The Emotional Headlock

                I belong to this little men’s workout group.  We go out to public parks and schoolyards in the morning and do pushups and jumping jacks in the pre-dawn gloom.  After the workout, we sit in a Circle of Trust, tell each other our names (we have goofy little nicknames) and say a prayer together.  Afterwards, that day’s leader (we trade it off) writes an e-mail listing who was there, describing what we did and making sport of whatever funny thing might have happened.   I have been doing this for about two years.  There are other men in the group who have been doing it for five years.  On Saturdays, some guys bring their teenage sons.  Once in a while, a guy brings his dad. 

                It only takes an hour to do this, but this hour has become a pretty important part of my day and this group an important part of my life.  It’s funny how I could not see that I had a hole in my life until this group filled it for me. It’s like not knowing you were hungry until after you ate dinner.  Maybe, men trick themselves into not seeing how empty some part of their life is because we are afraid that we would be powerless to do anything about it.  We like to solve problems.  Why bother thinking about a problem that we cannot fix?

                We have noticed a  certain pattern of resistance in men that we invite to the workout for the first time.  They say it’s too early in the morning, that they already belong to a gym or just started with a new personal trainer.   And they procrastinate—“hey, I want to do it, but I need to get in shape first.”  To which we respond, “but that’s the point Brother; to get in shape.  Why would you want to get in shape before you come out to get in shape?  Would you take a bath before you took a shower?  Just come out.  Stop stalling.” 

I think the foundation of this resistance is that existential emptiness that we men trick ourselves into ignoring.  If the emptiness does not exist, than there is nothing that needs to be done about it.  So, joining the group is in a sense an attempt to do something about the emptiness and thus a tacit admission that it does exist.  Tough step to take, at least it was for me.  I needed somebody to drag me along, which is sometimes the only way to overcome that new-guy resistance.  We call it the Emotional Headlock.  It’s not complicated.  You just make yourself such a persistent pain in the neck to the guy that he comes out just to shut you up.  We have found that it usually takes multiple headlocking sessions, and that it often takes more than one headlocker.  With me, it took three different guys working on me separately.  What underlies that kind of persistence?  Assurance.  First, that the group works—it fills the hole.  Second, that the guy you are headlocking needs it as much as you did.  Makes you kind of bold.  

Something to Worry About

I read a story once of a man's unsuccessful efforts to housebreak a puppy.  Every time the  puppy peed on the floor, he would spank it with a rolled up newspaper and throw it out the kitchen window.  Eventually, the puppy figured it out.  Right after he peed on the floor he would jump out the kitchen window himself.

That story reminds me of how a lot of men are taught to deal with worry.  That is to say, we are not taught anything but how to jump out of the window before we get hit.  The essence of what we learn is that worrying is for women.  Men do not need to worry, because they are not supposed to be afraid of anything in the first place.  Fear is a woman's emotion and worry is a woman's reaction, so my son you had better keep your worries to yourself lest you be accused of womanliness.  In my childhood, and I sense it still the same, this is the highest insult that a boy can receive.  Interestingly, that is not so in the inverse.  To call a woman low maintenance is to imply that she is like a man in her lack of need for reassurance in the face of fear.  That's great, but maybe she's just a girl who learned how to jump out of the window with her brother before she got hit with that rolled up newspaper.

So Brothers, here's a four point plan for worry control:

1. Admit to yourself that you worry and you need to do something about it beside suppress it as a womanly reaction to a  womanly emotion.

2. Pray.  God does not want us to worry.  Jesus talked about it a lot.  He would not have done that if He did not know our hearts and want to help us.

3. Share your worries with the guys in your Circle of Trust (yes, this assumes you have such a thing, which is the subject of another day).

4. Put others first and act on it.  It is virtually impossible to worry about yourself when in action on behalf of another.  Try it.

How Fred Knows He's Really Onto Something

My buddy Fred comes up with a lot of ideas, some of which are frankly, quite dubious.  I had to talk him out of the Buro-crapper (a combination toilet-desk chair that would allow the busy executive to multi-task in a very basic way).  But I've also tried to talk Fred out of some really good ideas, the genius of which was just beyond me.  On those occasions Fred would just smile and say, "thanks for your input Dredd, but I think we'll just press forward on this."  

I know I'm not the only guy off of whom Fred bounces his ideas.  He believes that a good plan requires many counselors, and has a kind of crazy-quilt board that he runs things by, one director at a  time.  Fred told me that the men on this eclectic board of his come from different and extreme parts of the personal, business and faith aspects of his life, but they all share one thing:  they all mean him well.  Fred has chosen his board members carefully so get can get opinions un-corrupted by self-interest, fear and jealousy.  So, when Fred gets a wide range of feedback from his board he is able to balance it all out without worrying about the externalities of personal animus.  

But a resounding YES from his board is not what convinces Fred that he is onto something.  He is only sure that The Idea is unique (rather than derivative), clearly defined (rather than too murky to execute) and substantive (rather than just another slogan to rally around for a season) when he encounters The Three Amigos of Objection from the people from whom his idea will require change.  He calls these objections "The Amigos" because none of them are directed substantively at The Idea, but rather come at him like a guy sidling out of a dark alley in Tijuana whispering raspingly "hey Amigo, where do you think you're going?"  

