Life From Death (Easter - Day 1)

Dear God,

What does resurrection really mean? 

Surely it doesn't just have to do with this idea of after life.

Surely it doesn't just have to do with this idea that I can physically live after I physically die.

There has to be more God. There has to be more. We're told that Jesus was resurrected, that the tomb was empty, and that your people saw him after he died. Is simply believing in this going to somehow change my status in the after life, which I won't know until I get there, or is there something deeper happening here? Does believing that Jesus died and rose to life mean something for me right now? This moment? If the Bible is true, then there were real people who witnessed a real death, a real tomb, a real cross, and a real resurrection miracle.

The problem is that I wasn't there. I didn't see it. I didn't hear it. I didn't see Jesus die. I didn't see him rise again. 

So, what does resurrection really mean? Is it a motivational belief to help us "rise above our problems?" Is that it? Is it like the movie "Pursuit of Happiness?" When we believe, we can go from the bottom and rise to the top? 

I want to know you but I can't. I want to see you but I'm in the dark. I want to kiss your forehead but can't find you. I want to listen to you stories but I can't find which coffee shop you're at right now. I want to give you a hug but you're nowhere to be found.

I have thoughts, and imagination, and mental pictures thanks to the scriptures.  I have a whole system of beliefs and doctrines running around my head trying to help me paint a picture, trying to help me connect with you. 

The Word became flesh. The Word was life. The Word was light to live by. 

Jesus, I believe that you died and rose again. I believe that you went back to be with the Father. But, what does believing have to do with seeing? How am I supposed to live this life confidently when I can't see your scars? How am I supposed to tell other people about you when I don't have any evidence to back it up but my flimsy pontifications? 

I need to talk this out with both of you because I come to this point every Easter. So much candy, bunnies, chocolate, and pink, but I'm missing something. I'm missing you Jesus. This is what I normally do when I face these situations. I run down a list of instances in my life where I've gone from "death to life."

The stinging, consuming feeling of shame from considering myself incest after playing out sexually with someone I considered my best friend but was a family member.

The first taste of sexual pleasure.

The fear of living immorally and the consequences that could come from it.

The amazing feelings I felt with sexual pleasure.

The silence and secrecy that came from keeping these things to myself.

The feeling that I was alone. 

The feeling that no one would understand.

The feeling of condemnation.

The first taste of alcohol.

The feeling it gave me.

The high it gave me.

The deliverance it gave me.

The blackouts it gave me.

The trip to the hospital.

The ventilator and the charcoal and the doctor's voice.

The tears of being found out.

The heavy talks with dad at Denny's.

The feeling of being lost.

The feelings of having nowhere to turn to.

The feelings of having nowhere to run.

The failed classes.

The isolation in my dorm room.

The hopelessness of my existence.

The craving I had for something, someone to rescue me from myself.

The broken relationships.

The lost jobs.

The frustrated coworkers, friends, and family.

I thought you were frustrated too.

Running away from the church.

Running away from love and compassion and help.

Running away from alcohol, only to find it waiting.

The walks to the bar, through the neighborhood, staggering, wandering.

The mornings of drunken prayer.

The mornings of holding on with everything I had to not lose you.

The mornings of offering up my daily offerings of prayer and scripture readings.

The mornings of hoping you didn't give up on me.

The mornings of hoping I wouldn't give up on myself.

The hurricane.

My life a tornado roaring through the lives of others.

My lies, secrecy, and manipulations.

I thought you were angry.

I thought you were giving up on me.

I thought you didn't like people like me.

The friend from church.

The first A.A. meeting.

My pride keeping me from receiving help.

I didn't need help from anybody, or you.

I could help myself.

The misery and depression.

No more alcohol.

No more trips to jail.

No more trips to the hospital.

No more trips to maw-maw's to weasel money from her.

No more cars to wreck.

But shame still ruled my heart.

Shame that I thought you put there.

Two years of depression and misery.

Two years of no alcohol. 

Two years of white-knuckling and thinking I can do it.

Two years of wanting to disappear.

You weren't enough for me.

I was all I needed.

Break down.

Mental, physical, and spiritual break down.

Shame ruling my existence.

Death.

A friend told me to get on my knees and ask you to remove my shackles.

I did.

A new experience: grace.

A sound in the woods.

A story of fear.

I heard a story just like mine.

The man thought you were angry.

"Leave your fear in the woods."

I gave my fear of you back to you.

It left me.

I found out I didn't have to be fearful of you.

I found out that I didn't have to believe you were angry.

I found out that you weren't angry, or wrathful, or waiting to punish me.

Grace.

A new freedom.

A new outlook on life.

A new desire to seek out this God who isn't angry.

A new desire to seek out a God who doesn't instill shame, but mercy.

A new desire to let you work with me.

A new desire to work with you.

A new desire to work for freedom and peace.

A new desire to work with you to right my sinking ship.

Three years of no alcohol.

One year of no depression.

One year of no shame.

One year of freedom.

One year of wanting more freedom.

Sharing my experience, strength, and hope.

Having a message to share.

Having a solution to all my problems.

Deeper faith.

Real faith.

Faith with lots and lots of questions.

Resurrection.

