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Good morning! May you leave joy in your wake as you pursue your authentic self today.
Good morning! May you start your week with enthusiasm, joy, and hope.
Good friends seem to know what you need even when you don’t.
Good morning! May you connect deeply with others today experiencing the richness of being known.
Good morning! May you intentionally pursue joy today.
Good morning! May you finish the week well #today, press on!
I love watching this kid play ball!
Good morning! May you get that thing off your list #today that is going to impede rest.
The Journey - The Crew
We aren't made to walk the path alone.
I began my journey toward physical fitness with a commitment to walk fifteen minutes per day. My thinking was that I could do anything for fifteen minutes. I was right. Rarely did I walk for less than twenty minutes. Almost always, I walked at least thirty.
I had, in my excitement over such a plan, decided to invite some close friends to hold me accountable. My walk needed to be done by 10 pm or they were free to give me all the grief!
At some point in my walking, I pulled a muscle. I could barely walk. But, I persevered. I can do anything for fifteen minutes.
During that time, it was all I could do to walk around the block. I had a dip in the hip but absolutely no glide in the stride. One evening, I had decided that after mowing the lawn I had had enough for the day.
I then made a fatal mistake. I told my close friends that I was counting the mowing as my walk.
In the words of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, “Big mistake, huge, BIG!”
“You made a commitment to walk. Your commitment was not to mow.”
I raged. I argued. I walked.
Never in my life had I been actually held accountable to anything.
These friends loved me enough to hold me accountable to the commitment I had made. I really didn't like them when they did. Yet, they held their ground and pushed me to walk. They wanted me to succeed. In that moment they wanted me to hold to my commitment more than I did.
I walked!
—
There is a passage in the ancient text that goes like this,
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. (Hebrews 12:1-3)”
This is written right after the writer lists out a number of people who had lived and died in faith. They were the “who's who” of the Old Testament. These people persevered in their faith and made up the “great cloud of witnesses,” along with countless others.
It is interesting to me that when he writes about persevering through the race he sets the call in the context of a “great cloud of witnesses.”
The community of faith, the cloud of witnesses, were the context from which the author calls people to press on and persevere.
—
We are not made to be alone. It is not good for us to be alone. We need community. We need a cloud of witnesses.
In my pursuit of fitness (physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, and relational) I have become keenly aware of my need for a cloud of witnesses. This cloud of witnesses I call my “crew.” These are the people that I have learned to trust with all of who I am. I have invited them into my life and given them the go ahead to hold me accountable.
When I don't want to persevere, I reach out to these people and they encourage me to walk on.
A community of people who are truly involved in your life will eventually make you very angry because they will not let you get away with quitting. To quit, to stop walking, is the one thing that is unacceptable to them. This crew of mine reminds me of my commitments, to be sure, but more than that, they remind me of who I am and who I want to be.
My identity is not shaped in isolation. It is shaped in community. My crew reminds me of who I am and these reminders give me the hope to carry on.
The journey towards fitness necessitates a crew of people who walk with you.
Who is your crew? Will they ensure that you walk on?
—
*And love is not the easy thing The only baggage that you can bring And love is not the easy thing The only baggage you can bring Is all that you can't leave behind
And if the darkness is to keep us apart And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off And if your glass heart should crack And for a second you turn back Oh no, be strong
Walk on, walk on What you got they can't steal it No, they can't even feel it Walk on, walk on Stay safe tonight* – U2
The Journey - The Crew
We aren't made to walk the path alone.
I began my journey toward physical fitness with a commitment to walk fifteen minutes per day. My thinking was that I could do anything for fifteen minutes. I was right. Rarely did I walk for less than twenty minutes. Almost always, I walked at least thirty.
I had, in my excitement over such a plan, decided to invite some close friends to hold me accountable. My walk needed to be done by 10 pm or they were free to give me all the grief!
At some point in my walking, I pulled a muscle. I could barely walk. But, I persevered. I can do anything for fifteen minutes.
During that time, it was all I could do to walk around the block. I had a dip in the hip but absolutely no glide in the stride. One evening, I had decided that after mowing the lawn I had had enough for the day.
I then made a fatal mistake. I told my close friends that I was counting the mowing as my walk.
In the words of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, “Big mistake, huge, BIG!”
“You made a commitment to walk. Your commitment was not to mow.”
I raged. I argued. I walked.
Never in my life had I been actually held accountable to anything.
These friends loved me enough to hold me accountable to the commitment I had made. I really didn't like them when they did. Yet, they held their ground and pushed me to walk. They wanted me to succeed. In that moment they wanted me to hold to my commitment more than I did.
I walked!
—
There is a passage in the ancient text that goes like this,
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. (Hebrews 12:1-3)”
This is written right after the writer lists out a number of people who had lived and died in faith. They were the “who's who” of the Old Testament. These people persevered in their faith and made up the “great cloud of witnesses,” along with countless others.
It is interesting to me that when he writes about persevering through the race he sets the call in the context of a “great cloud of witnesses.”
The community of faith, the cloud of witnesses, were the context from which the author calls people to press on and persevere.
—
We are not made to be alone. It is not good for us to be alone. We need community. We need a cloud of witnesses.
In my pursuit of fitness (physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, and relational) I have become keenly aware of my need for a cloud of witnesses. This cloud of witnesses I call my “crew.” These are the people that I have learned to trust with all of who I am. I have invited them into my life and given them the go ahead to hold me accountable.
When I don't want to persevere, I reach out to these people and they encourage me to walk on.
A community of people who are truly involved in your life will eventually make you very angry because they will not let you get away with quitting. To quit, to stop walking, is the one thing that is unacceptable to them. This crew of mine reminds me of my commitments, to be sure, but more than that, they remind me of who I am and who I want to be.
My identity is not shaped in isolation. It is shaped in community. My crew reminds me of who I am and these reminders give me the hope to carry on.
The journey towards fitness necessitates a crew of people who walk with you.
Who is your crew? Will they ensure that you walk on?
—
*And love is not the easy thing The only baggage that you can bring And love is not the easy thing The only baggage you can bring Is all that you can't leave behind
And if the darkness is to keep us apart And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off And if your glass heart should crack And for a second you turn back Oh no, be strong
Walk on, walk on What you got they can't steal it No, they can't even feel it Walk on, walk on Stay safe tonight* – U2
Good morning dear #fediverse! May you make progress #today so that you can find some rest.
The Journey - Perseverance Over Perfection
What if we valued perseverance over being perfect?
Sophia was walking through the forest with her friend Avil. As they were walking and talking she stubbed her toe on a root that had broken through the path. She stumbled and exclaimed her shock and surprise. She regained her footing and they continued walking.
A little bit later, Avil stubbed his toe as well. He cried out and then found another root and stubbed his other toe. When he did, he tripped and skinned his knee. He was distraught and threw himself down the side of a hill where he broke his leg. As rolled down the hill he also skinned his knee. So, he took a rock and broke his other arm.
It didn't take long before Sophia realized that the walk was over.
