Halloween is just around the corner, which is a good thing. My family loves Halloween. We don't go all in like some folks (recreating Nightmare on Elm Street in their front yards) but we do like some age-appropriate decorations. This year we picked up a foam, ready to assemble haunted house. The task of putting this project together fell to my wife, as I am neither artsy or crafty (some day I will tell you about my misadventures with model airplanes). When she finished, with some help from our two youngest kids, I was a bit concerned. Everything seemed askew. Again, since I don't art or craft, I opted to hold my tongue and assume that she knew what she was doing. Which, of course she did, since the whole point of the haunted house was to look dilapidated and broken down.
For some reason our culture assumes that people get scared by things that look off kilter. Perhaps, but truth be told I am not freaked out by things that look messy or not properly centered. No, what sends chills up my spine, what really makes me want my mommy, is neatness. Compulsive, unnatural neatness. Nothing gives off the scent of the unholy like a perfectly organized desk. Or a closet with everything lines up and arranged by color, pattern, and/or season. Or books in perfect alphabetical order...even the children's books and the L.L. Bean catalogues. In a public library it is alright, but in a private home, well, I need to find myself some garlic and a wooden stake. If any of the above situations fits you, I just want you to know that I have nothing but love for you, but I still think you might need an exorcism. And if I splash you with Holy Water, it is nothing personal, okay. I just don't want to become part of the living dead and end up spending my days making my bed and deep cleaning the freezer.
Each off us have things that make us feel afraid. That is part of the fun of Halloween, allowing ourselves to experience fear in a safe, controlled environment. Fear works well for haunted houses, slasher flicks and trick-or-treating. Fear does not, however, have a place in the Christian faith. Unfortunately, some well-intentioned brothers and sisters in the faith don't understand this. They rely on a steady diet of fear in order to convince people to accept Jesus. Just yesterday I was driving on the interstate and on the east side of the road were two large billboard. The first said "If you died today, where would you spend eternity?" and the one a few feet after it read "Hell is real."
Evangelism by fear is not new. People have been doing it for centuries. Sometimes they tell stories about the consequences awaiting sinners, or create elaborate paintings of the eternal suffering in Hades. There are even movies that try to warn you about the chaos that will happen if the Rapture comes and you get left behind. I know, I was forced to watch such a film when I was only 10. I don't think I slept for a week.
There are a number of problems with using fear to encourage people to get right with God, but two really stick out to me. First, anyone with a elementary understanding of psychology will know that fear is a bad motivator for behavior. Sure, you get that initial bust of OMG, but it does not last. And the damage done to people who live under a constant threat of fear is well documented. Jesus preached Good News full of hope and promise and joy and love, not everlasting fear.
But the biggest reason that fear is a horrible tool for evangelism is that it encourages people to approach God for all the wrong reasons. Take our lovely billboards. What is the real point they are trying to convey? If you want to avoid hell, accept Jesus. Where is the focus? On Jesus? No. The center of the universe is you. Any actions you take will be based out of protecting yourself. Evangelism by fear encourages people to be self-centered and self-absorbed. It is all about you. Yet, the Good News that Jesus preached and lived was about turning our attention to God and to others. Our actions are not motivated by fear but gratitude and thanksgiving. We come to God and offer our lives because we are full of joy for all that God has done for us. This is what Jesus came to show us. Every time Jesus reached out to someone it was to bring a positive change to their lives and then, in response, he encouraged them to follow him and serve others. Faith in Jesus frees us from living out of fear. Eternal life is a gift, not a sledgehammer to be used to bludgeon people into submission.
If you are new to the faith, let me encourage you to experience the love and peace that Jesus offers. It is truly liberating! Don't be afraid, for there is nothing to fear. God's love for you is rooted in something deeper and more powerful than fear or death. For that is the whole point of the resurrection, that with love Jesus was able to conquer death. The first word from God was life, and the last word is life. Not fear.
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Friday, October 1, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Comfort Objects
All of my children have had comfort objects. These were soft things, a couple of animals and a blanket, that they received when they were very young. In times of stress out came the comfort objects. Road trip - get the comfort object. Bed time - OMG where is that thing! Hours of my life have been lost looking for these precious possessions so that my children could go to sleep.
The thing about comfort objects is that only the child can really choose it. Like most middle-class American kids my children had more than their fair share of stuffed stuff. We could open an outlet mall with all of the furry animal-like things they collected over the years. But only one made the cut and achieved the status of comfort object. Call it the childhood version of Survivor. Or a less-violent Highlander (There can be only one).
I too had a comfort object as a youngster. I believe it was a bear. Age and a general tendency to repress most childhood memories makes it difficult for me to recall its name. After all, comfort objects have to have names. You cannot spend hours upon hours of time - very emotional time at that, with a nameless thing (unless of course you named your comfort object Thing, in which case Dr. Seuss called and he is going to sue you). At some point in my life, again I can't remember when, I no longer needed my bear. I do recollect a feeling of sadness when I let it go to that great bear round up in the sky. It was a difficult decision, but that is what growing up is all about - painful emotional choices.
My willingness to part with my bear did not mean that I was done with comfort objects. On the contrary, I merely replaced furry animals with roasted ones. And carbohydrates. Lots and lots of carbohydrates. Comfort objects have become comfort food. Feelings of stress or uncertainly can easily be avoided with some pasta or pizza or fried (insert any food item). But my go-to food group in tough times is candy. Thank God for Halloween...and Christmas...and Easter. Did you ever notice that major holidays (prime producers of stress) are filled with sweets? Without them I am not sure how I could ever get through a family function.
