“Stuck Inside a Saturday Rain”

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Did you ever think that the resurrection could have gone down in an entirely different way?

In one sense, we didn’t really need Saturday… Jesus could have given up his spirit, then died, and then bounced back to life immediately. After all, God is not all that bound by time so he’s really capable of doing anything he wants in any timeframe that he wants…

But instead we have all of Friday and all of Saturday…

Which means we have doubt.

It’s simply not good enough or even accurate to maintain that the disciples were just sitting around on a Saturday biding their time until Sunday. The Biblical record would show that they were, well, freaked out. Devastated. Maybe they were left with a shred of hope, but overall what they have witnessed—the betrayal, the arrest, the torture, the beating, the execution—had shaken them to their core.

Saturday in Holy Week is a day of anticipation and hope, but it is also necessarily a day of faith and doubt.

Sometimes I think that Jesus left us with a Saturday (and a Friday for that matter) so that we would know that doubt is not only okay but is actually integral to the life of faith. For my part, while I wish I did not have periods of doubt, and that my faith was rock steady and consistent in the face of whatever life threw at me, I know otherwise.

My vision gets blurry. My hope fades sometimes. My trust waivers.

And all this from a pastor?

But here’s the deal: the disciples doubted. They lost hope, at least temporarily.
Sometimes, we fall into the trap that thinking that faith means never having doubts… we think that to believe means that the sun will always shine, and that will never be confused, and that we will never be afraid, that we will never look to the heavens and ask “why God?”

But that’s not really the definition, is it? There’s a distinction between faith and knowledge, and we are called to one and not so much the other.

(Hint: the answer rhymes with “faith”.)
Though the Gospels fairly consistently show that Jesus responds to radical faith, they also consistently show that he understands our human weakness. Somehow, someway doubt is a part of our legacy. Though we are not called to remain in it perpetually, neither are we called to pretend that it does not exist.
God allows for Saturday. Not just once, but over and over and over again.
Here’s to the doubters; Sunday’s coming.
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40 Words: “Relinquish” (03.02.2016)

How is your fast going?

As I wrote yesterday, mine is definitely up and down. In many ways, it’s a daily struggle for me, and sometimes I just don’t win.

Every once and while, though, there is a victory. Small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but a victory nonetheless.

I’ll take it.

This Lenten journey is an opportunity for me—for us—to participate in Jesus’ own story.

In a way, it’s easy to think of Jesus as a victim: arrested and tortured by a corrupt religious system, and then executed by an uncaring empire.

Ultimately, I don’t think that’s the whole (or even the majority) of the story. Repeatedly in the gospels, Jesus talks about his decision to go to Jerusalem, and ultimately to the cross. In John’s gospel, he clearly says (and Jeff Tweedy sings), “No one takes my life from me; I lay it down.”

I think that all the time Jesus actually knows exactly what he is doing, and his journey is ultimately a journey of relinquishment.

In turn, as we relinquish our rights in Lent—

… our right to be satisfied

… our right to be distracted

… our right to be comfortable

… our right to be satiated—

We walk part of Jesus’ journey with him.

One of the key reasons Jesus undergoes this journey is to show people what God ultimately looks like.

People think that to be God means to have ultimate power and therefore to get what you want, when you want it.

Jesus’ subversive, even counter-intuitive story says that actually to be God means to surrender. It actually means to set aside your rights and, rather than be served (i.e., get what you want), it means to serve. 

40 Words: “Brokenness” (03.01.2016)

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image from longingforhomedesigns.com

“To be alive, is to be broken.” -Brennan Manning

I forget simple things, like that statement, over and over.

As I’ve said repeatedly, Lent is this season for reflection and contemplation, a time to clear space in my life into which God can speak…

… and I can listen.

At my church, we have been going through a sermon series called “SE7EN”, which is a journey through the Seven Deadly Sins and their effect on our lives. I’ve preached two of the sermons, and each time I have counseled people to get honest with someone and admit their failings.

There’s no shame in having cracks and faults. We all have them; that’s what it means to inhabit this body of ours.

(Of course, the earth-shaking, universe-changing idea is that God decided to inhabit a body just like mine and live a 100% God-centered, God-focused life. This means that brokenness is not an inhibitor of God’s work. It means that brokenness and limitation is a place where God is willing to make his home, in some form or fashion. My job is to recognize that fact and live out that reality.)

Well, I want to get honest with you.

I’m lousy at fasting.

Last week, my wife was out of town, so I was being a faithful house husband: fixing dinner, reheating leftovers, supervising homework and in general running the monkey house.

I consistently blew my fast for 5 days in a row.

I don’t know what it was: the change in routine, the stress of being alone, etc., etc.

The reasons go on and on, but the bottom line remains the same: I failed to control my own self, my ego-driven desires and urges.

By the way, this is not beating myself up; this is merely taking responsibility

Never mind that I was writing daily about the importance of fasting.

Never mind that I had just delivered a message on fasting on Sunday.

This was not my vision for the week.

