Surprise

Surprise

Surprise is in many ways a curious kind of experience. On the one hand, it describes what we experience when something completely unexpected happens. Yet, I believe that at the heart of the way of life that Jesus invites us into, is living in expectation of being surprised -- an odd kind of irony in which we live in a way that expects the unexpected.

I suppose, like anything else, there are pathological manifestations of living this way. Those who expect to be continually surprised by malignant forces that actively seek their harm might be described as paranoid. Similarly, those who operate with a robust sense of denial, and who insist on painting a happy face on every situation no matter how tragic, we might describe with a term like "pollyanna."

But having said all that, I have become convinced that at the heart of the way of life that God invites us to pursue is a sense of living in the expectation of surprise that springs neither out of fear or denial, but rather out of a realization of grace. These are moments when we become aware in some way, in the midst of whatever we might be experiencing at the moment (whether or not we are attentive to it, or even always able to perceive it) that we are indeed the recipients of grace. Learning to live in, and intentionally cultivate an awareness (perhaps even the expectation) of this, seems to be at the heart of way of life that Jesus invites us to pursue, and which He articulates so well in places like the Sermon on the Mount -- where He invites us to realize this not only for ourselves, but for others (all others) as well.

Many years later, Ignatius of Loyola would suggest a spiritual exercise (the prayer of examen) that flows out of, and cultivates, this sense of awareness. Ignatius suggested that we pause at the end of each day to prayerfully consider two questions:

• "For what moments today am I most grateful?"
• "For what moments today am I least grateful?"

Another form those questions might take are:

• "Where today did I see grace surface or be reflected?"
• "Where today did I see grace fail to be expressed or reflected?"

Dennis, Sheila and Matthew Lynn, in their little book, "Sleeping With Bread," suggest other ways to form these questions, among which are:

• "When did I feel most alive today?"
• "When did I feel life draining out of me?"

It was Ignatius' contention, to which I feel confident that Jesus would agree, that few things would be so personally and socially transformative, and would so effectively cultivate an awareness of the ways in which we are aware of , and responsive to, God's presence in our lives (and perhaps the ways in which we tend to mask or resist them) than taking time each day to prayerfully reflect back over the course of our day with those two questions in mind.

What might a life look like that intentionally, regularly, prayerfully considered those two questions?


*(Note: it occurs to me that the general flow of the posts in this blog, what I have described as "footnotes" tend to arise out of reflecting on some form of these same two questions. One of my unexpected surprises is the extent to which those questions have become more ingrained than I realized)

The Applause of God

The Applause of God

Between the pace at which we live and the number of things which clutter our lives, it can be quite challenging to set aside and protect time and space in which we can enter into quieter, more renewing rhythms. In an attempt to encourage people to do just that, our church has set aside 30 minutes each Wednesday evening from 7:00 to 7:30 which we call "Time & Space." Those who come, gather together in a quiet, candlelit room. The first few minutes are an opportunity to shift gears, listen to a little music, and if it is helpful, jot down a list of the various things that are on your mind, so you can set them aside for the next few minutes and not have to worry that you are going to forget something. Following this, we reflect together on the passage of scripture that was central to the sermon from the previous Sabbath (or one closely related to it). We read it aloud three times, first simply to listen to the story and notice what draws our attention. The second time, to be aware of what the passage stirs in us, or as someone has said, "to allow the text to read us." The final time, we listen for what this passage may be inviting us to do in response to what we have heard. Some journal during this time. Others might fashion a piece of clay. Some share a little of what they have heard in the passage. Others simply enjoy being silent.

However, It looked like this last week was going to be different. As we arrived to what is usually a softly lit room with reflective music playing in the background, this time other less tranquil sounds were intruding into the time and space in ways that somewhat overpowered the usual atmosphere.

Not far away in another part of the church facility a sports awards banquet was going on, with all of the cheering, applause and accompanying sounds that one might expect at such an event. Don't misunderstand, it was a great event in itself, and perfectly appropriate (no complaints here), but it was also one that I assumed was going to make it difficult for us to do what we had gathered for.

And so, as we listened together to music and the reading of scripture, taking quiet moments to prayerfully reflect on both, we did so in the midst of the seemingly dissonant punctuations of cheering and applause. So, it was with somewhat of sense of resignation, that I went ahead anyway and led the small group through the evening exercise, finally coming to the end where people have an opportunity, if they wish, to share a little of what had surfaced for them.

