On Turning 63: Some Reflections

I am now 63.  Some reflections:

Whoever said, "You don't have anything that Prozac and a polo mallet can't cure," was wrong.  The wrongness runs deep and healing isn't easy or simple.    I still believe and trust in my being an image-bearer of God, but I thought I'd be a better man by now.  Not saintly, but, on the other hand, not nearly still so ego-centered.

Looking back on those early years of marriage, I would have studied less and come home earlier.  I got the M.A. and summa cum laude --thank you-- but I'm not sure my wife got much.  I'm blessed and thankful for a wife who has been in this marriage not for what she could get, but what she could and can give.  

As a dad I would have yelled less and held more.  I'd have avoided less and attached more.  I can come up with innumerable excuses but no reasons.

I'd have rejoiced over the pearl in the poop instead of complaining about all the shit I had to wade through.

I'd have worried much less about what others might think; I gave their opinion entirely too much weight.  

I let fear govern or inform too many of my decisions.  Fear has crippled several dreams.  They are still alive but I am yet to pursue them, and time is running out.  Instead of merely thinking about and entertaining my dreams I would have acted on them.  I'd have pursued them and not allowed the fear of failure to stomp on my neck.  I refuse to give up and by God's grace I will go for it.

I'm grateful for what I'm becoming. The desire to be like Christ--the longing for transformation--is still intense. I do not notice significant change but am told by those wiser than me that the desire itself is a holy and promise-filled thing.

I like being comfortable in my own skin.  I used to hinge my actions and words way too cautiously, fearful of offending or upsetting the moral police.  Now they can ticket me all they want.

When I was a kid my best buddy and I would share a snack consisting of a big pile of peanut butter covered -yes, drenched--in  clear Karo maple syrup.  Each of us ate it by the spoonfuls.  A nearly unparalleled sensual experience.  An epicurean delight.  I need to enjoy more of the simple pleasures in life.

For decades  I have battled and continue to fight depression.  I regret I have allowed depression to win too often.  Too many times the lethargy, the lack of motivation  has caused me at end of day to wonder what in the world I accomplished, seemingly having nothing to show for the 24 hours--except sleep. Too many times it has nearly defined me rather than merely influencing me.  I am determined to fight it.     I am determined to rejoice in the light; I've spent too much time lamenting the darkness.

I still chew my nails.  Embarrassing.  How is this going to look when I'm lying in the coffin, hands folded and people filing by as they whisper about my unsightly hands.  Really embarrassing. I can't imagine how would they would react if they knew I didn't have any pants on.

For the most part I do not like aging.  I'm more forgetful.  I get injured more easily and heal more slowly.  Oncoming car lights bother my night vision when I'm driving.  I'm more forgetful.  I already said that.  I look over not through my reading glasses.  I don't want to die a crotchety old man.  I want to be joyful, I want to laugh more, cry more gentle tears of gratitude.   I want to inspire.  I want to mirror Christ well.

I can't think of a better note on which to end.  So I will.

Finite Understanding of the Infinite God

I've begun reading How (Not) to Speak of God, by Peter Rollins.  Great read so far.  If God is infinite and completely "other" than us some would conclude that therefore we cannot speak of God at all--words are useless and totally inadequate.  Others conclude that because God is infinite and transcends us it elicits volumes of words in attempts to describe or praise him.

He cautions against an easy familiarity with God and encourages a humility in our claims to know who God is.  Some people make all-encompassing descriptions of God as though they have him all figured out and any differing descriptions/theologies are, of course, false.  He urges us to hold loosely to our supposed certainty as to what we believe about God.  In that regard he tells the following joke:

A mystic, an evangelical pastor and a fundamental preacher die on the same day and awake to find themselves at the pearly gates. Upon reaching the gates they are promptly greeted by Peter, who informs them that before entering heaven they must be interviewed by Jesus concerning the state of their doctrine.  The first to be called forward is the mystic, who is quietly ushered into a room.  Five hours later the mystic reappears with  a smile, saying, "I thought I had got it all wrong."  Then Peter signals to the evangelical pastor, who stands up and enters the room.  After a full day has passed the pastor reappears with a frown and says to himself, "How could I have been so foolish!"  Finally Peter asks the fundamentalist preacher to follow him.  The fundamentalist preacher picks up his well-worn Bible and walks into the room.  A few days pass with no sign of the preacher, then finally the door swings open and Jesus himself appears, exclaiming, "How could I have got it all so wrong!"

