Not So Good

As a minister, there is one day a year that I want to ignore the gospel. Forget about resurrection. Turn a blind eye to grace.

That day is today.

Today marks the death of Jesus Christ, God in the flesh. It marks the day that He died in order to carry the weighty sins of our darkened world.

That's no light matter. No light matter at all. Nevertheless we Christians love to talk about Easter and immediately jump to reborn life, saying everything is quite alright.

As if our sins had no consequences. As if there was no price. As if it is all simply a nice story with which we enjoy comforting ourselves. It's a dangerous position to hold, especially in light of all of us out there who know quite well the effect that evil has upon ourselves, our world, and the lives of those it comes into contact with.

Failing to really think about death in our everyday lives is bad enough. It blinds us to reality and gives us a woefully false sense of security.

But failing to think about death on this day? Well, that's a travesty and does a great dishonor to our God.

For it was on this day almost two thousand years ago that God Himself was beaten. Was bled dry. Was totally and utterly spent...and not so Mel Gibson could make a movie. It was on this day the Creator of the universe came face to face with the enemy of all life and had His own taken from Him. Though he drank of His own free will, the cup he took was still one of utter destruction.

You see, on this day God is dead.

Thoughts of Suppers Past

We remember today the final meal Jesus shared with His disciples before the Crucifixion. The last time he broke bread with them. The fleeting moment all twelve of them were together in just that way.

I've been thinking about other "last times" today. Among those, I've been trying to remember the last time I ever saw my grandfather.

I think it was when I was heading off to college for my sophomore year. Before we said goodbye, he made sure to slip me some spending money. He would often do things like that. I was thankful for the money, but honestly gave it little extra thought. I certainly didn't know it was the last time we'd ever look at each other.

Yet there it was.

Over two years later I remember saying goodbye to all of my friends from college in the few passing moments that followed commencement. Taking pictures, hugging one another, holding back tears. We all knew it would never be the same again.

And there we were.

So too I well remember watching someone I cared about drive off slowly down the road for the last time. Something was very final about it...and I knew it.

For me, the Last Supper seems similar. It intrigues me.

Why? Well, I suspect it has to do with my own predilection for remembrance of things past. The way in which I think about final moments and "last times." Like some of those, this meal seems like a perfect moment...without a doubt the last the disciples would have before the events of that terrible weekend.

I'm not certain if all the disciples knew what was going on. The severity of it. Matter of fact, I'll bet they didn't. Yet things came and events took place.

And as they looked back later in life, I'll bet they knew. This particular supper? Ya, it was the last.

Jesus would return in glory, yes...and the disciples had God-given missions ahead of them. But still...it would was the last time all of them who had spent some much time together following Jesus around--even Judas--were together in just that way.

If we think hard enough, we know exactly what those bittersweet moments are like. We've had them, they carry a uniqueness to them that remains deeply meaningful...and they're gone.

Still, we remember them forever.

Day After Day

Lear: "Dost thou call me fool, boy?"

Fool: "All thy other titles thou has given away; that thou wast born with."

King Lear I.iv. 96-97

I am not sure what to write. Musings about life, Scriptural thoughts, random observations...well, they all aren't really grabbing me today.

Because today I am sad. Sad for choices I have made. Sad for some of the things I've become. Sad for some of the ways I have treated others.

This week is known as "Holy Week." For Christians, it serves to mark the last days of Jesus' life. It comes at the end of the season of repentance and fasting known as Lent and culminates in Good Friday and Easter.

Much of today's sadness is connected to a certain mourning I have been in for nearly this entire Lenten season. A mourning for specific choices made and actions taken.

And despite the fact that the Resurrection is almost here, I'm not ready for it.

I know about grace and I know about forgiveness. I've preached about them and experienced them and shared them with others. But now it all seems too easy. Grace seems cheap.

Maybe all of this is meant in some small way to help me understand the weight of sin and death that was the Cross. That somehow Jesus managed to carry this too.

But why did he have too? Well, because of me. Because of you. Because of our woeful and damning disregard of ourselves and others. And if that doesn't give us pause for mourning in this Holiest of Weeks, I am not sure anything will.

All I know is that I am sad.

And frankly, a fool.

