MLK Day*

On the evening of November 4th, 2008, I sat on my friend's well-worn couch, watching CNN as the tally came in. Colorado goes blue, Missouri goes red, Ohio goes blue, Montana goes red. Finally, at around 9 pm, the race was called. My friend--much more passionate about these things than I--cheered and raised his beer glass in celebration.

Of course, he wasn't the only one celebrating. That night in Chicago's Grant Park, thousands gathered to celebrate the victory of their hometown hero. When Obama took the stage and delivered his solemn speech, the cameras pulled in close on the faces in the crowd--many of them black, many of them weeping. After the speech, the commentators noted (as they have many times since) that Obama's election carries special significance in United States--a country where, a generation or two ago, it was still an open question if black people should have the right to buses and diners and public education now elects a black man president. Remarkable, they said.

And undoubtedly, it is. But I'll admit--the significance was lost on me. It's not that I don't have a clue about where America has been. I've read Fredrick Douglas and Zora Neal Hurston and Martin Luther King. I've been to a town in Mississippi that still has a cinderblock wall running down the middle of it--a wall that divided the white part of that town from the black part for years. But all that seems like ancient history to me. It's so easy for me to put on the blinders--too shut out both the world and the darkened corners of my own heart--and assume that racism is nothing but a relic of an ancient past.

Of course, it's not. Last week, a friend in another corner of the country was praying with a group from his church. One man--a leader in his congregation--spoke up. He started well. Dear God, he said, be with our new President and Commander and Chief. My friend murmered his ascent. But then things took a turn. God, we do not like his politics, his attitude, his religion, or his color...

President Obama carries the hopes and expectations of many with him into office. And today, I (along with many others) add one to the list: my hope is that he will help us all confront the prejudice that lies within, that he will help us see not just how far we have come as a nation, but how far we have to go. And I hope that, somehow, God will use him to help us all take a step in the right direction.

*A week overdue.

The Love of Jesus

Sleepless in Seattle was on again last weekend. And I'll admit--I watched it.

I'm not really sure why. I've probably seen it (or bits and pieces of it) three or four times before. Plus, I've seen You've Got Mail a time or two, and that's more or less the same movie. So I knew the plot line, knew the jokes, knew the happy ending. But I watched it anyway. I blame my wife and mother-in-law.

Towards the end of the movie, the Sam Baldwin (Tom Hanks) character wakes up one morning and discovers that his house is empty--his eight-year-old son, Jonah, has run away. Somehow, the little boy managed to board a plane and fly to New York (by himself!) where he must navigate the bustling streets--alone.

I don't remember what my reaction to this scene was the first (or second, or third) time I saw it. Probably deep skepticism (how could that kid even find his way to the airport?!). But this time, I couldn't help but clutch my wife's arm and hold my breath as the desperate father (Hanks) boards his own plane to New York and then sprints through the streets of the city in search of his son. And I couldn't help but let out a huge sigh of relief when that Father finds his son--when he's able to pick him up in his arms and squeeze him tight. I was captivated by it all in a way that I never had before--because before, I was not a father. Before, it had not fully occurred to me just how terrible it would be to lose a son.

I suppose it's stating the obvious to say that I love my son--a lot. I imagine I would do anything necessary to protect him and keep him safe. And I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one.

That hit me when Adrian baptized this summer. I recall being deeply moved when Pastor Joy pronounced the blessing over him. Adrian Paul, for you, Jesus came into the world. For you he took on flesh. For you he lived. For you, he died. For you he rose again... The words hit me someplace deep inside and I suddenly understood--with new clarity--that there is someone who loves my son even more than I do. The love of Jesus for my son (for me, for you) is more profound and perfect than any earthly father's could ever be. I find that fact to be wonderfully assuring.

But there's a flip side. It's not just the way Jesus loves my child. It's the way I love Jesus back.
One of the lectionary readings for this week is from Matthew 10:34-39. It includes these words:

Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of
me; and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy
of me.

I do not like those words. At all. I want Jesus to love my son more than I can. But how can I love Jesus more than I love my son? My son--whom I can see and touch and hold? My son--whose soft cries float down the stairs, even as I type this? My son--for whom I would give up my own life? It seems like too much to ask. I fear that it is impossible.

