Greenhouses and Prodigals

The greenhouse I started constructing as my wife's birthday present in June three years ago has morphed into a long term project of patience--hers. I did erect a 12' x 12' structure of treated lumber, but a yellow wood skeleton does not make for much of a gift. My sight shifted to our anniversary in the fall, but all she received was the addition of trusses for the roof. I decided to make it a grand Christmas present, but life kept interfering and the project became a birthday gift once again. Suffice it to say that two years of birthday celebrations, wedding anniversaries, and Christmases have come and gone, and I'm sitting tonight in what will hopefully be her Mother's Day offering this May. I no longer speak in certainties, but use the language of intention--I intend to complete it now by May. My wife patiently extends mercy, but I fear that cord is wearing thin. 

Reflecting on her forbearance, I can't help but imagine the Father waiting on me to keep my childhood promise and exhibit progress toward what I was intended. Why do I still resemble an unfinished greenhouse? Truth be known, the Father has invested lavishly in my success. Much of my life I thought "prodigal" meant "wayward" based on the action of the son in the familiar parable Jesus taught; however, prodigal is defined as "spending money or resources freely and recklessly; wastefully extravagant." With that nuance of the story line, the most glaring prodigal is not the son but the father, who throws a wastefully extravagant and lavish party for the younger son upon his return from the far country. This is where Timothy Keller gets his somewhat surprising title, The Prodigal God. The prodigal father standing at the end of the road and scanning the horizon is God who awaits our return and extravagantly shows his love for us by sacrificing everything for our sake. God's Son, “wasted” for sinners, while the Father patiently awaits our awakening. It's definitely time to bring closure to this limbo-bound greenhouse, and it's also time to move intentionally toward being the man that God invested in lavishly from before he fashioned me in my mother's womb.

Frame It With Actions

I have some things to say, but preferably not with words. They may not matter in the grand scheme of things, but they do matter to me on the smaller scale of life lived at this very moment. Mine are not pious proverbs of lofty ambition; these are the grit of decision in the daily grind, the fabric of what makes me me and not someone else. I ask only that my life speaks clearly of values adopted, truth accepted, direction charted, doctrines held sacrosanct. Orthodox or unorthodox, this is the stuff of my beliefs, but belief and behavior should always be compatible.  I have not closed the door of my mind; instead, I choose to frame it with actions that provide a stable place from which others may consider the authenticity and import of what I say. You need not agree with me on all points or at any point, but I pray that the force of a life well lived will convince you to at least listen for a moment. Perhaps for that one brief moment, you may consider the Truth that sculpts the truth I live.

Take the Long Look

I speak in favor of taking the long look at life. A fixed point is not adequate for understanding the line it is irrevocably and integrally a part of. Refuse to judge your life and your God in any given moment. You are not a stone; your life is a river flowing that consists of eddies and currents and backflows. To judge everything on the basis of this one thing is insane. And insanity is a hard thing to live with.

Sacred Space

Everyone holds certain places as sacred space.  I'm convinced that underlying much of Scripture is a theology of "place", and I see it at play in the most ordinary of moments and locations--a bush, a mountain, a well, a tent. In fact, associated meaning that connects to something or someone beyond the physical space transfigures ordinary into extraordinary. One such place is the dining room of our humble dwelling. By anyone's standards, ours would be considered somewhat commonplace. Granted, my wife has done a masterful job of arranging and decorating (she is a master of space management and visual effect), but the only thing out of the ordinary in our dining room is the handmade round wooden table that came from my wife's sister when we married. Our dining room is sacred for more important reasons. This room to the left of our front entrance is not often used, but when it is hosts a precious occasion-- the gathering of family. In addition to the table, we have six matching oak chairs, one of which is adorned with arms. That seat is considered Papa's chair (I'm Papa), and it has become a tradition with my grandchildren to see who can get to the chair before I do, and great smiles and glee accompany any coup d'état. On the surface it seems we do nothing more than share an occasional meal here, but what really transpires in this space is the mingling of lives and tightening of family ties.  We write a significant part of our family history here. Even when I sit alone, I can still imagine the familial conversations and relive the laughter.  Perhaps I call this place sacred because it embodies what I hold most dear--that we are created for relationship, and nothing in life is more akin to living in the image of God than the mutual investment we enjoy as family. I understand why Jesus portrayed heaven at one point as a dining room with family seated around the table, and evangelism as imploring those outside the family to take a seat among kith and kin. I may never have the nerve to dart toward the Father's armed chair, but no doubt I will endlessly relish the joy of being part of the forever family in God's dining room.