AMIGO ONE:  "Gee Fred, we like The Idea but we are not sure we can support it with (whatever)."  This is the logistical objection.  According to Fred, it always comes first, before The Idea is substantively evaluated, and always offers up practical sounding hurdles that do not withstand much real scrutiny--leading to Amigo Two.

AMIGO TWO:  "Gee Fred, I guess we can support The Idea after all, but we've been kicking it around up here and think you need to consider (watering it down so drastically that it is just like everything we have always been doing around here already)."  Fred compares this effort to co-opt The Idea by burrowing out its essence to the way pop culture embraces and guts everything at the edge.  Like how rap was fresh and scary until it started turning up in commercial jingles.  Fred says that nothing can remain scary (or useful) after it obtains a commercial sponsor.  But what if Fred is not willing to sell out The Idea to Amigo Two?  Then he grits his teeth for Amigo Three.

AMIGO THREE:  "Gee Fred, I guess we can support The Idea, and we get it that you aren't willing to make these small changes we shared with you, so we got to kicking The Idea around up here and realized that you are kind of a (racist, homophobic, pedophile hypocrite--or whatever other personal attack that seems like it might crush Fred's emotional windpipe)."  Fred told me that he was only shocked by Amigo Three the first 50 or so times he heard it.  Now, it's sweet music baby, because it means his idea has elements so unique and valuable that those affected have pulled out the last stop to try to stop it from being fully formed.  

Now Fred is not crushed, dissuaded or even distracted when something about The Idea is so confrontational that the Three Amigos of Objection are sent out to divert it. In fact, it is only then that Fred Knows He's Really Onto Something.

Spin Class and a Bag of Stale Doritos

   My friend got me to go to a spin class at the YMCA a couple of times.  I was intrigued that many of the women in the class would drape a towel over a particular bike to save it while they finished their pre-class preparations in the locker room downstairs--intrigued enough to ask one of them about it.  She told me that was "her" bike, and that she always used it.  In fact, she was so attached to it that she might skip the class if someone else got it first.  She also told me that she was similarly attached to that particular class with that particular instructor.  I guess she liked spin class, but could skip it if conditions were not ideal.  I feel that way about exercise to some extent. It's necessary, but I'm willing to put it off.

   But I do not feel the same way about eating.  While I prefer steak, I will eat a stale bag of Doritos if I'm hungry enough.  This is also the way I think most married men feel about sex.  While we would prefer to make love to our wives in a beach bungalow with the sea breeze blowing the candlelight around, if we have to, we are more than willing to do it at home with the kids banging on the bedroom door and our mother-in-law calling on the phone.  When it comes to sex, the fact that a man might have to settle for a bag of stale Doritos is no more an obstruction than a single ant is an obstruction to a picnic.  

   Wives, on the other hand, seem to see marital sex differently.  It's more like spin class to them.  They like it, and they are happy about it afterward, but sometimes it is just too hard to get there. They are willing to put it off until tomorrow if they can't get to the YMCA in time to get their usual bike. For wives, the screaming kids and calling mothers-in-law ARE practical obstructions, like thunderstorms at a picnic. They can wait for a sunny day.

   Given the thin tangent existing between hungry husbands and spinning wives, it's a wonder we have kids at all.  But we do, and I contend the reason is love.  It would be a funny joke God played on men and women by designing their libidos so differently if He had not also thrown in love.  With love, men are able to wait for dinner even though they are hungry, and women still go to spin class even though they might not get their favorite bike.  I know it seems trite, but if it isn't love, what else could it be that gets us both to the picnic?


   

Space Junk

 "In your love you have kept me from the pit of destruction.  You have put all my sins behind your back."  (Isaiah 38-17).

On TV, My father and I were watching the astronauts maneuver the lunar module towards the surface of the moon.  As interesting as that was to a boy of 12, I couldn't focus on it.  Looking at the frail little module, I kept thinking about how big the spacecraft had been as it sat upright on the launching pad, and the giant booster rockets that had hurled it toward the moon in stages and then fallen away.

"Dad, what happens to the rockets?" I asked.

"Nothing happens to them son.  The astronauts don't need them anymore."

"But where do they go?  Does somebody come get them?  Won't the astronauts need them for next time?"

"No, as far as these astronauts go, there won't be a next time.  This it."  Dad answered.  "They aren't worried about those rockets son.  They are concentrating on landing on the moon."

"But where do the rockets go?  Won't they fall on somebody here?  Maybe us."  I asked, still not completely satisfied.

My father laughed with that mixture of exasperation and pride I recognize in myself when one of my querulous children won't leave something alone.  "Stop worrying about the rockets son.  Their job is done.  They are just space junk now.  All that matters is the landing."

I believe that one of the great things we do for our children in  teaching them about Christ as early as possible is to give them the chance to accept Him now, rather than later.  The choice is theirs, but the chance is ours.

It is not that salvation at 40 rather than 12 is any less sweet.  But with late-life repentance can come abundant regret for the dissolution of a life led outside His grace.  At 12, I had perhaps a wallet full of childish deeds to regret.  By 40, that baggage far exceeded the capacity of the overhead compartment--I was not just walking on the plane with it.  It was going to have to be checked at the gate.

