Pilgrim Ramblings

Participant of Spectator?

This past week I have been house sitting for my parents and one of the most distinct differences about changing living quarters for two weeks is not so much the sleeping arrangements, having a cat around to care for, or not having all my stuff, it is that in the living room there is something present that is not in my house now: a television. Now just for the sake of clarification, I have not been an avid television watcher for a long time, I remember times in high school and even a bit in college that I began to notice that TV took a little bit too much priority when I would be with friends and would suddenly feel the urge to be home vegging while watching football or Seinfeld, that feeling like I would really be missing out on something and I needed to be home to see it. It has been awhile since that has occurred. Nor am I the type to get all arrogant about not owning a TV, though I will admit every once in a while it feels good to say! I don't look down on those who have TVs, and I don't think they are living fictional lives by owning them or watching them frequently. Just as a side, I find this blog hilarious and especially on this exact point:

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/2008/01/26/28-not-having-a-tv/

But I have noticed something about this past week with having a television that terrifies me a little bit. And what scares me is how easily I am willing to trade in making stories for being a witness to other stories, whether fictional or nonfictional. It can be very tempting to simply sit there and watch stories go by than to get up and be a part of them yourself. This happens for many reasons I am sure, but a couple stick out in my mind. One, living out real stories has the essential element of risk involved in them. Risk scares the hell out of every last one of us, and so we do a lot of things to avoid it. To call out a story for ourselves and point toward a particular direction means we could potentially lose something valuable to us and so we fear losing some sense of security. But good stories are never safe. There at the heart of them lies both failure and death, even if not a literal or physical death. The second reason we are willing to be spectators rather than participants in stories is that when we become a witness to a story we get to be a part of it somehow without having to lose something of ourselves. It can create in us excitement as we watch a story, but it rarely ever costs us. We can close the book or turn off the television. We cannot do that with our own stories so well. But we do love the tension embedded in stories, the battle between good and evil, light and dark, beauty and ugliness, life and death, certainty and uncertainty. We love being caught within this polarity, but often we save it for lesser stories rather than in our own lives. Today I found this quote very telling of how often we live:

"A plot without tension is a flat line, a life with no rises, no dips, no anima. Life, by definition, involves tension. Even the couch potato, the average adult who watches 4.2 hours of television every day, is drawn to tragedy and tension in the stories of others. This attraction is the reason we are so bound to sitcoms, pulp fiction, reality TV, and water-cooler gossip. We would die without the thrill, uncertainty, and passion of tragedy and tension." (To Be Told by Dan Allender, pg. 17)

We desire and go after stories that include tension and the potential for tragedy, but so often choose the escape mode in our day to day lives and merely become witnesses to stories instead of coauthors of them. I am often so guilty of this, and I realized over the course of this past week I am willing to buy into stories such as the World Cup, The Departed, History Channel, Man vs. Food, etc. over my own. And I don't think we have to choose, because I love a great story in books, movies, television. They often can lead us to greater stories if we let them and if they can inspire us to tell our own. But if we simply stop there and solely use these stories as substitutes for our real ones, and we don't seek adventure or risk, then we have truly become bereft and boring. And great stories cost us, they always include the essential element of sacrifice. We have to lose something in order to gain life. You have to get off the couch, be willing to play putt putt golf in the pouring rain with your friends or ride the bike at night under the beautiful moon and talk to God, to help with that organization and create better stories for others as well or feed that person on the street. Good stories will challenge us and will never promise safety or certainty, but they will be rich and we will grow and mature because of the process. Here is a final quote from Allender,

"We want adventure, but not without assurances that we will suffer no harm when we take risks. We want danger and excitement, but only as long as they come with a money-back guarantee that everything will work out before the game is finished. But life isn't like that. There are no safe risks. There is no growth that comes with a guarantee of success. Tension is the medium in which we breathe every day."

The Daily Funeral

"Remember your baptism" - Martin Luther

I was baptized as a teenager, not knowing really what I was getting myself into and actually more terrified of going up in front of the congregation, because I am always so aware of when people might be looking at me. And I was a little scared of being dunked in frigid water. Other fears crept in too, some irrational; Has anyone ever drowned from this ritual? Is this water sanitary? If I slip and fall into the water as I approach will that count as being immersed or do I have to go in for a second time? Luckily my friend Matt also decided to go as well, and so that made the decision easier. When I reflect on it, which is probably not that much, I wonder why I made the decision. Could it be that I was appeasing my family? Was I deep down quieting my mom's voice when she cautioned me as a child that I might not be saved until it happens? Did I not want to be left out in the youth group I was becoming more a part of?

