim the mantel of right and lend support to their position, they have attacked Ms. Davis in a way that truly makes me quite sick.
I've seen her marriage history posted for the whole world to see.
I've seen her Twitter page blasted to the ends of the earth to be lampooned.
I've seen despicable comments about the way she looks and her "backwoods ignorance."
I must say I am shocked, even heartbroken. And to be quite frank, it is most heartbreaking to see those of my friends who claim the title "Christian" leading the charge in this attack. It tears at my heart to read and hear the comments these people are making in the name of a God whose action in history has been resurrection, taking things that are broken and wrong and breathing new life into them, restoring them to the depths of beauty for which they were created.
And yet, in our rush to be right, we've become more interested in tearing down. Those who shout from the rooftops, "Love for all," have become selective in who they would call "all." It doesn't seem Ms. Davis fits into that group.
Some say she is a hypocrite. She may be, but I know I most definitely am. Some say she is a bigot. She may be, but I know there are places in my heart that fear and mistrust of my neighbors find home. Some say she's hateful and vindictive. She may be, but I would unfortunately also find myself in a line for hateful and vindictive people more often than I wish.
Some have suggested she's only out to make a point and gain some instant celebrity status. If so, her goal has only been met because social media opponents have taken the bait. In our fear of being known and allowing our sins to be made public, we've made sure the world is aware the failings of another. In our rush to point out the sins of someone else, all we've done is point out the sins of our own hypocrisy and insecurity.
The tools of anger, hate, and violence are tried and true. Wars have been fought in the attempt for peace. Insults have been hurled for vengeance. Fights have been waged in the name of justice.
Perhaps it's time we learn to fight with a new weapon. Perhaps it's time we wrestle with a love so radical that its fruit cannot be ignored. No, I'm not suggesting we passively ignore issues and injustices and situations because we believe that to love means to be nice. Love deserves more credit than to cheapen it with such a flaccid definition.
Instead, perhaps it's time we ran towards our enemies and opponents with arms as wide as a father running down the path towards his prodigal son slumping up the driveway. Perhaps it's time we share a meal with those we most oppose. Perhaps it's time we speak words of such radical affirmation that we leave no space for hate and exclusion. Perhaps it's time that we not only open our first, but that we take those open hands and embrace those we most despise. Perhaps it's time, in our rush to "be like Jesus," that we learn to humble ourselves like a servant, even unto death, instead of waging wars built on power.
What might the world look like if we were willing to love so unconditionally that it made waves louder than any bomb ever could? What might our communities look like if we embraced our enemies so tightly that the world couldn't help but take notice? What might our relationships look like if our words were so drenched in affirmation and reconciliation that any word of hate seemed out of place?
I think that's what the Kingdom of God looks like. For love to win, it must exist for all people. It cannot come in force wrapped in violence and hatred. Hate and love cannot co-exist. The weapons of love must evolve. If God is in fact a god of resurrection and restoration, tearing down with hate cannot be a tool for fighting the injustice and oppression which so desperately demands our attention. If we are really going to claim to be a people of love, boundless love for all people, we had better stop drawing the lines around only the people who love the same people we do.
To live this kind of love is not easy. It is a lonely island upon which few find shade. To join the chorus of the crowd is an easier task. The shouting can become overwhelming and the whispers of peace may seem inaudible.
And yet, it was not in the thunder or the lightning that God spoke to Elijah. Rather, in the midst of the storm and away from the camp, God's voice spoke to the prophet in a still small whisper. And sometimes what the world really needs is simply a whisper.
So may we learn to see the work God has begun in our own lives so that we can extend it towards our neighbors. May we learn to offer confession and ask for forgiveness of our own imperfections before we rush to point out the sins of another. May we draw the lines of love so wide that no one ever finds themselves on the outside. May we learn to see in our opponents the same affection with which God so adores us. And may the God whose story has been resurrection continue to breathe new life into the broken and imperfect stories our lives are telling in this world and in our communities.
forever unfinished...
Monday, August 31, 2015
Prom?...
"You miss 100% of the shots you don't take?" -Wayne Gretzky
"The Lord spoke to Moses: See, I have called by name Bezalel son of Uri son of Hur, of the the tribe of Judah: and I have filled him with divine spirit, with ability, intelligence, and knowledge in every kind of craft, to devise artistic designs, to work in gold, silver, and bronze, in cutting stones for setting, and in carving wood, in every kind of craft. Moreover, I have appointed with him Oholiab son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan; and I have given skill to all the skillful, so that they may make all that I have commanded you..." -Exodus 31:1-6
As many know, I love videos of marriage proposals. I love the creativity and the smiles and the joy and the neat, original ways that people have concocted to tell someone they want to spend the rest of their lives together.
I'm obviously not married, so I haven't had the opportunity to contribute to the joy. However, I was a high schooler once. And when you're in high school, you get to go to prom. And when you get to get to go to prom, you get to ask someone to go with you.
And junior year, I wanted to go with Laura Boone.
I was pretty in love. We'd been basically best friends since freshmen year (which really meant I wanted her to fall in love with me while she wanted to be friends, so while I was waiting for her to realize I was the man of her dreams, we became best friends.) But she was single and this was my chance!
In my quest for her love, every day at lunch I would buy a package of the tropical Starbursts from the candy machine. Then, between 7th and 8th periods when our paths crossed on our way to class, I would pass along the orange ones (her favorites!) It was kind of like my personal version of The Princess Bride, except instead of "As you wish," I had "Hear are your orange ones." Very romantic, I know!
Fast forward to the spring. I had a plan. I called her mom and said, "Hey, Mrs. Boone, I'd love to ask your daughter to prom. If I can get her out of the house, can I come by after school and set some stuff in her room?" She was thrilled.
So, with the assistance of some of her friends, I got her out of the house for about an hour after school. I had gone to Costco to grab one of those 52-pack, commercial-size boxes of tropical Starbursts, 2 roses, and I'd printed out a little poem. I got to her house and started unwrapping A LOT of Starburst packages.
In her upstairs room, I took the orange ones (her favorites, remember!) and spelled out P-R-O-M-? on her bed and underlined it with the two roses. I took a bunch of red Starbursts and outlined a heart around the question and then took the remaining hundreds of little sugar squares and made a path leading out her room, down the stairs, and to the front door. And the poem? It read "Roses are red. Violets are blue. Nothing is sweeter than prom with you (not even 512 Starbursts!)" It was pretty magical!
Needless to say, she said yes. And we had a blast! And then we dated for like 5 months. Mission accomplished.
What's the point of this story? Only that this kind of silly and over-the-top adventure is part of what makes me me. It's part of the way God made me. It's what makes me unique. If I'd simply asked, "Hey Laura, do you want to go prom?" I would've felt totally uncomfortable.
Part of who I am is this love language. I also have weak knees and a pretty active metabolism. I'm intelligent with a good grasp of common sense. I'm pretty passive in confrontation but feel very strongly about my convictions. I'd rather bring people together who disagree than have divisions tear people apart. I'm relatively athletic and quick and witty.
This is how God made me.
Nowadays, at many graduations, speakers tell recent graduates to follow their dreams and be whoever they want to be. "Don't let anyone tell you what to be," they say. "Don't let anyone trample your dreams. Be whatever you want to be."
While there's nothing inherently wrong with this message, it's incomplete, isn't it? It sounds a little selfish. Be whoever you want to be and do whatever you want to do. Yeah, but what about everybody else? In many ways, this message assumes too little of people.
My favorite story in scripture is that of Moses and Bezalel and Oholiab. Who? Yeah, it's not usually in a "Top-10 Favorite Stories of the Bible" list. But it's mine.
It's my favorite because Moses was given all of the instructions for how to build the tabernacle and he was a little overwhelmed. He wasn't a carpenter. He couldn't sew. He didn't know how to work with metals. Those weren't the gifts God gave Moses. Moses was a leader for the people. Those were his gifts. So God gave Moses Bezalel and Oholiab.
They were two men in the big camp of Israelites who had lots of skills that would help construct the tent. God gave them certain skills, and what did they do? They helped lead the whole tribe of Israel in building a tabernacle for God to dwell among them. They were made incredibly special so that they could bless God and so that they could bless the rest of their people. They became the best they could be and then found a way to put those skills to use serving others.
We are all given special, unique gifts. And we shouldn't try to be someone we're not. We should learn to embrace what makes us special. But that's only the beginning. We have to embrace what makes us us, the way that God made us, so that we can go take that and make the world a better place. We're not unique so that we can go do whatever we want. That's not a big enough dream. We were made for so much more than that!
So may we all find those things that make us who we are. May we find our prom invitations or our carpentry skills. May we find the gifts and quirks that God gave only to us. But may we also move beyond them to find the places in the world and in our communities where those gifts are most needed to shine a little bit of Heaven into places and lives feeling isolated and in need. And may we take what makes us us and help our neighbors see the God who made us that way.
forever unfinished...
"The Lord spoke to Moses: See, I have called by name Bezalel son of Uri son of Hur, of the the tribe of Judah: and I have filled him with divine spirit, with ability, intelligence, and knowledge in every kind of craft, to devise artistic designs, to work in gold, silver, and bronze, in cutting stones for setting, and in carving wood, in every kind of craft. Moreover, I have appointed with him Oholiab son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan; and I have given skill to all the skillful, so that they may make all that I have commanded you..." -Exodus 31:1-6
As many know, I love videos of marriage proposals. I love the creativity and the smiles and the joy and the neat, original ways that people have concocted to tell someone they want to spend the rest of their lives together.
I'm obviously not married, so I haven't had the opportunity to contribute to the joy. However, I was a high schooler once. And when you're in high school, you get to go to prom. And when you get to get to go to prom, you get to ask someone to go with you.
And junior year, I wanted to go with Laura Boone.
I was pretty in love. We'd been basically best friends since freshmen year (which really meant I wanted her to fall in love with me while she wanted to be friends, so while I was waiting for her to realize I was the man of her dreams, we became best friends.) But she was single and this was my chance!
In my quest for her love, every day at lunch I would buy a package of the tropical Starbursts from the candy machine. Then, between 7th and 8th periods when our paths crossed on our way to class, I would pass along the orange ones (her favorites!) It was kind of like my personal version of The Princess Bride, except instead of "As you wish," I had "Hear are your orange ones." Very romantic, I know!
Fast forward to the spring. I had a plan. I called her mom and said, "Hey, Mrs. Boone, I'd love to ask your daughter to prom. If I can get her out of the house, can I come by after school and set some stuff in her room?" She was thrilled.
So, with the assistance of some of her friends, I got her out of the house for about an hour after school. I had gone to Costco to grab one of those 52-pack, commercial-size boxes of tropical Starbursts, 2 roses, and I'd printed out a little poem. I got to her house and started unwrapping A LOT of Starburst packages.
In her upstairs room, I took the orange ones (her favorites, remember!) and spelled out P-R-O-M-? on her bed and underlined it with the two roses. I took a bunch of red Starbursts and outlined a heart around the question and then took the remaining hundreds of little sugar squares and made a path leading out her room, down the stairs, and to the front door. And the poem? It read "Roses are red. Violets are blue. Nothing is sweeter than prom with you (not even 512 Starbursts!)" It was pretty magical!
Needless to say, she said yes. And we had a blast! And then we dated for like 5 months. Mission accomplished.
What's the point of this story? Only that this kind of silly and over-the-top adventure is part of what makes me me. It's part of the way God made me. It's what makes me unique. If I'd simply asked, "Hey Laura, do you want to go prom?" I would've felt totally uncomfortable.
Part of who I am is this love language. I also have weak knees and a pretty active metabolism. I'm intelligent with a good grasp of common sense. I'm pretty passive in confrontation but feel very strongly about my convictions. I'd rather bring people together who disagree than have divisions tear people apart. I'm relatively athletic and quick and witty.
This is how God made me.
Nowadays, at many graduations, speakers tell recent graduates to follow their dreams and be whoever they want to be. "Don't let anyone tell you what to be," they say. "Don't let anyone trample your dreams. Be whatever you want to be."
While there's nothing inherently wrong with this message, it's incomplete, isn't it? It sounds a little selfish. Be whoever you want to be and do whatever you want to do. Yeah, but what about everybody else? In many ways, this message assumes too little of people.
My favorite story in scripture is that of Moses and Bezalel and Oholiab. Who? Yeah, it's not usually in a "Top-10 Favorite Stories of the Bible" list. But it's mine.
It's my favorite because Moses was given all of the instructions for how to build the tabernacle and he was a little overwhelmed. He wasn't a carpenter. He couldn't sew. He didn't know how to work with metals. Those weren't the gifts God gave Moses. Moses was a leader for the people. Those were his gifts. So God gave Moses Bezalel and Oholiab.
They were two men in the big camp of Israelites who had lots of skills that would help construct the tent. God gave them certain skills, and what did they do? They helped lead the whole tribe of Israel in building a tabernacle for God to dwell among them. They were made incredibly special so that they could bless God and so that they could bless the rest of their people. They became the best they could be and then found a way to put those skills to use serving others.
We are all given special, unique gifts. And we shouldn't try to be someone we're not. We should learn to embrace what makes us special. But that's only the beginning. We have to embrace what makes us us, the way that God made us, so that we can go take that and make the world a better place. We're not unique so that we can go do whatever we want. That's not a big enough dream. We were made for so much more than that!
So may we all find those things that make us who we are. May we find our prom invitations or our carpentry skills. May we find the gifts and quirks that God gave only to us. But may we also move beyond them to find the places in the world and in our communities where those gifts are most needed to shine a little bit of Heaven into places and lives feeling isolated and in need. And may we take what makes us us and help our neighbors see the God who made us that way.
forever unfinished...
Friday, August 7, 2015
Birthdays in Uganda...
"When I think about the things that we've been through, I know just one thing is true. Life is better with you." -Michael Franti, Life is Better With You
"Then he said to his slaves, 'the wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.' Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests." -Matthew 22:8-10
I've written a lot lately about being a pretty independent guy. It's true. I'm an introvert and love time to myself. I pride myself on being self-sufficient and not asking for help. Ha! What a crock.
That's why I'm always glad when God finds little ways that turn into big ways to dislodge me a little bit and remind me just how much I need others and how much better life is when we get to share it together, the best parts of it and the hardest ones.
As I've written about before, for the past 9 years (wow, it doesn't feel that long!) I've sponsored a young man named Sande Ronald in Uganda through the organization Compassion International. It all started out with a strange nudge in my stomach to find a way to give, but the idea of putting money in a tray being passed down an aisle was SO uncool. So, I thought, "Sponsoring a kid in Africa seems like it could be cool."
Boy was I right, although I had no idea just how cool. Sande and I were paired because I wanted to find someone with a birthday near mine. Sande's is only 4 days after my birthday. It was a match made in heaven. Over the years, we've written probably fifty notes back and forth. He tells me about school and his family, the crops that are growing and the games and songs he is learning. It's gotten to the point that those are the envelopes I most look forward to and are the ones that bring me the most joy.
One of the really neat things about Sande and I is that when we write letters in January and February we get to celebrate one another's birthdays.
As I said, I am a pretty independent guy, and I hate celebrating my birthday. I hate when the attention is on me. This past year I had a night class and wanted to skip out on any other kind of celebration, including any kind of celebrating with my significant other at the time. Her response? "We're not going to NOT celebrate your birthday! I don't care if we just get dinner. We are celebrating!" We got Mellow Mushroom and then I went to class.
But Uganda does birthdays much differently. When Sande's post-birthday letter arrived, it painted a pretty awesome picture. He said that to celebrate his birthday, there was a party and dessert, which were the only things I wanted to think about when I was his age. But then he wrote something that stuck out and stopped me for a while. He wrote, "The best part is that the whole village celebrates together so that we can share the dessert."