—
This parable is ridiculous! Avil (the Hebrew word for fool) is beyond foolish. Nobody would ever stub their toe and then go on to break their leg. Not to mention all the other ridiculous responses he made. Most of us likely see ourselves in Sophia, she stubs her toe and then continues on. That just makes sense, right?
Here's the crazy thing, if I'm honest, Avil is a reflection of me.
Over the years I've tried all kinds of things to lose weight and to pursue physical health.
Without fail, I've fallen short of my “plan.” When I did, I would throw my hands up and say, “Well, I blew it. Might as well enjoy it!” So what would I do? I'd get the famous number two from McDonald's, (two cheeseburgers, large fry, and a Coke) or I'd get a large pizza. I mean, why not? I have messed up the diet anyway.
You see, when it came to pursuing physical health my mindset has been, “perfection or nothing.” If I couldn't be perfect, I might as well just indulge.
There was no in between.
All or nothing.
I can trace this all or nothing approach through my pursuit of emotional health, spiritual health, and relational health too.
Health has always been a goal, a pursuit, something that I sought to attain. So, if I wasn't perfect then I was a failure. If I failed, then why press on?
I was all about perfection over perseverance.
—
The Apostle Paul wrote, “I’m not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don’t get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back. (Philippians 3:12-14, The Message)”
Paul was someone who was aware of the reality that life isn't a zero sum game. Inherent in what he writes here is the reality that life is a process. Becoming mature in his faith was not something that he was necessarily going to succeed at. It was a journey that he was on.
Notice also, that there was failure baked into what Paul said. Paul seems to be saying, “I fail too! I fall short too! But I press on!”
Perseverance is more important than perfection.
—
I will never be perfect. I will never have a perfect streak of eating well or exercising or being a good friend or being emotionally fit. But, instead of quitting I need to embrace the way of Sophia and recover my footing and keep hiking.
Something that I think that has been an important lesson is to learn the subtle shift from thinking about health to thinking about fitness.
Mental fitness. Physical fitness. Spiritual fitness. Emotional fitness. Relational fitness.
Fitness doesn't have an end. It's a goal to strive toward but you never really attain it. You never arrive at the end of fitness. So, you keep on pressing on. Straining toward the goal.
No turning back!
If the journey is the goal and the goal is the journey then all we really have is perseverance.
Perfection is not something that we will ever find. If not being perfect derails the journey then I will never be able to move forward.
Because I am on a journey that has no end there is only the option of pressing on. Getting a little better each day. Even when there's a step backward it's not the end. I can regain my footing like Sophia and keep walking.
Perseverance over perfection.
The Journey - Perseverance Over Perfection
What if we valued perseverance over being perfect?
Sophia was walking through the forest with her friend Avil. As they were walking and talking she stubbed her toe on a root that had broken through the path. She stumbled and exclaimed her shock and surprise. She regained her footing and they continued walking.
A little bit later, Avil stubbed his toe as well. He cried out and then found another root and stubbed his other toe. When he did, he tripped and skinned his knee. He was distraught and threw himself down the side of a hill where he broke his leg. As rolled down the hill he also skinned his knee. So, he took a rock and broke his other arm.
It didn't take long before Sophia realized that the walk was over.
—
This parable is ridiculous! Avil (the Hebrew word for fool) is beyond foolish. Nobody would ever stub their toe and then go on to break their leg. Not to mention all the other ridiculous responses he made. Most of us likely see ourselves in Sophia, she stubs her toe and then continues on. That just makes sense, right?
Here's the crazy thing, if I'm honest, Avil is a reflection of me.
Over the years I've tried all kinds of things to lose weight and to pursue physical health.
Without fail, I've fallen short of my “plan.” When I did, I would throw my hands up and say, “Well, I blew it. Might as well enjoy it!” So what would I do? I'd get the famous number two from McDonald's, (two cheeseburgers, large fry, and a Coke) or I'd get a large pizza. I mean, why not? I have messed up the diet anyway.
You see, when it came to pursuing physical health my mindset has been, “perfection or nothing.” If I couldn't be perfect, I might as well just indulge.
There was no in between.
All or nothing.
I can trace this all or nothing approach through my pursuit of emotional health, spiritual health, and relational health too.
Health has always been a goal, a pursuit, something that I sought to attain. So, if I wasn't perfect then I was a failure. If I failed, then why press on?
I was all about perfection over perseverance.
—
The Apostle Paul wrote, “I’m not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don’t get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back. (Philippians 3:12-14, The Message)”
Paul was someone who was aware of the reality that life isn't a zero sum game. Inherent in what he writes here is the reality that life is a process. Becoming mature in his faith was not something that he was necessarily going to succeed at. It was a journey that he was on.
Notice also, that there was failure baked into what Paul said. Paul seems to be saying, “I fail too! I fall short too! But I press on!”
Perseverance is more important than perfection.
—
I will never be perfect. I will never have a perfect streak of eating well or exercising or being a good friend or being emotionally fit. But, instead of quitting I need to embrace the way of Sophia and recover my footing and keep hiking.
Something that I think that has been an important lesson is to learn the subtle shift from thinking about health to thinking about fitness.
Mental fitness. Physical fitness. Spiritual fitness. Emotional fitness. Relational fitness.
Fitness doesn't have an end. It's a goal to strive toward but you never really attain it. You never arrive at the end of fitness. So, you keep on pressing on. Straining toward the goal.
No turning back!
If the journey is the goal and the goal is the journey then all we really have is perseverance.
Perfection is not something that we will ever find. If not being perfect derails the journey then I will never be able to move forward.
Because I am on a journey that has no end there is only the option of pressing on. Getting a little better each day. Even when there's a step backward it's not the end. I can regain my footing like Sophia and keep walking.
Perseverance over perfection.
The Journey - Who Am I?
Our self identity shapes what we do.
A couple of years ago I read a book called Atomic Habits by James Clear. He tells the story of a friend who went on a weight loss journey. To begin this journey his friend started a habit of going to the gym. At this point you might be thinking, “Well, of course he did.” But here's the kicker, he never went in. Every day he drove to the gym and parked in the parking lot.
What a strange thing to do, I thought. It surely didn't make any sense to me when I initially read it. I stopped and pondered why would he do something so strange before continuing to read. I wanted to try and figure it out. For the life of me, I couldn't. It just didn't make any sense.
Eventually, as you would expect, his friend began going into the gym. But, he didn't work out. He just went in. Then, he started exercising but only did one set of one movement. Then he left. But, then he started working out regularly and changed his physical state of health.
What was happening in this story?
This man was changing his identity.
When he started his journey he was not someone who exercised. To become someone who exercised he needed to become someone who went to the gym. He wasn't that guy either. He had to become a person who went tot he gym before he could become a person who exercised. So, at the most basic of levels he became a person who went to the gym.
This story deeply resonated with me.
I had begun figuring out my why. I was beginning to learn what it meant to love me. But, there was a second question that I needed to wrestle with, “Who am I?”
