Misplaced Hope

Last night I finished reading That Hideous Strength, the final part of C. S. Lewis' Space Trilogy. Its an interesting set of books that seek to retell the story of God and His work from a more cosmic--and lively--perspective. In the final volume, the forces of science ally themselves with more sinister spiritual powers in an attempt to achieve their nefarious ends, while a stalwart band of humans find themselves guided by angelic beings to offer the necessary resistance.

Its an engaging book, and one I understand much better now than when I initially read it in my high school days.

One of the characters that jumped out to me during this readthrough was Mark Studdock. Simply stated, he is a scholarly man torn between his desire to be identified with the "in crowd" (in this case those allied with the forces of darkness) and the more simple and authentic life he left behind long ago.

While in some sense his dilemma is nothing more than the old spectre of peer pressure writ large, I still can't help but identify with it. For though age has given me some distance from this stereotypically teenage plight, from time to time I can't help but get the twinges of desire for my own increased social mobility, standing, and respect. I get the feeling that I want to be something more in everyone else's eyes and that if I just try a little harder or politick a little more it can be so.

It's easy to fall into that trap...to want so badly the approval of our peers--or of a single person--that we'll bend and fold and shape ourselves into all sorts of contortions to arrive at that desired outcome.

Reaching beyond ourselves for something more is understandable. It's human. But denying who we are while doing that puts us in the gravest danger--the danger of losing ourselves and becoming a flat and lifeless parody of those around us.

And if we're really willing to do that? Then we're in quite a bit of trouble.

How much better the final fate of Lewis' Studdock, who in the end decided against the foolish path of comfortable accomodation and quickly felt "the relief of no longer trying to win these men's confidence, the shuffling off of miserable hopes...the straight fight, after the long series of diplomatic failures, was tonic."

Some days we all could use a bit more of that tonic as we begin to fight for who we're really supposed to be--regardless of the shifting sands of popular opinion or public approval.

Its true whether we're teenagers or not. And that's a fact.

Speak Softly

While there are few things in this life that really get me fired up, the task of preaching--bringing the Word before God's people--is something about which I feel deeply. I just do.

In my mind, it's a unique moment in our world. It is a human endeavor, but it is a work of the Spirit. It is public, but it is not a performance. It is common, but never base....at least it shouldn't be.

And in our world of 130 television channels and ever-decreasing attention spans, it is the one time of the week that no channel surfing can occur. A time when we are called to listen and by the power of God to be transformed by the experience.

Which is why I often feel sad when I hear a sermon that smacks more of personal opinion or public chiding than anything else. Where instead of using the moment as a time of public instruction and discipleship it plows ahead critiquing without caution, failing to take into consideration the deeply held thoughts and feelings of those faithfully listening.

Some would say that preaching of this sort is necessary and part of what it means to call Christians to account. To a certain extent I agree. Our world would be a much better place if ministers would learn what it really means to challenge their flock and hold them accountable to the things of God.

The trouble is, I'm not sure that all "prophetic" preaching is really that. In many ways, I feel like more of it has to do with personal preference and an unwillingness to walk slowly with a congregation as God works His change in them in His time. But still...it's an easy mistake for a preacher to make--one which I have been guilty of myself.

As with anything, to jump wildly ahead to a place far beyond is difficult, but at the same time rewarding. Yet to ask those around you to do the same? Often impossible.

And while God is amazingly skilled at working the impossible, I'm not convinced the swift and steady transformation is always His way. Sometimes seeing something new takes time. Sometimes God needs to bring us through certain pathways before we can be transformed. Sometimes we simply need someone to understand where we are before asking us to jump into the unknown. Which is why preachers often need to take things slow.

Yes, prophets are needed. But so are pastors. If somehow these two realities could be held together at all times, preaching might just--by the power of the Spirit--be the thing it is meant to be.