Comfort objects (or food) make us feel good and safe (and occasionally bloated and gassy). They are reassuring and don't make too many demands of us. They don't argue or talk back (hint-if your comfort object has in the past or is currently talking to you seek medical help NOW!) and allow us to reaffirm the world as we want it.
There are some people who contend that religion is nothing more than a comfort object. We create religious systems to protect us from the outside world, to make a safe space (sanctuary) and to enable us to escape from reality. Know what - they are right. Sometimes. As a minister I have seen firsthand how folks, good folks, can turn religion into their own comfort object. And woe to the one who tries to take it from them. Think a two year old throws a fit if you try and take their blankie, well just try changing something in the church and you will see some major temper tantrums. Not from everyone, just those who need religion to provide them with a safe and secure place to turn to.
Church as comfort object never appealed to me. While my faith offers me great comfort in the face of life's many trials there is more to being a follower of Jesus. If anything, I have come to believe that being a disciple of the living Christ means being uncomfortable a lot of the time. Having faith is a risky business and this Jesus, he lives out on the edge. When I want the comfort of only being around people who think and act the way I do, Jesus pushes me out into a world in which I have to accept, no love, those who may not like me. Right at that moment when I am full and warm and dry Jesus asks me what am I doing for those who are hungry and homeless and naked. And when I clearly see the sinful nature of my adversaries I am invited to take a look in the mirror in case there are a few of my own blemishes I might have overlooked.
The Christian faith has the power to transform lives. Through it God calls us to new life beyond anything we could ever imagine. But that process of transforming can get uncomfortable because we start looking at the world in a whole new way, with God at the center instead of ourselves. That can take some getting used to. But it is worth it. It is so very worth it.
The thing about comfort objects is that only the child can really choose it. Like most middle-class American kids my children had more than their fair share of stuffed stuff. We could open an outlet mall with all of the furry animal-like things they collected over the years. But only one made the cut and achieved the status of comfort object. Call it the childhood version of Survivor. Or a less-violent Highlander (There can be only one).
I too had a comfort object as a youngster. I believe it was a bear. Age and a general tendency to repress most childhood memories makes it difficult for me to recall its name. After all, comfort objects have to have names. You cannot spend hours upon hours of time - very emotional time at that, with a nameless thing (unless of course you named your comfort object Thing, in which case Dr. Seuss called and he is going to sue you). At some point in my life, again I can't remember when, I no longer needed my bear. I do recollect a feeling of sadness when I let it go to that great bear round up in the sky. It was a difficult decision, but that is what growing up is all about - painful emotional choices.
My willingness to part with my bear did not mean that I was done with comfort objects. On the contrary, I merely replaced furry animals with roasted ones. And carbohydrates. Lots and lots of carbohydrates. Comfort objects have become comfort food. Feelings of stress or uncertainly can easily be avoided with some pasta or pizza or fried (insert any food item). But my go-to food group in tough times is candy. Thank God for Halloween...and Christmas...and Easter. Did you ever notice that major holidays (prime producers of stress) are filled with sweets? Without them I am not sure how I could ever get through a family function.
Comfort objects (or food) make us feel good and safe (and occasionally bloated and gassy). They are reassuring and don't make too many demands of us. They don't argue or talk back (hint-if your comfort object has in the past or is currently talking to you seek medical help NOW!) and allow us to reaffirm the world as we want it.
There are some people who contend that religion is nothing more than a comfort object. We create religious systems to protect us from the outside world, to make a safe space (sanctuary) and to enable us to escape from reality. Know what - they are right. Sometimes. As a minister I have seen firsthand how folks, good folks, can turn religion into their own comfort object. And woe to the one who tries to take it from them. Think a two year old throws a fit if you try and take their blankie, well just try changing something in the church and you will see some major temper tantrums. Not from everyone, just those who need religion to provide them with a safe and secure place to turn to.
Church as comfort object never appealed to me. While my faith offers me great comfort in the face of life's many trials there is more to being a follower of Jesus. If anything, I have come to believe that being a disciple of the living Christ means being uncomfortable a lot of the time. Having faith is a risky business and this Jesus, he lives out on the edge. When I want the comfort of only being around people who think and act the way I do, Jesus pushes me out into a world in which I have to accept, no love, those who may not like me. Right at that moment when I am full and warm and dry Jesus asks me what am I doing for those who are hungry and homeless and naked. And when I clearly see the sinful nature of my adversaries I am invited to take a look in the mirror in case there are a few of my own blemishes I might have overlooked.
The Christian faith has the power to transform lives. Through it God calls us to new life beyond anything we could ever imagine. But that process of transforming can get uncomfortable because we start looking at the world in a whole new way, with God at the center instead of ourselves. That can take some getting used to. But it is worth it. It is so very worth it.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Gleanings from the grill
It is amazing what you will do when you are young and cash strapped. Pride is expensive, folks. If you want to play you got to get paid. So, in the deep recesses of my employment history lurk a few jobs that have, I hope, made up for the sins of my past lives (because they sure did not pay me that well in this one). Each one has taught me valuable lessons about the benefits of labor unions, OHSA, and getting paid in cash (paychecks bounce, I discovered the hard way). And yes, along the way I gathered some important insights about life and faith which I am sure my overlords, er...employers, would argue was part of my compensation. Right, and I am going to play 007 in the next James Bond flick.
I started working when I was 13 but I did not land my first steady job until I was 16 (something about child labor laws). I, like tens of thousands of Americans, donned the polyester pants and visor cap bearing the logo of the Golden Arches. For the next six years Ronald McDonald and I got to know each other very, very well. When I finally called it a fast food career, I knew how do to everything in the restaurant. I could open, close, count the cash drawers, flip the burgers, fry the fries and chicken nuggets, make salads and biscuits (yes, from scratch!), serve customers at the front counter or drive through, supervise the unloading of the stock truck and, try not to laugh to hard at this one, even do birthday parties. Those of you that know me will, I'm sure, get hours of laughs imagining me with a room full of children trying to play party hostess. Mercifully there are no pictures...that I am aware of.