What kind of person am I?
I began to work through a series of “I am...” statements related to health.
I am a spiritually healthy person. What does this mean? What does a spiritually healthy person look like? What kinds of practices does a spiritually healthy person have in their lives?
I am a relationally healthy person. What does a relationally healthy person look like? What kinds of relationships do they have? How do they orient their time? What kinds of boundaries does this person have?
I am an emotionally healthy person. What does this look like? How do I lean into working on emotional health? Are there signs of not being emotionally healthy that need to be addressed?
I am a physically healthy person. What kind of person is physically healthy? What is true of this person? What practices are in place for a person to by physically healthy?
Notice that these were statements followed by questions. They were not questions followed by more questions. I began to change the way I thought of myself.
I am...
As my self-identity began to change things became easier and easier.
When I went out to dinner I would look at the menu and ask myself, “What would a physically healthy person order here?” Then I would order that because I am a physically healthy person.
Self-identifying as a “physically healthy person” also helped getting physically active much easier. On the many mornings that I don't want to hit the gym I think to myself, “A physically healthy person goes to the gym. I am a physically healthy person, so I will go to the gym.”
As I grow in my new self-identity as a healthy person (spiritually, reltionally, emotionally, and physically) I find making decisions to be easier. I am also finding that there are other things that are beginning to happen. For instance, part of my new identity is that I'm a person who goes to they gym three days a week and lifts weights. That's who I am now.
In the past, I was a person who was on a diet.
Diets are something that end.
As a person on a diet I would eventually become a person not on a diet. This meant that when I wasn't on a diet I would typically revert to old habits and undo much of what was done on the diet.
I am a person who is healthy. This never stops. It's a new way to of being. This way of being lasts beyond reaching any particular goal.
Pursuing a way of being is not goal driven. It is journey driven.
Who am I?
That's the question that shapes the journey.
The Journey - Who Am I?
Our self identity shapes what we do.
A couple of years ago I read a book called Atomic Habits by James Clear. He tells the story of a friend who went on a weight loss journey. To begin this journey his friend started a habit of going to the gym. At this point you might be thinking, “Well, of course he did.” But here's the kicker, he never went in. Every day he drove to the gym and parked in the parking lot.
What a strange thing to do, I thought. It surely didn't make any sense to me when I initially read it. I stopped and pondered why would he do something so strange before continuing to read. I wanted to try and figure it out. For the life of me, I couldn't. It just didn't make any sense.
Eventually, as you would expect, his friend began going into the gym. But, he didn't work out. He just went in. Then, he started exercising but only did one set of one movement. Then he left. But, then he started working out regularly and changed his physical state of health.
What was happening in this story?
This man was changing his identity.
When he started his journey he was not someone who exercised. To become someone who exercised he needed to become someone who went to the gym. He wasn't that guy either. He had to become a person who went tot he gym before he could become a person who exercised. So, at the most basic of levels he became a person who went to the gym.
This story deeply resonated with me.
I had begun figuring out my why. I was beginning to learn what it meant to love me. But, there was a second question that I needed to wrestle with, “Who am I?”
What kind of person am I?
I began to work through a series of “I am...” statements related to health.
I am a spiritually healthy person. What does this mean? What does a spiritually healthy person look like? What kinds of practices does a spiritually healthy person have in their lives?
I am a relationally healthy person. What does a relationally healthy person look like? What kinds of relationships do they have? How do they orient their time? What kinds of boundaries does this person have?
I am an emotionally healthy person. What does this look like? How do I lean into working on emotional health? Are there signs of not being emotionally healthy that need to be addressed?
I am a physically healthy person. What kind of person is physically healthy? What is true of this person? What practices are in place for a person to by physically healthy?
Notice that these were statements followed by questions. They were not questions followed by more questions. I began to change the way I thought of myself.
I am...
As my self-identity began to change things became easier and easier.
When I went out to dinner I would look at the menu and ask myself, “What would a physically healthy person order here?” Then I would order that because I am a physically healthy person.
Self-identifying as a “physically healthy person” also helped getting physically active much easier. On the many mornings that I don't want to hit the gym I think to myself, “A physically healthy person goes to the gym. I am a physically healthy person, so I will go to the gym.”
As I grow in my new self-identity as a healthy person (spiritually, reltionally, emotionally, and physically) I find making decisions to be easier. I am also finding that there are other things that are beginning to happen. For instance, part of my new identity is that I'm a person who goes to they gym three days a week and lifts weights. That's who I am now.
In the past, I was a person who was on a diet.
Diets are something that end.
As a person on a diet I would eventually become a person not on a diet. This meant that when I wasn't on a diet I would typically revert to old habits and undo much of what was done on the diet.
I am a person who is healthy. This never stops. It's a new way to of being. This way of being lasts beyond reaching any particular goal.
Pursuing a way of being is not goal driven. It is journey driven.
Who am I?
That's the question that shapes the journey.
The Journey - Start With "Why?"
Answering one question can start the journey.
I recently shared a before and after picture one year apart on my social feeds. It sparked congratulations and a lot of kind words. Over the last eighteen months I have lost over 100 lbs. My entire body has changed. I see old pictures and it doesn't even seem like I'm the same person.
Do you want to know something interesting? When I look in the mirror I don't really see much change at all. I will catch myself walking past a mirror and think, “wow! I've changed!” Then as I continue to look at myself I can almost see my body transform back to the “old me” in the mirror.
It's weird.
Many of the comments and conversations I have around this journey are about how hard it must be to be on a diet and how hard it is to exercise regularly. Folks are impressed by the consistency and perseverance. Often people want the “playbook.” They want the nuts and bolts about how I got here. I gladly share it with them, but more times than not, their eyes glass over.
The thing is, this really is a journey. It's my own personal hero journey. There are ups and downs. There are obstacles and pitfalls. There have been big successes and some big failures too.
A number of years ago after my second child, Libby, was born I lost a lot of weight. I wanted to to do it for “the kids.” Life was pretty easy and I dropped the weight.
A few years later, life got stressful. I gained all the weight back and kept it on for almost twenty years.
There were diets here and there and I lost some weight and I gained it back.
But, then something changed.
—
Over the last ten years I have become obsessed with trying to wrap my head and heart around two ideas. These two ideas are things that I come back to over and over again. I feel like they are all I talk about and think about.
Love and grace.
I suppose it shouldn't be all that surprising that a pastor thinks about love and grace (well, these days with the state of American Christianity perhaps it is). For the longest time I was more interested in truth and righteousness.
I wanted to be right. I knew I had the truth. More than anything I wanted people to embrace the truth and see that I was right so that they would be able to know what I knew. You could say, I was a bit of tool, and you'd be right. I was arrogant and self-consumed. I was not all that kind.
In the background of all that there was a nagging question, “What's so amazing about grace?” It had been posited to me by my friend and mentor, Bob. This question just floated around in the background like a little soundtrack that I tried to ignore.
Over the last ten years that question wouldn't remain in the background. It exploded into the foreground and with it came the question, “What is unconditional love?”