As a result, despite a burgeoning faith, I found myself grinding on those things done and left un-done before I was saved, and it was inhibiting my growth in Christ.  It was as if the acid of regret was corroding my connection to the Lord.  Finally, and with the counsel of men who had trod that same path, I realized that I was like an astronaut who was worrying about the discarded rocket stages rather than the moon landing.  Those things that had propelled me to the place I found myself in Jesus had fallen away and were now simply Space Junk out in the infinite blackness.  I didn't need them anymore and I didn't need to worry about what had happened to them.  Like the  lunar module, I was light and small, with only the prospect of a moon landing to consider.  Freed of the Space Junk, I did not look a thing like the man I had been on the launching pad.  Not a thing.

Just DO THAT!

     My friend Brad and I used to play a lot of bad golf together.  Occasionally, one of us would hit a good shot.  Mostly, we both hit bad shots.  Then Brad got tired of being a bad golfer. He took lessons and practiced a lot.  After a while he began hitting mostly good shots.  I, however, took no such drastic action.  Apparently, I was content in my lousiness, and continued to hit mostly bad shots.  For some reason, Brad still played golf with me.  It must have been very sad for him.

     One day, in the midst of a round of my usual snap hooks, slices and near total whiffs, I had one of those golfer-savant moments where, without warning, I suddenly hit a good shot.  Actually, not just good--wonderful actually.  Like a life-long loser winning the lottery, I stood there aghast holding the golden ticket and watching my ball go where only the deepest part of my suppressed and battered node of hope thought it might go.  I dropped my club and began to weep silently.

     Brad was just as shocked.  Having suffered alongside me through hours of my hopeless hackery, he was pitifully overjoyed at the prospect of being able to go hit his second shot without the usual five minutes in the poison ivy helping me look for my ball.  I could tell  he wanted to say something appropriate to memorialize the moment.  A mere "nice shot" really wasn't going to get it.  He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.  He looked at me.  Then he looked at my ball, way out there in the fairway.  He looked back at me like it might be a trick.  Finally, he blubbered:  "yeah . . . that.  Just DO THAT!"  That was his golf tip of the day:  Just DO THAT.

     Then we both cracked up.  If only it was that easy.  I couldn't "just DO THAT" more than once in a while, and then only accidentally.  How could I?  I had a horrible swing and unlike Brad, I had not put in the hard work to change it.  I couldn't "just DO THAT" anymore than I could give birth.  Unless I changed my swing, which would be painful, I would never be anything but bad.  I would never "just DO THAT."

     Today  I  saw a bumper sticker that said "Wag More, Bark Less."  I take that to be in the same vein as "Don't Worry, Be Happy" and "Practice Random Acts of Kindness" but with just a scintilla more  depth.  Instead of demanding that we stop barking altogether, it recognizes that there will still be some barking even as we miraculously conjure up more wagging.  Other than that though, "Wag More, Bark Less" is just about as worthless as every other bumper sticker premised on the idea that the key to being happy is simply to be happy.

     Now, it's obvious sophistry to me.  But before, when I was unhappy--before I changed my swing--I couldn't see that, maybe because I didn't want to.  I would read a bumper sticker like that and think, "yeah, that guy's really onto something, just bark less."  But of course I couldn't, because it was not a matter of making myself "just DO THAT."  I needed to change my swing and accept the pain that would take.  And every day I put that off was another day extra of painful unfruitfulness in my life.  So, far from being an innocuous little bit of saccharine, those bumper stickers actually enabled my procrastination.

     Of course, I don't blame the well-meaning guy who thought he might cheer up some sad clown like me driving behind him by pasting "Don't Postpone Joy" on the bumper of his Prius.  He didn't do that to make me delay the hard work that would lead to joy.  But, ironically, that is precisely what he did.

Travelling Dogs

                How do you get a dog to get in a car?  Open the door—he’ll jump right in.  Why?  If he sees the car going someplace with his master driving it, that is where his canine heart wants to be.  And bursting with joy,  he shoves his snout out the window into the wind. 

                How do you get a man to get in a car?  Just opening the door won’t get you anywhere.  A man is going to want to know some things first, like where this car is headed.  We humans care a lot less about who is driving the car than a dog does.  We get in cars driven by complete strangers all the time.  Our primary concern is with the destination—that’s the thing over which we want control.

                Jesus told  his disciples to “come follow me” so that He could  make them  “fishers  of men.”  (Matthew 4:19).  And they did.  Having recognized Christ as their master, they were more concerned with the driver than the destination.   Anon.  It seems to me that what is shared by all Travelling Dogs is faith in the driver and a belief that the destination will be for their benefit, a better place than they could or would choose for  themselves.  In this, they surrender both their will and self-determined nature.  Lord, please give me the strength to do that.  I want to stick my snout in the breeze and let me tongue hang out.  

The Enervated Life of Mr. Gammy Foot

“Life's journey is not about arriving at the grave safely and in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting "Woo Hoo" - - - what a ride!”

