Loosening My Grip

Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s human nature, but I’ve noticed a real tendency in myself to hold onto the things I like.  Whether it be people, situations, circumstances, things, whatever, if I like it, I don’t want to let it go, sometimes to a fault.

Now, there are some things that are worth holding onto, things I ought to hold onto.  I think of my faith, my marriage, my family and friends.  These are important, even foundational, to who I am and who I want to become.  How healthy is it, though, to cling tightly to these simply because of what I gain from them or how they make me feel?  Can I cling too tightly, or for the wrong reasons, to the right things? Do I need to reconsider not only what, but how I hold, those things I deem important?

Lord willing, my wife and I will celebrate 40 years of marriage this summer, and we dated for five-and-a-half years before that.  We truly were just kids when we met, 15 and 16 years old (though wisdom dictates I don’t tell you who was which).  Over the years, we’ve encountered our share of circumstances and events that have caused us to hold tightly to one another.

Can I cling too tightly, or for the wrong reasons,

to the right things?

Early in our relationship, our youth pastor shared an illustration that spoke deeply to us.  He took a pencil in hand and began to write.  As he wrote, he challenged me to grab the pencil out of his hand.  It came right out.  I returned the pencil to him, and he began to write again.  On his cue, I tried to take it back.  This time, though, he held it so tightly I couldn’t pull it loose.  He won…or did he?  What I hadn’t realized was that he also held it so tightly he could barely write with it.  He held it so tightly that he wasn’t able to use it for its intended purpose. The challenge for us was to consider whether or not our burgeoning relationship, focusing so tightly on one another, was keeping us from being/doing that to which God was calling each of us.

Is it possible to cling so tightly to the things I know and love that I squeeze the meaning or the purpose out of them?  That I squeeze the life out of them?  As we considered our youth pastor’s challenge, we became convinced that God was calling us to commit our lives both to Him and to one another.  The clear lesson, however, was that we could never allow ourselves to be so consumed with one another that we neglected those God put around us. 

Is my relationship with God ultimately about me

or about the person and nature of God?

So, is it possible to hold too tightly or for the wrong reasons?  I believe it is.  If my wife and I had tried to cling to that high school relationship we so enjoyed back then, we wouldn’t know and love the people we’ve become so many years later.  And my faith in God?  While God hasn’t changed, my understanding of God has changed immeasurably as I’ve allowed him to change me.  Had I held rigidly only to what I knew early on, I wouldn’t be who I am today.  And when it comes down to it, is my relationship with God ultimately about me or about the person and nature of God?

My wife and I were recently challenged to let go of a congregation and a small-group we’d been part of for several years.  God was leading us to accept a leadership role at another church, and, as much as we wanted to do that, we didn’t want to let go of what we knew and loved.  Our church and our small-group had been incredible blessings through some very trying circumstances. 

As we followed our understanding of God’s call, though, we were reminded of that illustration from our youth pastor.  If we chose to hold tightly to what we knew, what we had, what we loved, how much might we miss?  As teens, it was by loosening the grip on our relationship with each other that we experienced the fullness of our relationship today.  If we held too tightly to our small-group and our church, what might we miss by failing to step out into the future God has laid-out ahead of us?  

As I reflect on all of this, I have to wonder if there are other things in my life I hold too tightly.  What about you?  Are there things in your life you hold too tightly or for the wrong reasons? 

Maybe it’s you.  Maybe it’s me.  Maybe it’s all of us.

"How Can I Help?"

I don’t often watch brand-new television shows. Too often, my tastes apparently don’t match the general public’s, and a new show I’ve come to enjoy gets cancelled after just one season.

Maybe I just caved-in to all the advertising, or maybe the show’s setting (health care) caught my attention, but my wife and I began watching a new show (NEW AMSTERDAM) that premiered last fall. In the show’s initial episode, the lead character asked the same question on multiple occasions in a variety of settings. That question – “How can I help?” – got me to thinking.

More often than not, I tend to ask, “Is there something I can do?” To ask how I can help, though, implies at least a couple of things – 

1) There is, in fact, something I can do to help, and

 2) I’m willing to do whatever it is that would help.

“How can I help?” seems to connote a bigger, more generous commitment
on my part.