I get it now God. Jesus, I get it. I can't see you guys (or girls, whatever). The mystery of your death and resurrection is found in my own death and resurrection. I can't see yours, but I can see mine. It's as vivid as the sunlight shining through the front door. When I look back over my own journey from death to life, I find you. I see a Jesus being tormented. I see a Jesus with nowhere to turn. I see a Jesus full of shame. I see a Jesus afraid. I see a Jesus facing death. I see a Jesus dying. I see a Jesus coming from an empty tomb. I see a Jesus coming out the other side. I see a Jesus offering freedom and life and peace.

Your story is meaningless to me unless I take a look back and remember my own death and resurrection. It's in my own life experiences that I can touch you, taste you, see you, hear you, and smell you. You were there the whole time. You were working in ways that I couldn't see at the time. You were doing the things that I couldn't do for myself. 

Thank you that death and shame are no longer the gauges by which I live by. Thank you that following the rules or breaking the rules are not the gauges I live by anymore. Thank you that your love for me doesn't depend on how well I love you back or don't love you at all. Thank you for experiencing death just like me, for giving me a chance to find meaning in my death and my hopelessness. Thank you for getting to the other side, for opening up a way out out of the tomb of death.

I've died with you, and I've risen again with you. Death can come, but it is okay. I am with you. Life will come too. You are with me though death and life, freedom and unrest, peace and hopelessness. Thank you.

                                                                 Your faithful follower with way more questions than answers,

                                                                                                                                                  Jon 

Painting (Holy Week - Day 7)

Thursday night, I had an experience that I'll never forget.  I was doing a slideshow presentation in my Introduction to Islam class.  It was on a memoir by a guy who had converted from Judaism to Islam, and after he converted, he ran across a group of people who claimed that they had found the true path in Islam.  After months of following this group and learning their practices, it turned out that he was actually falling into the trappings of radical Islam.  The book, in my view, was simply a memoir of a guy's experience spending a year inside of radical Islam.

However, as I went through slides and presented the information that was given to me, there was an uproar.  There are three practicing Muslims in my class.  For some reason, they were objecting to what I was presenting.  Instead of simply being a transporter of information, I became the mediator of a religion I had no knowledge of besides what the author had written about it. Evidently, the author of the book was using the same brush stroke that the Western media uses to paint a picture of Islam.  It was extremely biased, off-based, and wrong.  The thing is, I had no idea.  I had accepted what the guy had written because I had no foundation to gauge it against.  What started as an innocent portrayal of one guy's story ended up being an accusation against true, practicing Muslims who connect with God in ways that I have never.  

One of the people sitting in the class during the presentation was the president of the Houston Islamic Center.  The first half of the class he gave a lecture on Sufism, which is a beautiful branch of Islam which believes that it's essential to balance the physical with the spiritual, the outward with the inward.  It turned out that the author I was presenting about had a bone to pick with Sufism, calling it a "mystical strain of Islam with no religious absolutes."  Needless to say, my Muslim friends were not happy with the author's portrayal of the Islam they cherished so deeply, of the God they called their Creator.  I didn't know what to do because I was ignorant of real Islam.  My classmates opened my eyes to the tension between the picture that I'd been given of Islam, and the real story of Islam.  The author was using the most skewed and inaccurate branch of Islam to paint the picture of Islam as a whole.

As I drove to work the next day, I was still thinking about the implications that presentation had on me. I figured out that what happened that night could be translated like this: If I was sitting in a class called Introduction to Christianity, and a Muslim came up to give a presentation on Christianity, I would understand the topic they were presenting.  I would know the history, the pillars of faith, and the practices.  Let's say the Muslim had no prior understanding of the religion, and the book they did the presentation on was written by Fred Phelps, the pastor of Woodsboro Baptist Church.  He goes on to explain Christianity through the eyes of Phelps.  To me, this would be a completely inaccurate picture of a beautiful religion that centers around a God who died for us and forgave our sins once and for all.  But, through Phelps eyes Christianity is about holding up signs at social events that say "God Hates Fags," and "God Hates America."  If I was listening to this Muslim give this presentation, I would feel the need to speak up and say, No! This is not Christianity. This author is completely off course!  

Essentially, this is what happened as I was giving my presentation.  The class was speaking up for their God and religion.  They were saying, No! This is not Islam!

It baffles me how the same thing happens inside of Christianity.  The mainstream media (via pulpit, internet, and bookstores) continue painting this picture of a Christianity that requires one to have a password to enter into a relationship with a hidden God.  The painting includes Easter Sunday, but not any of the implications behind Sunday, like Good Friday, Maundy Thursday, and the forty days of Lent.  Instead, we are given a picture of this God who arrived out of nowhere, died, rose again, and went back to somewhere.  Only the truly chosen ones have the ability to figure out how to connect with this God, having the key to unlock the magical door to salvation.  

I want to paint a different picture, one that I believe has continued to be painted for 2,000 years but has somehow slipped off in the shadows.  It's a picture of freedom.  I believe that the implications behind Jesus' death are profound, especially for anyone who struggles with something.  I know that there may be a few people who don't struggle with anything, and if I was in those shoes I would not be having this conversation because I wouldn't need God.  It turns out though, that I struggle on a daily basis, and the message of Jesus speaks specifically into that tension.

The scriptures say that Jesus died for our sins, that his blood represented the sins of the world - past, present, and future.  Before Jesus died, there was a law system set in place for people like me who couldn't seem to do it right.  When people messed up, or sinned, there was a system in place that would give specific instructions for "making them right again."  The problem was, the law was a Band-Aid.  Instead of producing a deep healing of the person's character, the laws would only make them feel better for a short time until the next time it happened.  The law was cyclical in providing temporary relief for a permanent problem.

