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?  

Better Country

This is from a hike in October.

Something Else (Day 37 of Lent)

Every Monday through Friday, I go to work at a restaurant.  As part of my job, I taste the food before every shift to make sure it tastes like it always does.  The smell of the food fills the whole restaurant, especially when fresh baked brownies come out of the oven.  At about 11:00, I see customers start filing into the restaurant, and when they get up to the counter, I touch their credit cards.  I hear music playing on the radio, and a gentle roar of businessmen talking about their agendas for the day.  These are just a few of the ways my senses are engaged throughout each workday.

Then, there are times when I get behind.  I get frustrated.  Or, somebody calls in or doesn't show up, and so feel the need to step it up and carry more weight than I'm used to carrying.  Sometimes, I really get into the music that's playing, and while I'm opening up the restaurant I feel compelled to get on a table and dance.  Other times, I feel relieved when the restaurant empties out, and I give my coworker a high-five because we feel like we've survived another lunch rush.  I've planted some vegetables in front of the restaurant, so every morning I water them.  Each time I go out there, I see growth.  They are different than they were the day before, and way different than a week ago.  

The top paragraph represents what is true.  The second paragraph represents something else.

While both sets of experience make up each day of my existence, one is very easy to explain but the other not so much.  One set of experiences is obvious to the naked eye and the other is invisible to the naked eye.  One set is connected to the brain.  The other is connected to . . .

If there's one thing I've learned about the relationship between the Pharisees and Jesus, it's this:  the Pharisees have no problem accepting what Jesus does as truth.  At least one of their senses are engaged during each of these actions of Jesus.  It's what Jesus says that is not obvious to the Jews, and not engaging to the senses.  It's not palatable, not pleasing to the eyes or nose.  It's something else.

I completely understand how they can get so offended when Jesus says things like:

I and my Father are one.  I am the Son of God.  I do what my Father does.  My sheep recognize my voice.  You are not my sheep.  My Father sent me here.  

They demand that he tell them who he really is, where he really comes from.  The problem is that Jesus has told them.  They just don't believe him.  They want his claims to fit inside the box of their sensual experience.  

When I get angry, or sad, or feel compelled to do a strip tease while listening to Coldplay, or feel a sense of amazement when I see jalapenos begin growing, what is going on exactly?  

I have this problem with control.  When things don't go my way at work (or life), I get angry.  If I don't do something about it, it will just keep growing.  What is this?  For some reason, if I don't do something, the anger will not go away on its own.  To combat growing anger and frustration, I used to go to the freezer, slam the door shut, and scream at the top of my lungs much like a three month old baby who doesn't get her way.  

Most of the time, however, I retreat outside.  I stand still.  I let my mind quiet down.  I talk to the air.  I speak into space.  I say things like "Please direct my thinking.  Please divorce my thinking from self-pity, dishonest, and self-seeking motives."  What happens is my mind gets even more still.  My heartbeat slows down.  I regain a sense of purpose.  My anger subsides.  I walk back into the restaurant.  

I will argue that if I were left only to what I can see, touch, taste, smell, and hear, I would either live in complete denial or complete ignorance.  

The truth is that there is a something else going on.  There is something else behind the senses, something dynamic and evolving.  

Recently, one of my coworkers commented on my blog.  She said, "You're really matured in your writing."  That something has matured, or grown, or evolved.  

Maybe the best thing we can do as a human race is accept that there are two shows going on here.  There is the truth of our senses, and then there is . . . something else.  The something else causes us to use words like:

compels, feels, matures, amazed, awestruck, wonder, beautiful, belief.

The problem the Pharisees have with Jesus isn't that he hasn't done something true, but that he keeps saying stuff that they can't grasp with their senses.  Jesus uses one word constantly that implies suspending the senses - believe.  

I think one of the biggest problems we have with this word is we give try to give it characteristics it was never supposed to have.  We somehow think that in order to believe we have to see proof, or taste it's goodness, or hear its crescendo.  All we have to do to believe is suspend our senses and let that something else exist the way it was created to exist.

We may just find that when we stop expecting our beliefs to create sight, our faith to construct sound, and our theologies to develop taste, believing is an essential part of who we are.  We find that God was simply right there the whole time in that realm of otherness.