There were some jobs at McDonald's that I kind of enjoyed doing (like standing in the shade with a clipboard in my hand watching the other employees unload the stock truck in 95 degree heat. Those were some good times right there). Others I tried to avoid like the plague. Once again, pride is for the rich and famous. You want paid you have to work the hours. And many of those hours occurred on Friday and Saturday nights.
When you are in your late teens and trying to have something like a social life nothing crimps your style like having to work till 11pm or later on the weekends. McDonald's is not the type of job where you can just punch out and leave. There is the whole uniform thing, coupled with the lingering odor of grease that makes you less than desirable to the opposite sex (those of your same gender don't find you that aromatic, either). When your shift is over you need time to get a quick shower and put on some clothes that your significant other finds remotely attractive. So, you start shutting things down and cleaning as early in the evening as possible. The store I worked in had two grills. By 10pm one was already cleaned up and out of commission. Come 10:30 and we were down to half a grill. 10:50, and Elvis had left the building.
And that is when it would happen. The stupid drive through buzzer would go off and someone would want a freakin' Big Mac or some other equally unhealthy menu item that would require me to, I don't know, use the grill I just cleaned! Or, and this was the worst, a bus, or two, or three would pull in filled with high school kids. At close there would often only be one of us in the grill area so when the lobby filled-up with hungry teenagers you knew that your own evening just went up in flames. Stupid high school sports!
In those moments when my weekend went down the proverbial toilet I discovered some profound universal truths. First, the Wendy's down the street needed a much bigger sign, one that would attract people with no lives and the munchies. Second, I really hate Big Mac's. Third, your late night hunger needs were my problem. Not my joy or passion (SpongeBob is a cartoon, people!) or even casual concern. You were a obstacle, a roadblock, a thorn in my flesh and, on those rare occasions when I actually had a romantic post-work evening planned, you were a thief. I wanted you to go away, to leave me alone so I could clock out and get on with me life. There were even moments when I hated you and that half-cooked hamburger I served up was no accident!
In there own way these nights taught me a good bit about being a disciples of Jesus. Reading through the scriptures you get the sense that Jesus had more than a few late evenings. Even when he was tired and tried to steal away the crowds always seemed to find him. I know a little Greek and as best as I can tell there is no reference to Jesus ever slipping someone the proverbial undercooked sandwich. Even if he was frustrated he always showed care, compassion, and love for those who came to him. Now, I am not saying working at McDonald's on a Saturday night is the same as what Jesus did (though the whole Bread of Life imagery could be fun to play around with) but my attitude towards other people, people who make demands of my time, is the lesson to be learned.
Being a follower of Jesus means that people are going to come to me with needs. They will come at times and places that may not be best for me. How I treat them in the wee hours of the morning, or when I want to be doing something other than dealing with their pain, will reveal the true depth of relationship to Jesus. Serving others is a gift, a blessing. When I lose sight of that, I miss out on so much.
May you be blessed today with the chance to help someone in need. May you show great compassion and love to those who come to you. And, if you are in pain, may you be welcomed not as a problem, but as a child of God. Because at the end of the day the Kingdom of God is not like McDonald's on a Saturday night.
I started working when I was 13 but I did not land my first steady job until I was 16 (something about child labor laws). I, like tens of thousands of Americans, donned the polyester pants and visor cap bearing the logo of the Golden Arches. For the next six years Ronald McDonald and I got to know each other very, very well. When I finally called it a fast food career, I knew how do to everything in the restaurant. I could open, close, count the cash drawers, flip the burgers, fry the fries and chicken nuggets, make salads and biscuits (yes, from scratch!), serve customers at the front counter or drive through, supervise the unloading of the stock truck and, try not to laugh to hard at this one, even do birthday parties. Those of you that know me will, I'm sure, get hours of laughs imagining me with a room full of children trying to play party hostess. Mercifully there are no pictures...that I am aware of.
There were some jobs at McDonald's that I kind of enjoyed doing (like standing in the shade with a clipboard in my hand watching the other employees unload the stock truck in 95 degree heat. Those were some good times right there). Others I tried to avoid like the plague. Once again, pride is for the rich and famous. You want paid you have to work the hours. And many of those hours occurred on Friday and Saturday nights.
When you are in your late teens and trying to have something like a social life nothing crimps your style like having to work till 11pm or later on the weekends. McDonald's is not the type of job where you can just punch out and leave. There is the whole uniform thing, coupled with the lingering odor of grease that makes you less than desirable to the opposite sex (those of your same gender don't find you that aromatic, either). When your shift is over you need time to get a quick shower and put on some clothes that your significant other finds remotely attractive. So, you start shutting things down and cleaning as early in the evening as possible. The store I worked in had two grills. By 10pm one was already cleaned up and out of commission. Come 10:30 and we were down to half a grill. 10:50, and Elvis had left the building.
And that is when it would happen. The stupid drive through buzzer would go off and someone would want a freakin' Big Mac or some other equally unhealthy menu item that would require me to, I don't know, use the grill I just cleaned! Or, and this was the worst, a bus, or two, or three would pull in filled with high school kids. At close there would often only be one of us in the grill area so when the lobby filled-up with hungry teenagers you knew that your own evening just went up in flames. Stupid high school sports!