They saw how great his suffering was...

Sometimes, many times, the most effective thing I can do is to simply be there. I don't need to speak, I don't need to do, I simply need to be present. In the Old Testament book of Job, after Job lost virtually everything he had, we read that three of his friends traveled to be with him in his grief. Upon their arrival, they simply sat with him in silence, because they saw how great his suffering was.

This world bears frequent witness to horrific fear, violence, and suffering. The mass murder of peaceful worshippers in New Zealand this week is simply the most recent example. It seems every week, sometimes every day, we hear new stories of hatred and violence being angrily inflicted on others. The frequency and scale seem ever increasing, yet it is precisely in the midst of such chaos that we must ask ourselves, “How can I help?”

I suggest we begin by taking our cue from Job’s friends, those who sat with him in silence. We are far too quick to share our thoughts, our opinions, on causes or solutions. There will be ample time, and, sadly, far too many opportunities, to consider them. However, to start with strident, angry, or condescending accusations serves only to diminish the significance of the losses themselves.

It is precisely in the midst of such chaos that we must 

ask ourselves, "How can I help?"

The Jewish tradition of “sitting shiva” is a structured and intentional act of mourning a loss, typically lasting seven days. Like Job’s friends, I’d suggest we spend the first stage of our mourning in silence, refraining from hurling accusations, prescribing remedies, or casting blame. Then, let’s begin the next step, not by shouting, but by listening – to one another, to those more deeply affected, to God – as we work to move forward together.

Working together is the only realistic possibility we have of addressing the issues at work in these situations. There is hatred and darkness on every side of the political, cultural, and moral spectrums, and as Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. reminded us so eloquently, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

So, “How can I help?” First, with my silence. Then, by listening quietly. Finally, and only when appropriate, through offering and accepting opportunities to come together in the light and love of God’s truth until, one day, there is no room left for the hatred and anger that drive so much of life today.

We can help.  We must help.  It is our calling.

It's Different When It's MY Mom

For most of us, there are things in life we look forward to, things we aim for or aspire to.  The list may include finishing school, a particular job, special relationships, wealth, success, or any number of things.  There are other things, though, that come our way whether we seek them or not.

I recently spent the better part of two weeks helping pack, load, and move my mom from her own home to my sister’s house nearly six hours away.  My mom is 81, and she is dealing with some pretty significant memory issues.  Gratefully, this move was something she supported, and she embraced it completely.  Nonetheless, it was hard, for all of us.

Over 35 years ago, Mom and Dad moved back to the small town where she was born.  It was also the place where they met and married.  At the time, there was still a lot of family (from both sides) nearby.  In fact, one of the reasons they cited for returning was to help take care of aging family members.

"There are other things...that come our way

whether we seek them or not"

Jump forward to 2018, though, and those relatives are almost all gone.  Dad’s been gone for 10 years this December, and Mom is past the age many of those “aging relatives” were when she and Dad moved back there so long ago.  Time marches on.

So, like countless others before us, we gathered, officially, to pack and load and move Mom.  But we also gathered to bid farewell to a part of our lives – both hers and ours – that is now over.  Officially, finally, and completely over. 

Mom is no longer the family leader she’s been.  While it’s been on the horizon for a while now, it’s suddenly become very clear that Mom is dependent, very dependent, on those of us who come behind her.  It’s hard to watch someone who’s been so strong lose her ability to be independent.  The process will certainly place demands on my sisters and I, though the biggest weight will clearly fall on my sister with whom Mom now lives.  But it’s more than just that.  

I’ve suddenly been reminded that I’m nearer the top of the family tree than I’d been willing to admit, certainly higher than I’d ever aspired to be.  It’s sobering to realize that what was once so nurturing and supportive and embracing is no more. For me, moving my mom out of her own home is a lot like placing that final period at the end of a sentence. That which preceded it is done.

While I know there are thousands of other families dealing with similar circumstances, it feels lonely.  It feels sad.  It’s gone from abstract to very, very personal.  I’ve talked with, prayed with, and counseled plenty of friends and colleagues in similar situations, but it’s different when it’s my mom.

