amusing grace

A serious thought. . .

The Christian life is not to be attempted, but rather enjoyed.  I believe that this is the point at which we misrepresent Christ to the world.  If all they see is frustrated, striving sheep -- trying to “will themselves” into living the Christian life -- then we’ve missed the boat.  Christ never meant for us to squirm around in our own strength until we “get it right.”  Yesterday and today, this fact remains -- the only person who can possibly live the Christ-life is Christ himself.  We are therefore to abide in him as he lives his life through us.  This is not a quick fix or a simple answer -- I believe it to be the very truth of scripture.  We are to rest in him, listen to his voice, and “get out of the way” -- so that he can literally live through us.

 

Perhaps when non-believers see surrendered Christians who enjoy the life of Christ in and through them, instead of tortured souls, flailing themselves for their failures and walking around in the doldrums of performance-based anxiety -- then they might actually believe what we claim about our Savior.

Merry Christmas

Seasons change, but the promise of Christmas remains: Emmanuel, God with us.  May you all have a blessed holiday season.

The art of being

It took me 30 years, but I finally learned the art of being.  The art of doing has always come rather naturally to me.  If you’ve read previous posts, you know that I’m an “Energizer bunny” sort of guy.  And you can ask anyone who was in first grade at Pope Elementary School in 1976 -– I never won that “quiet-mouse-still-mouse” game.  (But I was all over the lesser-known “loud-squirrel-hyper-squirrel”).

However, my perspective shifted a few years ago when I underwent some minor surgery.  After chronic throat infections, my ENT suggested a tonsillectomy.  I was a little scared, because a tonsillectomy for a singer is kind of like hand surgery for a pianist.  Well, everything turned out fine.  I didn’t even say anything stupid when I awoke from anesthetic la-la land, which is quite impressive when you realize that I often say stupid things even without the aid of sodium thiopental.  Although the surgery was successful, there was still the recovery.  And in case you didn’t know, a large open wound four inches below your soft palate results in an incredibly sore throat.  In addition, I had singing engagements scheduled fourteen days from the time of my surgery.  So I was on complete vocal rest for the better part of two weeks.  Now those of you that know me just had a good laugh, because asking me not to talk is like asking Clint Eastwood not to squint.

So with books and magazines and movies in tow, I set up “rest central” in our bedroom.  Like it or not, I had to be still and quiet for long periods of time.  And when I’d had my fill of Indiana Jones sequels and “Guess who Jenn’s dating?” articles, even more solitude filled the room.  At first it was maddening, especially for an electric wind-up toy like me -– but after a while I started to not mind so much.  The quiet was a nice change; it was restful.  And it gave me time to do something I hadn’t done in a long time -– just be.  Not go anywhere or do anything.  Perhaps it sounds bizarre to you introvert types, but for the first time, just being alone and thinking, just reflecting on whatever sentiments crossed my mind -– became exhilarating.  And since my time alone with God had gradually become sort of a one-sided conversation, I discovered the wonder of simply listening to God. 

After life got “back to normal,” I began making time to be by myself more often –- even without the forced recovery of having something surgically removed.  And oh, the places some good old thinking can take you.  When exercised properly, our minds become wonderful, practically limitless playgrounds. 

There is a painting on the wall at the end of our bedroom – it pictures a large old house with lots of spires and weathervanes and memories.  It looks like the kind of place that served as a boarding house back in the “It’s a Wonderful Life” days.  I like to look at that painting and just think -– just take out my mental crayons and start coloring outside the lines.  Perhaps I’ll think about the road-weary traveler who might have stopped there and had a good, hot meal of roast beef and mashed potatoes with obscene amounts of gravy.  And how he retired to the parlor and had a cigar with the other gentlemen.  And how they talked about the same silly things men talk about now -– except with more sophistication and nicely groomed beards. (Hey, it’s my brain, so don’t make fun!) 

