The call of the void

Have you every been on the edge of a very high point and felt the sudden urge to leap or fall? Not in a suicidal way, but in a more “I wonder what that would feel like” way.

Obviously, if you’re reading this, you never actually jumped. The vast majority of us will probably feel a rush of adrenaline, and slowly back away from the edge.

That sensation is called: “L’appel du vide”, or “The call of the void.”

It’s an experience we’d rarely share with anyone else simply because there’d be almost no way to convince them we weren’t suicidal…that we were merely profoundly curious, and we’d never actually jump. In fact, sometimes it can be easy to mistake a fear of heights with “The call of the void.”

It’s the same with temptation: when we give in, it’s because we’re far more curious than afraid. (Consequences be damned.)

The Genesis poem about creation…the serpent asks Eve, “Did God REALLY say not to eat the fruit?”

She justified…and ate…then Adam justified…and ate.

The story of David leaving behind his kingly duties so he could watch Bathsheba bathe naked.

He already have wives (plural) and concubines at his disposal…but he still justified…and slept with her while her husband was at war, fighting for David’s kingdom.

The temptation of Jesus in the wilderness. The Devil takes him to the highest point of the temple and invites him to jump to see what would happen.

The call of the void.

Jesus laughs it off with the simplicity of, “Don’t tempt God.”

Just a few paragraphs later, Jesus rocks the entire ancient cultural boat with what we now call, “The Sermon on the Mount.” Jesus sits atop a small hillside, surrounded by multitudes hanging on his every word, and for three chapters in the gospel of Matthew, he blows their minds with teachings like: hate is the same as murder…don’t seek revenge…love your enemies.

And, of course, the ever-famous “If you look at a woman with lustful intent, you’ve already committed adultery with her in your heart.”

I’ve used this passage as a weapon countless times, and have had it used on me as well. Notice he doesn’t blame a woman’s clothing style here…it’s purely about the mind of a man. But then Jesus takes it up a notch by saying we might as well rip out whichever eye we undress a woman with.

I’m sure at that point, all the people in the crowd blinked. Every man gasped.

I was doing well to only sleep with my own wives, they must have thought, …but now I can’t even THINK about another woman? 

Impossible!

Exactly. (Because if they/we could handle it…there’d be no reason to follow Jesus around.)

Our minds are the safe haven, right? No one has to know what goes on there.

Just like we’d never tell anyone we’re curious about what it would feel like to leap from the top of a building, we’d never be completely honest about what happens in our land of thoughts.

Everything we do begins in the mind. 

But, notice Jesus doesn’t say he’s going to parade our thoughts around for all to see. He simply gives a subtle hint to the reality that he knows.

You’ll also notice Jesus doesn’t give an invitation at the end of the sermon for all the men with bad thoughts to come forward and pluck out their eyes so they won’t lust anymore…he simply invited everyone to make sure the life they were built was perched on solid ground. (Of course, he was referring to himself.)

We knew a woman who discovered her husband was quite dissatisfied with their sex life, and decided watching other people having sex was better (porn). One time she quipped, “I can’t believe a Christian man would ever want to watch that…”

What?

Why?

King David (the ONLY one in the Bible named a “man after God’s own heart”) watches a woman he’s not married to bathe naked, has sex with her, gets her pregnant, then has her husband killed so he can keep her for himself, and YOU can’t believe YOUR husband watched porn?!

The challenge for followers of Jesus is one of honesty. The majority of Church communities (at least in the West) aren’t places where people can be genuinely honest…about doubt…fear…anger…questions…struggle…much less sex. Someone very close to me was even kicked out of a church at fifteen for being a little too honest about her sexual issues.

If we can’t be completely honest about small things, we’ll never be honest about big ones.

It took me nearly eight years of marriage to get over my fear of being completely honest with my wife. Because I didn’t want her to think I was a mental disaster. Much to my surprise, we now have amazing conversations about faith, sex, life, struggle…everything.