The best part is sharing?! I didn't want anyone else to touch my cake when I was a kid, and all Sande wants to do is share it with his neighbors? Somehow I was sure that Sande and those in Uganda had it figured out much better than I ever could. Birthdays are not to be hoarded. Celebrations are just an easy excuse to let everyone share the most joy!
Recently, I got some other good news. I've got a friend who has spent the better part of recent years living on the streets, particularly in the spaces right around our church. He's a veteran who like many others had landed in homelessness. Since he spent so many nights right around the youth building, we got to know each other and share bits and pieces of our lives.
A few weeks ago I got some really exciting news. He had gotten approved for housing assistance and was moving into an apartment in downtown Fort Worth! How incredible is that! More amazing: he had heard there was a blessing in the United Methodist Church for new homes and he asked if I'd be a part of that ceremony for his new place.
Yesterday afternoon I had the privilege of heading the few blocks from the church it was to the apartment and getting to bless the new home. I got the VIP tour of the new digs, and let me just say that he's landed in a pretty awesome set-up. Then we prayed over his new place. We prayed that God would watch over this new home and that its new owner would be blessed and bless others because of it.
And then we broke bread, just like Jesus did with his friends at the table. At that moment, I became aware that something holy was going on in our midst. I was so humbled to have been invited to be a part of it all. I was so humbled that my friend had invited me to share something that should be celebrated from the mountaintop. And it was clear, in that instant, that God was in the midst of this celebration and that it had to be celebrated together, among friends.
There are few instances in scripture of people being alone. Sure, Moses was drawn to be by himself at the burning bush. And yeah, Jesus retreated often to recharge. Obviously, there are moments throughout in which God finds people alone and speaks.
But more often than not, God shows up and draws people together. Jesus had 12 (and many more) disciples who were invited to share his story. Joseph's story is full of people who intersect him in one way or another. Paul's letters show a relationship between mentor and church, between Paul, Timothy, and his other students. Jonah's experience with God is made all the richer knowing there were others of different faiths in the boat with whom he was navigating the waves.
As I've said before, the most compelling image in the gospels for me is the image of the banquet feast. When Jesus talks about the Kingdom of God, one of the images he refers to often is that of a banquet hall with the multitudes sharing food around the table. Even if people pass up their RSVP with other engagements, the host goes out and sends out invitations until the hall is full, because celebrations are meant to be shared. I think that's what the Kingdom of God is like.
Time alone is invaluable. We need solitary times. But if my recent experiences have reminded me of anything, it's that celebrations and sorrows are meant to be shared. From the very beginning when God noticed Adam was lonely in the garden, it was clear that humans were made for community and life together. So may we invite others into the great joys and the deep despairs of our lives. And may we learn to celebrate others well and empathize with them equally deeply. May we learn to cherish the gift of community for which God has so intentionally invited us. And may we learn to live as they do in Uganda: together.
forever unfinished...
"Then he said to his slaves, 'the wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.' Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests." -Matthew 22:8-10
I've written a lot lately about being a pretty independent guy. It's true. I'm an introvert and love time to myself. I pride myself on being self-sufficient and not asking for help. Ha! What a crock.
That's why I'm always glad when God finds little ways that turn into big ways to dislodge me a little bit and remind me just how much I need others and how much better life is when we get to share it together, the best parts of it and the hardest ones.
As I've written about before, for the past 9 years (wow, it doesn't feel that long!) I've sponsored a young man named Sande Ronald in Uganda through the organization Compassion International. It all started out with a strange nudge in my stomach to find a way to give, but the idea of putting money in a tray being passed down an aisle was SO uncool. So, I thought, "Sponsoring a kid in Africa seems like it could be cool."
Boy was I right, although I had no idea just how cool. Sande and I were paired because I wanted to find someone with a birthday near mine. Sande's is only 4 days after my birthday. It was a match made in heaven. Over the years, we've written probably fifty notes back and forth. He tells me about school and his family, the crops that are growing and the games and songs he is learning. It's gotten to the point that those are the envelopes I most look forward to and are the ones that bring me the most joy.
One of the really neat things about Sande and I is that when we write letters in January and February we get to celebrate one another's birthdays.
As I said, I am a pretty independent guy, and I hate celebrating my birthday. I hate when the attention is on me. This past year I had a night class and wanted to skip out on any other kind of celebration, including any kind of celebrating with my significant other at the time. Her response? "We're not going to NOT celebrate your birthday! I don't care if we just get dinner. We are celebrating!" We got Mellow Mushroom and then I went to class.
But Uganda does birthdays much differently. When Sande's post-birthday letter arrived, it painted a pretty awesome picture. He said that to celebrate his birthday, there was a party and dessert, which were the only things I wanted to think about when I was his age. But then he wrote something that stuck out and stopped me for a while. He wrote, "The best part is that the whole village celebrates together so that we can share the dessert."
The best part is sharing?! I didn't want anyone else to touch my cake when I was a kid, and all Sande wants to do is share it with his neighbors? Somehow I was sure that Sande and those in Uganda had it figured out much better than I ever could. Birthdays are not to be hoarded. Celebrations are just an easy excuse to let everyone share the most joy!
Recently, I got some other good news. I've got a friend who has spent the better part of recent years living on the streets, particularly in the spaces right around our church. He's a veteran who like many others had landed in homelessness. Since he spent so many nights right around the youth building, we got to know each other and share bits and pieces of our lives.
A few weeks ago I got some really exciting news. He had gotten approved for housing assistance and was moving into an apartment in downtown Fort Worth! How incredible is that! More amazing: he had heard there was a blessing in the United Methodist Church for new homes and he asked if I'd be a part of that ceremony for his new place.
Yesterday afternoon I had the privilege of heading the few blocks from the church it was to the apartment and getting to bless the new home. I got the VIP tour of the new digs, and let me just say that he's landed in a pretty awesome set-up. Then we prayed over his new place. We prayed that God would watch over this new home and that its new owner would be blessed and bless others because of it.
And then we broke bread, just like Jesus did with his friends at the table. At that moment, I became aware that something holy was going on in our midst. I was so humbled to have been invited to be a part of it all. I was so humbled that my friend had invited me to share something that should be celebrated from the mountaintop. And it was clear, in that instant, that God was in the midst of this celebration and that it had to be celebrated together, among friends.
There are few instances in scripture of people being alone. Sure, Moses was drawn to be by himself at the burning bush. And yeah, Jesus retreated often to recharge. Obviously, there are moments throughout in which God finds people alone and speaks.
But more often than not, God shows up and draws people together. Jesus had 12 (and many more) disciples who were invited to share his story. Joseph's story is full of people who intersect him in one way or another. Paul's letters show a relationship between mentor and church, between Paul, Timothy, and his other students. Jonah's experience with God is made all the richer knowing there were others of different faiths in the boat with whom he was navigating the waves.
As I've said before, the most compelling image in the gospels for me is the image of the banquet feast. When Jesus talks about the Kingdom of God, one of the images he refers to often is that of a banquet hall with the multitudes sharing food around the table. Even if people pass up their RSVP with other engagements, the host goes out and sends out invitations until the hall is full, because celebrations are meant to be shared. I think that's what the Kingdom of God is like.
Time alone is invaluable. We need solitary times. But if my recent experiences have reminded me of anything, it's that celebrations and sorrows are meant to be shared. From the very beginning when God noticed Adam was lonely in the garden, it was clear that humans were made for community and life together. So may we invite others into the great joys and the deep despairs of our lives. And may we learn to celebrate others well and empathize with them equally deeply. May we learn to cherish the gift of community for which God has so intentionally invited us. And may we learn to live as they do in Uganda: together.
forever unfinished...
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Miss Jonetta...
"This is my wish for you: comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes..." -Unknown
"And the one who was seated on the throne said, 'See, I am making all things new.' Also he said, 'Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.'" -Revelation 21:5
I have a door in my living room.
I realize that's not a particularly noteworthy statement by itself, of course. Most people have doors in the their living rooms to one thing or another. But my door is different. It's not attached to any hinges. It doesn't lead to any other space. It just leans against the wall.
I got this door from my friend Jonetta. She lives in Rock Hill, South Carolina and takes care of her grandchildren a lot of the time. We met about 6 years ago when I was leading a group of high school students at a camp called Salkehatchie. We spent the week in stupidly humid July heat replacing Miss Jonetta's roof and the floor in her kitchen. It was a full week's worth of work to say the least.
One of the minor projects we took on as well was replacing Miss Jonetta's front door. It was old. It had cracks covered in duct tape and the panes of glass were held in by nothing more than thick layers of caulk. It was leaking heat and A/C, causing her electricity bill to skyrocket, just stretching her already thin budget even tighter.
Miraculously, someone had volunteered to donate a new front door if our group would install it. What a guy or gal! When we'd finished replacing the door, we took the old one over to the dumpster and prepared to toss it in. And then I got an idea.
God uses an awful lot of the "wrong kind of people" in the Bible. Moses was a murderer. Rahab was a prostitute. The disciples were a hodge-podge bunch. David was so unimpressive to Samuel that Samuel thought to himself, surely not this runt! Paul was a genocidal systematic killer. Abraham was old. Heck, Jesus was from the wrong side of the tracks and was born in a sheep trough.
And Jesus spent a lot of his time with the wrong kind of people, and every kind of wrong. He spent time eating with the tax collectors and Pharisees, the people we pick on today in sermons for being self-righteous. He spent time with teenagers and fishermen, the every day kind of workers. He spent time with the lepers, who were kicked outside the city gates to live in a separate community because they were unclean. He spent time with women and Samaritans. He spent time with the lost causes.
It's a lot like Miss Jonetta and her door. It would be really easy to dismiss her. If I hadn't had a reason to meet her and get to know her, I'm sure I would've overlooked someone like Miss Jonetta. She didn't have lots of money and lived in a fairly "left-behind" kind of neighborhood.
And her door didn't have much use. But I saw art in it somewhere. So I took it back to the church and stared at it for two months. Seriously! It just sat there while I thought about what to do with it. And then inspiration started to sink in. So I got some paint. And I printed some pictures. And this is what came out:
God doesn't forget about lost causes. I've become convinced that lost causes aren't a concept in God's vocabulary. I imagine that when God looks at all of creation, us and all the rest, God sees a lot of masterpieces that just need a little refresher, a little love, just like this door.
I wish I could see people the way God does. I wish I could see people as beloved children of God in every situation. I wish I didn't overlook people or dismiss people for this reason or that. I wish I could always see the Master's craftsmanship in my own life, let alone my neighbors'. There are no lost causes in God's family. Things in need of a touch-up? Absolutely! People with some scratches and dents? For sure! But God's never left someone behind because they didn't have it all together or because they'd gotten too scuffed up.
May we all learn to see God's fingerprints in our own lives as well as our neighbors'. May we be the kind of people who point others to their worth instead of drawing attention to their scars. May we be the kind of people who move beyond the guilt of the cross and celebrate a God of resurrection and shalom! And may we learn to make masterpieces out of the lives God has crafted.
forever unfinished...
"And the one who was seated on the throne said, 'See, I am making all things new.' Also he said, 'Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.'" -Revelation 21:5
I have a door in my living room.
I realize that's not a particularly noteworthy statement by itself, of course. Most people have doors in the their living rooms to one thing or another. But my door is different. It's not attached to any hinges. It doesn't lead to any other space. It just leans against the wall.
I got this door from my friend Jonetta. She lives in Rock Hill, South Carolina and takes care of her grandchildren a lot of the time. We met about 6 years ago when I was leading a group of high school students at a camp called Salkehatchie. We spent the week in stupidly humid July heat replacing Miss Jonetta's roof and the floor in her kitchen. It was a full week's worth of work to say the least.
One of the minor projects we took on as well was replacing Miss Jonetta's front door. It was old. It had cracks covered in duct tape and the panes of glass were held in by nothing more than thick layers of caulk. It was leaking heat and A/C, causing her electricity bill to skyrocket, just stretching her already thin budget even tighter.
Miraculously, someone had volunteered to donate a new front door if our group would install it. What a guy or gal! When we'd finished replacing the door, we took the old one over to the dumpster and prepared to toss it in. And then I got an idea.
God uses an awful lot of the "wrong kind of people" in the Bible. Moses was a murderer. Rahab was a prostitute. The disciples were a hodge-podge bunch. David was so unimpressive to Samuel that Samuel thought to himself, surely not this runt! Paul was a genocidal systematic killer. Abraham was old. Heck, Jesus was from the wrong side of the tracks and was born in a sheep trough.
And Jesus spent a lot of his time with the wrong kind of people, and every kind of wrong. He spent time eating with the tax collectors and Pharisees, the people we pick on today in sermons for being self-righteous. He spent time with teenagers and fishermen, the every day kind of workers. He spent time with the lepers, who were kicked outside the city gates to live in a separate community because they were unclean. He spent time with women and Samaritans. He spent time with the lost causes.
It's a lot like Miss Jonetta and her door. It would be really easy to dismiss her. If I hadn't had a reason to meet her and get to know her, I'm sure I would've overlooked someone like Miss Jonetta. She didn't have lots of money and lived in a fairly "left-behind" kind of neighborhood.
And her door didn't have much use. But I saw art in it somewhere. So I took it back to the church and stared at it for two months. Seriously! It just sat there while I thought about what to do with it. And then inspiration started to sink in. So I got some paint. And I printed some pictures. And this is what came out:
God doesn't forget about lost causes. I've become convinced that lost causes aren't a concept in God's vocabulary. I imagine that when God looks at all of creation, us and all the rest, God sees a lot of masterpieces that just need a little refresher, a little love, just like this door.
I wish I could see people the way God does. I wish I could see people as beloved children of God in every situation. I wish I didn't overlook people or dismiss people for this reason or that. I wish I could always see the Master's craftsmanship in my own life, let alone my neighbors'. There are no lost causes in God's family. Things in need of a touch-up? Absolutely! People with some scratches and dents? For sure! But God's never left someone behind because they didn't have it all together or because they'd gotten too scuffed up.
May we all learn to see God's fingerprints in our own lives as well as our neighbors'. May we be the kind of people who point others to their worth instead of drawing attention to their scars. May we be the kind of people who move beyond the guilt of the cross and celebrate a God of resurrection and shalom! And may we learn to make masterpieces out of the lives God has crafted.
forever unfinished...
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Teenagers...
"Love is not blind but visionary: it sees into the very heart of its object, and sees the 'real self' behind and in the midst of the frailties and shortcomings of the person." -Andras Angyal
"But the Lord said to Samuel, 'Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.'" -1 Samuel 16:7
Every now and then someone will ask me when I'm going to move into "real" ministry. It's an innocent enough question, and no offense is intended. When you work in youth ministry with teenagers, it's a question that comes with the territory I suppose.
In my younger, less wise years it was a question that made my blood boil. "REAL MINISTRY, YOU SAY? ARE TEENAGERS NOT REAL PEOPLE AND IS THIS NOT REAL MINISTRY, YOU DOPE?" I would scream in an imaginary shouting match in my car as I was driving off.
Thank goodness I've become wiser. And more patient.
It's a natural question. Clearly, if someone is doing ministry with teenagers it's because they are young, full of energy, and want to be a "real" pastor once they get older and wiser. But I don't.
Why, you ask? Well aside from the incredibly lucrative salaries obviously, it's because I couldn't imagine a more life-giving, challenging, faithful call to follow in my life. It's because there is nothing lesser in doing ministry with middle schoolers and high schoolers as compared with business suits and grandparents.
This past week we took a group of 30 teenagers to Houston for a week of work with the Center for Student Missions. Throughout the week, my eyes were brought to tears watching God's touch transforming the lives of those 30 teenagers and transforming the lives of the people they met through their hands.
