Sorrowful Yet Always Rejoicing 3

As Christians, our response to some sort of hardship or suffering is a complex thing. Part of it is personality. Are you a pessimist or optimist? Depressive or resilient? Eeyore or Tigger? Surely part of it too rests on spiritual maturity and one's understanding of and relationship with God. There are variables in one's own personal history, supportive relationships, and simply one's own ability to move through difficult processes. But these different responses--each of which have some sort of Biblical support--can produce a sort of friction when together in the same community.

When a common hardship comes along, one wants to grieve. Another might look on and make judgment calls, thinking he has lost all hope, that his grief shows a lack of spiritual maturity. And the road goes both ways, because the second wants to point to the sovereignty of God and the lessons we're learning. Meanwhile the first looks on and makes judgment calls, thinking this inability to mourn is unhealthy and his optimism is a sign of a shallow relationship with God. There is a skepticism that the truth they're sharing is simply a repertoire of clichés that aren't actually profoundly believed and experienced.

So who's right?
"Cheer up."
"I can't."
"God is good."
"You're in denial."
"He's faithful."
"It's not that easy."
Back and forth we go.

The first answer that comes to mind goes something like this: Yes, we can all agree it's OK to grieve, mourn, lament, as long as you don't stay there. At some point you have to move past it, get through it, and recover some sort of joy.

Somewhere in there I agree, but it raises a big question. How long do we allow? How soon do we arrive at hope? Will one night of crying do it? Two weeks? A year? How much is enough? How long is too much? When is pointing another towards hope appropriate and when is it too soon? When is staying in grief healthy and when is it too long? And in certain cases, for the example the death of the child, is it truly possible to really fully get over it?

And this idea also poses a problem for us melancholics, as it seems to assume the default mode of the Christian is happy-go-lucky with permission to just be sad for a couple of days here and there. (I'm skewing things by oversimplifying and exaggerating: in my honest moments I do wonder if there is some truth there...)

So if this idea of movement and arrival isn't exactly right, what is? I'm wondering if Paul's powerful description of being an apostle gives us some clues.

In 2 Corinthians 6, he starts by outlining some of the hardship they're facing, and again, it's worse than a bad day at work:
...afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger...

But this list is actually given in the middle of a list of qualities that can be seen in them through the help of the Holy Spirit. Despite the hardship, they are experiencing this--living this out--as well:

...by great endurance, by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, genuine love; by truthful speech, and the power of God...

OK, so happiness didn't make the list, but they aren't sitting back and feeling sorry for themselves either. It gives us reason to believe that they were probably experiencing their fair share of grief and lament, but it wasn't debilitating or paralyzing.

And then he enters into a beautiful litany of descriptions using seemingly opposite conditions:
We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold, we live; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything.

I find these words so powerful next to one another.

Imagine a different list. "We're unknown, dying, punished, sorrowful, poor, and we have nothing." It would be justified considering their experiences, but pretty bleak, lacking hope.

Or another list, still. "We're known, alive, always rejoicing, making many rich, possessing everything!" Sure, it contains the final message of the gospel, but in the face of all sorts of hardship, it makes most all of us no matter what our disposition say, "Yeah, right!"

But no, our list as Christians includes both: unknown, yet well known, dying, yet alive, having nothing, yet possessing everything.

The point is this: both are true at the same time and neither are right all alone. The sad camp needs to admit and acknowledge the truth that brings hope. The happy camp needs to admit the real difficulties we face in this world and the way they can make us feel. Both are held together in perfect tension. Both inform and help one another. Both are more complete representation of who we are in this life.

We're not just sorrowful. We're not just rejoicing.

We are sorrowful yet always rejoicing in this already but not yet kingdom.

We may not always get over it, but we will find ways to rejoice even in the midst of our sorrow.

But that's not easy when we're left to ourselves and our own reactions. It's just one more reason we need each other, one more reason to empathize and encourage, one more way to bear with each another in love.

Sorrowful Yet Always Rejoicing 2

This liberty to mourn, grieve, lament--or more simply just be sad every once in a while--is a great burden lifted, especially for those of us with a more melancholic temperament. But it's probably precisely because I'm one of those stuck with the melancholy that I wonder if, as is often the case, the camp that has swung the pendulum has let it swing too far.

Some of us pendulum swingers have begun to believe that if anyone is happy, they must be faking it. Anyone who seems to have the joy of the Lord must be fooling themselves. It's not that easy we say. We've equated authenticity with sitting around moping and talking about how hard and difficult life is all the time. I suppose I'm exaggerating, but there's some truth in there somewhere.