"I can't effectively care for them

if I don't know something about them"

And that realization has reminded me of something I, too often, forget.  For those involved in caring for others (and aren’t we all to some degree), it’s easy to see those we serve as ”customers” or “cases” or “patients” rather than as people.  It’s easier to group others by what they require of us than it is to recognize the unique circumstances and needs of each individual. 

Every person I meet experiences circumstances that are unique to them.  No matter how similar their situation may appear to someone else’s, it is unique and personal to them alone.  Whether it be a personal crisis, a health concern, a family transition, or something else altogether, I can’t truly understand or respond to another’s needs without investing the time and energy to learn something about them as a person.  I can’t effectively care for them if I don’t know something about them. 

As I continue to adjust to Mom’s new circumstances and to changing family roles, I am grateful for the support of so many.  My immediate and extended families, friends, and colleagues all continue to pull together to help us care for Mom and to support one another.  That means the world to me, and that’s the kind of care I hope to share, at least in some small way, with everyone else I meet along the way.  Because, for all of us, “It’s different when it’s my mom.”

Finding Hope in Brokenness

Though we spend much of our time trying to avoid or deny the fact, our world is a broken world.  To be sure, there is a great deal of joy to be found, too, but ultimately, finally, we live in a broken world.  In theological terms, we often refer to it as a “fallen world,” as the Bible teaches that this brokenness/fallenness is a consequence of our own doing.  The Bible explains that our own selfish, sinful choices have led to the fallen state of this world, but the Bible also offers hope in the midst of that brokenness.

I was recently challenged to see brokenness as an opportunity for the gospel.  And what is the gospel?  It is the good news that God has intentionally chosen not to abandon us, leaving us to deal with the consequences we deserve.  Instead, God has provided an opportunity for us to be reconciled to him, and the Bible tells us that opportunity is found in the life, death, and resurrection of his son, Jesus Christ.

But what does it mean when we hear that brokenness is an “opportunity” for the gospel?  Is it that pain and suffering provide an opening, an “in,” for religious exploitation?  Does our pain make us vulnerable to angry, hateful religious rhetoric?  Sadly, too many have used it in just that manner.  It’s part of the brokenness of this world.  But the gospel is not about exploitation, religion, or material gain.  It’s about God and his willingness to unilaterally restore the perfect relationship with him for which we were created.

So, how do we seize the opportunity proffered by our brokenness?  Often, we use words to try and tell or explain or correct.  Jesus did some of that, but he didn’t do it from a distance.  For the most part, his words were delivered only as he came alongside those experiencing pain or suffering.  Jesus travelled from town to town, meeting people where they were and welcoming them as they learned the good news, the gospel, of his presence in their midst.  He met needs – both physical and spiritual – as he met people along the way.  He lived the gospel.

How do we, then, come alongside others?  How do we live the gospel?  Well, we don’t do it by throwing words at “them” or “those people.”  We can give dollars and send others, and that’s all good…to a point.  But there’s more, so much more, that we’re called to do.

I’d suggest two simple, though hardly easy, steps:

1.  Recognize your own brokenness – By admitting our own need and bearing witness to God’s faithfulness, we are able to live out the gospel in the most powerful and effective way possible.  Consider the apostle Peter.  He failed miserably when he denied even knowing Christ not once, but three times.  He experienced the gospel in his own life when Christ restored him and charged him to “feed my sheep” (John 21). 

2.  Meet others in the midst of their brokenness – Don’t turn away.  Don’t avoid.  Go to them where they are and in whatever situation they find themselves.  Then greet them, not with condescending words or harsh judgment, but with the love and compassion of Christ.  Embrace them for who God has created them to be.  Tend to their needs, physical and spiritual, and model Christ’s love and sacrifice.

It may seem strange to see our brokenness as an opportunity for anything but pain and sorrow.  The truth is, though, that the God who created and sustains this universe can also bring joy out of sorrow, peace out of suffering, and wholeness out of brokenness. 

So, the next time you’re struggling with pain or loss or sorrow, see that brokenness as an opportunity for God’s gospel of grace and renewal in your own life.  Then live out that gospel in ways that allow you to come alongside others and minister God’s gospel to them.  See brokenness as an opportunity for the gospel.