I think instead of continuing to look for things and people to blame for temptation (i.e., all the beautiful women around us…), let’s look back to Jesus…stop cowering in our thoughts…step back from the ledge…laugh it off and shout back to temptation: “Don’t tempt me…because I don’t hide anymore.”

The call of the void will always be there…but I much prefer the call of real life.

—–

Do you have people in your life you can be completely honest with?

If not, why are you afraid of being honest?

Not all who wander are lost…but…

About sixteen years ago I pretty much gave up on church.

Because I was a preacher’s kid, and it would have caused an international incident, I couldn’t stop attending…but I gave up.

Why?

Well, I was fifteen at that point, had been going to church functions since I was in amniotic fluid, and somewhere around the age of eleven I started realizing that a lot of the Christians around me were…well…jerks.

I would read about Jesus, and how he treated people, then I’d look at Christians, and the two just didn’t match up.

Sometimes we’d go by the church to surprise my dad in the middle of a work day, and there’d be someone in his office yelling at him for changing the carpet, or not using the choir robes.

We would receive threatening anonymous letters at our house…certain church members would interrupt the service to call meetings.

They wanted to edit sermon content.

They hated the music.

They controlled the finances.

They cursed.

They slandered.

They schemed.

The humiliated…just like Jesus would have done…right?

But, there was one event that still sits in the front of my mind that gives me much pause to this day. At one point, my father decided to use a smaller lectern to preach from instead of the large, ornate, traditional pulpit. Of course, the backlash from a select few was outrageously harsh.

Finally, in one uproarious meeting, the statement was made that when my father had removed the larger pulpit, he had also removed God from our church.

It took me a long time to be able to look past the theological idiocy of that statement to what the person was really saying.

A few years ago, I got to meet one of my heroes, Frederick Buechner, who was in town for a series of lectures at a local college. During a Q and A session, someone asked Rev. Buechner where he attended church. I’m sure his answer wasn’t quite what anyone was expecting:

“I don’t always attend church, actually. Because not every church is alive with the Spirit of God. I only attend where and when I know the Spirit is.”

That certainly was not what people were hoping to hear, but it was the truth.

In Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, Gandalf writes a letter to the hobbits. Included in the letter is a poem that cryptically refers to the return of Aragon, the King. That portion of literature may not be all that well-known, but there’s a line from the poem I hear and read frequently:

Not all who wander are lost.

Indeed.

But I would add this…Not all who wander are lost…but all who wander are searching.

When the judgement was given that God left our church along with the pulpit, I knew I was finished there, and I began to wander.

I never gave up on Jesus Christ, but for years I washed my hands of the church. Because, I told myself, if to follow Jesus means I end up looking like those people, I don’t want any part of it.

To be quite honest, I’m still not convinced I’ll ever stop wandering; searching.

At least I hope not anyway.

A Bible passage that comes up when I have this kind of conversation is a line from the letter to the Hebrews, 10.25, that says we must, “Not forsake the assembling of ourselves together…”

And I agree, but I also don’t think we as followers of Jesus should gather simply to gather. The Hebrews passage also talks about doing things by a “living way”…encouraging each other to “love and good works”…our assembly must be a living assembly.

Church isn’t a weird, secret club, it’s a feast and there’s room for everyone at the table. (And I do mean EVERYONE.)

Either what we believe is alive or it’s not. Flash, hype, and clever manufacturing can’t make a dead thing alive. Only the Spirit of Christ can do that.

Growing up, as questions about faith, life, doubts, and fears took center stage, the people around me were so busy arguing about whether drums in church were satanic, I never got a chance to ask.

In 2004, I was ordained as a Christian minister. I can “marry and bury” as they say.

But I still wander.

I still search.

I believe Jesus is alive, and a faith marked by Him will also be alive.

I believe grace changes everything.

I believe doubts are a part of our journey.

I believe church should be a safe place, not a place where we pass out masks as people walk through the door.

I believe wandering must be a part of following Jesus, because the more we wander, the more we meet people to invite to the feast.

—–

(There’s much more to my journey beyond what I shared above…but we can talk more another time.)

Have you experienced anything like what I wrote on today?

Are you a wanderer?