Anyway, after a while, my mind slowly pans out from that scene to a broader and broader picture, like one of those weather satellite images.  I start to think beyond that house to the whole town, and beyond that town to the whole state or country, and finally to the big spinning ball itself and the universe beyond.  And as I ponder God and my speck of existence in that universe, I eventually end up with the same question at which David arrived:  “What is man, that you are mindful of him?”  That is when I hear Him say, “But Carey, I am mindful of you.  I do care for you.  You are mine.”  And perhaps that is the greatest reward of all of this patient thinking:  If I listen carefully, like when you’re listening across a lake, I can hear God telling me who I am.  And God is exactly who I need to hear it from, for there are too many other people and sound-bites and magazine covers lying to me about who I am.           

I believe that it is in the being that we find our identity -– God tells us who we are.  And it is in the doing that we flesh out our purpose -– God shows us what we are called to do.  One without the other will ultimately leave us unfulfilled.  So to the be-ers out there -– I admire you.  Don’t forget to go out and actively serve God in response to His telling you who you are.  And to the do-ers, press on -– but don’t forget to occasionally slow down, open your ears, and find a good painting on a wall somewhere.

Spoiled fat babies

When it comes to financial matters, I am like most of you reading this – I live my life from week to week, paycheck to paycheck.  Sometimes I feel a little bogged down with utility bills and bank statements and so on and so on.  However, I had somewhat of a reality check recently, when I was at home performing a mundane task.  We have one of those cool mist humidifiers.  Since I sing for a living and live in a desert called Texas, my doctor said that it would be a good idea to keep a humidifier running in our house to keep plenty of moisture in the air.  Now here’s the part that would probably make my grandpa laugh -– I actually purchased water to pour into this thing.  I have plenty of free water that comes into my house through these amazing inventions called pipes;  but I choose to buy big jugs of distilled water, pour it into this machine, and then blow it all over the house -- just to prevent a little dryness in my throat.  Now I guess there’s nothing wrong with this in and of itself -– comfort is a big deal in our society.  But on a larger scale, I was thinking –- I probably waste enough water every day to actually keep someone in the world alive. 

Those starvation commercials on TV used to not affect me as much.  I thought, “What can I really do?  God has placed me here in America -– and aren’t there people right around me who need help?  Besides, these charities are just trying to make me feel guilty.”  I can’t explain why, but my feelings changed whenever I had kids of my own.  Because now every time I see one of those dear children, bloated with hunger, I think, “That is some parent’s little angel.  Some mom has hopes and dreams for that boy.  That is a child who wants to run and laugh and play just like my kids.”  And there is a kind of sickening feeling that slaps me in the face when I realize that the water I spit out in the sink every morning is more than these kids will probably get to drink all day.  It’s as if I live in a fog, insulated from the truth of the situation that plays out around the world day after day.  I am like a spoiled, fat baby -- more concerned about the lady at the drive-thru getting my “no tomatoes” request right than I am about the man in Somalia who is weeping because he can’t feed his family.   

Most of us have not gone a day in our lives without a completely self-indulgent existence.  And so after a while we come to expect it –- not just basic things –- but we come to expect, even demand, the things that we don’t even realize are luxuries.  A particular brand of clothing, the right kind of hair spray, that certain flavor of frozen yogurt –- spoiled, fat babies. 

No doubt our extreme wealth is only matched by our extreme waste.  When I read about Jesus helping the poor and needy and how he mostly hung around the kind of people that we shake our heads at and secretly think “I’m glad that’s not me” –- it makes me wonder if God sees our wasteful lust for material things as a perversion of wealth, the way that porn is a perversion of sex.  It shames me to think that if I would part with but a week’s wages -- one week –- it could change someone’s life.  But I’d rather just have a good cry and get my “warm-fuzzy feeling” for the week by watching someone on reality TV get a new $300,000 house built for them. 

Now I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to make my point –- but I’m not quite sure what it is.  I just feel that we as a society and, dare I say, we as a church (and I’m talking to myself too) need to just care more.  We need to stick our heads up out of the hustle-bustle rat race long enough to see that there is a great big world out there -– full of fellow human beings that are in need.  And we should realize that our two-car, grande latte, double meat-double cheese existence is an extremely unique situation, globally speaking.  And although I’m not trying to be one of those commercials that makes people feel guilty, the fact is that 15 million children really will die of starvation this year.  God help us -– 15 million! 

