This weekend I visited the camp where I worked for years as a counselor, and earlier attended as a camper. It is always beautiful to return. After a day full of sailing, volleyball, swimming, catching up with a very dear friend, I lay on a bench and looked up at the (rather cloudy) sky.
There was a time, here, 3 years ago: lying under the stars with my 16-year-old girls, I ask the question "Where have you been in your relationship with God over the past year?" They all share, and one girl is left. "I can't have a relationship with God," she says, and after some prodding..."because I am gay." And after that moment of truth come many difficult and beautiful and important conversations, whispered in a bunk, confessions, assurances that God's love is bigger. We can't resolve things this summer, but we've cracked through and we are dealing with the real stuff, the gospel, our longings and fears, the stuff that counts.
Another time, sitting on one of these very benches, 5 years ago: hurt and confused and doubting and crying to my director Ellen, telling her the gospel feels empty to me, that I don't need to be forgiven of sin, that while I know I still love and need God, the message of the cross is a formula that doesn't ring true. She retells the message of the cross to me in a way that lets me hope it is my very uncertainty and brokenness that Christ bore.
Waking every morning to this lake, to prayer, to knowing that this may be the one or two or seven days that I have left to love these 10 girls that are sleeping in my cabin, these girls who flirt for validation or cut themselves or have too many questions or long to be closer to God. These girls who need the gospel, need to know God's infinite love.
Look at me now, I've forgotten to live this way, this simple way, where there is only one purpose---loving people and helping them encounter God. To this end I labor, struggling with all his energy, which so powerfully works in me (col 1:29). Now, rather, it's checklists, and getting things done, and making sure I am seeing the friends I should see, and conserving the resources I should conserve, and teaching the people I should teach, and defending myself against the ever-encroaching conflicts and weariness and demands.
Unfortunately this is all too familiar. Posted above my desk at work is an index card which I don't see anymore because it's been there too long: "Martha Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed."
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Press on the gas and press on toward the goal
People visiting America from abroad always have insightful things to say about the culture here. With their outsider's perspective, they notice and remark on aspects of our society that I often leave unexamined but that are worth contemplating.
A few years ago, I was listening to a radio interview with an Italian musician who was traveling America at the time, Vinicio Capossela, and he made one of the most shocking and revelatory observations I've ever heard. He said something along the lines of, "When I travel from city to city, I notice that Americans are a very lonely people. They spend so much time alone in their cars, just going back and forth, looking sad."
That social observation may be obvious to a lot of people, but to me, it really struck an emotional chord because when I heard it, I instantly realized that I am totally that lonely American, the one who is always making long drives alone, who longs for company but is walled off by not only a car's protective steel cage but also by other barriers -- some perhaps stronger than any industrial alloy.
When I heard that interview, I was, of course, sitting in my car by myself.
One would think that with cell phones there's no reason to ever really be lonely in the car. I thought about that too, but it only made me realize another thing about my isolation, which is: to a great extent, I'm lonely by choice.
If my social life were an orchard, then my friends would be like fruit on the branches. All I have to do is reach out and grab them. The only problem is that I've got my hands stuck in my pockets a lot.
Fortunately, I've been blessed with many friends who constantly reach out to me and continually forgive me when I selfishly ignore them. (I am after all, as many of my friends know, a fiercely independent and often aloof CAT -- or at least a very cat-like person.) The point is that I'm often lonely by my own accord -- and I'm still figuring out why I'm like this, as many Americans probably are too.
* * *
Lately, as I've been driving myself home, I've been experiencing myself taking this strange enjoyment in some of the hardships in my life, including loneliness. I roll the windows down, suck in the fresh wind and just sort of smile to myself in spite of the pain. Maybe the suffering makes me feel like a true artist. Or maybe it's finally getting past my thick skull that "all things work together for good." (Romans 8:28). Am I actually starting to rejoice in my suffering as per the Word's instruction? If so, praise God! (Footnote: the oft-quoted Romans 8:28 doesn't say that the things we suffer are good; it says that God makes them work together for good. Cancer, death, accidents, etc. are still tragic.)
Upon further reflection, being alone in my car really isn't that bad of a deal. First, something that the Italian musician probably doesn't know about America is that there is essentially free access to incredibly uplifting wisdom and truth in every car in America. It can be found on Christian radio stations, which do send out some junk, but at the same time also regularly broadcast powerful sermons and messages for no charge. Europe doesn't really have that.
My favorite programs feature powerful Biblical counseling (Hope in the Night) and people telling stories about God's goodness and faithfulness in their lives (FamilyLife).