Knowing my analytical self, I could ask a thousand more questions in regards to why I made the decision to follow Jesus and affirm it by being baptized, and most likely I went in for all the wrong reasons. Usually I make decisions out of comfort, thinking that Jesus would solve all my problems like a Full House episode. If I knew just how tough this would be I am not sure I would have accepted it long ago. As a teenager so often you have no idea what Christ might demand of you, which never really stops as you grow older because most of us adults don't really ever realize what Christ is calling us to and often when we do we plug our ears to it and then say we don't hear from God. But deep down my hope, which may really be a blind and naive hope, is that somewhere in my being I was made aware that I did needed something that could not be filled by all the voices I had heard at the time that promised the ability to satisfy me. I could never utter such words out loud at that age, nor did I have the adequate language to do so, but who really does at any age? Who can speak such holy words to convey what the divine does in us and how we respond? But I do believe, most of the time, somewhere in the holy and hidden heart of it all we are faced with the decision to follow Christ or not.

Or maybe it is about several decisions we make every day, about the approach we take to life to either follow in the steps of Christ or be determined to go our own way, which is really the way of other masters. As Bob Dylan sings, "you gotta have to serve somebody", and so often we follow those other voices who promise fulfillment. Martin Luther once stated that everyday you must wake up and remember your baptism, and I am apt to believe that it is often what it means to follow Christ into this world, to know that death hangs on us and pulls us and attempts to manipulate us everyday, but we are to remember that we have died to those things and that we must always cling to life and life with Christ. There are many days when I probably don't die to myself, when I quietly assent to whatever is comfortable, easy, and allows me to not be challenged. But there are some days in which I do not live in fear, when I am able to speak the word that can confront and yet heal, when I can be strong and tender at the same time, and it is to those days that I hold on to and cherish because they are a holy "yes" to Christ's calling and a decisive "no" to the evil alternatives. But again this is not a power I muster all from my own, because when I hear the words "remember your baptism" I hear them as a prayer of longing and of dependence on God, that he will work in us and help us in leading us to our deaths, to continue to die to things that have no promise and no power.

Perhaps my baptism was made out of ignorance and a desire to appease something, but it has set me on a course and a pilgrimage that has shaped me and marked me in significant ways. The community I am a part of, the friends who love me and challenge me, the people who I get to share my faith with, are all there because God began the process of helping me die to my old self and because God continues the work of bringing me into new life in his kingdom. Often I say no more than I should, but I also know that Christ is with me to help me back up and lead me on the path again. And so today I am thankful for the journey, I am thankful for others who continue to die to the old order as well and desire for resurrection in this life and the next. I am thankful to the God of life and resurrection, who continues to wake us up and is patient with us everyday.

Lord, help us to follow your Son in death, only to be raised into new life and the resurrection that is to come. So often we fail, we are weak and cave in to the pressures of life. But your hand that helps to pick us up is next to the hand that leads the way. Thank you for your mercy and forgiveness, thank you for letting us be a part of the kingdom. Continue the work you have given us to do and create in us hearts that are brave and ready to see your kingdom come. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Recovering Story

Last October I went on an adventure with with a good friend to China. A few months prior, our mutual friend John had asked us if we would like to join him and some others on a hike in the Himalayas and after giving it a few days to ponder, even though I knew the answer the entire time, I agreed to it. Two years earlier I had went on another adventure with two of my close friends for five weeks throughout Western Europe, backpacking and riding trains, exploring museums and ancient ruins all the while meeting new friends in hostels. This was something I had longed to do for years, probably since my freshman year of high school taking Ancient/ Medieval History with Mr. Walton dressing up as various characters in history. It was so vastly different than what I had thought it would be like and the way I romanticized it but it ended up being a richer experience because of that very point. However, going to hike in the mountainous regions of Tibet was not something I had hoped would happen for years, I had no preconceived notions of what it was to look like nor had I dreamt about the experience of it. It was a completely new excursion and I had no idea as to how to work up to it, except for running with my friends frequently and trying to prepare for the terrain and lower oxygen.

My fear throughout though was if I was going to make it, if I could in fact make it to our destination and be able to come back down the mountain. That then became my goal and that became my story for a few months as we approached our departure. It was not an easy story by any means, in many places it was arduous and I wanted to quit a few times, not just on the actual trip but when we were running Lafortune Park at 11pm when I could have been watching television and eating fast food. On the hike, there were several times I thought we had reached our peak, and at one point one of our new friends said we had, but of course we hadn't. And I cursed him in that moment. But eventually we did get there, and we took pictures at 14,400 ft and celebrated together that we had made it, and I can still go back to that place in my mind and think so fondly of it. I remember how heavy my pack felt, how the cold chill felt on my cheeks and beard, how exhausted I felt in the pit of my stomach and the ache in my feet, but above all that I remember seeing my friend Steve stand at the highest point and I laughed out loud. Not because he was being silly but because we had accomplished something, and what we had set out to do months ago had occurred and I was able to see that all the work we had done had paid off. It was a moment of levity. Our story was literally at a climax, and we were nearing the end.

