Month: December 2022

Writing the words on the final page of this chapter of life titled 2022, I reflect on the experiences and lessons these 365 days have offered.

These moments have been built upon the foundation of years past, failures and triumphs, grief and joy. This year proved to be no different, with many opportunities for growth along the way.

People have come into my life and people have left. Others continue to journey with me in a variety of ways. There is gratitude for the many ways my community has exhibited encouragement, support, challenge, and love. While the nature of some relationships has changed, the value of those individuals has not.

There have been new relationships as well, including one which has taught me new levels of vulnerability, transparency, risk, and love. While not the only new relationship, it has been uniquely transformational.

My relationship with the divine has grown as well. God has continued to transform me and invite me into deeper communion with herself and all creation, helping me see the divine in all people and the world.

We often cheapen love with cheesy Hallmark movies, surface-level niceties, and other discounted versions of this complex aspect of life.

Love we witness in romantic movies and simple acts of kindness are definitely part of what love is, but not the entirety of its essence.

In learning to love, I am learning to forgive, to challenge, to look in the mirror, and to lay down my armor. Jesus challenged us to love our neighbor as ourself. Part of that work means we must speak to ourself the same way we speak to our closest friends.

For years, that was not my reality. I would be incredibly hard on myself, saying things about and to myself I would never say to anyone, especially those I care about most. This is still a struggle, but something which happens less and less.

The interesting thing about learning real self-love is how it teaches us to love our neighbor. Often—if not always—our hatred for our “enemies” is projecting self hatred on an “other.” It’s usually easier to demonize another person or group than to sit with our own imperfections and failings.

Life—the ultimate teacher and classroom—invites us to learn. If we are willing to do the work, the lessons are endless, a vast array of opportunities to evolve into a better version of ourself and become more and more human.

In the creation story, God is described as creating human beings in their own image. We are made for community and for love. We are made to build one another up and work as agents of creation. Jesus came to show us what that should look like.

It means we welcome the stranger, the outcast, the oppressed. It means we lay down our ego and take up our cross. But it also means we learn to love the parts of ourself which feed self-hatred.

Learning to love the ugliest parts of ourself leads to the growth of grace, mercy, healing, justice, hope, and love deep inside our soul. That kind of internal transformation can’t help but change how we engage the world.

May we learn to love ourselves more fully that we might learn to love the world in ways which align with the divine’s dream for wholeness, justice, and peace.

Silent night…

You probably are already singing the song in your head, or even humming or singing aloud.

Believers around the world gather on Christmas Eve. Many will likely sing this song, its words and music a soft crescendo to an evening celebrating the birth of Jesus.

Was it really a silent night? In a stable filled with livestock and a newborn child, how silent was it? I was there for the birth of my son; there was little silence then.

There is silence in this night, but not what we might hear in the words of this familiar hymn.

For some, the silence is the absence of a voice, the words of a loved one no longer here, the vacuum left behind like an emotional black hole.

For others, the silence is an unanswered prayer. An unhealed illness. An unrestored relationship. A unrelieved struggle or burden.

The silence might be feeling unheard, unseen, or marginalized, an invisibility for those who feel their voices often fall on deaf ears.

Some might experience anything but silence, sounds of fear, pain, or anxiety removing any sense of peace.

Whether silence or clatter, all is not calm, all is not bright. For these, there is no heavenly peace.

Or is there?

Contrary to the cleaned-up, sterilized manger scene, the birth of Jesus was a messy occasion. Parents without a comfortable place to stay. Rumors about this child conceived out of wedlock following them wherever they went. The king dispatching assassins to kill every male child to eradicate this newborn King.

Isn’t that the Savior we really need? One born into a messy, imperfect, smelly world? Don’t we want a Savior who enters the fray?

So often we seem to paint these beautiful, serene images of what happened in Bethlehem two thousand years ago. We want sweet little baby Jesus to experience this well-orchestrated, sterile, peaceful birth.

What really happened was probably more like our lives, full of disorder, confusion, and darkness. The Prince of Peace coming not in a neatly wrapped package, but in the most unlikely of scenes, relegated to a place where animals lived, ate, slept, and pooped.

I have learned to know and love this Jesus while embracing the messiness of life. Facing demons and wandering through The Valley of the Shadow of Death does that to a person.

There have been nights I lay in bed, hoping to not awaken the next morning. There have been days I felt paralyzed, overwhelmed by life. I have experienced the silence of loneliness and loss and the cacophony of despair and disorder.

Tonight, the words of Silent Night and the glimmer of candles will not remind me of a Hallmark card Nativity scene. Rather, they will remind me that Light entered the world in the midst of darkness and offers peace in the midst of chaos.

