Complaining amongst Serpents

A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent, Year B

Watch the sermon online here.

In today’s assigned Gospel we encounter perhaps the most famous verse in the Bible, John 3:16, “For God so loved the world . . .” If you have any knowledge of Christianity this is of course one of the most iconic verses, and if you hail from the southern United States, as I do, you have probably seen it plastered on billboards and stamped onto the bottom of random items like French fry containers or shopping bags –just in the hopes that someone may look up the verse and have a conversion experience.

That all said, what was new for me as I was going through the texts this week were the verses just before. Had you ever noticed that in the two verses before the famous John 3:16 Jesus is talking about snakes?! I never had!

He is of course referencing today’s Old Testament reading, the story from Numbers in which the people of Israel complain against God, who allows fiery serpents to attack the population before they once again seek God’s forgiveness. God then instructs Moses to put a bronze serpent on a pole and lift it high above the people; whoever looks on the serpent lives, even if they have been bit.

It’s such an odd story to juxtapose with what is happening in the Gospel, and yet of course, Jesus does so because he is making a profound connection between what happened in the desert and what is going to happen to him. It is this “lifting up” that unites the stories. The lifting up of the serpent and the lifting up of the Son of Man.

In both cases the lifting up is for the people, “so that whoever believes” may have life. The Gospel of John’s theology focuses on the cross as a sign of triumph, and the most powerful image of that triumph is this comparison to the bronze serpent in the narrative of the people of Israel.

So what then does this mean for us as we continue our journey through the season of Lent? What does this parallel of God’s salvation through the serpent and through Jesus teach us as we begin to cast our own gaze toward Passion Week and Easter?

In today’s individualised society I think that we are quick to understand verses like John 3:16 and others in purely personal terms. Our concept of salvation, about life and death and eternity, is understood within a framework of personal and private decisions regarding our spirituality and religion.

Sometimes, this is a helpful and motivating perspective. We are forced to reckon with our own mortality, our own life and to ask serious questions about the pursuit of God’s kingdom in our own lives.

However, on the other hand, such an individualised approach does some damage to the passages we encounter today. In Numbers, it is the people who “speak against God and Moses” before God sends the serpents “among the people.” Here the emphasis is always on the community as a whole. Serpents didn’t come out of the ground only for those who were complaining the loudest –both rejecting God and the judgment is understood in the context of community.

I want us to really think about what this means, because just like sometimes as we overemphasise the individual, we can also hide behind the masses. We hear such stories and our thinking turns more toward countries or culture. We perhaps broadly lament the direction of “Western society” or perhaps our own “country.” But what happens if we bring it slightly closer to home, where maybe this story gets a little more personal and a little bit more uncomfortable?

Have we as a church community ever found ourselves speaking out against God, complaining about our situation –the modern equivalent of poor food or desert wanderings? Do we forget the grand story of God’s salvation only to bicker amongst ourselves?

“Why have you brought us out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?” The people demand to know of God. This isn’t an individual asking this question about their own personal life, and neither is this a broad projection of the human condition.

This is specific to a community; to a group of people doing life together.

For me, this is where the story can really sting. What communities are we part of where as a small group we have to take responsibility for losing our way? We can’t just blame society, and neither can we just blame the person next to us –even though we may try. We are each responsible for where the community has ended up, and yet we have ended up here together. I am responsible for complaining when maybe I should have been silent, and perhaps for not speaking when I should have made a statement.

Think about our prayers of confession, or the the Litany we will pray together in a few moments. We pray that the Lord have mercy upon us. Us. Who exactly is the us? Is the us just a nice way of praying together, or maybe we should take that us a little more seriously? The us is dangerously and offensively specific. It names who we are in a particular place and a particular time. It is those of us gathering here as church. It is those of us gathering as families. It is those of us gathering as workplaces, or a group of friends. We are so quick to hide behind the “us” as a generality, when in fact it should be a soul-piercing word that actually calls to mind the realities of what it means to gather, of what it means to be part of a body.

The us should be a stark reminder of what it means when we have complained against God, spoken against our neighbour and allowed sin to enter like serpents into our midst. We can point the fingers all we want, but it is me and you and the person next to you who must face the fiery serpents.

In the story, we can read the fiery serpents as sent by God, but I think we can also understand the serpents as the consequences of what it means within the community when we fail to listen to God and to trust his promises. We start complaining first against God, then against our leaders, and before long we have most likely turned on one another. In today’s language maybe we call it a “toxic” culture, which perhaps is more similar to fiery serpents than we care to admit.

But, the story doesn’t end here.