            That is the way my brother Belto signs off his e-mails.  I don’t know where he got this (maybe he made it up), but I love its description of a life lived boldly—charged through—so completely sold out to mission that nothing is left untapped and regretted.  It makes me think of Christ telling the disciples to stop watching the Weather Channel and jump out of the darn boat already.  Life is supposed to be exciting, and can be if lived within Him and in a spirit of True Grit.

            On Drudge this morning, two unrelated stories appeared that together run contrary to the spirit encapsulated by Belto’s e-tag.  First, here the story of a man from Gastonia, NC who robbed a bank of a dollar solely to avail himself of the comprehensive health care coverage offered by the Gaston County Sherriff. Apparently, the man was particularly concerned about a “gammy foot” that he wanted looked after.  I’m not exactly sure what Gammy Foot is, but I am pretty sure I’d limp through it quite a while before I would trade my freedom for the privilege of having the prison nurse-practitioner tell me to stay off it awhile, which I suppose is not all that bad since staying off your feet in prison is probably pretty doable.  Second here, King County, Washington will now levy a fine of $86 on any person reckless enough to try to swim outside of a “designated public beach”  in more than 4 feet of water without a life vest.  That’s right, if you are crazy enough to try to go swimming without a life vest in King County, you are getting fined.  One potential problem I see is that the one thing you cannot do with a life vest on is to swim, because life vests make you float.  They may not have thought this completely through in King County yet.  More likely, they don’t care.  They would probably rather not have anybody swimming anyway.  Too dangerous.

            Both of these stories resonate with me personally.  My wife’s family happens to be from Gastonia, NC.  Having spent a lot of time with them, it is hard to for me to reconcile the lack of personal resilience of Mr. Gammy Foot with what I know (second-hand) about the hard working people of Gastonia.  They just do not seem like the kind of folks who would rather subject themselves to the mind-numbing drudgery of prison life than try to manage their own health care.  Maybe Gastonia is changing, and not for the better.  I am no less flummoxed by the Mae West-happy folks of King County.  I met a soldier many years ago who told me that as a boy he and his friends would jump in the river holding rocks big enough to sink them to the river-bed, where they would hold them until they felt like that were going to pass out.  The last boy who bobbed to the surface was the winner.  Nobody died.  I’m thinking this game would not work very well wearing a life jacket.  That guy was a heckuva soldier—smart, tough and a pretty good swimmer. 

           

            I know these are extreme examples, but that is how bad trends start.  What will happen to our nation when a majority of Americans would rather be prisoners than risk life without adequate health care coverage?  Or, when the only people who know how to swim are the kids who are lucky enough to have parents who take them to “designated public beaches” for lessons from certified swimming instructors?  Are we really intended to live the Enervated Life of Mr. Gammy Foot, strapped into life jackets and yet still too terrified to jump out of the boat unless it is parked harmlessly on dry land?  What kind of ride is that?

Command Presence

God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it.  Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground.”  NIV
Genesis 1:28


If you were to walk into the building that housed an United States Army Infantry Company, you would see a line of pictures displayed somewhere prominently near the front door. The leftmost picture would be the President of the United States. At the opposite end would be the picture of the captain in command of the company in whose headquarters you were standing. The pictures in between would be of the men in the chain of command in between the president and the captain. You might be surprised how few there are.

The purpose of those photographs is to manifest that the company commander's authority is derived of the President, who is our national command authority, our commander in chief. It is meant as a reminder to the men that the orders of their captain bear the authority of their president. It is also a reminder to the captain that he is accountable to the highest reaches of the chain of command for every order he gives and fails to give.

Likewise, the Lord has ordained man as the rulers this earth and all that is on it. We are the stewards of His creation, charged with the duty to populate and rule it as we best believe He would. We should be neither sheepish nor apologetic in the discharge of this duty, for we will be held accountable for both our abuse of His resources and our timidity in their proper harnessing for the good of mankind and the furtherance of His Kingdom.

Packing Peanuts

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son.  With the Father and the Son he is worshiped and glorified.  He has spoken through the Prophets.  (The Nicene Creed).

            In unison, we chant the Nicene Creed every Sunday in my church.  When we get to this part, where we affirm our belief that the Holy Spirit reveals Himself to us “through the Prophets,” I sometimes wonder why we would say this if we do not believe it.  Maybe I don’t understand the phrase properly, but I always assumed that it meant that the Bible is THE word of God—spoken directly by God and transcribed for our benefit.  Paul seemed to think so:  “All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness.”  (2 Timothy 3:16).  Does this not mean that the Bible (in its entirety) is a transcription of everything God wants us to know on this realm and put to use in the furtherance of His Kingdom of Righteousness?

Not so fast.  What about all those verses (many of which come from that same Paul) that prescribe or proscribe conduct or thought that we would rather engage in or refrain from as we see fit?  Don’t we get a say here?  Because, if we are to believe that all Scripture is God-breathed straight to the Prophets, then we don’t have any choice but to obey or disobey everything in the Bible, whether we like it or not.  I heard a proposed solution to this dilemma this morning.  Instead of saying that the Bible IS the word of God which we must obey entirely, we could say it CONTAINS the word of God that we need only obey partially.  In other words, the Bible is like a spiritual birthday present that comes packed in a shipping container that the Lord intends us to discard as we dig for the real gift of His truth.  It’s the gift that matters, not the container. 

