Thursday, January 20, 2011
dream on, jenny from the block
Friday, January 14, 2011
xooting along
a story of violent faith
1 down, 24 more to go
And if I remain in the dark about our purpose here, and the meaning of eternity, I have nevertheless arrived at an understanding of a few more modest truths: Most of us fear death. Most of us yearn to comprehend how we got here, and why -- which is to say most of us ache to know the love of our creator. And we will no doubt feel that ache, most of us, for as long as we happen to be alive.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Obligatory New Year's Post, Pt. 3 (Looking Forward)
More productivity and less lazy internet dawdling. I'm not counting blog posting as lazy internet dawdling. I'm counting that as writing.
What resolution for the new year do you think someone else would write for you?
Most people would tell me to rest more, that I work too hard, but they don't know about all my lazy internet dawdling.
What resolution for the new year would you want to write for yourself?
Obligatory New Year's Post, Pt. 2 (Dig a Little Deeper)
Since B's death, the conversations I've had with a lot of my young people have had a gravity to them that didn't exist before. I have appreciated the deepening of our relationships, even if it came from a terrible situation.
What was your happiest memory?
What was your saddest memory?
B's death. See above. A couple months later at a pastor's retreat, I had a dream that I was at an unknown kid's basketball game waiting for him to come out of the locker room, and B came out instead. He gave me a big hug and had a big smile on his face. In the dream, I hugged him and cried.
What moment did you feel close to God?
Here's a piece of a sermon that answers this question. I was preaching from Mark 1:9-15, about Jesus being baptized and hearing God's affirmations, and then immediately being driven into the desert to be tempted. This is what I wrote:
This summer has been for me a profound example of this text. I had a wonderful experience at our summer program, Brighter City. It was at times frustrating, as my assistant director can tell you, but there were so many opportunities to glimpse the goodness and pleasure of God that I was almost overwhelmed. The young people who had been campers themselves now serving as counselors, and doing a really good job. The morning prayer time where children and adults shared moments where they saw God at work. One boy said that his counselor, was the smartest man in the whole world. Another said that the cross necklace he made in art helped him to feel safer. I was on such a high after Brighter City.
But not two weeks later a young man from our youth ministry violently lost his life. There was so much I didn't understand about B's death. There were no words I could think of to say to his friends or his family that would comfort them, there were no words I could think to tell myself to comfort me. Even though I knew that it was useless, I thought over and over again about what I could have or should have done that would have prevented this. I regretted not calling him or texting him or talking to him since I had last seen him at our young adult group. But in all the anger and confusion, in all the tears, in all the hours on porches reminiscing, and all the moments where I felt for a second that he would just appear, at my office door or when I saw his friends gathered, I never felt alone. I had, and still have, a lot of questions about why something like this happened, and why it happened to someone like B, who was so laid back and calm, and kind, and God has not given me any easy answers. I was, and still am frustrated by the violence that is continuing to escalating in the city, and how overwhelmed I know many, including myself, feel trying to face it down, and God has not given me an easily packaged plan or program. But neither has God left my side. Neither has God left me empty. God has stayed, with me in the anger, in the questioning, in the confusion, in the frustration, in the pain.
I first found out about B's death at 4:30 in the morning, the morning of our wonderful baptismal service at Houghton's pond. I hadn't been able to go back to sleep, or eat very much at all, and so when I arrived at Houghton's pond, I was exhausted, and hungry, the shock barely wearing off, only beginning to be able to cry. I was in a wilderness place. But I did not feel alone. I felt tended to by angels. In the service we sang, “Hallelujah what a savior, hallelujah what a friend, saving, helping, keeping, loving, he is with me to the end.” Even in the middle of all that fresh, raw, grief, I believed those words. I felt loved, helped, kept, the presence of my friend and Savior with me.
Not everyone knows what to do in the midst of sorrow and pain. Some people get nervous around it. Some people hide from it. Some want to distract from it. Some want to pat us on the back a few times and then say, “All right, that's enough now.” I'm sure we have all had occasions of sadness and had friends or family who avoided the situation until it seemed to be better. Jesus is not that kind of friend. Our God wades into the water with us, sinful and dirty as we are, our God sits with us and tends to us in the wilderness, even when we are utterly abandoned by everyone else, and our God gives us glimpses of the glory of the world that will be without sin or dirt or wilderness to carry us through.
And now time to look forward...
Obligatory New Year's Post Pt. 1
What did you do this year that you’d never done before?