Chapter 9 Out of this World, So to Speak

The morning was misty and miserable and heavy. Here it was mid-December, yet somehow it seemed all wrong. It felt more like the dark side of October, perhaps; after the leaves had fallen.

Just beyond and encircling me were trees and bare bushes and together they resembled death or some skeletal assembly. A few degrees colder, I thought, and a blanket of snow would christen this scene holy and pure. But the sun, even as it hid, regrettably left just enough warmth in its wake to render everything gray and clammy.

And oppressive.

I sat with my legs crossed in the middle of this haphazard circle and soon droplets of moisture were forming on my eyelashes. If I blinked, fake tears rolled down as random, miniature streams on my cheeks, breaching this stoic countenance of mine. It was still—so eerily still—like some code of silence had befallen this plot of land.

It was there that I was once again held captive by something dark and heinous, a serpent bent on removing this mustard seed as it rummaged to find fertile soil in me, way down in the depths of me. Sneering and hissing his lies, I trusted him, of course, as he constricted slowly to purvey a subtle, presumed and foregone conclusion that I am just a body; merely a man.

And because of that, my shell and my smile were always meant to be up against yours—and his and hers. Their skin, their ways; their charm and their warm disposition competing with this frigid display of a man. Or, on random days, vice versa.

You’re cute or maybe not; you’re shy or you’re brash. Pause for a moment while I size you up.

This one here is rich, that one not so much. He’s plain but she’s beautiful. Good thing he’s smart. He’s so damn smart and he always knows what’s next, ahead of everyone else and people like him make me feel stupid. Maybe you too.

Over there, look, she’s so stylish. And athletic. Put her over there in that section. With the other stylish and athletic ones.

Still another screams out: “Not me, I’m an artist, and I’ll paint and dance circles and weave my poetry in and around you.”

Defining me, defining you.

You can’t put on a pound, as hard as you try.

Try as I might, I’ll never lose this weight.

Let me carry a tune to you in this bucket for it will never reach my lips. You sing like an angel, and, well, I can’t.

When you look at a baby, it's just that: a body you can look at and touch. But the person who takes shape within is formed by something you can't see and touch - the Spirit - and becomes a living spirit. So don't be so surprised when I tell you that you have to be 'born from above' - out of this world, so to speak.

I strained my eyes to see and my ears to hear because the stillness was broken ever so slightly by this Word, and the low resonance of a distant cello was gliding over the hair on my arms.

Could it be that these talents and grand exteriors of ours must pale and die first? What skeletal assembly are we? Must we re-think what it means to be re-born, to be christened holy and pure?

I wondered, for there, just beneath entangled brown branches (the very ones holding me prisoner), I could see a lion and he somehow knew peace; in fact, a helpless lamb had just nestled its head into his mane. And next to this I saw a refugee clothed in stunning beauty and he was seated before a table of bounty. And near him, an orphan found love and security and hope. And a home. The sick and the lame and the last and the least were smiling at me from the fringe. All humanity previously cursed began to emerge and they were my equal there, by the light, and a bouquet of green and vivid color began to warm the edges of this cold, gray center.

If this is another world, albeit from my imagination, must I find it as a source of new life?

Knowing my refusal still, he cleared through the trees and he wanted to thrash me out of this cross legged, closed-off posture of humanity into some type of heavenly reality, because I just wasn't getting it.

You're not listening. Let me say it again. Unless a person submits to this original creation - the 'wind hovering over the water' creation, the invisible moving the visible, a baptism into a new life - it's not possible to enter God's kingdom.

It doesn’t even make sense to me, this spirit or wind, nor should I be expected to understand his terms, right? But there his Kingdom was, just beyond, invisible but yet oh so visible to me, and it was breathtaking in its simplicity.

And yes, I wanted to enter it.

Yet, I hesitated, for this body of mine is solid and I can touch it. But wait—it's not as good as his. My mind is nothing like hers. They’ve got it all together and so do you, while we're at it.

If I tell you things that are plain as the hand before your face and you don't believe me, what use is there in telling you of things you can't see, the things of God?