The truth is, we melancholics have to realize that actually, there is a joy that strengthens, a hope that endures, a peace that passes understanding. And it's ours to be had here and now in this life. That is to say, we can point to the laments in the Bible all we want, but the other camp that's clapping and singing happy songs has their own fair share of biblical support to back things up too.

OK, so nowhere in the Bible are we exhorted to go skipping around town with a smile on our face singing about how happy we are. (What a relief!) But it's hard to deny that the point of this whole big story is a hope that keeps us going through difficult times. It's a knowledge of the bigger picture, of what's going on behind the scenes, of the end of the story, of what's still to come. And this is what's supposed to bring us that joy, hope, peace, gladness.

Not to mention those exhortations to count it all joy and rejoice in the middle of suffering, and that the original recipients of those exhortations were facing some real suffering, not just a bad day at work.

Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness and Self Control. These aren't really melancholic words either.

So while the permission to lament is much needed progress, let's not force people to lament when they don't need to, and let's not excuse a sadness that is actually a loss of real joy due to a self-focused lack of the big picture. The happy camp isn't exactly wrong, after all.

But when you've got one person (like the song leader) rightfully pushing for the silver lining and directing us towards the hopeful happy ending, and another person (like the OT prof) rightfully asking for permission to mourn and lament...Who's right? Who wins? What's the answer?

Sorrowful Yet Always Rejoicing 1

Shortly after the events of September 11, what seemed like the entire university family, students and professors alike, found themselves inside the chapel for a service, all in a sort of state of shock. The music leader chose several songs to direct our focus, and with one after another we sang of hope, of God's control, of his hand and presence. And in a brief moment of silence after yet another, a man from the back addressed the song leader by yelling,

"Sing us a lament!"

It was the Old Testament professor, one of the most intense men I have ever met, always carrying himself a bit like a story out of the book of Judges. The leader was a bit stunned and confused and asked for clarification. Standing up and speaking still from the back of the room, the OT professor gave some words of explanation in front of the couple thousand members of the community, finishing simply in a shaking voice, "We just need a lament."

In other words: you're rushing into this hope and joy and good news bit. Yes, we know all that to be true. But we're still in shock here. Not yet. We've lost real people in a senseless act, and to rush past lament is to completely minimize the heavy reality of this event.

And this man knew his Old Testament intimately enough to know that a lament is not off limits for the people of God.

Somewhere through the years we all began to believe that Christians were supposed to be the happiest-go-lucky people on the planet of the earth, always smiling, always singing, always skipping. The chorus of my childhood was our anthem: "And I'm so happy, so very happy, I've got the love Jesus in my heart..."

But then when hardship or trouble or suffering came, we weren't sure what to do. We felt guilty for feeling sad or sorry. And so, too often the only solution was a fake smile plastered on our faces and muttering as convincingly as possible: "Yeah, it's hard, but God is good!" And meanwhile, the sadness and grief began growing and eating away at us under the surface with no idea how to handle it next. We didn't feel the permission to be human, and a dressed-up religious version of denial became our only option.

I'm no expert and my perspective is a bit limited, but it seems as though there's been a shift in recent years. Maybe it's a growing focus in the psychology/counseling realm or the younger generation's desire for authenticity or just a more even-handed reading of the Bible, but regardless, I get the feeling more and more people are saying that it's OK to be sad, to mourn, to grieve, to lament, to struggle with depression...and at that, to take as long as you need, because rushing that sort of thing is only counter productive. We are human, created as emotional beings in the image of God, and stuck in this world of suffering, and if David and Jeremiah and Job and Habbakuk could ask questions and express complaints in the midst of weeping and wailing, well, we can too.

The shift is needed. Refreshing and healthy and biblical. Our hymnal could use a few more laments. And we should be more at ease singing them.

But I don't want to stop there.

Tree of Life

Grace versus Nature, Spirit versus Flesh.
The beginning of time and the end of time.
The problem of evil and suffering.
Our finiteness.
The existence and nature of God.
The human condition.
Pride and Ambition.
Love.
Revelation.
Redemption.
Beauty and Glory and our response:
Wonder or Ignorance.
Life from start to finish.

It's been a long time since I was completely taken in by a movie, able to stay awake first of all, but then also love what I see and think about it incessantly after. I was trying to think of the last time it happened in this way: perhaps with The Wrestler or Silent Light. It's been too long.

But it happened last night with Tree of Life at a film night with some friends. The film was stimulating and the discussion was rewarding.