They sat in Hermann Park and ate lunch with homeless men and women, sharing stories of their lives with one another like old friends who hadn't spoken in years. They played with children in community housing projects whose lives hardly resembled their own, yet whose smiles were the same in every way. They drove through the city and prayed for the communities where brokenness seems most obvious and those where you'd strain your eyes to notice it.
They prayed for one another and for those they'd met during the week. They played basketball and cheered one another. They shared the ways God's love was becoming radically present in their lives and the ways they'd learned to recognize God's image in the people they'd met, even if they looked or smelled a little different.
I spent a week watching God's hands at work in and through the lives of 30 teenagers.
Life with teenagers is difficult. Just ask any of the girls I've dated since I've started about the exhaustion I live with. It's full of drama and hormones, insecurities and forgiveness, laughter and celebration, qualities that likely mark any "real" ministry.
So why teenagers? Because I have the privilege of walking with them as they are learning to navigate decision-making and relationships of consequence. I have the privilege of helping teenagers wade through the millions of messages about who they are to the voice of God calling them beloved. I have the privilege of giving them hugs and reminding them they're loved when they've messed up the weekend before. I have the privilege of calling parents and telling them how astounding their children are as they serve as role models and leaders to those younger than themselves.
I get to watch teenagers develop from sixth-graders who don't know what deodorant is into graduates who are heading into their lives as independent adults, still growing and expanding in faith. I get to see teenagers stumble and fall and embrace them as successes. I get to help teenagers walk the pitfalls of middle and high school and remind them of who they are and what they can be. I get to hear their questions of honest curiosity and their confessions of utter vulnerability and revel in the stories God is beginning in their lives.
Two weeks ago I had an initial meeting to start the process of pursuing ordination in the Central Texas Conference of the United Methodist Church as a deacon. When asked why I'd like to pursue the deacon path as opposed to elder, my response was clear: God has made me for ministry with teenagers. I was pushed back against. "Never pigeon-hole yourself in case God has something bigger in mind," I was told.
Something bigger? Come spend a week with my students and the ministry I have the pleasure of being a part of and you'll see there's no bigger ministry in all of God's creation.
forever unfinished...
"But the Lord said to Samuel, 'Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.'" -1 Samuel 16:7
Every now and then someone will ask me when I'm going to move into "real" ministry. It's an innocent enough question, and no offense is intended. When you work in youth ministry with teenagers, it's a question that comes with the territory I suppose.
In my younger, less wise years it was a question that made my blood boil. "REAL MINISTRY, YOU SAY? ARE TEENAGERS NOT REAL PEOPLE AND IS THIS NOT REAL MINISTRY, YOU DOPE?" I would scream in an imaginary shouting match in my car as I was driving off.
Thank goodness I've become wiser. And more patient.
It's a natural question. Clearly, if someone is doing ministry with teenagers it's because they are young, full of energy, and want to be a "real" pastor once they get older and wiser. But I don't.
Why, you ask? Well aside from the incredibly lucrative salaries obviously, it's because I couldn't imagine a more life-giving, challenging, faithful call to follow in my life. It's because there is nothing lesser in doing ministry with middle schoolers and high schoolers as compared with business suits and grandparents.
This past week we took a group of 30 teenagers to Houston for a week of work with the Center for Student Missions. Throughout the week, my eyes were brought to tears watching God's touch transforming the lives of those 30 teenagers and transforming the lives of the people they met through their hands.
They sat in Hermann Park and ate lunch with homeless men and women, sharing stories of their lives with one another like old friends who hadn't spoken in years. They played with children in community housing projects whose lives hardly resembled their own, yet whose smiles were the same in every way. They drove through the city and prayed for the communities where brokenness seems most obvious and those where you'd strain your eyes to notice it.
They prayed for one another and for those they'd met during the week. They played basketball and cheered one another. They shared the ways God's love was becoming radically present in their lives and the ways they'd learned to recognize God's image in the people they'd met, even if they looked or smelled a little different.
I spent a week watching God's hands at work in and through the lives of 30 teenagers.
Life with teenagers is difficult. Just ask any of the girls I've dated since I've started about the exhaustion I live with. It's full of drama and hormones, insecurities and forgiveness, laughter and celebration, qualities that likely mark any "real" ministry.
So why teenagers? Because I have the privilege of walking with them as they are learning to navigate decision-making and relationships of consequence. I have the privilege of helping teenagers wade through the millions of messages about who they are to the voice of God calling them beloved. I have the privilege of giving them hugs and reminding them they're loved when they've messed up the weekend before. I have the privilege of calling parents and telling them how astounding their children are as they serve as role models and leaders to those younger than themselves.
I get to watch teenagers develop from sixth-graders who don't know what deodorant is into graduates who are heading into their lives as independent adults, still growing and expanding in faith. I get to see teenagers stumble and fall and embrace them as successes. I get to help teenagers walk the pitfalls of middle and high school and remind them of who they are and what they can be. I get to hear their questions of honest curiosity and their confessions of utter vulnerability and revel in the stories God is beginning in their lives.
Two weeks ago I had an initial meeting to start the process of pursuing ordination in the Central Texas Conference of the United Methodist Church as a deacon. When asked why I'd like to pursue the deacon path as opposed to elder, my response was clear: God has made me for ministry with teenagers. I was pushed back against. "Never pigeon-hole yourself in case God has something bigger in mind," I was told.
Something bigger? Come spend a week with my students and the ministry I have the pleasure of being a part of and you'll see there's no bigger ministry in all of God's creation.
forever unfinished...
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Sonnets and Confessions...
"Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead in the way everlasting." -Psalm 139: 23-24
"In faith, I do no love thee with mine eyes, for they in thee a thousand errors note..." William Shakespeare, Sonnet 141
I'm pretty independent and I don't always listen to the advice of others. I know this about myself, and I'm trying to improve it. So I've started seeking out people who have been around longer than me and tried to be a sponge around them and soak up all the wisdom they have to offer. (When you're only an averagely-wise person, it's smart to hang around people wiser than you.)
I'm also a single guy. So, I've tried to spend time time around people who are doing marriage really well. To learn from them. To watch them. To listen to them tell stories. To soak up their love and grace and wisdom. One day I'd like to do marriage well too, so why not learn from those with experience?
The other day I was at the opening night of worship at Annual Conference with my 88-year-old best buddy in Fort Worth and a guy named Pastor Rudy took the stage. Pastor Rudy is a Methodist pastor from Houston who is doing really incredible ministry with people in the inner-city.
He talked about a lot of things. And they were all good (heck, I've started reading his book Touch because I was so taken in by his words.) But as he closed, he talked about his wife, Juanita.
You see, Juanita hasn't always had an easy go of it since they got married. A while back she had a pretty deep depressive episode. And she's had cancer. Twice. And they've had financial strains. And Pastor Rudy shared all of this. Why? Because these were the stories that have made their marriage such a painful blessing to themselves and have taught them what God's love is like. They're the stories that have taught them that love at its deepest comes out sometimes in selfless sacrifice and devotion.
That's the vibe I've gotten from most people who have had lasting marriages. None of them tell stories about how easy it's been. None of them talk about how they never fight. They talk about devotion and reliance on another. They talk about patience and forgiveness. What becomes radically clear in listening to others is that marriage is a beautiful and ugly story of self-denial and love undertaken by two radically imperfect participants to make something much better than either create alone.
Listening to them talk about marriage helps me understand why the people who wrote the Bible used imagery of the bride and groom so often to describe Jesus and the church. It's a covenant between a groom and his bride that involves radical forgiveness and endless mercy in the face of imperfections and mistakes. It's a love that doesn't dismiss the other's flaws or overlook them, but loves in spite of them. It's a pretty compelling picture if you ask me.
I love Shakespeare. A lot. I've probably written about that before. I love the way he captured emotions in words no one else could connect.
One of my favorite things he ever wrote was his 141st sonnet:
"In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
for they in thee a thousand errors note;
but 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
who in despite of view is please to dote;
nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
to any sensual feast with thee alone:
but my five wits nor my five senses can
dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:
only my plague thus far I count my gain,
that she that makes me sin awards me pain."
To paraphrase: I do not love thee because of what you look like, or any other reason that I can experience with my five senses. In fact, everything I can experience about you tells me it is a fool's errand to love you. But I love you anyway.
That's a beautiful poem to me. It's a poem about God, whether Shakespeare intended it that way or not.
God's love is extravagant, more wild than I ever give it credit for, because I will never taste of its like in flesh and blood. It scares me because I'll never see it lived out. But this sonnet captures its impossibility to me perfectly. It's as if God is saying, "I'm so aware of your imperfections, your faults, your failings. And there is no one I could ever love more profoundly. You are still my beloved, and my beloved you will always be!"
I'm not perfect.
I am FULL of pride. I hate taking advice and I spurn help when it's offered. So often I'm convinced my way is right and no one else could have anything to help me. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I'm a man who lust too often calls friend and too often exposes. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I am far too prone to notice the flaws and imperfections in others than I am to celebrate their gifts and successes. I'm often more likely to critique than I am to create. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I'm overburdened with responsibilities I heap on myself to the point that the important, life-giving joys surrounding me every day often go unnoticed. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I lie and gossip and notice the failings of others to mask my own insecurities. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I often overlook my neighbors in my hurry to my next thing. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I judge others at first glance and then usually continue to do so as long as we know each other. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I too often speak, and speak, and speak, before I ever take a second to listen to the words of another. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
There are lots of times I put my own desires above others'. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I spend time on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram to fill a hole of loneliness in heart. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I don't always see God's presence in my comings and goings. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I'm racked with guilt for the things I fail to do and the ways that I don't live up to expectations. I dwell more on failure than on success. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
And I know I'm not alone in these struggles. That's why I know God still loves you and uses you every day.
The more I hear people talk about marriage, the more and more I hear stories about God's love for us. I've started reading Sonnet 141 every morning because it is a poem of God's love. Confession is an ugly thing, but it also reminds me just how deep the oceans of God's love extend.
There's nothing to be gained in pretending we're perfect. It's a charade with an expiration date. I'm not perfect, even on the days when I think I am. And each day God is calling me beloved, God's bride today and for always. May I always be reminded of the abounding love of God that knows no limits. May God's love so envelope us that it stokes us to love our neighbors into its impossible embrace. And may we recognize the voice of God whispering in the core of our being, "You are my beloved, my bride, today and for always."
forever unfinished...
"In faith, I do no love thee with mine eyes, for they in thee a thousand errors note..." William Shakespeare, Sonnet 141
I'm pretty independent and I don't always listen to the advice of others. I know this about myself, and I'm trying to improve it. So I've started seeking out people who have been around longer than me and tried to be a sponge around them and soak up all the wisdom they have to offer. (When you're only an averagely-wise person, it's smart to hang around people wiser than you.)
I'm also a single guy. So, I've tried to spend time time around people who are doing marriage really well. To learn from them. To watch them. To listen to them tell stories. To soak up their love and grace and wisdom. One day I'd like to do marriage well too, so why not learn from those with experience?
The other day I was at the opening night of worship at Annual Conference with my 88-year-old best buddy in Fort Worth and a guy named Pastor Rudy took the stage. Pastor Rudy is a Methodist pastor from Houston who is doing really incredible ministry with people in the inner-city.
He talked about a lot of things. And they were all good (heck, I've started reading his book Touch because I was so taken in by his words.) But as he closed, he talked about his wife, Juanita.
You see, Juanita hasn't always had an easy go of it since they got married. A while back she had a pretty deep depressive episode. And she's had cancer. Twice. And they've had financial strains. And Pastor Rudy shared all of this. Why? Because these were the stories that have made their marriage such a painful blessing to themselves and have taught them what God's love is like. They're the stories that have taught them that love at its deepest comes out sometimes in selfless sacrifice and devotion.
That's the vibe I've gotten from most people who have had lasting marriages. None of them tell stories about how easy it's been. None of them talk about how they never fight. They talk about devotion and reliance on another. They talk about patience and forgiveness. What becomes radically clear in listening to others is that marriage is a beautiful and ugly story of self-denial and love undertaken by two radically imperfect participants to make something much better than either create alone.
Listening to them talk about marriage helps me understand why the people who wrote the Bible used imagery of the bride and groom so often to describe Jesus and the church. It's a covenant between a groom and his bride that involves radical forgiveness and endless mercy in the face of imperfections and mistakes. It's a love that doesn't dismiss the other's flaws or overlook them, but loves in spite of them. It's a pretty compelling picture if you ask me.
I love Shakespeare. A lot. I've probably written about that before. I love the way he captured emotions in words no one else could connect.
One of my favorite things he ever wrote was his 141st sonnet:
"In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
for they in thee a thousand errors note;
but 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
who in despite of view is please to dote;
nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
to any sensual feast with thee alone:
but my five wits nor my five senses can
dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:
only my plague thus far I count my gain,
that she that makes me sin awards me pain."
To paraphrase: I do not love thee because of what you look like, or any other reason that I can experience with my five senses. In fact, everything I can experience about you tells me it is a fool's errand to love you. But I love you anyway.
That's a beautiful poem to me. It's a poem about God, whether Shakespeare intended it that way or not.
God's love is extravagant, more wild than I ever give it credit for, because I will never taste of its like in flesh and blood. It scares me because I'll never see it lived out. But this sonnet captures its impossibility to me perfectly. It's as if God is saying, "I'm so aware of your imperfections, your faults, your failings. And there is no one I could ever love more profoundly. You are still my beloved, and my beloved you will always be!"
I'm not perfect.
I am FULL of pride. I hate taking advice and I spurn help when it's offered. So often I'm convinced my way is right and no one else could have anything to help me. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I'm a man who lust too often calls friend and too often exposes. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I am far too prone to notice the flaws and imperfections in others than I am to celebrate their gifts and successes. I'm often more likely to critique than I am to create. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I'm overburdened with responsibilities I heap on myself to the point that the important, life-giving joys surrounding me every day often go unnoticed. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I lie and gossip and notice the failings of others to mask my own insecurities. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I often overlook my neighbors in my hurry to my next thing. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I judge others at first glance and then usually continue to do so as long as we know each other. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I too often speak, and speak, and speak, before I ever take a second to listen to the words of another. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
There are lots of times I put my own desires above others'. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I spend time on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram to fill a hole of loneliness in heart. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I don't always see God's presence in my comings and goings. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
I'm racked with guilt for the things I fail to do and the ways that I don't live up to expectations. I dwell more on failure than on success. But God still loves me and uses me every day.
And I know I'm not alone in these struggles. That's why I know God still loves you and uses you every day.
The more I hear people talk about marriage, the more and more I hear stories about God's love for us. I've started reading Sonnet 141 every morning because it is a poem of God's love. Confession is an ugly thing, but it also reminds me just how deep the oceans of God's love extend.
There's nothing to be gained in pretending we're perfect. It's a charade with an expiration date. I'm not perfect, even on the days when I think I am. And each day God is calling me beloved, God's bride today and for always. May I always be reminded of the abounding love of God that knows no limits. May God's love so envelope us that it stokes us to love our neighbors into its impossible embrace. And may we recognize the voice of God whispering in the core of our being, "You are my beloved, my bride, today and for always."
forever unfinished...
Saturday, June 13, 2015
UTA...
"Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, 'The kingdom of God has come near to you.'" -Luke 10:8-10
"It might seem strange to start a story with an ending. But all endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time." -Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven
When you first meet people, one of the generic first question to ask is, "Where are you from?"
It's a completely reasonable question, after all. It is likely you can tell something about someone by where they're from. I'd think differently or expect different things from someone from a small farm town in Kansas than I would from someone who grew up on the beach in California or someone who was raised in the Bronx. Where we're from is a vital part of who are in so many ways.
It's just that I'm not very good at answering it. You'd think after 26 years I'd have a pretty good handle on where I'm from. I should know as well as anybody else. I'm the one who's from there!