Finding myself somewhere in the mix, I feel humbled but not shamed and will continue reading.

Hopefully, I will continue living with the tension of less certainty yet more faith.

See the Other as You Want to Be Seen

There are the safe people, the good people, honorable, trustworthy and noble; that would be "us."  And then there is everyone else.  The "other."  And we often view the "other" as possessing none of those same qualities.  The "other" easily can become the enemy.

Whether individually or collectively as a nation people upon encountering someone "other than" themselves often look downward at them rather than eye to eye.  Someone of a different color moves into the established family neighborhood and they are often viewed with suspicion before even meeting anyone.  The person who doesn't speak our language is told to learn English and abandon his native tongue; his language is "other" than ours and obviously inferior.     I look down on the guy that wears his pants halfway down his butt; I doubt his mother has a " My Son is an Honor Roll Student" bumpersticker.  Notice I mention his mother, because I doubt his father is around.  The young man is the "other."

George Byron Koch, in a paper, "The Ministry of Reconciliation," illustrates how profoundly this lens can affect our viewing of others.

Several years ago my brother was staying in a small village in Ireland.  He asked in the local pub about a similar small  village a mere 6 miles away that he was considering visiting.  He was told sharply that the village he was in had nothing to do with the other village, would not speak to anyone there--ever--and that they had no information to share with him about that village.  The anger and distrust in their voices were obvious.  The nearby village was "other," the enemy.
Nonplussed he asked about the reasons for their anger and distrust.
They said, " In 1066 when William the Conqueror came through Ireland he attacked that village first.  They didn't send anyone here to warn us that he was coming."
So "they" couldn't be trusted.  "They" were a danger.  And for nearly a thousand years "they" had remained "other," the enemy.  

At first glance this seems so appalling.  How could "they" be so narrow-minded and short-sighted?  But a look in the mirror silences my judgment.  I, too, tend to look through the same lens of distrust and suspicion. Different target, same lens.  

We all are created in the image of God and, therefore, each of us  and each of "them" are image-bearers of God.  I have to make a conscious effort not see "them" as "other" but as my brother and sister.  I need to step down off my ladder of superiority and look eye to eye at this "other " person.  

To rid myself of that downward look I need to look upward and seek God's grace to do so.  Sixty two years of will power alone hasn't worked so far. 

What a beautiful world it would be if we all could look at the "other" through the same lens that we would want the "other" to view us.

High School Reunions: The Agony and The Ecstasy

A reality check--attend your 45th high school reunion.  

Seeing my former classmates was like a look in the mirror.  I look as old as they do.  That was one sobering glimpse.  In my state of denial I choose to believe that my physical appearance hasn't changed all that much through the years.  A reunion asserts loudly and clearly, "You gotta be kidding."

It's a hard adjustment when, if your mind works similar to mine, you remember people like they were, rather than like they are.  I recall "Bill"* as the class playboy; seeing him today I doubt he can even remember the last time he had sex.  "Virginia"* was captain of the cheerleader squad--outgoing and gregarious,blond, body of a goddess.  Add 50 lbs and subtract her personality she only speaks when spoken to. Fortunately, "Steve"** is still charming, confident, debonair, engaging, --the list goes on.  And completely psychotic. 