Raven Haired Riddle

Sonnet VII

From end to end the earth does not allow
Extremities as deep as those inside
No tempest, gale, tornado can endow
To me a greater storm in which to hide.
Like sun reflected from a crystal sea,
Her eyes remind at once of younger days
A laugh, a touch, a season filled with ease
Recall at once my heart that's never strayed.
Yet steady her affections seem not be,
And knowing this I comprehend so well
That though again what both my eyes have seen
Her wish remains still that an end be called.
On days like this it seems, just as she spoke;
On others? Moments bright yet rumour hope.

-J. Ziefle-

The Jeffersons

Not too long ago, I was applying for various PhD programs. Part of that process includes submitting a sample of one's scholarly writing for academic perusal. Deciding what to pick and how to revise it can be a bit nerveracking.

My job, however, was fairly easy. Since I'd only written one paper in American religious history during my entire time at seminary, I simply submitted that paper. It was about Thomas Jefferson and his edition of the New Testament known as "The Jefferson Bible."

What really grabbed me during this study was the title of one of the books I used. It called Jefferson a "grieving optimist." I liked the phrase...its juxtaposition of hope and fear. Pain and joy. Life and death. In my paper I tended to view Jefferson this way--a man whose vision of human progress (and subsequent rejection of organized religion) remained expansive at the same time the experiences of life and his own temperament always made the path of faith a powerful draw.

During my research, I came upon a beautiful description of the great Jefferson alone with his Bible after the death of his daughter. Solitary and reflective...and probably praying to a God he may intellectually have concluded was unable to answer. Simply remarkable.

Now, I don't wish the be misunderstood at this point...I am not pleased that Jefferson was upset. I am not rejoicing that his pain led him to God. Not at all. Rather, I'm just marvelling at how he was such a complete contradiction and how compelling the path to God was when there was nothing left for him. When he felt alone. When he was stripped bare.

I feel the part of the grieving optimist sometimes. Not in the same way as Jefferson...but still. The label fits...there's always that mixture. Perhaps those two words are simply what it means to be alive. To move through this world in any meaningful way.

To be one or the other is to venture into danger. Show me a total optimist and I'll show you a fool. Show me a complete griever and I'll show you someone not long for this world.

To be both? Well, that's just how it is most of the time.

For though the joy of the Lord may be a steady stream to which we may turn, the momentary--and contradictory--currents of grief and optimism can surprise us throughout our time in its waters...making the journey one of more growth than we could have ever imagined.

At the very least, it's something to think about.

An Other Time

It's hard to know what another person is thinking. What's going on inside their head. And even if they tell you, it's still not the whole story. Not by a long shot.

You see, one's emotions, one's hopes, one's dreams...it is these things that given the inner sancta of our minds the particular individualistic tinge that sets us apart from everyone else.

Simply stated, it's the very unique way of being you. It really is.

Seen this way, it is near unto impossible for you to ever know what someone else is thinking. Simply unfathomable. I can get close, yes...but never close enough to know entirely. Each person just has all this stuff that we can't ever seem to know about.

Beyond the simple facts of nature that add to this difficulty, the masks of our world and its media and customs often don't allow it, making in effect each person appear to us a very different kind of being than they really are.

Because we are the only people we really know, it's very easy to assume that others are less three-dimensional than we are That they are simply actors in the play in which we're starring. We (well, most of us, anyway) don't think this way because we want to be arrogant or cruel. Not at all. We simply think this way because it's easiest. Quickest. Because it allows us to move through life as "effectively" as possible without getting bogged down in all the details. It would, after all, certainly be very difficult to walk through the streets of Manhattan taking the time to really consider every individual we meet. Very difficult.

Which is why we don't. Why we learn to make others into "others" while ourselves remaining three-dimensional beings seemingly immune to such treatment.

Problem is, this type of living never lets us really get into the lives of others. Never lets us really share them. Never lets us care for the stranger as a person whose life is just as "larger than life" as ours always seems to be.

Ya, we can't know anyone as we know ourselves. That's a given. But maybe if we begin to consider the possibility that others could have inner lives similar to the ones we know so well, our race through life might slow down just a bit and take in a few of our fellow runners.