And every time it would begin to make sense, I could hear them disagreeing again, as if I was a child, and they were arguing and they thought I wasn’t listening. But I was. This personified evil, unrelenting, gave little ground as he whispered and taunted; how attractive, to rely on my wit, my charm, my privilege. My body.

Such that it is.

This is the crisis we're in: God-light streamed into the world, but men and women everywhere ran for the darkness. They went for the darkness because they were not really interested in pleasing God.

The day grew even darker then, midday no less, as if it had given up completely. The limbs and the thicket started to close in.

You know well enough how the wind blows this way and that. You hear it rustling through the trees, but you have no idea where it comes from or where it's headed next. That's the way it is with everyone 'born from above' by the wind of God, the Spirit of God.

I did hear it picking up then, and the cello began to deepen—not some discord, no, but of stroke and cadence.

This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life.

I do believe, I do! Out loud I shouted it.

His retreat was clumsy but swift, that of a snake wounded. And my body relaxed all at once. Branches and bushes previously entwined released their knots and more radiance overcame the gray. The lion stood and the lamb stretched lazily beneath him; and together they knew nothing of this world. And there I could imagine that peace prevailed and light persevered and there was no death, no hunger; nothing of the kind.

And it started to snow.

Passages in italics taken from The Gospel of John, Chapter 3 (The Message)

My Shameless Plea

Hey, it's that time of year. Gift giving and receiving and that sort of thing.

I hate doing this--you know, the whole salesman pitch (read this if you doubt me) BUT, if you should happen to need a last minute gift, please consider ordering a copy of So I Go Now (notice that convenient Amazon link nestled nicely to your right).

All of the proceeds (and I mean ALL of the proceeds) go to support The Reclamation Project, which is really a very worthy place for your money to go.

I promise.

My timing is probably not so good since my buddy RWK is coming out with his very own book, but hey, you can buy both of 'em! And the proceeds from the sale of Today at the Mission go to support a very worthy cause as well. You can buy his here.

It's a feel good gift giving thing all around.

Merry Christmas everyone! Thanks for letting me put my shameless plea out there.

The Power to Transform, Redux

With the holidays bearing down hard, it seems there's little time to write. This piece (from last year at this time) seems to reflect my current state, so I'm whipping it back up for another run.

Not much has changed anyway, except that Tucker is now enamored with a deflated football.


The Power to Transform

I wrestled this past weekend with extension cords and Christmas lights and the indoor and outdoor trees that would hold them. I helped unpack villages and hung ornaments and I listened to the right kind of holiday mood music while everything was made just so. I even set up a Nativity scene, on a counter, with a little tiny porcelain baby; one that, I suppose, was overshadowed and perhaps drowned out by the whole exercise.

So it was somewhat surreal, as you can imagine, while sitting outside on the front step, detangling yet another strand of lights (that I should have put away nicely the year before), to see him ride up, ever so strident and sudden, and low to the ground--helmet less and out of place, again, right here on my cul-de-sac. I dropped my clump of lights and ran to him, and embraced him, for it had been a while.

You might know the feeling.

The fragrance of him had turned to all of my favorite outdoor winter smells, of evergreen and frost and northern winds, and it was obviously a cold day, so I offered him some hot chocolate, and he accepted.

“This is a bit awkward,” I said to him, “that you’re showing up as I’m hanging all of these lights and ornaments on all of these bushes and a huge tree in my living room, life size and then some, and all I’ve got of you is nestled in a miniature Nativity scene.”

I said that maybe it should be the other way around, you know: a life size Nativity scene, and a miniature tree.

He smiled, and inspected my half-lit trees and he told me that he really does like the lights, and the color, and he especially likes the music, which makes sense given the whole inspirational art thing. I assumed that he was particularly fond of the old carols, as if there’s somehow more purity there.

He walked around the house with me, into the backyard, where I had accomplished the lighting of three huge evergreens. He played with Tucker and threw him the old ragged soccer ball that he loves to chase. He talked some more, mostly about how this season makes him feel, how love is encouraged and welcomed and how it has the power to transform, if only for a moment. If only for a month or two.