A 45th reunion serves as a sobering reminder of our mortality.  Of a graduating class of about 70, 10 are deceased.  That seems like a high percentage that the Grim Reaper has claimed for his own.  It reminds me to treasure each day and live it in a full way because I might also be living it in a final way.

I grew up in small-town America, graduating from Hicksville High School.  Seriously.  Upon graduation I left and never turned back,  escaping my sheltered existence and wanting to experience all that life has to offer.  I wanted to travel and explore.  I've lived with all the jokes about Hicksville.  Do you know what it was like to sit in front of a prospective employer and as he is going through your resume he notes aloud, "So you say you graduated from Hicksville High.  Are you trying to be a smartass?"  I do my best to convince him of my truthfulness but he looks at me, squinting his eyes in suspicion.

Truth is, though I don't miss small-town America  I can say with certainty there is a loyalty to each other, a mutual care and pulling together when a friend is down, a camaraderie that is seldom found elsewhere. The reunion reminded me of those glowing qualities in my friends who have remained in Hicksville.

I look forward to the 50th reunion.  I was asked if I would provide the sermon on that Sunday morning.  Talk about planning ahead.  Then it dawned on me.  I was given so much notice because they probably figure it will take me five years to come up with something of substance to say.  

Some things haven't changed at all.

*    not actual name or person

**  my actual name

The Snake and The Church: Each Can be Deadly

Venom is typically derived from snakes, but lately I think you could obtain a lethal dose from many of my fellow believers.  (hiss) 

I am appalled at the vitriolic criticism of President Obama, particularly the scathing attacks by my evangelical, conservative friends.   I am not thrilled with some of his policies, the state of the economy,  the hell of healthcare, etc.   But the hateful posts on fb both frighten and embarrass me.  Just today a friend called Obama "a traitor and "unpatriotic" and urged that he be impeached.  And this is one of the kinder, more gentle posts of late.

Many of these friends regard themselves as patriots, but it appears we are patriots as long as the one in office is the one for whom I voted.  Respect for Reagan, admiration for Bush, absolute disdain for Obama.
What became of Christian civility?  Can we disagree, but respectfully?  Can we challenge the existing administration without resorting to name-calling?  If we claim to be followers of Jesus Christ then shouldn't our conversations, our  social networking be characterized by Christ's qualities of grace-giving, meekness, and mercy?  

Hundreds of years before the birth of Christ, Isaiah prophesied about this coming Messiah and described him in this manner:  "A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering reed he will not snuff out. . . "  He will not crush even the weakest and seemingly useless reed nor put out a flickering candle, as little light as it might provide.  That same spirit seems to be missing in many of us, his followers.  In contrast, during this political season we are consumed with crushing and would love to snuff out the political opponent or the enemy.  

Another  friend posted a photo of a gun and a Bible and the caption read (close paraphrase), Two things that belong in every home and neither of which are taught in our schools.   Maybe I am hyper-sensitive but doesn't that urge a violence of spirit?  I daresay that if a Muslim had posted the same photo of a gun and the Koran with the same caption that he would be been castigated and condemned by us, but we apparently have a Christian prerogative to post such things because, after all, we are right.

As Christ followers we are to be flavoring society.  Jesus called us "salt" and "light."  Salt adds flavor to bland foods.  Light shows the way, rather than condemning everyone else's way.  Richard Rohr, in Breathing Underwater:  Spirituality and the 12 Steps,  pegs us well:

Christians are usually sincere and well-intentioned people until you get to any real issues of ego, control power, money, pleasure, and security. Then they tend to be pretty much like everybody else. We often given a bogus version of the Gospel, some fast-food religion, without any deep transformation of the self; and the result has been the spiritual disaster of "Christian" countries that tend to be as consumer-oriented, proud, warlike, racist, class conscious, and addictive as everybody else-and often more so, I'm afraid. 

May God give us grace to avoid our automatic knee-jerk reactions and to hit the pause button before spewing.  