Each of us is special, yes. Full of energy and vigor and emotion and love and sadness and hope. I like that about myself...knowing that I'm unique. The thing is...that means the guy walking down the street has all these things to. And I need to keep that in mind.

A Producer

For the past few years or so, I've harbored two ideas for new television shows. Both play to my own interests, but might hopefully have some contact with a larger audience.

Hard to say.

Both are simple concepts (sort of). The first focuses on Jesus, but neither the Christmas "baby version" nor the fully grown prophetic model of the gospels. Rather, it seeks to fill in the "in-between" time...you guessed it---Jesus' teenage years. The way I see things, it would be a great option for the WB Network to pick up. It could be called "Nazareth" and follow the same model as so many other coming-of-age teen dramas.

In the show Jesus would know that he was special, understand his calling, but not yet understand completely that He was God. In addition to being occasionally funny, it would be a unique and humanizing look at the Messiah who, for all our devotion, still often seems far too distant from us.

Both the show and that last sentence will keep the theologians tied up for some time.

The other concept isn't as fraught with biblical peril, but is interesting. It would draw on an important human emotion--regret--and ask the question "What would happen if you could change the past?" In the style of "Law and Order" or "The Twilight Zone" each week would feature a new episode set in a universe where a person could choose--at any point in their life--to change one (and only one) mistake from the past.

Some would waste their chance far too soon. Others would save it up until the end and not get to use it at all. Others? Well, you'd just have to watch the show to find out.

So these are my ideas. Both ask questions of humanity. One wonders what a human being would be like if they were God. The other broaches the topic of whether humans should have occasional godlike powers and what their use of those powers would look like.

Something to think about, at least.

My Song

I realized something tonight. I'm not who I used to be.

And I don't like it. Not one bit.

You see, not very long ago I was idealist. I was a devotee of true love, honor, justice. All things pure and bright. Probably so annoyingly so that people made fun of me behind my back. Ya, I may have had my head in the clouds, but it was a good place to be.

What happened to change all of that? Life, I suppose. About one year ago it all changed.

In my idealism and naivete it seemed I overreached myself, confessed my dreams too freely...and the perfect world I had supposed to exist suddenly mocked me by its absence. Everything I had hoped for was just gone.

Though not conscious of all that was happening back then, it is clear now that the scope of my dreams began to be cut short. The hopes of the boundless horizon became limited to what was right in front of me. Choices made became pragmatic and attained a certain listless coldness. Idealism? Pretty much gone. And with it, so much of the beauty and wonder I could have experienced over the past twelve months have been lost--perhaps forever.

In many ways, that is as apt as any a description of my life since some of the momentous events of last summer. And I'm betting this phenomena is not limited to me...but everyone who has been let down. Whose hopes have been dashed. Who has poured their heart into living according to the deepest wisps of wonder only to realize their dreams were never shared by those who figured into them the most.

Like children building castles in the sand and imagining deep worlds of magic only to have them destroyed at the hands of the careless or malicious, we are devastated. Our hopes are gone, quickly replaced by loss, regret, and shame at ever having been so "foolish" in the first place.

And what do we do with that loss? We can--as I have done when my greatest dreams were dashed--harden ourselves and give up on such "foolish" pursuits in favor of the more utilitarian. Close ourselves off to wonder for fear that we will simply set ourselves up for a bigger fall in the future.

Or we can grab our pail and dream up something even bigger, realizing that our hopes are a gift from God, pointing to a future in which one day our greatest of hopes may ultimately be fulfilled.

It's up to us. But as for me, it's time go down to the sand with my spade and get to work again. After the past year I know I can't afford to waste opportunities and live lower than my dreams any more. It's not who I am and not at all what I am called to be.

Count Me In?

Polite society has innumerable rules. Some are logical and thought through, some are plainly obvious, while others...well, they are stuff of pure fancy. Whatever the case, they are that by which most of the world--at the very least most of our particular world--operates.

It doesn't take a complicated book of etiquette to delineate the many ways in which these laws guide our every actions.

