Thoughts and Musings on Faith, Music, Family, Life

"All are welcome. Seriously. We really mean it."

I have this weird fascination with church marquees - those interchangeable signs strategically placed in front of church buildings.  In one sense I'm attracted to them, the same way that I can't look away from the car wreck on the other side of the interstate as I drive by.  Like a moth to the flame, I'm helpless to their lure.

On the other hand, I find myself doing a lot of face-palming, either figuratively or literally.  And not only because some of them - and you know the ones I'm talking about - express a theology and biblical understanding that has little or nothing to do with the God I know.  It's also, in my opinion, the worst kind of advertising. 

Because that's what these marquees are, functionally if not intentionally - advertising.  A form of outreach and evangelism.  I mean, they're right there outside the church's main entrance, in some cases larger than the sign with the church's name on it.  Every so often the message changes, thus catching our attention.  Everything about them practically screams, "Look at me! This is who we are!"  And like it or not, they tell a story about what kind of church lies on the other side.

And I don't get it, honestly, what possesses some churches to tell the stories they do.  Maybe they're not intended for public consumption and are meant more for the people inside - in which case perhaps that's where the signs should be.  That's they only way I can make sense of it.  I mean, who is going to drive past a church with a marquee that essentially tells them they're going to hell and think, Hey, sounds like the place for me! 

Like the saying goes: "First impressions are lasting impressions.  And frankly, I'm rarely impressed.

My church doesn't have a marquee - a blessing, as I see it.  Every now and then, though, I daydream about what it might say if we did.  What kind of "advertising," what kind of story would it share?  To that end, I've created a few of my own, void of cheesy wordplays and ghastly theology.  You can do the same, by the way, HERE if you want.  Knock yourselves out.  Feel free to add your own marquee slogan in the comments below!

(Note: the following are my own messages and don't necessarily reflect the church I gratefully serve. Don't want anyone to think one person is trying to speak for everyone - the issue with church marquees to begin with).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Are Loved

This morning I was asked to give the invocation at our local high school for their National Honor Society assembly.  As with my invocation last year, I wanted to try and say something of substance, avoiding the vanilla invocations I suffered through at my high school assemblies back in the day.  If I were seventeen years old and sitting in those seats, what would I want/need to hear? Events of the past few weeks, and especially news that a freshman at a nearby university committed suicide just yesterday, were on my mind as I put paper to pen (well, fingertip to keyboard) and wrote this:

*******************

Would you invocate with me, please...

God, I want to congratulate those who, in a few minutes, will hear their names called and make their way to this stage.  I want them to know how proud we are of them for all their hard work and dedication; and that because we are all inextricably bound to each other as a family of sorts – sharing in each other’s joys and sorrows, celebrations and struggles – in a way their success today is everyone’s success.

But if “invocation” means “calling something out”, then perhaps there’s an important truth that needs to be acknowledged: that the underlying message we are gathering here to lift up today is not “You Are Smart.”  Scholarship, Service, Leadership, Character – these four benchmarks of the National Honor Society stand apart from one another, and can only be united, can only be threaded together in the life of a person by one singular twine, one overarching truth.  And that truth is love.

So as strange as it may sound, the message for today is not “You are Smart,” but "You Are Loved.”  You are loved if your name is called, and you are loved if you name is never spoken.  You are loved if you are first string, second string, or no string.  You are loved if you are in the majority or in the minority; you are loved if you fit in perfectly or if you don’t fit in anywhere.  You are loved if you think you know exactly who you are and where your life is heading, and you are loved if you’ve never been more confused and terrified. You are loved if the words you hear from the adults in your life are affirming, empowering, compassionate, caring; and you are loved if the words you hear from the adults in your life are critical, judgmental, spiteful, even abusive.  You are loved.

And that love is always, always greater than fear.  Greater than the fear that drives some to blow up bombs at marathon finish lines; greater than the hate that incessantly seeks to divide us over stark fault lines, where the “other” is always wrong and at fault; greater than the shame we feel when we are told we’re not good enough or that our worth is fully dependent on being more than enough.  Love is greater than all of that.

So that’s the message I want these fine folks to hear today – those who will be inducted and those who won’t leave their seats.  That you love them no matter what.  And if they let that love carry them forward into the wonderful life ahead of them, then maybe, just maybe, they will not only learn to love you and love all of your people.  Maybe they’ll learn the most basic and most difficult kind of love: to love themselves.

