For God I Row

Keep yourself from continually converting your occupations into disturbances and anxieties of spirit. Even if you are being tossed around on the waves and blown about by the winds of many perplexities, look up constantly and say to our Lord: “O God, it is for you that I row and for you I sail; you are my guide and my helmsman!” {Padre Pio}

How difficult it is to give ourselves to peace, to calmly rest in the heart and power and purposes of God. Most mornings recently, I awake refreshed and eager for the day. It isn’t long, though, before some fear or worry or pressure pushes against my soul. What do I do then?

Unfortunately, too often I run off after the angst. Thing is, though, no matter how hard I run, I will never never catch that ol’ fox.

Much of my anxiety and frantic activity comes from the fact that I do not hold to God as my true center. I buy into the lie that my identity depends on my ability to produce, to make something happen. If I am a good dad, a devoted husband…If people take me seriously as a writer…If my books sell…If I lead well in this process of forming a new spiritual community…If I’m witty and smart and keep losing weight… Lots of ifs there. It’s enough to keep me sprinting, always sprinting, heart and soul and mind always darting about. Never at rest.

Thing is, I don’t (or don’t want to) live to produce. I don’t live to be noticed, to secure approval. At my core, I’m a simple bloke – you’ll just find me: a man whose full hope leans on the belief (with doubts and questions and screwups still intact) that God is and that God is for us and that God has created us for immense goodness. Connected to that truth, I am free to discover who God has truly made me – to unshackle my true self and walk into the wild wind and the brilliant sun: bold, care-free, unguarded. I don’t live to have people like my writing. I write because the art is in me; and to be true, I must give it away. I love my boys because my heart is for them; and I want to live from my heart. I am madly in love with Miska – not because I’ve set out to be a romantic throwback – but because a mystery has captured me, the mystery of deep communion when two people give themselves, soul and body, to each other.

And this is what I believe – all this comes from God, a gift. Just a gift. Open the hands and receive.

But when I feel I am losing grip on any of my “roles” (husband, friend, dad, writer, pastor) – that’s when I’m tempted to thrash about, to work and get busy and pace around, to just do something, for crying out loud. And the noise grows deafening. The fear kicks in. It’s a mess.

What I want to do in these panicky places is to remember. To remember who I live for, what I live for: God, whose heart is immensely good. I love for God. I write for God. I hope for God.

And, then, let go of the rest.

Calm yourself. Don’t pay any attention to these vain and useless fears. Fill the emptiness of your heart with an ardent love for Jesus. {Padre Pio}

My Soulmate

On Saturday, Miska and I celebrated eleven wonderful, hard-fought, joyful, exasperating, full-of-life, surprising, intoxicating, mercy-laden, adventurous, soul-connected years of marriage. I’d marry her again, in a heart beat – faster than that even.

I love you, Miska. Thank you for eleven years of your heart and soul and body. I’ll take 40 more. And then some.

Being Dad

Being a dad is one of the things I love most. I’m taking one of the boys to breakfast and then hiking tomorrow. Tonight, my other son crawled up and laid on me while we finished a movie (Camp Rock – and not as bad as I expected, truth told). Those are the kind of moments that make a life.

Of the three or four things I’m desperate to do well during my days (and honestly, there are only three or four), being Wyatt and Seth’s dad is one of them. And, honestly, I want to do better. I want to see them more and give them more and love them more. So, I’m thankful whenever I run across another man who makes me want to be a better dad. John Blase is one of those guys. Read his post, Of Blood and Fairies – you’ll see why.

Villification and the Way of Jesus

More often than not, I find my Christian brothers and sisters uncritically embracing the ways and means practiced by the high-profile men and women who lead large corporations, congregations, nations and causes, people who show us how to make money, win wars, manage people, sell products, manipulate emotions, and who then write books or give lectures telling us how we can do what they are doing. But these ways and means more often than not violate the ways of Jesus. {Eugene Peterson}

With our move to Charlottesville, our book club has fallen behind. However, Eugene Peterson’s The Jesus Way refuses to be ignored. A couple years ago, I heard Eugene give a lecture based on one of the themes he develops in this book, the observation that Jesus lived in stark contrast to all prevailing societal modus operandis of his day, both to the way of the Pharisees (the way of religious rigidity) and to the way of Herod (the way of power). It wasn’t only the message of these groups that Jesus resisted – it was just as much their way, the manner in which they pushed their message. The cliche has truth: the medium is our message.

However, dominant church culture has bowed at the feet of pragmatism. If it works (however that is defined), then by all means, do it. With this conviction, we baptize commercialism and individualism and every manner of gimmicky shlop in the name of Jesus. Art becomes merely propoganda. Friendship and justice and hospitality become merely bait. The Gospel is made subservient to a political philosophy or a theological grid or a historical prejudice.