And speaking of love, he loves to tell a good story, above all one that fits the moment, as you probably know, and so he sat down with me and I could see his breath as he launched into one about Christmas trees and how he rides by quite a few of those hastily constructed, pre-cut tree lots and really, there’s not much you can do to beautify them; especially late at night, the trees just huddle together in darkness, dying a little, waiting for something, anything.

“But then,” he continued, “a family comes along out of nowhere and selects one, carries it out of the darkness, pays for it, calls it their own, brings it home and actually takes it inside their house, right into the center of their living room and they put lights on it and ornaments and garland. And they water it and care for it and they make it quite beautiful.”

He let that hang there, but he said it with such a passion that I got a little choked up. I suppose I had never really thought about it that way, but then I came to my senses and swallowed the lump down deep because he was just talking about a stupid tree.

Still, I assume he wanted me to see a picture, and so I let my imagination stroll down that lane and I considered that some people are dead or dying, huddled in the darkness, waiting for something, anything, and we should go and get them. And bring them into our house. And prolong their lives, I guess.

Of course this seasonal metaphor couldn’t last because it was colliding with too many other practical things, and fearing that I might be left sitting all alone with unanswered questions that were based upon my all too rational thoughts on a cold Saturday with a hopelessly tangled mess of lights in front of me, I asked:

“Yeah, but what about January 2nd, when it’s all over and its needles have fallen off and we strip the dead tree of its ornaments and throw it out on the curb and pretty soon it ends up in a wood chipper and becomes mulch by spring time? Huh? What about that?”

Once again, he looked me deep in the eyes and he paused for a moment, too long really, the kind that made me squirm a bit. Even Tucker seemed uncomfortable and he whimpered a little.

He explained that he doesn’t go about telling faulty stories, and maybe it’s my imagination that’s a bit tangled.

Chapter 8 As He Guides Us Through

There's a very busy intersection near my home which is generally passable during the summer months, but when the school year starts, it becomes a royal quagmire, due in no small part to the high school, junior high and two middle schools just down the way. Between parents and teachers and driving teenagers, there are so many stinkin’ cars in the morning that mere traffic lights are unable to prevent the inevitable bottleneck that ensues.

So, starting in late August, a local sheriff gets up very early, presumably leaves his warm bed and ventures out into the middle of this crazy intersection to direct traffic. He parks his squad car nearby, disables the useless lights and then, with great posture in the center of it all, he starts his motions and his pointing. Within moments the traffic is under control and it’s just natural to defer to him and trust him as he guides us through. When it’s light enough, he uses his hands, but on dark winter mornings, he has those bright orange glow sticks and he looks like that guy who waves in big planes at the airport.

The sheriff ultimately does this traffic dance for about an hour or so every school morning, and, as can be expected, the conditions are usually not so favorable. The weather can be brutal, but even more amazing is his ability to stand firm and un-phased in the midst of cars and trucks and school buses speeding past him, each one coming within inches of hitting him as he adeptly navigates us through.

Quite frankly, I'm not sure how he does it—so many vehicles are coming at him at once, each with the option of going straight, left or right, from two lanes in four directions. It's dizzying to comprehend let alone do.

Every morning, though, there he is. I happen to be one who turns left, and when I do, my face is quite near to his for just a split second, and I smile. Not a big cheesy smile, but one with pursed lips and perhaps a slight nod to say “thanks for your sacrifice.” And he smiles back. Now I know he’s probably being paid for this thankless job, but I can’t imagine it’s much, and really, it can’t be worth getting nearly tagged every morning by a bunch of distracted drivers who are putting on their make-up or fiddling with their electric shavers as they juggle their cell phones and yell at their kids for forgetting to do their homework.

Not that I would ever do that.

And, then, as if those people aren’t bad enough, there’s a woman who always ends up behind me and she has a mean ol’ German shepherd that barks incessantly and lunges out from the back seat window and I swear one of these days that dog is gonna bite the nice sheriff or maybe swipe one of his glow sticks.

Anyhow, getting to my point, I suppose by now you've learned that I like to write about these little scenarios that I stumble across every day, the very ones you might also, so that collectively we’ll be reminded of a very real and living Savior.

Perhaps even One who ventures out into the middle of our busy intersections.