May God work more deeply than that.  God, shape me, form me into the very likeness of Christ.  May my own core, my spirit become loving like yours, so that I'm not merely engaging in behavior management and conversation policing.

I'm Back at the Helm, I Hope

I'm back.  More accurately, I nearly went down with the Titanic.  

I have wrestled with chronic, underlying depression for decades.  Typically, I am aware of it, feel it, but it doesn't significantly impair functioning.  I will have seasons wherein it comes to the surface and I feel its tentacles begin to wrap around my throat, but for various reasons it has released its grip and the dry, barren season tapers off.  Not this time.  

About a year and a half ago I could sense slippage.  I began to neglect responsibility.  I procrastinated more than my usual.  Motivation began to take a hit.  My energy slowly dissipated.  This has been steadily eroding my spirit, my psyche and, to be honest, and has continued to do so.  To clarify and to assuage any of your concerns, I am not suicidal.  I do not contemplate killing myself, I do not formulate plans, blah blah blah.  So knock off any unwarranted alarm.  I just don't give a crap about nearly anything.  Formerly, the task or activities that I wanted to do I now have to make myself do, including this post.

However, I am somewhat excited and maybe hopeful in that after months of writer's drought I am actually sitting at my keyboard and communicating with you.   I hope to continue posting with some consistency. I say "hope to" because while still in the throes of this prolonged dark night of the soul I am hesitant to make any absolute commitments, fearing that if I fail that will further depress me.  

I apologize for the delay, for dropping out of sight without providing any of you followers any explanation.  

There's no doubt about it--I was drowning, feeling like I was going down with the ship.  I'm not suggesting that now I'm sipping pina coladas and basking in the sun.  Not close.  But I do feel some minimal stirring of energy and motivation.  A level of nudging that  previously was not there.  We'll see.

As the song goes, "I'm in the dance band on the Titanic, singing "Nearer, My God, To Thee.""

Who Am I to Judge? Nice Thought, But Impossible

A guy walks  into a bar and orders a beer.  He takes a sip and tosses the rest in the bartender's face.  Sobbing, he says, "I'm so sorry!  I can't help doing that.  It's so embarrassing!"  The bartender sees his sincerity and suggests he sees a psychiatrist. Six months later, the guy is back.  "Are you seeing a psychiatrist?"  With a smile the guy says, "Yep--twice a week.  He's great!"and then throws his beer into the bartender's face.  "Great?? You just threw another beer in my face."  "True, but now it's doesn't embarrass me."


At first I laughed at the joke, but then I began thinking about its ramifications and I suggest that it is a commentary on our culture in general, and a significant segment of the therapeutic community, in particular.  There is a pervasive belief that  there is no objective truth, no absolutes; rather, it is all subjective.  It's all about "what is true for you."  It's all about your own personal truth, which will vary from person to person, so you are neither sensitive nor politically correct if you disagree with or challenge someone's attitude or behavior.  It's all about your "personal preference."  If  I disagree with someone's personal preference I am regarded as imposing my values on them.  


The prevailing sentiment is "There is no moral or ethical absolutes or standards, and therefore who are you to question or challenge or my actions?"  It seems as though the goal is to rid ourselves, free ourselves from this prudish Victorian remnant which we call a conscience.  Tossing his beer in the bartender's face was not wrong or inappropriate. The beer-toss was his personal preference; who are we to judge?  The therapeutic goal was to get over the embarrassment.  The embarrassment is the problem.  Feeling guilty for his actions is antiquated; it interferes with his self-actualization.  


The problem with this predominant worldview is this--we cannot live consistently with that view.  It collapses on itself.  Sure, I'm fine tossing a beer in your face and who are you to judge me--are you going to judge me for exercising my personal preference?  But the minute you toss a beer in my face, how dare you!?! How insensitive and thoughtless can you be!?!  You're such a jerk.  What right did you have to do that to me?


Do you understand the inadequacy of the prevailing worldview?


If you don't, wait til  a guy tosses a beer in your face.