Lent, as I said in my sermon last week in Villars, is a time of serious examination, but it is not to be a dour season of self-flagellation and condemnation. It is a season of honesty, a springtime of forgiveness, and above all a looking forward to God’s final victory.

The story of the serpents doesn’t end with the death of Israel, and it’s no accident that Jesus picks up on these themes of redemption with Nicodemus.

We see God’s victory amongst the serpents. God gives Moses the tools for salvation, a bronze serpent lifted up and set before the people. All they have to do is gaze upon the bronze serpent and they will live.

Gaze upon the victory of God; whether it be in the bronze serpent or the cross of Christ, and there we can find a new meaning of what it means to be us –an us redeemed. An us made new.

Lord, have mercy upon us. To speak this prayer is not just a condemnation of ourselves, a recognition of our brokenness. Mercy is also a declaration to God; it says, God be yourself to us. Be who you are are to us. As the Gospel of John would argue, God be victorious.

Just as we are not just individuals in our sin and complaining, our redemption also is not alone. We are not just in this as individuals blindly searching for God lifted high; we are in this journey together. We are looking to our neighbour who may be in the grasp of the fiery serpent, and saying, gaze upon this cross. Here is life. Where we once found condemnation and death in the serpent, now we find life and wholeness. We find the anti-venom of God. We find resurrection.

This is the difficult work of Lent. Because I’m sure as you know, gazing upon the cross is in some ways the easiest thing to do –simply turn your eyes. And in another sense, it is the effort of a lifetime.

But here we are then, as the body of Christ, as God’s people redeemed. No longer complaining in the desert, but rejoicing in the kingdom.

Lord have mercy.

Amen.

Becoming Belief

Homily delivered to the English Church in Villars, Switzerland on Sunday 10 July 2016.

(Readings: Deuteronomy 30:9-14 & Colossians 1:1-14)

“May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer.”

---

In processing this Sunday’s readings set forth in the Lectionary I am struck by the nature of the commands issued to God’s people found in both passages. We hear strong reminders about about bearing fruit, increasing in the knowledge of God, keeping the commandments, as well as the blessings that will follow.

In conjunction with these readings, I was also particularly struck by the collect set forth in the Episcopal Church. They pray this week that we may “know and understand what things [we] ought to do, and also may have grace and power faithfully to accomplish them.”

In the reformed protestent tradition in which I grew up, these passages and this language of what we “ought to do” can cause some strife. In many circles people grow wary of what they perceive to be requirements in our faith, and it can even create something of an unwritten desire to separate our theology from our practical lives.

The theology sometimes goes that God’s grace and redemptive power is sufficient to “save us” and assure our place in the afterlife, but the practical implications of this theology cautions us against feeling the need to “work” for this grace. Once we are freely given forgiveness, our job simply becomes to tell others about it as well. This is certainly right and true, but any further attachments can and do trigger debates about what we perceive to be the tensions between law-and-gospel or faith-and-works.

Belief requires no action, we say.

Belief is the Apostle’s Creed. Belief is the Sinner’s Prayer. Belief is the cognizant and active mental processes of agreeing with a statement or a creed. If belief need be more than these intellectual affirmations, we become frightened because suddenly we can no longer control it. Belief becomes dangerous.

Such a stance causes us to find this “ought to do” language frightening. We are afraid to couple Jesus with something else. But conversely, I have discovered a lack of this language in our daily lives to be the most frightening. It is not a matter of coupling Christ with some other power, but rather a matter of us opening ourselves to daily ask, what now? What ought we to do? What is our reaction to what we have been given?

Belief is so much more. Belief is dangerous. Belief is loving the outcasts. Belief is enacting change. Belief is giving hope. Belief is confession. Belief is a willingness to be weak. Belief is not being afraid of joy. Belief is breaking bread. Belief is messy.

Jesus always coupled belief with tangible realities. He asked and answered, what ought we to do? Although we did not read it, in today’s Gospel a lawyer asked Jesus what he had to do to inherit eternal life. Jesus asked him to quote the Law, to love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself. And when the man asked, “who is my neighbor?” Jesus gave us that famed parable of the Good Samaritan.

Belief must translate into practical and powerful kingdom-oriented living.

This is part of what I believe the author of Deuteronomy is trying to get across. The Law has just been given, all the do-and-do-nots, all the requirements, and he is asking now, what are you going to do with this? How is it going to affect your life? He emphasizes the point, this is not something you have to sail across the sea to find. The truth of it is already in your heart and in your mind. Go now and live it out.

This whole conversation of the law is a foreshadowing to what the New Testament authors find in Christ. There are echoes of the Deuteronomy passage in Colossians: you have heard and understood the Truth, what now are you going to do with it?