            This formulation is enticing.  It conveniently allows us to disregard the personally offensive parts of Scripture as mere gift wrap.  Surely, with our big human brains we should be able to discern between the divine wheat and chaff that the Spirit speaks through the Prophets.  Maybe.  But what this image brings to my mind is my kids on Christmas morning, ripping open their presents to get to what they are sure is buried in the bottom of the box.  Often, in their childish zeal, they toss away the card or batteries that go with the gift.  Is it not the same with us, when we grant ourselves the right to decide those parts of Scripture we will accept as gifts and those that we will discard as Packing Peanuts?

Basic Training

James 1 tells us that we should rejoice in our trials as it is through perseverance that God will transform us from the double-minded and unstable men we are into the Christ-reflecting creatures He wants us to be.

In this, I am reminded of my arrival at Army Basic Training, looking like the civilian I most thoroughly was, as did my fellow trainees. Our long hair and goofy clothes reflected our sense of self, who we thought we were or wanted to be. Obviously, having volunteered to be there, these external signs of our individuality were things we were willing to sacrifice. We knew the Army was going to cut our hair and put us in uniform, that externally we would be conformed to how a soldier should look. But were we ready to be conformed internally to what a soldier should be? How could we? We had no concept of what that was before the process started.

Our external transformation into what soldiers should look like was complete within two hours of disembarking the bus that brought us there. With our new haircuts and uniforms we did look like soldiers. But we had not yet become soldiers, not even close. We could not even march ten feet properly--learning to do that would take many hours of training in the hot sun. Ultimately, I realized that I was no longer a civilian, that I had become a soldier. But this realization was not sudden or dramatic. It happened gradually, like night becoming day where you cannot actually see the sunrise.

When I became a Christian, volunteering in a sense to be a soldier in His army, I may have gotten a "haircut" and a pair of new "boots" but I could not march a lick. For me, it's been many hours in the hot sun in the conformance of my new self. And, I assume, it will be many hours yet. Like my Army training, I am not expecting some dramatic moment of transormation. No, I expect that it will be a gradual road upward, marked by tiny milestones of my abandonment of self-will into the will of Christ. Only by periodically pausing to wipe my brow, looking back down that twisting road, will I even be able to see the image of my old self climbing ever upwards, persevering into the freedom of Him.

Man Alone

               Within the last four months two public figures have been exposed using the internet to send pictures of their bare torsos to young women for prurient purposes.  From the reference points of worldview and politics they were very different men:  one was a secular Jewish liberal democrat and the other a protestant conservative republican.  Yet, they also had much in common—they were both married, 46 years old, in excellent physical condition and two of the 29 members of House of Representatives from the state of New York. 

                What are the odds that 7% of the New York Congressional delegation would engage in the same inexplicable self-destructive behavior within a four-month span?   As coincidences go, it seems pretty unlikely, particularly given how much these men had to lose.  Perhaps the best explanation lies not in the what these men seemed to share, but in what they seemed to both lack: male friends.  I remember thinking the same thing during the Lewinsky scandal—where are this man’s buddies, the guys who stand behind a man when he is broken?  More importantly, where were they when the man was first considering, and then engaging, in the behavior that would ultimately (and inevitably) bring him low? 

                I guess these are rhetorical questions.  These guys had no friends to stand behind them when the poop hit the fan because they had no friends in the first place.  Men get caught engaging in inexplicable behavior when they have no friends to whom they have to explain their behavior before they engage in it.  If, when first caught up in some crazy fugue state of lust and confusion, one of these congressmen had disclosed to a friend his intent to e-mail a naked a picture of himself to a college girl, that friend probably would have stopped him.  At least he would have tried.  Even downstream a bit, when the scandal was breaking, a friend would have encouraged the man not to try to cover it up, because it is the cover-up that compounds the initial misdeed with lying. 

                A man without friends is a Man Alone.  God help him.

Comfort Items

Calling the Twelve to him, he sent them out two by two and gave them authority over evil spirits.  These were his instructions: "Take nothing for the journey except a staff--no bread, no bag, no money in your belts.  Wear sandals but not an extra tunic.  Whenever you enter a house, stay there until you leave that town.  And if any place will not welcome you or listen to you, shake the dust off your feet when you leave, as a testimony against them."  They went out and preached that people should repent.  They drove out many demons and anointed many sick people with oil and healed them.  (Mark 6:7-13)

                When the pilot makes the passengers turn off their I-Pads for landing it’s pretty much look out the window or read the in-flight magazine.  I was in the aisle yesterday, so I was reading some travel tips in the magazine.  Here’s one that made me think:   “don’t wear big jewelry when you fly because it will set off the metal detector and somebody might steal it.”  Okay, that may be true, but the more compelling reason for me to resist the temptation to wear big jewelry when I fly is that I don’t need it.  Why would I haul around something I don’t need when I’m trying to get somewhere?

