Detachment

During my time apart in the summer I read several Jesus-following authors who all pointed toward the same spiritual territory. They all said the same thing, essentially. My paraphrase is as follows: To know the freedom God seeks for us we must reach the point at which the praise of others does not elate us, nor does the criticism of others send us into despair. Thomas Merton, Henri Nouwen, and Brennan Manning all point to a kind of healthy attachment to God alone and a healthy detachment from the people and circumstances that surround us. This does not mean disengaging. Jesus calls us to love others precisely in the sacrificing way he loves us. And we must find ways to challenge circumstances that inhibit the Kingdom justice for which God longs. However, we must not let people and circumstances define us or determine our value and purpose. That is God's territory alone. To give that kind of power to anyone or anything other than God is...well...a form of idolatry!

The point at which the praise of others does not elate us, nor does the criticism of others send us into despair... Okay, that's great in a book or in theory. Can anyone really come to that point, or can God bring us to that point? Is it possible to trust so fully in the presence, power, forgiveness, and love of God that no other evaluation matters? Can anyone become so lost in aligning with God's heart and loving those whom God loves that no high praise or stinging critique really matters? Is this idealistic or realistic, or is it something else?

What do you think? I'll see you around the next bend in the river.

Yes; They Can Win Without Him

On Wednesday I asked if the St. Louis Cardinals baseball club could win their division and content in post-season play without their prolific first baseman Albert Pujols. I would say they can. Here's what I observe...Before the All Star break the Cardinals had much unsettledness in their line-up. Manager Tony LaRussa used fifteen different rookies to plug various holes throughout the first three months of the season. In those days the Cardinals very much depended on the stability and performance of Pujols. Knowing this, opposing teams and pitchers often utilized an easy strategy with Albert - don't pitch to him. Don't give him any pitches he can hit; even if you walk him, the odds are better to put him on base and work to hitters with less strength. It had some effect. By the All Star game, the Cardinals were clinging to a slim, tenuous divisional lead.

After the All Star break Cardinal management made some bold decisions and changes. Knowing that opponents were pitching around Albert, they intentionally put strength on the other side of him, acquiring veteran hitter Matt Holliday to hit right behind Pujols, among other significant moves. Now if you pitch around Albert, you have to face the strong and hot-hitting Holliday. With that kind of strength in the heart of the line-up, strengthening hitters lower in the line-up, like Ryan Ludwig, rookie Colby Rasmus, and Yadier Molina have less pressure and more freedom to be aggressive at the plate. The result is a nine game first place lead for the Cardinals, nearly twenty games over .500.

Basically the moves insured that the Cardinals could win without depending solely on Albert. True, their odds may be better with him. Goodness knows he's a monumental contributor to the team's success, and heaven forbid they would have to play without him because of injury or illness or something. But if they had to, they could. I believe Albert would be the first to say that the goal is not for him to be indispensable. The goal is for the team to win, and for Albert and all the team members to do their part to meet that goal. It's tempting for any of us to want to see ourselves as indispensable - to our team, to our family, to our work, to our church, or whatever. The truth is that there is only One who is indispensable - the One who gave life, the One who seeks to bond with us and transform us, the One who is not dissuaded by all the complexities with which humans entangle and strangle ourselves, the one who comes into the very middle of the entanglement in Jesus. God makes it happen, not me. God doesn't need me, but God certainly wants me and wants me to join in what God is doing.

That's what I think about indispensability. Your thoughts? I'll see you around the next bend in the river.

Can the Cardinals Win Without Albert?

Albert Pujols is the starting first baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals baseball club. Arguably, he is the most feared hitter in major league baseball. Albert is a one man ulcer-factor and blood pressure-raiser for pitchers and opposing managers. At the end of the 2008 major league season Albert led all active hitters with a .334 batting average. He's the only player in major league history to hit over 30 home runs in each of his first nine seasons as a player. Albert is currently tied for the all-time National League record for number of grand slam home runs (home runs with the bases loaded), and we who are Cardinal fans hope he'll break that record before this season is over.

For those of you who are Cardinal fans or just baseball fans in general, do you think the Cardinals could win without Albert? If for some unforeseen reason he was no longer in the line-up, could the Cardinals win the National League Central Division, the National League Pennant, or even the world series without him? Do they need Albert Pujols? Is he indispensable?

How do you feel about indispensability? Are there some people without whom we cannot get along? Are you indispensable to your team...to your family...to your place of work...to your community...to your church, if you have one...to God?

As to the latter, if you have a Bible, read Mark 4:26-29. What does that say about who needs who?

I'll have my answer about Albert Pujols in my Friday post. I'll see you around the next bend in the river.

Mortality

Our area has been rocked with a number of untimely deaths over the last several weeks. These range from an athlete who collapsed and died at the beginning of a morning practice, a small child who drowned, a well known area businessman, and local youth, the latest having passed away just yesterday. Mortality is making its presence known in a fierce way.

In the midst of grief, people are asking the questions common to such pain. Why did this happen? Why would we lose someone so young? Some people may use faith language, asking why God would allow this. In a genuine effort at comfort, folks may say that it's part of God's plan, that it was the person's time, or that we'll understand it better by and by. There may or may not be truth in any of these statements, but I don't think they do much more than provide momentary relief.

If there is a God, where is God when tragedy strikes? I vaguely remember a story from Elie Wiesel's piercing book, Night. The book is about Wiesel's experience in a concentration camp during the Holocaust. As I recall, camp inmates were being forced to watch the execution of a boy for some infraction or another. He was executed by hanging; not by letting him drop, thus breaking his neck, but by hoisting him up by the next. Thus his death was excruciatingly long and painful. Someone in the crowd either cried out, "Where is God now?!?" Either that, or Wiesel thought those words.