What Jesus did abolished the systems set in place.  He took the laws and and the guilt that came with them, and sacrificed himself to them, to death.  He took the laws and did what they could not do - he forgave humanity once and for all.  No more subscribing to different procedures for different sins.  Jesus fulfilled the law, doing what it could never do.

The picture that is often painted in the American church is a death of Jesus that just doesn't finish the job.  Though the scriptures say that the law was abolished, we are given a presentation that we are actually the ones who complete the law that Jesus finished.  We are the ones who fulfill Christ's death by asking him for forgiveness. We are the ones who pray a prayer and institute salvation in our lives.  For the last couple of years, I have been sitting in the classroom, listening to this presentation, and I just can't keep my voice silent any longer.  I have to speak up and say, No! This is not what Easter means!

The death of Christ means that we no longer have to do anything to forgive our sins.  We don't have to subscribe to any more rituals invoking forgiveness of sins.  The death of Christ also means that there is no part of the human condition that God is out of touch with.  There is no person on the planet who is excluded from what Christ has done.  Regardless of who we are or what we've done, Christ has forgiven us once and for all.  We have two options: wake up to this or don't.  This brings us back to struggle.

The death of Christ speaks into our struggle for meaning, for life, for freedom.  I'm speaking to anyone who struggles with something, and is coming to the end of their rope.  You are forgiven and loved by a God who struggled to death.  We are dead to sin.  There is no amount of work we can do to get rid of the things that are tripping us up.  That's a given.  However, we are not condemned to a life of guilt from these struggles.  We have a God whose death abolished the guilt-producing effects of moral, religious, and philosophical law. We are free from living under the tyranny of our own defects of character.  We are free to live under the grace of Jesus.  We are free to laugh about our mistakes, knowing that nothing can separate us from the love of the one whose blood ran from Calvary. 

We have the opportunity to wake up to a God who dwells in us, through the spirit of the one who died on a cross. The Spirit of Christ keeps whispering, Wake up. Wake up friend. I am with you and love you. You have been forgiven once and for all. My grace is enough for you. You are perfect just the way you are.  

Contrast (Holy Week - Day 6)

In today's Good Friday passage, a series of contrasts is portrayed.  

Peter tells Jesus that he will lay down his life for him.  In reality, he'll deny his association with Jesus three times before the morning.  

Then, Jesus is crucified.

Nicodemus shows up on the scene.  The first time he ever met with Jesus, he was under the cover of night as a Pharisee.  He didn't want the Jews to know about his encounter with Jesus.  If you recall, they had a conversation about "being born again."  

Now, Nicodemus appears in broad daylight, this time to encounter Jesus again.  This time, Jesus is dead.  Nicodemus is carrying seventy-five pounds of myrrh and aloes to follow proper Jewish burial laws in his care-taking of Jesus' body.  He petitions Pilate to take and bury the body, and Pilate complies.  Near the place where Jesus was crucified is a garden.  In the garden, is a tomb.  

Peter says he surrenders, but in reality he denies.

Nicodemus showed up secretly before, and now he's in full view of the public.

A little while ago, there was a conversation about being born again. Now the conversation is about helping bury a dead body.

There's a garden near the place where Jesus died, and a tomb in that garden.  

Surrender and denial. Night and day. Life and death. Tombs and gardens.

I am like Peter.  I claim that I love Jesus and that I'll lay down my life for him. I talk about how I believe in Jesus while I deny him through the prejudice in my heart towards people who annoy me.  The contrast of surrender and denial threads its way through my core every moment of my existence. I claim that God is enough for me, until night comes and all I can think about is a pretty girl acting out sexually on a computer screen. I claim that I will lay down my life for Jesus while I try to run the show at work.  Surrender and denial.

I am like Nicodemus. Under the cover of secrecy, I carry my doubts and beliefs, afraid of the kind of push back I may receive. I am a devout follower of Jesus in one crowd and a ritualized Pharisee in another; a seeker searching for truth in one circle and a know-it-all in another. Nicodemus comes out of the darkness and proclaims through his actions publicly that he's all in. He takes it to the highest authority at the time and petitions the king to take care of the body of the one who he didn't believe in before.  Secrecy and boldness. Night and day. 

I exist in the tension between a garden and a tomb.  On a good day, I smell the flowers and hear the birds singing. On a bad day, my heart is a tomb, full of grief, self-pity and sadness. It looks for self-interest instead of the interest of my fellows. Jesus is buried in a tomb in a garden. Death and life. Darkness and light. Ugliness and beauty.

Tension exists in contrast. If there was no tension, there would be no need to search for truth. 

Peter claims one thing and does the exact opposite. But, he later "follows Jesus." Through denial, he truly surrenders and finds what he's looking for.

Whenever darkness comes today, I can expect there to be light just around the corner. When I deny my associations and beliefs and Jesus, I can be assured that surrender will come. When I take a moment to explore the murky waters of my soul, I can believe that a garden is nearby. 

Today's Action:  Pay attention to the contrasts today (For ex: angry - tolerant, hurried - patient, depressed - joyful). Write them down. Reflect. Do we notice that with death (what we consider the "bad stuff") there is life (what we consider the "good stuff")? 