But I'm not. You see, I was born in northern California, in wine country. And that's where I spent the formative first 11 years of my life. But then we moved to a suburb of Nashville, and that's where I grew up, per se. That's where I learned to think and imagine and dream. And then, I wanted to move away from home to experience some independence and I went to a little liberal arts school in the foothills of South Carolina where I found my calling and my passion and learned to write my own story.
As if all of that weren't enough, I moved to Texas where I've learned immeasurably more about myself than I'd ever anticipated.
So when people ask where I'm from, sometimes I say Santa Rosa, CA. Sometimes I say right outside of Nashville. Sometimes I say I just moved from South Carolina.
I haven't quite gotten to where I say I'm from Texas.
The other day I was waiting for a high school graduation to start on the campus of UT-Arlington. When you're a youth minister/master's student, sometimes you have to multi-task. So while families were gathering in the arena to cheer their graduates, I was finishing a paper for a Maymester class. What a life. HA!
While I was sitting there, a campus housing commercial came on and got stuck on loop. Over. And over. And over again. Needless to say, it got a little repetitive. I'm sure UTA has a lot more to celebrate than its housing. But after thirty plays, I decided to pull my earbuds out and listen to what was being sold. And I was hooked.
No, I can't say I signed up to take some classes so I could live on campus. But the tagline. I loved the tagline. "Live where your life is."
That was the idea behind UTA's campus housing. You ought to live where your life is. Brilliant!
Some may hear that and think it's the most obvious thing in the world. OF COURSE WE LIVE WHERE OUR LIVES ARE! Where else could we live!? But on second thought, I think a lot of us live other places.
I think this tagline, at least for me, pointed to something much deeper. Something Jesus tried to teach his disciples.
When Jesus sent out the seventy disciples (yes, this is more than twelve, if you noticed. Jesus had lots of disciples and twelve that were closer than others) he told them to enter towns and find a home to stay in. "Don't bounce around," Jesus told them, "but make yourself at home and get rooted in the place!"
What Jesus knew was that you can't be with people if you're not with them. Let me explain. We can be in the same physical space as someone and not be with them. How often have couples been married for years but not sharing the passion of life and love? How often do we pass our homeless brothers and sisters on the street without even acknowledging their presence? How often do we find a job only to think, "When can I possibly get out of here for something better?" How often have people spent so time thinking about how green the grass is on the other side that they miss the beauty of the yard they're playing in?
I think that's why Jesus told the disciples to stay put. I think he wanted them to get to know their neighbors, to find out what made them laugh and what made them cry, what their favorite type of camel was. You know, the important stuff. To take their time to get to know people. He wanted his disciples to be neighbors because that is how communities and peoples' lives are changed: when people are with them.
People have asked me a lot if I think I'll stay in Texas forever. As someone who's moved around a good bit, that seems crazy to me some days. If you'd asked me that two years ago, I'd have said, "No way, Jose!" Now I'm not so sure. I've found people here, people I love and people who care for me. I've found home here. Just like I did in Santa Rosa. Just like I did in Brentwood. Just like I did in Greenville. My life is what it is today because of the people I knew and the experiences I had in all of those places because I found home there.
I know where I'm from. I'm from Santa Rosa. I'm from Brentwood. I'm from Greenville. I'm from Camp Barnabas. I'm from Berea Friendship United Methodist Church. And I'm from Fort Worth. I'm from all the places I've called home and all of the places that have shaped my life because I was willing to be there. And that's why I know, no matter where life takes me, here or there, near or far, comfortable or scary, I've learned to always be at home.
Some of us may only know one home. Others may know thirty. But may you live wherever your life is. May you hear and follow where the Spirit is calling you. And may you dive head first into the people around you, calling you by name, teaching you who you are and who you are becoming. And may you always be at home.
forever unfinished...
"It might seem strange to start a story with an ending. But all endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time." -Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven
When you first meet people, one of the generic first question to ask is, "Where are you from?"
It's a completely reasonable question, after all. It is likely you can tell something about someone by where they're from. I'd think differently or expect different things from someone from a small farm town in Kansas than I would from someone who grew up on the beach in California or someone who was raised in the Bronx. Where we're from is a vital part of who are in so many ways.
It's just that I'm not very good at answering it. You'd think after 26 years I'd have a pretty good handle on where I'm from. I should know as well as anybody else. I'm the one who's from there!
But I'm not. You see, I was born in northern California, in wine country. And that's where I spent the formative first 11 years of my life. But then we moved to a suburb of Nashville, and that's where I grew up, per se. That's where I learned to think and imagine and dream. And then, I wanted to move away from home to experience some independence and I went to a little liberal arts school in the foothills of South Carolina where I found my calling and my passion and learned to write my own story.
As if all of that weren't enough, I moved to Texas where I've learned immeasurably more about myself than I'd ever anticipated.
So when people ask where I'm from, sometimes I say Santa Rosa, CA. Sometimes I say right outside of Nashville. Sometimes I say I just moved from South Carolina.
I haven't quite gotten to where I say I'm from Texas.
The other day I was waiting for a high school graduation to start on the campus of UT-Arlington. When you're a youth minister/master's student, sometimes you have to multi-task. So while families were gathering in the arena to cheer their graduates, I was finishing a paper for a Maymester class. What a life. HA!
While I was sitting there, a campus housing commercial came on and got stuck on loop. Over. And over. And over again. Needless to say, it got a little repetitive. I'm sure UTA has a lot more to celebrate than its housing. But after thirty plays, I decided to pull my earbuds out and listen to what was being sold. And I was hooked.
No, I can't say I signed up to take some classes so I could live on campus. But the tagline. I loved the tagline. "Live where your life is."
That was the idea behind UTA's campus housing. You ought to live where your life is. Brilliant!
Some may hear that and think it's the most obvious thing in the world. OF COURSE WE LIVE WHERE OUR LIVES ARE! Where else could we live!? But on second thought, I think a lot of us live other places.
I think this tagline, at least for me, pointed to something much deeper. Something Jesus tried to teach his disciples.
When Jesus sent out the seventy disciples (yes, this is more than twelve, if you noticed. Jesus had lots of disciples and twelve that were closer than others) he told them to enter towns and find a home to stay in. "Don't bounce around," Jesus told them, "but make yourself at home and get rooted in the place!"
What Jesus knew was that you can't be with people if you're not with them. Let me explain. We can be in the same physical space as someone and not be with them. How often have couples been married for years but not sharing the passion of life and love? How often do we pass our homeless brothers and sisters on the street without even acknowledging their presence? How often do we find a job only to think, "When can I possibly get out of here for something better?" How often have people spent so time thinking about how green the grass is on the other side that they miss the beauty of the yard they're playing in?
I think that's why Jesus told the disciples to stay put. I think he wanted them to get to know their neighbors, to find out what made them laugh and what made them cry, what their favorite type of camel was. You know, the important stuff. To take their time to get to know people. He wanted his disciples to be neighbors because that is how communities and peoples' lives are changed: when people are with them.
People have asked me a lot if I think I'll stay in Texas forever. As someone who's moved around a good bit, that seems crazy to me some days. If you'd asked me that two years ago, I'd have said, "No way, Jose!" Now I'm not so sure. I've found people here, people I love and people who care for me. I've found home here. Just like I did in Santa Rosa. Just like I did in Brentwood. Just like I did in Greenville. My life is what it is today because of the people I knew and the experiences I had in all of those places because I found home there.
I know where I'm from. I'm from Santa Rosa. I'm from Brentwood. I'm from Greenville. I'm from Camp Barnabas. I'm from Berea Friendship United Methodist Church. And I'm from Fort Worth. I'm from all the places I've called home and all of the places that have shaped my life because I was willing to be there. And that's why I know, no matter where life takes me, here or there, near or far, comfortable or scary, I've learned to always be at home.
Some of us may only know one home. Others may know thirty. But may you live wherever your life is. May you hear and follow where the Spirit is calling you. And may you dive head first into the people around you, calling you by name, teaching you who you are and who you are becoming. And may you always be at home.
forever unfinished...
Friday, May 29, 2015
Fasting...
"I don't want to be living tomorrows and missing todays. Ain't going to be making treasures out of things that fade away. No I'd rather be living every second, living every minute, of every single day. Just soak it up, every little bit I can. Enjoy all my days before all my days end. And whatever I get, I'll always let that be enough. And never forget to soak it up." -Soak It Up, Warren Barfield
"If blood's flowing through my veins, and there's air to breathe, and life to live, then I've got a song to sing on this normal day, September 22." -September 22, Nathan Angelo
"Jesus said to them, 'I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.'" -John 6:35
By the time Lent rolls around every year, I've usually got a pretty good idea of what I'd like to give up. One year it was my cell phone. One year it was social media (that's actually been a couple years.) One year it was profanity. One year I tried to say only nice things about others (hey, at least I tried.)
There's always been some kind of circumstance that has inspired me to give something up. Some aspect of my life that I needed to let go of for a while. But this year was different. I had no idea what to give up, no idea what to fast from.
So Ash Wednesday arrived and I still had nothing. I wanted to find something that would be significant to me. And then it hit me. Maybe I didn't need to find something to fast from. Maybe I just needed to fast.
I had never really practiced fasting before Lent. I didn't completely get the point if I can be honest. I knew it was a neat thing to do, and that it seemed important. But it had never been something that I needed to do.
So that's what I decided to do. For the weeks of Lent, I didn't eat anything from sunrise to sunset. (Disclaimer: not eating during the day while marathon training is NOT a wise strategy.) I didn't completely know what I was getting into, but it just felt right.
There were lots of days when my stomach ached and turned. Sometimes it made funny sounds. And about 3:00 every afternoon I started to get really hungry.
It was also the most special Lent practice I've ever participated in. Every time my stomach nudged for a quick bite or cried out in hunger, I'd stop for a second and say a quick prayer. Every time I felt my taste buds salivate just a little bit, I'd ask God to satisfy my hunger.
Here's what I learned: when we spend time disrupting our days to stop and pray, to acknowledge God's presence in the mundane and ordinary and tedious, we begin to recognize the ways that God is active and moving in those places. When we stop for just a second to look for God's fingerprints, we'll find them everywhere. We're usually just too busy to stop.
But I learned something else during those six and a half weeks. I learned that I would survive if my hunger wasn't satisfied immediately. I began to see the depth of the promise Jesus made to the woman at the well that whoever drinks of the water he offers would not be thirsty again. I learned the difference between want and need.
I focus so often on what I don't have. How often do we do that? We look in the mirror and see the muscles we don't have or our face that isn't perfect. We see our job and think about the job we don't have. We look at others and critique what they aren't instead of celebrating and encouraging all of the things they are.
We are a people of scarcity. We focus on the limitations we face and the resources we wish we had.
But God is not a god of scarcity. God is a god of abundance!
God showers us with grace upon grace and mercy upon mercy. God's love is breaking the levees and flowing into every crevice of creation. We are filled with gifts and skills and personalities to enrich the lives of others and make the world a better place. We are rich simply by the fact of our existence.
How would our marriages and relationships shine if we learned to love the depths of our partners instead of focusing on what they lack and on what that other guy/girl has? How would our communities and businesses grow if we focused on the gifts and assets of our coworkers/neighbors/friends instead of getting stuck on the resources we lack? How would our dreams for our own lives expand and take flight if we recognized God's handiwork in our beings instead of remaining trapped by the things we're not? How would our families grow in love if we saw the blessings of our homes and our beds and our full pantries and loved ones instead of driving through the next neighborhood over imagining what life must be for the better half?
We have more than we could ever need. We have blood flowing through our veins and air to breathe. We have friends and family and neighbors. We have jobs and cars and food. We have God's love filling our ever pore.
Fasting during Lent helped remind me of this. I don't remember every day. That's why I still fast. To disrupt my monotony. To disrupt my complacency and discontent. To remind me of the depths of God's blessing. God is not a god of scarcity. God is a god of overflowing abundance. Now it's our turn to start to recognize that abundance and celebrate it!
I've fasted since Easter, and I plan to continue going forward, because in giving up food I've found God satisfying my soul in bigger ways than I could ever fathom. May you know the bread of life in new ways every day.
forever unfinished...
"If blood's flowing through my veins, and there's air to breathe, and life to live, then I've got a song to sing on this normal day, September 22." -September 22, Nathan Angelo
"Jesus said to them, 'I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.'" -John 6:35
By the time Lent rolls around every year, I've usually got a pretty good idea of what I'd like to give up. One year it was my cell phone. One year it was social media (that's actually been a couple years.) One year it was profanity. One year I tried to say only nice things about others (hey, at least I tried.)
There's always been some kind of circumstance that has inspired me to give something up. Some aspect of my life that I needed to let go of for a while. But this year was different. I had no idea what to give up, no idea what to fast from.
So Ash Wednesday arrived and I still had nothing. I wanted to find something that would be significant to me. And then it hit me. Maybe I didn't need to find something to fast from. Maybe I just needed to fast.
I had never really practiced fasting before Lent. I didn't completely get the point if I can be honest. I knew it was a neat thing to do, and that it seemed important. But it had never been something that I needed to do.
So that's what I decided to do. For the weeks of Lent, I didn't eat anything from sunrise to sunset. (Disclaimer: not eating during the day while marathon training is NOT a wise strategy.) I didn't completely know what I was getting into, but it just felt right.
There were lots of days when my stomach ached and turned. Sometimes it made funny sounds. And about 3:00 every afternoon I started to get really hungry.
It was also the most special Lent practice I've ever participated in. Every time my stomach nudged for a quick bite or cried out in hunger, I'd stop for a second and say a quick prayer. Every time I felt my taste buds salivate just a little bit, I'd ask God to satisfy my hunger.
Here's what I learned: when we spend time disrupting our days to stop and pray, to acknowledge God's presence in the mundane and ordinary and tedious, we begin to recognize the ways that God is active and moving in those places. When we stop for just a second to look for God's fingerprints, we'll find them everywhere. We're usually just too busy to stop.
But I learned something else during those six and a half weeks. I learned that I would survive if my hunger wasn't satisfied immediately. I began to see the depth of the promise Jesus made to the woman at the well that whoever drinks of the water he offers would not be thirsty again. I learned the difference between want and need.
I focus so often on what I don't have. How often do we do that? We look in the mirror and see the muscles we don't have or our face that isn't perfect. We see our job and think about the job we don't have. We look at others and critique what they aren't instead of celebrating and encouraging all of the things they are.
We are a people of scarcity. We focus on the limitations we face and the resources we wish we had.
But God is not a god of scarcity. God is a god of abundance!
God showers us with grace upon grace and mercy upon mercy. God's love is breaking the levees and flowing into every crevice of creation. We are filled with gifts and skills and personalities to enrich the lives of others and make the world a better place. We are rich simply by the fact of our existence.
How would our marriages and relationships shine if we learned to love the depths of our partners instead of focusing on what they lack and on what that other guy/girl has? How would our communities and businesses grow if we focused on the gifts and assets of our coworkers/neighbors/friends instead of getting stuck on the resources we lack? How would our dreams for our own lives expand and take flight if we recognized God's handiwork in our beings instead of remaining trapped by the things we're not? How would our families grow in love if we saw the blessings of our homes and our beds and our full pantries and loved ones instead of driving through the next neighborhood over imagining what life must be for the better half?
We have more than we could ever need. We have blood flowing through our veins and air to breathe. We have friends and family and neighbors. We have jobs and cars and food. We have God's love filling our ever pore.
Fasting during Lent helped remind me of this. I don't remember every day. That's why I still fast. To disrupt my monotony. To disrupt my complacency and discontent. To remind me of the depths of God's blessing. God is not a god of scarcity. God is a god of overflowing abundance. Now it's our turn to start to recognize that abundance and celebrate it!