At the end of the Colossians passage Paul writes, “He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.” This does not mark the end of something, it marks the beginning. In this great welcoming to the kingdom, we are invited to join Christ. We are invited to ask, what is next? How do we advance this kingdom, not just by telling others about it, but by embodying it? By becoming it?

In this broken, broken world, comfortable belief and creeds and assurances of an afterlife are simply not enough. We have been given the power to bring healing and hope, and if we are not asking ourselves at every corner of our daily lives how we can be that hope and healing, then we have missed something important. It is not a matter misunderstanding Jesus’ forgiveness and free gift and attaching to it certain additional requirements; it is a matter of being Jesus’ forgiveness and free gift to others.

Our story, our song in the Christian life should and must be framed by the practical realities of asking the question, what ought we to do, because we are the lens through with others are empowered to find faith and belief.

It is not a matter of separating work and faith, or law and gospel, and figuring out to which we are accountable, but rather it is the much more freeing matter of taking on Christ’s identity in our own lives, to live and breath and become the Truth that has been written on our hears and on our minds. It is the continued asking, what is next?

So how now can we embody our belief? How can we live out that which we affirm in the creeds and in the prayers to craft it into the tangible blessings of others? Not to justify ourselves, not to add to the Gospel, or to give contribution to our salvation, but rather to reflect and imagine and help create a world in which Christ’s Kingdom is lived out through us? High ideals. But in prayer let us reflect together on what it means to bear and harvest fruit in this new kingdom.

I leave you with the rest of today’s collect, “O Lord, mercifully receive the prayers of your people who call upon you, and grant that they may know and understand what things they ought to do, and also may have grace and power faithfully to accomplish them; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.”

Amen.

Realizing Ourselves

Like many people I know, I have found it useful to keep a journal. Even from a young age I somehow believed writing things down was important. I distinctly remember my mother buying me a small diary at the school book sale one year that had a picture of Wishbone on the cover. (Wishbone was a jack russell terrier that starred in a popular children’s show about reading. Needless to say, I was obsessed.) But as much as I enjoyed having this dog on the cover of my book, I was sensitive to this idea of a diary for two reasons. One, I had somehow come to believe that writing and keeping a diary was girly. And second, I frequently confused the word diary with diarrhea.

The whole excrement versus expression thing worked itself out shortly, but I never became completely comfortable writing my thoughts down until I started calling the thing a journal. Right or wrong, it just seemed more masculine. Girls steal other girls diaries, but men record their wilderness explorations in a journal. Think Lewis and Clark. The Wishbone diary is probably still buried in a closet somewhere filled with stickers and pages that were erased and rewritten every few years as I decided my younger thoughts were no longer worth keeping. But as I grew up, that basic idea of writing things down stuck.

I was recently reading back through entires written in a newer, adult version of my diary. This is sadly a boring, black book devoid of all speaking dogs. But while flipping through the pages and trying to decipher my illegible, although I like to think elegant, script, I noticed an interesting trend. Everything is written about me. This might seem obvious; it is after all my journal, a secret and private place for myself and that nosey deity we call God. But still, so many of these entries that included joys, pains, prayers and thanksgivings focused almost exclusively on me. My happiness. My struggles.

I thought to myself, surely this is just how I process things. This is my chance to vent and call people names or curse in English instead of French. But just like my obsession with using the exact same pen all throughout the journal became more and more obvious, so did the selfishness all throughout my life. It’s not just how I process things on a piece of paper; it’s how I live. I view the world through a narcissistic and flawed lens.

This realization was not completely new, but it was newly startling. A friend once told me that growing as Christians means we also become more aware of our own sin. It’s almost a by-product of embracing God’s grace. More than that, it’s the starting point. But Christians do not define ourselves by ourselves; we grip tightly to the reality that God’s grace is bigger, a fact I return to daily. But that doesn’t make it easy.

All these thoughts rushed through my head as I closed the journal. I know all this information about God’s grace and my sinfulness, but still, my journal and life are filled with self-directed endeavors that not only hurt myself, but the people I claim to love. I constantly seek to be the best, to win, to justify myself both in front of others and in the privacy of my own thoughts. How often have I tried to keep a conversation centered on my achievements? How often have I tried to one-up a friend’s story with my own? Or posted something online with the hope that multiple “thumbs-up” will mean my day, my experience, my dinner, my cup of coffee or my writing is seen and approved by others, glorifying myself in the process? These are the battles of the every day; how do I learn to grow in God’s grace when I am barraged daily by the constant realizations of my own failure?

