Love Advice from the Gridiron

You often learn the most profound things from the oddest places. So it should be no big surprise that my recent discoveries concerning love come from none other than the football field. No surprise to some who know of my slightly less than fanatical love of football, but surprise to me nonetheless. As many of you probably know, my New England Patriots lost in the divisional round of the playoffs after winning the last 2 Super Bowls. They were on their way to an unprecedented 3 consecutive Super Bowl victories when they were stopped short by their first playoff loss in at least 5 years. Now I've experienced playoff losses before, even a Super Bowl loss, but none struck me quite as hard as this one, and that's what took me by surprise. But that's also what helped me to realize that grief is proportional to love. You know exactly what I mean because those people who right now are saying, "Oh good grief" really have no love for the game, or a particular team. They say that those who can utter the words "It's only a game" have no love for the game. And those who say "There's always next year" just don't quite understand. But for those of us who have invested so much into following their team from free agency, to draft day, to training camp, through pre-season, the ups and downs of the regular season, and triumphantly into the post-season, there is nothing but this season. One friend told me this year he's been following the Minnesota Vikings since their induction to the league in 1961. For those fans, affectionately termed by some as fan-atics, there is nothing greater than watching your team hoist the Lombardi trophy in the air surrounded by confetti in team colors. And it's the ever present hope of that scene that causes us to carry on. But as there is always joy in love, so there is also grief. Two books that I have read recently have also helped greatly along these lines, A Severe Mercy by Sheldon VanHauken and A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. Grief and loss are not one in the same, nor should they be feared as though they are not a natural part of love. Grief helps clarify and identify love. We shouldn't run from it as though to cut it off before it's natural term, nor over-extend it as though to keep our beloved alive. It's the continuing process of love, not a state or a phase, but an ongoing process. It's a necessary part of the journey of love. I don't know what action I mean to imply by these thoughts. Perhaps it would shed a little light on what it means to "mourn with those who mourn" if we really knew the true extent of love. Perhaps it would help us to love a little deeper understanding that loss is inevitable and grief is a consummation of love. Or perhaps just to stop telling me "it's only a game, get over it", to figure out what things you grieve over with the thought of loss, and to embrace them with all your heart. Because it's true that deeper love brings greater loss, but it also brings greater joy, and I wouldn't trade that for the world.

Desires of the Spiritual Life

My latest ponderings have been over the question of desires, also termed wants, affections, pleasures, satisfaction. How much does desire have to do with the spiritual life? My friend, Richard Griffin, proposes that spirituality is "wanting to want what God wants." Along those lines I might propose a three tiered processes of spirituality. We begin in life wanting what's best for us. This is a very carnal, fleshy, self-centered stage. We can see this clearly in our natural development. Babies cry when they don't get what they want. Children fight, rebel and manipulate to get what they want. Many never grow out of this stage through their teen and adult years. These learned tendencies from childhood don't disappear with maturity but, to different extent for all, haunt us for the rest of our lives. If you think I'm painting this in a bad light you are absolutely correct, for a baby's very survival depends on it's demanding what it wants. It's not always evil-intentioned, but natural. Satisfaction at this stage can be found in both believers and non-believers. Carnal spirituality naturally accompanies youth and immaturity. However, true joy is not found in this stage. If we stall our development in this stage because we are too enamored with our own selfish desires we are, as C.S. Lewis says, "far too easily pleased."

The second stage I would propose is a subtle shift from wanting our best to wanting what's best for others. In this stage we come to realize we are not the center of our own universe, that other people have desires of their own, and that it is indeed a joy to help them fulfill those desires. This is Jesus' command, "Love your neighbor as yourself." In this stage we also find those who believe in Christ and those who do not. Lately the media has been flooded with celebrities and humanitarian aid missions that that help fulfill others desires for their own joy, ie. Angelina Jolie, Red Cross, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, etc. They love others not for Christ's sake but for the secret joy found only in wanting what's best for others. However, this too is not the ultimate joy. We must press on to stage three to discover the true joy in fulfilling our created purpose.

The third stage I propose is moving from wanting what's best for others to wanting what's best for the Kingdom. This is the only stage that limits itself to those believers in Christ because its very satisfaction is found in God. This is Jesus' command, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength." This is Bernard of Clairvaux's fourth degree of love: Love of self for God's sake. This is John Piper's theme, "God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him." This is Job saying, "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." This is us finding our desire, our affection, our satisfaction in the advancement of glory of God. It means trusting in His sovereignty and saying with Christ in Gethsemene, "Not mine, but Your will be done." Wanting to want what God wants, our greatest joy in His greatest glory.