I've fasted since Easter, and I plan to continue going forward, because in giving up food I've found God satisfying my soul in bigger ways than I could ever fathom. May you know the bread of life in new ways every day.
forever unfinished...
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
4:23:34...
"Is the fruit worth the squeeze?" -The Girl Next Door
"Go through it. You ain't gonna die. At the end of pain is success. You're not going to die because you're feeling a little pain." -Oz Pinoy, Pain is Temporary
"I have fought the hard fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith"-2 Timothy 4:7
A month and a half ago I finished my first marathon. I know lots of people finish marathons these days, but I want to tell you about mine.
You see, after three knee surgeries in five years, I've had to ratchet back my high-impact exercise by leaps and bounds. I can't play as much ultimate frisbee or basketball. I can't run like I used to. But I wanted to finish a marathon. It was kind of a bucket list item. If my knees weren't ever going to be "perfect" anymore, I wanted to cross one of those finish lines.
So last September I started training. And I was feeling good. I ran a half marathon to see how it felt, and it felt good. I was cruising. The winter months started to come and the temperature started to fall, but I kept right along with my training program.
As the race approached, the weight of all of the training started to take its toll. Months of waking up before 6 coupled with a full-time job and being a full-time student has a way of wearing you down. But my training was going great and my body felt ready to go. I was finally going to cross off this accomplishment.
And then it happened: an ice storm. In Texas. On the week of the race. And just like that, all the training was for nothing. The course couldn't be melted and cleared by the time the race was supposed to start, so the Cowtown Marathon was cancelled.
But I wasn't going to let that discourage me. I'd spent five months training after all. So I started scouring the lists of races all around the region for one that would be close, and one that might be cheap. And then I found it: the Big D Marathon in Dallas a month away.
But that month was not as easy as I thought it would be. For one, it was an extra month of running on legs that were already pretty completely worn out. Additionally, I spent Lent (which just happened to overlap that month) fasting during the week, which I can confirm is not compatible with marathon training. On top of that it was a busy season at work and I was going through what can best be described as the most exhausting semester I've had at Brite.
The day of the race finally arrived and the weather was much better. Dad and Little Brother drove down to support me along the way. My friend Larry, a veteran marathoner, had offered to be there to cheer and help me finish the last few miles if I needed a pick-me-up. And my legs felt decent.
But three miles in, I knew it wasn't going to be my day. I set out on the pace I'd set for the Cowtown, and kept it for 14 miles, but it all started to fall apart quickly thereafter. My knees started tightening and firing on and off. My body, worn out from the wear and tear of the past couple months, simply didn't have anything left.
At mile 18, I found Dad, Thomas, and Larry waiting for me to spur me on. I thought about quitting right there. My knees were squeezing every quarter mile forcing me to sit and stretch. But Larry pulled onto the track to start his part of the race with me. So I kept going.
He quickly realized the predicament I was in. Every mile or so I thought about quitting. Every quarter mile I had to stop to walk because me knees got too tight to stride. My body was giving up. But Larry kept pushing, and I kept going.
4 hours, 23 minutes, and 34 seconds after I started the race (45 minutes after I'd planned to finish) I crossed the finish line.
And there wasn't an ounce of me that was disappointed. I wasn't mad I'd run slower. I wasn't upset I'd met the "wall" miles before I'd planned. I wasn't let down because I'd had to walk.
I finished.
It wasn't perfect. But I finished.
And isn't that how life works? After all, when has something always gone exactly according to plan? Nothing worth finishing comes without some kind of obstacles. Nothing worth anything comes without some kind of pain. And sometimes the result we celebrate isn't even the goal we set out to reach.
I was sure I was going to run a marathon in under 3 hours and 40 minutes. I was sure I was going to blast through it and finish with a smile on my face. But I didn't.
And that was just a part of my journey. It had twists and turns, disappointments and successes. It had smiles and tears (no really, lots of both!) When I crossed the finish line, it wasn't at all what I thought it would feel like. When I set out to run a marathon in September, I had a much different picture in my head of what it would look like.
But our stories always get interrupted. They always demand alteration and re-imagining. Our stories are always bumpy and imperfect. There was no character in the Bible whose life was worth telling about that didn't experience disappointment or pain. But their stories were worthwhile because of those struggles. We tell their stories today, centuries later, because God took their lives, even with all of the imperfections, and wrote something beautiful with them.
So may you run your marathon. May you face your challenges head on. May you find people willing to help pull you to the finish line when you don't think you can get there yourself. May you always remain open to the possibility that your future is yet unwritten. And whether everything goes according to plan or nothing goes as it ought, may you learn to recognize God's fingerprints in your story as it moves along as it will towards whatever finish line may be awaiting you.
forever unfinished...
"Go through it. You ain't gonna die. At the end of pain is success. You're not going to die because you're feeling a little pain." -Oz Pinoy, Pain is Temporary
"I have fought the hard fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith"-2 Timothy 4:7
A month and a half ago I finished my first marathon. I know lots of people finish marathons these days, but I want to tell you about mine.
You see, after three knee surgeries in five years, I've had to ratchet back my high-impact exercise by leaps and bounds. I can't play as much ultimate frisbee or basketball. I can't run like I used to. But I wanted to finish a marathon. It was kind of a bucket list item. If my knees weren't ever going to be "perfect" anymore, I wanted to cross one of those finish lines.
So last September I started training. And I was feeling good. I ran a half marathon to see how it felt, and it felt good. I was cruising. The winter months started to come and the temperature started to fall, but I kept right along with my training program.
As the race approached, the weight of all of the training started to take its toll. Months of waking up before 6 coupled with a full-time job and being a full-time student has a way of wearing you down. But my training was going great and my body felt ready to go. I was finally going to cross off this accomplishment.
And then it happened: an ice storm. In Texas. On the week of the race. And just like that, all the training was for nothing. The course couldn't be melted and cleared by the time the race was supposed to start, so the Cowtown Marathon was cancelled.
But I wasn't going to let that discourage me. I'd spent five months training after all. So I started scouring the lists of races all around the region for one that would be close, and one that might be cheap. And then I found it: the Big D Marathon in Dallas a month away.
But that month was not as easy as I thought it would be. For one, it was an extra month of running on legs that were already pretty completely worn out. Additionally, I spent Lent (which just happened to overlap that month) fasting during the week, which I can confirm is not compatible with marathon training. On top of that it was a busy season at work and I was going through what can best be described as the most exhausting semester I've had at Brite.
The day of the race finally arrived and the weather was much better. Dad and Little Brother drove down to support me along the way. My friend Larry, a veteran marathoner, had offered to be there to cheer and help me finish the last few miles if I needed a pick-me-up. And my legs felt decent.
But three miles in, I knew it wasn't going to be my day. I set out on the pace I'd set for the Cowtown, and kept it for 14 miles, but it all started to fall apart quickly thereafter. My knees started tightening and firing on and off. My body, worn out from the wear and tear of the past couple months, simply didn't have anything left.
At mile 18, I found Dad, Thomas, and Larry waiting for me to spur me on. I thought about quitting right there. My knees were squeezing every quarter mile forcing me to sit and stretch. But Larry pulled onto the track to start his part of the race with me. So I kept going.
He quickly realized the predicament I was in. Every mile or so I thought about quitting. Every quarter mile I had to stop to walk because me knees got too tight to stride. My body was giving up. But Larry kept pushing, and I kept going.
4 hours, 23 minutes, and 34 seconds after I started the race (45 minutes after I'd planned to finish) I crossed the finish line.
And there wasn't an ounce of me that was disappointed. I wasn't mad I'd run slower. I wasn't upset I'd met the "wall" miles before I'd planned. I wasn't let down because I'd had to walk.
I finished.
It wasn't perfect. But I finished.
And isn't that how life works? After all, when has something always gone exactly according to plan? Nothing worth finishing comes without some kind of obstacles. Nothing worth anything comes without some kind of pain. And sometimes the result we celebrate isn't even the goal we set out to reach.
I was sure I was going to run a marathon in under 3 hours and 40 minutes. I was sure I was going to blast through it and finish with a smile on my face. But I didn't.
And that was just a part of my journey. It had twists and turns, disappointments and successes. It had smiles and tears (no really, lots of both!) When I crossed the finish line, it wasn't at all what I thought it would feel like. When I set out to run a marathon in September, I had a much different picture in my head of what it would look like.
But our stories always get interrupted. They always demand alteration and re-imagining. Our stories are always bumpy and imperfect. There was no character in the Bible whose life was worth telling about that didn't experience disappointment or pain. But their stories were worthwhile because of those struggles. We tell their stories today, centuries later, because God took their lives, even with all of the imperfections, and wrote something beautiful with them.
So may you run your marathon. May you face your challenges head on. May you find people willing to help pull you to the finish line when you don't think you can get there yourself. May you always remain open to the possibility that your future is yet unwritten. And whether everything goes according to plan or nothing goes as it ought, may you learn to recognize God's fingerprints in your story as it moves along as it will towards whatever finish line may be awaiting you.
forever unfinished...
Monday, May 18, 2015
Grayson...
"Mr. Rayburn used to always say, 'A jack@$% can kick a barn down. It takes a carpenter to build one.'" -Rep. Paul Driskell
"'Then neither do I condemn you,' Jesus declared. 'Go now and leave your life of sin.'" -John 8:11
I've got a friend named Grayson. Grayson just turned two years old, and yes, he does love Jake and the Neverland Pirates.
Grayson's grandmother is Brenda, our youth assistant. So every once in a while, Grayson will come to play in the office. Needless to say, those days he's in the office are hardly productive.
A little over a year ago, Grayson was in town for a whole week while his mom and dad got their first post-baby vacation. He hung out with us at the office a couple of days that week, and they were the best I've had in my time at FUMC. Throughout the day there were moments of reading books, playing with balls, naps on a cushion, doodling on an iPhone and so much more.
Maybe Grayson's favorite activity during the week was stacking some plastic blue cups into a pyramid. It was a heck of a feat for a 1 and a half year old (although he did have some help from older friends!)
But the building of the pyramid was hardly the best part of the game for Grayson. Like most toddlers, the construction part of the activity wasn't nearly as fun as the destruction part!
Once the stack had gotten too tall, Grayson took it upon himself to become a human tornado and crash through the tower with arms, legs, and really any body part available to him. Cups flung everywhere!
Grayson's only response? A gigantic smile filled with a triumphant "WOW!"
Sometimes I think we're becoming more like Grayson every day. We've gotten really good at tearing things down. We've gotten really good at finding the flaws in things and forgetting to see anything redemptive. We've learned to focus on and point out the negatives and neglect the positives. I know I have.
Not sure what I'm talking about? Just listen to the conversations we have every day. How many of them are complaints about co-workers or classmates? How many times do we point out the flaws in others? How often do we point out the wrong thing someone else did or said?
Just listen to a second of political news. No one has solutions anymore. They're all too busy noting how wrong the other side is to focus on fixing anything. Or just take a look at our Facebook walls or our Twitter feeds. They're cluttered with complaints and problems. They're full of people finding all the things wrong with the world.
A friend of mine captured this perfectly recently in a chat we were having. "It's easy to critique," Marlon said. "It's way harder to create."
I suppose it's no coincidence Jesus was raised and trained as a carpenter. He was a builder, a builder of lives. When a woman was dragged into the town square, caught in adultery, the crowd had already condemned her. They had pointed out all her flaws and torn her apart. They were ready to stone her and kick her to the curb. When Jesus was asked by the leaders what to do, he knelt down and drew with his finger in the sand. After a few short moments, he rose, looked to the crowd, and uttered those memorable words, "Let he who is without blame cast the first stone."
One by one they left until it was just Jesus and the woman. And this woman, naked and exposed, trembling and frightened, torn down and beat up, looked up and I can't imagine the expression on her face. She must have been so ashamed and embarrassed and afraid. But Jesus didn't see a life wasted. He saw a life waiting to be lived. He saw a life ready to be built back up into something more beautiful than it was before.
So he spoke to her in what I imagine was just more than a whisper, "I do not condemn you. Now go and leave your life of sin."
Jesus could've joined the crowd and torn her down. I probably would have I suppose. Because that's easier. It's easier to point out the darkness than it is to become the light.
But nothing gets better when he do nothing more than deconstruct. There's no hope in that work. Sure, sometimes things need to break down for rebirth to begin. But too often our words aren't spoken to nurture rebirth. Too often we settle for standing in the crowd, too busy pointing out the flaws in others, too scared to invest in the work of restoration God has already begun. Too often I settle for that path.
Creating is harder than critiquing. It requires a prophetic imagination. It imagines seeing beyond what is to what can be. And it requires getting our hands dirty and often becoming unpopular.
But it's also the only work that makes anything better. It may be easier to point out the flaws, but as long as we remain onlookers to the imperfections of others, we are merely allowing others to see the insecurities and imperfections we hold so tightly in ourselves.
The work of creating is hard and burdensome. It is often unpopular and lonely. But it's the only way things get better. Until we are prepared to fix things, to enter into brokenness and help redeem it, we have no permission to critique it. Until we're ready to be a part of the solution, we have no authority to complain about the problem.
So may we use our words to build up instead of tear down. May we orient our lives to the breath of life filling our lungs that calls us to a deep "Yes" instead of lingering in the discontent of "No." May we direct our lives towards making this world a better place for those around us and those to come behind us instead. May we get our hands dirty in the work of reconciliation instead of perpetuating the problems of complacency with complaints. And may we participate in the work of resurrection into which our God has invited us instead of pointing to the places where hell remains.
forever unfinished...
"'Then neither do I condemn you,' Jesus declared. 'Go now and leave your life of sin.'" -John 8:11
I've got a friend named Grayson. Grayson just turned two years old, and yes, he does love Jake and the Neverland Pirates.
Grayson's grandmother is Brenda, our youth assistant. So every once in a while, Grayson will come to play in the office. Needless to say, those days he's in the office are hardly productive.
A little over a year ago, Grayson was in town for a whole week while his mom and dad got their first post-baby vacation. He hung out with us at the office a couple of days that week, and they were the best I've had in my time at FUMC. Throughout the day there were moments of reading books, playing with balls, naps on a cushion, doodling on an iPhone and so much more.
Maybe Grayson's favorite activity during the week was stacking some plastic blue cups into a pyramid. It was a heck of a feat for a 1 and a half year old (although he did have some help from older friends!)
But the building of the pyramid was hardly the best part of the game for Grayson. Like most toddlers, the construction part of the activity wasn't nearly as fun as the destruction part!
Once the stack had gotten too tall, Grayson took it upon himself to become a human tornado and crash through the tower with arms, legs, and really any body part available to him. Cups flung everywhere!
Grayson's only response? A gigantic smile filled with a triumphant "WOW!"
Sometimes I think we're becoming more like Grayson every day. We've gotten really good at tearing things down. We've gotten really good at finding the flaws in things and forgetting to see anything redemptive. We've learned to focus on and point out the negatives and neglect the positives. I know I have.
Not sure what I'm talking about? Just listen to the conversations we have every day. How many of them are complaints about co-workers or classmates? How many times do we point out the flaws in others? How often do we point out the wrong thing someone else did or said?
Just listen to a second of political news. No one has solutions anymore. They're all too busy noting how wrong the other side is to focus on fixing anything. Or just take a look at our Facebook walls or our Twitter feeds. They're cluttered with complaints and problems. They're full of people finding all the things wrong with the world.
A friend of mine captured this perfectly recently in a chat we were having. "It's easy to critique," Marlon said. "It's way harder to create."
I suppose it's no coincidence Jesus was raised and trained as a carpenter. He was a builder, a builder of lives. When a woman was dragged into the town square, caught in adultery, the crowd had already condemned her. They had pointed out all her flaws and torn her apart. They were ready to stone her and kick her to the curb. When Jesus was asked by the leaders what to do, he knelt down and drew with his finger in the sand. After a few short moments, he rose, looked to the crowd, and uttered those memorable words, "Let he who is without blame cast the first stone."