I also thought about my other writings, particularly this blog, which I had named “Realizing Life —Every, Every Minute” because I wanted to appreciate the small and everyday things life brought my way. I wanted to live in the present despite my very natural tendency to look forward or backward. In other words, this entire blog was born out of an effort to recognize my shortcomings, look them in the face, and live despite them. I realized this is what my life needs to look like, not the self-centered journal, but the blog that knows my weakness and uses it for good. Paradoxically, this blog recognizes my inherent inability to “realize life” by confronting that failure and turning it into something beautiful. This is similar to how God works his redemption. He takes our brokenness and uses it for his glory. He knows my weaknesses better than I do. And even as I become more and more aware of my own sin, the simultaneous action of growing closer to Christ means I am called to live through my broken selfishness into salvation.

If I always believed writing was girly, or that a diary was somehow the same as diarrhea, I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. But sometimes I just had to keep writing in the purple Wishbone diary. Or the boring, black journal. I know I’m selfish, that I seek to win, to needlessly prove myself. But God has shown me that, he has laid in front of me the selfish and sinful pages of my journal, then said, “I still love you.” He takes my failures and instead of thrusting them in my face over and over again he turns them into something beautiful. God knows he is working with a broken person, but he choses to save me anyways. Sometimes this whole grace thing clicks and real change happens; I stay silent instead of adding my story to the conversation. I hold off on posting that picture because I know its for the wrong reasons. But even when my selfishness gets the best of me, I keep writing.

God will take care of the rest. He’s bigger.

The King of Peace

Into the room burst a host of children with loud shouts and an excitement that was almost palpable. There was such life, such energy, in these few minutes. The rest of us already gathered “adults” seemed almost taken aback for a slight moment before also joining in the celebration. The children paraded around, smiles on their faces as they passed through the rows. The excitement of the younger was matched by a joy seen in the older, that while not less in intensity, seemed tempered by understanding and experience. The contrast was meaningful as well as subtly beautiful. This parade continued and I noticed the colors of white, red, and predominately green that filled the room with a brightness that had been uncharacteristic of these past few weeks.

On this morning we celebrated Palm Sunday. Each year seems to find me in a different church, but the tradition in which I participated this year was particularly impactful. During the procession, every hand in the room grasped a green palm branch, but while the small fists of children waved frantically all over the room, others held the fronds high and steady in the air. In the same manner, shouts of “Hosannah” were also lifted heavenward. Gone were the purple hangings and vestments of the Lenten season, instead replaced with the bright red that marks Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week.

In many ways this day doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the liturgical year. Lent, a season marked by somber prayer, repentance and self-denial, is suddenly interrupted by this grand celebration. Even stranger, this happens only a few days before the tradition once again grows somber as the Church remembers the final days of Christ’s life. Why the palms branches? Why the parading children? Why the shouts of “Hosannah” in this triumphal entry?

All stories worth telling are characterized by both high and low points. A good author does not only describe the darkness of night without also bringing forth the radiance found in a new day’s dawning. I believe we see a glimpse of this in the triumphal entry. Jesus enters Jerusalem riding on a donkey, symbolic of a king in peace time. The story of history was reaching its climax, but the people were not able to see the type of kingdom Jesus was coming to initiate. They shouted for a king that would dominate the powers of the world, not subjugate himself under them. Even through the misconceptions of the people, this moment of the Passion story brings us to a high point, a glimpse of the kingdom, the first rays of a new dawn that shine upon a king who finally will bring peace.

This is what we remember on Palm Sunday, that procession that took place over 2000 years ago. The juxtaposition of our tradition to the events of history is striking and beautiful. We intentionally place ourselves in the shoes of those who praised the king upon a donkey, only to turn and shout “Crucify Him” a few days later. This placement becomes clear as the Palm Sunday liturgy brings us all the way to the foot of the cross, foreshadowing the coming week.

However, the tradition of our celebration is markedly different. We may shout “Hosannah” and “Crucify Him” over the course of a service, but we do so through the lens of having already heard, “It is finished.” We look back and remember as a people redeemed. In Jerusalem, the people returned home after these events, but we gather together as a Church in celebration of the Lord’s Supper. We look back to that week, but also forward to the New Jerusalem and the ushering in of God’s kingdom that began upon the back of a donkey.

This is why bright colors fill the sanctuary, palm branches are raised, and children parade through the aisles. Even though Lent is a somber season to focus on our own mortality, each Sunday we celebrate a mini-Easter! We break our fasts and enjoy that which had been given up. We come together and partake of the bread and wine. We remember, while simultaneously anticipating, that dawn of Easter morning just beyond the hill.