But I pray that God would make it possible for me. I pray, not that he would make me love my son less, but that he would make me love his Son more.

Counting the Cost

Several months ago, Jill and I bought a new computer for our home. I was looking forward to it--at first. When the man from DHL dropped off the boxes on our front porch, I hefted them into the house and ripped into them like a child on Christmas morn. And for the first, say, thirty seconds, it was great fun.

But then reality hit. Soon, I was up to my neck in cords and manuals and speakers and video cards and virus software. Now understand--it's not that a Luddite (at least not that much of one). I can handle some basic computer set-up without injuring myself or anybody else. The trouble is that I am not a patient person. I wanted to be surfing the Internet and organizing my check book and cropping my photos--I wanted my computer--and I wanted it now. As I looked at the mess of the cords, I couldn't help but mutter under my breath. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why did it have to take so long?*

Forty minutes later--with cardboard boxes and broken bits of Styrofoam now cluttering my office--I finally turned the machine on. I rubbed my hands together and sat on the edge of my seat as the little machine began to purr for the first time. I was ready to go. And I figured that the new computer would be as well.

Of course, it was not. Once I got my initial log-in screen set up, I was greeted by what seemed like a ridiculous number (dozens? hundreds? thousands?) of user agreements. Windows XP. Microsoft Office. Norton Antivirus. Qwest Internet. Microsoft Live. Dell Customer Support. Picasa Photo. iTunes Music. All of them demanded that I check a box indicating that I had read and agreed with their fifty page user agreement. Which I, of course, did not do.

At least not the reading part. I checked the box and signed on whatever line they indicated--but there was no way I was going to read all that legal jargon. I was ready to get to work (and play); ready to enjoy the benefits of my new machine. Terms and conditions could wait for another day.

Afterwards, it occurred to me that I had taken a risk by skipping the fine print. The folks at Microsoft and Qwest and Norton could have slipped all sorts of fees in--and I would have been none the wiser (until a bill showed up in my inbox). I assumed I knew what I was getting into when I checked the box and signed on the line--but the truth is that I had no clue.

I wonder we have the same tendency as Christians--to check the box and sign on the line for Jesus--and never really slow down to consider (or share) what the cost might be. At least that was my thought while reading some of the lectionary passages for this week. In one (Mark 1:4-13), Jesus--freshly anointed with the Holy Spirit and heralded as God's own beloved Son--is driven out into the wilderness where he receives no food for forty days and there is no one to keep him company but wild animals (and eventually, the Devil). In another (2 Corinthians 11), Paul rattles of his resume--which includes prison, severe floggings, lashes, beatings with rods, stonings, shipwrecks and other "dangers" (the word is used eight times in a few verses). Put the two together (and toss in a few other quotes by Jesus) and it's hard to dodge the conclusion--Jesus didn't live an easy life, and those who follow him can't expect to either.

But it seems to me that's not something we like to talk about much. We'd rather skip all that (it's such a downer!) and talk about prosperity for the present and bliss for eternity. We'd rather focus on the benefits--some of them real, others not--and get people to check the box and sign on the dotted line. After all, if we really told people what they were getting into when they signed on with Jesus, who would bother? Wouldn't church attendance dwindle? Wouldn't evangelism inevitably fail? Why would people ever be drawn to a suffering Savior--especially when he might call them to suffer, too? As Paul himself says somewhere else, from where some folks are standing, it all sounds like foolishness.

But then again, honesty--counting the cost--may very well be the best policy here, too. Especially when one considers the alternative. The alternative (at least the one tried by nearly every generation) is to promise that Jesus will make a person healthy, wealthy, and wise. And though it sounds much more attractive, most people recognize it as the bill of goods that it is. Most people realize that that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.**

But if we were honest--even about the cost--maybe people would find our claims more compelling. If we tell others about the need to shoulder a cross--or better yet, show them how it's done--perhaps our claims of truth might seem gain new traction. After all, if the good news that we bring is so good that we think it's worth suffering for--it must deserve serious consideration.

*Friends have told me--repeatedly--that I should have shelled out the extra bucks for a Mac. Apparently, the fine folks at Apple include Fairy Godmother who waves her magic wand and makes everything work perfectly in the blink of an eye.
**The note able exception being the gospel of grace, of course.