Identity

The following is an exercise I recently completed in response to reading Henri Nouwen's The Return of the Prodigal Son in which I was to record who I thought I was.  I wrote this in a furious manner without much edit.  Praying throughout, I was honest with my opinion of myself and the results were not so pretty.  The beautiful thing was that while this exercise was intended to only include my own opinion of myself, I laid bare my spirit before God and He rewrote my identity.  I am still struggling with loving myself in the hopes of loving others, but this exercise allowed to face the lies I've bought about myself and to hear God whisper a new name into my ear.

"Michael"

by Michael

I'm not sure I truly even know my own motives.  Nouwen said this about how the "distant land" dehumanizes us. I too feel oddly unknowable even by myself, mostly by myself.  I feel very alone, uncool, unlovable, unneeded.  But most of all, I believe myself to be a loser, a failure.  Everything I have ever given myself to, I have failed to succeed. Sure there were moments of victory but mainly they were speed bumps on the road of defeat.  I am not attractive, I am not smart, I am lazy, self-serving and greedy.  I am lustful, but what saddens me most, ironically, is that I don't care anymore.  I turn off the most special gift given to me, my passion for life, because I am so tired of failing and feeling hurt.  So, I choose simply not to feel at all and miss all the good too.  This kills me and the cycle of self-degradation only intensifies.

"Michael"

by the Father

You are my son, my beloved, on whom my favor rests.  I made you and I love you, always my son, always.  I will never forsake you.  I know your hurt and I know your mistakes too and I forgive you completely.  I love you.  I want you Michael, more than you know; I like you, you are special in my eyes.  I wept when I formed you in your mother's womb, you are so beautiful.  I see myself in you, a fiery passion to live and to love, an earnest desire to be true.  You are victorious, even though you have felt defeat, they were only speed bumps on the path of life.  I have given you a special gift: my love, and with that gift I give you your heart's desire.  So love Michael, because I love you.

St. Francis’ Peace Prayer

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. Where there is sadness, joy. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love. For it is in giving that we receive. It is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life. Amen. 

Joy Unfinished

This is a draft of a blog I began writing back in August of 2010.  The subject of this blog, "joy," stunned me back then and I have done much soul-searching concerning its lack in my life and the lives of those around me. I did not finish this blog because I was not finished exploring the topic of joy. So I give you this rough draft, in basically the unfinished form it was left in and wonder how you would fill in the gaps. I have come to my own conclusions and that has been a joy in itself.  

Michala, Mary Grace, and I recently visited my childhood home of Pawleys Island, SC.  While we stuffed ourselves on ribs and boiled peanuts, our sense of awe was also filled with the breath-taking beauty of the South Carolina lowcountry.  Some folks think us South Carolinians are arrogant (and they are probably right) but it is hard not to have a pride of life living in a place with such a sense of mystique.  Located a few miles north of Pawleys is an old plantation that has been reinvented as an enormous sculpture garden called Brookgreen Gardens.  Leaving Mary Grace with her Papa Johnny, Michala and I set out to continue our gluttonous consumption of beauty, and we were not disappointed. Brookgreen is larger than life, spanning 9,000 acres and several miles of coast upon the Waccamaw River.  Michala and I forgot about the 90 plus degree weather coupled with an almost surreal level of humidity as we walked beneath the limbs of 300 year-old, moss draped live oak trees.  We felt like kids again in this wonderful place, as if we had walked through a wardrobe to get to this Narnia.  Yet the one thing that most struck me, seered my soul even, was the sculpture entitled "Frog Baby" (pictured above).  In this artist's depiction of young boy's reaction after he has snared two frogs, the frog baby gazes heavenward with a smile that leaves the viewer both inwardly renewed and yet haunted to the core.  Most of the people in our group produced similar outward reation, that of laughter mixed with a hint of scoff.  Yet the boy's face has not failed to leave me alone in the three weeks since we met.  In fact it is more of a haunting than anything, the way it stays with me.  I have been left to ponder why would this expression of sheer joy be haunting? Inside each of us is alonging for true joy, but the pains of this life often choke to death any eruption of joy in our lives.