My eyes and Jon Acuff’s mouth remind me of Jesus

This morning I put my wife’s contacts in my eyes by accident.

It’s actually an easy mistake to make, however.

We have the exact same lens case and the exact same contacts. We even both have astigmatism.

The difference shows up in how dramatically different our prescriptions are.

My vision is much worse than hers. So, so much worse.

In fact, many of you have read about how bad Jon Acuff’s jaw is…my eyes are the equivalent of his mouth. (That looked much stranger typed out than it sounded in my head).

When I’m not wearing glasses or contacts, my depth perception is completely gone, and it’s all I can do to stumble around my house without horrible injury. Everything feels like I’m seeing it through wax paper or smudged glass. It doesn’t matter how many times I blink my eyes or how many carrots I eat, my eyesight won’t ever improve. I’m stuck with the eyes I’ve got…thus, every day I choose between my Rob Bell glasses or contacts (based on what fashion statement I’m trying to make of course).

Once my corrective lenses are in place, I can move about my life freely.

By now you must be thinking, Cool story, bro. But why are we discussing your eyes this glorious Monday morning?

I’m so glad you asked.

I say all those things because I’ve been mulling over a phrase that’s haunted me for a few months now…in fact, I think I’ve shared it before…

For the followers of Jesus…it’s about more than having better vision…it’s about having new eyes.

Better vision may help improve the way we see, but new eyes help us see differently. New eyes help us see things we’ve never seen before.

Like Peter walking to Jesus on top of the water…his vision allowed him to see the storm closing in. He saw the waves crashing. He saw the dark waters begin to drag him down.

He had all but forgotten the words of Jesus only moments before: “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Take courage. I am here!” Now it appeared the end would be swift. Then, in an instant, a rescuing hand reached down, and as Jesus returned Peter to firm footing, He asked, “Why did you doubt me?”

To be honest, I’ve been spending a lot of time studying the storms and waves recently. In fact, I literally had vividly intense dreams all night last night about how certain situations were going to play out. My heart was pounding when I woke up.

Yet, in the midst of becoming an expert on how difficult portions of this season of life are, I’ve been ignoring an unbelievably simple and profound truth:

Walking on water isn’t a test, it’s an invitation.

Fear tells us how far we are from shore, but faith reminds us of how close we are to Jesus.

Jesus doesn’t tell us to take courage and then send us headlong into failure, He simply invites us to get out of the boat.

And with an invitation like that, why would any of us ever want to stay in the boat?

———————–

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. // 1 Corinthians 13

A lie I believe all the time

I’ve tried to write this post about ten times.

Each time I begin putting words to the page, something stops me. It’s not because I’m afraid it’s too controversial (although, I do think it’s something we all deal with regularly), but it just never felt like the right time.

Until last Friday.

Anders Breivik perverted and distorted the message of the cross. In the aftermath, nearly 100 people are confirmed dead, untold thousands are affected, and potentially billions around the world are left wondering “why?”.

What we must remember is that what happened on Friday actually began years ago.

Somewhere along the way, Breivik believed a lie. It was the same lie that fueled the inquisition, led the charge during the crusades and continues to wage war for our hearts every day.

It’s a simple lie, and that’s the problem. Simple lies are the easiest to believe.

Here it is: people are the enemy.

Confession: I believe this lie all the time.

“That jackass just cut me off…”

“Those jerk [insert despised political party here] are just trying to RUIN our country!”

“My boss…”

“My spouse…”

“That pastor…”

“Those illegals….”

Typically it’s much easier to identify our enemies than name those we are called to serve.

Why?

Well, for me, I like when I’m able to be a Christian on my own terms. I mean, seriously, the terms laid out by Jesus in scripture are way more difficult, and ultimately require me to give my life away. C’mon, where’s the fun in that?

The problem is…unless I am giving my life away, “Christian” is just a label. It’s what I write on my name-tag when I walk into the country club on Sunday mornings.

I cut myself too much slack while leaving hardly any for anyone else.

And then, before we know it, suddenly the rest of the world has us figured out.

