And you may find yourself
behind the wheel of a large automobile.
And you may find yourself
in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife.
And you may ask yourself,
Well...How did I get here?
And you may ask yourself
How do I work this?
And you may ask yourself
Where is that large automobile?
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!
Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...
Talking Heads (Once in a Lifetime)
The early morning skies have craved some citrus hue of late, and this particular Monday was no exception. I turned eastward to start the week’s whirlwind, again, driving headlong into my very own tangerine dream.
Up ahead, misty white exhaust swirled around the gathering cars at the red light, each with drivers casually sipping their steaming coffee. I was no different; I had settled into the leather seats of my nice German car and turned up the dial just so to heat them. The outside temperature read 3 degrees, though I was quite cozy on the inside.
And David Byrne was serendipitously waxing on and on and on.
So, as I was entertaining the irony of my indoor comfort (belying the outdoor tundra), just ahead of me, these man-made car clouds concealed a solitary figure waiting at the light. His left hand was on his knee, and with his right he was racing that old Harley engine.
Now, there’s no amount of clothing that could fully protect this man, at least in these types of temperatures, but I knew (even as I imagined him) that he really didn’t care much about comfort for himself. His was a unique way of constant sacrifice, ever focused upon leveling this stacked and hugely lopsided deck called humanity.
Same as it ever was.
The light turned green and I pressed ahead with the pack, finding my own comfort in these thoughts. But, wouldn’t you know, he pulled over and motioned me to the side of the road.
Damn. Why couldn’t he return in the spring, or at least when the temperatures achieved some form of sanity?
I swerved to the right shoulder and parked right behind him. It was so stinkin’ cold, or at least it looked like it was, and so I was conflicted about getting out. I decided to stay in the car as he got off his bike and walked toward me. Fighting the instinct to reach for my license and registration, I lowered my window with the touch of a button and he reached in to hug me, which caught me by surprise.
He entered my zone of comfort to touch me.
Same as it ever was.
After he let go, I jumped out quickly, you know, to do the hug right and his smell was familiar—like always, it was a beautiful mixture of the outdoors and ransomed leather. Today it reminded me of winter’s dominance; of frosted evergreens and distant fireplace smoke.
I pulled back from the embrace and he left his hands on my face and they were surprisingly warm.
I’ve missed you, he blurted out, his breath visible in this arctic air.
Not: why did you disobey me? Not: where have you been? Just:
I’ve missed you.
Yeah, I’ve been sidetracked, it would seem.
Same as it ever was.
I dug my hands into my pockets and looked at the horizon. Then I looked over at my gloves, which I had left on my front seat.
Are you ready to come back? He wasn't shivering, but I was.
Of course I knew that I hadn’t been following him very closely. But, to me, it seemed less of a black and white issue; to come back I would actually have to leave, completely. His distance always seems more gradual and retractable at any time, while I attended to other seemingly important details.
Same as it ever was.
Still, much has been written recently of all that clouds my intentions, noble as they are; or at least I've danced around them from time to time. But, I suppose in so doing, the craved reality of him is indeed quite far off, and I know I’m missing the adventure.
I’m ready, I told him. But every time I explode out of the blocks, I fall flat on my face. It seemed like a fitting metaphor. By the way, I was thinking less of track and field, and more of those slalom skiers. You know, given the temperatures.
He smiled. He watched the cars going by and then he leaned against my car.
Just get back up.
Just get back up? That’s the wisdom I’m getting from this Deity?
Jeff, you have my grace and it will not be withdrawn. Take the discomfort of failure and the wounds of falling down and turn them into a blessing for someone else. Don’t retreat back into your own comfort and wealth to lick your wounds. Come and find me out here, where I’m at work, and when you arrive, give me your brokenness. Trust me when I say that pretty soon, you won’t be falling down quite as often.
He climbed back on his ride. He raced his engine to warm it up and turned his head as he left.
Just get back up, Jeff.
And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
I could barely feel my toes as he rumbled away. Friends and neighbors on their way to work stared at me on the side of the road, wondering what possessed me to leave the inside of my gloriously warm car.
And you may ask yourself
Am I right?
Am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
MY GOD! WHAT HAVE I DONE?
I returned to my now fully heated seat. The outdoor temperature had risen a whole degree to four. I put my gloves on to return some sense of feeling to my fingertips and I merged back on the road behind a passing car, its exhaust rising defiantly to conceal the pigment of the fruit inspired sunrise.
And I was comfortable once more as the Word was getting out. The song was just ending by that point.
Same as it ever was.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Chapter 11 On the Altar of Grace
Well now, everything dies, baby, that's a fact,
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back.
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty,
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City
Bruce Springsteen, Atlantic City
The Boss is breathing through these speakers, scratchy and wanting. He’s assuring me that everything dies. I know this, of course, but then he speculates that maybe everything that dies someday comes back.
He doesn’t seem convinced.
All the same, he’s promising his lover that they’ll somehow find redemption in Atlantic City—you know, new life rising from bad luck. But this aging Jersey-boy knows the fleeting romance of those beaches all too well, and often the only thing discovered there is a hope for redemption. A deceptive hope.
