Canceling Church

Today we cancelled church. For 36 hours it snowed heavily in what is termed as a ‘Nor-Easter,’ where an arctic blast from the west moves east and collides with a rainy downpour from the south that moves north, resulting in a huge snowstorm. By the time it was done 21 inches had fallen, one of the largest snowfalls in the Greater Baltimore area since the 19th Century.

For those of us who grew up in the tropics it was a treat – It’s hard to imagine that much snow falling in such a short period of time. All our lives we have seen the pictures, and I think that each of us hoped that one day we would experience it. So we’ve taken pictures, cleared the driveway and walkway, played in it, watched the dog revel in it, and just overall enjoyed the entire event. Snow makes Christmas feel very Christmasy.

Not only did I grow up in the tropics (I don’t say, the ‘South’ because Miami isn’t considered part of the historic Southern culture), but I also grew up in the Church. If the church’s doors were open our family was there. There aren’t many certainties in life, but this was one of them. I often joke that my parents would go to Sunday School if Satan taught it – it was just what you did.

So you can imagine how unnatural it felt for us to cancel church this Sunday. But, strangely, it also felt good – it felt good to not have to go, and yet to be okay at the same time – to think in terms of missing a community rather than not acting solely out of obligation.

I think that sometimes we need this kind of thing. One of the worst things to happen to a church’s annual budget is to lose a Sunday in December – and maybe it’s good for that to not be so horrible. One of the most unnatural things for a preacher is to have a message he won’t deliver on Sunday morning – and maybe sometimes he needs his preaching to be canceled into perspective. One of the strangest things is to drive to a church on Sunday, just (as in ‘only,’ and with no other purpose) to take a picture the morning after a record-breaking snowfall.

Here is the thing: Anything we do only because we have to can’t possibly be as good as doing it just because we love to. Don’t get me wrong – I love worshipping on Sunday mornings, and never want to be in the ‘habit’ of giving up the meeting together that God has graced His people with (Hebrews 10:25) – but somewhere deep down in my DNA is that ever-lurking legalistic ‘works righteousness’ that constantly desires to pollute the sweetness of the Gospel with the terrors of hell.

So today we cancelled church. On the most common sense of levels it was the right thing to do. Neighborhoods won’t be cleared for hours and people shouldn’t be in a position of feeling obligated to drive dangerous roads. On a deeper level, though, it was wonderful. The preacher didn’t go to church and God is okay with that. His family is enjoying a day they are marked ‘absent’ on. Later I’ll be at a football game! Church was cancelled and Jesus still loves the Church. Amazing. I preach it. And I believe it. Today, I’m enjoying it. I hope you are too.

peace.

‘In the Bleak Midwinter’ – Christina Rossetti (1872)

This and other poems have always drawn me into the season. They come from the hearts of artists who have been gifted to offer fresh glances at life and faith. This one from Christina Rossetti, a 19th Century Christ-follower and writer who was born and died in the month of December. She lived a reclusive life, yet one filled with devotion to Christ as she wrote children’s and devotional books. She was an opponent of slavery, and for ten years volunteered in a home for prostitutes. This well-known poem came to mind and heart with our most recent snowfall (as viewed outside our front door). peace.

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.

Advent and the Wintry Mix

Unless you’ve lived where it snows the term ‘Wintry Mix’ sounds like the fall collection for the Gap. Actually it indicates one of those cold days when the rain can’t decide if it wants to be snow, and the snow can’t decide if it wants to be rain – so both fall. For those of us unaccustomed to the ‘white stuff’ the ‘Wintry Mix’ is disappointing and a bit of a tease. I guess one could say that technically it snowed, but this frigid mixture will never allow for Frosty, angels in the snow, snowball fights, etc. And whereas, when outdoors (for instance, walking to one’s car in a parking lot) snow falls and sort of settles on your person – you know it’s there, but until you get inside it just happily remains – with the ‘Wintry Mix,’ the rain dominates the moment. It gets you the worst kind of wet. Its heavy drops of water trample the snowflakes and sink immediately through your hair to your scalp. It’s cold! And, well… it’s ugly.

It is Advent and this means that we live in anticipation of the coming of Jesus – into our lives, our struggles, our fears and our darkness. Everything Jesus did when He first came as a baby in Bethlehem, He still does. He brings Himself and is born to us anew. For all who have wandered far from ‘home,’ for those trapped in the brokenness of sin and sorrow, for all who long to be filled in their emptiness – to all who await His appearing, He comes, and He offers the cup of forgiveness, healing, mercy, peace and love.

This is what Jesus does. He comes into our mess – snow in the rain – loveliness amid the storm – love in our sorrows – strength in our weakness. And one day He will return forever, and with Him we will enjoy the new heavens and the new earth.