Gates (Day 36 of Lent)

I used to have a job at Hobby airport fueling airplanes.  One day, my buddy Ryan and I decided to play a prank on the secretary.  For some reason, there was a dog cage inside the hangar, and it was big enough for me to fit in.  We thought it'd be a great idea for me to crawl inside of the cage and he would put a blanket over it, hiding me under the cover.  So, I crawled into the dog-sized space and waited for the innocent woman.

Ryan went to the woman's office and told her she had to come see the dog that was outside.  The woman loved dogs, so she happily obliged.  I couldn't see out of the cage, but I could hear perfectly fine.  When she drew close, I growled slowly and then barked with all the power I had in me.  She screamed as Ryan pulled off the blanket, and when she realized it was me she laughed hysterically.  I can still hear the lady's gruff smoker's voice, "I'm gonna get you Jon Tucker!"  

This story doesn't really have anything to do with what Jesus says in today's passage, but it does have one thing in common:  a cage.  

There are several things to be noted about a cage.  It confines something.  There is usually one way in and one way out.  There is a door, or gate at the front of it.  In my case with the dog cage, it had to be opened from the outside, so Ryan was my gatekeeper.  I would have really freaked out had he left me in there because I didn't have a way out.  Jesus uses a story about a sheep pen, a gatekeeper, a gate, sheep, and a shepherd to describe our relationship with him.  

He says that the sheep know the voice of the shepherd.  The gatekeeper is sort of like the bouncer at a club.  He opens the gate, closes the gate, and probably maintains the place.  But, the shepherd knows the sheep.  He's the one who grooms the sheep, and takes care of any illness.  He probably goes out to the pasture with the sheep as they feed, and watches over them.  He keeps an eye out on the periphery to make sure there are no predators around waiting to pounce on one of the valued sheep.  

Jesus claims here that he is both the Gate and the Good Shepherd.  Not only do the sheep know the sound of his voice, but they travel through him to find pasture, or freedom.  Now, one thing to point out is that sheep don't talk (at least in a way humans understand).  When the sheep get to the gate, they don't ask, "Sir, will you let us out?  We have to pee!"  They simply walk through behind the shepherd, following his lead.  There isn't much pasture inside the confines of the pen, but it is a safe place to rest.  Outside of the pen is where the sustenance is.  The sheep require both, but they must travel outside the pen to find freedom and sustenance.

There are threats to sheep.  For one, there are thieves who want to steal.  Sheep are currency.  To own sheep is to have a part in the economy, to have the ability to trade.  There are predators outside of the pen.  Wolves love the taste of sheep, so they'll constantly be on the prowl waiting for the chance to strike.  If the shepherd gets sick, and can't tend to his sheep, the sheep are sort of lost.  They're not very smart, as it's been said that even when the gate is open, sheep will still wait for their shepherd to lead them out of the pen.  Sheep have been known to starve inside their own open pens!  

Jesus is talking like this because he loves his audience like a shepherd loves his sheep.  Jesus knows that there are thieves all around him like religious scholars and Pharisees and government officials who are trying to exploit, kill, and destroy his followers.  There are dangers all around.  So, in the best way he can, he describes to the audience how he is concerned with the freedom of his sheep.  The gate remains open so people can travel through freely.  There are no I.D.'s required, no bag checks.  

When we stay close-minded to open pasture, a part of us dies.  Even though the gate is open and we see green grass just yards away, we convince ourselves that it's too dangerous to go there.  So, we convince ourselves that what we know is all there is, and convince ourselves that there really isn't freedom outside of that.  Jesus invites us to walk in and out freely.  He doesn't force us in or out, but he stays open.  He invites us to get out of our boxes, most of which have been indoctrinated, and try some new pasture.  When we stay in our pens of life, we are actually confining ourselves.  Although the ability to get out is there, and the access is there, fear paralyzes us.  Not only that, but messages keep flooding our heads telling us, "This is the truth!  This is the truth!  This is the truth!"  We get so deluded by adopting other people's belief systems that we find ourselves stuck, staring at the luscious green grass that's just through the gate, but we can't seem to move.  

If we are experiencing freedom, and we have everything we need, then chances are we have ventured outside of our own little pens.  Some of us have talked to God along the way, and some of us haven't.  Jesus doesn't say that the sheep must acknowledge the gate, but simply walk through it.  Some sheep probably don't even recognize the gate is even there.  But, something or someone had to lead.  Someone had to break us out of the cage that we grew up in.  Someone had to break us out of the religious sheep pen.  Someone had to lead us out of bondage.  Wherever we find ourselves in life, we are following something or someone.  That something or someone is either leading us to freedom or leading us to exploitation. 