Jesus' Prayer for His Followers (Holy Week - Day 5)

"Dad, it's time. Display my bright brilliance so I in turn will show your bright brilliance. You put me in charge of everything human so I might give real and eternal life to all in my care. And this is real and eternal life: That they know you, the one and only true God, and me, whom you sent. I blessed you on earth by completing down to the last detail what you assigned me to do. And now, Dad, bless me with your very own brilliance, the very brilliance I had in your presence before all this was even here.

I spelled out your character in detail to the men and women you told me to take care of. They were yours in the first place; then you gave them to me to watch over, and they have now done what you said. They know now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, for the message you gave me, I gave them; and they took it, and were convinced that I came from you. They believed that you sent me. I pray for them. I'm not praying for the God-rejecting world but for those you gave me to care for, for they are yours by right. Everything mine is yours, and yours mine, and my life is on display in them. For I'm no longer going to be visible in the world; they'll continue in the world while I return to you. My Good Dad, guard them as they pursue this life that you negotiated as a gift through me, so they can be one heart and mind. As long as I was with them, I guarded them in the pursuit of the life you gave through me; I even posted a night watch. And not one of them got away, except for the rebel bent on destruction.

Now I'm coming back to you. I'm saying these things in the world's hearing so my people can experience my joy completed in them. I gave them your word; the godless world hated them because of it, because they didn't join the world's ways, just as I didn't join the world's ways. I'm not asking that you take them out of the world but that you guard them from evil. They are no more defined by the world than I am defined by the world. Make them perfect - blessed - with the truth; your word is beautiful truth. In the same way that you gave me a mission in the world, I'm blessing myself for their sakes so they'll be truth-blessed in their mission.

I'm praying not only for them but also for those who will believe in me because of them and their witness about me. The goal is for all of them to become one heart and mind - just as you, Dad, are in me and I in you, so they might be one heart and mind with us. Then the world might believe that you, in fact, sent me. The same dignity you gave me, I gave them, so they'll be as unified and together as we are - I in them and you in me. Then they'll be mature in this oneness, and give the godless world evidence that you've sent me and loved them in the same way you've loved me.

Dad, I want those you told me to watch over to be with me, right where I am, so they can see my dignity, the brilliance you gave me, having loved me long before all of this was even here. My Good Dad, the world has never known you, but I have known you, and these students know that you sent me on this mission. I have made your very being known to them - who you are and what you do - and continue to make it known, so that your love for me might be in them, exactly as I am in them."

John 17

Shine (Holy Week - Day 4)

I've been woking on this book review and presentation that I'm doing for my Introduction to Islam class, and it's blowing my mind.  The book is a memoir by a man who grew up as a Jew and converted to Islam.  He wasn't satisfied with Judaism, so he became interested in the concepts behind Islam.  He thought that the rules and regulations that drove Islam were practical and would help him develop his faith in God.

He never really developed his own faith though.  He kept running into people, with different versions of Islam, and would try their versions on for a little while.  He eventually found one he liked.  It's called Sulafism.  In Sulafism, women are inferior to men, the Jews despised, and people who get out of Islam - if they live in an Islamic state - are killed.  Under the guise of submitting to the way of Allah, the man deepens his faith within the context of extremist Islam.  He works for a year inside of an Islamic charity that is eventually linked with Al Queida.  

For seven years, he journeys from experimenting with the faith to being completely manipulated into the "right" version of Islam.  He's not allowed to listen to music, shake hands or hug women, wear shorts that expose his ankles, or have any sort of credit that involves interest.  He's convinced, however, that everything he's doing is for the sake of Allah.  

After his year with the extremist group, he begins doubting.  There's something in his mind that keeps saying, Develop your own beliefs.  Reread the Qur'an.  Get some books from authors you trust.  Keep seeking the truth.  He's at the point of spiritual despair, and as he looks back over his life and where he went wrong, he walks into a United Methodist church.  The pastor is a woman and Communion is served to everyone, not to mention that grape juice is served.  It was forbidden in Sulafism to drink alcohol or to have a woman in an authoritative position.  

The man found this very compelling, especially since his last few years had been spent avoiding at all costs women and wine.  He calls an old friend and asks him about getting a Bible.  His friend sends him a religious care package, and as soon as he opens the package, he compares the narratives of Christ's death and resurrection.

Sitting in a sermon one day, he hears a message that God loves him just as he is.  He hears that the death of Christ provided forgiveness for his sins.  He hears that Christ conquered hell and death, and came back to life.  If Christ could conquer death, then I can too, he thought.  He converts to Christianity, and reaches out to Christian groups that minister to Muslims.  He also becomes a counterterrorism consultant to the F.B.I., and sees his old community of radical Islam crumble to the ground because of its links to al-Queda.  

What I didn't know going into this book was that the author would eventually convert to Christianity.  I had no idea.  As I was reading last night, I realized that I would essentially be telling a class of Islam about the story of Christ through this man's memoir.  

I feel intimated about it, but at the same time I feel excited.  I'm not the type that goes around proselytizing and preaching to the masses, but this is a unique opportunity.  I get to share the message of Christ, and how it differs from Islam.