It's not a perfect film, but it's safe to say I've never seen anything quite like it (although now that I look back at my response to Silent Light, I feel like I'm repeating myself!), and for all of its grandiose ambition (see the exhausting list above), I'd say it ends up succeeding. Plenty to think about, plenty to discuss, plenty to see.

I'll stop there because A) I need to watch it again before saying much of anything more coherent and B) if you plan on watching it, the less you know the better.

Petit Gourmand

The kid helped me make chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. Then he invented his new delicacy: chocolate chip pancakes with peanut butter and jelly on top. Does this mean we are good parents or bad ones?

In a moment of sweet fatherhood tonight, the boys were content to play rather quietly on their own for a few minutes. While I laid on the couch, the baby laid contentedly on the floor, rolling around a bit and playing with a few toys with no fussing. The kid was content to quietly prepare some food and deliver it to me to be eaten. As I worked on the computer, my chest began to be piled with plastic foodstuffs. But I didn't mind, because we were all happy, all calm, all quiet, and because nothing quite beats a mustard, lettuce, potato chip sandwich on a hot dog bun.

foxes

Finally catching up on records I missed this past year. On current rotation is Fleet Foxes Helplessness Blues. I'll skip my thoughts for now to say I've been catching myself humming this song all day.

And I'm fairly certain this music video is perfectly executed.

Potty Talk

I really try hard and make an effort to keep my children's bodily functions off this blog. But this is too good.

The kid has been sitting on the toilet for a good five minutes and counting.

It started with him shouting nonsense.
Me: Please be quiet and don't shout like that.
Him: But I'm shouting.
Me: I know, and I've asked you to stop.

Then the cat starts meowing from down the hall.
Cat: Meow, meow, meow.
Him: I don't know Banjo, but I'm pooping right now.
(He's never been known to have conversations with the cat before. A new phase. I think I like it.)

His little brother sneezes in the next room.
Him: Bless you, Bless you...Bless you too, papa.

Then he starts singing an improvised song.
Him: Down, down, down to the sewer. There's an octopus down there. And a crocodile too.

The cat starts meowing again.
Cat: Meow, etc.
Him: OK Banjo, I'll be right there. Papa? I'm all done!!

Mix Tape: Big Enough for the World To Love

Find me a person who can't like Coldplay. If you need me to explain why I like a Coldplay song like I need to explain why I like some obscure indie-instrumental-act-from-Iceland, well then, you're just weird. Is there a band bigger than Coldplay? U2, maybe. But I still have the hunch Coldplay is bigger.

It started with the single "Yellow" on the radio. This is really good. Who is this? Something about this song sounds oddly like Dave Matthews Band, but way cooler.

Parachutes was introduced by my roommate Kyle. I think his brother gave it to him for Christmas after I confirmed he didn't have it already. He once said, "If Coldplay were a wanton woman, I would be led astray."

Rush of Blood to the Head was Travis. I can still picture him pounding the steering wheel of the Ford Probe and singing along, probably on the spring break trip from Indiana to Pennsylvania. We'd all pretend to cry while singing falsetto at the top of our lungs with "The Scientist." And then just when you thought the single "Clocks" could get old and overplayed, it didn't. We all just kept on loving it.

X&Y all sort of blended together and went unappreciated for a while, but I came around to it. It helped to watch old people sing "Fix You." It helped to sing "Fix You" at our Fete de la Musique, too.

Viva La Vida started by seeing posters all over Paris. Favorite songs would switch after every listen. This album is pretty much perfect, no? Man oh man.

Mylo Xyloto will now always be New Year's Eve 2011, celebrating a year in a new land with brothers and sisters, especially because that opener is such a dance-the-year-away-with-reckless-abandon sort of hit.

And this song is emerging as a favorite. But how can Coldplay be against the world when the whole world is for Coldplay?

Coldplay, "Us Against the World" from Mylo Xyloto

Discerning a Call 1

Most anyone in the church at some point or another hears about this mysterious thing we refer to as 'a call,' and especially those considering entering some sort of full-time or at least more-intentional-on-some-level ministry. In a lot of ways it seems like something in the American church we're absolutely obsessed with, really. I've lived through a lot of it, have heard a lot about it, have thought about it, discussed it, wrestled with it. I've always wanted to write, but it has always seemed too vast to tackle. I have no real plans to turn this into a 'series' and don't know where it will lead, but there's one facet I've wanted to get out recently...so we'll get this started and see where it goes from here...

More often than not, discerning a call is not rocket science. Start at the easiest, most obvious place: What do you like to do? What do you want to do? What seems like common sense to you?