We invocate all of this in your name, AMEN.

(on a side note, five of our church's youth were inducted, joining the three already there. Yep, I'm proud.)

Thirty seconds of gratitude

When I was in middle school, my aunt spent the night at our house in Raleigh in the middle of some travels. She had a friend with her; another woman about her age whose name I can't remember. I do remember that she was nice and had a warm smile, and that she had a really cool Bible.  I know, just what a minister would say, right?  Bear with me.  The Bible was actually in comic book form, thus having immediate appeal to a 12-year old boy.  I "read" nearly half of it that night before going to bed.

When I woke up the next morning, my aunt and her friend had already left to get an early start on the rest of their trip.  But there was one thing of hers that didn't accompany them.  I found the comic book Bible at my place at the kitchen table when I came down for breakfast.  Inside was a long inscription from its former owner.  She talked about how she enjoyed meeting me and how she was pleased with my interest in her comic book Bible.  Which is why she was giving it to me, since her joy at knowing I'd get a lot out of it exceeded any joy she'd have in keeping it.  She wished me the best and said she'd look forward to our paths crossing again someday.

I haven't crossed paths with that woman since - at least not yet.  But the Bible is still with me.  It sits on the shelf in my office, as it did in the office of my previous church, as it will in every office I ever have.  And the thing is, it's not really there because it's a Bible.  It's there to remind me that God's word can be a heartfelt inscription on the inside flap, and that sometimes the greatest gifts come from those who make a conscious choice to express gratitude in the simplest of ways.

I was reminded of that comic book Bible last night when a link to this article showed up in my Twitter feed, about a note left at a ramen restaurant in Austin, TX.  Scrawled on a napkin to not only the waitress but to the entire restaurant, thanking them for the good food and service and the way both provided a much-needed lift in the person's day.  The result of some pretty awesome ramen?  It's possible.  Slightly over-the-top?  You could argue that.   But I think you'd be selling the author short in either case.  Much like my aunt's traveling companion, this person chose to do something they certainly weren't obligated to do: take thirty seconds to express gratitude.

Of course, those thirty seconds could've been used for something entirely different.  Case in point: the infamous "I give God 10% why do you get 18" receipt left at an Applebees restaurant earlier this year.  You can choose not to leave a tip if you so desire (although that's pretty crappy of you if you do).  But why leave a note about it - and why oh why bring God into the mix?  I digress.

There is yet a third option we have with those thirty seconds, and it's one you and I consistently choose nearly all the time: doing nothing.  We're not overly vindictive or thoughtless along the lines of the non-tipping pastor person.  Nor are we exceedingly gracious or reflective like ramen-napkin guy.  We just....are.  So there are no notes, no inscriptions; we simply move along with the course of things. All things being equal, we're not going to do anything extra with that receipt or napkin because it's not that big of a deal to us.  Because we're in a hurry and don't have time to bother with it.  Because it doesn't even register on our radar.  Because doing nothing is safe.

You and I, our inclination in life is to play it safe.  Self-preservation is built into our DNA, and it charts the course of our daily walk and our lifelong journey.  And this isn't a bad thing - it's a big reason why our species has survived as long as it has.

But there's another reason humanity has thrived, and ironically it's because we don't always play it safe.  We have those wonderful moments where we choose to take risks, step outside our comfort zone, chart new courses, veer off-script and write our own ending. And just between you and me, I wish I were better at recognizing those moments when they came around. I wish I were like my aunt's friend, who rather than instinctively pack that comic book Bible in her travel bag like the nights before, chose instead to veer off-script and write something in it and leave it on someone else's kitchen table.  And to think - thirty seconds is all it took. 

I mean, what would happen - what would seriously happen - if we made a point of going out of our way to be gracious to someone else?  Leave a note on a napkin, shoot a quick text to someone, shake a hand and offer a smile.  Something simple; something unexpected and unprovoked.  This is not some kind of "pay it forward" thing.  This isn't about karma or balancing the universe.  This is simply about taking time to express gratitude for no other reason than the expression itself. 

With our actions - or our inaction - we have the potential to enrich the life of another person, or shame that person, or do nothing at all for that person.  All things being equal, which would you prefer to choose?