What started as a hefty homework assignment is turning into an opportunity to do something I've never done before.  There is a light inside of me that is flickering, and as I read this story, the light became brighter and brighter.  I couldn't relate with any of the man's story, as I have never been a part of any other religion than Christianity.  But, as the story unfolded, I realized I had much in common with him. Doubts, fear, isolation, being afraid to share with my friends and family about my struggles with my faith, even jumping from one extreme to another inside of Christianity.  

As I read through the thoughts he was experiencing in his transition from Islam to Christianity, they were the same thoughts that I had experienced in my conversion from a rule-driven Christianity to a grace-driven Christianity.

Jesus tells us in today's passage out of John that the light is within us.  He says to believe in the light, so that we'll see our way through the darkness.  After all, if everything is dark how can we see where we're going?  He doesn't say that we have to pray a prayer or go get baptized.  He says to believe in something that is already within us.  The light.  He doesn't talk about a right lights and wrong lights, good lights and bad lights.  He talks about light and darkness.  In the book of Romans, we're told that "the Law of God is written on our hearts."  Jesus came to fulfill the law, to become the perfect upholding of the Law as well as the human inability to follow the Law.  He took on perfection and utter failure, and everything in between, so that we wouldn't have to keep checking over our shoulders to make sure we were doing it right.  

The Law of guilt was replaced with forgiveness and grace, written on each of our hearts. Jesus invites us to wake up to the light within, to believe, and to follow.  We all have the Law of light written on our hearts, but not all of us are awakened to it.  May we tap into the source of light as we go into the world today, what some of us would call the place of darkness, and live in the light to expose the path to freedom.  

Dead to the World (Holy Week - Day 3)

The vegetables that I planted at the beginning of Lent look much different than the day I planted them.  They have leaves.  They are about ready to be transplanted into a much bigger area of soil.  They are greener.  They are growing.  Eventually, if I continue watering them and they continue receiving sunlight, they will provide.  Seeds are dead to the world when they are not planted.  They don't grow and they don't provide.  When they are planted, watered, and receive sunlight, they grow and provide.

Jesus says that when we hold on to life, we are like the unplanted seeds.  Dead to the world, we dream of what life would be like if . . . 

We wonder, dream, philosophize, and blog about how we're waiting on a miracle to happen, for writing in the sky to direct us where to go and what to do.  Being unplanted means two things when it comes to a seed: no growth and nothing to offer.

I know way more about being unplanted than being planted into something.  I know what it's like to wake up every morning, searching frantically, philosophizing about how good life will be as soon as I figure out what exactly it is that God wants me to do.  

The problem with this way of thinking is, I can't see God.  I can't hear God.  So, how can I possibly receive from God what I'm expecting him to give me when I can't see or hear him?  

Waiting for the will of God to appear is like holding onto a seed expecting it to grow without soil, water, and sunlight.  It's like holding onto life, expecting it to flourish without spiritual nourishment and love.  Jesus goes so far to say that holding onto life this way actually destroys it.  It doesn't grow so it doesn't provide.  

Following Jesus for his audience meant literally following him.  They could see him.  They could touch him.  They could listen to him.  His words made sense in the literal sense, even though Jesus used the metaphor of the wheat grain.  What do his words mean for us today?  

Following Jesus is synonymous with letting go of our lives, and planting them into the world.  We are finding real life.  We are taking the passions and desires of our hearts and manifesting them with love in the real world, and not just thinking about how life would be so good if . . .

We don't see Jesus. We don't hear Jesus.  We don't touch Jesus.  The best we can do is interpret his words and do the best we can with our interpretations.  Whatever happens after that is unique to the individual who does it.  There are no generalizations when it comes to this.  One person's following Jesus will look way different than another's.  What should be synonymous though is the continuous "letting go" of the idea that being planted in the world is a mere philosophy.  

When we let go of life, we find that we are ready to serve at a moment's notice.  We can't see Jesus, although we get the sense that God is everywhere.  Serving others is how we get the sense that "Jesus is present here."  

The will of God is inside each of us.  When we plant our deepest passions into the world, we grow to the point that we can give ourselves away.  We sprout and reproduce many times over, and we get more and more of the life that we use to only dream about.  As we receive our nourishment and sustenance, we give it away.  But, we can't give anything away we don't have already.  

Waiting for purpose, or meaning, or God's will to appear is essentially holding onto a life that is dead to the world.  It may seem like there is meaning in the waiting, but months and years pass with the same feeling of being lost in the middle of a dark, scary forest.  I'll say one more thing before I close this.

As I grew up, I always has this underlying fear that doing what I wanted to do was somehow always wrong.  Pleasure was something to be avoided or tiptoed around.  For years, I avoided and ignored my passion for music and writing.  Since they made me feel good, I doubted they could have been from God.  God's will meant doing things I didn't want to do.  It meant sacrificing all of me, the good and the bad, in order to "follow his will."  So, things like school and world had no meaning.  Pain had no meaning.  Relationships had no meaning.  

It took over ten years to decide that following after my desires and passions could actually be a good thing.  It could actually mean planting myself into the world, and taking action.  It could actually mean connecting with God in a way that before I would have considered ungodly.  I want to encourage anyone who's reading this post.  If you've followed the same belief system that I have, that says "whatever makes me feel good is wrong," I encourage you to trust your passions and see where they take you.  