“It is right to praise you, Almighty God, for the acts of love by
which you have redeemed us through your Son Jesus Christ
our Lord. On this day he entered the holy city of Jerusalem in
triumph, and was proclaimed as King of kings by those who
spread their garments and branches of palm along his way.
Let these branches be for us signs of his victory, and grant that
we who bear them in his name may ever hail him as our King,
and follow him in the way that leads to eternal life; who lives
and reigns in glory with you and the Holy Spirit, now and for
ever. Amen.” — The Book of Common Prayer

On Tradition: Thankful for a Story

Another Thanksgiving weekend is coming to an end, and the check list of holiday gatherings has only just begun. The turkey and stuffing (or dressing as some would call it) from two days previous has hardly digested in my stomach before looking out the window to see the same, gaudy Christmas lights illuminating the house across the street. I didn’t even notice when they got there.

It’s dangerously easy to become cynical about the holiday season. The sun can hardly set on our revered day of thankfulness before people are back in the streets, pouncing on the latest deals. In fact, rumor has it that some stores didn’t even wait until Black Friday to open! The radio stations start playing those same tunes. The boxes of decorations come down from the attic. Every lampost in middle-to-upper-class suburban America has a wreath, and the same debates resume over the politically correct nomenclature of traditional trees. The other, non-celebrated trees have lost their leaves and any talk over the coming snow only lasts until the first global warming joke is cracked. At least that neighbor has started turning off those lights before going to bed. He’s not warming the planet! Like I said, it’s easy to become disenchanted by the glowing, excited performance put on all around us. It’s almost if as a society we keep hoping for something that just hasn’t quite arrived.

Traditions are interesting phenomena. How can a simple, yet repeated action gain such value over the years? No real market value can be given to traditions, yet people throughout history have died defending them, or died for the right to defend them. Companies make more money from certain traditions and people seem more loving around others. It’s easy to take a cynical, distanced approach, but so much of our lives are based around varying types and levels of tradition.

Christmas music conjures up memories and feelings that can’t quite be placed. Doing the same things every Thanksgiving and going to the same place is meaningful in a way I don’t fully understand, but I miss it when gone. Even the language with which I write is defined by tradition. Its evolution, its grammatical rules, and its stylistic devices are closely tied to how things have been done by those who came before me.

I’ve found I quite like tradition. It is beautiful in a mysterious, powerful sense. It has the potential for great good or great evil. Participating in tradition harkens back to a time long before my birth and reaches towards a time long after my death. It shows me my size compared to the story of human history. However, tradition also demonstrates the effect one person can have on that story, because traditions are based on people. If people don’t continue to value and carry on a tradition, it cannot sustain itself.

This should make us cautious. We don’t want to carry on those traditions that have no value or are harmful just for the sake of the tradition. Yet we cannot destroy these sometimes ancient and beautiful practices simply for the reason that it seems old or is in the way of how we define progress. Each new generation that believes in the people a tradition represents, has the ability to infuse it with new life and energy, passing it down to those that will one day follow.

Think about your traditions, especially this season. When you set up your Christmas tree, try to think about why you do it. Why does that neighbor keep hanging those lights? Why do you drop loose change in that red charity bucket? Why do you bow as that cross passes your pew? Why do you sing that favorite Christmas carol?

Is it for symbolic meaning?

Is it because of the good memories you have gathered around with family and friends?

Does it tell part of the human story?

Like I said, it’s often easy to become cynical about the pomp and circumstance of the holiday season. We can seem so fickle and shallow at times. However, every so often, the tradition becomes real! It has meaning for the everyday life!

We realize then, each has a small part to play in this great story. Will you keep telling it?

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Please see “Why I Write” for a deeper explanation about my passion in the tradition of story-telling.

Bookends

The many images of my mind grow increasingly dim with each passing month. One morning, a remembered and glorious Alpine sunrise seems to lack the splendor of yesteryear. After a time, the daily routines once approached as meaningless tradition and viewed with a mundane apprehension are now romantic reminders of a life long gone.

How did the sunshine feel across my face that glorious day?
What inspired me when looking out across the landscape?
Why did that friendship once seem so rich and real?

I have time and again returned to Thronton Wilder’s Our Town, seeking to examine why humans fail to “realize life.” I am constantly captured by the scene where Emily revisits her life, crying out in dismay as she realizes all the overlooked beauty. We too look back over a relationship, an event, or even an entire life, and cry out with Emily, asking ourselves why we didn’t see the beauty of that moment for its true value in the portrait of our lives?

Since falling in love with Wilder’s timeless tale, I have taken efforts to stop and enjoy the small things of life. The things seem insignificant now, but will one day be looked upon with longing. The view from a bedroom window, the crisp morning air of changing seasons, the gentle and wafting smoke of a relaxing pipe, what it feels like to simply be home, or the beauty of a good conversation are all moments that may cross a life many times, but each one is in someway unique and only experienced once.