—
“What does any of this have to do with a journey toward losing weight?”
Great question.
In some ways it doesn't have anything to do with it and at the same time it has everything to do with it.
My journey hasn't been a journey of weight loss. My journey, my hero journey, has been a journey of health. Physical health is but one aspect. And, it's almost the least important aspect of the journey! It's a consequence of a pursuit of love and grace. As I pursued these things I started becoming more aware of my need to be a healthy person. This meant a healthy spirituality, healthy emotionally, and healthy relationally along with the physical.
I titled this, Start with “Why?”, because when I finally got rolling on my journey it was when I had finally come to the realization that I loved me.
I loved me enough to exercise. I loved me enough to change my eating habits. I loved me enough to be intentional about relationships. I loved me enough to doggedly pursue my spiritual life.
As I set out on this journey eighteen months ago it was not for my wife or for my children. It was not to get healthy.
I took the first step on the journey because I had finally come to the place where I loved me.
—
I had to confront my lack of love for myself.
Jesus said, “Love your neighbors as yourself”. It struck me that love of neighbor was limited by my ability to love myself. How I treated myself was in some way a reflection of how I loved my neighbor. I was becoming obsessed with the idea of “loving well”, which for me is the incorporation of love and grace. But, to really do that, to truly and thoroughly love well, I had to love me.
I'm convinced that the first step in the journey toward health has to start with, “Why?”
I am also convinced that if the why doesn't include “because I love me” then the journey is likely derailed from the beginning. The journey toward health (spiritual, relational, emotional, physical) is the hardest thing that I've entered into. If it wasn't rooted in love, I don't think I would have continued.
Because the journey is rooted in love, grace is always nipping at the heels. Grace frees me from legalism. Grace in the midst of perseverance opens the door to stumble and fall and get back up knowing that I'm still embraced and accepted.
—
“How did you do it?”
Love and grace my friend, love and grace.
The Journey - Start With "Why?"
Answering one question can start the journey.
I recently shared a before and after picture one year apart on my social feeds. It sparked congratulations and a lot of kind words. Over the last eighteen months I have lost over 100 lbs. My entire body has changed. I see old pictures and it doesn't even seem like I'm the same person.
Do you want to know something interesting? When I look in the mirror I don't really see much change at all. I will catch myself walking past a mirror and think, “wow! I've changed!” Then as I continue to look at myself I can almost see my body transform back to the “old me” in the mirror.
It's weird.
Many of the comments and conversations I have around this journey are about how hard it must be to be on a diet and how hard it is to exercise regularly. Folks are impressed by the consistency and perseverance. Often people want the “playbook.” They want the nuts and bolts about how I got here. I gladly share it with them, but more times than not, their eyes glass over.
The thing is, this really is a journey. It's my own personal hero journey. There are ups and downs. There are obstacles and pitfalls. There have been big successes and some big failures too.
A number of years ago after my second child, Libby, was born I lost a lot of weight. I wanted to to do it for “the kids.” Life was pretty easy and I dropped the weight.
A few years later, life got stressful. I gained all the weight back and kept it on for almost twenty years.
There were diets here and there and I lost some weight and I gained it back.
But, then something changed.
—
Over the last ten years I have become obsessed with trying to wrap my head and heart around two ideas. These two ideas are things that I come back to over and over again. I feel like they are all I talk about and think about.
Love and grace.
I suppose it shouldn't be all that surprising that a pastor thinks about love and grace (well, these days with the state of American Christianity perhaps it is). For the longest time I was more interested in truth and righteousness.
I wanted to be right. I knew I had the truth. More than anything I wanted people to embrace the truth and see that I was right so that they would be able to know what I knew. You could say, I was a bit of tool, and you'd be right. I was arrogant and self-consumed. I was not all that kind.
In the background of all that there was a nagging question, “What's so amazing about grace?” It had been posited to me by my friend and mentor, Bob. This question just floated around in the background like a little soundtrack that I tried to ignore.
Over the last ten years that question wouldn't remain in the background. It exploded into the foreground and with it came the question, “What is unconditional love?”
—
“What does any of this have to do with a journey toward losing weight?”
Great question.
In some ways it doesn't have anything to do with it and at the same time it has everything to do with it.
My journey hasn't been a journey of weight loss. My journey, my hero journey, has been a journey of health. Physical health is but one aspect. And, it's almost the least important aspect of the journey! It's a consequence of a pursuit of love and grace. As I pursued these things I started becoming more aware of my need to be a healthy person. This meant a healthy spirituality, healthy emotionally, and healthy relationally along with the physical.
I titled this, Start with “Why?”, because when I finally got rolling on my journey it was when I had finally come to the realization that I loved me.
I loved me enough to exercise. I loved me enough to change my eating habits. I loved me enough to be intentional about relationships. I loved me enough to doggedly pursue my spiritual life.
As I set out on this journey eighteen months ago it was not for my wife or for my children. It was not to get healthy.
I took the first step on the journey because I had finally come to the place where I loved me.
—
I had to confront my lack of love for myself.
Jesus said, “Love your neighbors as yourself”. It struck me that love of neighbor was limited by my ability to love myself. How I treated myself was in some way a reflection of how I loved my neighbor. I was becoming obsessed with the idea of “loving well”, which for me is the incorporation of love and grace. But, to really do that, to truly and thoroughly love well, I had to love me.
I'm convinced that the first step in the journey toward health has to start with, “Why?”
I am also convinced that if the why doesn't include “because I love me” then the journey is likely derailed from the beginning. The journey toward health (spiritual, relational, emotional, physical) is the hardest thing that I've entered into. If it wasn't rooted in love, I don't think I would have continued.
Because the journey is rooted in love, grace is always nipping at the heels. Grace frees me from legalism. Grace in the midst of perseverance opens the door to stumble and fall and get back up knowing that I'm still embraced and accepted.
—
“How did you do it?”
Love and grace my friend, love and grace.
The Way of Reconnecting
Why I find the Jesus Way helpful in loving well.
In the single most unsurprising thing ever written, I as a pastor think about religion. I think about it an awful lot. For a long time whenever I thought about religion I did so in a negative way. There was almost an allergic reaction to the word for me. Religion, in my understanding was nothing more than a set of beliefs or rules, an attempt by humanity to reach God.
Over the years though, I have come to understand religion in a very different light. In my desire to run from religion I ran to Jesus. As I ran to Jesus I discovered that religion is good and beautiful. How can I say this? Because, I continue to learn that religion at its core is about re-connecting again and again those things or people that had been broken apart.
As I continue to pursue the way of Jesus I am dumbfounded by how I could not have seen this sooner. For so long my practice of faith was marked by creating in groups and out groups. It started with “Believers” and “Non-believers”. Within the “Believers” there were the “Committed” and “Nominal”. Within the “Committed there were the “Faithful, Available, and Teachable” and their counterparts.
I certainly was not practicing religion. My practice of faith simply functioned to divide and separate.
Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
The Jesus way is rooted in this idea of love that crosses the disconnections. It is religion, that is, re-connecting again and again.
The love that Jesus describes here is not a love that is easy. It costs something. It demands that we set aside our innate desire to separate from and disconnect from those we consider enemies. Not only that, but we are to indeed love them. We are to treat them as neighbors. In the Jesus way we are to treat no one as part of the out-group. No, we are to move toward them in love seeking to re-connect with them.
Jesus also said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life and no one comes to the Father but through me.” The longer I walk with Jesus the more I'm understanding this to mean that as we walk in the Jesus way, this way of self-sacrificial love, we will experience the Divine.
James, the brother of Jesus wrote, “Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless. Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”
The control of your tongue in James is directly related to connection/disconnection (he uses the terms blessing/cursing). So, if you claim to be a “religious (reconnecting)” person but all you do is divide your religion is worthless. But, pure and faultless religion (reconnecting) is displayed in looking after orphans and widows. Why those folks? Because they are the embodiment of disconnection. Widows have been disconnected from their husbands. Orphans have been disconnected from their parents. The way of Jesus calls us to the practice of re-connection.
Why do I think this way of Jesus is the best way to practice re-connection (religion)? Because there is a foundation for bringing about re-connection. Jesus teaches the way of reconciliation and re-connection through forgiveness.
As I continue to realize my complicity in causing brokenness and disconnection I continue to find grace, mercy, and forgiveness in Jesus. I am often overwhelmed by a sense of forgiveness from those around me. This provides me an ample pool of grace to draw from to be a conduit of that same grace to help bring re-connection to this world of disconnection.
Perhaps at the end of the day, the most powerful aspect of the Jesus Way is that it's not an individual endeavor but by following his way I find myself part of something bigger than myself. This community of other practitioners of the Jesus Way helps spur me on to love well.
The Way of Reconnecting
Why I find the Jesus Way helpful in loving well.
In the single most unsurprising thing ever written, I as a pastor think about religion. I think about it an awful lot. For a long time whenever I thought about religion I did so in a negative way. There was almost an allergic reaction to the word for me. Religion, in my understanding was nothing more than a set of beliefs or rules, an attempt by humanity to reach God.
Over the years though, I have come to understand religion in a very different light. In my desire to run from religion I ran to Jesus. As I ran to Jesus I discovered that religion is good and beautiful. How can I say this? Because, I continue to learn that religion at its core is about re-connecting again and again those things or people that had been broken apart.
As I continue to pursue the way of Jesus I am dumbfounded by how I could not have seen this sooner. For so long my practice of faith was marked by creating in groups and out groups. It started with “Believers” and “Non-believers”. Within the “Believers” there were the “Committed” and “Nominal”. Within the “Committed there were the “Faithful, Available, and Teachable” and their counterparts.
I certainly was not practicing religion. My practice of faith simply functioned to divide and separate.
Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
The Jesus way is rooted in this idea of love that crosses the disconnections. It is religion, that is, re-connecting again and again.
The love that Jesus describes here is not a love that is easy. It costs something. It demands that we set aside our innate desire to separate from and disconnect from those we consider enemies. Not only that, but we are to indeed love them. We are to treat them as neighbors. In the Jesus way we are to treat no one as part of the out-group. No, we are to move toward them in love seeking to re-connect with them.
Jesus also said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life and no one comes to the Father but through me.” The longer I walk with Jesus the more I'm understanding this to mean that as we walk in the Jesus way, this way of self-sacrificial love, we will experience the Divine.
James, the brother of Jesus wrote, “Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless. Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”
The control of your tongue in James is directly related to connection/disconnection (he uses the terms blessing/cursing). So, if you claim to be a “religious (reconnecting)” person but all you do is divide your religion is worthless. But, pure and faultless religion (reconnecting) is displayed in looking after orphans and widows. Why those folks? Because they are the embodiment of disconnection. Widows have been disconnected from their husbands. Orphans have been disconnected from their parents. The way of Jesus calls us to the practice of re-connection.
Why do I think this way of Jesus is the best way to practice re-connection (religion)? Because there is a foundation for bringing about re-connection. Jesus teaches the way of reconciliation and re-connection through forgiveness.
As I continue to realize my complicity in causing brokenness and disconnection I continue to find grace, mercy, and forgiveness in Jesus. I am often overwhelmed by a sense of forgiveness from those around me. This provides me an ample pool of grace to draw from to be a conduit of that same grace to help bring re-connection to this world of disconnection.
Perhaps at the end of the day, the most powerful aspect of the Jesus Way is that it's not an individual endeavor but by following his way I find myself part of something bigger than myself. This community of other practitioners of the Jesus Way helps spur me on to love well.
Finding My Religion
Could religion actually be good?
When you think of religion what comes into your mind?
For many of us it's probably something like, “man's pursuit of the divine,” or “a system of beliefs,” or “the crutch of humanity,” or “the worst thing that's ever happened to humanity.” Whatever our understanding or definition it's typically tinged with a bit of negativity.
How many folks do you know say something like, “I'm spiritual not religious”? In many of my circles that saying goes like this, “Christianity is a relationship not a religion.”
Religion is apparently not a very popular thing.
“Whatever you do, don't talk about religion or politics.” – Someone
“Imagine there's no countries It isn't hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion, too” – John Lennon
Religion is a dirty word. When you talk to most folks it seems like religion conjures up images of disconnection, judgementalism, factionalism, and maybe even hate. I saw a funny meme that said, “Religion is just weird guys in robes making stuff up.”
I think it is safe to say that we do not think, by and large, very highly of religion.
Is there anything redeeming or good or helpful about religion?
Does religion deserve its bad reputation?
Is it possible that religion might not be the evil villain that it has been made out to be?
—
I think it was in a Rob Bell podcast (and he probably got it from Richard Rohr) that I heard something that jarred me and I may have heard an audible record scratch in my mind.
He was talking about religion and in particular he was hitting on the Latin root of the word. Both religion and ligament share the Latin root, “ligare”. “Ligare” means to bind or bond. “Religare” is the Latin term from which we derive “religion.” If my research into the Latin pre-fix “re-” is correct then the idea of “religare” is “bind again and again.”
It's interesting to me that the word that developed into our modern word for “religion” is one that in so many ways is the opposite of what it means today.
What if religion is really about “binding again and again”?
—
As I think about the idea of religion in conjunction to its linguistic roots it is exactly the kind of thing that I want to be about.
What I like about thinking about the term, religion, at this deeper level is that I find it to be deeply connected to the best aspect (in my not so humble opinion) of the human experience: forgiveness.
There is an assumption with the very core of the word that there is going to be disconnection and brokenness and separation but there is also the hope of connection and healing and unity. But, not only that those are realities but also the reality that they would be an ongoing process. There is in the Latin prefix “re-” a sense of again and again.
Religion in this sense is such an honest word. It doesn't try to sugar coat our experience. It doesn't pretend that there is in some way an end to the need for re-connecting. All of us know that life and relationships of every kind are messy and hard.