I'm tainted, though, for a return from death in any form is a check to my Baptist- bred spirit; it's some new-age reincarnation mumbo jumbo that whispers the same false hope to otherwise intelligent people.
Much like gambling always will.
Then again, some things do die and they do come back. Isn't death synonymous with sin, especially to a certain Someone? I think so, those evil twin brothers, both gripping me, white-knuckled for a lifetime. They should both perish in the wake of this Salvation—and I know they do—once, twice and again, but their hold on me is tragic. Did I make some deal with the devil, unbeknownst to me and my good intentions? Who is that leading me from behind, like a thug, his hand on my back, pushing, taunting, turning me this way and that? He’ll follow me through this life of mine, I just know it. He’ll pull me into dark alleyways and corners to remind me who’s really in control, timing his sucker punches just so to the gut.
And I’ve lost my breath again.
For there, I’m reminded that what perishes once on the altar of grace must return with a vengeance, for another round, to test the limit and resolve of such a concept. Surely this everlasting forgiveness is folly to everyone but the One who promised it. Maybe everything that dies, someday comes back.
Certainly sin and its founder would agree.
And the undying pressure of that persuasion stares grace in the eye and it goads me to do the same. To render it useless, for how could anything cover and cleanse this defiance, over and over again? I’m assured it’s normal to join in and to laugh at it, most definitely to mock it.
Try sinning again and find grace wanting, I hear him hiss. Do it again and again for without more sin, how can you ever know its margins?
I must test these waters.
And so I do. One toe, a foot. A leg and it’s warm. How soon does grace respond? It must be quickly, for what threat does fire bring to water? Soon I’m immersed in it, and I must find a way to stay here. To feel it on my skin. To know it like I know anything true.
These waters are deep, cleansing and effortless, my old ways defeated, today and tomorrow; for life goes on and on, offering real hope to otherwise intelligent people.
And death is no match for that.
19 One man said no to God and put many people in the wrong; one man said yes to God and put many in the right. 20 All that passing laws against sin did was produce more lawbreakers. But sin didn't, and doesn't, have a chance in competition with the aggressive forgiveness we call grace. When it's sin versus grace, grace wins hands down. 21 All sin can do is threaten us with death, and that's the end of it. Grace, because God is putting everything together again through the Messiah, invites us into life - a life that goes on and on and on, world without end. (Romans 5 19-21 The Message)
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back.
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty,
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City
Bruce Springsteen, Atlantic City
The Boss is breathing through these speakers, scratchy and wanting. He’s assuring me that everything dies. I know this, of course, but then he speculates that maybe everything that dies someday comes back.
He doesn’t seem convinced.
All the same, he’s promising his lover that they’ll somehow find redemption in Atlantic City—you know, new life rising from bad luck. But this aging Jersey-boy knows the fleeting romance of those beaches all too well, and often the only thing discovered there is a hope for redemption. A deceptive hope.
I'm tainted, though, for a return from death in any form is a check to my Baptist- bred spirit; it's some new-age reincarnation mumbo jumbo that whispers the same false hope to otherwise intelligent people.
Much like gambling always will.
Then again, some things do die and they do come back. Isn't death synonymous with sin, especially to a certain Someone? I think so, those evil twin brothers, both gripping me, white-knuckled for a lifetime. They should both perish in the wake of this Salvation—and I know they do—once, twice and again, but their hold on me is tragic. Did I make some deal with the devil, unbeknownst to me and my good intentions? Who is that leading me from behind, like a thug, his hand on my back, pushing, taunting, turning me this way and that? He’ll follow me through this life of mine, I just know it. He’ll pull me into dark alleyways and corners to remind me who’s really in control, timing his sucker punches just so to the gut.
And I’ve lost my breath again.
For there, I’m reminded that what perishes once on the altar of grace must return with a vengeance, for another round, to test the limit and resolve of such a concept. Surely this everlasting forgiveness is folly to everyone but the One who promised it. Maybe everything that dies, someday comes back.
Certainly sin and its founder would agree.
And the undying pressure of that persuasion stares grace in the eye and it goads me to do the same. To render it useless, for how could anything cover and cleanse this defiance, over and over again? I’m assured it’s normal to join in and to laugh at it, most definitely to mock it.
Try sinning again and find grace wanting, I hear him hiss. Do it again and again for without more sin, how can you ever know its margins?
I must test these waters.
And so I do. One toe, a foot. A leg and it’s warm. How soon does grace respond? It must be quickly, for what threat does fire bring to water? Soon I’m immersed in it, and I must find a way to stay here. To feel it on my skin. To know it like I know anything true.
These waters are deep, cleansing and effortless, my old ways defeated, today and tomorrow; for life goes on and on, offering real hope to otherwise intelligent people.
And death is no match for that.
19 One man said no to God and put many people in the wrong; one man said yes to God and put many in the right. 20 All that passing laws against sin did was produce more lawbreakers. But sin didn't, and doesn't, have a chance in competition with the aggressive forgiveness we call grace. When it's sin versus grace, grace wins hands down. 21 All sin can do is threaten us with death, and that's the end of it. Grace, because God is putting everything together again through the Messiah, invites us into life - a life that goes on and on and on, world without end. (Romans 5 19-21 The Message)
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