However, as seasons change and years pass since first reading that play, I’ve found this task of “realizing life” a near impossibility. Humanity is too week, our wills likewise broken in their ability to truly appreciate the present while we live it. Yet even in those rare moments when we fully appreciate the worth of our existence, the memory of such moments is taken from us. As the spheres continue in their motion, we forgot. Even when the failings of the human heart are overcome, the brain loses control. Sunsets fade, conversations grow quiet, and the night grows dark in the recesses of our fragile minds.

Memoires trickle through the hourglass, but is the quest hopeless?

Never.

Our memories, while fragile and fickle can on occasion be captured and contained. To write. To draw. To photograph, read, and make music. These gifts of art and expression allow us to recall the sights, sounds, and smells of a glorious past departed. In fact, over time I’ve discovered the very act of remembering can add to the richness of realizing life. Wilder’s Emily, while not able to grasp all that life had to offer her in each passing moment, was able to look back and remember. The people and events had grown richer over time. Their depth and role within the story of her life had become clearer than ever before. This is a gift the present cannot grant. It only comes with age, with experience, and with memory.

Yes, humanity is fickle and broken. We never appreciate life in a manner worthy of its gift. Nevertheless we are given the opportunity to appreciate and realize the beauty of each moment by memory. In the same way a good wine grows better with age, each individual’s story is seen with greater clarity over the passing of months and years. Even though these memories fail, our artwork remains. This is why I write. This is why humanity produces. Art calls out to ourselves and those who follow afterwards, “Remember!” Do not forget that sunset across the ocean, the rising of the stars, the smell of a Saturday morning breakfast, or the love of another human. These are things worth living, worth realizing, and worth fighting for!

What if death was not the end –the final say? What if, like Emily, we could look back over the timeline of our story, truly realizing life? And what if that story continued for eternity? Indeed, that would be the greatest work of art ever written, a story of redemption and grace that brings humanity out of brokenness and into marvelous light!

“We ourselves shall be loved for awhile and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.” -Thornton Wilder

The Continuing Conversation

Each new chapter of life is most often marked by a dramatic shift in our relationships. We may not always consciously realize this trend, but it becomes evident when examining our typical “mile-markers” of life. High school graduation, going to college, moving towns, getting married, a new job, having children –all viewed as significant benchmarks of the human experience.

Why?

It speaks to something greater and outside ourselves. We mark life’s progression by those who enter and exit the borders of our lives. Perhaps my above examples are derived from an American, western mindset, but I believe this process of linking life’s phases to relationships can be applied universally. The people we meet, the friends we have, and those we learn to love impact us more than almost anything else.

These divisons of life should come as no surprise. School, for example, is a time where we engage with peers our age while allowing older teachers speak into our lives. It’s no wonder we make a big deal out of graduation! Is this because classes will become more difficult in college, or is it because a fundamental shift in community is about to take place? Take marriage, we consider this a “mile-marker” because of what it means to enter into a relationship with a husband or wife. It’s something deep –something beyond just ourself.

As I myself step into a new chapter of life, this is an important realization. Sometimes I make the mistake of thinking there is only so much love to “give out.” I wrongly believed relationships required some sort of “cap.” When thinking of all the amazing people at home or in Switzerland I wondered why I should bother to engage in yet another community? This created a misplaced sense of longing for the past instead of embracing the future.

We are meant to push ourselves, to explore. These divisons and stages of life are healthy. They bring us to the next level and help us grow. It does not mean friends have to be replaced with “better” friends or that other relationships need to be pushed aside. Each time I return home or to Switzerland, I am quickly reminded why I love and treasure those people. However, many of these relationships never would have existed had I been unwilling to push myself and make new friends in the first place.

So, look beyond yourself and see how the beauty of relationship translates into the different stages of your life. Each one provides you with a unique opportunity to grow and “realize life.” Take advantage of such transitions, not regretting what is no more, but pushing forward in faithful pursuit of the One who came before, showing us what it means to live together in a love that know no bounds.

Down in the Valley

Down in a valley nestled amongst the rolling slopes of the Great Smoky Mountains lies a place mostly untouched by the previous two centuries. Only a small, single-lane road cuts through the continuity of sky, mountain, forest and pasture. If you are fortunate, the cascading rivers will still allow you to hear the tread of deer and the rustlings of bears that fill the local forests.

