Halo3 and the Greatest Weapon

About every decade I have a personal scavenger hunt; I try to find where I left my old copy of C. S. Lewis' book, The Screwtape Letters. The first time I read it was shortly after buying it during a high school discipleship group (late 70's); it was a little spooky, but mainly weird and less than relevant.

In college I read it and it was too relevant, and not weird enough, which was spooky.
As a youth pastor fresh out of seminary, Lewis' work was entertaining but theologically tenuous... I was scary!

As a middle-aged, motorscooter-riding science teacher in a laptop-required high school, married to a technophilic graphic Artist, I'm looking again for my copy... I think I'm almost mature enough to appreciate it now! Somewhere buried in a box of books, abruptly translocated with the best intentions of painting the book shelves, is my old copy of the Letters. I don't remember too many of the specifics of the dialog between the demons, Uncle Screwtape and his apprentice, Wormwood, but I do remember one particular section of Lewis' fiction-- where Wormwood is told of the greatest weapon useful in defeating God's Kingdom. Distraction.

Yesterday I escorted the Artist to several computer stores where she was looking for various gizmos to upgrade her computer and integrate her new Mac. I'm already attention-deficit, but you put me in a store of plasma screens showing "Happy Feet" or "Planet Earth", I'm doomed to a standing coma, waiting for my cellphone (set to 'stun') to jumpstart my reentry into life as I left it a few minutes (hours) ago, dialed in by the Artist, who has now cleared the register and headed toward the door.

We are so absorbed by our technologies in today's world that we become oblivious to the world around us. We roll up our tinted windows of our SUVs, plug in the IPod, crank the AC and pick up the cell phone... and that's just to back down the driveway toward some tall guy on a scooter. (smile). Distracted.

It's almost entertaining to see students feverishly "taking notes" during lecture, or perhaps entering "data" into an ExCel spreadsheet, except when I call on them, they respond as if they just got the vibrating/loud cellphone call in the plasma screen section of CompUSA... blankly blinking at me as if I just queried them in Swahili. Surely they weren't gaming or checking MySpace? Distracted.

Now for those who are adequately ruffled because of where this is going, especially in light of the title, be at ease... I will not curse your gods by name--if I did, you might show me my own hypocrisy. Instead I will invite you to join me in considering what little time we have left in a day. I will not accuse, but simply confess... I traded my quiet time with God tonight for a football game. Good night.
Jim Kelley

Numb is the New Deep

I’ve been coming to a slow realization that for quite some time now I have been practicing the discipline of numbness. I am not exactly sure when and where it started, or how it has grown to what it is now in my life, but it probably has something to do with trying to find margin in my life in a line of work where burnout is the norm (the average youth minister makes it a whopping year and a half before throwing in the towel). I think it has become much more than a misguided attempt at margin though, much more than a response to dealing with the grittiness of being invested in other people’s lives. I have begun to escape, to completely shut myself off, and I think it has something to do with missing the point in this life with God.

I don’t think I am alone in wanting to be a compassionate, caring, servant, and feeling like that is at the heart of who God is calling me to be. The problem is, compassion is tiring. And I have yet to meet a person or situation that is not deserving of compassion. So I find myself, at times, feeling like I can’t escape the life God has called me to, not even for a little rest. I think so many of us see the “there is so much to be done” side of life with God and get stressed out. There are so many people in need (really all of us), so many heart breaking situations and conditions in the world, so many places in urgent need of servants. It is all a little overwhelming. Gradually my response to all of this has been to shut down, to numb myself, to escape into the seventh consecutive airing of Sports Center, or the newest VH1 reality show.

So here is what I am learning; numbing myself, completely shutting myself off, is not providing me margin, it is providing me escape. And escape is not recharging me, but making me want to stay numbed to life with God. Somewhere I crossed a line and began to see much of life with God as an imposition on my numbness, as a stressor, and as a lot of physical and emotional work that I would rather not deal with most of the time. Could this really be what Jesus meant when he said “I have come to bring life in the full” (John 10:10). I think so many of us can see where the life Jesus brings can fill up our schedule, but I hardly consider that a full life. Life in the full seems to ring of a life full of passion, and one thing I am certain of, numbness is a killer of passion. I am not sure where I got the notion that margin includes shutting down, but I am becoming more and more convinced that it should really be about feeding passion. The thing about being passionate is that sometimes it is emotional, taxing, and draining, but at other times our passions are joyous, restful, exciting and energizing. The difficulty is being intentional with margin time so that it allows for us to dive into passions that energize us for the rest of life. Our culture seems to be creating easy access to numbness, and it can feel good in the moment, but it can be deadly to the full life God intends for us.