Even when we follow our passions, and they lead us to pain, we are at least experiencing something.  I believe it is better to take a path and fail, than to take no path at all, or wait around for God to show us something.  What we will find the majority of the time is that when we follow our passions we are actually finding more of life, the way it was intended to be.  When we are experiencing life the way it was intended, we are connected with God in a way that is real, lasting, and . . . more.  

Today's Action:  Ask ourselves, What am I passionate about?  What am I doing to plant this passion into the world?  Do one thing today that that supports this passion, then reflect on it when we retire for the night.

Reclamation (1st Day of Holy Week)

We've all heard the infamous story of Jesus driving the merchants and day traders out of the temple.  We've heard how angry he got, and how he took out his AK-47 and started spraying all the loan sharks with bullets.  Just kidding about that one.  Most of the time, this story revolves around the question of whether Jesus was violent or not, or we use it to justify our anger towards people who just don't do what we want them to do.  

The story I'm reading today reveals a part that I've never actually heard before.  After Jesus kicks over all the tables of dove merchants and loan sharks, something magical happens.  

The scam artist religious leaders leave, and are replaced with screaming children, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.  The space is transformed from a check-cashing scam shop to a place of healing and child's play.  

The pious, peddling religious leaders leave.  Children and sick people flood in.  The space is a place of healing and folly once again.  The religious leaders are astounded and unimpressed.  They confront Jesus and ask him, "What exactly are you doing here?  Are you out of your mind?"  

Jesus responds with one of the verses that the religious would have knows by memory, "From the mouths of children and babies I'll furnish a place of praise."

This is a topic that can very easily turn up the temperature in my own heart, so I'll try to refrain from injecting my own prejudices into this as I write.  I'm not going to call the church the church.  I'm going to call it the meeting place.  Essentially, the space that was designed for what we call church today, was used for way different reasons when Jesus was around.  When we read the scriptures, and we read about the temple, it is understood that there was one in the city and it was usually in the center of the city.  It was a central meeting place.  It was attractive (unless loan sharks took over and sold doves in the foyer), to the citizens of the city.  People thought about going to this central meeting place like someone would think today of going to Starbucks.  There wasn't this us verses them mentality that kept insiders in the space and outsiders out.  

But, that's a different story even though it's a very important one.  The thing that blows my mind is, as soon as the religious leaders got out of the building, children and sick people came in.  It's like they had been waiting to reclaim their space again.  It's like the meeting place wasn't designed for the highly religious to set up their agendas and run the show.  It's like the space was designed to run upside down, where children, the handicapped, and the afflicted actually held responsibility.  

I believe there are spiritual meeting places in the world which have been reclaimed in the world.  I just haven't seen them with my own eyes.  I have to believe that there are spaces in this world where the religious leaders and scam artists have been kicked out, and the children and crippled have reclaimed their sacred place for healing, worship, and scribbling on the walls.  I just haven't seen it yet.  

I'm reminded of the quote, "The church is a hospital for the sick, not a museum for the saints."  

The spiritual gathering place was not intended for classroom lectures, but open dialogue.  The space was not intended for the religious elite to make all the decisions, but for the poor, the sick, and the children to have the same voice and influence as anyone else.  The temple was not designed to sell cute little birthday cards, but to be a place for people to bring their excess for the folks who didn't have enough . . . which forces me to ask,

Are we doing it right?

And then, it goes even deeper.  There's this personal aspect to this aside from the collective.  Jesus was one man.  Where were the disciples?  Where were all the ones who followed Jesus.  They are not in the story.  Where were they?  Jesus was one man who saw that something was just not right.

I am one man who sees that something is just not right.  From what we're told, Jesus made room in every part of his life to invite children, the sick, and the afflicted into his activities and his schedule.  They were his lifeblood.  He didn't see them as people who needed a fixing, but as his friends.  He had no agenda other than being of help to his friends.  And, they helped him as well.  He served his friends and he allowed his friends to serve him.  His friends included children, crippled people, and marginalized folks.  

I'm a firm believer in the other quote that says, "Be the change you want to see in the world."  I believe the same holds true for our spiritual gathering places.  If we ever want to reclaim the intended design of this space, then we have to reclaim the space in our own lives.  Do we let children have a voice in our lives, or do we only instruct them?  Do we let crippled people have a voice in our lives, or do we only help them?  Do we let the most annoying people have a voice in our lives, or do we keep screening their calls?  

We are deluded to think that our spiritual gathering places can be reclaimed to the way they were intended to be - open, inviting, inclusive - if we are not reclaiming the spiritual gathering places in our own hearts.  

One only needs to walk into a spiritual gathering place on a Sunday or Saturday to see what kind of place it is.  Are their children running around, or are they hidden somewhere?  Are their wheelchair ramps?  Are the crippled participating in the functions of the service?  Are homeless people serving communion?  

It would be wrong to use this kind of observation to gauge where the hearts of each individual person who makes up the congregation is at.  There are naturally going to be a good number of folks sitting in the congregation, or participating in the service who are living out the reclamation in their own lives.  The problem is, they haven't made their voice heard yet.  They've probably seen that they are the minority.  So, they just let bygones be bygones.  And that's okay.  Honestly, I'm more concerned about whether my own heart is in order than whether the heart of the meeting place is in order.  But . . .