At odds with all this message stands the crucified and resurrected Jesus. Jesus does not offer merely a message or an agenda or a bullet-point list of cultural ills to eradicate. Jesus offers himself, God made flesh. Jesus offers his words and his actions and his friendships and his conversations and his pains and his love. Jesus is the truth, absolutely. Jesus is the life, thank God. But Jesus is also the way, the how, the manner. It is simply a perversion of Jesus’ message if we assume that message to be codified only by theological assertions. Jesus’ message is himself, the son of God, come to save us.

All this seems timely to me. You might have noticed we are in an election year. Why do politics often bring out the worst in us? I’ve already written about the shameful smeer campain on Obama. Unfortunately (but certainly not surprisingly), it has not slowed. I continue to receive forwards and video links and alarming emails with lots of exclamation marks and capitals. A small bit of it centers on policy, fair enough. Most of it, however, maligns character, distorts positions and uses fear as a prime weapon. The Christian response is clear: none of that is the way of Jesus.

The past few weeks, I have been just as apalled at the vile and venom that has been spewed at Sarah Palin. Again, debate on policy and questions of experience are fair game. But the relentless attack on her family, the cruel mockery and elitist jabs at her rural home are, in my opinion, despicable. Of course, it bears repeating: none of this is the way of Jesus.

Personally, I am disgusted by the villification. I know that both parties have their own blame to bear. And of course both sides will claim the other side fired first (sounds eerily like Russia and Georgia). But when we begin to view the other as our mortal enemy, one who we must crush at all costs, we have truly lost our way.

I return, then, to the subversive way of Jesus. I discover that if I proclaim to be a Jesus-person, then my entire life sits under his authority: not only what I believe – but how I believe, not only what I say – but how I say it, not only the vote I cast – but the way I live toward those who cast their vote differently. As Eugene said, “Once we start paying attention to Jesus’ ways, it doesn’t take us long to realize that following Jesus is radically different from following anyone else.”

Winn’s Been Had

So, apparently the video posted below is a scam. If I had been up to date with my friend Justin Scott’s blog, I would have had fair warning.

Piecing all this together, then, two conclusions:

[1] I obviously am a scientific imbicile because, according to Justin, “[i]f you know a little bit about physics and/or electronics you can figure out pretty quickly that this is a scam.”

[2] I am not alone; David Zimmerman is right there with me 🙂

Remembering

Ladies and Gentleman, there has been a tragedy in New York city. A commercial jet has apparently veered off course and crashed into one of the Twin Towers.

I was in my maroon Toyota 4Runner, driving into work in downtown Denver, when the words split across the radio airwaves. A horrific disaster. I could not imagine the fear and agony of one who, at that moment, was living through this nightmare. And then even more terrifying words followed.

Oh my God, this was not an accident. Another jet has just crashed.

The nation sat stunned. How could this happen? Why would this happen? Who would do such a thing? I walked into the fifth floor of the Schwab building, the television monitors filled with scenes of smoke and tears and fire and grey dust and bodies flung out of high windows. I called Miska – had to talk to my wife, to hear her voice and know that the entire world wasn’t going down in flames.

I remember these words, these feelings, these horrors. I remember feeling angry, sad, beligerant. I wanted somebody to do something, anybody to do something.

And many more grief-stricken words have come since then. Words from a father in South Dakota, a mother in Afghanistan, a relief worker in Iraq, a dauther in Texas.

My son is gone. My husband is gone. My neighborhood is gone. My mother is gone.

Sad words that remind us of how much we need redemption, how lost we are as a people. I must add my words to theirs.

God, help us. We are killing ourselves. In the name of love, stop our violence. Give us hope. Please.

Poetic Patience (or No Place for Tourists)

If we wish to understand [a place] it must not be as tourists or inquirers, it must be with the loyalty of children and the great patience of poets. G.K. Chesterton

A few nights ago, several friends from out of town visited. We went to dinner @ West Main over on, well, West Main. The waitress asked if we were from around here (something about our zillion questions and fascination with their pepper jack macaroni and cheese must have sent signals), and one of my friends answered, “No, just visiting.”

And the words came from deep inside me. “Not me. I’m from here.”

Charlottesville is my home. I’m throwing my lot in with this city, these people. I don’t know how long it takes to become a true local, years at least I imagine. But I have the time.

To know a city is more than an ability to recite its demographics or to point out its prominent sights (of which there are many here). To know a city is to know its story, to have taken the time to rub your soul along the city’s texture, to see the scars and to hurt along with your neighbors over the many places that have yet to heal – to hurt not with the phantom pain of empathy (only) but with the true pain of shared experience, shared hope, shared grief. As Lilla Watson said, “If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.” I want my liberation, my welfare, to be bound up with the welfare of my neighbors, my city. To weep with those who weep and to rejoice with those who rejoice, a wise poet once said.