The area known as Cades Cove is speckled with small structures which date back to the mid-nineteenth century. Each white-washed church and one-room cabin harken back to a time when life was slower. Who knows, many of these original inhabitants may have never even left the valley? How different than the mobility of today, when we stop by just for a weekend camping trip and bike ride. One of our stops was an old graveyard. My Mom has always had a particular interest in these old cemeteries, at first we just thought it creepy, but as one wanders amongst the memorials of these ancient lives, there does exist a curious fascination. Who were these people? How did this man live so long? Why is this stone so large, or small? What did this mother feel when burying her three infant children?

What life is marked beneath this stone?

As I stood on a nearby hill, I realized that while mountains don’t age quickly, not much other connection remains between these people and us today. Time creates such a barrier against truly understanding people long gone.

How did they live?

Why did they live? What were their passions? Their fears?

These are often difficult questions when so far removed from the culture. However, in my experience, the rifts of time and place can frequently work in similar fashions. I realized while reflecting on my own recent journeys, that in the same way we don’t understand those beneath an ancient grave, we often fail to grasp the “hows” and “whys” of people across the ocean, or maybe even across the street.

Simply because the nineteenth century inhabitants of Cades Cove hadn’t invented electricity or believed different components of theology, does not mean their lives were qualitatively worse. In the same way their world may seem foreign to us, the complex and different set of histories, motivations and cultures of those around the globe do not unequivocally lend to better or worse lives.

This is the beauty of travel. We may not possess the capabilities to jump through time, but we can jump continents. And if you take that step into the unknown, your world will be forever changed. However, even the beautiful experiences of travel can serve to widen the cultural rift if not handled responsibly.

I warn against the shadowy and false feelings of superiority. For when you return home, others may not understand what you experienced in a strange, new place. It will be just as if you attempt to explain the person six feet under a 200 year old grave. That rift of time, place and culture will become evident. And crossing it will even seem unnatural at times. However, just because some may not understand experiences of a wider world, does not mean you have become superior. Do not discredit the unique perspective of each life found in all four corners of the world. Some may have traveled to every country and speak seven languages, others may have never left their village. No matter one’s intelligence, religion, culture, or family background, every human life has known what it means to love and to lose.

Every life has known what it means fall and get back up.

To grow.

To fail.

And I hope, to experience the grace and forgiveness we each need.

This is what it means to be human.

So, to the man beneath the ground in that sunny glade of Cades Cove: We may not understand each other. The time of our lives creates a wall as if a thousand miles. You may have never left your valley. I have traveled the world. To the 21st century, your life may seem boring. But are you really that different? I may not understand you, but I hope that perhaps we could have been friends.

Cades Cove, Tennessee

The Simple Life

So much of our lives are defined by where we go and what we do. We fall into the trap of assigning life value through our dreams and ambitions, our goals and visions. I first began writing in order to share stories about adventures in Europe and exciting world travels. I felt that because I was going somewhere, I had sufficient reason to share. Who wants to read about the routine life? Adventure and action –these stories sell. “My Day at Work” wouldn’t make the bestseller list unless it was a self-help book for the blue and white collars. Occasionally, however, we each need a lesson on what it means to live in the ordinary.

I had my first real day off since being back in the United States, and it was a welcome occasion to simply enjoy being home. A day without plans or purpose, design or vision can oftentimes possess deeper value than many care to immagine. The gift of waking up late and making breakfast burritos with a friend is a moment too often eclipsed by strong coffee and a hurried egg McMuffin.

After being a way for months, is there a more productive way to spend the morning than trying to convince your younger brother to give you a haircut? Probably. But depending how one looks at it; the convincing, arguing, laughing, sarcastic remarks, and eventual success of my shortened hair all speak to the same thing. These fun, yet simple, moments allow us to build relationships. They teach us what it means to be human. Surprisingly profound interactions can be experienced every day. The conversation with a stranger at a coffee shop, the seemingly random connection of a mutual friend far away, a simple greeting (no matter the language), or examining your brother’s hair-cutting abilities with a mirror on the back patio can all communicate important lessons.

Recently, I have been stressed about life decisions I’ve been required to make. Where to go to school, where to live, and what to do with myself? Choices between life in Switzerland and North Carolina has not been an easy task. It was refreshing that the most worry-filled event of my day was the dilema between vanilla and chocolate ice cream in the penut butter and banana milkshakes we had decided to make. As the ice cream settled in our stomachs, we set off along the road with fishing poles over our shoulders, headed to the river. Simply the thought of this unsophisticated scene is enough to evoke that classic image of slow streams and leafy trees while a few boys enjoy the summer Sun without a care in the world. Neither my lack of a catch nor us fitting into the cliché of a Norman Rockwell painting bothered me. Even the good-natured teasing of our neighbor concerning our want of fish was taken in stride as we headed back a few hours later.