Shepherds lay down their lives for their sheep.  If we've ever experienced a religious leader, or government official who didn't seem like they wanted to lay their lives down for us, chances are they were in it for something else like money or status.  Who are our leaders?  Who is leading us to freedom?  If we are honest with ourselves and are truly experiencing freedom, we know it wasn't our idea.  From the day of birth, we are told what to do.  We were told what gender we were, were told what was right, what was wrong, what we could eat and couldn't eat.  Most of us break out of this at some point, and for others it takes a long time.  If we've broken out of the pen, whose voice led us out? We only followed.  If we gave up on religion, whose voice did we follow to freedom?  If we've tapped out of all things spiritual, whose voice is leading us to freedom?  

Jesus invites us to break out of our pens.  He doesn't tell us to pray some prayer or get baptized or say twenty hail Mary's.  He tells us through the scriptures that he loves us so much that he wants to do everything he can to help us experience freedom.  Whether it's inside or outside of religion, freedom is available and accessible to all.  There is no generalization to freedom or following Jesus.  Each of us has our own way of finding our path.  The voice sounds differently to each of us.  The question is, are we paying attention?  If we can do whatever we want, whenever we want, then chances are we have learned how to pay attention to the shepherd's voice.  

The Shepherd loves us just the way we are.  He isn't a bouncer who requires an I.D., but a Gate who simply wants us to be open for passage to freedom.  

Blind (Day 35 of Lent)

"I came into the world to bring everything into the clear light of day, making all the distinctions clear, so that those who have never seen will see, and those who have made a great pretense of seeing will be exposed as blind."  John 9:39

The art of writing can be used as a way to hurt people.  This is my experience, and it goes back a long way.  It had to do with what I claimed was true.  Accepting whatever doctrines or claims that came my way as a kid and teenager, I inherited a faith that was not my own.  Because of that, I was never introduced to the art of questioning.  And yes, questioning is an art form.  In my experience in the Christian faith, I've met two types of people - those who claim the truth and those who acknowledge they don't know anything about God but believe in Him.  I can claim allegiance to both sides.

In today's passage, these two types of people are presented to us in the restoration of the blind man.  In the passage before, we are told that Jesus made a paste out of his spit and dirt, and rubbed it on the man's eyes.  After he went and washed it out in the pool of Siloam, he could see for the first time ever.  The Pharisees couldn't believe it, so they interrogated the man and his parents.  Over and over again, the man told the Pharisees that he didn't know who opened his eyes or where Jesus came from.  The Pharisees weren't satisfied.  They told the man, "We know for sure that God spoke to Moses, our ancestor, but this man (Jesus) is an impostor."  

Because the Pharisees "knew" that God had spoken to Moses, they called themselves disciples of Moses.  They were completely close-minded to the possibility that God could use other people as well. Since the ten commandments and hundreds of other laws came through Moses, they devoted their lives to those laws.  They were so devoted that they actually boxed themselves into a way of life that was completely closed off to any new, "threatening" ideas and perspectives.  

We're told that the blind man didn't know anything about God or Jesus.  When the Pharisees said that Jesus was an impostor, the man said, "That's neither here nor there.  I don't know anything about that.  All I know for sure is that I was blind but now I see."  In fact, Jesus asks the man (who he had just healed by the way) if he believed in the Son of Man.  The man asked, "Can you point him out to me so I can believe?"  Jesus responded, "You're looking right at him."  The scriptures say that when this happened, the man worshiped Jesus.  

At the end of the passage, Jesus says he came to do two things:  Expose the blindness of the ones who claim to know everything, and to bring sight to the ones who couldn't see all along.  

Are we blind or do we know everything?  

Here are some of the thought processes that went on in my own head when I "knew everything":  I was always right; homosexuals were going to hell; God hated divorce; God demanded good works from me; the more I did, the more God loved me; everything I believed was right and true; people who thought differently than me were wrong and needed to be corrected.  

There is another side of the spectrum in "knowing everything" as well.  Some of those thought processes are:  There is no God; God hates me; Jesus wasn't real; God is wrathful; Christians are hypocrites; religion is false; Mormonism is a cult; Muslims are false prophets.