I saw that same face agian this morning upon my daughter.  As we were preparring for church this morning, I took it upon my self to dance with Mary Grace. I dipped and dunked as she held on to me, curious as to what brough on such silliness and then I spun her around.  At first her face only knew shock, but that was quickly wiped away by joy, leaving me looking into the smile of the frog baby.

True Grit: Review and Reflection

As the snow fell on the Colorado Foothills this past Wednesday, excitement grew within my home.  This night we were to see True Grit, the new Coen Brothers movie starring one of my favorite actors, Jeff Bridges.  I received an ominous call from our viewing companion in which the soundness of our plan was challenged due to the winter weather.  I reminded my friend of the movie's title and all question of canceling was put to rest.  While this resembled humor, I was dead serious, I busting at the seams to see this movie. Rarely do movies exceed my expectations and I had rather high ones for this film. Thankfully, I was surprised by this work of art.  I know that our culture (especially my generation) has devalued the use of superlatives by claiming that every new item, event, movie, song, or even candy bar is "epic" or "life-changing."  So with no small amount of trepidation I can say that True Grit was one of the best movies I have ever seen.  While no doubt many other works of great cinema have alluded me, this was a stroke of genius compared to the stale stories I have endured over my film-viewing experience.  It contained rich characters, surprising dialogue, dark humor, intensely-understated imagery, a compelling score of reinvented hymns, and a pace that demanded your attention; it was simply a good story.  The movie forced me to count the severe cost of revenge, to hope for redemption in even the most stubborn, and to wonder if I could possibly tell such a captivating story.  When the show was over, I just sat silent in my chair, paralyzed by the sheer beauty of it all.  I love these moments when I try not to put thoughts or words to what I am experiencing, but I just simply experience it.  N. T. Wright shares a story of a classical ballerina who after performing an epic piece is asked what it meant.  She replies, "If I could express what it meant in words, I would not have to dance it."  I pray for more story-telling, more art, more dance such as this, leaving us with a burning hearts and inadequate words.

A Community Prayer for Courage

Abba, forgive us for not listening to your voice.  We are yours, grant us the courage to live in that reality.  May we take bold risks in your name and have the strength of heart to hope in you.  Teach us to love each other in a manner we currently do not understand, to be foolish for you. 


Be our God and may we be your people.  


Guard us from ourselves and the false demands of others. Help us to know our inheritance as your sons and daughters. May we find our worth in you. May we find contentment in you and may we cease striving after these things everywhere else.  Give us eyes to see you in the least of these our brothers and sisters. Lord, have mercy on us. Amen.

MLK Jr.'s "I have a Dream Speech

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation.

So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

The Social Network: A Response

I am rather refreshed when I encounter a good movie.  Unfortunately, that occurs less and less often these days.  However, I was pleasantly surprised by The Social Network, the story behind Facebook and its founder, Mark Zuckerberg.  This movie has all those classic aspects that make a film wonderful: compelling characters, intelligent plot structure, tension and release; but it also offers an emotional bang through its timeliness; in general with the popularity of Facebook and in particular with my own life.  I was riveted at the tenacity of Mark in his entrepreneurial quest because of my own similar aspirations.  I want Mark's drive, work-ethic, and clarity of mission and yet I do not envy him.  His is, in a way, an oddly tragic story.  Despite being the youngest billionaire in the world, the king of social connecting, seems utterly disconnected.

Nailing down Mark's reason for pursuing Facebook is hard, but I believe it is a yearning to be accepted, to belong.  And yet that passion for friendship pushes away his only friend.  I felt pity on Mark in the final scene as keeps refreshing his computer, waiting for a friend confirmation. Jesus' once said, "what does it profit a man if he gains the world but forfeits his soul?"  I was challenged to asses my own definitions of success.  