Chew on that while I take thirty seconds to write a quick note to the coffee house I'm hanging out in right now.

...And it ended with clean feet

Sometimes, ministry can be pretty monotonous.  Not boring, mind you, but indistinguisable from the day before, or the day after.  They kind of blend together.

And then there are days like today:

• I hunkered down at our local coffee house with four wonderful folks for my bi-monthly Thursday morning Bible study, where we compared the four gospel accounts of the Resurrection. I was reminded by one particularly insightful participant of the importance of women in the resurrection story, and that the men only came after the women told them about it.  I thought this was awesome.
• I put the finishing touches on my Easter sermon and Maundy Thursday meditation. This was an occasion when I appreciated my neurotic tendency, developed in college, to have a paper done a day or two before it was actually due.
• I talked with a family in crisis who once again is thrust into unchartered waters; and the god-awful tug-of-war between wanting to do anything to ease the pain of a loved one and realizing that them experiencing that pain may be exactly what's needed.
• I had a little bit of a pity party. I won't go into the details, but suffice to say that ministry can be a lonely business sometimes, and a pastor's toughest times are when he or she feels like they're out there all by themselves (the comfort, incidentally, is knowing that there are others who totally understand this, including a certain carpenter from Nazareth).
• I visited someone who was taken to our local hospice home just this morning. It is a beautiful and frightening transition; emotions all over the map.  The family asked themselves if there was anything else they could have done, and I knew they had done more than enough.
• I conversed with a friend who is struggling with what church means to them, and how to deal with change.  The conversation ended with them feeling better, as did I (actually, come to think of it, I had two of those conversations today. How about that.)
• I walked on holy ground with someone facing the harsh reality of cancer and the precious gift of every second.  I was reminded of how much I love this person and how much I hate cancer.
• I served communion to the 20+ people who came to our Maundy Thursday service. I admired the way this group tore off huge chunks of bread to dip into the cup, not afraid to take too much, because there always seems to be enough. The body and blood of Christ for you, I said to Emily.  And to you too! she instinctively replied.  That made me smile.
• I washed seven pairs of feet, young and old, using an old stole I wore in the service to dry their feet.  I noticed something that, for obvious reasons, I've never noticed before: how people's feet are different and unique, just as they are.
• When I was done washing the feet of others, Brian came up to me: Is it okay if I wash yours?  Absolutely it was.  And so he did:

There are certainly monotonous days in ministry, where the emotional spectrum remains pretty constant.  Today, my friends, was not one of those days. And you know what?  I'm so incredibly thankful for that.  And for my clean feet.

Reflecting on NEXT in the Pre-Op room

Okay, so granted, it wasn't the best planning on my part.  Nevertheless, less than 24 hours after the closing of the 2013 NEXT Church Conference in Charlotte, there I was: lying on a hospital bed in the pre-op, all gowned up and ready to go. It was a torn meniscus that had brought me there; and in standard surgery fashion there was a whole lot of "hurry up and wait."  Three hours of it, in fact. So I had plenty of time to think amidst the beeping and humming of machinery and the impending dose of drugs that would send me off to la-la land.

(and as a quick aside, I think every pastor should have surgery at some point in ministry, preferably for an actual ailment that requires it. I'll never look at hospital visits and pre-surgery prayers with parishioners the same again, having been in the bed rather than standing beside it.)

Anyway, so I had a lot of time to think in that pre-op room.  And I won't lie to you: I thought about NEXT.

I thought about this relatively new movement in the Presbyterian Church (USA), described on its Facebook page as "sparking imaginations, connecting congregations, and offering a distinctively Presbyterian witness to Jesus Christ." I thought about the way co-organizer Shannon Kershner further explained that it is not an affinity group pushing any doctrine or issue currently being contended with ad nauseum in our denomination. The one thing that binds those in NEXT together is relationship.  Relationship with each other and relationship with Jesus. The fact that NEXT makes this their focus and stubbornly refuses to be parlayed by any special interest group or agenda is precisely why I and many others are on board with it.