How would you have answered that question? Where is God when inexplicable, unjust, or "untimely" death (when is death ever "timely"?) takes place? Let's all wrestle with that before I finish the story in the next post. I'll see you around the next bend in the river.

Welcome Aboard

I've had a chance to spend time with several different churches over the last two months. I encountered things to learn from each of them. Some were better at hospitality than others. As an introvert and a first time worshipper in virtually each place, I was especially alert to this. With great preaching, energetic and creative worship, state-of-the art technology, and everything else churches add to perfect what they offer, I've had the sense that most churches are, at best, just above adequate as hospitality.

So I considered what exactly I'm seeking as a total stranger that would counteract that awkward, isolated state of feeling like the one unknown person in a large room full of people who know each other, or who at least come often enough to feel some sense of comfort. Then I realized where I've felt the welcomeness that overcomes my uneasiness and makes me more open to the experience being offered...the Branson Belle.

Yes, the dinner theater showboat experience on Table Rock Lake near Branson, Missouri. The "welcome aboard" experience starts on land, extends through the walkway leading up to the boat, then to the captain's welcome on deck, on to the welcomer outside the dining area, and finally to the waiter or waitress who guides you to your seat, thanks you for coming, explains what's coming up, and serves you. The staff of the Belle assume that everyone is there for the first time, whether it actually is your first time on the Belle, or you take the dinner tour every time you go to Branson. That creates a level playing field, with no one favored and no one left out. Even if you have been on the boat before, you've never been to that particular show performed that way with that group of people there. So, everyone is a first time guest.

One church I have experienced creates this same environment. You get the feeling that they assume everyone is there for the first time. Even if you've been there before, they act as if no one has ever been to that worship, done in that way, with that particular emphasis and message and that certain opportunity to meet Jesus. So, everyone, from the lifelong member to the shy new person is a first time guest, and everything in their greeting, facility, and worship reflects that assumption.

That's hospitality. Welcome aboard. I'll see you around the next bend in the river.

A Different Spin on Despair

How do you experience despair? I guess despair is reaching the point where no good options exist, and doom seems inevitable. To look at YouTube videos of health care town hall meetings, some folks act as though they're close to despair. A terminal illness diagnosis can result in despair. The genocide victims of Darfur in the Sudan may feel despair, as their plight seems completely to have gone off the radar of international politics. I guess I've felt times when I was close to despair in my ministry. I suppose I've always assumed that despair is a legitimate experience, often.

However, this morning I encountered a stop-dead-in-your-tracks different spin on the experience of despair, courtesy of one of my sabbatical travelling companions, Thomas Merton. (I've been slowly working through New Seeds of Contemplation, a revision of his classic work of 1961.) Get this..."Despair is the absolute extreme of self-love. It is reached when a man deliberately turns his back on all help from anyone else in order to taste the rotten luxury of knowing himself to be lost...Despair is the ultimate development of a pride so great and so stiff-necked that it selects the absolute misery of damnation rather than accept happiness from the hands of God and thereby acknowledge that he is above us and we are not capable of fulfilling our destiny by ourselves." (page 180.) Wow...

I don't think Merton referred to those who experience despair because of violence and oppression, or any kind of circumstances over which they have no control. More so, I think, he targeted those of us who have much, but who fail to see it, and spend more time lamenting what we do not have than giving praise for what we do have. I'm still mulling all this over. What do you think?

I come off of my sabbatical leave in two days. It's been an impacting two months. The sabbatical has been restful, renewing, challenging, gut-wrenching, Jesus-focused, and hopeful. I'm anxious to get back in the saddle. I miss the folks in my congregation. I hope the resume the blog posting rhythm of three times a week, starting Monday. I'll see you around the next bend in the river.

Thomas Merton and Albert Pujols

I'm a big fan of the St. Louis Cardinals, who are currently fighting to stay in contention in the National League Central Division. One of their signature players is first baseman Albert Pujols. Normally an opposing pitcher's nightmare, Albert has been in something of a slump lately. (Thankfully he has strong batting support on either side of him since the All Star break.) The press and fans started to worry about Albert. Then last night, August 4, his two home runs led the Birds in a 12-7 come-from-behind victory over the New York Mets. After getting panicky over Albert's cold at-bats, we suddenly realized that he has tied the all-time National League record for grand-slams in a single season, and we still have August and September to go. (Today he went 2 for 3 in a losing effort in New York.)

I'm not going to be able to quote him directly, but when asked after last night's game how he handled his recent slump, Albert shrugged his shoulders and said something like, "Stay humble and trust God." That's unique, in a cultural that deifies the grandstanding of individual effort and achievement. Albert recommends accepting a lowly role, refusing a victim mentality, and connecting with the One who puts our frenzied drive for significance in eternal perspective.

During my sabbatical I've been reading the updating of Thomas Merton's groundbreaking 1961 book, New Seeds of Contemplation. In this work, Merton insists that we find our genuine identity by dying to all of our self-engineered, manufactured establishing of importance and influence. Only in embracing our utter insignificance before the Eternal, only in losing ourselves in God, only in decreasing ourselves so that Christ in us increases, do we find our true selves.

That may be biblical, and we may give lip service to it, but few of us who are church people really believe it, much less practice it. We all want to convince the people around us that ours is the church they want and who will meet all their needs. I don't know of any church that says, "We're pretty much a mess here; only in God do we have hope."

Long after Albert Pujols' records are buried in a data bank somewhere, it will be his humble heart and his connection to God that will matter. I'll see you around the next bend in the river.