One by one they left until it was just Jesus and the woman. And this woman, naked and exposed, trembling and frightened, torn down and beat up, looked up and I can't imagine the expression on her face. She must have been so ashamed and embarrassed and afraid. But Jesus didn't see a life wasted. He saw a life waiting to be lived. He saw a life ready to be built back up into something more beautiful than it was before.
So he spoke to her in what I imagine was just more than a whisper, "I do not condemn you. Now go and leave your life of sin."
Jesus could've joined the crowd and torn her down. I probably would have I suppose. Because that's easier. It's easier to point out the darkness than it is to become the light.
But nothing gets better when he do nothing more than deconstruct. There's no hope in that work. Sure, sometimes things need to break down for rebirth to begin. But too often our words aren't spoken to nurture rebirth. Too often we settle for standing in the crowd, too busy pointing out the flaws in others, too scared to invest in the work of restoration God has already begun. Too often I settle for that path.
Creating is harder than critiquing. It requires a prophetic imagination. It imagines seeing beyond what is to what can be. And it requires getting our hands dirty and often becoming unpopular.
But it's also the only work that makes anything better. It may be easier to point out the flaws, but as long as we remain onlookers to the imperfections of others, we are merely allowing others to see the insecurities and imperfections we hold so tightly in ourselves.
The work of creating is hard and burdensome. It is often unpopular and lonely. But it's the only way things get better. Until we are prepared to fix things, to enter into brokenness and help redeem it, we have no permission to critique it. Until we're ready to be a part of the solution, we have no authority to complain about the problem.
So may we use our words to build up instead of tear down. May we orient our lives to the breath of life filling our lungs that calls us to a deep "Yes" instead of lingering in the discontent of "No." May we direct our lives towards making this world a better place for those around us and those to come behind us instead. May we get our hands dirty in the work of reconciliation instead of perpetuating the problems of complacency with complaints. And may we participate in the work of resurrection into which our God has invited us instead of pointing to the places where hell remains.
forever unfinished...
Saturday, May 16, 2015
Weddings...
"There are moments you wonder if you'll ever forget. Events that sear themselves on your conscience. That moment was one of those for me." -Rob Bell, Sex God
"Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh." -Genesis 2:24
This blog is about a smile.
I love weddings. For those who know me, this should not come as a surprise. I'm a romantic kind of guy and love dancing. What's not to love?
Two weekends ago I flew back to celebrate the wedding of my Texas big sister Casey. Working for Casey for two years, I'd gotten to see a few guys come and go and disappointments arrive on occasion. And then a year and a half ago, we were having lunch at Chimy's and she told me about a guy from Nashville she's reconnected with. Sixteen months later, that was the guy waiting for her at the end of the aisle.
You should know, Casey is known to occasionally be a crier. By occasionally, I mean on many occasions.
On her wedding day, I expected her to be crying the whole way through. But that was not what I found.
There was a smile on her face from ear to ear. People often smile on their wedding days. In fact, if they don't, that's probably not a good sign.
But Casey's smile was different. From the moment the doors opened and her dad started to walk her down the aisle, there was something more in her smile. And it didn't go away.
From that moment until the moment she and Michael ran through a line of maraca-shaking friends and family on the way to their hotel, that smile never left. It never diminished. It never faded. That smile was on her face for every second of her wedding and her reception.
It was a picture of pure joy. In all honesty, I'm not sure I've ever seen a person happier than Casey was that day. I wanted to tell her about it the whole week she was gone, because she needed to know how happy she looked. It never occurred to me that she might know how happy she was. After all, she was the one smiling.
It was the smile of someone who was starting a new chapter, a new life, together with the person she loved more than anyone else. There wasn't a glimpse of hesitation or fear in it. It was the smile of someone who was in exactly the right place with exactly the right person. It was the smile of pure and perfect love.
It was the type of smile that others notice and forget whatever else may be going on in their lives.
Life isn't always perfect. In fact, it is often times quite hard. And many times, the weight of all of the bad seems overwhelming. The news is full of reports of ISIS and pain. There are moments of disappointment and tragedy. Our lives can be burdened with pressures and loss. Things are not always as we'd hope they'd be.
But Casey's smile was a reminder that hope always remains and love is always the source of that hope. Not in a hokey romantic sense. But deep, abiding love. Rob Bell puts it this way, "Maybe this is why we always notice great marriages. When their love is growing, it inspires us. Their life together gives us life."
This is why I love weddings. This is why I loved Casey's wedding, and why I had to tell her about her smile. They provide us with hope. They remind us that there are always great things that are being made new every day. They remind us that God is always writing new stories in our midst.
But it also taught me that this hope isn't something for us to share alone. Casey is like me, having moved to Texas not knowing anyone. We could be self-sufficient. We didn't need someone else to get along.
I've trained myself to be independent. To follow the wind wherever it may lead, whether from California to Tennessee to South Carolina to Texas. To be able to do it all myself. But Casey's smile taught me something, something I didn't realize how deeply I wanted: even if we can do it alone, even if we're capable of getting along just fine, it's always better to have a partner. It's better to have someone to share the biggest moments of our lives with.
I feel like Adam a lot. After all, Adam didn't think he needed a helper. He was able to name the animals and tend the garden alone. I'm sure he and God walked along and had fine chats. I'm sure he and the dogs in the garden played great fetch. He assumed he was doing just fine by himself.
But something was missing, even if he didn't know what it was, even if he didn't know how to describe it. He was lonely. He didn't have a companion. And God looked down and must've said something like, "This is close, but not quite right." So God put Adam to sleep and made Eve. And I imagine when Adam woke up and saw his partner, his smile looked something like Casey's. I imagine his face was beaming from ear to ear.
I love weddings. They give me hope in the midst of whatever may be going on in the world that faith, hope, and love are never overshadowed. They give me hope that we can believe that the future will be bright. They give me hope that God is still making things new in our midst, writing new stories.
That's what I loved about Casey's wedding. That's what I loved about her smile. That's why I stopped in her office the morning she got back to tell her how happy she was. Her smile reminded me exactly what pure joy looked like. And it taught me that no matter how capable we are, it's always better to share that joy with a companion. Because then you'll see your smile staring back at you.
Congratulations Casey and Michael! May your love continue to bloom and be made new every day. May you grow through challenges and celebrations. And may your love remind the world that God's love is transforming us every day.
forever unfinished...
"Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh." -Genesis 2:24
This blog is about a smile.
I love weddings. For those who know me, this should not come as a surprise. I'm a romantic kind of guy and love dancing. What's not to love?
Two weekends ago I flew back to celebrate the wedding of my Texas big sister Casey. Working for Casey for two years, I'd gotten to see a few guys come and go and disappointments arrive on occasion. And then a year and a half ago, we were having lunch at Chimy's and she told me about a guy from Nashville she's reconnected with. Sixteen months later, that was the guy waiting for her at the end of the aisle.
You should know, Casey is known to occasionally be a crier. By occasionally, I mean on many occasions.
On her wedding day, I expected her to be crying the whole way through. But that was not what I found.
There was a smile on her face from ear to ear. People often smile on their wedding days. In fact, if they don't, that's probably not a good sign.
But Casey's smile was different. From the moment the doors opened and her dad started to walk her down the aisle, there was something more in her smile. And it didn't go away.
From that moment until the moment she and Michael ran through a line of maraca-shaking friends and family on the way to their hotel, that smile never left. It never diminished. It never faded. That smile was on her face for every second of her wedding and her reception.
It was a picture of pure joy. In all honesty, I'm not sure I've ever seen a person happier than Casey was that day. I wanted to tell her about it the whole week she was gone, because she needed to know how happy she looked. It never occurred to me that she might know how happy she was. After all, she was the one smiling.
It was the smile of someone who was starting a new chapter, a new life, together with the person she loved more than anyone else. There wasn't a glimpse of hesitation or fear in it. It was the smile of someone who was in exactly the right place with exactly the right person. It was the smile of pure and perfect love.
It was the type of smile that others notice and forget whatever else may be going on in their lives.
Life isn't always perfect. In fact, it is often times quite hard. And many times, the weight of all of the bad seems overwhelming. The news is full of reports of ISIS and pain. There are moments of disappointment and tragedy. Our lives can be burdened with pressures and loss. Things are not always as we'd hope they'd be.
But Casey's smile was a reminder that hope always remains and love is always the source of that hope. Not in a hokey romantic sense. But deep, abiding love. Rob Bell puts it this way, "Maybe this is why we always notice great marriages. When their love is growing, it inspires us. Their life together gives us life."
This is why I love weddings. This is why I loved Casey's wedding, and why I had to tell her about her smile. They provide us with hope. They remind us that there are always great things that are being made new every day. They remind us that God is always writing new stories in our midst.
But it also taught me that this hope isn't something for us to share alone. Casey is like me, having moved to Texas not knowing anyone. We could be self-sufficient. We didn't need someone else to get along.
I've trained myself to be independent. To follow the wind wherever it may lead, whether from California to Tennessee to South Carolina to Texas. To be able to do it all myself. But Casey's smile taught me something, something I didn't realize how deeply I wanted: even if we can do it alone, even if we're capable of getting along just fine, it's always better to have a partner. It's better to have someone to share the biggest moments of our lives with.
I feel like Adam a lot. After all, Adam didn't think he needed a helper. He was able to name the animals and tend the garden alone. I'm sure he and God walked along and had fine chats. I'm sure he and the dogs in the garden played great fetch. He assumed he was doing just fine by himself.
But something was missing, even if he didn't know what it was, even if he didn't know how to describe it. He was lonely. He didn't have a companion. And God looked down and must've said something like, "This is close, but not quite right." So God put Adam to sleep and made Eve. And I imagine when Adam woke up and saw his partner, his smile looked something like Casey's. I imagine his face was beaming from ear to ear.
I love weddings. They give me hope in the midst of whatever may be going on in the world that faith, hope, and love are never overshadowed. They give me hope that we can believe that the future will be bright. They give me hope that God is still making things new in our midst, writing new stories.
That's what I loved about Casey's wedding. That's what I loved about her smile. That's why I stopped in her office the morning she got back to tell her how happy she was. Her smile reminded me exactly what pure joy looked like. And it taught me that no matter how capable we are, it's always better to share that joy with a companion. Because then you'll see your smile staring back at you.
Congratulations Casey and Michael! May your love continue to bloom and be made new every day. May you grow through challenges and celebrations. And may your love remind the world that God's love is transforming us every day.
forever unfinished...
Friday, May 8, 2015
My Mom...
"You showed me when I was young just how to grow. You showed me everything that I should know. You showed me just how to walk without your hands. Cause Mom you always were the perfect hand." -The Perfect Fan, Backstreet Boys
"So I take the time to thank you now. Hold my head high to make you proud as I walk on through these doors into my life." -Path Beneath My Feet, Laura Spaw
I've known my mom as long as I've been alive. No, literally. I've known her longer than anyone. And she's known me longer than anyone.
I've always thought I was more like my dad. I probably am. I think I got his stubbornness and his pride. I may have gotten his "sometimes" lack of patience. I'm pretty sure I got his hairline, too.
But I know what I got from my mom without any question: her every affection and love.
On Mother's Day this weekend, people around the world will write something online to let their friends, acquaintances, family, and that guy they had a biology project with in freshman year know a secret: their mom is the world's best. And they're probably right.
But I'd like to share why my mom is the best mom I could've ever had.
Not everyone gets the opportunity to say their mom loved them with their whole heart. Some don't get to say their mother loved them with any of their heart. We all have moms after all, the women who nurtured us to birth and then saw us breathe our first breaths. Unfortunately, sometimes that's where the affection ends for some.
I'm blessed every day to say that I have a mom who took it upon herself to define herself first and foremost by the love she showered on her two boys and her husband. I'm blessed every day to say I have a mom who nurtured me every day of my childhood and is still nurturing me today as a 26-year-old. I'm blessed every day to say I have a mom who took care of me every day I was in her house and then pushed me out to write my own life and has taken care of me every day I've been gone.
My mom always wanted a girl. Until I came out wearing a blue bib, I was Margaret. Really! Martin wasn't even on the radar because I was supposed to be a girl. So they tried again, sure that the second time Mom would get her daughter to teach to paint her nails and shop with. And yet, out came Thomas, just as boy as his older brother. At the risk of a third boy, they decided to cut bait and give up the quest for a Maggie. Not to worry, Thomas and I were enough for any set of parents.
Now that doesn't mean that Mom has failed to surrounded herself with girls. Or at least she's tried her best to. Rare has been the day over the past 26 years that she has not inquired about her oldest son's adventures (and often misadventures) in love. And just in case I'm not looking hard enough, she's usually around with names of eligible young ladies she's met at any which place.
I used to think that my mom wanted me to get married as fast as I could so she could have a grandchild to play with. Talk about pressure!
I know better now. My mom has wanted me to find someone for the past 26 years because she wants me to be the happiest that I can be. She wants my life to know the deepest love I can know, the kind of love she gets to share with my dad and with us. With her family! When I've been in love (and there have been precious few occasions) she's been the biggest cheerleader. She's encouraged and supported and challenged. And when my heart's been broken, hers has broken as well. Not because I failed, but because her baby boy was broken.
I've kept in touch with one of those ex's. And it was one Mom liked. This particular friend and I actually spent a couple hours catching up on the comings and goings of the past year a few days ago via Skype. As the conversation went on, it turned to her new significant other. Apparently as they were talking, she'd been asked, "Where did you learn to love so well?" In quite possibly the most humbling compliment I've ever been paid, she told me, "They asked where I learned to love and I told them by the way you loved me."
It was the most honored I've ever felt (particularly in light of all the ways I've screwed up loving people over the years.) However, she misplaced the blame. What she meant to say was, "I learned to love from your mom."
That's because everything I know about love, I learned from my mom and my dad. I learned from the ways that they sacrificed so much every day to make my life and Thomas' a little bit better. I learned from the ways that they hugged us when we were low and celebrated with us when we were high. I learned from the ways Mom always made us feel like we were the most important people in the world! I want to be a great husband and father one day because I want to do my best to love someone like my mom has loved me.
When I was a freshman at Furman I made a decision, and at Easter that year I let my mom in the secret. I was going to drop out. Nothing I was learning was worthwhile, and I was going to go to Africa and end world hunger. That's right! Me. Hunger. It was on, and it was way more worthy of my time than sitting in class.
We were sitting in our rec room watching A Walk to Remember after Easter Brunch. It was her choice of movie, but I figured that was OK since it was one of the few days of the year I got to spend with my parents while I was at school in South Carolina. And who are we kidding, I love a good chick flick too.
Casually, and with so much fear my toes were curled up in my socks, I muttered, "Mom, I'm dropping out. This college thing isn't for me."
She didn't cry. She didn't yell. She didn't argue. She asked.
"What makes you say that?"
"Has something happened?"
"Is everything ok?"
And I told her about my plot. And she smiled. She said we'd talk about it later.
When I got back to campus two days later there was a two-page letter waiting for me in my campus mailbox from home. My mom had written me a letter. And in two pages she explained why I couldn't drop out. No, it wasn't because I'd be throwing away my future. It wasn't because there was so much invested in it. It was because there was something for me to learn there. And there was something that others needed to learn from me.
My mom taught me to soak up every experience I could. She taught me there was some lesson to learn from every interaction I had. And she taught me that no matter where I was, no matter how menial or how challenging or how far, there was something for me to offer the world in that place. She taught me that my presence mattered. And she knew that that was the case for me at Furman.
My mom is the most courageous person I know. A month before Christmas, when I was off at college, I found out Mom had been laid off by the Tennessean. The death of print news has been devastating to many, but it was particularly hard for my mom. Not just because she lost her job. But the thing she loved most, writing and reporting the news, was dying.