Then, we have blindness.  Blindness is like a spiritual poverty.  We understand deep in our bones that we don't have what it takes to get through this life on our own, but we can't possibly understand or know who God is or what he/she is like.  We've been told by those who "know everything" that God is like this or like that, and we have even believed it for a time.  We find out though that the less we know, the more we believe.  We find ourselves unable to claim any sort of truth about God or Jesus.  When conversations come up about God, and people talk about him as if they've talked with him personally, we feel left out.  We sense deep in our hearts that we have a spiritual connection with a power greater than ourselves, but we just can't put into terms well enough to have a fluid conversation about it.  We have way more questions than answers.  In fact, we don't really have any answers, just beliefs.  

As much as I would like to claim that those who "know everything" are wrong, I'm not going to do that here.  What Jesus tells us is that he's come to restore the sight of both sides of the fence.  The only difference is that the ones who know everything must first have their blindness exposed so their sight can be restored.  Those who are already blind and don't know anything about God or anything spiritual or religious, are the ones who are waiting for restored sight - who are seeking truth but just can't see it.  

I used to say that religion is oppressive and puts a box around everything.  I don't think that anymore.  Religion doesn't make decisions for people, people make decisions for themselves.  It's people who oppress and put a box around everything, religious or not.  Atheists and agnostics can be just as close-minded as Christians, and close-mindedness is like saying "I know everything."  As dark as it may seem at first, open-mindedness is like journeying with no sight.  The mind's eye gives shadowy recollections of possibilities and intuitions, leading us clumsily down a path that is uncertain.  It's scary walking in the pitch black not knowing which way to turn or what's right in front of us.  However, the more we walk in the dark, the more we develop a faith that something or someone is guiding us.  We can't attribute characteristics or personalities to this essence, but our hearts beat in tune with a rhythm that wasn't there before.  We are blind, but we somehow see.  

Siloam (Day 34 of Lent)

"Walking down the street, Jesus saw a man blind from birth.  His disciples asked, "Rabbi, who sinned: this man or his parents, causing him to be born blind?"  Jesus said, "You're asking the wrong question.  You're looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here.  Look instead for what God can do."  John 9:1-4

Since the Torah portrayed cases in which people who had sinned were struck with blindness, it's understandable why the disciples assumed that sin had caused this man's blindness.  What Jesus does is completely against Mosaic law.  Not only does he use spit to heal the man, but he breaks the Sabbath.  Jesus is really pissing off the Pharisees and anyone else who strictly follows Jewish law.

The consequences for coming into contact with saliva are extreme, like being forced to live outside of the village.  When this man is interrogated by the people and the Pharisees, he leaves out the part about the spit.  He jumps to the part where Jesus rubs paste in his eyes.  This man obviously doesn't want to be exiled, because he's already lived literal darkness since the day of birth.  

There are many implications in this passage, and I won't have time to go through them all right now.  As Jesus makes the paste out of his spit and clay, he tells the disciples that he is the world's Light.  Then, he proceeds to rub the paste on the man's eyes, and tells him to go wash in the pool of Siloam.  The man follows Jesus's orders, and his sight is restored.  What was previously deemed a symptom of sin was now claimed a work of restoration - an opportunity for God to work.

What Jesus is essentially saying in this passage is that we are no longer held hostage by the law of Moses.  One person's sin is no longer a reason for another person's rebuke.  Instead, Jesus tells us to look instead for what God can do.  

While Christians are not bound to Jewish law, there is still this underlying taboo against the "big" sins like adultery, homosexuality, and premarital sex.  I don't deny that these are forbidden in the Old Testament.  It only takes a few minutes to run down the litany of ways to "get clean" from these sins.  For the Christian to remain in Old Testament consequences for these acts is to deny what Jesus does with this blind man.  Jesus in fact doesn't tell the blind man to go outside the camp for seven days after he uses spit to restore his sight.  He simply tells him to go and wash his eyes out.  For the Pharisees, going to wash is an atonement for much "smaller" sins, and using spit is considered a very unclean insult, requiring much more atonement than a simple wash.  

As a Christian, I was indoctrinated more into the world of Jewish law than the new covenant of Christ from my early years.  As I've grown older, I've become more like the unorthodox prostitute Rahab than the "by the book" Pharisees.  What the Pharisees don't understand is grace.  And, when it comes to our sin, Jesus is more concerned with what he can do to bring restoration than what we can do to bring condemnation.  What does this mean for us?

