Newtown

On Friday one of my co-workers came to my office door with tears in her eyes, "They think twenty kids have been killed at an elementary school in Connecticut."  The shock, the horror, the pit-of-my-stomach sorrow.  Eleven days till Christmas.  How many presents bought will remain unopened?  How many hands poised to rip through wrapping were raised in terror?  Lowered, now they rest.  We can't endure such things.  Our minds shards of broken glass.  They thrash, lurch, flail for meaning.  We find a voice rooted beyond our recognition crying out in primordial pain, "What the hell was wrong with that guy?  Why God why?  Why didn't you do something!?"  What we feel is beyond emotion and expression.  Only the yell that shreds our vocal cords or the groan that shatters our heart can approximate.  We have to do something.  We gotta make sense.  Some how...some way - anger, blame, apathy, excuse.  We've gotta push out, away from ourselves. We can't look in.  We dare not look in.  "In" there lurks something in the shadows - insidious, heinous, beastly.  It's too close, too near.  We must deflect.  We must resist, repel, reject.

"Stay back!  'In' your too damn close.  I'm not going to say it again."
It's too late; it's always been too late.

"In" speaks, "You know you're no different.  You're desperately lonely and scared.  You're angry, envious, and apathetic.  You foment lies, embrace deceit, and celebrate violence.  Your heart turns cold, your soul runs dry, and your morality rings false.  You too are human."

The events at Newtown leave me overwrought with emotion and the awareness that "In" my heart are not only the seeds of anguished empathy but the seeds of all that went wrong that tragic day.  Father forgive us for we know and know not what we do.

Commitment Sunday

Indelible,
You write,
Across the landscape of our souls.

Yet we have forgotten.
We wander instead, forgetful.
Our memories fail us.

We suppose the world was ours for the taking.
Oh how we have taken:
Innocence
  Truth
    Justice
      Love
        Life
All of these and more we have taken.

We have taken and returned them:
        Empty
      Hungry
    Starving
  Famished
Oh how we have taken.

But not you, no not you.
You give and give and give.
Some say, "Give till it hurts."

But you give till, "My God My God why have you forsaken me?"
You give till, "Father forgive them for they know not what they do."
You give till, "It is finished!"

Remove the fog of our forgetfulness.
Peel open our clinched fists.
Awaken our slumbering souls.

For there is a promise we have taken,
A promise we have forgotten,
"It is more blessed to give than to receive."

For Jeff

Words, empty
Fractured by the kiln:
Compacted, comminuted, compound.

Half empty?  If only.
Grief, tragedy, loss ricochet,
Movement without meaning.

These tools are useless,
Rusted, worn, stripped.
"I miss you" will never be enough.

Election Day

Locked within the frame of my brokenness,
Pressed by the walls of my vision - myopic, prejudiced, woefully limited.
Just let me live in this glass house with my stacks of stones.
Admit my flaws?  Admit my hypocrisy?  Admit my double standards?
Maybe tomorrow.  Today's election day.

Is there an app for that?

Apple states on their iPhone web page that they have over 500,00 apps for "work, play, and everything in between."  Need to learn Cantonese - there's an app for that.  Need to monitor your investment portfolio - there's an app for that.  Need to find a friend from college, post a video of your 80 year old granny doing the "forbidden dance," or save the human race from a zombie Apocalypse - there's an app for that.

There seems to be an app for just about everything...everything except for despair, hopelessness, and emptiness.  The app industry that drives and defines our over-connected existence is merely a well-developed, adroitly marketed symptom of an insatiable craving deep with in each of us.  There is a craving within each of us that is beyond reason or rationality.  It is a visceral craving that we attempt to satisfy through sex, alcohol, drugs, relationships, entertainment, success, wealth, possessions, and religion. 

We are convinced that our craving's satisfaction is somehow tied to our own.  If only we meet our every need, want, or desire then surely the craving will vanish.  If I do whatever I want, whenever I want, with whomever I want surely the craving will subside?  But here our intuition fails us.  The more we cave into our every need, want, and desire the more insatiable our cravings become.

The cliched truth is that God is the only "app" than can satisfy our craving.  But this ain't no genie in a bottle, hocus pocus, god of my understanding app.  This is a God become flesh, take on all my s#!t, nailed to a cross, victory over death and darkness application. 

Is there an app for despair, hopelessness, emptiness, and insatiable craving?  There is.  His name is Jesus.

Camels and Cashmere Underwear

Luxury items fascinate me.  My uber practical, paycheck to paycheck, associate pastor lifestyle can't quite comprehend the gold plated toilet seat, diamond studded watch, cashmere underwear, or $75,000 SUV with the home entertainment system.  As much as I hate to admit it, those who own luxury items produce in me a constellation of emotions from envy to resentment.  In my self-righteous moments, my criticism and judgment take on the words of Jesus, "It's easier for a camel to walk through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven."  In those moments I hear myself cheering on Jesus and jeering at the wealthy, "That's what I'm talking about Jesus...Y'all better watch out Jesus (Spanish pronunciation) is about to get Old Testament on your punk @$#."