In his book Sacred Pathways, Gary Thomas reminds us that “Jesus placed his own needs under the needs of others.  He had a more important mission to accomplish than anyone who has ever lived, yet he still found time to care for the basic needs of a sick, hungry, and unruly crowd.  This example continues to challenge me today.  It is so easy to ignore the needs of others around us because we have ‘more important things’ to do, but Jesus defined those very needs as a central part of our mission.”

God, help me to step up to the plate and do my part.  May I never be reluctant to share with someone in need, whether near or far.  And may I never take for grated even the slightest morsel of food that you provide.  God, stir the church to meet the real needs of real people all over the world.  Give us your heart, your love –- for your precious creation.     

“If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?” -– 1 John 3:17

Speaking for God

I don’t have the time or energy to try and sugar-coat this idea into a tactful word picture, so I’ll just cut to the chase:  I’m getting really tired of all of the current religious leaders who claim to be speaking for God.  Now don’t get me wrong – I know that God still speaks to us loud and clear.  I heard Him just the other day when my two-year-old smiled at me.  But it seems that some “high-profile” Christians are disguising their personal opinions in the magic words “God told me this” as a way of making their soapboxes just a little higher than everyone else’s. 

School shootings, 9-11, Hurricane Katrina – no matter what the national tragedy, the ink is not even dry on the AP release before so-called religious leaders have stepped up to the mic to reveal what “God is trying to tell us.”  I believe that grief is a God-given process that humans need to go through so that we don’t go insane.  And many times it is only after the grief that we can find the meaning.  If someone close to me passed away, would it be appropriate moments later for a minister to sidle up to me and say “Now here’s what God is trying to tell you through this tragedy”?

There are almost as many self-proclaimed, modern-day prophets on Christian television as there are bad wigs.  The true prophets that I’ve read about (in that book where God really does some talking) were more about weeping for the sins of the nations and humbly proclaiming God’s truth with fear and trembling than they were about saying “Now here’s whatcha need to do and here’s my book.”  It almost disgusts me to relive this, but shortly after 9-11 I heard a lady on TV actually share this “word from the Lord”:  The airlines that went down were American and United, so God was trying to say that America needs to be united. That is so horrible on so many different levels, I don’t even know how to comment on it.  And yet I’m sure there were spiritually hurting people out in TV-land that soaked it up and sent her money to support further “prophesying.”

I will go out on a limb and say one thing that I think God might say to us today.  And mind you, I’m not saying he spoke this to me – it’s more of a hunch:  “Stop being careless when it comes to speaking for me.  Take down all of those ‘Don’t make me come down there’ billboards.  And in times of national tragedy, give people time to react to what’s happened before you start yelling in their ear.”

I think when it comes to hearing from God, I’m going to turn off the television, pray, and open up the word of God.  Jesus talked about this Comforter who would help me understand and make sense of it all – I’m pretty sure that’s the best place to “tune in” and listen.   

"Quiet" time?

As I think of the sort of things my boys like doing with me – wrestling on the floor, laughing to the point of pain, going on daring pirate adventures that span the seven seas of our back yard – it makes me wonder if “quiet time” is an inadequate choice of words when it comes to describing our time in God’s presence.  And I must be honest; I’m tired of hearing those two words – “quiet time” – almost as much as I’m tired of hearing people on the Today Show use the word “bling” as a reference to jewelry.  I guess there’s nothing really wrong with the phrase “quiet time,” and it may well describe some Christians’ personal moments with God.  But not me.  I’m a 24-oz. Mountain Dew, bounce-off-the-wall, chicken-dancing kind of guy, and I don’t spend hardly any of my time “quietly” (except when I’m eating Blue Bell ice cream, which takes all of my attention and is somewhat of a religious experience of its own). 