In my mind, one of the most hallowed of these guidelines is simply to mind your own business. It is a code that dare not be broken lest the bonds of familiarity and friendship be stretched too far and snap back upon any transgressor with a painful fury.

For better or for worse I have followed this rule for most of my life. It is my default position. It's who I am. But here's the rub...does the Christian life allow for such individual and solitary living, or does it call for something more?

Two of my reasons for asking these questions have to do with recent experience.

Since becoming a youth minister, it has been my job to oversee the spiritual development of a group of teenagers. I am their pastor. I am responsible for helping them to grow in their relationship with God.

And, well, whether they ask for it or not I seem to have this tacit duty to call them to account on the state of their lives, morals, and choices. Its hard to know exactly what to do with that power and how to use it wisely.

The concept of accountability itself, so recently the rage in Christian circles, is the second reason for my late night pondering. Deriving from the idea that Christians are supposed to build each other up and help each other grow spiritually, accountability partners seek to develop closer walks with God by encouraging one another and calling one another to task over sin.

All well and good, I suppose...and often needed. But where does one draw the line? Should any Christian be able to call any other to account? Are the limits to accountability? Is there in the end some wisdom to minding your own business?

When does a Christian call the other to account and when do they simply let them find their own way? For if judgment itself must always be performed with great humility, so too must accountability.

We, after all, might be in the wrong ourselves.

Something about the blind leading the blind echoes in my ears, making me think yet again that only by looking to Christ can we truly understand what it means to see that to which we must keep account.

Less Mean, More Gold

"Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will in all things grow up into him who is the Head, that is, Christ." Ephesians 4:15

Its hard to be part of a group as large as the Christian Church. Hard because being a Christian means that--whether or not you intend it--people can assume that all Christians believe the same things. Or that because they know a certain type of Christian, you must be of the same kind. Or other Christians assuming that your opinion must be theirs since, after all, they are right.

Its complicated, but I guess in some way its what identifying with a larger group is all about. Kind of. For while there are many similarities between the Christian Church and other organizations or groups of human beings, a major difference exists. You see, in the Church, it's not about what we believe or look like or act...not primarily. It's about whose body we are a part of. Upon whom our lives are founded. Who we all look to.

And that's Jesus Christ.

This fact--though important for us and foundational for Christian self-understanding--will be unlikely to changes the opinions of people who are used to looking at the Church in a certain way. Altering those perceptions calls for something more, definite actions...which is why Ephesians 4:15 remains important.

Its a hard verse to live, but one that I feel flows directly from Christ Himself--the embodiment of God in truth and love. Because of Him, we cannot simply utter the truth coldly and walk away, expecting it to fix everything. Nor can we blindly accept everything under the perceived aegis of "love" and allow all things good, bad, or ugly. We must do something more to fulfill Christ's call as Christians and point to Him.

Neither unyielding fundamentalists nor sloppy relativists need apply. Letting them run the show, taking all the interviews and doing all the "big" things will only lead to our identification with those with whom I'm convinced most of us do not agree.

What is needed rather is speakers of loving truth. True love. Honest care and a Christlike Spirit.

And what will that look like? Let me know what you think.

Fire Works

Humility. It's good to get yourself acquainted with it.

I guess.

Tonight I had a rather humbling experience. I was hosting a meeting for some of our church's college students at the house, and (after some people had left and it was getting late) I decided to set off some fireworks. Why? Well...um...hard to say, really. Just thought it would be fun.

All well and good, I suppose. Until you realize that I live in a state where such things are illegal. But since my roommates had set some off on the 4th of July with no repercussions, I figured my lot would be the same as theirs.

Not so.

Apparently the neighbors were irritated enough the other night that the sound of fireworks tonight sent them over the edge. I can't blame two of them for chiding me for it. But it did sting.

It stung because I'm supposed to be smarter that that. Because I was embarrassed. Because others got to see how stupid I am occasionally. It was a mistake. And I hope I've learned from it. That's the desire no matter the misstep.

Not repeating this one will be fairly simple...

It's the others that I worry about sometimes.