In those moments when my weekend went down the proverbial toilet I discovered some profound universal truths. First, the Wendy's down the street needed a much bigger sign, one that would attract people with no lives and the munchies. Second, I really hate Big Mac's. Third, your late night hunger needs were my problem. Not my joy or passion (SpongeBob is a cartoon, people!) or even casual concern. You were a obstacle, a roadblock, a thorn in my flesh and, on those rare occasions when I actually had a romantic post-work evening planned, you were a thief. I wanted you to go away, to leave me alone so I could clock out and get on with me life. There were even moments when I hated you and that half-cooked hamburger I served up was no accident!
In there own way these nights taught me a good bit about being a disciples of Jesus. Reading through the scriptures you get the sense that Jesus had more than a few late evenings. Even when he was tired and tried to steal away the crowds always seemed to find him. I know a little Greek and as best as I can tell there is no reference to Jesus ever slipping someone the proverbial undercooked sandwich. Even if he was frustrated he always showed care, compassion, and love for those who came to him. Now, I am not saying working at McDonald's on a Saturday night is the same as what Jesus did (though the whole Bread of Life imagery could be fun to play around with) but my attitude towards other people, people who make demands of my time, is the lesson to be learned.
Being a follower of Jesus means that people are going to come to me with needs. They will come at times and places that may not be best for me. How I treat them in the wee hours of the morning, or when I want to be doing something other than dealing with their pain, will reveal the true depth of relationship to Jesus. Serving others is a gift, a blessing. When I lose sight of that, I miss out on so much.
May you be blessed today with the chance to help someone in need. May you show great compassion and love to those who come to you. And, if you are in pain, may you be welcomed not as a problem, but as a child of God. Because at the end of the day the Kingdom of God is not like McDonald's on a Saturday night.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
'76 Pinto
There are a million products in this world that make little or no sense to me. One of them would air fresheners with a new car scent. Supposedly you put this thing in your car and it makes the interior smell like it did the day it landed on the showroom floor. Why a person would want this odor wafting through their car I do not know. I guess my indifference has to do with not owning that many new cars and thus being deprived of their intoxicating aroma. Used cars have their own unique smells (my favorite being 8 year old McDonald's french fries) which, for some reason, Yankee Candle has not tried to replicate. Another reason I have not purchased one of these air fresheners is that some smells you just can't cover up. As proof I humbly offer up the 1976 Ford Pinto.
In case you are not familiar with our friend the Pinto it was, and is, a running (when it runs) joke. The Pinto is famous for all the wrong reasons. Seems the engineers at Ford designed this vehicle in such a way that if it gets hit in a rear-end collision there is a better than decent chance the gas tank will explode. Not cool. I have been in a rear-end collision. It was not in a Pinto, which may help explain why I survived the accident. Like many things in the 70s, including polyester leisure suits, disco, and Stagflation, the Pinto is better left in the past. If you are still driving a '76 Pinto I have some bad news for you - aint no amount of new car scent going to cover up the stench from that death mobile.
There is a great scene in the movie O Brother Where Art Thou. You can see it by clicking the link below
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82_bhD0_Trw
Delmar gets baptized believing that somehow this act will cleanse him of all of the wrong things he has done. A few scenes later the newly redeem Delamr and his friends rob a bank. Delmar treats baptism like one of those new car scented air fresheners, unaware, or unwilling to admit that a broken life that is not healed remains broken. A '76 Pinto is still a '76 Pinto, no matter how new it smells.
The Christian faith boldly proclaims that in and through Jesus Christ we find new life. Baptism is a symbol of that new life, a way to tell the world of our intention to become a follower of Jesus. Through serving others, growing into a relationship with God and taking full advantage of the gift of community our lives are transformed and healed. Discipleship is a process, a life-long journey, not a one-time event. Rather than mask the smell of our past mistakes baptism helps us understand that God is at work redeeming all that we have done. That redemption may take days, weeks, months, years or may even extend well past our own lifetime. Yet God will always find a way to create life. Even from a '76 Pinto (it's called recycling).
Faith is not about covering up or telling ourselves that something old is really new. It is about living life in all of its fullness. I hope that today you may experience a little faith and a whole lot of life. It is so much better than that new car scent. Or a '76 Pinto.
In case you are not familiar with our friend the Pinto it was, and is, a running (when it runs) joke. The Pinto is famous for all the wrong reasons. Seems the engineers at Ford designed this vehicle in such a way that if it gets hit in a rear-end collision there is a better than decent chance the gas tank will explode. Not cool. I have been in a rear-end collision. It was not in a Pinto, which may help explain why I survived the accident. Like many things in the 70s, including polyester leisure suits, disco, and Stagflation, the Pinto is better left in the past. If you are still driving a '76 Pinto I have some bad news for you - aint no amount of new car scent going to cover up the stench from that death mobile.
There is a great scene in the movie O Brother Where Art Thou. You can see it by clicking the link below
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82_bhD0_Trw
Delmar gets baptized believing that somehow this act will cleanse him of all of the wrong things he has done. A few scenes later the newly redeem Delamr and his friends rob a bank. Delmar treats baptism like one of those new car scented air fresheners, unaware, or unwilling to admit that a broken life that is not healed remains broken. A '76 Pinto is still a '76 Pinto, no matter how new it smells.
The Christian faith boldly proclaims that in and through Jesus Christ we find new life. Baptism is a symbol of that new life, a way to tell the world of our intention to become a follower of Jesus. Through serving others, growing into a relationship with God and taking full advantage of the gift of community our lives are transformed and healed. Discipleship is a process, a life-long journey, not a one-time event. Rather than mask the smell of our past mistakes baptism helps us understand that God is at work redeeming all that we have done. That redemption may take days, weeks, months, years or may even extend well past our own lifetime. Yet God will always find a way to create life. Even from a '76 Pinto (it's called recycling).