The silence I seek—and the silence I believe God offers—is an internal peace which doesn’t disregard, disguise, or dismiss the difficulties of life. Rather, it is a peace which stands with us in the shitstorm and suffers alongside us in the chaos. It is a peace working to make us all whole in this fractured and aching world.

Have you ever thought about the different ways Jesus is portrayed in our culture?

Of course, this time of year we focus on Baby Jesus, born in a manger. This is the Jesus of Nativity scenes and quiet, melodious hymns.

Then there is teacher Jesus, the one we hear about in Bible classes and sermons, telling us what to believe and how to live.

Healer Jesus performs miracles. He uses mud to restore sight, instructs a man to pick up his mat and walk, and stops the menstrual bleeding of a woman who simply touches his garment.

Suffering Jesus was whipped, almost to the point of death. He carried a cross to Calvary, there he took his final breaths, offered forgiveness, and died as the victim of a Roman execution.

Resurrected Jesus came back to life. He stepped out of a tomb, spoke to many of his followers, and eventually ascended into the sky, promising to return again.

When all of these ways Jesus is portrayed are brought together, we discover a number of understandings of who Jesus—and ultimately God—might be.

For many, especially in our current culture, Jesus is seen as a superhero, similar to a character you might see in a Marvel movie. He comes to earth to save each person from their sins, healing and teaching along the way. He uses his superpowers to take away illnesses, control nature, and raise people from the dead.

This superhero Jesus appears in much of our modern Christian music. Many worship songs celebrate Jesus for what he has done for us. Some even seem to resemble love songs.

Don’t get me wrong, there is much Jesus has done. But does this superhero take on the Son of Man cause us to miss the point?

Superheroes usually do things we can’t to save us from powers we can’t defeat by overpowering their enemies through violence and force.

Is that really who Jesus is? Is that who YHWH is?

During this advent season, we wait. We wait for a Savior long promised in Scripture. But this Messiah is not a warrior king coming to overthrow evil with violence and force.

This is what many Israelites were expecting from the baby born in a dirty, stink food trough and—if we’re honest—it’s what many Christians expect today.

I often hear calls for Jesus to overpower sinners and then witness Christians grabbing for power to do the same. Meanwhile, the Jesus of the Bible subjected himself to the Roman government to the point of execution.

I often hear calls to exclude those who don’t subscribe to a certain way of living or measure up to certain expectations from various groups of Christians. Meanwhile, the Jesus of the Bible ate with sinners and challenged the religious leaders of his day who thought they were doing everything the right way.

The Jesus of the Bible was born in a filthy stable, surrounded by animals in a space which smelled like a 4-H barn. He was forced to emigrate as a child when his life was threatened. He grew up the son of a common manual laborer. His childhood was lived as a Jew under Roman rule and oppression.

I often hear calls for Jesus to “take back our country” and make it the Christian nation it used to be. Meanwhile, the Jesus of the Bible pushed back against Empire and power, seeking to create a movement based not on laws or oppression, but through grace and mercy.

Is Jesus really a superhero or might we be missing the bigger picture?

Even his ministry was suspect. His key followers included a tax collector, a terrorist, some fisherman, and others who were often rejected and despised, even by their own people. The religious leaders of his day plotted for ways to kill him.

His final hours were spent on trial, subjected to false charges brought about by those who sought to protect their power under the guise of following God and God’s laws.

This is the suffering servant we read of in Isaiah, the one who is called the Prince of Peace.

Many of his followers were disappointed when he died, and even while he was still alive. They wanted someone who would overthrow the Romans and serve as King, a Messiah who ruled with power. They were hoping for someone to take up arms and lead a revolt so they could rule over the Romans.

What they got instead was a man who suffered, who was ridiculed, and who was murdered, even when he had the power to stop it all.

Jesus is not a superhero who sweeps in and saves the day with violence, power, and having his way. Rather, he laid down his life, loved even those who murdered him, and showed that even when all looks lost, the ultimate victory will be won with grace, mercy, peace, justice, and love.

Let us remember during this Advent season how Jesus entered the world. It serves as a signpost, pointing to the type of Messiah he was destined to be.

Maybe even more importantly, let us learn to live as he did, not seeking to grab power or force others to live according to our beliefs. Rather, let us seek to embody our beliefs in such a way that others feel drawn to walk the same pathway of love in the world.

The other day I drove past a building with the following sign out front: “Celebration of Life Center.” This got me thinking.

I often hear of funeral services referred to as a celebration of life. Don’t get me wrong, I am all about celebrating someone’s life when they die, but what about the grief? Why are we afraid to name the grief, to acknowledge and even welcome it?

We seem so adverse to talking about death, even when it stands right before us.

Several years ago I heard someone posit a theory which seemed true. They wondered if the reason many people display so much grief at the death of celebrity they never met is because they are discharging grief they are carrying around from another loss in their life.