I thought about all the people there, around 650 of them.  Honestly, it was like a high school class reunion for not one year but twenty or thirty.  Pastors and laypeople, friends and new faces. Retired preachers and folks not yet ordained.  Southerners and Northerners, Midwesterners and West Coasters.  And a new category made possible in our social media age: people I've known for a year or more, conversed and engaged with, but have never actually met in person until now. A shout-out to Facebook and Twitter for creating this new way of knowing people, where the first face-to-face is not the beginning of a great friendship but the continuation of it.

I thought about something Steve Eason said in his sermon on Monday evening worship - something that struck me as tweet-worthy:

I think this speaks to a major reason why NEXT Church has taken off the way it has.  We all recognize the cultural shift the church has endured over the past 50 years. Gone are the days where no one dared hold a soccer game on Sunday mornings; where pastors were bestowed with de facto mayor-like authority in their communities.  Study after study has shown the sharp decline in mainline denominations that's reflected in greater pew vacancies and shrinking budgets. For some, the only appropriate response is an alarmist mindset rooted strongly in fear. NEXT, however, chooses to view these changes in a positive light as God's intentional process of creating something wonderful and new.

Around this time, some lady stuck me with an IV, so I had to think about needles for a minute. When she was done, though, I went back to thinking about NEXT.

And I thought about all the wonderful speakers. And you know the really cool thing?  They weren't the "big names" you typically see at these type of events.  That's not how NEXT rolls.  What they're more into are the unsung heroes who are quietly doing some amazing "next-ish" things in their contexts. So we heard from the Caucasian man and African-American woman who have teamed up to revitalize a defunct and crumbling church facility in Philadelphia; the seminary president who used thirty seconds of a Janet Jackson video (FYI, it wasn't "Nasty Boys") to share the story of a growing student body that at one point numbered seven; the Washington DC-based pastor who unpacked worship liturgy as improv; the pastor in Columbia, SC who equated God's spirit to live music as opposed to 16-bit MIDI. Every voice mattered, official speaking role or not; and it had nothing to do with the size of one's congregation or how many degrees are hanging on the wall.

I thought about what is NEXT for the church - something that is tempting to immediately jump to, like the kid who stares at the wrapped present under the Christmas tree wondering what's inside.  I thought about the fact that this journey we're on in the NEXT Church is not a formula or five-step plan that can be implemented in actions steps to acheieve "maximum results."

NEXT is more like jazz, really.  The Spirit moving in and through us, gently reminding us that we're not directing the band but are the called and equipped players offering our unique voice and gifts to the ensemble.  And the sound that is produced is the sound of a church that is not looking to be "successful" as much as it's striving to be faithful. 

That's all that I was thinking.  And then they wheeled me into the OR and hit me with the good stuff.  I don't remember much after that, but I do remember the last thought on my mind was how there is no better and more exciting time than now for the church to be thinking about what's next.

30 years ago today, the "War" began

February 28th, 1983: it was a Monday, so I was in class. 9th grade, to be exact.  It may have been the Monday we dissected frogs in Biology - and froze while doing so, since our new-age teacher believed in free-flowing spirits and always left the class windows cracked open.  It may have been the Monday I got to read the part of Romeo in our English unit on Shakespeare, secretly hoping that Donna H. would read Juliet.  It may have been the Monday that fellow freshman Leroy A. tapped me on the shoulder and asked (quite nicely) if I'd let him cheat off my History test (I didn't); or the Monday all the boys fawned over our fresh-out-of-college Chemistry teacher. Well, truth be told, we did that every day.

But for four early twenty-somethings who played in an Irish rock band, February 28, 1983 was the day they would release an album that would change their lives forever, and soon enough would change mine.

I remember when I first heard U2's War. It was later that same year in either April or May.  Polly Guthrie handed me a recorded cassette tape after school: Check this out, Steve, I think you might like it.  I actually didn't at first. Yep, you heard right.  This U2 fanatic was a hardened skeptic at first. In an era where popular music was refined for mass consumption, War was too rough around the edges for my early 80's ears.  Too in-your-face for my face.

It was only after a second and third listen that I began to "get it."  The discombobulation experienced when listening to War for the first time was precisely what I needed it to do.  The pounding drums, the thumping bass, the screaming guitars, the intense and impassioned vocals.  And the message: was he singing about God, or a girl?  Or both?  And if he was singing about God, why was he being so angry about it?  Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant were the only ones in my music collection singing about God, and they didn't sound anything like this. Could you really sing about God and be indignant and up-in-arms while doing so?  Oh, that moment when a young lad hears the sound of righteous indignation for the first time. No more! No more! Wipe your tears away! Wipe your tears away!