Faith is not about covering up or telling ourselves that something old is really new. It is about living life in all of its fullness. I hope that today you may experience a little faith and a whole lot of life. It is so much better than that new car scent. Or a '76 Pinto.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
I Want to Be a Weed
The people that occupied the house we live in before us were...how shall I say this...somewhat negligent when it came to caring for the yard. If not taking proper care of your lawn were a crime they would be serving a life sentence. With no chance for parole. Ever. There are weeds everywhere. In the flower beds, in the bushes, under the trees and all throughout the yard. While I have not conducted a scientific survey I am sure there are more weeds in the yard than grass. Somewhere, Frederick Olmsted, the great landscape architect, is rolling over in his grave.
I do have to give the previous occupants some credit though. What they lacked in concern about weeds they easily made up for it their apparent love of weed diversity. Surrounding our house is a virtual United Nations of weeds. You name it, we have it. Every shape and size, color and texture can be found in our quarter acre of weed heaven.
Sadly, I do not share their love of weeds. I respect weeds unbelievable ability to multiply at the drop of a hat (even rabbits are jealous). I am in awe of their capacity to muscle out other plants and take over a yard in less than a season (even the Mob is envious). But I don't like them. They wreak too much havoc, are too difficult to control and some of them are down right painful to touch.
As I was gazing upon the weed wonderland that I call a yard it occurred to me, as it has to many a great thinker who has plumbed the intellectual depths of weeds, that they are a lot like the negative things in our lives. Fear, greed, hatred, anxiety, envy - each requires just a little foothold in souls and soon there is room for nothing else. These emotions spread quickly, take up all of our time and energy, and they turn our lives into ugly messes.
Still, I wonder if weeds are getting a bad rap. Is it not possible that positive emotions - love, happiness, generosity, hope - can also be like weeds? Why don't we ever compare these attitudes to those plants that can thrive on very little, transform not only your life/yard but that of your neighbor, and keep coming back no matter how hard we try to get rid of them? Why can't we call the best things in life weeds? Because Lord knows our society treat them like they were weeds.
Think about it. Our culture (including politicians and the media of both the left and the right) teaches us to work very hard at uprooting the positive attitudes in our lives and the lives of others. We are uncomfortable spending too much time with folks who are always happy (especially if they are happy first thing in the morning. These folks are not only annoying, they are possessed). We label those who are overly generous "naive." If your life is defined by unconditional love we call you a hopeless romantic and a sucker. And woe to the one who always hopes. They are dreamers and unrealistic. Be honest, we don't want our lives filled with too many of these positive traits. We treat them like weeds. We put a lot of time in trying to eradicate them from our lives. Just like we are taught.
What if we just let the weeds do their thing and grow. Instead of trying to make our lives look like a manicured lawn how about letting the weeds of joy and happiness and love and hope overrun everything. That is what Jesus did. Granted, he was treated like a weed, but guess what - there is nothing stronger, more resilient and just plain beautiful as love, hope and happiness. Try as we might we can't control them. They are contagious and unpredictable, just like weeds. And they are from God.
I will go you one better. I want to be a weed, to spread all that is good and wonderful into the lives of other people. I know, not everyone will appreciate me or what I am doing. Like Jesus, I may suffer the same fate as most weeds. But that is ok. Because like a weed Jesus keeps coming back with more love and hope and happiness. I want to be like that. I want to be a weed.
I do have to give the previous occupants some credit though. What they lacked in concern about weeds they easily made up for it their apparent love of weed diversity. Surrounding our house is a virtual United Nations of weeds. You name it, we have it. Every shape and size, color and texture can be found in our quarter acre of weed heaven.
Sadly, I do not share their love of weeds. I respect weeds unbelievable ability to multiply at the drop of a hat (even rabbits are jealous). I am in awe of their capacity to muscle out other plants and take over a yard in less than a season (even the Mob is envious). But I don't like them. They wreak too much havoc, are too difficult to control and some of them are down right painful to touch.
As I was gazing upon the weed wonderland that I call a yard it occurred to me, as it has to many a great thinker who has plumbed the intellectual depths of weeds, that they are a lot like the negative things in our lives. Fear, greed, hatred, anxiety, envy - each requires just a little foothold in souls and soon there is room for nothing else. These emotions spread quickly, take up all of our time and energy, and they turn our lives into ugly messes.
Still, I wonder if weeds are getting a bad rap. Is it not possible that positive emotions - love, happiness, generosity, hope - can also be like weeds? Why don't we ever compare these attitudes to those plants that can thrive on very little, transform not only your life/yard but that of your neighbor, and keep coming back no matter how hard we try to get rid of them? Why can't we call the best things in life weeds? Because Lord knows our society treat them like they were weeds.
Think about it. Our culture (including politicians and the media of both the left and the right) teaches us to work very hard at uprooting the positive attitudes in our lives and the lives of others. We are uncomfortable spending too much time with folks who are always happy (especially if they are happy first thing in the morning. These folks are not only annoying, they are possessed). We label those who are overly generous "naive." If your life is defined by unconditional love we call you a hopeless romantic and a sucker. And woe to the one who always hopes. They are dreamers and unrealistic. Be honest, we don't want our lives filled with too many of these positive traits. We treat them like weeds. We put a lot of time in trying to eradicate them from our lives. Just like we are taught.
What if we just let the weeds do their thing and grow. Instead of trying to make our lives look like a manicured lawn how about letting the weeds of joy and happiness and love and hope overrun everything. That is what Jesus did. Granted, he was treated like a weed, but guess what - there is nothing stronger, more resilient and just plain beautiful as love, hope and happiness. Try as we might we can't control them. They are contagious and unpredictable, just like weeds. And they are from God.
