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The Courage to be Real

As I prepare for some talks on "The Courage to Be Real" I keep coming back to this quote from "The Silver Chair."

“If you are thirsty, you may drink.”

[...] For a second she stared here and there, wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again, “If you are thirsty, come and drink,” [...] [she] realised that it was the lion speaking. [...] [T]he voice was not like a man’s. It was deeper, wilder, and stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice. It did not make her any less frightened than she had been before, but it made her frightened in rather a different way.

“Are you not thirsty?” said the lion.

“I’m dying of thirst,” said Jill.

“Then drink,” said the lion.

“May I – could I – would you mind going away while I do?” said Jill.

The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realised that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.

The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.

“Will you promise not to – do anything to me, if I do come?” said Jill.

“I make no promise,” said the Lion.

Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.

“Do you eat girls?” she said.

“I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. It didn’t say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.

“I daren’t come and drink,” said Jill.

“Then you will die of thirst,” said the Lion.

“Oh dear!” said Jill, coming another step nearer. “I suppose I must go and look for another stream then.”

“There is no other stream,” said the Lion.

- “The Silver Chair” by C. S. Lewis

I Need More Time?

Here is some truth from Seth Godin that I've been realizing more and more:

First rule of decision making: More time does not create better decisions.

In fact, it usually decreases the quality of the decision.

More information may help. More time without more information just creates anxiety, not insight.

Deciding now frees up your most valuable asset, time, so you can go work on something else. What happens if, starting today, you make every decision as soon as you have a reasonable amount of data?

Here is some truth from Seth Godin that I've been realizing more and more:

First rule of decision making: More time does not create better decisions.

In fact, it usually decreases the quality of the decision.

More information may help. More time without more information just creates anxiety, not insight.

Deciding now frees up your most valuable asset, time, so you can go work on something else. What happens if, starting today, you make every decision as soon as you have a reasonable amount of data?

The Story of Life

 via BW3

On the first day, God created the dog and said:

'Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in
or walks past. For this, I will give you a life span of twenty years.'

The dog said: 'That's a long time to be barking. How about only ten
years and I'll give you back the other ten?'
So God agreed.

On the second day, God created the monkey and said:
'Entertain people, do tricks, and make them laugh. For this, I'll give
you a twenty-year life span.'

The monkey said: 'Monkey tricks for twenty years? That's a pretty long time
to perform. How about I give you back ten like the Dog did?'
And God agreed.

On the third day, God created the cow and said:
'You must go into the field with the farmer all day long and suffer
under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer's family. For
this, I will give you a life span of sixty years.'

The cow said: 'That's kind of a tough life you want me to live for
sixty years. How about twenty and I'll give back the other forty?'
And God agreed again.

On the fourth day, God created man and said:
'Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. For this, I'll give you
twenty years.'

But man said: 'Only twenty years? Could you possibly give me my
twenty, the forty the cow gave back, the ten the monkey gave back, and the ten
the dog gave back; that makes eighty, okay?'
'Okay,' said God, 'You asked for it.'

So that is why... for our first twenty years we eat, sleep, play and enjoy
ourselves. For the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our
family. For the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain the
grandchildren. And for the last ten years we sit on the front porch and
bark at everyone.

Lent thoughts by Frederick Buechner

In many cultures there is an ancient custom of giving a tenth of each year's income to some holy use. For Christians to observe the forty days of Lent is to do the same thing with roughly a tenth of each year's days.  After being baptized by John in the river Jordan, Jesus went off alone into the wilderness where he spent forty days asking himself the question what it meant to be Jesus. During Lent, Christians are supposed to ask one way or another what it means to be themselves.

If you had to bet everything you have on whether there is a God or whether there isn't, which side would get your money and why?

When you look at your face in the mirror, what do you see in it that you most like and what do you see in it that you most deplore?

If you had only one last message to leave to the handful of people who are most important to you, what would it be in twenty-five words or less?

Of all the things you have done in your life, which is the one you most like to undo? Which is the one that makes you happiest to remember?

Is there any person in the world, or any cause, that, if circumstances called for it, you would be willing to die for?

To hear yourself try to answer questions like these is to begin to hear something not only of who you are but of both what you are becoming and what you are failing to become. It can be a pretty depressing business all in all, but if sackcloth and ashes are at the start of it, something like Easter may be at the end.

- Frederick Buechner from Wishful Thinking

Love is Here

This article's depiction of marital love seems quite romantic and moving to me. Tomorrow I'll be performing two wedding ceremonies and I always think to myself "if only they knew" when they said "in sickness and health!" I'm not sure that Hallmark can make a card about this kind of love, and I doubt that Paramount will make a movie about it, but I do think it's close to the kind of acceptance we are all longing for on Valentines Day. Love is in the details.