I played that cassette until the tape wrapped around the little wheels inside the player and spilled out onto my bedroom floor.  So I bought the album, and bought every one after that. Well, the earlier ones first, Boy and October. I had some catching up to do. And then: Under A Blood Red Sky. The Unforgettable Fire.  Wide Awake In America. The Joshua Tree.  Rattle And Hum.  Achtung Baby.  Zooropa. Pop (not at first, though. This one took some time). All That You Can't Leave Behind. How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb. No Line On The Horizon.  Nearly three-quarters of my time on this planet.

To say U2 have been a constant in my life since February 28, 1983 would be doing injustice to the concept of constants.  And it goes beyond their albums.  I've seen them in concert multiple times.  I've read dozens of books about them and by them.  I've covered their songs in my own gigs.  Before my oldest son could say his ABC's he was reciting the band members' names and their corresponding instrument; and with great fatherly pride I recall how, at the tender age of six, he learned to play the opening drum riff for "Sunday Bloody Sunday."  I've quoted their inspiring activist lead singer in numerous sermons and even sung their song acapella in one.   I've been told I'm the only preacher around with a signed picture of Bono hanging in his office.

If the holy scriptures are the script for my life, then U2 is the soundtrack. I hope to God there are more acts written, and if the rumors are to be believed about a new album sometime this year, I'll be the first in line to get it.

For today, though, I'll be listening to their seminal album non-stop. Bono, Edge, Larry, Adam - thanks a bunch for starting the War thirty years ago today.  Keep fighting the fight.

Imagine when...

I was catching a cup of coffee after a presbytery meeting at my favorite coffee house in Winston-Salem, Krankies.  I had my computer with me and was going to work on a sermon, because that's what I'm always doing, and because I tend to do my best sermonizing when coffee is involved.  Anyway, I grabbed my cup of Kenyan and sat down at a table in the corner, and when I looked up at the wall next to me this is what I saw:

It's called an "Imagination Installation," a local movement of sorts in the area; and per its website it's about "harnessing the collective power of our community's dreams."  Which, in case you're wondering, is awesome.  So was this wall - dozens of small lime green signs tacked and taped all over the place, each with the simple title "Imagine When...."at the top,  and lots of space underneath for folks to write whatever.

So the sermon would have to wait awhile, because in truth I was looking at tons of little sermons on the wall of this coffee house, and it's always good when the preacher gets preached too. Here are a few that particularily spoke to me:

**************

...the word "can't" is lost from the spoken language

...people "make each other right"

...we decide to invest in happiness instead of war and hatred.

...nutritiuous local food is abundantly available everywhere and is preferred

...elected officials work for the good of the people, not for the power of the office

...human beings realize we are stewards of this earth, and no more important than any other living being

...we are not strangers

...there is a woman in the White House!

...we recognize that "the kingdom of God is here" (no waiting required)

..very child can squish mud between his or her toes in a creek

..we dream together to empower each other, rather than live in isolation

...we grow food rather than lawns, and share that food with our community

..we all Iive in the moments like our dogs, cats and horses do.

...our economic system rewards cooperation, collaboration and generosity over competition

...we all realize we are happier the more we give and love others, rather than how much we get and are loved.

...public art is on every corner in downtown Winston-Salem

...we know that life comes from death

...color is a hue that a painter uses to transform the canvas :-)

...the health care system is healed

..all pets have an owner that is loving and caring and a comfortable place to be

...corporations figure out that creativity and innovation comes from liberated, encouraged and respected employees

...children and adults go outside and play every day

...education rewards innovation and creativity more than compliance

...every child comes home at the end of school to a loving family member and a plate of cookies and milk

...each of us life our lives with respect and honor of all living beings

...we all remember that we're one big family

...people have the courage to be themselves

...we all let our authentic selves shine!

**************

Of course, I got in on the act. Here's the one I did.  If you know me, this should come as no surprise:


You know what I liked most about this excellent use of coffee house wall space? It's "Imagine When," not "Imagine If."  It's only a matter of time, folks.  Let's get busy.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness...