I will go you one better. I want to be a weed, to spread all that is good and wonderful into the lives of other people. I know, not everyone will appreciate me or what I am doing. Like Jesus, I may suffer the same fate as most weeds. But that is ok. Because like a weed Jesus keeps coming back with more love and hope and happiness. I want to be like that. I want to be a weed.
Monday, July 26, 2010
A Few Good Lies
A few months back, right before the release of Iron Man 2 some creative folks with way too much time on their hands posted some funny mashups on YouTube. They inserted Iron Man into a few classic film scenes, including Titanic and Dirty Dancing, where Iron Man dances with Patrick Swayze in the finale of the movie. These mashups got a lot of press as well as hits. So, being the creative type (with apparently too much time on my hands) I came up with the brilliant idea of creating my own mashups. Only these would involve classic film scenes inserted into equally classic stories from the Bible. Now, since we are dealing with two different media, film and written text, this will require some use of your imagination, but I am confident that the effort will be worth it. So, without further ado, let the mashing begin.
All four gospels contain stories of Jesus being arrested and brought before Pilot, the Roman governor in charge of Judea. The book of John has an interesting exchange between Jesus and Pilot, in which the governor asks Jesus if he is the king of the Jews. Jesus refuse to play this game and tells Pilot
"You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." Pilot responds by asking Jesus what is the truth.
John does not tell us what Jesus said next. But I have a idea of what might have gone down and it involves Jesus channeling his inner Jack Nicholson. Click on the link below.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5j2F4VcBmeo&feature=related
Can't you just see it, Jesus screaming back at Pilot, "You want the truth! You can't handle the truth!" Brilliant, absolutely, dead on brilliant. Pilot could not have handled the truth even if he really wanted it. It would have turned everything he knew on its head. Pilot was looking for a political leader, a king like himself when the truth of who Jesus was (and is) was beyond anything Pilot could comprehend.
I have another mashup version of this scene. It still involves Jesus as Jack Nicholson, but I am standing in the place of Pilot. I want the truth, I demand the truth, I think I am entitled to the truth. Make no mistake, I have put Jesus on trial a number of times in my life. Each time I have asked for the truth. But could I really handle the truth?
I do not believe that Jesus has ever withheld the truth from me. Jesus came to bear witness to the truth. The problem is that too often I want Jesus to tell me what I want to hear and call it the truth. I want Jesus to justify me, to affirm everything I say and do. And when my life does not go the way I wish it to I want Jesus to break down in the witness stand and say, "Roger, your right and I am wrong." What I want is not the truth but a few good lies that sound like the truth.
The truth is I am a child of God, created in the image and likeness of God. I am not God. Nor am I the only child of God. My life is intertwined with billions of other lives. As a follower of Jesus I am called to care about all these other people as much as I care about myself. That is a truth I don't always want to hear. It is a truth I don't always think I can handle. But it is the truth that can set me free to live life in all of its fullness.
All four gospels contain stories of Jesus being arrested and brought before Pilot, the Roman governor in charge of Judea. The book of John has an interesting exchange between Jesus and Pilot, in which the governor asks Jesus if he is the king of the Jews. Jesus refuse to play this game and tells Pilot
"You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." Pilot responds by asking Jesus what is the truth.
John does not tell us what Jesus said next. But I have a idea of what might have gone down and it involves Jesus channeling his inner Jack Nicholson. Click on the link below.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5j2F4VcBmeo&feature=related
Can't you just see it, Jesus screaming back at Pilot, "You want the truth! You can't handle the truth!" Brilliant, absolutely, dead on brilliant. Pilot could not have handled the truth even if he really wanted it. It would have turned everything he knew on its head. Pilot was looking for a political leader, a king like himself when the truth of who Jesus was (and is) was beyond anything Pilot could comprehend.
I have another mashup version of this scene. It still involves Jesus as Jack Nicholson, but I am standing in the place of Pilot. I want the truth, I demand the truth, I think I am entitled to the truth. Make no mistake, I have put Jesus on trial a number of times in my life. Each time I have asked for the truth. But could I really handle the truth?
I do not believe that Jesus has ever withheld the truth from me. Jesus came to bear witness to the truth. The problem is that too often I want Jesus to tell me what I want to hear and call it the truth. I want Jesus to justify me, to affirm everything I say and do. And when my life does not go the way I wish it to I want Jesus to break down in the witness stand and say, "Roger, your right and I am wrong." What I want is not the truth but a few good lies that sound like the truth.
The truth is I am a child of God, created in the image and likeness of God. I am not God. Nor am I the only child of God. My life is intertwined with billions of other lives. As a follower of Jesus I am called to care about all these other people as much as I care about myself. That is a truth I don't always want to hear. It is a truth I don't always think I can handle. But it is the truth that can set me free to live life in all of its fullness.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
The perfect birthday gift #3
This weekend I celebrated another birthday. For what it's worth I am now 43 years old. What do you do to mark such a momentous occasion? I mean, come on, its hard to get all giddy and excited about middle age. Ponies and balloons really don't light my fire anymore. Someone asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I pondered this question for a while. At first I came up with all the Miss America pageant cliches: world peace, no more wars, an end to childhood hunger. Then I thought no, midlife is nothing without a crisis. What would I want that would ease that growing since of anxiety I have sometimes about getting old (do you realize in 7 years I will qualify for an AARP card!!!) In a flash of self-absorbed brilliance I came up with three perfect gifts.