                My aversion to carrying unnecessary things, like so many of my ingrained habits, is probably something I acquired in the military.  When you carry your world on your back you become pretty discerning about even the small things you put in your rucksack because the weight adds up.  Of course, about some things you have no choice.  You have to take the gear you need to accomplish your mission.   If they send you out there to blow up a bridge, you are probably going to need some explosives.  And that stuff is usually pretty heavy.  All the other stuff, what we called Comfort Items (like food and sleeping bags), that was pretty much up to you.  I generally found that the more trained and disciplined a soldier was, the fewer Comfort Items he put in his rucksack.  The inverse was also true.  The softer the man—the heavier his rucksack was likely to be—and the more quickly his ability to accomplish the mission would degrade, as the weight of his bag full of Comfort Items ground him down.  In contrast, the disciplined soldier froze at night, but he travelled light.  When it came time to perform his mission, his energy wasn’t sapped by having hauled fifty pounds of big jewelry around on his back for a week. 

                In Mark 6, we see that Jesus gave the Twelve a pretty short packing list for their journey:  a staff and sandals.  The rest of the stuff, like bread and money?  Comfort Items—unnecessary to the Twelve’s mission to preach repentance and heal the sick.  I assume, as apparently the Twelve did, that if they needed something on their journey the Lord would provide it.  They didn’t need to carry their world around with them and they knew it, because their trust in Christ, and their self-discipline, had continually increased as they matured in Him.

As did the Disciples, it seems to me that as we mature as men we should be becoming more disciplined, with less need for Comfort Items in our rucksacks and more energy to accomplish the mission He has set out for us.  This should also be a lesson for the younger men who watch us to determine those things necessary and not in their rucksacks.  But is it so?  Are we maturing in Him as we age in years and learning to travel light?  Or, are we grinding down under the weight of the big jewelry that we should have long ago discarded, trudging on with a huge rucksack of Comfort Items that bring us nothing but discomfort and keep us from accomplishing our mission? 

Climbing Up Or Sliding Back

    In the Army I did some training along the Appalachian Trail—not ON the Trail, because soldiers do not travel on trails, that is where the enemy puts booby traps and ambushes.   So, for about a week, I humped a fifty pound rucksack, water and rifle up and down the steep mountains that flanked the Trail.  Despite my youth and fitness,  this training drained me to the bottom of what I had.   To overcome the pain and fatigue and drive on up the steep mountainsides, I tried focusing on only the crest as I pulled myself up, silently chanting—I’m almost there, just keep going, I’m almost there.  Thus, I drove forward, thinking only of the relief I would feel when I got to the top and reached a plateau where I would not have to climb any further.    Unfortunately, when I would finally drag myself to what I thought was the top, I would find I had been deceived—there was no plateau, only another crest to be scaled that I could not have seen from below.  It was as if each crest simply revealed a new one to be scaled, and this revelation made me increasingly frustrated.  At one point, I threw my rifle down, and said “when are we going to get to the top of this thing?” 

                “Never,” the soldier next to me replied (even though I hadn’t been talking to him).  “We never are.  There are no plateaus, there are only mountains.  Don’t think about getting to the top.  Concentrate on how you climb.” 

                That was good advice.  By assuming there was no plateau, I was able to stop thinking about how good it would feel to walk on level ground.  By accepting that I would always be climbing, I was able to start focusing on climbing as efficiently as possible.  I realized that when the physical relief of the mythical plateau had been my sole goal, I had been in dangerous haste to get there.  I had not been picking the best route up and conserving my energy for the really difficult stretches.  Because I only wanted the pain of the climb to end, I had rushed forward with that in mind, becoming physically and mentally depleted by both the effort and the disappointment of each false crest.  Ultimately, by  throwing my rifle down, I ceased being a soldier and became a disarmed man—easy pickings for the waiting enemy. 

                I believe it is man’s nature to seek the mythical plateau in many things other than climbing mountains.  Whether it is physical fitness, marriage or our view of eternity, we distract ourselves from the pain of the climb by rushing toward a utopic end-state where we hope that no further pain or effort will be required.  I have found this to be a dangerous way to live, because it leads to frustration, exhaustion and ultimately the self-deceit that one has reached a safe and suitable place where the climbing can stop.  But that place does not exist.  The false crest is not a place where one may rest.  In all things that matter, we are either Climbing Up Or Sliding Back.

                 

Tribe Unknown

“But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" In reply Jesus said: "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he fell into the hands of robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead.  A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side.  So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.  But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him.  He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, took him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper. 'Look after him,' he said, 'and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.'  "Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?"  The expert in the law replied, "The one who had mercy on him." Jesus told him, "Go and do likewise."  (Luke 10:29-37)

            I heard “Bob’s” testimony of salvation and redemption this past Monday night.  Bob is not my “neighbor” as the World defines it, not because his skin color is different than mine, but because the bandwith of his life expereince placed him in a different tribe.  There were other men in the room listening as I was who shared Bob’s skin color, but not his tribal affiliation—for Bob came from a tribe where the safety margin between a life of comfort and complete disaster was wafer thin.  We the listeners were of the tribe with a much thicker margin of Worldy security.  You could tell from our straight teeth and easy social grace that we had been raised by people with the time and resources to pay for braces and summer camps.  Our people would have seen those kinds of things as a given.  For Bob’s people, I gathered from his story, these would have been luxuries beyond the reach of their circumstances. 