My trip down Condemnation Lane doesn't last more than a few blocks before Reverend Hammond's words echo in my ears, "Most pastors in Liberia make less than $100 a month.  Many barely make $60."  My peers in West Africa live in abject poverty as they serve a people and a nation ruined by years of civil war.  My life is luxury stacked upon luxury compared to theirs - indoor plumbing, electricity, a living wage, health care, access to technology, educational opportunities, home ownership, automobiles, and food security.  From their perspective, my 2002 Pathfinder is a Hummer, my 1,800 square foot home a mansion, and my monthly salary a king's ransom.

The hard truth is that the majority of the world looks more like West Africa than North America, and the greatest luxury in America does not involve wealth or material possession but God.  In a nation that defines needs as smartphones, flat screens, and entertainment God is the ultimate luxury item.  Who needs God when you live in a nation obssessed with and defined by self-interest, comfort, safety, and security. 

God is a luxury who sometimes receives a passing nod when all is well, a heartfelt cry in despair, or an unbriddled curse in tragedy.  But make no mistake, in a nation of untold luxury where the mainline church is dying like a third world epidemic, God is a luxury.  Where are those damn microscopic camels when you need one?   





 

Out-patient Surgery

Yesterday I had my knee scoped at an outpatient surgery center.  This morning as I lay in bed leg elevated, knee throbbing the thought hit me - the church isn't a hospital but an outpatient surgery center.  I've heard many say that the church isn't a "museum for saints but a hospital for sinners."  But the more I reflect on the story of God and the response that story necessitates the more I see the church as an outpatient surgery center.  A hospital can be a place of healing, but more often it is a place of overwhelming pathology where sickness, infection, and, despair hover like a dense fog.  Such potential toxicity fosters a sedate, sedentary environment where patients are discharged on the basis of insurance coverage rather than health.

An outpatient surgery center is by its nature a place of movement and targeted healing.  Patients come to have conditions repaired, relieved, or removed.  Though sore, in pain, and scarred patients are sent back into their lives, into their worlds to complete  their rehab and recuperation.  Their health is fully restored in and through the circumstances of life.

The gospel isn't an Amish Manifesto or a hospital name "Isolation General."  The gospel is the story of engagement where the sick are brought to the physician to be treated and sent to gather the sick.  To follow Jesus is to be an "out"-patient who discovers healing and is dis-"charged" to help others do the same.  We aren't called to the infirmary but to the community.  We are the sent out not the brought in.  We are the way and not the destination.  We are an "out"-patient surgery center and not a hospital.

Hunger Games

I am hungry.  I am hungry for less of me and more of Jesus.  I am hungry for sacrifice.  I am hungry for a community that meets people where they are...a community more concerned about following Christ than studying Christ.  I am hungry for authenticity and transparency.  I am hungry for bondages broken, addictions busted, and oppressions laid low.  I am hungry for the consumer church to stop gorging itself and start feeding the hungry and the hopeless.  I am hungry for radical obedience and uncommon self-denial.  I am hungry for danger, for risk, for un-comfortable zones.  I am hungry for the church to stop confusing tradition with traditionalism.  I am hungry for worship to be a lifestyle and not a worship style.  I am hungry for a movement and not a methodology.   

I am hungry for the kingdom of God.

Christian Cliches

It has been nine years since I became a Christian.  In my near decade long pursuit to follow Jesus I have come across a number of Christian cliches that get tossed around with little if any push back.  Many of these phrases have a second-cousin-twice-removed like connection to a Scripture verse or passage which gives the impression they are "Biblical" i.e. the Protestant litmus test.  It may be phrases like: accept Jesus into your heart; washed (or cleansed) by the blood of Jesus; seek God's will for your life; anything using "righteousness;" we agree in prayer...; seek God's face; the Lord spoke to my heart; get into the word; turn it over to the Lord; or ...Spirit filled... 

Of late the cliche that most troubles me is "personal relationship with Jesus."  You can't be among a group of "Bible believing," "Evangelical," "Christ centered" Protestants for more than 30 seconds without the phrase "personal relationship with Jesus" getting launched into the hearing sphere.  Lo ye dare to question thee phrase in public or thy may be smite(d).  But honestly I have no idea what people mean by the phrase.  Are Jesus and I buddies?  Are we boyfriend/girlfriend?  Are we roomates?  Do we bowl together on Tuesdays?  I'm afraid in our me-driven, experiential, consumer culture, "personal relationship with Jesus" looks more like Twilight without the fangs - "Oh Edward...Oh Bella...Oh Edward...Oh Bella...Let's be immortal forever xoxo." 

When Jesus became a person God became personal and because of that we can personally encounter God.  But the encounter is and must always be on God's terms and not our own.  God is at center of our encounter and he always makes the first move.  Any pursuit of a "personal relationship" with Jesus that seeks emotional highs and new frontiers of experience ultimately puts "me" at the center of the relationship (and I think that might be idolatry).  Truly encountering God may require despair, crisis, and the utter absence of God's perceived presence.  It may mean the implosion of all our cliches.  God forbid, it may mean fewer hand-in-hand walks down the beach with Jesus and more deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me.