Some of us want to see the meeting place reclaimed to what it was intended to be - revolving around the children, the poor, the addicted, the homeless, the crippled, and the obese.  If we have reclaimed these areas in our own hearts, and are developing friendships with "the least of these," we have the responsibility of being the voices of reclamation in our own meeting places.  We are responsible for letting our voices be heard, and sometimes "kicking over the tables" of religious beaurocracy, elitism, and profit-peddling.  

What we call the church was never intended to be a cause of contention with the outside world, but rather one of the rare place in the middle of prevailing culture in which everyone had an equal and resounding voice; where children were excited to run around freely, screaming and shouting; where the crippled could expect to be surrounded by people who saw them as friends and healers; where the atheist and agnostic could come not to sit in a classroom, but participate in open dialogue of the scriptures, philosophizing and discussing.

The central gathering place is a place where people sense they are loved just the way they are, no matter what they believe, how they look, how hopeless they are, how religious they are, how angry they are, and how in need of God they are.  It's a place that takes the heartbeat of God - unconditional love and grace - and lets it become the collective voice.  

Today's Action:  Think of one person we have been screening calls from.  Arrange a time to meet with that person.  Contact our local pastors/elders and ask them how we can do a better job of making our gathering places open to the poor, children, crippled, atheists, agnostics, obese, widowed, and orphaned.  

Stone (Day 40 of Lent)

I have a problem with stories like the one in today's passage out of John.  A dead man - Lazarus - comes out of a tomb after four days.  He's a cadaver.  He's wrapped in burial clothes.  He's essentially a zombie.  Jesus simply looks to the heavens, thanks his Father for listening, and tells God that he wants the crowd around him to believe that God sent him.  

I have problems with people who write books about how they spent ninety minutes in heaven.  

I simply can't imagine it, personalize it, and get my hands or mind around it.  

Not to mention, every time I hear the story of Lazarus told by a preacher, it's told in this monotonous, unappealing way that seems to make me think, Do you even believe this?

But, then there's this other side to it.  There's the time when I was deemed dead from alcohol poisoning.  There's this time when a co-worker came to me asking for prayer for her mom who had just received medical reports describing her breast cancer.  There's the time when another coworker fell off a cliff and got a brain injury, placing him in a coma for weeks.  And then there's the time when my other friend was in a car wreck and received a traumatic brain injury and went into a coma for two months.  Then there's the countless stories of people who have been given several weeks to live, but lived years after.  

In each of these cases, death was either present or standing right outside the door.  

Another problem with the story of Lazarus is, the story ends there.  He walks out of the tomb and we don't hear anything about him again.  It's almost as if the story was about a dead guy being raised to life, but the story wasn't really about a dead guy being raised to life.  It's almost as if the author was trying to convey something else to the audience.  

It's almost as if the author was saying, This is a big deal, but this is a bigger deal.  

Death to life.  Life to death.  The circle of life, right?  

One of the common beliefs in our culture is that death is always at odds with life.  Death is this thing we try to avoid and battle with life.  We change our looks, we altar our bodies, we take fish oil, we go organic, we don't miss our doctor's appointments, we raise our boobs and lower our chins.  Even at birth, we guys chop off our foreskins in the belief that infection is this default thing that happens as soon as we're born.  From the moment we're born, death is against life, and the battle begins.  

We've all heard, Put a jacket on.  You're gonna catch a cold.  But, does cold weather cause sickness?  

Jesus is essentially using theatrics to show the audience standing around (mostly Jews), that death and life are not supposed to be these two entities that are constantly fighting each other.  It seems that he's trying to convey something much deeper than what the eye can see.  One moment the guy's dead, and the next he's wondering where Starbucks is.  

What if, Jesus is trying to say, See how futile the idea is that death and life are at odds with one another?  Those who believe in me don't see it this way.  And, by the way, if you think this is crazy, just wait a week and you'll really get blown away.

There is this pervasive theology that threads through many religions that sets death and life against each other.  It says that the point of life is to avoid death.  But, it also continues.  There is this idea that after physical death, the battle continues.  There are these intangible, unprovable places called heaven (life) and hell (death).  Depending on how well we live or or how bad we live in our time on earth, we will receive bus tickets to one or the other.  

But, what if life and death were never intended to be at odds with each other?  What if, the intended purpose of each was to compliment the other?  What if life was considered just as much a gift as death? 

Although the story of Lazarus cannot be proven, there is an underlying principle that is very interesting.  Does belief affect the way we view life and death?  

Jesus constantly repeats, Believe in me and find real life.  Believe in me and find eternal life.  Believe in me and find resurrection.  

Is it possible that our beliefs can affect the ways in which we experience life, as well as death?  Is it really possible that death can not have the sting that we think it does?  

The ways in which we view life and death affect our beliefs in what happens after life.  But moreso, the ways in which we view the afterlife affects the ways we live on this earth.  Believing that life and death are at odds with each other in the afterlife affects the ways in which we view death in this life.  

Heaven and hell have been used to describe the either/or that happens after we die.  Essentially, good people go to heaven and bad people go to hell.  The good people believe one way, and the bad people don't believe at all, right?  

But, what if this idea is one idea out of many possibilities?  What if the ideas of heaven and hell were man's way of describing this inner tension, this supposed conflict between life and death.  Someone writing down the scriptures long ago though, You know?  Since death and life are such opposing entities, why not set them against each other in the afterlife?  Hmmm.  Heaven and hell . . . Bingo!