Gift #3 - A Kitchen for the 24st Century For some reason I liked watching the cartoon "The Jestson's" when I was a kid. I cannot remember a single episode and the plots (assuming there were plots) escape me. What I do recall was the way the characters in the show got their food. They simply walked up to a computer, told it what they wanted, and there it was. As a child growing up in a very poor home the idea of unlimited food was fascinating. As an adult who does the cooking for my family the mere thought of a computer doing all the work is tantalizing. I want one of those machines. I mean, really, really want one.
Food occupies a weird place in my life. I love to eat, though I can be a picky eater. I prefer to do the cooking (a control issue) but can think of a million things I would rather do than be in the kitchen. Having food in the house is a reminder that I am no longer dirt poor, yet I am worried about my weight and try not to keep to much food around (at least not the fatty, sugary kind I really like).
The attraction of a 24th century kitchen, or whatever time period the Jetson's are from, is that I would not have to think about food. When it is time to eat I (control issue, again) would just tell the computer what to make and let the feasting begin. Naturally there would be tons of fruits and veggies which would lead my children to love me even more than they already do. If the meal is not good I get to blame the computer. If the meal is great I am the one who programmed it. No worries, no problems, no thinking. The only issue is whether the purchase of this computer qualifies for free shipping from Amazon. I'm guessing it might. Oh, and whether I can install it myself. I am sure I can't.
Like my time machine, this technological wonder does not exist. Which means I have to continue to think about food. Which means I have to think about where it comes from and how much it costs. Which means I have to think about all the people who don't have any food today, or not enough of it. And that is the real problem. I don't want to think about that. I don't want to remember what it is like to not have food in the kitchen. Or to have to use Food Stamps. Or depend upon grocery bags filled with donated food that other people did not want. Above all, I don't want to think about the powerlessness that comes with poverty. And my guilt that today I have enough to eat while millions of other people don't.
Being a follower of Jesus means I will not ever be able to forget about other people. Being a follower of Jesus also means that instead of feeling guilty I can be filled with hope. I believe the stories about Jesus feeding five-thousand people with a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish. I have seen it happen in my own life. I have been witness to more than one instance when people freely shared what little they had and no one walked away hungry. There was no futuristic computer involved, just compassion, love, openness, and willingness to not to forget. So I give thanks for a wonderful birthday gift - the ability to think about food. And the desire to share it with others.Tuesday, June 8, 2010
The perfect birthday gift #2
This weekend I celebrated another birthday. For what it's worth I am now 43 years old. What do you do to mark such a momentous occasion? I mean, come on, its hard to get all giddy and excited about middle age. Ponies and balloons really don't light my fire anymore. Someone asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I pondered this question for a while. At first I came up with all the Miss America pageant cliches: world peace, no more wars, an end to childhood hunger. Then I thought no, midlife is nothing without a crisis. What would I want that would ease that growing since of anxiety I have sometimes about getting old (do you realize in 7 years I will qualify for an AARP card!!!) In a flash of self-absorbed brilliance I came up with three perfect gifts.
Gift #2 - The Return of the Stick
Please! This is not what you think (I'm not that insecure)! This gift is all about restoring a sense of control to my life. It comes in the form of a five-speed stick-shift. It requires that I dump the family mini-van in a body of deep water where no one will ever find it. Ever.
Sure getting kids, and soccer balls, and those fold up chairs all parents take to soccer games, and bags upon bags of groceries is so much easier with sliding side doors and fold-down back seats. But the mini-van cost me, dearly. My first car was a standard. My second car, a standard. When I lived overseas I drove a standard. Fourth car, you guessed it, a standard. When we got the mini-van (around the time of child number 3) I had to trade in my stick-shift. It hurt. There is something about having a five-speed that is so empowering. You feel connected to the car. More importantly, you are in control. No automatic anything here. If that car is going to move from zero to whatever, you, the driver, are going to have to make it happen. I want that feeling again. I want my five-speed stick-shift back.
I know, I know, this sounds so much like a typical response to a mid-life crisis. Feeling unsettled in your life old boy, well just go out and buy yourself a nice little sports car (young secretary optional) and all will be well. Perhaps there is a bit of that going on here. But I am aware that the stick shift is more of a symbol than a real answer. A powerful symbol, but a symbol nonetheless. The real answer is about control in my life and who has it. I want it to be me. I am afraid it is God.
Try as I might I can't make the sun come up tomorrow morning. I do not possess the power to make it rain. Nor can I stop a hurricane or a tornado or a beautiful rainbow from appearing. Even the things I think I am in control of - what clothes I wear, what I eat and where I live, really are out of my hands. I have choices, but not control. God is the only one with real control. My task is to not just accept that fact, but to learn to rejoice in it. Because God is about life. God's will for me is life in all of its fullness. There will be things that happen to and around me that I don't like. But nothing, nothing can prevent life from springing forth from every situation. When Jesus rose from the grave it was proof that even death has to give way to God's desire for life!
So, maybe what I need for my birthday is the resolve to just focus on the choices I have been given each day and give up on trying to control everything. I'll work on it. But it would be easier to do with my hand on that stick-shift!
Gift #2 - The Return of the Stick
Please! This is not what you think (I'm not that insecure)! This gift is all about restoring a sense of control to my life. It comes in the form of a five-speed stick-shift. It requires that I dump the family mini-van in a body of deep water where no one will ever find it. Ever.
Sure getting kids, and soccer balls, and those fold up chairs all parents take to soccer games, and bags upon bags of groceries is so much easier with sliding side doors and fold-down back seats. But the mini-van cost me, dearly. My first car was a standard. My second car, a standard. When I lived overseas I drove a standard. Fourth car, you guessed it, a standard. When we got the mini-van (around the time of child number 3) I had to trade in my stick-shift. It hurt. There is something about having a five-speed that is so empowering. You feel connected to the car. More importantly, you are in control. No automatic anything here. If that car is going to move from zero to whatever, you, the driver, are going to have to make it happen. I want that feeling again. I want my five-speed stick-shift back.