I have a lot of favorite MLK quotes.  I think this one's my favorite:

Here are some others:

I have decided to love. If you are seeking the highest good, I think you can find it through love. And the beautiful thing is that we are moving against wrong when we do it, because John was right, God is love. He who hates does not know God, but he who has love has the key that unlocks the door to the meaning of ultimate reality. 

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

The church must be reminded that it is not the master or the servant of the state, but rather the conscience of the state.

I submit to you that if a man hasn't discovered something he will die for, he isn't fit to live.

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.

Nonviolence is the answer to the crucial political and moral questions of our time; the need for mankind to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to oppression and violence. Mankind must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression, and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love.

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.

Let no man pull you low enough to hate him.

Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it. Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it. Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it.

 

Happy MLK Day, everyone.

 

Made in the image of "ME"

It's been an especially wild sports week in what typically is already a wild sports season, with BCS bowls and NFL playoffs (shamelessly showing my football bias, I know).

First, on Monday we heard the not-so-shocking news that cyclist and LiveStrong founder Lance Armstrong was going to confess to years of performance-enhancing doping, during a two-hour interview with Oprah.  The shock waves you felt coarsing through the veins of America were not from the revelation of this news, since even the most naive soul had long ago accepted the obvious.  The big deal was that Lance was finally going to admit it.  For years the accusations came - and for years, Lance fought them viciously.  One might even say maliciously, seeking to destroy the lives and reputations of his accusers with mob-like intensity.  But now he was admitting to it all - the reasons for doing so, of course, we can only fathom.

Then, just a mere 48 hours later, we were treated to the most bizarre non-sports sports story since Tonya Harding hired a hitman to bash rival Nancy Kerrigan's ankle.  Notre Dame linebacker and Heisman runner-up Manti Te'o released a statement saying that his girlfriend - the one who was in a car wreck this past fall, the one who died of leukemia mere afters after Te'o's own grandmother died - wasn't really his girlfriend.  In fact, she never existed. The shock wave here didn't come from a young man fabricating a girlfriend story (gents, be honest, in your single years how many times did you make something up to save face?)  This was a big deal because the saga of his girlfriend - a saga he repeated frequently in interviews - was a major storyline in the fall football season and a significant contributor to the "legend of Te'o" that had people outside of the sports world talking.

Wow.  One can only fathom what craziness will befall the sports world in the next 48 hours.

This isn't really a comparison of the two sports stars, because they're very different situations.  The former is pretty black-and-white: a megalomaniac willing to do anything to promulgate the aura around him, no matter how many lies he told or who he trampled under foot along the way.  The latter - well, that's a little more grey.  The verdict's still out because no one (other than Te'o) knows the full truth, although it appears (for now) that Manti was the victim of a hoax called "catfishing," where a fake online persona is created and someone is made to believe that persona is real.  At some point, Manti realized he had been duped - this after talking openly to the press about his "girlfriend" and certainly embellishing elements of the truth.  He was too embarassed to admit to it, and since the girlfriend story had long taken root, he let it keep going.  He wasn't totally at fault, but he sure wasn't blameless either.

So this is not a comparison of the two. It's more of an observation.  An observation about image - our image - and what we will do to further and protect that image.  No one can fault Lance or Manti for wanting to put their best foot forward and show a side of themselves that leaves us thinking they're a freak of an athlete or a real human being who has overcome tremendous tragedy.

The rub comes when we fail to understand that our image is something that's already inside us, and instead see it as something that must be manufactured.  Something we have to work to achieve.  That's the hole these two guys stumbled into.  Maybe it was strict ego, or maybe it was with an eye toward marketability and branding.  Probably a little of both.  But the reason you and I ever heard of Lance Armstrong certainly wasn't because of America's rabid appetite for the sport of cycling.  It was because the dude beat testicular cancer when the doctors told him he had no chance, AND he won several Tour de Frances (which, when we started watching it on TV, we realized how ridiculously hard it is), AND he helped raise millions of dollars for cancer research.  The reason we heard of Manti Te'o is not because he plays football - there are hundreds of collegiate linebackers out there.  It's because he plays football at Notre Dame, AND he's a Heisman candidate and NFL first-rounder, AND he supposedly had a girlfriend who tragically died of leukemia in the middle of his senior season but kept playing well anyway.