But until then, we unfinished ones are a ‘Wintry Mix,’ aren’t we? Until Jesus comes and ‘puts all things to rights,’ as one theologian has offered, in this broken world we live in, both internally, within us, and outside of us we will always live somewhere between an ugly downpour and a lovely snowfall – and God is good with that because one day the entire landscape will be beautiful.

So we wait. And that is good news.

peace.

PS The image on this blog was created by a Member of our church, an artist I have come to deeply appreciate and respect – Lynsey Ring Dimas

Outside the Front Door

For some reason today, on Thanksgiving, when I let the dog out, this scene struck me with lovely force – a beautiful tree, shedding its magnificently transformed leaves for the fall. Not only are they falling, but they are doing so in what appears to be perfect circular symmetry around the tree that they once adorned.

It made me smile.

I offer these words as friends are on their way to the house to celebrate with us. The family has exchanged affection in person and on the phone. The food smells delicious.

Somehow that snapshot presented a moment to thank God for everything we are, have experienced and have yet to encounter. I guess I could offer the standard Thanksgiving recitation – one I love, by the way – you know, where you start from the top – with God’s goodness, family, friends, provision, etc, and just go from there. But not today.

Today, suffice it to say that every person we love, and each who love us, every dear moment, every sweet experience, every provision and a whole host of other good things that God graces us with in reminding us of His ‘Peaceable Kingdom,’ are like beautiful leaves that fall from a tree in the seasons of our lives. Even when they are no longer connected to the branches, they serve as lovely reminders of all that have defined and sweetened our stories. And it’s all there – right outside our Front Door.

Happy Thanksgiving.

peace.

Lost!

Last evening a group of Young Adults went to a corn maze on a farm near Frederick, Maryland. Katherine and I were invited (actually the more accurate term might be that we were ‘grandfathered’ in), and since we knew we would enjoy the company, and because we have wanted to see what a corn maze is, we went. We were glad.

A corn maze is literally what the term implies. In this case it is 14 acres of high stalks of corn, like what you’d see in Field of Dreams – with a circuitous path cut throughout those many acres. Obviously it isn’t only one path. There are dead ends and deceptive loops that utterly frustrate pilgrims (no pun intended) and extend the time of finding oneself back to the entrance.

At some point all become lost – that’s the point – in fact it isn’t uncommon for everyone in the same party to be lost, to clearly hear one another’s voices, and to have no idea where each other is – all at the same time!

But it’s a good lost – not an, ‘if you don’t figure it out, you’ll drown ala Poseidon Adventure,’ type of lost. It’s more of an, ‘it wouldn’t be fun if we didn’t get lost,’ kind of lost. Getting lost is part of the built-in fun of the experience.

I thought about that this morning and realized that getting lost is part of the life we unfinished ones live in this world. We lose our way for all kinds of reasons. Sure, we sin, and that has its own wayward effect. But sometimes we just wander in the busyness of life, the pressures that cause us to slightly and momentarily take our eye off of the path. We get lost in sorrows, discouragement and disappointment. And let’s face it, life itself is complicated enough to leave us feeling utterly misplaced.

But if we belong to Jesus, we’re never alone – not only because He is there (I don’t want to minimize this, but the truth is that we are more like that frightened little child that asked his mom for Jesus ‘with skin on Him’ than we want to admit), but because in Christ, we belong to a Community of fellow wanderers who share that seemingly paradoxical existence of living in a broken world while also in the assurance of the future Renewal of all things.

Sometimes all we can do is hear one another’s voices. And I think that’s okay – I think of David and those who refused to leave his side when he hid from his son Absalom (2 Samuel 15:21) – because one day, the entrance will appear, and there will be no more confusion – only Reunion. I’m glad for that.

peace.

What Katherine Figured Out

Yesterday Katherine and I drove to Washington DC to enjoy the National Gallery of Art, a huge, two-complex structure that houses some of the most treasured historical collections from around the world. For over two hours we walked from room to room, discussing exhibits, sneaking sound bytes from tour guides, and critiquing paintings and sculptures of the masters. We saw Van Gogh’s famous self-portrait (pictured here), Picasso’s ‘cubism’ and Monet’s pastoral paintings, to name a few.

Unfortunately I’m one of those typical husbands that sees art as a spectacular game winning, toes-barely-in-bounds reception on the gridiron. For me it should be ‘so simple a caveman can do it.’ So if you were listening in it wouldn’t be a stretch for you to hear me ask Katherine, ‘What is that,’ or ‘This is good?’ You get the picture (though I didn’t)…

At some point I asked her how the value of each piece is determined. Is it that someone in some important artsy circle just says, ‘This is valuable!’ and then it is?

How does it work? Because for some of these folks’ works to be worth millions I would have thought that the faces could look a little less or a little more – something – I don’t know! Is it that an artist was the first to paint smiley faces on city scenes (you think I’m kidding…)? Can a can of Campbell’s Soup be that exquisite?