The principles behind Jesus's teachings are constantly threatening our accepted ways of thinking that life is always good and death is always bad.  He raises people from the dead, but tells family members Don't worry, you're daughter's only sleeping.  Don't be afraid, Lazarus is taking a nap.  

Just because something is accepted by the majority doesn't mean it is in any way true.  It just means that it's one idea out of many.  When we believe, we suspend reality.  We shoot for the stars.  We ascribe meaning to the unseen, the intangible.  But, at the same time it affects our realities.  What we believe leads to how we live.  

Today's Action:  Think about our own experiences with death or hardship.  Did we go about those situations with the idea that life was being threatened?  Did we go about those situations with the idea that life was being complimented?  Did we find "life after death"?  What is one way that we could view life and death as compliments of each other, and not enemies?

Decomposition (Day 39 of Lent)

Funerals have never been my thing.  For one, I just don't know what to say or feel.  I look around and see so many tears, and then I feel guilty for not experiencing the same thing.  My emotions shut off and I watch.  I pay attention to the emotions of everyone else.

My grandfather passed away several years ago, and the funeral was beautiful.  There were bagpipes bellowing out the sounds of Amazing Grace.  There were stories of how he stepped into my grandmother's, dad's, aunt's, and uncles' lives and became the husband and father that they never had.   

One of the greatest memories I have of my grandpa was his massive collection of baseball cards.  Inside  one of his closets, he had shelves full.  As a collector myself, I would step into his closet and get drawn into his collection.  I would spend hours scanning through them, in awe of the good condition they were in.  He was the person who first introduced me to collecting.  

When he died, everyone knew it was coming.  He had suffered through cancer for several years, and was getting weaker and weaker.  He got skinnier and skinnier.  

My grandpa represented life, and his death was a reminder of that life.  His death was the last gift he had to give to us - leaving me with a lasting impression of the awe I felt when I would browse in his closet four hours.  He left my family with the lasting impression of what it looks like to step into the darkness of family dysfunction and to bring light and love.  Although he wasn't blood related to my dad and his siblings, he was father.  His death was his farewell gift to the family, as if the silent understanding around the casket was, That's who I want to be like.  Thanks dad.  

My grandfather believed in life.  Not just the humdrum monotony of the nine to five, routine, get by so I can retire kind of life.  He believed in a life that was filled with meaning.  He believed there was more to life than just getting by and moving from one thing to another.  

The interesting thing about life and death is, they bump up against one another.  Life can't happen without death, and death can't happen without life.  

There was a guy named Lazarus.  He was very good friends with a man named Jesus.  Lazarus died.  Jesus waited four days to show up.  Jesus told his friends, the disciples, that Lazarus was sleeping.  Martha was Lazarus's sister.  She believed that if Jesus had been there, her brother wouldn't have died.  Jesus told her, whoever believes in me - even though they die - will live.  

In order for a garden to be fruitful, there has to be a source of soil, water, sunlight, and energy.  Soil is composed of the decomposition of other plants, among other things.  The nutrients and minerals from dead plants brings life to a new garden.  We know that a process called photosynthesis happens in the life cycle of plants, but we can't see the energy processes that are happening.  We can touch the water, get our hands dirty in the soil, feel the sun's rays beating down on us, but photosynthesis - now that's a mystery.  Yet, we attribute this intangible process to the creation of life.  

Death requires life, and life requires death.  

If we were to step out onto the forest floor and take a sample of the topsoil, we would find death.  Skeletal remains, scavenging bacteria, dead leaves, feces.  If we were to only look at that sample and not look around, we would think that the world which we were looking at - the small sample - was ultimately a depressing world.  

Under the microscope, we would see something completely different.  Movement.  Energy.  Life.

Life has to be more than the presence of breath.  It has to be.  It only takes a microscope to see that the most "lifeless" objects in our daily existence contain a world of movement and adventure that we just can't see with the naked eye.  When we look deeper, we find vitality, energy, and process.  

One of my latest "conspiracy theories" is that the Bible I read and the theological systems around me are all just propaganda trying to get me to believe in ideas that were created by man.  I really don't know if Jesus was real.  I don't know.  I believe in Him and I believe in what he says, but I don't know if he was a real person.  Sorry, but I can't prove it.  However, take away the Bible, theological systems, and everything we have available to us presently, and what are we left with?  Does that shake our belief systems?  Does that scare us?  

This guy Jesus talks about life a whole lot.  I find it interesting that so far in the book of John, he hasn't mentioned anything about a place called heaven or hell.  He's talked about life - real life and eternal life.  He keeps pounding this idea into heads of the people around him.  Believe in me and you will find real and eternal life - right here and right now.  Your physical body will die, but you will live.

To Jesus, life and death compliment each other.  One can't happen without the other.  Whether its a garden growing in the backyard, or my grandfather passing away, life and death both play a part in real and eternal life.  When plants decompose, they became the life source of the plants around them.  When people die, their energy goes back into the earth, creating life as well.  

Other deaths happen in our lives as well - spiritual and emotional.  Do we see these as compliments of life too?  Do we understand them like we do physical death?

Life is a gift.  Death is a gift.  The ongoing cycle and patterns involving these two point us to the reality that we are part of something much bigger than ourselves.  We are part of something that could possibly have everything to do with an infinite process.

Today's Action:  In what ways have we experienced death, physically, emotionally, and spiritually?  In what ways have we experienced life after these deaths?