You wonder where hope lives, and this is natural.

Shootings… division… strife…

William Butler Yeats said in a famous poem, “The center cannot hold,” and you feel that in this season.

On one side, a brave public face. On another side fear, anger and insecurity as both the left and right forget how to treat each other as human beings.

Where does hope live?

You want to keep away from the news, but still the news always seems to find you.

Where does hope live?

Maybe hope lives in the surrender of hope. 

Think about Jesus, and his very central invitation—call and command, even—to take up the cross (yours, or his, depending on the gospel).

Remember that the cross was not a symbol of hope.

It was a symbol of death.

But what Jesus (and all of life, really) is trying to teach you is that embracing the reality of surrender, loss of control even unto death is actually the place where you find hope.

If for nothing else than that’s the place you surrender and lay down all expectations of anything else, and you are content to be present to the moment, and find that right there is the place where God is, and where to breathe—to merely be alive—is to have everything in the universe available and to you.

A part of you was left behind very early in your life: the part that never felt completely received. It is full of fears. Meanwhile, you grew up with many survival skills… But Jesus dwells in your fearful, never received self… Where you are most human, most yourself, weakest, there Jesus lives. (Nouwen, The Inner Voice of Love)

It’s always challenging to remember that the path to healing is not to neglect your wounds and your past; it is not to reject or separate the ugly things that you’ve done. The path to healing is about integrating and accepting your past—even (especially?) the ugly parts of it—because if you had not have done what you did, you would not be where you are.

Everything in your past has brought you to this moment, which is full of possibility and pregnant with potential and love and peace.

But if I said all that I would be lying.

From Henri Nouwen’s The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey From Anguish to Freedom:

When you experience deep loneliness, you are willing to give up everything in exchange for healing.

Always a temptation. In this life you will have suffering—Jesus was explicit on that—but the massive tendency in your life is to try to avoid it.

What’s more, everything about North American culture facilitates this avoidance. Twenty-four hour “binge-able” content, constant distractions (both physical and digital), the drive for a self-centered more more more more more more.

None of these are your friends in this context.

But no human being can heal that pain. Still people will be sent to you to mediate God’s healing, and they will be able to offer you the deep sense of belonging that you desire and that gives meaning to all you do.

While you should not trust other people for your healing, that does not mean that they can’t be useful. 

Take what help is needed. It is grace.

Dare to stay with your pain, and trust in God’s promise to you.

This is a taller order than you think. Can you trust that God loves you and that He deeply desires your healing?

Believe that He does, and that He is at work, even in the silences and loneliness.

“God’s forgiveness precedes my repentance.”

I heard that most explicitly from the lips of Brennan Manning, one of my favorite writers. He was speaking at a gathering I played music at back in 2008, just before his death.

It still rocks my world.

My life is far from perfect; my character defects and insanity-driven bad decisions can still carve a swath of destruction across my life, damaging not just me but those who are close to me as well.

In those times, those deep and dark “morning afters”, I get reminded of this.

But what’s even stranger sometimes is how much I struggle with the truth of it.

What kind of God is this? You mean before I say “Sorry,” or “Forgive me,” or even “Help me,” He has already done all of that?

What kind of love doesn’t depend on my sincerity or performance?

This is not easy for me to understand, much less experience.

But I have to believe it is true.

Months ago, a good friend recommended I watch the Showtime series Ray Donovan. (Actually, what he said was, “I can be your Ray Donovan,” and when I asked him what that meant, he told me to check the series out. If you’ve seen it, and you have any idea of what I do for a living, you’d know why I was slightly concerned about his comments and offer.)

But the series hooked me, and now I find myself 4 seasons into it. In one of the last episodes of season four, Ray Donovan (played by Liev Schreiber) is talking with a Catholic priest. Ray is cynically asking the priest if he thought another character is going to change his life. When the priest replies that he hopes so, Ray sarcastically disagrees, and adds, “God didn’t fix his problems; I did.”

Faith actually is a backdrop in the series, with various characters—including Ray—drifting in and out of belief (or, at the very least, a desire to believe). But the character’s comment betrays where his thinking is off-base. Not only that, but I think it says something about what we think about God as well.

First, a little more context. Ray Donovan is a “fixer,” employed by various wealthy and high-powered people in Los Angeles to address problems and situations like accidental overdoses, murder, etc.