                Bob’s story was similar to others I have heard from people who shared his perch at the edge of disaster.  A distrust of doctors led him to procrastinate treatment of an affliction that ultimately cost him his job.  Unemployment took him quickly to the street.  The street tumbled him down a stairway of drug abuse and ultimately loss of self.  During his talk, Bob passed around a picture of his “house” at the bottom of that stairway—a bundle of rags and cardboard under a bridge.  He told us he kept that picture as a reminder of a life without God.  While we could sympathize with Bob, I doubt anyone in the crowd could actually empathize with him, for our first step down the stairwell of disaster would have been a different kind of fear and distrust, followed by a different kind of self-medication.  The picture we would carry around to remind us of our bundle of rags at the bottom would have looked different from Bob’s picture, but the effect would have been the same—seperation from God and despair of ever finding a path back.

                Bob described his redemption as a series of unlikely interventions by people who were not from his tribe—samaritans who bandaged his wounds rather than walking by his broken body on the road.  One of those men was with him, and he spoke briefly, not about how good it felt to have helped Bob or why he was motivated to do so.  He didn’t even describe what he actually did to help bandage Bob’s wounds.  He just talked about his relationship with the healed Bob, how they were now brothers in Christ despite the different tribes from which they had come. 

                  In Luke, Christ does not really explain the samaritan’s motivation to give aid to the beaten man.  He simply says “Go and do likewise.”  If I am a faithful follower of Him whose name I have taken, will I need more motivation than that when confronted with beaten man from Tribe Unknown?  

Objection, Foundation--Part II

Judge:  Objection sustained.  I'm sorry Prosecutor, but at most you've only proven the theoretical existence of a net  good person.  You don't even know if you are one yourself.

Prosecutor:  That's true your honor.  With your permission, I'll try again.

Judge:  Proceed.

Prosecutor:  (addressing The Witness) Isn't it true that you allow bad things to happen to PEOPLE?  Just people? 

Defender:  Objection, Foundation.

Judge:  (surprised) Well, now I don't understand your objection Defender.  Surely you are not questioning the existence of people in the midst of a trial to determine the existence of their alleged creator.

Defender:  No your honor.  I am quite sure that people exist.  It's the other part of Prosecutor's question to which I was objecting.  He has not established a proper foundation for the existence of a "bad thing".

Judge:  Defender, I have to say I am at a loss.  Surely you are not questioning whether bad things happen.  Look around at the World.  Are you contending that you yourself have never suffered a bad thing?

Defender:  Yes I've suffered from circumstances that I didn't like.  I admit that your honor.  I just can't say that those were objectively bad things that happened to me.

Judge:  (confused) So you don't know whether the things that caused you to suffer were bad or not.  Is that right?

Defender:  That's right.  I don't know if they were objectively bad.  Take my rejection from my first choice for law school.  I thought it was completely unfair.  I burned about it for months.  It was the worst thing that happened to me in years.  

Judge:  So that was a bad thing?

Defender:  Well, there's the problem your honor.  When I didn't get my first choice, I went to my second choice, and that is where I met my wife.  So, that thing, the rejection, changed from a bad thing to the best thing that ever happened to me within only a few years.  

 

Judge:   OK, I can see how a bad thing could change into a good thing with the passage of time.  But you would have to admit this:  at the time of the rejection, before you met your wife, it was a bad thing at that moment.

Defender:  Perhaps, but I think you're forgetting about the other guy your honor.

Judge:  What other guy?

Defender:  The guy who got into my first choice law school because I was rejected. My rejection was not a bad thing for him at all.  It might have been a great thing for him.  Or it might have been a horrible thing if the love of his life was going to his second choice law school and he never met her.  We don't know.  That's my point.  Because any given thing can change from bad to good over time and be both good and bad to different people at the same time, I don't think we humans can ever point to any single thing and say that it is objectively bad.  Only a creature with an infinite capacity to see all time at once and who can look into deeply into the heart of man can make that assessment.  

Judge:  (pensively turning to The Witness)  Sir, do you have the capacity the Defender speaks of?  Are you big enough to see all time and all hearts at once?

  

The Witness:  I am.

Judge:  So you would be the one who could tell the Court whether there has ever been an objectively bad thing?

The Witness:  I am.

Judge (hesitating) Will you tell me?  Are there bad things?

The Witness:  I will answer your question if you will answer mine.  When one farmer needs rain for it is the perfect time to moisten his crop, but his neighbor needs sunshine for it is the perfect time to warm his crop, would rain on their town be a bad thing or a good thing?  

Judge:  (considering the question for a few moments) I don't know the answer to your question.  I suppose it depends on a lot of variables. It's beyond my capability to know, to understand.  I'm only a man.

The Witness:  I agree.  And that is why I will not tell you whether there is such a thing as a bad thing.    

Judge:  So what is man to do when things do happen to him or others that he doesn't like--things that at least seem bad to him?  Like murder or rape or famine.  Should we just give up trying to understand what those things mean?

The Witness:  I suppose man could completely give up.  After all, you have been trying long enough to completely understand.  It's all or nothing with you I guess.  But there is a third way.

Judge:  What is it?