It also seems we often use phrases like “passed away,” possibly in an effort to blunt the cold, stark reality that someone died.

Having officiated many funerals and walked alongside those suffering the loss of a loved one, I have witnessed people seeking to avoid grief. Some even seem to disregard it in the midst of their tears, relegating the deeper feelings to the background.

Many people are likely carrying around anger, pain, and other heavy emotions from unacknowledged trauma from some painful loss, often unintentionally or unknowingly. This has been my personal experience.

About a decade ago, the church I was serving experienced a string of painful deaths, including a child, a 21-year-old, a member of our staff, and a parent of students in my youth group. As part of the pastoral team, I helped officiate the services, minister to the families, and walk alongside our congregation through this dark season.

Lacking much of the self-awareness gained over the last decade, I was blind to what was going on inside of me and slid into a period of deep depression. This impacted my relationships, self-image, behaviors, and thinking, causing me to withdraw even further behind walls where I had hidden for years.

Even those who saw the effects didn’t see me or what was really going on. I had learned to hide pretty well, even from myself.

I didn’t begin to fully comprehended the depth of that season’s impact until starting therapy after my dad’s death several years later. The subsequent deep dive into my heart, mind, and soul uncovered issues and situations buried and not dealt with most of my life.

Most of us are likely carrying around grief we haven’t fully dealt with—the death of a loved one, a lost relationship, an unrealized dream, unfulfilled potential, or countless other losses. This grief often manifests itself in anger, withdrawal, or unhealthy behaviors. Sometimes it shows up in more socially acceptable forms such as over-functioning or driving hard for success. Grief, even when we suppress it, will find a way out.

The next time someone famous dies, be still for a moment and look around. Listen. Observe. And don’t forget to find a mirror and look inward as well, asking yourself how the grief you’re feeling might actually be something closer to home which has been lurking below the surface for months or even years.

When the time comes and you experience a loss in your own life, consider how you welcome and embrace grief. It is good and valuable to celebrate the life of someone who has died—or anything else important in our life which has ended—but let us not forget to make ample room for grief so we can also acknowledge the loss.

One of the movies I enjoy during the holiday season is It’s a Wonderful Life. Watching it this year caused an outpouring of emotions in the final minutes, tears streaming down my face.

The seven years included numerous moments filled with pain, loss, and hopelessness. George’s experience of feeling like there is no way out but death hits close to home. There have been times where I stood on a metaphorical bridge, staring down at the water.

My journey over this time has resulted in the loss of some friends, the discovery of new friends, and the realization of who my truest friends are. People have come in and out of my life, some leaving, others passing through, and those who remain. I have been reminded, as George was, “No man is a failure who has friends.”

Some of the changes in my life resulted from my choices—good and bad. Others were brought on by forces outside my control.

These last seven years contain many journeys through The Valley of the Shadow of Death as well as times of growth, joy, and celebration. It has been a bumpy, often challenging trip.

The last couple of years have proven to primarily be a time of healing and rebirth; I find myself incredibly grateful for those who have stood by me through it all or entered my life during this time.

Not every story is the same and many don’t end up neatly wrapped like George Bailey’s. The happy ending might appear in a moment, but it’s just as likely to take time to unfold, feeling like it may never come.

Some of my losses can never be undone. People who have died. Relationships which have ended. Career paths where the door is closed. Many of you have likely experienced similar losses.

When all seems lost, remember resurrection only comes after death.

George didn’t experience resurrection until he realized the deaths—literal and metaphorical—his absence created. Seeing the small but significant ways his life had meaning offered a new perspective.

Watching this movie again reminds me how often we make a difference and don’t even realize it. We cannot measure our worth based only on our limited perspective; our view never offers the full picture.

Advent invites us to sit in darkness, remembering it isn’t forever; light is coming. The divine is constantly in the business of birthing something new into the world, even when we may not see it.

When I was overwhelmed and surrounded by darkness, a handful of friends, my therapist, and my spiritual director encouraged me to keep moving and not lose hope. They didn’t peddle toxic positivity; they sat with me in the pain. But they also reminded me, even when it feels like all hope is lost, something good is coming.

During that time, my spiritual director offered the following words from the prophet Habakkuk: “For there is still a vision for the appointed time; it speaks of the end, and does not lie. If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay.” (‭Habakkuk‬ ‭2‬:‭3‬ ‭NRSV‬‬)

If you find yourself in a season of darkness, don’t lose hope. That’s not meant to deny or minimize the pain of this present moment, but to offer the encouragement to keep going, even when you may not feel like it.

For those not in one of those season, consider how you could be a beacon of light in someone else’s darkness. Like those who carried me through my darkest hours, you could be the friend someone needs to keep them going.

Life certainly can and will be messy, painful, and difficult, but when we look outside ourselves and seek to make a difference, it can be a wonderful life.