I know, I know, this sounds so much like a typical response to a mid-life crisis. Feeling unsettled in your life old boy, well just go out and buy yourself a nice little sports car (young secretary optional) and all will be well. Perhaps there is a bit of that going on here. But I am aware that the stick shift is more of a symbol than a real answer. A powerful symbol, but a symbol nonetheless. The real answer is about control in my life and who has it. I want it to be me. I am afraid it is God.
Try as I might I can't make the sun come up tomorrow morning. I do not possess the power to make it rain. Nor can I stop a hurricane or a tornado or a beautiful rainbow from appearing. Even the things I think I am in control of - what clothes I wear, what I eat and where I live, really are out of my hands. I have choices, but not control. God is the only one with real control. My task is to not just accept that fact, but to learn to rejoice in it. Because God is about life. God's will for me is life in all of its fullness. There will be things that happen to and around me that I don't like. But nothing, nothing can prevent life from springing forth from every situation. When Jesus rose from the grave it was proof that even death has to give way to God's desire for life!
So, maybe what I need for my birthday is the resolve to just focus on the choices I have been given each day and give up on trying to control everything. I'll work on it. But it would be easier to do with my hand on that stick-shift!
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Lessons From Kindergarten #6
Things I Learned in Kindergarten...well, actually the title should be "Things I Learned While Working in My Daughter's Kindergarten Class on Friday Afternoons," but honestly, that really doesn't roll off the tongue does it?
Jesus was big on children and believed that they had some special insights about faith. Overlooking the fact that Jesus did not have kids, and thus was spared changing dirty diapers and dealing with two year-olds who have just learned the word "no," let assume he was right. I have put my keen intellect to the task and come up with several "insights" about faith that I discovered while working in my daughter's Kindergarten class. Here we go:
#6 There is a routine - it must be followed!
I learned in grad school that young children are concrete thinkers. Was that ever an understatement! There is a general routine in my daughter's class - note the use of the word general. In the minds of many of these 5 and 6 year-olds, however, this routine came down from the mountain with Moses, is engraved in massive stone tablets, and therefore must not be altered. Woe to the one who tries to change the routine! Some of these wonderful children absolutely freak out if the routine is changed. They don't know what to do. A few of them even feel a burning need to remind the teacher that this is not how things are supposed to happen, oblivious to the fact that she is the one who made up the routine in the first place. The look on their faces when they confront her reminds me of Bruce Willis in "Die Hard," a combination of fear and steely resolve to stop the bad guy who altered the routine and return the world to normalcy.
There is an exception - recess. The mere mention of this word brings cheers of joy and banishes any thoughts of routine. Who cares about the routine when you can go outside and play. All hail recess!
Routine is not a bad thing and there is value in having some predictability in life. Yet, faith is not a routine. The point of faith in Jesus is not so we can do the same things, the same way, over and over again. Faith is the celebration of the God who breaks into our lives with that magic word -recess. Recess from being alone, jealous, in pain, self-centered, lost. We are free to go out and care about other people, to let them care about us, to give without fear of losing, to enjoy this beautiful world we live in, to truly be loved.
What is amazing to me is how often we defend the routine and are willing to argue with others that fear, suffering, and self-preservation are the way things have to be. Yet we long for, hope for, need some one to tell us to forget about the routine and that it is time for recess. Know what - that is what Jesus did! So forget about the routine. Enjoy recess. It is a gift from God.
Jesus was big on children and believed that they had some special insights about faith. Overlooking the fact that Jesus did not have kids, and thus was spared changing dirty diapers and dealing with two year-olds who have just learned the word "no," let assume he was right. I have put my keen intellect to the task and come up with several "insights" about faith that I discovered while working in my daughter's Kindergarten class. Here we go:
#6 There is a routine - it must be followed!
I learned in grad school that young children are concrete thinkers. Was that ever an understatement! There is a general routine in my daughter's class - note the use of the word general. In the minds of many of these 5 and 6 year-olds, however, this routine came down from the mountain with Moses, is engraved in massive stone tablets, and therefore must not be altered. Woe to the one who tries to change the routine! Some of these wonderful children absolutely freak out if the routine is changed. They don't know what to do. A few of them even feel a burning need to remind the teacher that this is not how things are supposed to happen, oblivious to the fact that she is the one who made up the routine in the first place. The look on their faces when they confront her reminds me of Bruce Willis in "Die Hard," a combination of fear and steely resolve to stop the bad guy who altered the routine and return the world to normalcy.
There is an exception - recess. The mere mention of this word brings cheers of joy and banishes any thoughts of routine. Who cares about the routine when you can go outside and play. All hail recess!
Routine is not a bad thing and there is value in having some predictability in life. Yet, faith is not a routine. The point of faith in Jesus is not so we can do the same things, the same way, over and over again. Faith is the celebration of the God who breaks into our lives with that magic word -recess. Recess from being alone, jealous, in pain, self-centered, lost. We are free to go out and care about other people, to let them care about us, to give without fear of losing, to enjoy this beautiful world we live in, to truly be loved.
What is amazing to me is how often we defend the routine and are willing to argue with others that fear, suffering, and self-preservation are the way things have to be. Yet we long for, hope for, need some one to tell us to forget about the routine and that it is time for recess. Know what - that is what Jesus did! So forget about the routine. Enjoy recess. It is a gift from God.
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