Dana Jennings (the husband) writes:

These days, I epitomize the “in sickness” part of the wedding vows that Deb and I took back in 1981. Since we learned last April that I have prostate cancer, I’ve had my prostate removed, found out that the cancer was shockingly aggressive, undergone a 33-session course of radiation and am finishing up hormone therapy.

Right now, I’m not quite what you’d call “a catch.” I wear man-pads for intermittent incontinence, I’m a bazaar of scars, and haven’t had a full erection in seven months. Most nights, I’m in bed by 10. The Lupron hormone shots, which suppress the testosterone that can fuel prostate cancer, have sent my sex drive lower than the stock market, shrunken my testicles, and given me hot flashes so fierce that I sweat outdoors when it’s 20 degrees and snowing.

Even so, Deb has taught me that love is in the details. Humid professions of undying love and tear-stained sonnets are all well and good, but they can’t compete with the earthy love of Deb helping me change and drain my catheter pouches each day when I first came home from the hospital.

Yes, in the details. She measured my urine, peered into places I couldn’t (literally and figuratively), and strategically and liberally applied baby powder, ice and Aquaphor to my raw and aching body. She battled our intractable insurer, networked, tracked down the right doctors — and took thorough notes all the while.

I was wounded. She protected me. She chose to do these things.

Deb and I have been married for 27 years, have two sons (22 and 19), and have ridden the usual Ferris wheel that comes with a long marriage. But our love for each other has deepened in this time of prostate cancer.

We talk more often about the life we’ve built together, about sex and money, about the joy we take in our sons, about the uncertain future. When cancer moves in, there’s nothing you and your spouse can’t talk about.

Our love has been seasoned with a bitter pinch of mortality, and the classic quarrels of marriage hold little power over us anymore. When I say to Deb, “I love you,” I mean it. And when she responds, “I love you more,” she means it, too. We understand that time, perhaps, is not on our side.

Time, we are told, will give us our sex life back. As I said, the hormone shots have shut down my sex drive. And my poor penis is still in recovery — from the surgery and the radiation. But as we wait, I’ll tell you this: Love abides.

Yes, yes and yes — lust is essential. But right now, sex seems quaint, old-fashioned. Oddly enough, it can’t compete with the depth and gravity of a light touch, a sly glance. I’m in the mood for the Beatles and “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” not Grace Jones growling, “Pull up to my bumper, baby.”

Don’t get me wrong. I really, really like sex. But given a choice between the mere biology of lust and the deep soul of love, I’ll take love. My body has changed — but my doctors say my libido will be warming up again before I know it. Deb understands, and we’ve adapted.

Deb’s love is one to live up to, one to reciprocate. Who else is going to snuggle up to me on the couch, smile, listen — and nod knowingly — as I complain about my hot flashes?

In the long shadow of prostate cancer, I’ve learned that I married the right woman.

Creating Space to Dance Together - Nouwen

Here's today's thought from Henri Nouwen:

"When we feel lonely we keep looking for a person or persons who can take our loneliness away. Our lonely hearts cry out, "Please hold me, touch me, speak to me, pay attention to me." But soon we discover that the person we expect to take our loneliness away cannot give us what we ask for. Often that person feels oppressed by our demands and runs away, leaving us in despair. As long as we approach another person from our loneliness, no mature human relationship can develop. Clinging to one another in loneliness is suffocating and eventually becomes destructive. For love to be possible we need the courage to create space between us and to trust that this space allows us to dance together."

Friendships in Ministry

Craig Groeschel at Lifechurch.tv has some good thoughts and discussion going on friendships in ministry.  It's not really a topic that gets much airtime but I think it's so important.

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If you want to become friends with your pastor, here are some suggestions:

1. Don’t be pushy. Pushy people come across as needy. We minister to needy people all day. We crave friendships not more counseling appointments.

2. Don’t tell us “God told you” we’re going to be friends. He may have, but that doesn’t work on us. Tons of people have told us that before. Friendship for us needs to happen over time, not be born because of something God told you but not us.

3. Coming to a stranger’s house for dinner isn’t the high point of our lives. (You know a lot about us. We don’t know as much about you.) We work a lot of nights. Our kids are busy. Finding a babysitter is hard. Bringing our kids to your house often puts stress on us. A night at home is often more meaningful than a dinner at your house.

4. My wife doesn’t want to send our kids to your house just because you want to baby sit them. You are probably an incredible person, but we don’t know about your neighbors or your kids’ friends or your uncle that might come by. There are too many weird people for us to send our kids to your house without knowing more.

5. We are grateful for “gift cards.” Many pastors don’t have the financial margin to take their families out. Gift cards mean a lot.

6. We love talking to you about things besides church and the Bible. We have other interests like you.

7. We love your notes of appreciation. They mean more than you know. You have a way of sending them when we really need them. Thank you!