Given all that was going on around us, I was not anticipating much when one young woman began to share. She began by talking about how the scripture we had read seemed to fit with much of what she had been experiencing over the past couple of weeks. She spoke of her struggle to make some difficult but healthy choices in areas of her life that were in need of healing. While she knew she was doing the right thing, it was hard because there was so little affirmation or understanding in the midst of the troubled relationships she was dealing with. In fact, there was much that was the opposite. She then went on to say that, as she was thinking and praying about all this, feeling isolated and sad about all that was happening, the sounds of applause and cheering kept inserting themselves into her train of thought, until it finally began to dawn upon her that, perhaps, was what God was trying to communicate to her. She began to sense that in the midst of all she was struggling with in her attempts to do the right thing, God was applauding and cheering for her! It was as if God was applauding through the tears He shared with her, and cheering her on!

I don't know if I was more moved by the depth of what had come into focus for her, or my surprise at God's amazing ability to speak powerfully through the very thing that seemed to me to be drowning out His voice. It was one of those moments when you sensed it was time to take your shoes off, because you were standing on holy ground.

And you know, I wonder if it was not with just a bit of a twinkle in God's eye, and perhaps a bit of a smile that, to a group of people who were trying to listen for the still small voice, God decided to surprise them by breaking out with a cheer and applause. You have to love a God like that!

Not only did I leave that evening awed by the way that God shows up at times in ways that we least expect with exactly what we need, but also with the rich image of a God Who cheers and applauds for us. I'm not sure many of us live in that kind of realization too much of the time.

All of this brought back to mind a section from Max Lucado's book, The Applause of Heaven, where he comments on what had happened when his editor, Carol, was reading a portion of the manuscript out loud to some of those working on the book,

. . . She read a portion of the book that describes our final journey into the city of God. She read some thoughts I wrote about God's hunger to have His children home, about how he longs to welcome us and may even applaud when we enter the gates.
After Carol read this section, she noticed one of the men was brushing away a tear. He explained his emotion by saying, "It's hard for me to imagine God applauding for me."
Can you relate?
I can. Certain things about God are easy to imagine. I can imagine him creating the world and suspending the stars. I can envision him as almighty, all-powerful, and in control. I can fathom a God who knows me, who made me, and I can even fathom a God who hears me. But . . . A God who cheers for me? (pages xiii-xiv).

God graced us with such a glimpse that evening.

Let Not Your Heart Be Troubled

Let Not Your Hearts Be Troubled . . .
Easier said than done?

(I'm not sure why this has been on my mind this past week, but one of the advantages (?) of a blog is that it gives it somewhere to go)

What is so ironic about these words of Jesus from John 14, those like them in the Sermon on the Mount, and the similar refrain that is echoed in the writings of those who followed Him,

"Do not be anxious about anything . . ." (Philippians 4) . . . "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith -- and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God -- not by works, so that no one can boast" (Ephesians 2), etc.,

is that while we believe them to be true, we often find it difficult to live as though they were. As odd as it sounds, it would seem that a troubled heart is sometimes a difficult thing to relinquish. For all the discomfort it generates, anxiety sort of works for us . . . or at least we sometimes think it does . . . and at times, we have a hard time letting it go.

Maybe one of the reasons we like to hang on to it, is that it is such an effective motivator. When we are worried that we may not have enough, anxiety can drive us to seek ways to acquire more or protect what we have. When we feel insecure, or sense that our performance is not being evaluated favorably, anxiety pushes us to work harder, to produce more, to appease the gods. An administrator once told me that they discovered if they could keep those who work for them just a little off balance, the low grade anxiety would kept them more compliant and productive. And what parent has not discovered that anxiety can be a powerful tool in shaping behavior, at least for the short term? Some (pointing as evidence to the lives of those who claim to be saved by grace, and yet live far from exemplary lives) fear that without anxiety, people will not be motivated to do the right thing. Certainly, there is no question that anxiety gets results. There is however, plenty to question in the actual results it gets and the dividends it pays.

But perhaps even more sobering is the capacity anxiety has for distorting our responses. In the events that followed 911, we saw how anxiety arose and was exploited, when ideas and practices which under any other set of circumstances we would have rejected, once they were wrapped in the flag and labeled an expression of patriotism, became acceptable to a surprising number of people.

But in less obvious or dramatic ways, where we most often engage in patterns of living that are more rooted in anxiety than grace, are on those more subtle levels where it comes in under the radar. There it either remains undetected, or if detected, not only does not raise much of an alarm, but may even be seen as necessary. I recently heard the leader of an organization that serves Christian youth comment on the lives of those who served as role models for the young people they were leading. They said, that even though you could argue that the loads they were carrying and the lifestyles they were modeling were unhealthy, you just have to understand that that is the way is has to be. In this case, anxiety over competitive market forces was overriding the realization that what we model is what we most effectively pass on to those we are leading. Often times, whatever cards we may be holding in our hands, anxiety is trump.