So, as we walked, we talked about it – about how some things had never before been done – how some artists stretched the limits, or were the first to venture into certain mediums, etc.

And then Katherine said something that immediately rang true – she said that these are not photographs that can be retouched or airbrushed – that the artists painted imperfectly and that there is something beautiful in their imperfect offerings.

Right there I knew that she got it right (either that, or she figured out how to finally shut me up). I still don’t get all of it – but I like the fact that history has attached value to the imperfect.

Because I’m imperfect as well as unfinished. And no airbrush can erase those broken and ugly blemishes that mark my life story. Only Christ can – and has. And He did it without asking or requiring me to first fix myself. All that mattered to Him was that in the Father’s eyes, and by His own intentions that I’ll never fully understand until I get ‘home,’ in His estimation I have great value (Deuteronomy 7:6 – “…The LORD your God has chosen you out of all the peoples on the face of the earth to be his people, his treasured possession.”)

What news could be better?

peace.

Grace in the Helter Skelter

There are certain events that connect entire lifetimes, and one of those occurred this week. Susan Atkins, a participant in one of the most gruesome murders on US soil, died of brain cancer while incarcerated in California. She was arrested and tried in 1969 and had been imprisoned since 1970. Her part in the Sharon Tate slaying (among others), as a member of the Charles Manson gang, was firsthand. Her cold-hearted courthouse testimony of the murder was chilling, and sealed her as one of the most violent and heartless killers of all time.

Atkins was a lost soul before the events that led to her lifelong imprisonment. Her mother died of cancer when she was a child and her father, an alcoholic, farmed her out to family members. As a young teenager she ran away, entered into the drug scene and became a topless dancer in San Francisco to finance her addiction by the time Charles Manson (who remains in prison) stepped into her life and integrated her into his sex-crazed, drug-infested, violent commune.

This is the story we know – one of those parallel narratives that has accompanied my entire life and anyone who grew up in the same era. We grew up watching documentaries, reading headlines and being mesmerized by a made-for-TV movie entitled, Helter Skelter.

The temptation (and it is a subtle one) is to file Atkins under some kind of ‘beyond hope,’ or ‘not worth saving’ category, as we might some other notorious personality. We make such determinations based on our own social instincts, I think. In other words, as Christ-followers we are no less susceptible to the tendency to prioritize sin and sinners – and to be sure, there are some actions that defy all common humanness.

But, as often is the case, there is more to the story. While incarcerated Atkins met Jesus and became a Christ-follower. In the waning days of her life she and her husband, also a believer, attempted to have her released to die at home. The prosecuting attorney at the time, Vincent Bugliosi, argued on her behalf. During that recent parole hearing, she slipped in and out of consciousness, having endured brain surgery, relegated to a gurney, with one leg amputated, and too weak to argue her case.

After her conversion Atkins publicly repented of her sin and acknowledged that there could be no earthly repayment for what she had done against her victims. Her last words, spoken in unison with her husband, were, ‘My God is an amazing God.’ She had discovered that she was freer as an incapacitated, incarcerated, dying woman – in Christ – than she was in the ‘Free Speech,’ ‘Free Love,’ Tune In, Turn On & Drop Out movement.

What we do with this has more to do with our faith than it does hers. We can never know if any confession is the real deal, except for our own. The real question is whether or not we believe God can rescue the most heinous of sinners and redeem their broken lives. If we believe that, then we only need to look in the mirror and discover that He already has.

Friends, this is good news…

peace.

Five Things (plus 1) I Remembered This Summer

As you obviously know, I took a summer break from the blog, and now am ready and glad to be back at it.

Here are some musings from the summer of 2009…

1. I remembered that at the end of the day, it’s all about People – In travel, in the office and on the road I was reminded of the obvious – that the world we move in is all about people – their diversity, their troubles, their challenges, their pathos and their hopes – The scenery may change, but the ‘People Business’ is messy – and it is a privilege – I don’t ever want to forget this (though you may need to remind me).

2. I remembered that One Person’s Storm is Another’s Comfort – It is said that hurricanes and large storms in one region will suck the humidity out of another. Summer in Maryland was magnificent in 2009 – But if this axiom is true, then I am instructed that our comfort can sometimes be at the expense of another’s – a reminder that no one lives in a vacuum and that we are beautifully connected to one another, good and bad. I’m glad for that.

3. I remembered that Everyone has ‘Dog Days’ – For children (and even parents), summer is a few months of liberation mixed with boredom and adventure. C.S. Lewis rightly cautions that even the most beautiful experiences on earth are not enough to overcome the beauty and peace of the world to come. While my instinct is to avoid the ‘dog days,’ I really am glad they show up from time to time.