The deeper we go in relationship the more we will find our need to pursue love and forgiveness.
—
There is only so long that we can pretend in relationships. At some point our masks come off and we finally get real (yes, yes, that sounds an awful lot like the opening to MTV's Real World, I'm a product of my culture). When this happens we will inevitably hurt the person with whom we are in relationship with and they will inevitably hurt us.
My wife and I just celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary. There is no person that knows me like her and I assume that I know her better than any other. We have known one another since 1995. In the nearly 30 years that we have had a relationship we have hurt one another. Some hurts were deeper than others. But, they were hurts nonetheless. Each time we have chosen to forgive and pursue love. In so doing, we were practicing the most foundational form of religion.
I am coming to the conclusion that instead of running away from religion as I follow Jesus, I'm running head long into religion. Religion is the core of what I want to be all about because it seems to be what Jesus was all about.
—
One time Jesus was asked what the most important commandment was. He responded with love God and the second being love your neighbor as yourself. Later, Jesus would expand on the love your neighbor bit to also include loving your enemies.
Jesus was all about religion. He was all about re-connecting again and again those things or people that had been broken apart.
Whether someone is a Christian or a church-goer or even an atheist I think we all might want consider religion.
You see, I don't need to imagine a world without religion. We see that world every single day. Everywhere we look it seems that we can easily find broken relationships and disconnection.
It's harder to imagine a world with religion. A world that was rife with connection and forgiveness rooted in love.
As I continue to think about this it strikes me that there is not any particular belief necessary for religion. What matters is for people to love well. Can a person who believes in God do that? Yes. Can a person who does not believe in God do that? Yes.
I am committed to following Jesus. I think by following in his way it becomes easier to love well to practice religion (but that's for another post).
It turns out that as I have tried to run from “religion” to a “relationship with God” or a deeper “spirituality,” I'm actually finding my religion.
Everyday I wake up with one thing on my mind, “How can I love well today?”
In other words, “I can't wait to practice religion today!”
Finding My Religion
Could religion actually be good?
When you think of religion what comes into your mind?
For many of us it's probably something like, “man's pursuit of the divine,” or “a system of beliefs,” or “the crutch of humanity,” or “the worst thing that's ever happened to humanity.” Whatever our understanding or definition it's typically tinged with a bit of negativity.
How many folks do you know say something like, “I'm spiritual not religious”? In many of my circles that saying goes like this, “Christianity is a relationship not a religion.”
Religion is apparently not a very popular thing.
“Whatever you do, don't talk about religion or politics.” – Someone
“Imagine there's no countries It isn't hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion, too” – John Lennon
Religion is a dirty word. When you talk to most folks it seems like religion conjures up images of disconnection, judgementalism, factionalism, and maybe even hate. I saw a funny meme that said, “Religion is just weird guys in robes making stuff up.”
I think it is safe to say that we do not think, by and large, very highly of religion.
Is there anything redeeming or good or helpful about religion?
Does religion deserve its bad reputation?
Is it possible that religion might not be the evil villain that it has been made out to be?
—
I think it was in a Rob Bell podcast (and he probably got it from Richard Rohr) that I heard something that jarred me and I may have heard an audible record scratch in my mind.
He was talking about religion and in particular he was hitting on the Latin root of the word. Both religion and ligament share the Latin root, “ligare”. “Ligare” means to bind or bond. “Religare” is the Latin term from which we derive “religion.” If my research into the Latin pre-fix “re-” is correct then the idea of “religare” is “bind again and again.”
It's interesting to me that the word that developed into our modern word for “religion” is one that in so many ways is the opposite of what it means today.
What if religion is really about “binding again and again”?
—
As I think about the idea of religion in conjunction to its linguistic roots it is exactly the kind of thing that I want to be about.
What I like about thinking about the term, religion, at this deeper level is that I find it to be deeply connected to the best aspect (in my not so humble opinion) of the human experience: forgiveness.
There is an assumption with the very core of the word that there is going to be disconnection and brokenness and separation but there is also the hope of connection and healing and unity. But, not only that those are realities but also the reality that they would be an ongoing process. There is in the Latin prefix “re-” a sense of again and again.
Religion in this sense is such an honest word. It doesn't try to sugar coat our experience. It doesn't pretend that there is in some way an end to the need for re-connecting. All of us know that life and relationships of every kind are messy and hard.
The deeper we go in relationship the more we will find our need to pursue love and forgiveness.
—
There is only so long that we can pretend in relationships. At some point our masks come off and we finally get real (yes, yes, that sounds an awful lot like the opening to MTV's Real World, I'm a product of my culture). When this happens we will inevitably hurt the person with whom we are in relationship with and they will inevitably hurt us.
My wife and I just celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary. There is no person that knows me like her and I assume that I know her better than any other. We have known one another since 1995. In the nearly 30 years that we have had a relationship we have hurt one another. Some hurts were deeper than others. But, they were hurts nonetheless. Each time we have chosen to forgive and pursue love. In so doing, we were practicing the most foundational form of religion.
I am coming to the conclusion that instead of running away from religion as I follow Jesus, I'm running head long into religion. Religion is the core of what I want to be all about because it seems to be what Jesus was all about.
—
One time Jesus was asked what the most important commandment was. He responded with love God and the second being love your neighbor as yourself. Later, Jesus would expand on the love your neighbor bit to also include loving your enemies.
Jesus was all about religion. He was all about re-connecting again and again those things or people that had been broken apart.
Whether someone is a Christian or a church-goer or even an atheist I think we all might want consider religion.
You see, I don't need to imagine a world without religion. We see that world every single day. Everywhere we look it seems that we can easily find broken relationships and disconnection.
It's harder to imagine a world with religion. A world that was rife with connection and forgiveness rooted in love.
As I continue to think about this it strikes me that there is not any particular belief necessary for religion. What matters is for people to love well. Can a person who believes in God do that? Yes. Can a person who does not believe in God do that? Yes.
I am committed to following Jesus. I think by following in his way it becomes easier to love well to practice religion (but that's for another post).
It turns out that as I have tried to run from “religion” to a “relationship with God” or a deeper “spirituality,” I'm actually finding my religion.
Everyday I wake up with one thing on my mind, “How can I love well today?”
In other words, “I can't wait to practice religion today!”
The Thing Called Deconstruction
What if deconstruction was something else?
Everywhere you look people are deconstructing. For some, this looks like a total rejection of faith. Some question a doctrine here or there. Others walk away from “church” and hold on to Jesus. Loads of “Christian famous” folks are carrying out their deconstruction online for the world to see. Some are leveraging deconstruction for financial gain (yes, you can hire people to coach you through a season of deconstruction).
Then there's the response to deconstruction. Some celebrate it and almost evangelize it to others. Others point to it as a simply a way to disguise apostasy. Both seem to be missing the mark.
The Dark Night of the Soul
What we now call “deconstruction” is nothing new.
St. John of the Cross is largely credited with coining the term, “dark night of the soul” in his 16th century poem.