I told a friend once that he had the gift of evangelism. "I do? You think so?" was his response. It was so crystal clear to me, but it came so naturally to him that he didn't see it. I told him I could see this gift in Him because he was so eager to talk to people about Christ. "Doesn't everybody do that?" was his response. "No, some people are terrified to do it," I told him. This is a guy who built a full-size cross out of wood and carried it around a city center in a foreign country with the objective to a) take Christ's words about carrying a cross very literally and b) start some conversations. I tried convincing him that this was not normal behavior despite what he may think, and that only people with the gift of evangelism would even entertain the idea.

From the very first time I visited a church plant, I was hooked. Setting up chairs in an old VFW building in Staten Island with a diverse, rag-tag community of people who didn't know the first thing about Jesus or the church...so much about this scenario excited me, so much seemed like common sense, why wouldn't everyone want to be involved in work like this? The more my experiences with church planting grew, the more it seemed like common sense: this is what the church should be doing, this is what Christians should be excited about, this is what I want to be involved with. Church planting seemed like the solution to everything: Church is too big? Plant one. Can't find a church? Plant one. And more than that, when I read scripture, I saw church planting everywhere I looked. But of course, it didn't take long for me to see that some people just really don't like going to church in VFWs or school cafeterias or community centers, and some people are scared to death of the work involved in gathering a new community. The fact that it seems so common sense to me is the first step of recognizing my call towards church planting.

One couple in our organization love the beginning stages of church planting. They have seemingly no fear of moving by themselves to a town where they know no one, where there is no existing church network, no nearby Christian support. And they have a knack for gathering people around them and turning it into a community. The problem is, after a good five years or so, they are ready to move on and start again. Right now they have been in the same town for around eight years, have a church of thirty or forty people, and they are tired, eager for the next project. If I were in their shoes, I would just be starting to get comfortable and excited, just now be breathing a sigh of relief, glad those first years are over and eager for the "real work" to start. That tells us something about the respective work to which we are called.

What about the average Joe in the average church? Not the one that is coasting, just attending for the sake of attending. The one who is committed, who serves behind the scenes, who supports the life of the church. What is he called to? To him, the most common sense way to serve God is to work hard, lead a family in love, give a percentage of his income to sustain the life of the church, and help the people around him who need help. He reads scripture and everything points him to this simple lifestyle of obedience. We start to see some clues about his calling, and it would not be right for us to make him feel guilty for not being a preacher or a church planter.

Put another way, ask this question. What is it you complain about? What do you see as missing in your church? We don't practice community...we don't serve the poor...we don't teach our children...we don't drink enough tea together...we ignore the neighbors in the town around us...we aren't serious about the Bible...we don't do our musical worship with excellence... Even our grumbling can show us what is most common sense to us, where we are gifted, in what direction we are called.

The trick is not burdening others with our own common sense gifting and calling. Sometimes it's so common sense that we think everyone should be doing it with us, and that's simply not the case. That's not to say we don't talk about it, we don't try to persuade others of the importance of certain things, and we stick to ourselves taking action in our own little individual corners. No, we talk and share and impress and persuade, but at the end of the day we act on our own calling while trying to see how others' gifts and calls fit in with ours and how mine fits in with theirs. How do the puzzle pieces go together to join as a body? How do we free one another--supporting and serving--so that each one can minister in the best possible and most effective way? The church planters need Average Joes and the Average Joes need church planters. Let's not forget this most beautiful part of the creativity and diversity of God's design.

The discussion of a call can get pretty thick and heavy and convoluted sometimes, much more complicated than it needs to be. Let's simplify by starting in the most obvious place: How did God design you?

The New Guy, 7

A few weeks back I "finished" language school. Got good grades. My wife's been bragging about me. My head has grown.

Then the other day, a faucet stated leaking. You know I'm not much of a bricoleur, and so this sort of thing, especially after recently receiving a very sizeable and unexpected water bill, really has a knack for ruining my day.

My brother-in-law helped me figure out the basics of sink valves, and shortly thereafter, I showed great initiative and went to the big hardware store at my earliest convenience. I asked a man in the plumbing aisle for help finding the right replacement valve.

And I was instantly transported back to my first month in France.

He rattled off an answer and I got very few of the basics of what he was saying. I asked him to repeat himself, and he went just as fast the second time around, much like the fast mumbler at the post office a while back. I knew he was telling me they didn't carry the type of valve I needed, and I had a feeling he was telling me exactly the type I needed, though I wasn't understanding a thing he was saying, and then he told me I needed to go to a certain customer service desk, but I don't understand why. It sounded like he was explaining himself clearly and thoroughly enough, but I had no idea what was going on.