8. We love talking to the real you. Many people show us a spiritual front. Truthfully, we’d rather see your dark side than a fake spiritual one. Thank you for being yourself!

9. We are slow to open up. It is not because of you. We’ve been hurt many times by people who say the same things you are saying to us. Give us time.

10. If we can’t be close to you, it doesn’t mean we don’t truly love you. We only have room for a handful of very close friends. We simply don’t have the time or energy to be close to tons of people. Please don’t take it personally.

11. Please don’t try to use our kids to get to us. We love our kids and don’t want anyone to use them. Our kids also can’t go to every kid’s birthday party from the church.

12. If we ever say “no” to you, please understand that it is very hard for us. We want to serve you. We want to minister to you. We want you to like us. Sometimes, we simply can’t do everything. We hope you understand.

13. More than anything, we want to represent Christ to you. When we let you down (and we will), we pray you will show us grace.

14. We want you to know that we value your prayers more than you will ever know.

15. When you do become our close friend, you are an answer to prayer and a gift from God!

Eugene

Eugene Peterson has so often described my life and heart in his words.  Here's a passage (via) that was just what I needed early this morning:

“In running a church I solve problems. Wherever two or three are gathered together, problems develop… It is satisfying to my ego to help make rough places smooth.The difficulty is that problems arrive in such constant flow that problem solving becomes full-time work. Because it is useful and the pastor ordinarily does it well, we fail to see that the pastoral vocation has been surverted. Gabriel Marcel wrote that life is not so much a problem to be solved as a mystery to be explored. That is certainly the biblical stance: life is not something we manage to hammer together and keep in repair by our wits; it is an unfathomable gift. We are immersed in mysteries: incredible love, confounding evil, the creation, the cross, grace, God.

The secularized mind is terrorized by mysteries. Thus it makes lists, labels people, assigns roles, and solves problems. But a solved life is a reduced life. These tightly buttoned-up people never take great faith risks or make convincing love talk. They deny or ignore the mysteries and diminish human existence to what can be managed, controlled, and fixed. We live in a cult of experts who explain and solve. The vast technological apparatus around us gives the impression that there is a tool for everything if we can only afford it. Pastors cast in the role of spiritual technologists are hard put to keep that role from absorbing everything else, since there are so many things that need to be and can, in fact, be fixed.

But “there are things,” wrote Marianne Moore, “that are important beyond all this fiddle.” The old time guide of souls asserts the priority of the “beyond” over “this fiddle.” Who is available for this kind of work other than pastors? A few poets, maybe; and children, always. But children are not good guides, and most of the poets have lost interest in God. That leaves pastors as guides through the mysteries..”   The Contemplative Pastor

“The Christian community is interested in spirituality because it is interested in living. We give careful attention to spirituality because we know, from long experience, how easy it is to get interested in ideas of God and projects for God and gradually lose interest in God alive, deadening our lives with the ideas and projects. This happens a lot. Because the ideas and projects have the name of God attached to them, it is easy to assume that we are involved with God. It is the devil’s work to get us worked up thinking and acting for God and then subtly detach us from a relational obedience and adoration of God, substituting our selves, our godlike egos, in the place originally occupied by God.”
- Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places, 31

Canadian Sermons

  Neil Young, who pastors Erindale United Church in Mississauga, Ontario, describes sermon styles in the Great White North.

The Hockey Fight: Staggers unsteadily, swinging wildly, but lands a punch or two.

The Igloo: Goes 'round and 'round until a final capstone is dropped in.

The Curling: Kind of incomprehensible, but everybody seems to have a good time.

The Maple Syrup: Boils source material down to about 1/50th its starting volume.

The Mountie: When it's most dressed-up, it doesn't arrest anybody.

The Lacrosse: Fast, hard-hitting, and it's hard to see the points as they're made.

The Canadian: Overly apologetic.

The Snowmobile: Loud and a bit obnoxious, but takes you places you otherwise wouldn't go.

The Beaver: Dams everything in sight.

The Maple Leaf: Has 11 points; always ends up falling to the ground.

via

Institutional church

"What other church is there besides institutional? There’s nobody who doesn’t have problems with the church, because there’s sin in the church. But there’s no other place to be a Christian except the church. There’s sin in the local bank. There’s sin in the grocery stores. I really don’t understand this naïve criticism of the institution. I really don’t get it. Frederick von Hugel said the institution of the church is like the bark on the tree. There’s no life in the bark. It’s dead wood. But it protects the life of the tree within. And the tree grows and grows. If you take the bark off, it’s prone to disease, dehydration, death. So, yes, the church is dead but it protects something alive. And when you try to have a church without bark, it doesn’t last long. It disappears, gets sick, and it’s prone to all kinds of disease, heresy, and narcissism."

-Eugene Peterson

via Darryl (one blog I haven't unsubscribed from)