If the Curtain Fell

Let grace get a good look at you. The more honest you are with yourself about yourself, the more profoundly God is able to knead forgiveness into the essence of your life. Why is it that we tend toward playing Russian Roulette with authenticity? Only one moment in six am I entirely present as myself. The rest of the time I conjure a hologram of what I want others to think of me. What would happen if, instead, I allowed others to peak beneath the veneer? What would change if the curtain fell and I stood exposed, naked as to thoughts and feelings and hopes and hurts and insecurities and needs?  I imagine that many of my relationships would reboot with substance and depth and transformation. Perhaps I'm only as good as my next honest question and as real as my next sincere confession. Buechner speaks of this bottom-line understanding and presenting of ourselves: "There is no book to look up the answer in. There is only your own heart and whatever by God's grace it has picked up in the way of insight, honesty, courage, humility, and, maybe above everything else, compassion."(Whistling in the Dark)

Adam and Eve

At some point after they lost their place, Eve discovered that loving is both the hardest and the easiest thing you'll ever do. Probably a little later (guys always get it a little later), Adam realized that being loved is the greatest freedom as well as the most profound responsibility you'll ever own. In the cool of the day sometime after the fall, they understood love as they remembered what it was like to walk in intimacy with a God who loved them deeply. The longing they knew down deep in return awakened something within for each other. This might no longer be paradise, but it could be Heaven on earth.  What made it so was not the absence of sweat and tears, but the presence of each other. Great pain awaited them as it always does if we live long enough, but the hurt along the way could never overshadow what they gained from walking through it with someone who fully understood and shared the consequences of it. And in their oneness, they reflected not only one another but God himself. 

Feeling Like Epaphroditus

I wonder what it felt like to be Epaphroditus?  He was often near the action in the early church, but never the center of attention. Although he hung out with the rock stars of the Way, he never headlined a show or even opened one. Suffice it to say he had more in common with the roadies than those on stage. His name appears in only one book of the Bible (Philippians), unless he happens to be the individual that the apostle Paul addresses briefly with a shortened version of the name, Epaphras, in two other New Testament letters (Colossians & Philemon). At first glance, we may have high expectations of someone whose name means lovely; until further asking around reveals that it was quite the common name, derived from Aphrodite.  Hello, meet John Smith. It seems that our rather nondescript friend was a courier of sorts who multi-tasked as valet for St. Paul, but that tells what he did and says nothing about how he felt. Did Epaphroditus ever deal with a twinge of regret or even jealousy over never getting the chance to do something particularly memorable in the church other than deliver messages?  What was it like to be important enough to be mentioned by name in Scripture, but just barely mentioned? Actually, I think I know. I've reached the place in life where no matter what I do, I know of someone who does it better.  In fact, it would be delusional at this stage in life to think that I can best anyone at anything. No matter how hard I work, how well I preach or teach, how skilled I am at word smithing, how adept I am at coaching and facilitating, I'm always standing in the shadow of giants. The same was true of Epaphroditus, yet he has lasting merit because of his relation to Paul and others in the church at Philippi and beyond. In other words, my value will never be measured by performance. Instead, the import of my existence consists of the quality of my relationships. If my wife knows the joy of an adoring and supportive husband who helps her celebrate each moment as grace, I have great value. If my children and grandchildren look to me as an example of how to navigate the tragedy and ecstasy of living, I leave a legacy of exceptional worth. If my church finds in me a sacrificial shepherd willing to lay down his life for his sheep, I have an investment in eternity. In other words, relationship trumps accomplishment every time. Yes, I think I know something of how Epaphroditus felt.

Defining Church

I'd like to offer my own definition of church. Yesterday, I wrote that the words 'mega church' are contradictory, and I believe that strongly. Since it is always easier to oppose an idea than to advance one, I might let it lie and wait for another opportunity to shoot from the hip or blast away at some prominent practice with which I disagree, but what good does that do anyone? In time I would resemble more the wicked witches of east and west than Glenda, the good witch of the north. So, here goes my attempt to be positive and proactive as it relates to ecclesiastical debates of the day. I offer the following: A church is a prophetic community of faith. Perhaps you were waiting for something more dramatic, but, actually, I believe that statement is grounds for quite a stirring. Here's what I mean. "Prophetic" means transformational. A church is to be a change agent, positively transforming its community and the members of that community. If something were to happen to remove all vestiges of your church from one day to the next, who would notice? What difference would it make?  If the answer is none, yours was never really church. The second word in the definition is "community."  That means that church is built on a foundation of trust and we only trust those we know. In other words, strangers may attend an event together and even sit next to one another, but relationship is required to be church. And, finally, "faith." The church must live out, moment by moment, a radical relationship with Jesus Christ.  We are defined by him more than we are by each other or by place, or even by effect. Now, here's the kicker-- all three elements must be active to be church. A failure at any point negates the whole. Notice that this understanding places no importance to size and gives no weight to demographics. What it does is stress emphatically that a church is to be transformed from the inside out by an intimate relationship with Jesus Christ.