Self-preservation is part of our DNA.  We instinctively want to protect our image, because it's from that image that we get our sense of self-worth.  And at our most basic and vulnerable level, we want to feel like we mean something to someone. The problem comes when we forget whose image we are made in:

“Let us make human beings in our image, make them reflecting our nature..." - Genesis 1:27

I like the idea of being made in the image of someone besides myself, and not just because I'm a pastor. Being made in God's image means we don't have to work so hard to be someone or something we're not.  Being made in God's image means we don't need to promulgate a caricature - or a downright lie - to make our lives meaningful.  Being made in God's image does NOT mean we're going to live a mistake-free life or that we won't need to be held accountable for our actions.  It simply means we don't try to maneuver this crazy life all by our lonesome.

I have no idea if Lance or Manti are religious folk, and that's not really the point.  The truth is that these two are not the cause of the "made in the image of me" dilemma, but signs of the epidemic.  There are so many ways in our social-media-saturated, 24-7 news cycle culture for us to refashion and remake ourselves into someone we are not. And it doesn't have to be about sustaining a brand or setting the stage for a multi-million dollar football career.  It can be about simply feeling better about ourselves.

We don't need to work so hard to create an image to make us feel better about ourselves.  That image is already inside us.  It was put there by a God who loves us no matter what we do or don't do; whether or not we win any races or Heismans, whether or not we have an awesome girlfriend.  I hope Lance and Te'o can move on and come to terms with the image of God within them. I hope the rest of us can do the same.

 

Why I feel sorry for James and Mike (and Pat)

I'm going to go ahead and say it - I feel sorry for folks like James Dobson and Mike Huckabee.

I feel sorry for them because, in the midst of unspeakable horror and tragedy, they feel they have to offer answers.  An explanation.  Some way to digest that nagging "why" question that simply won't go away when twenty children and six adults are murdered in an elementary school.  So they go on record as saying that it happened because of the gays, or because God was thrown out of our schools at some point.

(And for the record, and for the same reason, I feel sorry for Pat Robertson when he tries to explain a damaging hurricane.  Which he's done on a number of occasions).

I feel sorry for them because they are victims of their own circumstances.  They have allowed people around them to put them on a pedestal, and to some degree have sought that pedestal themselves.  It's hard to say which came first, but both feed off each other in an insular sort of way.  It's a position of power over, not power for or power with.  They are looked up to as paragons of faith and culture by those who agree fervently with them.  

As long as things go according to plan, according to the worldview they share, everything's fine.  But then a Newtown happens.  A Superstorm Sandy happens.  There's a glitch in the system, an anomaly.  And it must be explained.  There has to be a reason.

And the thing is, the reason can't be something they have any affiliation with.  Not when they're on the pedestal.  It has to be something else, someone else, something outside their insular circle.  There has to be distance from, separation from. You never hear a pedestal person say, "Yeah, that shooting?  That hurricane?  Totally my fault. Real sorry about that."

So they open their mouths and say stuff that simply doesn't make sense.  They tow the party line.  Because that's what the pedestal expects them to do.  It's what the pedestal demands.

Except some things just don't have answers, no matter how high up the pedestal you are.  That's the honest, hard truth.  Reasons?  Sure.  The "how" of Newtown is pretty obvious, and folks are already talking about automatic rifles and mental illness and the like.  But answers?  It's that nagging "why" question again.  And sometimes there simply isn't an answer to go with it.

I feel sorry for folks who feel the "why" question is the most important one, and the one we need addressed.  Because it's not - especially when there aren't answers to be found anyway.  I wish they understood that that the more faithful, honest, empowering response is to say those three words that the pedestal doesn't always allow: I don't know.  To admit up-front that they don't understand; that not everything fits all nice and neat into a pre-conceived ideology. To be okay with the "gray" and the messiness of faith - because despite what some might say, there is indeed room for that.

Because once we admit that, once we accept that, we can begin focusing not on why something bad happened, but what we can do in response to it.  To pray, to respond in grace and love, to work to heal the brokenness in our communities.  And when it comes to God, to realize that God did not cause this to happen but is in fact mourning right alongside us; and to expess and live out the hope that a day is coming when this sort of thing will be a distant memory.

So yeah, I feel sorry for folks like James Dobson and Mike Huckabee.  But I still wish they'd keep their mouths shut.