So often, success is bound up in material things such as money and fame.  I know that behind my sometimes pleasant-appearing character, a selfish boy is lurking, wanting all eyes and all praise on him.  This is why I, like many others, take criticism so hard, because critique says "you can do better" and what I want to hear is "you are perfect."  In essence, I want to be God.  And yet, gracefully, I am not.

I once heard that sin is merely the perversion of something good.  For example, sex was created to be a beautiful gift that brought life into the world, but perversion has turned it into something vastly different, bringing instead death into our world.  There is something good underneath the scars of our pride: a longing to be like God, the perversion is we dropped the "like" from that statement.  We have always had a divine spark within that begs us to be something more than we currently are; not just better, but utterly different.  And this is indeed a goal worth dying for.

Mark Zuckerberg wanted to be something different and focused his vision upon that goal with piercing clarity.  Yet he lacked clarity in what it meant to be different, in what his soul truly longed for and he found himself further away than when he started.  Success in life is not bound up in accomplishments, accolades, money, or even relationships but in being like the one whose name is synonymous with love.  This and only this can satisfy the longings of our souls.  At the risk of sounding cliche, we are all like Mark waiting for the right person to approve our friend request, hoping that it will somehow change us, but I am afraid they rarely do. The approval we seek is seen most clearly in the life and death of Jesus, God's way of saying He accepts us.  And it this acceptance, perhaps only this acceptance, that will actually change us.

May we as a people seek redemption for our perverted attempts at being like God and filter all our markers of success through the lens of love.  May we know His love and may it make us different, make us new, and make us like God.  Amen

 

Should

Anyone else ready to give up all their resolutions?

The date is only January 13th and I am already making excuses for my shortcomings. I should not be surprised, this cycle of broken promises is far from new, but each time almost hurts worst than all the previous errors because my failures compound together to form one large witness against me. But for some weird reason, I keep trying, feeble as my efforts may be.

I simply adore Brennen Manning and he knows a thing or two about broken promises. A recovering alcoholic priest (you guess which part he's recovering from), Brennen has fallen off the wagon hard in his life, only to find some morsel of courage large enough to enable him to find his way back on. This morsel he calls "grace." I had the honor to listen to Brennen share his testimony of grace a few years ago and, by God, it changed my life. One quip that stands out to me and I find hard to shake is Brennen's suggestion that we not "should" on ourselves (say it aloud for the full-effect). In essence, throughout our lives we burden ourselves with a list of shoulds, such as, "I should eat 10 servings of vegetables a day," which instead of producing model nutrition creates a sense of worthlessness. I should listen to Brennen more.

This is not to say that we do not create and go after goals, but that we do so not out of obligation but in a joyful play-dance as the beloved of our Father. I know that that last sentence has a hidden "should" in there, because even as I write these words, a sinking feeling develops in my gut that knows how little of what I do is a "joyful play-dance" (whatever that is) but a forced exercise of my duty. And yet, there is a morsel of joy inherent every time I get back up, a sense of grace that even though I have again fallen, I have also again felt a love so amazing that dare not try to explain it.

So, we get back up, joyless as it may seem, because a hope beyond all hope has come to us and made a promise that will never be broken. We get back up, because although there may be little hope in it, we know there is no hope in staying down. We get back up, not because we "should," but because we can.

We get back up.

Home with the Ones I Love

Yesterday, Michala, Mary Grace, and I headed over the mountains and through the woods to, well, Las Vegas, to catch a connection to Arkansas and eventually grandmother’s house (we call her Granny). Waking at 5 in the morning and finishing our trip at a quarter after midnight is an act of lunacy, yet when it comes to family we throw sanity out the window. Mary Grace has been gearing up to not only see her Granny but also Granny's dog, Buddy. When we asked her about going to see Granny, she would reply, "buh-ey (she has a slight enunciation problem with the d's in Buddy's name, which is strange cause she says my name perfectly)!" Now that we are all here and have at least a partial night of sleep under our belts, the morning brings peace. I love my family and, I tell you, I would do anything for them.