(You know: everyday life stuff.)

So when Ray tells the priest, that he—not God—fixed the problem, it’s entirely consistent with his role in the show, and also entirely consistent with how we view God sometimes.

But what I would tell Ray (and anyone else) is this:

God is not a fixer.

There is always a temptation to look at God and expect Him to be some sort of cosmic Ray Donovan, and when our problems don’t get “fixed,” we go looking for a more earthly “Ray”.

(And, just like the series, all sorts of mayhem ensues.)

But over the years, I have found that God is not a “fixer”. Rather, God is more like a faithful partner and empathetic friend.

As I read the Scriptures, it’s difficult for me to find a consistent vision of God fixing His people’s problems, or always miraculously extracting them from a crisis. (You can even see this in Jesus’ life: see Gethsemane.)

But what you CAN see, over and over again is His promise to be present in the midst of the suffering. What’s more, the overall Biblical story is one of redemptive suffering, which means simply that, if nothing else, our problems are doing something, something good in us.

Problems and suffering—if we do it faithfully and with clarity—has the opportunity to actually make us better people.

That’s why God is not Ray. He wants something better for us. For me.

⁸ Now the Lord God had planted a garden in the east, in Eden; and there he put the man he had formed. ⁹ The Lord God made all kinds of trees grow out of the ground—trees that were pleasing to the eye and good for food. In the middle of the garden were the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. 

²² And the Lord God said, “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.” ²³ So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. ²⁴ After he drove the man out, he placed on the east side^[e] of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life. (From Genesis 2, New International Version of the Bible.) 

A man’s got to know his limitations… (Harry Callahan, in Magnum Force)

Embracing—I mean really embracing—limitations is difficult.

Simply put, I cannot do everything I want to do; there’s just no time.

These past few weeks, I have had to come to terms with this on a visceral level. Between being a husband and father to two…

between being a son and a brother and a friend…

between being a musician and a songwriter and an (aspiring) podcaster and author…

between being a spiritual human being who needs God and faith and community in order to stay sane…

Something just had to give.

I simply could not accomplish most of the things that were on my (ever-growing) to do list.

When I realized it, I through a tantrum. I mourned and pouted. I was indignant.

And then—irony of ironies—I started to frantically flail around for even more things to do to soothe the frustration and desperation in my soul.

This book would give me the insight I need.

This creative idea would be cool to develop.

This practice would be the thing that takes me to the next level (of what, exactly I have no idea).

It’s crap.

To be human is to be limited. We weren’t allowed to grasp the tree of life.

I forget this all the time, and to the degree that I forget it or try to rebel to forcefully against it, I will experience profound anxiety and suffering. 

To be human is to be limited. Which even includes eventually saying goodbye to this life. And when I say goodbye, technically there will be things undone.

But that can also be okay.

I need to remember to let go of things. When I can let go gracefully, at least two things happen: First, I can experience a little more peace and centeredness. I’m not frantically trying to churn through to do lists, or keep plates perpetually spinning in the air.

Second, I have the opportunity to see that the things that do stick around are the most important things, reflections of my true call and my true self, and I can invest in them with greater energy, purpose, and presence. 

Hey all …

Just wanted to get some info out to people who may be interested in this sort of thing (namely music).

There’s a few things going on…

In north Florida we all know that when it rains it pours… I’ve got three gigs in eight days!

Last Saturday, I got the honor of playing with the amazing Avis Berry. Playing outside in the heat was pretty brutal, but we managed to keep it cool, and Mavis always delivers. Thanks to everyone who listened, and for all the generous comments…

Now, for some upcoming news…

First, if you don’t know, you can find me on iTunes and Spotify now…. As we used to say in Chicago, listen early and often.

I also have a new single out, “You Got My Peace.” Feel free to check it out.

Second, if you’re in Tallahassee/North Florida, I’m playing twice this week:

I’m playing Thursday night at the historic Bradfordville Blues Club. It’s an early show, opening up for the super-talented Rachel Hillman. Come early, space is limited.

I’m playing Saturday night with the Electric Apostles, a great cover band that plays, well, great songs. Come out to Fifth and Thomas (Fifth Avenue, between North Monroe and Thomasville Road).

Last, there will be some more new music coming out this summer as well, as well as some new gigs… Stay tuned!

Thanks for listening, and reading, and supporting… and everything.

+eric