So, I’m often asked these days what exactly we are doing as we begin the long process of forming a spiritual community in the way of Jesus. Well, I’ll be speaking in churches and having meetings with city leaders and spiritual leaders. I’m working on a strategic plan and doing a bit of fund raising. I’m doing some work on grounds (the Wahoo’s name for “campus”) at the University of Virginia. But, truthfully, in this season, my best work is the simplest kind. I walk around. I meet people. I hear stories. I bike down the street. I take my boys to school. I read the local papers. I listen to more stories, like Johnny’s story of how he and his dad Ernie opened Ernie’s Frye’s Spring Garage 43 years ago – and how he is going to have to close it down this year. I hear stories from various new friends I can find most any day on the downtown mall. Stories of Vinegar Hill, the historic African American community that was tragically dismantled decades ago. Stories from my neighbor who is pretty angry at the multi-million dollar bricking project downtown, angry at the money being spent on aesthetics when her son can’t find a job. Stories. Stories. Stories.

These are the stories that make a place what it is. And, if I want to be immersed in this place, if I want it to be truly home, then I must listen. I’m hoping to have the patience of a poet. I’m not just a sightseer, dropping in, snapping photos and moving on. I’m here to stay. I think this must be one of the implications of Incarnation – that we enmesh ourselves into the narrative and the contours of the places God has given us to love.

Hodge Podge

A few random tidbits on random arenas of thought, two from Wyatt (our 6 year old) and one from a sportswriter:

Wyatt on politics

God is like the president because the president owns the country.

oops.

Wyatt on theology

The Trinity is like root beer. There’s lots of brands, but they’re all still root beer.

a little improvement on the Nicene Creed from the mind of a first-grader.

a Sportswriter on the ACC’s horrific first week woes

Heck, this league can’t even get a pregame flyover right — the Tar Heels hired a crew to parachute in the game ball. They landed at Duke’s Wallace Wade Stadium, eight miles away.

I wish Clemson had stayed eight miles away.

The Bible Said So

My interpretation of Scripture is not the same as the interpretation of Scripture. Sometimes it is (I certainly hope). Sometime it isn’t (and no, I don’t know where – if I did, I’d change).

Recently, Irving Bible Church made what was for them a monumental decision. After eighteen months of prayer, theological discussions and consultations with three theologians from various perspectives on the issues of a woman’s service in the church, the church elders invited a woman to preach on a Sunday to the entire congregation. This was a pretty big deal, given their historic alignment with a movement that has long held rigid lines on such issues.

Personally, I applaud their decision. However, that is not why I write. Really, it isn’t. I mention this story because it touched on one of my growing concerns about the way the game gets played in many of these theological squabbles. Rather than making a commitment to thinking clearly with or acting charitably toward those differing from us, we often make rash judgments and illogical leaps. We do not really listen. We do not trust that the truth can stand on its own two feet, with no need for our knee-jerk and emotive rhetoric or our appeal to fear (particularly of the “slippery slope” kind). And when we come with that unhealthy posture, when we think we must defend our position at all costs, we say things that simply don’t hold water.

One example was the response of a well-known pastor in an interview with the Dallas Morning News: “If the Bible is not true and authoritative on the roles of men and women, then maybe the Bible will not be finally true on premarital sex, the homosexual issue, adultery or any other moral issue.”

Did you catch that? If the Bible is not true and authoritative… The accusation (and assumption) here is that this church has gone into the heretical territory of distrust in the Bible’s authority. Why? On what basis? Reading the offending church’s story, the elders’ never asked whether or not the Bible was “true and authoritative.” Rather, driven by their conviction in Scripture’s authority, they felt compelled to ask whether or not they had gotten Scripture right. However, the ideologue among us simply can not conceive of such a possibility: if you go against my interpretation (what I clearly understand the Bible to say), then obviously you are going against the Bible.

Such a posture is untrue, spurious and unchristian. We ought know better.

I know the church the pastor who made this accusation leads. There are many places where they have interpreted various passages to mean something other than what their most literal reading would suggest. This church does not demand women to wear head coverings in worship, even though the plainest reading of Paul suggests it is necessary. The church does not believe the communion bread and wine literally is Jesus’ body and blood (even though Jesus said, “This is my body. This is my blood.”) However, when another church wrestles with the text and interprets some of the restrictions on women to be related to context (like head coverings) or in need of wider Scriptural reflection (like the eucharist elements), then suddenly they do not believe in the authority of the Bible. Nonsense.

Again, my point is not about this particular issue of women’s service in the church. One can piece together strong textual arguments for both sides. I simply hope that in our disagreements we can remember at least these two things:

[1] the Bible and my interpretation of the Bible are not inherently the same thing

[2] we should listen well and live charitably with our brothers and sisters – that might actually stun our neighbors who have grown accustomed to Christian dogfights being played out around every theological battleground

We can debate and disagree and even get irritated when things get a little fiery. We can have strong convictions (and should on those things we deeply care about). But the truth resides best in those who don’t feel the need to defend it by means unworthy of the Jesus who is the truth.

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