In fact, studies have been done in recent years that have painted Christians as pretty much closed off to any dialogue. The perception is that we already know everything, and if you don’t agree with us, you better get out of the way or else you’re going to be run over.

Spoiler: that mentality doesn’t look ANYTHING like Jesus.

Jesus never ran over anybody, no matter who they were.

Jacques Ellul narrows it down perfectly when he says, “Propaganda begins when dialogue ends.”

The message of Jesus is not propaganda. It’s not a sales pitch. It’s a sacrifice of love that was born in the heart of God. If the world looks at us and sees anything else, we need to replace the flag we’re flying.

I’m always blown away at how reactionary the Church of Jesus Christ (myself included) appears to be when someone questions or gets too close to our sacred cows. (Mabye we just shouldn’t have sacred cows.)

If the message we speak is really the truth, what do we have to be afraid of? The answer of course is nothing. I’m not nearly as concerned with having a generous orthodoxy as I am a patient orthodoxy. A faith that isn’t worried about taking its time.

Years ago I heard a talk by Erwin McManus where he said, “Don’t be afraid to take the long way home with someone.”

How you get home is just as important as arriving at the right destination.

Sounds simple, but in my brokenness I continue to wrestle with these things.

It comes down to whether or not I really trust God to take care of what happens in the end.

Do you?

For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places. // Ephesians 6:12

Editing the script of my life…

Sometimes I get stuck in a rut.

You know, the one where in your mind God makes you go through all the hard stuff while all your friends go skipping by you eating angelic bon-bons on their Heavenly journey paved with rose pedals?

In fact, there have been moments in my life where I have actually prayed: “God, what if you had someone ELSE go through the really hard stuff for a change and let me be friends with them?”

I prayed that after my son, Jude, was diagnosed with a disorder that caused severe developmental delay and seizures 24/7.

I prayed that after we found out my wife was expecting twins, nearly died and was on bed rest for four months right as we were beginning to raise support to work in missions.

Seriously, why couldn’t I grow by watching someone else go through something difficult?

For a little while in college I was a musical theater major (clearly I was most interested in a degree path with a high level of job security). Every day we memorized scripts, wrote scripts and edited scripts. I got to where I thought I could do a pretty darn good job at figuring out exactly how a story should unfold. But, it didn’t stop when I left the theater department; I’ve even attempted to use my fantastic editing skills when it comes to particular areas of my life.

In Hebrews 12:2, the writer calls us to “Fix our eyes on Jesus, the Author and perfecter of our faith…”

You see, I love the part about fixing my eyes on Jesus. I’ve sung songs about it, and said it in front of other people to get a response (it’s a huge crowd pleaser). What I struggle with is the author/perfecter part.

So often I’ve tried to take my script from the hands of God, pull out my trusty red pen and go to work.

I’ll say things like, “You know, God, I see you have me going through a pretty difficult scene on page 396, and I’d like to see if we can tone that down a little. I think you could make this section a lot easier for me and still teach me all the lessons I’m supposed to learn.”

But every time I try that, the response from God is always the same: “Yes, it would be easier for you if we toned that down a bit, and yes, you are a decent writer (I designed you that way)…but I’m the perfecter.”

Conversation over. He wins.

No matter how well I may be able to write the script of my faith, He is the only One who can perfect it.

We don’t fix our eyes on Jesus to become better renditions of ourselves.

In my version of the script, I just end up looking more like me (albeit a cooler, sleeker  version – like Tony Stark in Iron Man 2). But in God’s narrative…I end up looking like Jesus.

Having a son like Jude or a sick wife doesn’t limit God…He uses even the most hopeless situations to change the world every day.

In the movie “True Grit”, a young girl seeks justice for her father’s murder. No one thinks she’s old enough or capable of handling the challenges ahead, to which she calmly replies: “I’m in the hands of the Author of all things, and I’ve got a fine horse.”

If God is the author, let Him write the story. As He writes, He also perfects. You can trust Him with the script of your life.

Have you ever tried to edit the script, or wished certain scenes of your life were written differently?