After dinner we spent the evening on the rocking chairs of the front porch talking about life and enjoying the final moments of a fantastic day. Even after the conversation moved inside to a quaint den and evening coffee, it reached long into the night. We discussed some music and its meaning, contemplated life, memories, people, big ideas, travel, God, and even the literary merits of authors such as Chaucer and Shelley. Overall, nothing big happend today. I didn’t even “go” anywhere. Yet, the ability to experience such simplicity in life speaks volumes. When you’ve next got some time to relax, appreciate and “realize” where and with whom you have been given the opportunity to live.

As the Sun continued its slow descent behind the gently rolling slopes, the Blue Ridge Mountains validated their name. The light mist and deep shadows cast the peaks into an ever-darkening blue as dusk replaced day. Their shrouded outline framed this lower valley of green fields and red maples into a beautiful pastoral tableau, seemingly painted with a palette of pastels fit for a children’s book. However, this is no fairytale. I call this valley home. Sometimes it just takes a trip around the world and or relaxing day to realize the beauty all around us. It’s the simple life.

The view from my front porch.

“…the leaves weave through the forest…”

I sat on the balcony today to enjoy my first fruit smoothie of the season while savoring the warm afternoon sun. Our time has now “sprung forward” and I am loving the extra hours of brightness. The light played on the distant lake and even some sail boats were out, cruising across the waves. Finally, winter seems to have gone, and the leaves are beginning to weave through the forest.

Spring is a beautiful season. Often, I had never thought much about it. Spring always seemed rainy and dreary, that time of year when Earth can’t figure out if it wants to be hot or cold. However, this year I’ve tried to see it in a new light. The crisp mornings and hot afternoons have been much missed here in icy Geneva. Spring is a welcome breath of fresh air and a much needed change.

Like much of out natural world, the seasons make for convenient life metaphors. I’ve compared autumn to periods of change in past writings, while summer and winter each have their own personal applications. Nonetheless, spring is beautiful in its own right when examined through a lens of the human experience. Perhaps, the most poignant and relevant of all. It is a beautiful time of growth, new life, redemption, and grace.

Grace, is arguably one of the most important ideas that exists. It is a beautiful and freeing reality that gives humans the ability to experience the new life and freedom of spring. Each individual, one way or another, is seeking a “stamp of approval” on life. We want the actions of our life to be worth something, to count. We want our existence justified. We seek this approval in a myriad of fashions. Some are culturally acceptable: success, fame, compliments, good grades. Others are not: addictions, deception, greed,  and many others. Culturally acceptable or not, both of these categories are ultimately trying to achieve the same thing, approval.

However, no matter where or how we seek this justification, we eventually fail. We let ourselves down, we fail others, and others disappoint us. At some point, “trying better” and “believing in yourself” doesn’t seem to work.

How does springtime, sunshine, and the afternoon beauty of Lac Léman all fit into our human failings and disappointments? It’s freedom. I enjoy these long evenings the most when I am free. When there is no homework to keep me inside, and when I can walk, run, and swim without worrying to whom I will have to justify my actions. I can enjoy the budding plants of spring once I understand what gives me that freedom, grace.

The true beauty and core of the Christian message isn’t in going to heaven or escaping hell. It’s not in trying to obey the rules. It’s not about reading the Bible more, or improving “spirituality.” In fact, it’s not really about anything we are doing. It is all about what has been done. Grace is God giving us that “stamp of approval” in a way no flawed human possibly could. I can’t earn approval like that, so I stopped trying. We must realize our best friend, spouse, girlfriend, boss, or most importantly, ourself, cannot deliver the justification we desire. They will always disappoint us. Once we stop trying to find it in them, we can free them and ourselves. Such a demand for approval can only be met in the redeeming death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

What kind of freedom? It’s a freedom to enjoy life and live it to the fullest. It’s a freedom to walk down the streets of Geneva and enjoy the season of spring, to relish redemption. However, it is also a freedom to mess up, a freedom to be human. It is a freedom to not define myself by my failures, or my successes. I define myself by the finished work of Jesus Christ. “Because Jesus was strong for me, I am free to be weak; because Jesus won for me, I am free to lose; because Jesus was Someone, I am free to be no one; because Jesus was extraordinary, I am free to be ordinary; because Jesus succeeded for me, I am free to fail.”

And once we truly begin to realize this freedom, there is a dangerous possibility that we might actually have a chance at “realizing life -every, every minute.”

Seriously, spring is here. Go out and smell the roses.

If you’ve never listened to Tullian Tchividjian’s series of talks entitled, “Free at Last” I would encourage you make an effort to do so sooner rather than later. A lof this post’s content was inspired by his insights on the Gospel.