Even before him, the concept is present throughout the writings of early Christians. The dark night of the soul often refers to seasons where the one who believes encounters in fresh ways the mysteries of the divine. This could be in good times and bad times.
As we look to the story of the people of God in the Bible we see this dark night of the soul or deconstruction all over the place. In particular, I think of the books of Ecclesiastes, Lamentations and Jeremiah (honestly, almost all of the prophets show signs of this). One of my favorite parts of the Acts of the Apostles is witnessing the deconstruction of Peter and Paul's faith.
What strikes me is that counter to what some folks would have us think, deconstruction is normal for people seeking to follow in the way of Christ.
Maybe what it is...
I have been thinking a lot about this dark-night-of-the-soul/deconstruction for the last number of years. Something I am realizing is that I have gone through many seasons of deconstruction. So much so, that I'm not sure that the term is even helpful. For a while I thought maybe it was a cycle of deconstruction and reconstruction. But, I'm not sure that's really it. I think that perhaps, something else is going on.
I wonder if a little phrase from C.S. Lewis' The Last Battle might be helpful,
“It is as hard to explain how this sunlit land was different from the old Narnia as it would be to tell you how the fruits of that country taste. Perhaps you will get some idea of it if you think like this.You may have been in a room in which there was a window that looked out on a lovely bay of the sea or a green valley that wound away among mountains. And in the wall of that room opposite to the window there may have been a looking-glass. And as you turned away from the window you suddenly caught sight of that sea or that valley, all over again, in the looking-glass. And the sea in the mirror, or the valley in the mirror, were in one sense just the same as the real ones: yet at the same time they were somehow different–deeper, more wonderful, more like places in a story: in a story you have never heard but very much want to know. The difference between the old Narnia was like that. The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked as if it meant more. I can’t describe it any better than that: if you ever get there you will know what I mean.
It was the Unicorn who summed up what everyone was feeling. He stamped his right forehoof on the ground and neighed, and then cried:
“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!”
“Further up, and further in.” It strikes me that this is really what is happening in my life and the life of so many others. Maybe, it's not de- and re- construction? Could it be that it's a vast spiral of becoming more and more of who we are meant to be? Ken Wilber in his text, A Theory of Everything, calls this the process of “transcend and include.”
What if we could envision our lives progressing not along a linear line of ups and downs, but as a spiral that is driving us deeper and deeper towards reality. We learn what we need to learn where we are right here, and right now. Then that drives us ever deeper to new truths and a clearer sense of who we are and who we are to become. The mystery continues to beckon, “further up, and further in...”
I don't have a new word for this, but maybe an old word would do? Maybe the old word, “sanctification,” is a better term. This process of becoming something new. When I read through the stories of God's people I see them constantly moving and growing and changing.
“Further up, and further in...”
It's not so much a deconstruction or even a dark night of the soul as much as it is being confronted with a current reality and the hope of something new before us. This something new is a version of ourselves moving towards greater flourishing.
What if...
I wonder if this sanctification is what Jesus meant when he talked about how he had come to give us life and life to the full?
What if, all the stories that are emerging of deconstruction are really stories of sanctification. Most of the time, from what I see, when people come out from the other side of this season they are more loving, more gracious, more given to mercy, and have a greater empathy.
What if, we need to follow the footsteps of the prophets and of the apostles and have all our assumptions about God challenged and broken, to truly find God in the deep mystery?
Have you experienced a dark night of the soul? Or have you experienced deconstruction? How have you changed? In what ways does your life look different as a result?
The Thing Called Deconstruction
What if deconstruction was something else?
Everywhere you look people are deconstructing. For some, this looks like a total rejection of faith. Some question a doctrine here or there. Others walk away from “church” and hold on to Jesus. Loads of “Christian famous” folks are carrying out their deconstruction online for the world to see. Some are leveraging deconstruction for financial gain (yes, you can hire people to coach you through a season of deconstruction).
Then there's the response to deconstruction. Some celebrate it and almost evangelize it to others. Others point to it as a simply a way to disguise apostasy. Both seem to be missing the mark.
The Dark Night of the Soul
What we now call “deconstruction” is nothing new.
St. John of the Cross is largely credited with coining the term, “dark night of the soul” in his 16th century poem.
Even before him, the concept is present throughout the writings of early Christians. The dark night of the soul often refers to seasons where the one who believes encounters in fresh ways the mysteries of the divine. This could be in good times and bad times.
As we look to the story of the people of God in the Bible we see this dark night of the soul or deconstruction all over the place. In particular, I think of the books of Ecclesiastes, Lamentations and Jeremiah (honestly, almost all of the prophets show signs of this). One of my favorite parts of the Acts of the Apostles is witnessing the deconstruction of Peter and Paul's faith.
What strikes me is that counter to what some folks would have us think, deconstruction is normal for people seeking to follow in the way of Christ.
Maybe what it is...
I have been thinking a lot about this dark-night-of-the-soul/deconstruction for the last number of years. Something I am realizing is that I have gone through many seasons of deconstruction. So much so, that I'm not sure that the term is even helpful. For a while I thought maybe it was a cycle of deconstruction and reconstruction. But, I'm not sure that's really it. I think that perhaps, something else is going on.
I wonder if a little phrase from C.S. Lewis' The Last Battle might be helpful,
“It is as hard to explain how this sunlit land was different from the old Narnia as it would be to tell you how the fruits of that country taste. Perhaps you will get some idea of it if you think like this.You may have been in a room in which there was a window that looked out on a lovely bay of the sea or a green valley that wound away among mountains. And in the wall of that room opposite to the window there may have been a looking-glass. And as you turned away from the window you suddenly caught sight of that sea or that valley, all over again, in the looking-glass. And the sea in the mirror, or the valley in the mirror, were in one sense just the same as the real ones: yet at the same time they were somehow different–deeper, more wonderful, more like places in a story: in a story you have never heard but very much want to know. The difference between the old Narnia was like that. The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked as if it meant more. I can’t describe it any better than that: if you ever get there you will know what I mean.
It was the Unicorn who summed up what everyone was feeling. He stamped his right forehoof on the ground and neighed, and then cried:
“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!”
“Further up, and further in.” It strikes me that this is really what is happening in my life and the life of so many others. Maybe, it's not de- and re- construction? Could it be that it's a vast spiral of becoming more and more of who we are meant to be? Ken Wilber in his text, A Theory of Everything, calls this the process of “transcend and include.”
What if we could envision our lives progressing not along a linear line of ups and downs, but as a spiral that is driving us deeper and deeper towards reality. We learn what we need to learn where we are right here, and right now. Then that drives us ever deeper to new truths and a clearer sense of who we are and who we are to become. The mystery continues to beckon, “further up, and further in...”
I don't have a new word for this, but maybe an old word would do? Maybe the old word, “sanctification,” is a better term. This process of becoming something new. When I read through the stories of God's people I see them constantly moving and growing and changing.
“Further up, and further in...”