I've never been fired or let go, but I know it killed my mom. Her passion, the thing she loved to do, got taken away from her.
But she taught Thomas and I from our earliest memories to chase our dreams. She told Thomas and I we could be the President of the United States if we wanted to be. And then she taught us by chasing her own dreams. She took most of our savings (with Dad's blessing, of course) and started the Brentwood Homepage, an online newspaper for our suburb, with friend and business partner Kelly.
It was risky. It was scary. It had no real reason for optimism other than a whimsical dream. But she went for it. She worked longer hours than I could possibly imagine, with little return. The staff was never big enough to do all the things they wanted and the revenue was never what they dreamed.
But she kept fighting. And she kept writing. And she kept following her dreams. And after five years and two additional Homepages, the dream was standing on its own two feet and she decided she had given it all she had and decided to walk away.
But don't mistake walking away for failing. She built something with her own two hands and taught her two sons to fight for what we believe in. She taught us to dream impossible dreams and not to give up when the impossibilities stack up high. She followed her passion to the very end and made it the best she could make it.
My parents always tell me they have no idea how I turned out the way that I have. They can't imagine that between the two of them they would have produced a youth minister who is living in Texas. They can't imagine that their son would be two years into a seminary degree.
I've never understood what was so hard to believe. In his first letter in the New Testament, John wrote that God is love. It's a pretty radical statement really. God is so much bigger than we could possibly get our heads around, and yet here is John identifying God in a single word.
Well if God is love, then my parents have given me such a clear picture of what God is like that I can't fathom being caught up in any other story. If God is love, then I have my mom to blame for the ways that God has captured my heart and the ways God has drawn me to love others. If God is love, my mom has exemplified that picture better than any son could ask for. If God is love, then my mom has soaked me in God's grace in wave after wave for 26 years.
Over Thanksgiving my mom and I went through hours worth of old pictures from my childhood. What I saw over and over again were pictures of Mom with her two boys smiling from ear to ear. What I saw was Mom holding us while we cried or smiling with us while we jumped. What I saw was love. What I saw were the fingerprints of God.
My mom goes by many titles. Susan. Daughter. Sister. Wife. Aunt. Boss. Friend. Editor (she'll probably edit this blog in fact.) Writer. Entrepreneur. Social media consultant. Williamson County Impact Award winner (yeah, she's kind of a big deal!)
But today, the only title I care about is Mom. It's the most important one to me. And it's the one she's best at. It's the one she's poured the most into. It's the one that has made my life what it is today. And it's the one I thank God for every day!
They say we don't need a celebration like Mother's Day because moms should be celebrated every day. They're absolutely right. But they're not. It's probably because the work of being a mom is the most selfless, sacrificial expression of love the world's ever known. There's no thanks in picking up a gaggle of boys from baseball practice. There's no thanks in washing a cut through the neosporin-induced screams of a toddler. There's no thanks in hugging a son after he didn't make the cut and telling him she still loves him. There's no thanks in prepping a dinner after she's worked harder all day than anyone else in the house. There's no thanks in letting a son follow a call to Texas even if it means he'll be further away.
These are just a handful of the innumerable things I need to thank my mom for. These are the things she's done for 26 years. These are the things I've taken for granted for almost all of those 9,584 days I've known her. And these are the reasons she's irreplaceable. These are the reasons that, even if just for one day, I remember just how perfect my mother is. I love you Mom, today and every day!
forever unfinished...
"So I take the time to thank you now. Hold my head high to make you proud as I walk on through these doors into my life." -Path Beneath My Feet, Laura Spaw
I've known my mom as long as I've been alive. No, literally. I've known her longer than anyone. And she's known me longer than anyone.
I've always thought I was more like my dad. I probably am. I think I got his stubbornness and his pride. I may have gotten his "sometimes" lack of patience. I'm pretty sure I got his hairline, too.
But I know what I got from my mom without any question: her every affection and love.
On Mother's Day this weekend, people around the world will write something online to let their friends, acquaintances, family, and that guy they had a biology project with in freshman year know a secret: their mom is the world's best. And they're probably right.
But I'd like to share why my mom is the best mom I could've ever had.
Not everyone gets the opportunity to say their mom loved them with their whole heart. Some don't get to say their mother loved them with any of their heart. We all have moms after all, the women who nurtured us to birth and then saw us breathe our first breaths. Unfortunately, sometimes that's where the affection ends for some.
I'm blessed every day to say that I have a mom who took it upon herself to define herself first and foremost by the love she showered on her two boys and her husband. I'm blessed every day to say I have a mom who nurtured me every day of my childhood and is still nurturing me today as a 26-year-old. I'm blessed every day to say I have a mom who took care of me every day I was in her house and then pushed me out to write my own life and has taken care of me every day I've been gone.
My mom always wanted a girl. Until I came out wearing a blue bib, I was Margaret. Really! Martin wasn't even on the radar because I was supposed to be a girl. So they tried again, sure that the second time Mom would get her daughter to teach to paint her nails and shop with. And yet, out came Thomas, just as boy as his older brother. At the risk of a third boy, they decided to cut bait and give up the quest for a Maggie. Not to worry, Thomas and I were enough for any set of parents.
Now that doesn't mean that Mom has failed to surrounded herself with girls. Or at least she's tried her best to. Rare has been the day over the past 26 years that she has not inquired about her oldest son's adventures (and often misadventures) in love. And just in case I'm not looking hard enough, she's usually around with names of eligible young ladies she's met at any which place.
I used to think that my mom wanted me to get married as fast as I could so she could have a grandchild to play with. Talk about pressure!
I know better now. My mom has wanted me to find someone for the past 26 years because she wants me to be the happiest that I can be. She wants my life to know the deepest love I can know, the kind of love she gets to share with my dad and with us. With her family! When I've been in love (and there have been precious few occasions) she's been the biggest cheerleader. She's encouraged and supported and challenged. And when my heart's been broken, hers has broken as well. Not because I failed, but because her baby boy was broken.
I've kept in touch with one of those ex's. And it was one Mom liked. This particular friend and I actually spent a couple hours catching up on the comings and goings of the past year a few days ago via Skype. As the conversation went on, it turned to her new significant other. Apparently as they were talking, she'd been asked, "Where did you learn to love so well?" In quite possibly the most humbling compliment I've ever been paid, she told me, "They asked where I learned to love and I told them by the way you loved me."
It was the most honored I've ever felt (particularly in light of all the ways I've screwed up loving people over the years.) However, she misplaced the blame. What she meant to say was, "I learned to love from your mom."
That's because everything I know about love, I learned from my mom and my dad. I learned from the ways that they sacrificed so much every day to make my life and Thomas' a little bit better. I learned from the ways that they hugged us when we were low and celebrated with us when we were high. I learned from the ways Mom always made us feel like we were the most important people in the world! I want to be a great husband and father one day because I want to do my best to love someone like my mom has loved me.
When I was a freshman at Furman I made a decision, and at Easter that year I let my mom in the secret. I was going to drop out. Nothing I was learning was worthwhile, and I was going to go to Africa and end world hunger. That's right! Me. Hunger. It was on, and it was way more worthy of my time than sitting in class.
We were sitting in our rec room watching A Walk to Remember after Easter Brunch. It was her choice of movie, but I figured that was OK since it was one of the few days of the year I got to spend with my parents while I was at school in South Carolina. And who are we kidding, I love a good chick flick too.
Casually, and with so much fear my toes were curled up in my socks, I muttered, "Mom, I'm dropping out. This college thing isn't for me."
She didn't cry. She didn't yell. She didn't argue. She asked.
"What makes you say that?"
"Has something happened?"
"Is everything ok?"
And I told her about my plot. And she smiled. She said we'd talk about it later.
When I got back to campus two days later there was a two-page letter waiting for me in my campus mailbox from home. My mom had written me a letter. And in two pages she explained why I couldn't drop out. No, it wasn't because I'd be throwing away my future. It wasn't because there was so much invested in it. It was because there was something for me to learn there. And there was something that others needed to learn from me.
My mom taught me to soak up every experience I could. She taught me there was some lesson to learn from every interaction I had. And she taught me that no matter where I was, no matter how menial or how challenging or how far, there was something for me to offer the world in that place. She taught me that my presence mattered. And she knew that that was the case for me at Furman.
My mom is the most courageous person I know. A month before Christmas, when I was off at college, I found out Mom had been laid off by the Tennessean. The death of print news has been devastating to many, but it was particularly hard for my mom. Not just because she lost her job. But the thing she loved most, writing and reporting the news, was dying.
I've never been fired or let go, but I know it killed my mom. Her passion, the thing she loved to do, got taken away from her.
But she taught Thomas and I from our earliest memories to chase our dreams. She told Thomas and I we could be the President of the United States if we wanted to be. And then she taught us by chasing her own dreams. She took most of our savings (with Dad's blessing, of course) and started the Brentwood Homepage, an online newspaper for our suburb, with friend and business partner Kelly.
It was risky. It was scary. It had no real reason for optimism other than a whimsical dream. But she went for it. She worked longer hours than I could possibly imagine, with little return. The staff was never big enough to do all the things they wanted and the revenue was never what they dreamed.
But she kept fighting. And she kept writing. And she kept following her dreams. And after five years and two additional Homepages, the dream was standing on its own two feet and she decided she had given it all she had and decided to walk away.
But don't mistake walking away for failing. She built something with her own two hands and taught her two sons to fight for what we believe in. She taught us to dream impossible dreams and not to give up when the impossibilities stack up high. She followed her passion to the very end and made it the best she could make it.
My parents always tell me they have no idea how I turned out the way that I have. They can't imagine that between the two of them they would have produced a youth minister who is living in Texas. They can't imagine that their son would be two years into a seminary degree.
I've never understood what was so hard to believe. In his first letter in the New Testament, John wrote that God is love. It's a pretty radical statement really. God is so much bigger than we could possibly get our heads around, and yet here is John identifying God in a single word.
Well if God is love, then my parents have given me such a clear picture of what God is like that I can't fathom being caught up in any other story. If God is love, then I have my mom to blame for the ways that God has captured my heart and the ways God has drawn me to love others. If God is love, my mom has exemplified that picture better than any son could ask for. If God is love, then my mom has soaked me in God's grace in wave after wave for 26 years.
Over Thanksgiving my mom and I went through hours worth of old pictures from my childhood. What I saw over and over again were pictures of Mom with her two boys smiling from ear to ear. What I saw was Mom holding us while we cried or smiling with us while we jumped. What I saw was love. What I saw were the fingerprints of God.
My mom goes by many titles. Susan. Daughter. Sister. Wife. Aunt. Boss. Friend. Editor (she'll probably edit this blog in fact.) Writer. Entrepreneur. Social media consultant. Williamson County Impact Award winner (yeah, she's kind of a big deal!)
But today, the only title I care about is Mom. It's the most important one to me. And it's the one she's best at. It's the one she's poured the most into. It's the one that has made my life what it is today. And it's the one I thank God for every day!
They say we don't need a celebration like Mother's Day because moms should be celebrated every day. They're absolutely right. But they're not. It's probably because the work of being a mom is the most selfless, sacrificial expression of love the world's ever known. There's no thanks in picking up a gaggle of boys from baseball practice. There's no thanks in washing a cut through the neosporin-induced screams of a toddler. There's no thanks in hugging a son after he didn't make the cut and telling him she still loves him. There's no thanks in prepping a dinner after she's worked harder all day than anyone else in the house. There's no thanks in letting a son follow a call to Texas even if it means he'll be further away.
These are just a handful of the innumerable things I need to thank my mom for. These are the things she's done for 26 years. These are the things I've taken for granted for almost all of those 9,584 days I've known her. And these are the reasons she's irreplaceable. These are the reasons that, even if just for one day, I remember just how perfect my mother is. I love you Mom, today and every day!
forever unfinished...
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Clark Kent...
"You will give the people of Earth an ideal to strive towards. They will race behind you. They will stumble. They will fall. But in time, they will join you in the sun. In time, you will help them accomplish wonders." -Man of Steel
"I'm more than a bird. I'm more than a plane. I'm more than some pretty face beside the train. And it's not easy being me." -Five for Fighting, Superman (It's Not Easy)
"Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this." -Esther 4:14
When I was a kid, I loved superheroes. Batman? Loved him. Spiderman? Loved him. Superman? Loved him.
Truthfully, I was really a Batman kid more than anything. I would get home every day and watch Power Rangers and then the Batman Animated Series. And it wasn't so much that I loved Batman as much as it was that I loved the bad guys. I loved the adventures of the Joker. And the Riddler. And Two-Face. And Mr. Freeze. Who didn't love supervillians?
I also remember having the coolest Superman shoes in the world. This was probably when I was about six years old, but I'm telling you they were the slickest shoes I've ever owned. On the sides they had a picture of Superman flying and getting ready to punch the bad guy. There was so much action in those shoes that I thought I could lift off at any moment and be called back to Krypton to help Superman save the universe.
There's a story in the bible about a woman named Hadassah. She was a Jewish exile in the Persian capital city of Susa living with her uncle Mordecai. After dismissing his queen because she failed to appear before him, the Persian king Ahasuerus ordered young women from all over the city be brought to him so that he could pick his favorite to become his new queen. Hadassah was one of those picked.
But Mordecai warned her not to let the king know who she was and where she came from. She even used another, more common, Persian name to conceal her identity: Esther.
Well, after some time the king had all of the women brought to him, and wouldn't you know, Esther was the one he desired the most. Esther was made Ahasuerus' queen, the most important woman in Persia.
Now, a man named Haman became the head of all of the king's officials and demanded that all in the king's court bow down, but Mordecai would not. Some people asked him why, but he would not say. So they told Haman. And when Haman discovered that Mordecai was a Jew, he demanded revenge. He had the king order that all Jews be annihilated, and the order was sent to all the corners of the kingdom with the king's stamp of approval.
When Mordecai heard this, he sent a message to Esther demanding help. If anyone could change the king's mind, it must be the queen. But Esther was hesitant. "Don't you know I could be killed for going in to see the king, even as the queen!? You're the one who told me not to let them know I am a Jew after all!" But Mordecai was undeterred. "Perhaps," he replied, "it was for just this moment that you were made queen!"
So Esther went. And she threw two banquets for the king and Haman together. With some cunning she convinced the king to honor Mordecai, an honor which burned within Haman. And then when the king was pleased, with more courage than I can imagine, Esther turned to the king and pled for her people to be spared from destruction. And the king ordered that Haman be hanged and that all Jews be saved from the massacre.
Esther was an outsider in the court of the Persians. Her people had been ordered to death, and if anyone had discovered who she was, she may well have been killed as well. But in spite of that danger, and with the fate of her people hanging in the balance, Esther found a courage of immeasurable magnitude. In the face of death, she took off her mask and fought for her people. She had been Esther for too long. She had to be Hadassah again.
Do you remember what Superman's costume looks like? You know, the blue spandex and the red underwear outside his pants? The red cape? The red boots? The yellow belt? The red and yellow "S" on his chest?
Yes, Superman wears these things. But they aren't his costume.
Superman has a similar story to Esther's. The original Superman comic was created by a couple of teenagers named Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.
Jerry and Joe were the children of Jewish immigrants hoping to find a safer home in America than they'd had in Europe in the first half of the 20th century. Jerry's family had immigrated from Lithuania. Joe's had come from different parts of eastern Europe. But even in America, their families were met with discrimination and were labeled as "outsiders." Their very existence was a challenge.
So with their love of comics, Jerry and Joe created a new superhero, Superman, an alien from a foreign world Krypton who was an outsider on Earth. He had superpowers. He was more powerful than a locomotive. He could leap tall buildings in a single bound. He could save anyone and beat any villain. He was a hero. He was their hero.