So, part of what what makes anxiety based patterns so difficult to part with is the perception that they work. And yet, the kind of motivation it provides, whether with the intensity of an amphetamine, or something in a more subtle caffeine-like form, despite the illusion that is created (which actually undermines the very thing it tries to mimic) . . . when it comes to the quality of life that Jesus invites us to embrace, anxiety is no more effective than are stimulants in promoting good health.

In contrast, the life that Jesus offers finds its center not in reacting to anxiety but in responding to grace. While it may be described as a narrow, less frequently traveled path, it is so, not because it is inaccessible or exclusive, but because it seems so counterintuitive to us to let go of the wider anxiety embracing path. What Jesus invites us to enter, however, is a life that moves with different rhythms. Among other things,

• This path takes shape around the realization that all of life, from Creation to Redemption is a gift from God, that it is ours for the receiving, and nothing but our refusal to accept it can separate us from it..
  
• It is a path that is directed more by the signposts of generosity than the bill boards of consumption. People on this path are less concerned about whether or not others might have more of something than they do, which in turn frees them to be more concerned about those who are in need, and be willing to do something about it.
  
• Similarly, it's a path on which, because I am not preoccupied with whether or not I meet the qualifications or am still accepted, from that sense of assurance, I am now free to expend my mental and emotional energies in loving and caring for others.
  
• What's more, it is a path on which I can find peace. Whether I have little or much, I can live with a sense of abundance rather than scarcity. I can do this because I know that even if I suffer, I do so not as someone who is abandoned and has no hope, but as a child of God, who knows that God is with me in my suffering. This allows me to live generously with the interests of others at least equal to my own, rather than protectively out of concern for my own self interest.
• And as a result, it is a way of life that, as time goes on, is characterized more and more by the fruit of the Spirit rather than the concerns of the anxious.
  

For me, what I regard as my conversion experience, occurred at the moment when I first tasted the difference, and everything changed. As a teenager who had become interested in the church, and who had read enough religious material over the course of many months to have significantly raised my anxiety level in regard to whether or not God found me acceptable, the realization of grace was profound beyond words. I still remember the moment, some 35 years or so ago, when, while laying on my bed reading from a little book called Steps to Christ, that it hit me with clarity for the first time --personally, unexpectedly, profoundly, and wonderfully. I don't know exactly how to describe the sense of peace that seemed to take hold of me at that moment, but a huge part of what happened was that the motivation of anxiety gave way to something far more powerful and freeing, that of grace.

Since then, things have not always been as clear as they were at that moment. What I have learned along the way, is that continuing to live in the realization of that discovery is somewhat like walking along the top of a straight but narrow wall (Although the wall is also wide enough to provide as much space as you would ever need to do what you would ever want to do in life [metaphors are not perfect]). The view is great. The experience is both exhilarating and freeing. The journey is rewarding. The problem is keeping one's balance. Side winds or other forces beyond our control, obstructions or distractions from within or without, moments when we lose our bearings, and/or fear that the wall itself might just be something we imagined -- all these can crop up at times and in combinations that throw us off balance, and we slip out of gracious and into anxious patterns.

What is also becoming more and more clear to me over time, it that it is at moments like those that I need to be intentional about a couple of things.

• One is, as cliche as it may sound, is taking God's outstretched hand, either to regain my balance so that I don't fall, or to help me back up on the wall when I do. (Chances are good that I lost my balance in the first place because I let go, perhaps because I had become more tunned into the messages of the "gods" than to the voice of God)
  
• The second is keeping my eyes focused ahead of me on Jesus, and on the full realization of God's Kingdom and what that is all about. It is when I am, in self interest, looking down at my own feet, or focusing my attention on kingdoms that operate according to different agendas, that I am more likely to lose my balance or simply step off the wall.

But, analogies aside (for whatever they may be worth), more and more I am realizing the need to be more aware of the underlying patterns are that I am living out of, and which are directing my life. I need to be intentional about asking myself:

Do I tend to live responsively out of a sense of grace and abundance, or reactively out of a sense of scarcity and anxiety?

Where are patterns of grace flourishing the most, and how can I be intentional about nurturing those?

Where have more anxiety driven patterns taken root, and am I willing to allow God the space and time necessary in the midst of my "own agendas" so I can listen better and allow God to root them out?

. . . Those are the questions I'm asking these days.