"Your name and Your renown are the desire of our hearts." (Is. 26:8)
"Delight yourself in the Lord; And He will give you the desires of your heart." (Ps. 37:4)

Today was John Burke's funeral. John was more of an acquaintance of mine than a friend. We conversed in church on occasion when his family started attending Christ's Church a little over a year and a half ago. He came over and played frisbee with us once last summer. John had a tumor in his brain stem which made it inoperable. I remember the first time I visited John at home once he was bedridden. As we walked in the door you couldn't help but be overcome by the smell of the stale air, a smell I would strangely come to welcome upon each return. It always seemed a little awkward, especially at first until I became better acquainted with the family, and one never quite knew what to say so I was content to hide behind my guitar as simply a quiet reassurance that there were people who cared. The cancer and lack of mobility had taken it's toll on John's physical body. He couldn't really talk or move around a lot. We sang a few songs and he rocked his foot along off beat. God was in the room that night. I knew He was, because I knew the pain of this precious family was but an echo of the pain of the Father. They would not attend a dying son and brother alone, because God was there, and He was crying with them. As awkward as it could be I was always pleased to go back there because I knew it was a place where God was. The last time was late Thursday morning. We went to support Rose and Sarah and Jess and to see John Sr, who was also recovering from an operation removing his own brain tumor. Why so much in one family I will never understand. John died later that afternoon. He was only 23. Though from the stories I heard and the pictures I saw today it was a full 23 years. I think I would've like John if I'd gotten to know him. I think that a lot when I go to funerals. They miss who they've known. I miss ever getting to know him. It's a sobering reminder to take advantage of every opportunity, every conversation. Because I fear my greatest regret will not be something I've done, but the many somethings I was too afraid to do.

In memory of John Burke, 1982-2005

For Rose, John Sr, Jess, Dan, and especially Sarah: "Can a woman forget her nursing child and have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, but I will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands" Isaiah 49:15-16

Another month, another post. Or should I say, another slow friday night, another post. Lately my mind's been mulling around this topic of grace, this idea that the more I recognize the reality of my sinfulness, the more I will delight in God's grace. Or as Jesus said, he who has been forgiven much, loves much. Manning suggests that it's in our moments of greatest defeat that we can find the greatest satisfaction in His grace. But it's really hard to see it that way sometimes. Maybe it is all a matter of perspective but my sin always seems to lead to disappointment, with myself, with being seduced by "lovers less wild," defeat in not doing what I want to do but doing what I hate. Maybe it is unrealistic expectations. Maybe it's not bad to come to the end of myself. Maybe it knocks me off my high lofty perch that I so delicately build for myself, propping up more and more fragile supports to decieve others, and often myself, that I actually belong there. Maybe it's this very circular reasoning that brings me back to the grace of God, flooding anew over a disappointed, defeated wretch like me. That might be a grace worth delighting in.

In other news, I read an article recently about C.S. Lewis' view of literature (He was a literature professor after all). He suggested that art is to be "recieved" and not "used". He said that to "use" art for your own ends is mercenary, that art is meant to be "recieved" by the reader/viewer/listener/whatever. For example, the author of the article suggested many pastors will come up with many a sermon outline tying into the new Chronicles of Narnia movie. He said that defeats the purpose of the movie. I think I like that perspective. It puts words to what I've long thought to be true. So now, when you go to see the movie, watch it for what you can get out of it, not how you can use it. Ok, enough from me for now. Peace.

Confessions of a Sporatic Blogger

I have a confession to make.  I must say I haven't made a real post in quite some time simply because of my superfluous desire (used a thesaurus for that one, cool word huh) to sound good (case and point with the thesaurus).  See, what I write here shapes your perception of me.  How I act, how I look, all those things shape others' perceptions of me.  So I never write much because I don't have something super spiritual sounding to say and therefore would effect your perception of me.  Even this post I've been laboring over trying to figure out how to communicate what I want to say.  Well today I discovered it in a most unexpected place, in the book of Song of Solomon and a sermon from the 3rd century.

In his First Homily, Origen relates the first 12 verses of chapter 1 of the book of Song of Solomon to Christ's relationship with the church.  In verse 6 the Beloved declares she's become dark skinned because her brothers made her work in the vineyards all day.  She's ashamed because she was caring so much for the other vineyards that she couldn't care for the vineyard of her own body.  Origen's point being that God loves us no matter how we look on the outside, but I think we as the church have it backwards.  We're so busy caring for how spiritual we look outside that we neglect the true relationship.  It's been said before in many ways, the church has come to look an awful lot like Pharisees.  But these messages that have been preached to me so many times before, that I've repeated to others, are beginning to take deeper root in my soul.  Rather than trying to deceive myself into believing that I'm more spiritual than I really am - and that even if I were, that would make God accept me any more or less - I need to count myself in the ranks of the lost, only drawn close to the Father because of the gospel of grace.

Brennan Manning writes, "As a sinner who has been redeemed, I can acknowledge that I am often unloving, irritable, angry, and resentful with those closest to me.  When I go to church I can leave my white hat at home and admit I have failed.  God not only loves me as I am, but also knows me as I am.  Because of this I don't need to apply spiritual cosmetics to make myself presentable to Him.  I can accept ownership of my poverty and powerlessness and neediness."

Ok, this post is getting long enough (thanks to those persistent few who have endured).  And if these thoughts seem redundant for you, continue to read them and continue to listen, because maybe not this time, or the next, but one of these times, like me, it'll start to sink in.  Then it'll be the sweetest thing you've ever known and you'll never hear enough.  Thanks for stickin with.  Peace.