But he didn't fit in. He was a stranger here, an outsider. He was an alien. Just like Jerry and Joe. So to fit in, Superman disguised himself in a costume: Clark Kent, a mild-mannered reporter for the Daily Planet dressed in a suit and tie and glasses. Superman, the greatest superhero of all, wanted to fit in. He needed to put a costume over his real identity. So he put on a disguise.
We do the same thing every day don't we? We put on masks to hide who we really are. We change for different people so we won't ever feel insecure or out of place. We yearn to be insiders instead of outsiders. We crave acceptance, and rarely do we have the courage to rock the boat for fear our shipmates might throw us overboard when they find out we're different somehow.
I bet this must've been what Esther felt like. She must've been terrified. She knew if she approached the king it could mean her death. She'd be done. Finished. The ultimate outsider.
But she took off her mask. She found a courage I don't know I could've found. She found her Superman and left behind her Clark Kent.
That's our call: to take off the glasses and the suit and tie and the masks we wear every day. The world needs a superhero willing to stand out from the crowd and show it the light. The world is yearning for something to stand behind and show it that it can be better than it is. Our cities are looking for this. Our schools are looking for this. Our offices and our homes are looking for this. Our friends and our spouses and our boyfriends and our girlfriends and our children are looking for this. Our enemies are looking for this. We are looking for this.
The world is looking for a love so radical in its breadth and its depth and with boundaries so impossibly wide that it can't help but take notice and follow. So may you take off your costumes and your disguises and let the light in you shine for all of those around. May you let the gifts and beauty God placed in you at your birth shine God's light so brightly in this world that others can't help but notice and be drawn in. May the fruit of Jesus' love in you be so evident that people want to grab hold. And may you find your Superman while you let go of your Clark Kent.
The world needs your Superman, not your Clark Kent.
forever unfinished...
(Much of this blog is drawn from a sermon titled "Esther" by David McNitzky at Alamo Heights UMC in San Antonio on August 3.)
"I'm more than a bird. I'm more than a plane. I'm more than some pretty face beside the train. And it's not easy being me." -Five for Fighting, Superman (It's Not Easy)
"Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this." -Esther 4:14
When I was a kid, I loved superheroes. Batman? Loved him. Spiderman? Loved him. Superman? Loved him.
Truthfully, I was really a Batman kid more than anything. I would get home every day and watch Power Rangers and then the Batman Animated Series. And it wasn't so much that I loved Batman as much as it was that I loved the bad guys. I loved the adventures of the Joker. And the Riddler. And Two-Face. And Mr. Freeze. Who didn't love supervillians?
I also remember having the coolest Superman shoes in the world. This was probably when I was about six years old, but I'm telling you they were the slickest shoes I've ever owned. On the sides they had a picture of Superman flying and getting ready to punch the bad guy. There was so much action in those shoes that I thought I could lift off at any moment and be called back to Krypton to help Superman save the universe.
There's a story in the bible about a woman named Hadassah. She was a Jewish exile in the Persian capital city of Susa living with her uncle Mordecai. After dismissing his queen because she failed to appear before him, the Persian king Ahasuerus ordered young women from all over the city be brought to him so that he could pick his favorite to become his new queen. Hadassah was one of those picked.
But Mordecai warned her not to let the king know who she was and where she came from. She even used another, more common, Persian name to conceal her identity: Esther.
Well, after some time the king had all of the women brought to him, and wouldn't you know, Esther was the one he desired the most. Esther was made Ahasuerus' queen, the most important woman in Persia.
Now, a man named Haman became the head of all of the king's officials and demanded that all in the king's court bow down, but Mordecai would not. Some people asked him why, but he would not say. So they told Haman. And when Haman discovered that Mordecai was a Jew, he demanded revenge. He had the king order that all Jews be annihilated, and the order was sent to all the corners of the kingdom with the king's stamp of approval.
When Mordecai heard this, he sent a message to Esther demanding help. If anyone could change the king's mind, it must be the queen. But Esther was hesitant. "Don't you know I could be killed for going in to see the king, even as the queen!? You're the one who told me not to let them know I am a Jew after all!" But Mordecai was undeterred. "Perhaps," he replied, "it was for just this moment that you were made queen!"
So Esther went. And she threw two banquets for the king and Haman together. With some cunning she convinced the king to honor Mordecai, an honor which burned within Haman. And then when the king was pleased, with more courage than I can imagine, Esther turned to the king and pled for her people to be spared from destruction. And the king ordered that Haman be hanged and that all Jews be saved from the massacre.
Esther was an outsider in the court of the Persians. Her people had been ordered to death, and if anyone had discovered who she was, she may well have been killed as well. But in spite of that danger, and with the fate of her people hanging in the balance, Esther found a courage of immeasurable magnitude. In the face of death, she took off her mask and fought for her people. She had been Esther for too long. She had to be Hadassah again.
Do you remember what Superman's costume looks like? You know, the blue spandex and the red underwear outside his pants? The red cape? The red boots? The yellow belt? The red and yellow "S" on his chest?
Yes, Superman wears these things. But they aren't his costume.
Superman has a similar story to Esther's. The original Superman comic was created by a couple of teenagers named Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.
Jerry and Joe were the children of Jewish immigrants hoping to find a safer home in America than they'd had in Europe in the first half of the 20th century. Jerry's family had immigrated from Lithuania. Joe's had come from different parts of eastern Europe. But even in America, their families were met with discrimination and were labeled as "outsiders." Their very existence was a challenge.
So with their love of comics, Jerry and Joe created a new superhero, Superman, an alien from a foreign world Krypton who was an outsider on Earth. He had superpowers. He was more powerful than a locomotive. He could leap tall buildings in a single bound. He could save anyone and beat any villain. He was a hero. He was their hero.
But he didn't fit in. He was a stranger here, an outsider. He was an alien. Just like Jerry and Joe. So to fit in, Superman disguised himself in a costume: Clark Kent, a mild-mannered reporter for the Daily Planet dressed in a suit and tie and glasses. Superman, the greatest superhero of all, wanted to fit in. He needed to put a costume over his real identity. So he put on a disguise.
We do the same thing every day don't we? We put on masks to hide who we really are. We change for different people so we won't ever feel insecure or out of place. We yearn to be insiders instead of outsiders. We crave acceptance, and rarely do we have the courage to rock the boat for fear our shipmates might throw us overboard when they find out we're different somehow.
I bet this must've been what Esther felt like. She must've been terrified. She knew if she approached the king it could mean her death. She'd be done. Finished. The ultimate outsider.
But she took off her mask. She found a courage I don't know I could've found. She found her Superman and left behind her Clark Kent.
That's our call: to take off the glasses and the suit and tie and the masks we wear every day. The world needs a superhero willing to stand out from the crowd and show it the light. The world is yearning for something to stand behind and show it that it can be better than it is. Our cities are looking for this. Our schools are looking for this. Our offices and our homes are looking for this. Our friends and our spouses and our boyfriends and our girlfriends and our children are looking for this. Our enemies are looking for this. We are looking for this.
The world is looking for a love so radical in its breadth and its depth and with boundaries so impossibly wide that it can't help but take notice and follow. So may you take off your costumes and your disguises and let the light in you shine for all of those around. May you let the gifts and beauty God placed in you at your birth shine God's light so brightly in this world that others can't help but notice and be drawn in. May the fruit of Jesus' love in you be so evident that people want to grab hold. And may you find your Superman while you let go of your Clark Kent.
The world needs your Superman, not your Clark Kent.
forever unfinished...
(Much of this blog is drawn from a sermon titled "Esther" by David McNitzky at Alamo Heights UMC in San Antonio on August 3.)
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
My Brothers and My Sisters...
"Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. " -No Man Is An Island, John Donne
"And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his lungs the breath of life; and man became a living being." -Genesis 2:7
I am daily thankful for parents who chose to name me Martin. Why? Because my dad, a white man, grew up in Alabama in the 1960's and wanted to name his son after his hero, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. And I've spent most of my adult life trying to live up to that legacy.
And I'd like to tell you about my brothers and sisters Dr. King introduced me to.
Some of them are rioting. Some are protesting. Some are remaining in their homes for safety. Some are policing. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are white. Some are black. Some live in Baltimore. Some life in Nepal. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some have lots of money. Some have none. Some have nice homes. Some have no homes. Some have nice cars. Some have no cars. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are men. Some are women. Some are straight. Some are gay. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some have ten thousand things to say and every outlet to be heard. Some have ten thousand things to say and have spent their entire lives feeling the weight of having no voice. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some have access to private schools and college education. Some languish in underfunded public schools with teachers stretched too thin. Some dropped out of school as soon as they could. Some work hard. Some have given up. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are progressives. Some are conservatives. Some watch Fox News. Some watch CNN. Some want peace. Some want violence. Some want justice. Some want chaos. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some agree with me. Some disagree with me. Some love me. Some hate me. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some feel the burden of oppression. Some feel the freedom of opportunity. Some are living the dream. Some haven't been able to dream for years. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some praise America for its opportunities. Some lament America for its empty promises. Some espouse the power of personal choice. And some feel as though they've never had a choice. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some fight for love. Some fight for hate. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are angry. Some are joyful. Some are optimistic. Some are cynical. Some are hopeful. Some are hopeless. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are Christians. Some are Muslims. Some are atheists. Some are Buddhists. Some are Jews. Some aren't sure. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some see the future and the possibilities it holds. Some see the future and fear the failures that seem inevitable. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some have scored 36 on the ACT. Some can't read the newspaper. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are Bloods. Some are Crips. Some are cops. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some have parents who were with them at every turn, surrounding them in love. Some never knew their parents and raised themselves. Some have one parent who struggled every day simply to feed their children as they grew up themselves. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are "thugs." Some are "sluts." Some are "saints." Some are "bigots." Some are "nerds." Some are "criminals." But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some speak English. Some speak Spanish. Some speak Mandarin. Some speak Arabic. Some can't speak at all. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
You are my brother. You are my sister. The breath that God breathed into me to fill my lungs with life is the same breath God breathed into yours. The hands that hold you close are the same hands that hold me close. The love God pours out on you is the same love God pours out on me. The God who forgives your transgressions is the same God who forgives mine. The God who mourns with my pain and hears my cries is the same God who mourns with your pain and hears your cries.
I see race. I see gender. I see sexuality. I see age. I am not blind.
We are different, you and I. But when we learn to see one another as brothers and sisters, when we recognize that the pain of our neighbors is our pain, when we recognize that the image of God reflected in me is the same image reflected in my neighbor is the time that we can begin to move forward. We must begin to recognize that "they" are the same as "us." That's when we can begin to paint a new family portrait.
I'm not there yet. The limits of love are still too vast for me to comprehend, and my cup is still too small for its limitless bounds. But love is not something we can do alone. Love, by its nature, requires people together. It can't be done alone. I beg forgiveness for the ways in which I draw the lines of love too small and the boundaries of grace too thin. I beg forgiveness for the ways I fail to recognize my brothers and my sisters as family. I beg forgiveness for the times I've failed to fight for my brother and the times I've failed to fight for my sister.
May we learn to recognize our brothers and sisters as that. May we learn to see past the labels and titles we stick on people. May we learn to hear the yearnings for justice and peace and love from our brothers and sisters who have felt muted at every turn. May we learn to see through the immediate to the deeper realities our world faces. May we learn to feel our brother's pain and our sister's pain as our own and may our souls yearn for every one of our family to know life and life to the fullest. May we join hands with all of our brothers and sisters to help usher in the fullness of God's kingdom in the world. May we get our hands dirty in the sweat of that work. And may we learn to hear God's voice in the depths of our souls, silent as it may be, in the fire and in the screams and in the groans of our brothers and sisters.
forever unfinished...
"And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his lungs the breath of life; and man became a living being." -Genesis 2:7
I am daily thankful for parents who chose to name me Martin. Why? Because my dad, a white man, grew up in Alabama in the 1960's and wanted to name his son after his hero, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. And I've spent most of my adult life trying to live up to that legacy.
And I'd like to tell you about my brothers and sisters Dr. King introduced me to.
Some of them are rioting. Some are protesting. Some are remaining in their homes for safety. Some are policing. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are white. Some are black. Some live in Baltimore. Some life in Nepal. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some have lots of money. Some have none. Some have nice homes. Some have no homes. Some have nice cars. Some have no cars. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are men. Some are women. Some are straight. Some are gay. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some have ten thousand things to say and every outlet to be heard. Some have ten thousand things to say and have spent their entire lives feeling the weight of having no voice. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some have access to private schools and college education. Some languish in underfunded public schools with teachers stretched too thin. Some dropped out of school as soon as they could. Some work hard. Some have given up. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are progressives. Some are conservatives. Some watch Fox News. Some watch CNN. Some want peace. Some want violence. Some want justice. Some want chaos. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some agree with me. Some disagree with me. Some love me. Some hate me. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some feel the burden of oppression. Some feel the freedom of opportunity. Some are living the dream. Some haven't been able to dream for years. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some praise America for its opportunities. Some lament America for its empty promises. Some espouse the power of personal choice. And some feel as though they've never had a choice. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some fight for love. Some fight for hate. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are angry. Some are joyful. Some are optimistic. Some are cynical. Some are hopeful. Some are hopeless. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are Christians. Some are Muslims. Some are atheists. Some are Buddhists. Some are Jews. Some aren't sure. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some see the future and the possibilities it holds. Some see the future and fear the failures that seem inevitable. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some have scored 36 on the ACT. Some can't read the newspaper. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are Bloods. Some are Crips. Some are cops. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some have parents who were with them at every turn, surrounding them in love. Some never knew their parents and raised themselves. Some have one parent who struggled every day simply to feed their children as they grew up themselves. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some are "thugs." Some are "sluts." Some are "saints." Some are "bigots." Some are "nerds." Some are "criminals." But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
Some speak English. Some speak Spanish. Some speak Mandarin. Some speak Arabic. Some can't speak at all. But they are my brothers and they are my sisters.
You are my brother. You are my sister. The breath that God breathed into me to fill my lungs with life is the same breath God breathed into yours. The hands that hold you close are the same hands that hold me close. The love God pours out on you is the same love God pours out on me. The God who forgives your transgressions is the same God who forgives mine. The God who mourns with my pain and hears my cries is the same God who mourns with your pain and hears your cries.
I see race. I see gender. I see sexuality. I see age. I am not blind.
We are different, you and I. But when we learn to see one another as brothers and sisters, when we recognize that the pain of our neighbors is our pain, when we recognize that the image of God reflected in me is the same image reflected in my neighbor is the time that we can begin to move forward. We must begin to recognize that "they" are the same as "us." That's when we can begin to paint a new family portrait.
I'm not there yet. The limits of love are still too vast for me to comprehend, and my cup is still too small for its limitless bounds. But love is not something we can do alone. Love, by its nature, requires people together. It can't be done alone. I beg forgiveness for the ways in which I draw the lines of love too small and the boundaries of grace too thin. I beg forgiveness for the ways I fail to recognize my brothers and my sisters as family. I beg forgiveness for the times I've failed to fight for my brother and the times I've failed to fight for my sister.
May we learn to recognize our brothers and sisters as that. May we learn to see past the labels and titles we stick on people. May we learn to hear the yearnings for justice and peace and love from our brothers and sisters who have felt muted at every turn. May we learn to see through the immediate to the deeper realities our world faces. May we learn to feel our brother's pain and our sister's pain as our own and may our souls yearn for every one of our family to know life and life to the fullest. May we join hands with all of our brothers and sisters to help usher in the fullness of God's kingdom in the world. May we get our hands dirty in the sweat of that work. And may we learn to hear God's voice in the depths of our souls, silent as it may be, in the fire and in the screams and in the groans of our brothers and sisters.
forever unfinished...
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