Confession

A poem by Santry Rush recited at the FOM on Sunday, September 2
----------------------

here in texas its the heat that affects us,

steam's a killing machine and a sunburn makes me restless,

and I'm helpless, but the bulk of it's in something else its,

more than a lack of wealth and how concrete melts that helped me crucify this false self.

it started out real small, like the first rock of the berlin wall,

like the embryonic possibility that I might not be tall,

or a walk in the mall to walk off a fat waist just in case a woman called,

it was tiny, not whiny, almost as if it wasn't even there at all.

It was there though, in the intro, that his words set up house in utero,

it was a birth of worth, that set my mind against the goldmines of planet earth,

rewind. it was also divine. my heart was signed by the pen of a pentecostal time.

and finally.

beautifully.

free. Deciphering in time for me to see,

the scientific, hieroglyphic, mystery of Christianity.

and the letters spelled L-O-V-E.

And it was trip like on a titanic ship that could never sink.

I could never think something was possible like this.

That my savior's memory was like a goldfish when it came to my sin,

he's not rememberin the times and crimes when i let him down,

how i broke his heart without a sound,

he is the salvation, flotation device everytime I drown.

There was no more, “where do I fit in.”

No more hesitation of the classification of my sin.

Because who cares. and who dares throw the word judgment in my face,

In this place of disgrace.

when it's sin that always wins the human race.

Because we are all guilty as charged in the Jesus murder case.

And I am sorry to report that I have fallen short,

in Jesus' eyes whose love is the prize.

The picture of my past is a mosaic of lies,

you could stack up like jenga all the things I've done wrong.

It looks like a holiday wish list but 10 times as long.

And contains as much sorrow as a hit country song.

That goes on and on.

and on.

and yes I confess to that physical mess,

to be worthy of a woman was the step that was next.

to shattering my heart into a million different shards,

and how I forged my trueself autograph

on my true love waits card.

And it was hardest come clean with that physical sin,

And how the american church called me a second class christian.

I'd like to explain my anger and show 'em,

But there is not enough kleenex, and that's a different poem.

But when it comes down to it, the part that's the truest,

is we all stand here broken,

all the cracks are visible and our hearts have been soaken,

in redemption and devotion,

'cuz I'm wishin' and I'm hopin'

That you will see what's so obvious to me,

That we were all on the same slave ship and we're finally free.

It was the barter for a martyr, God's son hung on a tree.

for a lost group of wretches called you and called me.

called you and called me.

Authentic

I recently read various articles regarding the previously unpublished diary excerpts of Mother Theresa. This woman who was very much the image of Christ to so many wrote: "I am told God loves me -- and yet the reality of darkness & coldness & emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul." In one sitting, she described Jesus as "the Absent One" as she encountered such suffering.

Later, I read some commentary that seemed nearly gleeful in reporting on this and speculating on her spiritual life, or perceived lack thereof. Many were suggesting that Mother Theresa really, at the end, was not a believer. As if this might be the "Easter ossuary" or "un-empty Empty Tomb" that would finally rock Christianity. But it seems clear to me that these commentators are unfamiliar with the God we know or the set of books we call the Bible which chronicle bits of humanity's relationship with Him.

I've read and heard it said that the strongest statements of doubt about God in the midst of our troubles come from the Bible, itself.

Consider Habbakuk: "How long, O Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen? Or cry out to you, 'Violence!' but you do not save." (1:2)

Consider David in Psalms: "O my God, I cry out by day but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent." (22:2)

Consider Job: "I cry out to you, God, but you do not answer; I stand up, but you merely look at me." (30:20)

These voices from the Bible express doubt. They express true feelings of anguish. They're not the polished, clean voices of the "religious." They're the real cries of real people aching and hurting and calling to God for help in their real lives. And their approach is honest: "God, where are you? What about your promises? What about your redemption for this world? Where is your justice?"

It seems we serve a God who wants us to approach Him honestly and authentically in this way. There are numerous passages in the Bible where God tells His people that He's far more concerned with the honesty of their hearts than he is with the outward trappings of their religion. Just read the first chapter of Isaiah, and read how God feels about inauthentic, heartless prayer and worship. He wants you; not the religious person you might pretend to be so that you can feel as if you're finally praying "right."

At The FOM, we talk often of being "authentic." We specifically talk about that in conjuncton with our relationships with one another in community. But more than that, it is vital that we each seek God authentically. That we do not pretend to be someone we are not when we pray to Him and seek Him. And that even when He feels distant in the trials of our lives, we follow the example of this woman who continued to serve and love others amidst her own doubts; as she followed the example of the One who dared to ask, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46)