But here I am, at the beginning of another week. Shana is again traveling, and so I will, again, be faced with my own limitations and temptations.

Part of the spiritual life is an exercise in accepting your limitations while at the same time being doggedly determined to change, progress, and evolve over time.

I believe that God wants more from me, because He has more for me.

Much of my reading recently has come from ancient spiritual masters, from both the Eastern and Western traditions of the Church. More than modern authors, they seem to recognize two key things:

1. The offer of transformation, of *theosis* or “divine union”

2. The inherent limitations of being human.

Because of these limitations, they don’t pull punches when it comes to arranging your life for spiritual growth. Essentially, they say that we *must* learn to discipline and control our egotistical, self-driven urges in order to give ourselves more completely to Christ.

I’m buying that. 100%.

To be alive is indeed to be broken. But to be alive is also to participate in the divine mystery of God-With-Us.

Back to the fast.

40 Words: “Faith” (02.24.2016)

So we are always confident, because we know that while we are living in the body, we are away from our home with the Lord. We live by faith and not by sight. (1 Corinthians 5:6-7)

Frankly, I confuse sight and faith an awful lot. I know that I’m called to a life of supernatural belief and trust, but what I typically end up craving is some kind of sign that I can trust:

  • a job offer
  • a solid relationship
  • a clear career path

Faith is the reality of what we hope for, the proof of what we don’t see. (Hebrews 11:1)

This passage seems full of contradictions: reality/hope for, proof/don’t see. At first sight, these don’t seems to make sense, and can’t easily be reconciled.

(Kind of like life.)

One thing that’s easy to land on is the fact that faith still involves things that we can’t see or touch.

Let’s be honest: “sight” is so much easier than faith. Faith is fuzzy. It is decidedly not proof. To embrace faith is to embrace stepping into a chasm.

And for most of us, that is never fun.

Lent reminds me that life is a journey of faith. It’s an opportunity for us to separate true faith from the things that tend to prop us up and support us. The things that we can see and feel and touch.

Instead, we surrender those things and embrace the unknown space and silence, trusting instead that God will grow us and change us on His terms and in His time.

40 Words: “Family” (02.23.2016)

Despite what you might think, Lent isn’t only about giving things up. Overall, it’s more about making “space”—spiritually or otherwise—to reflect on our lives and God’s love.

In other words, if all you do is give up chocolate (why do I keep picking on chocolate?) without making that space through service or prayer or meditation or community, you’re only get half of the story.

My particular Lenten journey definitely involves surrendering something, but I also added in reading, and not only reading, but a commitment to read with my wife and family during the evening (whenever possible).

Lent isn’t just about “you and Jesus”; others are on your journey as well. Bring them in; share this with them.

My personal desire is that the space I carve out for God can be filled, not only with my personal spiritual activities, but also with conversation and interaction with people who not only love me but with whom I can have honest conversations.

40 Words: “Humility” (02.22.2016)

Humility is one of the most powerful concepts in English language.

It’s also sorely lacking in most of the world.

As my spiritual director reminds me, “Humility is being right-sized.”

It’s not about thinking of ourselves as a only dirt, or only broken. It’s more about having an accurate view of ourselves: we are created in God’s image, just a little lower than angels…

and we often do really crappy things.

Capable of so much, both good and bad.

My Lenten journey has been such an opportunity for, well, humility.

My fasts are not always perfectly kept.

I’m not always the most peaceful, willing pilgrim.

Right when I think I’m about to scale spiritual heights, I lose my temper (usually in traffic).

It’s a great reminder of what it means to be human.

40 Words: “Dirt” (02.20.2016)

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Farm in Hainan Province, People’s Republic of China by Anna Fodesiak http://www.wikimedia.org

I’m no farmer.

Nope; I’m no farmer. Though I was born in the country, and spent at least a few spring and summer days with dirt under my nails from weeding a vegetable garden and pulling up carrots and digging for potatoes, ultimately I’m a city boy, more at home strolling down sidewalks than with driving a tractor.

But I do understand the basics.

I understand that in order for things to grow, the dirt needs to be tilled.

To be dug up, turned over, plowed.

It’s easy to wonder why we subject ourselves to Lenten disciplines.

It’s easy to claim that we are focusing “too much” on our brokenness, that we should stay focused on the resurrection life that is ours through Christ.

It’s easy to accuse us of being too morbid, too depressing, too melancholy.

Fair enough.

My only reply to that is nothing grows if the dirt isn’t turned up.

In a way, Lent is about reminding ourselves of what our sin cost God and His Son (and the Holy Spirit as well), but in another way, the disciplines of Lent are about something more grand and long-term.

It’s about digging in the dirt so that we can grow. It’s about tilling the soil of our lives not for the purpose of shame and guilt, but for the purpose of preparing for growth.

So we can heal.

So the light can shine into the broken places.

Lent is certainly somber, but the long-term prognosis is hope, hope, hope.

But it has to start with dirt.

Peter said it so well…