I am a sinner.  I am a fool to be exact.  I'm an obnoxious drunk on a bad day, and a drink away from being belligerent on a good day.  I'm guilty of adultery, I judge people I don't agree with on a daily basis, and I smoke like a chimney.  In no way am I living by the book.  I break the ten commandments on a daily basis.  I don't say all this to boast about how bad I am, but to boast about the implications of what the work of Jesus means.  We are invited into a way of life that doesn't ask questions like, "What should we do about this person's sin?"  We are invited to wonder, "Hmmm. I wonder how God's going to restore this?"  

If we are still going around picking on other people's defaults like we're better than them, and wondering how we need to help that person quit sinning, we're missing something.  First, we're missing the fact that we are just as messed up as them.  When we look at the world as a product and manufacturer of sin, we are avoiding our own factories of sin.  

Sin is one more opportunity for God to make something beautiful, and the beauty does not come from our words or works.  It's not up to me to have a "come to Jesus" talk with someone about how they went and got drunk last night or slept around.  It's up to me to live out the question, "How are you going to work, God?"  

Jesus uses the obscene to restore.  He takes things that are completely unorthodox and counter-religious, and uses them to his benefit, to bring restoration to the world.  He takes things like alcoholism and uses it to restore the alcoholic, and bring light to the darkness of another alcoholic.  He's taken my complete inconsideration for the institution of marriage, and given me the ability to see beauty in a chaotic relationship.  

When we look at the religious taboos as unredeemable and against God, we are the ones who are actually working against God.  Instead of wondering how God is bringing restoration to something broken, we often times help break the situation or person even more.  I believe in a God today who doesn't hold us to the standards of Jewish law, but holds us to standards of restoration and wholeness.  How much freedom do we want?  

I believe that Jesus sees each of us as perfect images of God.  He accepts us just as we are, and doesn't line us up according to how sinful we are.  We are all just as sinful as the next person, and loved just as we are.  There is nothing we have ever done or will do that will change how God loves us.  We are the ones who have a problem loving ourselves and showing grace to ourselves.  We have the opportunity to experience a journey to wholeness when we open our eyes to the grace of God.  Our focus shifts from how "bad" we are to how good God is.  When we awaken to this mystery, we fall in love with a God who loves all of us sinners.  

We get to go out into the world each day, not looking for the next sin to judge but looking for opportunities to take part in the restoration of the world - our own little worlds.  When we gloss over other peoples' wrongdoings and leave those things for God to take care of, we help restore sight to the blind.  When we laugh away our own sins and leave them for God to take care of, we help restore sight to our own blindness.  

Today's Action:  When we see or come face-to-face today with a person who is doing something that we consider wrong, may we stop and say, "God, thank you for restoring this person and me."  Then, do one thing that will make that person's day a little better.  

Spiritual Whiskey (Day 33 of Lent)

"Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead.  You're not in the driver's seat; I am.  Don't run from suffering; embrace it.  Follow me and I'll show you how.  Self-help is no help at all.  Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to saving yourself, your true self.  What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you?  What could you ever trade your soul for?"  Mark 8:34-37

I'm reminded of two homeless friends I lived with in Galveston.  It's only when I look back on that time that I see a role reversal.  At the time, I thought I was the hero, the one who was going to "teach" them how to start living right and getting their lives back together.  

As I read through this passage, I can still hear the little cliches that Stephen would throw out at me as I was bustling around, running like crazy, trying to fix everyone and everything.  God's got us.  God's got us.  I couldn't hear what he said at the time.  I was too busy trying to be the savior, to live in the driver's seat.  In my mind, I was the suffering servant, sacrificing myself in order to help other people.  In reality, I was dead set on being in control, of getting the recognition I deserved for "doing unto others."  I was on a search for a heavenly trophy and an earthly recognition.  

I will never forget how messed up they were.  They were deep in the grips of crack addiction, dominated by the obsession of more.  I was enveloped in the throes of alcoholism and self-absorption, but I just couldn't see it.  God's got us.  God's got us.  When I would come home from work and find them playing Mario Bros. on the Nintendo, or find them smoking pot on the back porch, I would ramp up my energy even more and try to force my control on everyone.  How dare you not do what I want!