This adoration for my family has always challenged me when I am confronted by what Jesus says about family. He draws a hard-line when it comes to family, even His own. There is a story where Jesus is approached asking about his family and he responds with an almost dismissive tone, "Who are my mothers and brothers? Here are my mother and my brothers, everyone who hears the word of God and does it." The Prince of Peace also says things like, "I have come to set a man against his family and a woman against hers." Like so many of his words, I read these and feel the need to explain them away or simply wish they were not there at all. Jesus has a way of exposing us and when I read these words I feel naked and I'm not sure I even know why. I feel myself asking, "Well, Jesus, what am I supposed to do, just leave my family? That doesn't seem like love, but that is what I feel in your words."

I am reading a book named The Challenge of Jesus by N. T. Wright( aptly titled, in my opinion). In this book, Wright argues that we must read the narratives about Jesus in light of His Jewish roots and that he brought a message of Judgment and Vindication. Judgment on Israel for failing to be the "light of the world" and vindication for God in himself. Heady stuff, I know, but good stuff too. Wright sees family as one of the defining factors of Judaism, connecting them to Abraham and his promise but also excluding everyone else. Jesus says these things about family to expose their pride and exclusiveness, because the promise given to Abraham was for all nations and Jesus has come to deliver that promise to all nations, to you and to me.

We read Jesus' words through a lens, we have too. He was a man like us and spoke to his context and time, albeit timelessly. So we must hear his words through a filter, we must learn to listen with Jewish ears, because if not we miss his points altogether, that the Kingdom of God is at hand and the love that it gives is not limited to our own clan but to our neighbors and even to our enemies. I know that being a part of this Kingdom means I love my family, but it also holds radical connotations that demand me to love the stranger just as much, perhaps even more. Which is interesting because if we are honest sometimes our family's are the hardest one's to love, they know how to push our buttons, we have years of practice learning how to irritate one another, but every year we make sacrifices to simply be together; insanity, I know. But it is also a beautiful mess. Can we learn from this? Can we learn to love the very people who get at us in all the wrong ways and not just feel OK about them, but to sacrifice for them? Perhaps.
 
Insanity, I know.

Hello 2011

It is that time of the year again, time to resolutely declare change in our lives: New Year's resolutions.  I was going to say that I am not one who partakes in such cliche holiday rituals, but I confess that every year, even if only internally, I dream of doing all the things that I have put off the previous years: get in shape, learn Spanish, read a hundred books, write a book, etc.  I am fascinated with change because I'm not happy with who I am.  This is not a bad fascination but I wish it would move beyond just desire and become a reality.  Just like the multitude who make resolutions, I also fail to see them through.  This bears evidence that change, real change, is rather difficult.  Yet something deep within begs us to push towards a better us.  I think this longing is God-ordained, a desire to return to a full God-image bearing state, a return to paradise. This year I am not going at this sheepishly but full-heartedly and, I hope, not alone.

There is this book called The War of Art that names the enemy of our creative process as resistance.  The author, Steven Pressfield, says that when we feel the greatest resistance to a goal, we should view this goal as the greatest thing we can do.  The greater the difficulty, the greater the reward.  Out of our struggles and sometimes even defeats, we find strength and hopefully victory. 

This blog has been such a blessing for me, fostering a love for writing, but it also serves as an area of severe resistence.  I must write, and I hope that maybe I may write something beautiful and meaningful.  You too must (and I believe will) do something great.  Find your desire and name the enemy of resistance.  My resolution is to commit to this blog, to this strange act of communication, and to you my reader.  This year I will write three blogs every week.  They will range in length, subject-matter, and depth.  I am very excited and also very scared to make this resolution public, because now I am accountable.  Will you join me and make an audacious goal for 2011; make it public and pray for strength and perseverance? 

I sure hope so.