Also, for the believer, being alone in the car can be some of the best time to spend with God. For me, sometimes I'll turn off the radio and start thinking and acting as if Jesus himself is sitting in the passenger seat. I'll literally take a sip of my Gatorade and then hold out the bottle saying, "Here, Jesus, want some?" Then I'll proceed to talk out loud about my life with Him. It's kind of silly, but God is always with me and I do stuff like that just to try to remind myself of how real He is.
The other day, I was thinking about my habit of driving with Jesus sitting shotgun and I realized: wow, you know what, Jesus isn't just sitting in the passenger seat next to me, He is actually living within me too. That's how close my God wants to be with me -- so involved with my soul that He wants to dwell in me. Pretty amazing!
* * *
Christians often describe their lives as a "walk of faith." Well, since this is America -- the land of highways and byways -- it would also be fitting over here to say the "drive of faith."
In my "drive of faith," I'm looking forward to getting to know some of my permanent passengers better each day -- the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I've also learned that my relationships with other people will be healthiest when my relationship with the Godhead is healthy. By the grace of God, I've already seen salubrious gains there, and I'm excited to press on and cruise with friends as we road trip towards the Celestial City!
A few years ago, I was listening to a radio interview with an Italian musician who was traveling America at the time, Vinicio Capossela, and he made one of the most shocking and revelatory observations I've ever heard. He said something along the lines of, "When I travel from city to city, I notice that Americans are a very lonely people. They spend so much time alone in their cars, just going back and forth, looking sad."
That social observation may be obvious to a lot of people, but to me, it really struck an emotional chord because when I heard it, I instantly realized that I am totally that lonely American, the one who is always making long drives alone, who longs for company but is walled off by not only a car's protective steel cage but also by other barriers -- some perhaps stronger than any industrial alloy.
When I heard that interview, I was, of course, sitting in my car by myself.
One would think that with cell phones there's no reason to ever really be lonely in the car. I thought about that too, but it only made me realize another thing about my isolation, which is: to a great extent, I'm lonely by choice.
If my social life were an orchard, then my friends would be like fruit on the branches. All I have to do is reach out and grab them. The only problem is that I've got my hands stuck in my pockets a lot.
Fortunately, I've been blessed with many friends who constantly reach out to me and continually forgive me when I selfishly ignore them. (I am after all, as many of my friends know, a fiercely independent and often aloof CAT -- or at least a very cat-like person.) The point is that I'm often lonely by my own accord -- and I'm still figuring out why I'm like this, as many Americans probably are too.
* * *
Lately, as I've been driving myself home, I've been experiencing myself taking this strange enjoyment in some of the hardships in my life, including loneliness. I roll the windows down, suck in the fresh wind and just sort of smile to myself in spite of the pain. Maybe the suffering makes me feel like a true artist. Or maybe it's finally getting past my thick skull that "all things work together for good." (Romans 8:28). Am I actually starting to rejoice in my suffering as per the Word's instruction? If so, praise God! (Footnote: the oft-quoted Romans 8:28 doesn't say that the things we suffer are good; it says that God makes them work together for good. Cancer, death, accidents, etc. are still tragic.)
Upon further reflection, being alone in my car really isn't that bad of a deal. First, something that the Italian musician probably doesn't know about America is that there is essentially free access to incredibly uplifting wisdom and truth in every car in America. It can be found on Christian radio stations, which do send out some junk, but at the same time also regularly broadcast powerful sermons and messages for no charge. Europe doesn't really have that.
My favorite programs feature powerful Biblical counseling (Hope in the Night) and people telling stories about God's goodness and faithfulness in their lives (FamilyLife).
Also, for the believer, being alone in the car can be some of the best time to spend with God. For me, sometimes I'll turn off the radio and start thinking and acting as if Jesus himself is sitting in the passenger seat. I'll literally take a sip of my Gatorade and then hold out the bottle saying, "Here, Jesus, want some?" Then I'll proceed to talk out loud about my life with Him. It's kind of silly, but God is always with me and I do stuff like that just to try to remind myself of how real He is.
The other day, I was thinking about my habit of driving with Jesus sitting shotgun and I realized: wow, you know what, Jesus isn't just sitting in the passenger seat next to me, He is actually living within me too. That's how close my God wants to be with me -- so involved with my soul that He wants to dwell in me. Pretty amazing!
* * *
Christians often describe their lives as a "walk of faith." Well, since this is America -- the land of highways and byways -- it would also be fitting over here to say the "drive of faith."
In my "drive of faith," I'm looking forward to getting to know some of my permanent passengers better each day -- the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I've also learned that my relationships with other people will be healthiest when my relationship with the Godhead is healthy. By the grace of God, I've already seen salubrious gains there, and I'm excited to press on and cruise with friends as we road trip towards the Celestial City!
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