The one moment that tenderized my heart was my birthday.  Emotionally and physically, I had disconnected myself from all of my friends and family back home.  I didn't say anything about my birthday.  I figured it wasn't worth it.  

As I sat at my desk at work, a man and a woman walked in holding a balloon they stole from a local bank.  Written on the balloon with black Sharpie were the words, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY JON!"  A slice of pie was covered in plastic wrap.  I was absolutely speechless, and did all I could to not break down.  After I got off of work that day, they planned a birthday party for me, and I had no idea.  When I got home, there was a circle of chairs in front of my house, and about six people from the neighborhood, all suffering from their own forms of addiction and heartache, were sitting and waiting for me.  A cooler sat in the middle of the circle with my favorite beer, Shiner Boch.  In that moment, something was transferred to me from my friends.

If you've ever experienced the darkness of addiction, or been around anyone who has, you know how sad and crazy it is.   Stuff gets stolen.  Lies get told.  Fights happen.  That's all I could see in these folks up to this moment, in this birthday circle.  I saw chaos and commotion in these people.  I saw people who needed a lot of help, and I would be the one to help them, dammit!  God's got us.  God's got us.  

On this simple birthday night, chaos became peace and these people of want became the family I needed.  What they showed me in that few hours was that it was not only possible to embrace suffering, but it was possible to sacrifice themselves amidst suffering.  Though they were fighting the hopeless battle of drug addiction, they went beyond themselves to think of me, a deluded sufferer myself.  

Suffering envelops all of our lives in one way or another.  It comes and it goes.  I'm the type of guy who - when I have physical or emotional pain going on - needs to let everyone know about it.  Self-pity is one of my most-used resources when it comes to suffering.  I want people to feel sorry for me think I'm such a great guy for enduring so much.  But, that's not embracing suffering.  That's me still trying to drive, to lead, and to be in control of the results.  

To embrace suffering, I have to be introspective, which usually doesn't mean screaming from the mountaintops about how I persevere so well.  I have to ask myself hard questions like, "What am I afraid of?"  I don't get to take an emotional painkiller, or take a shot of spiritual whiskey.  I have to let it be.  The only way to find the light is to take a plunge into the darkness sometimes.  If there's no lesson to be learned, I'm missing out on something vital for my growth.  

Jesus invites us to embrace suffering.  He tells us that it's necessary for him to be tried by the religion scholars, high priests, and government officials.  He tells us that it's necessary to be found guilty and killed.  He tells us its necessary to rise again after three days.  

I believe that suffering is necessary.  In these times of life, there's something inside me that's getting tried, found guilty, and killed.  If I don't let the process happen, and get out of the driver's seat, it may feel good but the part of me that needs to die is going to keep lingering and haunting me until I do let it die.  The only way to rise up again is to let suffering show me what parts of me need to die.  Quietly enduring with prayer and honesty, I will know what part of me is expired.  Letting the pain take its course, it seems there's no possible way to get through.  A good sign that I'm not in the driver's seat during suffering is when I don't see the way out.  It means that I am not groping around in the dark trying to find quick fixes.  What happens is I'll find a solution that lasts, a solution that replaces the part of me that needed to die. 

Self-sacrifice is so hard because I have so many companions that I've held onto like brothers.  Anger, control, and lust have treated me so tolerantly over the years that I don't believe I need to sacrifice these parts of myself.  They've convinced me that they're necessary for living.  Eventually, though, they start causing me trouble.  I'll yell at someone at work, or try to be the owner of the restaurant I work at, or go over on my Internet bill because of all the porn videos I've watched.  When these things stack up, I experience an extreme amount of emotional pain, but I can see clearly the parts of me that need to die.  When I can see them, I let the pain take it's toll and eventually see it's replacement.  The replacement is a little resurrection of my heart, a new found outlook in a place that used to be solely darkness.  

I believe in a God who isn't removed from the suffering that we humans endure throughout life.  I believe this God felt the pain, let it take its toll, died, and found life again.  A God who knows what it's like to suffer, but who also knows what it's like on the other side, is a God I want to know deeply.  God's got us.  God's got us.

Today's Action:  What's one way I am suffering today?  Am I trying to put Band-Aids on it, or am I letting the pain run its course?  What part of me is dying (anger, fear, self-pity, etc.)?