Reverse the Curse

The stark reality of aging seems unavoidable these days. I’m not certain it’s due so much to another birthday come and gone (the fifty fourth such event for me), as to nagging frustrations arising from increased physical limitation. Why can’t I bend over in the morning without doing warm up exercises to prepare for the warm up exercises? Why can’t I eat what I want whenever I want without then carrying it out in front for the world to see and causing Jenny Craig to recruit me for her next before and after? Why does morning arrive too soon but the night too late? Why these crevices in my face where smoothness once ruled the earth? And then, if things aren’t bad enough in the wake of my most recent birth “celebration”, I read still another reminder in Scripture:

“Anyone can see that the brightest and best die,
wiped out right along with the fools and dunces.
They leave all their prowess behind,
move into their new home, The Coffin,
The cemetery their permanent address.
And to think they named counties after themselves!

We aren’t immortal. We don’t last long.
Like our dogs, we age and weaken. And die.”
(Psalm 49:10-12, The Message)

Well, isn’t that special?! Thanks, Sons of Korah, for the pep talk! Talk about stating the obvious but tossing tact to the wind. But, honestly, it’s that kind of straight talk I need to hear to startle me out of spiritual lethargy and a holy hardening of the arteries. Get the paddles out—jump start me Lord! Shock me into a meaningful life of submission and service. Whereas my first thought once was of self-preservation, show me how to be used up for You and for the benefit of others. I’m not immortal. I repeat—I’m not immortal! Invest what’s left of my life so that something remains of me that matters when I lie down and join my dog. Make me a perpetual mentor, a teacher from the grave. Whatever changes are necessary, make them in me so that I will be for some a compass whose needle always points Godward: in private and public, the same; alone and in a crowd, no difference. A man of integrity and faith, of strength and grace; a “clutch man.” 

No doubt I will continue to deteriorate, to age and weaken and eventually die, but Lord, make old age an opportunity rather than a curse. Bring to life right now what will remain long after my body takes residence in its new home, The Coffin. Make mine a memory that speaks fluently the greatness of our God.

“By faith Abel offered God a better sacrifice than Cain did. By faith he was commended as a righteous man, when God spoke well of his offerings. And by faith he still speaks, even though he is dead.” (Hebrews 11:4, NIV)

Knowing and Being Known

I reside as part of a small community and I'm a member of an even smaller community of faith. I live here because my wife lived here before me, and over the past eight years I've grown not only accustomed to these surroundings, but to care for the people who are fixtures in these surroundings. Two such residents who mean a great deal to me are our landlords and neighbors from down the simple country lane I now call home.  This relationship led last year to my agreeing to preach at their small historic church that stands near the geographical gateway to the modest region. The white clapboard church building wears the label 'Methodist,' but consists of parishioners who are primarily not Methodists -- a denominational Heinz 57.  So, in an oddly unpredictable way, I fit - in this church, in this community, in this home. I have been thinking lately that were you granted the opportunity like the one given Karen Blixen by Denys Finch Hatton in "Out of Africa" as he flies her in an open cockpit biplane over her beloved Ngong Hills, you would peer down over the side and notice a quilt-like pattern spread out below you, a fitting image for a quilting people. Like the land, we are pieced together here, somewhat akin to gingham patches in an antique quilt.  This is a locale where the cemetery reveals as much about the community as anything living. In the overall scheme of things, not many have lived and died here over the past one hundred and sixty years. A relatively few familiar family names are etched in stone, scattered throughout Bosqueville cemetery like a circling of the wagons, a community's last stand against the onslaught of life and death. In the end, Bosqueville cannot be understood by GPS coordinates or surveyor's stakes; it is defined by its residents. The community persists along family lines, where neighbors know one another, attend each other's funerals, and applaud one another's children at school celebrations and athletic contests.  This is not a place for strangers. It is a place for friends, a place for family, and, above all else, it is a place for being known.  I share all of this because I believe God intends his churches to be just that-- places for knowing and being known.  We were created for him and to live in relationship with him and each other. We are to be a community in the fullest sense of the word. As Frederick Buechner writes: "There is plenty of work to be done here, God knows. To struggle each day to walk paths of righteousness is no pushover, and struggle we must because just as we are fed like sheep in green pastures, we must also feed his sheep, which are each other. Jesus, our shepherd, tells us that. We must help bear each other's burdens. We must pray for each other. We must nourish each other, weep with each other, rejoice with each other. In short, we must love each other. We must never forget that."