The Witness:  You could learn to trust Me by getting to know who I am.  You could try relying on on My character for truth rather than frantically seeking truth without My help, only to reject Me when you don't like what you find without Me.  Just a suggestion.  The decision is yours.  Unlike these "things" you are so concerned with, you will find that my character never changes.    

Objection, Foundation

Having affirmed that He can only tell the whole truth, The Witness took the stand.

Prosecutor:   Please state your name for the record.

Witness:  I am.

Prosecutor:  Sir, I asked you to state your name.

Witness:  I understood counsel.  I did state my name.

Prosecutor:  (turning to Judge) Would you please instruct The Witness that He is obligated to respond properly to my questions?

Judge:  (gazing at The Witness) Mr. Prosecutor, I gather The Witness has answered the question as He would have us interpret it. Would it satisfy you to have the record reflect that The Witness is that being upon whom the world generally bestows the name of “God”?

Prosecutor:  (to Judge) Thank you, your honor.  At this time I move to treat The Witness as hostile.

Defender:  Objection.

Prosecutor:  Your honor, this Witness’ very existence is on trial here.  We cannot even get a straight answer out of him regarding his own name.  Clearly, I am entitled to cross-examine him as a hostile witness.

Defender:  I have no objection to counsel cross-examining The Witness, but I do object to Him being referred to as hostile.

Judge:  OK, I see your point Defender.  Motion to treat Witness as . . .  in opposition, is granted.  Proceed Prosecutor.

Prosecutor:  (to Witness) Sir, you claim that you exist, don’t you.

Witness:  I am.

Prosecutor:  You also claim to be just.

Witness:  I am.

Prosecutor:  You have claimed on multiple occasions to know what is in the heart of man.  That’s true isn’t it?

Witness:  Uh. . . through my son, yes, I know your heart. 

Prosecutor:  I have also read that you claim to be omnipotent, all powerful.  Is that accurate?

Witness:  I am.

Prosecutor:   Sir, isn’t it fair to say that if you are in fact omnipotent, than nothing that happens on Earth could happen unless you set it in motion?

Witness:  Well . . .set it in motion, or allowed it to move I suppose.  Same thing I to you I guess.

Prosecutor:  You don’t deny it then?

Witness:   Deny what?

Prosecutor:  That everything that happens in the World is your responsibility.

Witness:   I am.

Prosecutor:  So you are all powerful, always just and in full knowledge of the heart of man—that is all so, is it not?

Witness:  I am.

Prosecutor:  (turning to face the Jury, and with his back to The Witness):  Well then sir, if you do in fact exist and are in fact just, how do you explain the fact that bad things happen to good people?

Defender:  Objection, Foundation.

Judge:  (confused) State your grounds Defender.

Defender:   Your honor, Prosecutor’s question assumes facts not in evidence.  The Bible states that there are in fact no “good people”, not one.

Prosecutor:  Your honor, please.  This so-called Bible, and the existence if this Witness that supposedly inspired it, is exactly what is on trial here.  Defender can’t use the discredited writings of a non-existent being to argue the existence of that very being.  That’s absurd.  It’s illogical.

Defender:  All right your honor.  Prosecutor has a point, though narrow and legalistic.  Even without the evidentiary weight of the Bible, it is clear to me that there are no good people.

Judge:  (looking kindly at Defender)  Mr. Defender, are you telling the Court that you are not in fact a good person.

Defender:  In spades your honor.  Though I have done many things the World calls good, I also have done many things even the World would admit were bad. 

Judge:  At the end of the day, doesn’t your good outweigh your bad Defender?  (they had known each other for many years).

Defender:  Your honor, I would need to know the weight of the scales used to measure my bad from my good to answer that.  At best, I can only say that I hope that I am found to be “net good”, although I think that is an immaterial point. 

Judge:   Well, if you are only net good, don’t you know of any wholly good people Defender?

Defender:  I know many people who, like me, hope that they are net good.  I have never met a sane man who claimed himself to be more than that, no sir.  Not even you.

Judge:  (smiling, and turning to Prosecutor).  Does the Prosecutor have anything to add?  Do you claim to be wholly good or to know someone who makes that claim that you could offer in evidence to this Court?

Prosecutor:  (uncomfortably).  Uhhh, I would also concede that I am at best net good, and do not know any sane man that considers himself to be wholly good.  But, it is not Defender and I who are on trial here.  Our relative goodness is not relevant.  Surely, there must be a man in the world who is wholly good.  The Court can take judicial notice of that.  I mean, it has to be so. 

Defender:  Your honor, I object to the Court taking judicial notice of the existence of wholly good people as to do so would be overly speculative.  To provide sufficient foundation for his question, Prosecutor will have to produce a sane man who actually claims himself to be wholly good.

Judge:  (to Prosecutor)  Can you sir? 

Prosecutor:  (shakes head, does not respond).

Judge:  Well, I suppose that I must sustain Defender’s objection then.  Can you rephrase your question Prosecutor?

Prosecutor:  I can your honor.  (to Witness) Sir, isn’t it true that you let bad things happen to . . . uh, net good people?”

Defender:  Objection, Foundation.

                                (TO BE CONTINUED)