Pass the Pineapple

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law." Galatians 5:22-23

I like these verses. A lot. I don't know if they exhaust the list of everything that I want to be, but it covers a great deal of it.

Today...well, I'm thinking about patience. About what it means. About how to let it grow in me.

I'm also thinking a lot about the old King James term for patience--"longsuffering." Nobody really uses the word anymore, but it does seem to convey what being patient really feels like at times.

Us? Well, we want things right now. We want things right away. In our world of high speed Internet and instant access and 24 hour grocery stores patience seems like a bygone relic of the old days. And when we can't have whatever it is we seem to think we want at the instant we want it, we get frustrated.

How pale much of our modern impatience must seem compared to the real patience of which Paul writes--a long suffering in this life. Sure, we think we suffer now with our sometimes insignificant concerns. And they do bother us.

But then something comes along that demands real patience and we suddenly know what it's all about.

How to get this patience with which we will must suffer long? Not from our own power, I can tell you that. The kind of patience Paul writes about--like the kind of love, peace, and joy--are only achievable in the Spirit. As gifts from God.

As with so many things, this means giving up trying to work things out in your own power and letting God take care of them in His time. It's above all else an act of faith. An act of trust.

Though it seems far too simple, I guess we just have to wait for Him.

A Deeper Magic Still

"The heart has its reasons, of which the mind knows nothing."

-Blaise Pascal

A friend recently told me that he thinks I'm too emotional. Well, not exactly. I suppose what he was getting at was that I am too apt to put my whole self into things almost from the beginning.

This in his mind is a bad move...after all, doesn't it make sense to guard one's heart? To keep one's emotions in check? To stay within the specified lines of acceptable feeling?

I think he's partly right. The emotions each of us carry with us are powerful things. Amazingly powerful things. They can take us to the heights of joy and leave us in the depths of despair. They can divert our thoughts, throw us far off track, and lead us to exist in ways we never would have intended. They can hurt us and can hurt others in real and tangible ways that have lasting results.

But at the same time I know that talking about the dangers is only half of the story. Sure, remaining cautious and nonchalant about various matters speaks to a certain wisdom and works with a certain temperament...

...but that does not mean the same approach is appropriate for everyone at all times.

You see, putting my whole self into something is just who I am and is for me the most honest way that I can be myself. It is who God has made me. To constantly hedge my bets....well, that would not work for me.

It would be a cold and shallow half life, and a very dishonest one at that. In other words, to live without the chance to really feel doesn't seem like living at all.

Sure, being willing to let the whole power of our emotions speak to the facets of our lives may lead to problems at times--and these must always be guarded against--but for me the alternatives just aren't that attractive.

Poetry, song, art, inspiration, love, devotion, piety, service--these are things that are done and done best by those whose emotions are fully invested in life. The greatest hearts have thoughts that know no bounds.

And you know what? I'm convinced the world is so much richer because of them.

Off On A Comet

Or rather, off on a road trip. A great American tradition that still perseveres.

See you soon.

What Immortal Hand or Eye?

Like all good entrepeneurs, William Blake published a sequel a few years later. He called it "Songs of Experience." It contains poems in counterpoint to his earlier work.

One of them is called The Tyger.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

Gone here are gentle pastoral images of livestock. In their place is an animal of the jungle, a predator whose name appears misspelled to emphasize his truly terrible demeanor.

Where is the lamb? Well, we don't know anymore. It's gone...and I have to wonder if our new feline friend has something to do with that.

Just as a tiger is so much more awe-inspiring than a meek little lamb, some reject innocence outright, preferring instead the seemingly more powerful, steady, and rational guiding hand of experience.

But I have to wonder at what.

After all, is the pursuit of experience really worth trading all that' s left of the innocent in our souls?

It's a good question. What I do know is tigers do come sometimes--there's no avoiding it. But that doesn't mean we always have to welcome them.

Though tigers may be majestic creatures and their counterparts in our own lives can lead us to new and unfound territories, following them may mean trudging deep into the dark forests of our own nights. And that can be a damaging thing.

For despite our best intentions, leaving innocence behind can lead us lead us into some fearful places.

And a lot of times, gaining experience by that route isn't even close to being worth it.