Last ditch effort: "And that's my only option?"
"Yes, sir. Only option."
"Well, thank you very much..."
"Don't mention it."

I walked out like I knew where this particular customer service desk was and I knew what I would be asking for. Couldn't find the desk, didn't know what to ask for anyway. I circled back around the store like a lost bird, something I tend to do in these situations, trying to decide what to do next, desperate. Eventually gave up and went back home exhausted.

I put the valve back in so that water wouldn't shoot everywhere before turning the main valve back on. I'm enough of a bricoleur to know these important steps, for which I'm grateful. Funny thing is, even though we had played around with the valve in several ways before this trip to the hardware store and nothing changed, this time, the leak stopped.

Sometimes I have this odd habit of making up reasons why God does certain things. On one hand, I think he could care less about plumbing and bricolage. On the other hand, I do believe his sovereignty extends even to the mundane minutia of our lives.

And so, while I wouldn't tell you this is a 100% sure-thing act of God, I have this hunch that he gave me that leaky faucet just to remind me I'm not finished learning French yet and still have a long way to go. A little humility can work wonders, you know. And once the lesson was learned, he was content fix the leak himself.

And if that is in fact the case, I imagine him patting me on the back with a smirk like I might my son after a lesson learned, knowing these little stunts aren't exactly the most desired lessons, but they're peculiar little practical jokes for our ultimate good. And all we can do is chuckle along with him, a little bit more tired than before, not exactly thankful, but admittedly a little better off in the end. You've got to hand it to him, he's creative in his methods.

And while I do have to keep worrying about my French, at least I don't have to worry about the leak.

jimmy

Can't Do It On My Own

The kid was unusually defiant this morning, and when it was just the two of us going to church, I knew I had to give him a little pep talk about cooperating during the service. It went back and forth for a little while with him continuing to disagree, and ended something like this, complete with pathetic whiny voice...

"But I don't want to obey!"
"Well you must."
"But I can't do it on my own!"

Once again the wisdom spewing out of this three year old's mouth stops in me in my tracks, hits me like a ton of bricks, knocks the wind out of me.

"You're exactly right...and I can't do it on my own either...so let's ask God for help..."

The end of that particular story is that he did pretty well. But there's more.

The sermon was on forgiveness, the terribly convicting passage we don't talk about enough, where Jesus tells his disciples just how many times they need to forgive the people around them, and then tells the story of the man being forgiven of an enormous debt only to turn around and demand the relative pocket change a friend owed him. What the preacher sadly never made explicit became clear when he told a brief story of Corrie Ten Boom. After speaking to an audience about forgiveness, the man who killed her sister came to her to ask her forgiveness. She recognized him immediately. And if I caught the story correctly, she immediately prayed allowed, saying, "God, I cannot forgive this man on my own...and so I ask for your help..."

I was stunned again. My toddler apparently has the wisdom of preachers and Christian heroes. This fatherhood thing is a crazy, humbling blessing.

On Rough Years

There were plenty of quirky things that my college roommate and I did back then, but there was one that still strikes me as an actually fairly healthy practice. When one of us would enter the room a bit stressed out at the end of a full day, the other one would say in a half-patronizing half-validating tone,

"You've had a long day."

No matter how sarcastic it really was, it actually always kind of felt pretty good, like someone understood, like someone empathized, like someone noticed, like someone cared.

And it's an interesting practice, because it seems like more often one of two things happens. We try to fake our way through the tough days to impress the people around us and try to convince them we're strong and OK. Or, when we admit to having a long day, the other person tries to convince us that their day was longer and proceeds to tell us all the reasons why. And both tendencies just drive us further into independence and hardness and solitude and isolation.

But when we can actually admit to having a tough day, or when we can actually validate another's tough day, what happens then? The possibilities are endless. It's the start of empathy.

One of my all-time favorite movie moments comes towards the end of The Royal Tenenbaums. A distant father makes a loving gesture and finally pursues his son. All sorts of important phrases come out like "Sorry" and "Thank you" and "You're welcome" and all of a sudden walls come down. The son, a dad with boys of his own who has been trying to be strong with not much success finally confesses, "We've had a rough year, dad." The dad affirms, "I know you have." And a burden is lifted.

I know that we're 4 days into 2012 and people have already finished reflecting on 2011. But I wonder what sort of freedom could come from friends and family being able to admit that they had a rough year last year, and what would happen with us responding "I know...You're right, you did..."