You see, life itself can become a royal quagmire for me, and it’s even more so now in the midst of this crazy holiday season. Sometimes I can't tell whether I'm coming or going and the mere traffic lights I’ve placed in my daily existence to somehow control the chaos—well, they're just not doing the trick and I'm kidding myself if I think they are.

And yet, this crazy holiday season is perhaps the best time to visualize an intersection turned bottleneck; one that was quite noticeable to a Father who sent His son to stand firm in the middle of these not so favorable conditions and forego himself for me and for you. This very Word knew that we weren’t quite cutting it on our own and so he left his rather warm existence and he got up and out, disabling our previously held notions of control. And he lives and dances in our midst every day—taking near hits, standing firm and un-phased as he endures lunges and taunts and jeers from unseen evil on our behalf, all to help us adeptly navigate this life, distracted as we are.

Perhaps it should be rather natural for us to thank him for his sacrifice. And trust him and defer to him each day as he guides us through.

I guess I say all of this so that the next time we collectively pass a sheriff or police officer or a crossing guard who is standing in the balance for us, making our commute just a little bit easier—maybe a smile will come when we think how close a certain Someone really is and how he took a thankless job on our behalf.

And who knows? We might just see a Harley parked nearby.

A Brief Interlude

I have a friend who writes for the Ossian Journal, a small paper from a town just south of Fort Wayne. She contributes under a column entitled "A View from the Cross-Road" and through it, she regularly has the opportunity to share her faith. I'm always intrigued by this, because for all of the joys that I experienced growing up in New Jersey (the Boss, the beach, the bagels), let me just say for the record--this sort of thing would never fly there. Got to love Indiana.

I'm always touched by what Peggy writes, but something about this latest piece really resonated with me. Perhaps I sensed she was speaking for me, or, maybe the simplicity of it all just hit me like a ton of bricks. Either way, I felt it was worth repeating here, as a brief interlude away from my wandering, rambling chapters.

I hope it blesses you as it did me.

A View From The Cross-Road
by Peggy Barnell

These Things I Know

The Christmas holiday always seems to put me in a reflective state of mind. In the middle of the hustle and bustle that comes with the season, there is for me, the desire to slow down and take stock, to assess the direction my life is headed and the person I have become. It's a natural thing, I think, as one year draws to a close and another begins. And it's a time to appreciate the basics that we sometimes take for granted - like family and friends and God's presence in our lives.

As I look back on twenty years of being a Christ-follower, I am thankful for the truths that He has illuminated for me, and for the tender mercy He has shown to me through the years. My hope is to never stop growing and maturing. But for the moment, I pause to consider a few of the things I have learned on my journey thus far.

I know that typically it is much easier to see God at work in our lives in hindsight, than it is to recognize His hand in our present circumstances. And He is too good to be interested in anything less than the entire and eternal perspective of our lives.

I know the Jesus of the bible is real. Life is no picnic. Following Jesus is sometimes difficult and painful, at other times it is pure joy - but it works for me, as well as for countless others. And I would not trade His presence in my life with anything else I could wish for.

I know God loves all people. He is not white or black or red or Baptist or Catholic or Republican or Democrat, or even American. We all study God through the eyes of our individual intellect, heritage and circumstance, but He is bigger than any of those factors. At times when I have believed I may have a little piece of God figured out, He rocks my world and reminds me in the process that He will blow the walls out of any boxed-in thinking that I might try to confine Him with.

I know Christmas is not merely a warm, fuzzy fable. The babe in the manger did not stay a baby. He grew into a strong man whose perfect life became the way for us to know God - and whose death and resurrection paved the way for our future in heaven.

I know that in nearly every situation, I have a choice in how I respond. And I know God is faithful to me even when I fail Him. I am so thankful for the mercy and patience He has shown to me throughout my life. I know that without Him, I would be lost.

Wishing you and yours a Merry Christmas and a blessed New Year. I pray that you know the peace that Jesus brings.

Isaiah 9: 6-7 For a child has been born - for us! The gift of a son - for us! He'll take over the running of the world. His name will be Amazing Counselor, Strong God, Eternal Father, Prince of Wholeness. His ruling authority will grow, and there'll be no limits to the wholeness he brings.