4. I remembered that God has infused Beauty throughout Creation – Last month Katherine and I enjoyed Crosby, Stills & Nash in a beautiful outdoor venue in Virginia. The music was magnificent and for a few brief hours we were happy Hippies. Many in the Christian world have a problem believing anything good can come from the world, and in doing so they rob themselves of much God has offered for their enjoyment. Rock On!

5. I remembered that Love and Friendship are to be Cherished – Our summer involved several reunions in various places and for varied reasons – Each one was lovely, all a reminder that the bonds of love we form over time are dearer than anything we can attain or aspire to apart from our faith.

6. I remembered the Sweetness of our good God – Visiting Family, seeing Friends, reflecting on God’s protection and provision through the years – of our children and of us – thinking on the Goodness of God in His Forgiveness, Peace and Mercy – We are Blessed…

peace.

The Invisible Soul Patch

This past Sunday I told our church about my annual summer growth of facial hair.  Such changes often become the center of interesting conversations and comments: ‘Hey, preacher, did you break your razor this morning?’  ‘What’s that growing under your lip there?’  All followed by good-natured laughs.  One of my favorites comes from a stately woman in Miami, who would say (in all seriousness, I might add), ‘You look so handsome without that.’  But every summer, never fail, after weeks on the beach, and to some extent, to celebrate yet another year of pretending to live a surfer’s life, some form of facial hair is grown – sort of like my summer Mr. Potato Head arrangement – or that hairless man you style with ‘hair’ by navigating little shavings of metal with an accompanying magnet (that never gets old!).

The crazy thing is this – On Sunday, because my beard is where my hair has chosen to turn mostly gray, and because it doesn’t grow out very thick, no one even knew what I was talking about – they couldn’t see it!  Within days, in interacting with people I realized this, as they would say things like, ‘Oh, you do have something there.’  Such affirmations of my manhood…

Actually this illustrates a truth from the Gospel – that we are far more than anyone can see by looking at externals.  There is more to the ‘package’ than meets the eye for any of us.  Each of us knows the ugliness that resides deep beneath the surface, and all have had that lousy feeling of being praised on the outside while grieving dark hearts and broken lives.  We bear scars that most will never know and experiences that we hope will remain buried in time.

I’m fortunate – my wife and daughters like the attempts (and even the beard), so I’m safe where it matters most.  But so many don’t feel safe with their secrets.  They feel exposed even where none can see – because they know what is inside – for them it feels as though it is all out there.  ‘If anyone knew…’ they think.

But God does know.  In fact, the good news is that God knows what others don’t.  The cold distances, bright lights and fast pace of life don’t obscure His view.  He knows who we are and He loves us in Jesus.  It’s that simple, really.  The Gospel finds us unfinished and the God of the Gospel sees what others miss (1 Samuel 16:7) and loves us that way – until we get Home.

This is good news.

peace.

Jack Sparrow & Jesus

This past week, on a flight from Orlando, Florida to Baltimore I read an interview with Johnny Depp in Vanity Fair magazine.  Through the years our family has enjoyed several of his movies.  In the interview Depp describes his life, his acting career and his future hopes.  Depp lives one of those, only-if-you-have-zillions-of-dollars lifestyles.  He owns homes in Europe and he often escapes to an island in the Caribbean that he purchased (that’s right, an entire island) that is situated next to another island he owns, I assume for the purpose of buffering anyone from living ‘next door.’  He spends his days traveling on his massive yacht (with full staff), playing guitar, painting, reading and listening to music – not to mention taking time for vacation with his family.

Somewhere in the article Depp reveals his heroes.  In fact he has named the coasts and various alcoves of the island after them.  They include actor Marlon Brando and journalist Hunter S. Thompson, to name two, both dead, Thompson by his own hand in 2005.

I wasn’t a Thompson reader, but certainly loved some of Brando’s roles, however what struck me was how Depp found ways to sort of elevate the reputations of these guys in his own mind – to make them larger than life.

And then there is Jesus.  The humility the prophets wrote of, and then His contemporaries witnessed, have never been expunged from His story.  He is still presented as the ‘suffering servant,’ the humiliated one, and as one ‘despised and rejected by men’ (Isaiah 53:3).  His dark moment in the Garden of Gethsemane has not been prettied up, nor His humiliating death erased from the woof and weft of the narrative.

In fact those who follow Jesus have come to realize that His greatness is found in His ability to sympathize with their brokenness, and His dearness is found in His unwillingness to cling to His greatness.  And it is that core humility that escapes most when they look for qualities that would define the gods they seek.

Today it occurred to me that one day someone will do with Depp what he has done with his heroes.  They will take the highlights and make them the entire reality, while Jesus directs us to the ‘lowlights’ of His earthly journey, and then invites us to find a God who refused to live above our condition.

I like that story better…

peace.