It's not so much a deconstruction or even a dark night of the soul as much as it is being confronted with a current reality and the hope of something new before us. This something new is a version of ourselves moving towards greater flourishing.
What if...
I wonder if this sanctification is what Jesus meant when he talked about how he had come to give us life and life to the full?
What if, all the stories that are emerging of deconstruction are really stories of sanctification. Most of the time, from what I see, when people come out from the other side of this season they are more loving, more gracious, more given to mercy, and have a greater empathy.
What if, we need to follow the footsteps of the prophets and of the apostles and have all our assumptions about God challenged and broken, to truly find God in the deep mystery?
Have you experienced a dark night of the soul? Or have you experienced deconstruction? How have you changed? In what ways does your life look different as a result?
When Certainty Died
My certainty died but then my faith lived
I was there when he died.
I sat next to him as they turned off all the machines. His wife and daughters had left the hospital and entrusted these moments to me and another friend.
It didn’t take long.
He was ready.
I had met him shortly after we moved into the neighborhood. He had a loud laugh and a sly sense of humor. I had never met anyone quite like him. He was both the life of the party and a loner. Each winter he drove around picking up the neighborhood kids so they didn’t freeze at the bus stop.
His laugh was unmistakable.
During the time we knew one another he taught me about being someone who thought of others before himself.
I taught him about Jesus.
I guess in reality, he taught me about Jesus.
After he died, I didn’t really know what to do. I had done the pastor thing when other people died.
But, this was different.
Our faith community had prayed and prayed. We visited. We cared. We never stopped showing up.
I had taken him to dialysis.
We had good and deep conversations about God, faith, and love.
If anyone should have been healed it was him. Yet, he didn’t get healed. A tiny leak in his bowel, indiscernible until the very end, killed him from the inside out.
I was confused. I was heartbroken. I was angry.
It was there sitting next to my friend when he died that my certainty died too.
As I sit here today years later, I realize that something else was born that day: my faith.
Up until that point my belief was an intellectual certainty. Sure, I wrestled with various theological and doctrinal ideas but these were simply intellectual machinations. They didn’t really mean much. Theology, doctrine, and dogma was an intellectual game. I was constantly testing it and stretching it to figure out what was the most intellectually appealing position. It was fun and life-giving.
Wherever I found myself on any particular day I was certain.
This certainty was something very precious to me. I held on to belief with an iron fist. I protected my certainty like Frodo protected the Ring.
I could tell you affirmatively all the things that I believed and I could argue for them. Likely, I could convince you that I was right.
The day that my certainty died was the day that faith was born.
You see, certainty requires no faith. It simply needs some intellectual ascent and a bit of reasonable evidence and certainty can be attained.
But, faith comes from the mistiness of doubt. Faith is the small light shining in the misty darkness of spiritual pursuit. We stumble and grope and discover bits here and there.
When certainty dies, we can finally find faith.
Faith is hope in the midst of doubt. Doubt is not the adversary of faith. No, it turns out that doubt is the harbinger of faith.
Certainty, is the great adversary.
When we are certain, we don’t have to have faith.
For instance, I don’t have faith that I ate a ham and pepper omelette for breakfast this morning. I know it. I am certain of it.
I have faith that God loves me and cares for me in the midst of all the goods and bads of this world. Why? Because I’ve experienced things in my life that don’t make sense apart from something outside myself. I am confident that Jesus is who the Gospels writers say he is. I am confident that he did what the Gospel writers say he did. This confidence in the self-sacrificing-loving Christ provides me with grounds for faith.
When certainty died, faith came to life.
With certainty dead, I could finally explore all the things of God. What a journey it is! There’s no longer any need for us/them, in/out, there’s only a need for loving well.
Living with faith is freedom because I no longer have to protect my certainty. I can stare into the mist and ask the questions and re-imagine faith and grasp for hope.
I was there when he died.
I was there when he began to truly live and so did I.
When Certainty Died
My certainty died but then my faith lived
I was there when he died.
I sat next to him as they turned off all the machines. His wife and daughters had left the hospital and entrusted these moments to me and another friend.
It didn’t take long.
He was ready.
I had met him shortly after we moved into the neighborhood. He had a loud laugh and a sly sense of humor. I had never met anyone quite like him. He was both the life of the party and a loner. Each winter he drove around picking up the neighborhood kids so they didn’t freeze at the bus stop.
His laugh was unmistakable.
During the time we knew one another he taught me about being someone who thought of others before himself.
I taught him about Jesus.
I guess in reality, he taught me about Jesus.
After he died, I didn’t really know what to do. I had done the pastor thing when other people died.
But, this was different.
Our faith community had prayed and prayed. We visited. We cared. We never stopped showing up.
I had taken him to dialysis.
We had good and deep conversations about God, faith, and love.
If anyone should have been healed it was him. Yet, he didn’t get healed. A tiny leak in his bowel, indiscernible until the very end, killed him from the inside out.
I was confused. I was heartbroken. I was angry.
It was there sitting next to my friend when he died that my certainty died too.
As I sit here today years later, I realize that something else was born that day: my faith.
Up until that point my belief was an intellectual certainty. Sure, I wrestled with various theological and doctrinal ideas but these were simply intellectual machinations. They didn’t really mean much. Theology, doctrine, and dogma was an intellectual game. I was constantly testing it and stretching it to figure out what was the most intellectually appealing position. It was fun and life-giving.
Wherever I found myself on any particular day I was certain.
This certainty was something very precious to me. I held on to belief with an iron fist. I protected my certainty like Frodo protected the Ring.
I could tell you affirmatively all the things that I believed and I could argue for them. Likely, I could convince you that I was right.
The day that my certainty died was the day that faith was born.
You see, certainty requires no faith. It simply needs some intellectual ascent and a bit of reasonable evidence and certainty can be attained.
But, faith comes from the mistiness of doubt. Faith is the small light shining in the misty darkness of spiritual pursuit. We stumble and grope and discover bits here and there.
When certainty dies, we can finally find faith.
Faith is hope in the midst of doubt. Doubt is not the adversary of faith. No, it turns out that doubt is the harbinger of faith.
Certainty, is the great adversary.
When we are certain, we don’t have to have faith.
For instance, I don’t have faith that I ate a ham and pepper omelette for breakfast this morning. I know it. I am certain of it.
I have faith that God loves me and cares for me in the midst of all the goods and bads of this world. Why? Because I’ve experienced things in my life that don’t make sense apart from something outside myself. I am confident that Jesus is who the Gospels writers say he is. I am confident that he did what the Gospel writers say he did. This confidence in the self-sacrificing-loving Christ provides me with grounds for faith.
When certainty died, faith came to life.
With certainty dead, I could finally explore all the things of God. What a journey it is! There’s no longer any need for us/them, in/out, there’s only a need for loving well.
Living with faith is freedom because I no longer have to protect my certainty. I can stare into the mist and ask the questions and re-imagine faith and grasp for hope.
I was there when he died.
I was there when he began to truly live and so did I.