When I got back to the states I began to feel a little lost, for the story I had going on for so long was at an end and I had not embarked on another. However I started to read a book that began to challenge me and confront me in some areas of my life, all the while being a companion that put me on the path to discovering the power of story in life. That book was Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, and as I write this I am now in my third read of this book! Though I could go into more detail, I want to share some quotes from the book that have been very powerful to me: 

"....nobody really remembers easy stories. Characters have to face their greatest fears with courage. That's what makes a story good. If you think about the stories you like most, they probably have lots of conflict, There is probably death at stake, inner death or actual death, you know. These polar changes, these happy and sad things in life, are like colors God uses to draw the world...Somehow we realize that great stories are told in conflict, but we are unwilling to embrace the potential greatness of the story we are actually in. We think God is unjust, rather than a master storyteller." (31-32)

"Here's the truth about telling stories with your life. It's going to sound like a great idea, and you are going to get excited about it, and then when it comes time to do the work, you're not going to want to do it. It's like that with writing books, and it's like what with life. People love to have lived a great story, but few people like the work it takes to make it happen. But joy cost pain." (99-100)

"It's true that while ambition creates fear, it also creates the story. But it's a good trade, because as soon as you point toward a horizon, life no longer feels meaningless. And suddenly there is risk in your story and a question about whether you'll make it. You have a reason to get out of bed in the morning." (113)

So I share this because the little story I told for a few months last year meant something, but it wasn't enough. There are larger stories to become a part of, there are new adventures to be had, and I am not to sit back and watch them pass but to jump out into them and become a different person from where I had previously stood. I think also that the kingdom of God is a larger story that I am to find my place in, and I'm learning more and more what my role is in that. But being in a story involves conflict and it includes pain, but in the end those stories are the most beautiful and meaningful because redemption is near and when it comes it makes those stories all the more magnificent.

Sowing Seeds

Over the last few months there was been a predominant metaphor that has shaped the way I view life and thus my engagement with other people, which for me leads further and deeper along into how I view and relate to God. For me this image has been that of a sower. A sower does the hard, consistent work of cultivating growth in an environment that is amicable for such growth to occur. And yet, the sower does not control where the growth occurs, how quickly it commences, nor does the sower have an idea if these things will in the end work. The sower begins to trust the process of creation, knowing that the natural world is not something created by his own strength but given to him as a gift to both himself and potentially others. Still, he has work to do alongside the process. The sower surveys the land, studies it's intricacies and monitors its progress, the sower protects and  and as such it is not an easy task, but one that does prove to be rewarding if the sower pays attention.

Jesus told a parable about a sower, and that in four different environments the message of the kingdom of heaven is given and four different events take place: in one place it is snatched away, in another it deteriorates quickly because it is taken in shallow form, in the third place it is choked out by the worries and anxieties we feel in life. But the fourth environment proves to be good soil which enriches the seed and produces crop, it has thus shown to have taken root in lives. What I am intrigued by in this tale is that the good soil that Jesus describes is linked to the ability to listen, not simply to just recognize noise or to differentiate sound, but to pay attention to and process what is being given. It is more than awareness, it is a deep engagement and a hopeful posture that true words may be spoken that can take root in a life and can begin a cultivation of the soul.

What I am learning right now is that what I am called to very often is to be patient and trust the process, but that doesn't simply mean "let go and let God". A trite phrase does not offer wise counsel, it offers a small bit of truth wrapped in sentimentality that does not speak to the complexity of what it means to live life in relation to God. Beginning to trust the process of how God works in life starts with our ability to listen, and that means letting go of noise. I have a lot of noise in my life, and I can easily fill up my time and the places I go with noise. But listening, really giving my attention to the idea that there may be a voice to be heard in the midst of the chaos of life requires a work that is daunting. This has so much to do with creating space, with emptying myself of things that are filler and silencing the competing voices that increase worry and anxiety. I am not good at it by any means, and yet I know what I am to do. I am to trust that there is a Voice, that this voice which may be ever mysterious and hidden at times, still longs to speak into my life words that will bring water to my thirsty soul. 

Part of trying to write again, and in this form right now, is that it helps me to listen better. And so I am trying to write more consistently, to pay attention more to what God might be saying. And yet I believe God gives us other voices too, because he knows more deeply than w do that we need them. I need fellow fellow sojourners who can help me listen better, who can help me in this process. I hope I can be a voice too, and so I look forward to what might happen soon....