Perhaps it’s what the words “quiet time” represented to me growing up in my ultra-conservative bubble – rules.  A set time, a set place, a certain number of verses, a certain number of minutes – it was like the spiritual SAT exam.  And I bought into the legalistic formula hook, line and sinker.  I thought “If a spastic monkey like me can sit on his hands for 30 minutes and be still, surely that proves my devotion to God.”  (Usually it just proved that my rear end could fall asleep almost as fast as the rest of me).

I like my personal time with God to be less about rules and more about expressing myself to God at that particular moment – whatever form it may take.  Reading scripture?  Yes, of course.  But it might also include hitting a bike trail and having my own little adventure in God’s back yard.  Or maybe I need to light some of those candles that smell like banana-cream-something and write out a big thank-you note to Him.  Or how ‘bout I focus on God’s power and majesty to the tune of the 1812 Overture while drinking ridiculous amounts of Mountain Dew?  Of course, it’s not about me; it’s about pleasing Him.  But what could please the Father more than seeing a child bask in His presence with abandon? 

I don’t think God likes to be put in boxes (I know I don’t).  And although being quiet and still before Him definitely has its place, it’s not the only way to express our hearts to God.  So think outside the box – I believe that’s where He hangs out.  And as you seek the Lord, exercise the uniqueness that He created in you.   

Christianity for sale

I am a professional musician, which may be the most misunderstood term in our language, because the vast majority of us are not rich or famous.  Yes, there are some who are on TV and have flat stomachs.  But most professional musicians have average to large stomachs, play “Somehwere Out There” at weddings, and keep their fingers crossed at the ATM just like everybody else.  However, like many “real musicians,” I am a purist – meaning that I am always just a few swigs of Mountain Dew away from going on a rant about the commercialization and sell-out mentality of the music industry.  And since I just finished off a Mountain Dew:  the argument is as old as recorded music -- money and image, not talent, drive the mainstream music industry.  For guys like me that studied music in college and even endured the pink tassel that you wear at graduation, it’s a little off-putting when the most celebrated “musicians” are average at best, but happen to be fashionable, a size 1, and have "sweet hair."

I saw a movie the other day about Martin Luther.  Seems that the church back then had its own sell-out mentality.  They actually had the commoners thinking that they could buy salvation for them and their dead family members.  And since it was considered heresy to even think about printing the bible in a common language, the masses didn’t know any better.  After all, you can trust men of God, right?  Luther stood up to this corruption.  He preached about God’s grace and love and how the church should be spending their money on the poor and needy.  As far as the church leaders were concerned, Luther might as well have been jumping up and down on Oprah’s couch.  They labeled him a crazy heretic, but the commoners hailed him as a hero.  A hero!  And he didn’t even have “sweet hair,” since he started out as a monk and had that whole reverse mohawk thing going on.  Nowadays about a zillion congregations have benefited from Martin Luther’s reformation of the church.

I’d like to think that the money-changers aren’t in the temple anymore, but I’m not so sure.  Sadly, much of the church is trying to sell good feelings --  “spiritual” feelings – in exchange for money or church attendance.  The gospel I hear on TV is “Come to Jesus and he’ll take all of your problems away.  Send your money to our ministry, and you’ll be blessed.”  ( I always wondered, if they’re so concerned with me being set free from the “demons of debt,” then why don’t they hock one of their gold-plated piano benches and pay off my Sears card?)  And like today’s plastic musicians, the prettiest Christians with the best shoes are the ones we’re attracted to -- not the dumpy Luthers who are naive enough to really model Jesus.

I hope non-Christians don’t see me as trying to sell them something.  I hope that my life teaches them about God’s grace and love and helping the poor and needy, as opposed to the fantasy of a problem-free life.  I’m no monk (although I do look good in brown), nor am I a vein-popping televangelist (although I do look good in a wig).  But somewhere in the middle, where the rest of us are, is a place for flawed people who love Jesus.  I think that’s the kind of people that can bring about a reformation in the church.