Our Time In Eden

Among his other works, 19th century poet and painter William Blake published two thoughtful books of poetry.



The first of these is called "Songs of Innocence." It is a series of poems that centers on children and their thoughts. Listen to the words of his poem The Lamb:

Little lamb, who made thee?

Does thou know who made thee,

Gave thee life, and bid thee feed

By the stream and o'er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing, woolly, bright;

Gave thee such a tender voice,

Making all the vales rejoice?

Little lamb, who made thee?

Does thou know who made thee?

What, after all, is more innocent than a lamb? For starters, maybe a small child talking to a lamb.

And that's just what Blake wants us to see.

A lot of us so-called "grown-ups" might not be comfortable with such innocence. Maybe such daydreaming is a waste of time. Maybe the child will hurt himself. Maybe the lamb has "hoof-and-mouth" disease. At the very least, we call it "naivete" and move on.

Yet can we really move on? Do we really want to? What is it about innocence that drives us crazy sometimes?

Maybe we are afraid of looking stupid. Maybe we are afraid of missing the next big thing. But maybe it's just us being bitter that so much of our own innocence has been dissipated, washed away by the heavy rains of living. If we cannot have it, then why should anyone?

If nothing else, innocence was humanity's very first state of existence. It was good and pure. And no matter how far we are from that primaeval state, we all carry a deep connection to it.

Which is why I think any loss of innocence is a loss for us all.

David Does It Again

Part II

Perhaps the best way to describe wrestling with God isn't to look at Jacob.

Don't get me wrong--his story does provide us with an unforgettable image that should never be forgotten. But the actual mechanics of this wrestling? For that, it seems best to turn to the Psalms.

The words I read just last night seem to express this better than almost anything:

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me for ever?

How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I bear pain in my soul,

and have sorrow in my heart all day long?

How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

Consider and answer me, O Lord my God!

Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death,

and my enemy will say, ‘I have prevailed’;

my foes will rejoice because I am shaken.

David, a man after God's own heart, does not seem afraid to yell a little. Maybe he's just got nothing left to lose. Maybe he's afraid, angry. Desparately needs somebody to fix the mess he's in, and he's not afraid to say so.

Well, I'm glad he's not...'cause I certainly am. A big part of me is petrified to go to God with such vehemence, such frustration, and--dare I say it--anger?

But still there it is, printed right in the middle of our Bibles. I think it tells us something like this:

"Tell God what's on your mind. Argue with him if you need to. Yell at him if you must. Be honest about how you feel. After all, He already knows."

It's a vision of wrestling with the Almighty that is still a little offsetting, but nonetheless seems true.

And the Psalm doesn't end there. For though David is extremely upset and demands God's help, he always does so in faith. If nothing else, its a lesson of trust in the midst of anguish.

The last two verses of the 13th Psalm:

But I trusted in your steadfast love;

my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.

I will sing to the Lord,

because he has dealt bountifully with me.

Domine, Exaudi Vocem Meam

Part I

During my last year of seminary, I took a class wherein I had to design my own funeral service. For some, this might be morbid. For the future minister, it's "kind of cool."

And so I did, right down to who I wanted to preach, fitting funeral music, and where the casket was to bit situated.

While all of that is interesting in its own right, the thing that has stayed with me the longest about the project was the Scripture I wanted preached at my funeral, Genesis 32:22-30.

It's the story where Jacob wrestles with God.

I suppose, idealistically, that this is how I wanted my life to be remembered. I wanted to be known as someone who really sought God's will and wasn't satisfied with the easy answers.

The problem is, I'm not sure that's the best picture of my life...I don't think I've wrestled that much with Him.

But I want to.

And to that end, it seems, I've begun to start. But as I prayed last night, I began to wonder what the bounds of this new "wrestling" ought to be. What is it even supposed to look like?

Well, Jacob was a schemer, we know that. He stole his brother's birthright.

Jacob was patient, too. He labored 14 long years to be able to marry the woman of his choice.

Patient scheming. Is this the answer to what it means to wrestle with God? Does it really mean just grabbing onto Him and using the power of your own wits until you get what you want?

Is that how this all works? 'Cause Heaven knows I'm trying to wrestle with God right now and still not sure exactly what to do.

To be continued....