Reflection Paralysis

Middle age shouldn't be confused with the Middle Ages. Historians tell us that while the rest of the civilized world was advancing in those centuries, Europe was blanketed in the "dark ages." No one looks back on the Middle Ages in Europe and says, "those were the good old days," (save for the then dominant church, the land barons and perhaps the Barbarians.)

Middle age, on the other hand is hopefully a season of enlightenment. We come to know ourselves for what we really are. We become more self-evaluative, more reflective. We learn to appreciate and value our primary relationships. We come to terms with our own mortality. Our "legacy" becomes a more viable concern. And I can find myself paralyzed in the process.

I found myself in a high school classroom last week talking about "identity" with the students, and how our identities are formed and informed. The consensus among them seemed to be that (with collective regret) we tend to allow our past, our culture and other people to determine who and what we are. This got me thinking.

Is it possible that with the onset of middle age we find ourselves less constrained by the opinions of others but increasingly shackled by our past? Do our own failures and unmet expectations now determine who and what we are? If so, I'm toast.

It's taken me, and continues to take me a long time to acknowledge who I am. And it may be that my own season of middle age is forcing the issue. There is a choice to be made, even as it may not appear to be a this-or-that crossroads.

I can choose to be dictated by my history of failures and unmet expectations. I can be disappointed by having exhausted my supposed entitlements. I can hope the culture and people in my life will somehow affirm me enough in order to affirm myself. I can hope my "good's" outweigh my "bad's." But I know where this option leads: failure and unmet expectations. A vicious cycle. (If I don't learn from my history, I am certain to repeat it.)

Or, I can place the source and stability of my identity in Someone else's hands. My Bible tells me that Who God is, and What God has done determines who I am and how I can live. It's not about highlighting what I've done well, or glossing over what I didn't do so well. It's not about trying to convince other people I am more admirable than I know myself to be. It's not about blaming culture or other people, fanning the flames of a victim mentality. It IS about acknowledging God's work, through Jesus, on my behalf, unwarranted and unearned on my part, determines and informs who I am now.

It's a choice to believe that it's not what I do, but what Jesus has already done. That's grace. And that's the choice I make. Because, here in my own middle ages it's the only option that doesn't end in darkness.

Internal Combustion

I see myself as one of the few "anti-bloggers." I have many friends (mostly acquaintances) who write frequent blog posts with much to say, with many words, and with more wisdom, expertise and authority than I could possibly muster. Perhaps I find myself with different motivations. Blogging (now a cultural verb) helps me, through trial and error to learn to convey thoughts with fewer words. (Good thing, I suppose. This makes my own mother, the former English teacher happy.) I also write to prove, a least to myself that I am not an expert in my field.

In the ongoing process of my own "sanctification" (a Bible word for "maturing as a follower of Jesus") it is clear to all I am not yet a finished product. Therefore, my blog posts are intended to be more about my learning than what I may think I already know. (I know, this sounds like post-modern angst.) This is my attempt to again fillet my soul by electronic medium. I hereby submit to you only the latest example, under a possible sub heading of "Don't Be Like Mike!"

I was assigned to be the band teacher at TMHS the first three days of this week. I figured I could fake my way through jazz band, wind ensemble, song writing, concert band and the history of rock and roll. I hearkened back on my own history in school band/s, a few college classes and my own wits. Admittedly I had a blast. Once the kids knew "Mr. Mike" was indeed serious about conducting rehearsals (or making them write papers on song writing or the history of rock and roll) they bought in. They all made it easy for me. It helped when I told them at the onset of what I knew...and what I didn't know (or had left behind in the annuls of time.) But here's what I didn't see coming...

I didn't know the school district is short of subs. On Monday, after showing up for "0" Period only to find out they don't meet on Mondays (gurr), I actually found myself responsible for two classrooms; my band room, and the choir/strings/Spanish/health class next door. It was chaos, (double gurr?) On Tuesday, again due to said sub shortage I devoted my two "prep" periods to covering morning P.E. classes, both teaming with adolescent humanity. (And, yes, we had an injury...which happens every single time I have a P.E. class. I am consistent.) The DVD player in the band room decided not to function that afternoon, so I was forced to resort to Plan B (fake it) mode.

By Wednesday I harbored two extremes; optimistic and accommodating externally, while seething internally (where the real 'me' resides.) I found myself ready to tell anyone willing to listen of how the school, school district and the world-wide educational system (if there is such a thing) were against me.

However, and before I got irreparably too deep into any of those conversations I had a God moment. And what I heard, if not audibly was, "Stop and think, you fool!" (My words, not necessarily God's.) And what I realized then and now is, all of it was parcel to my own sanctification. These experiences were going to do one of two things: break me of my pride, or break any positive reputation at the school I may have in the "bank." I came home that day, chastised and newly reformed.

So today I wrote my children (as I do each week) and told them what I'm now telling you: my ongoing sanctification is not yet complete. I got it wrong, very wrong, as self-pity almost always is. My internal was out of joint and my external wasn't far behind.

There you have it. That's what I learned already this week. Pity, I may have to re-learn it all again if it doesn't stick this time around.

Oh, and I see I've also botched the word limit on this post.

Expectations Management

This week has been dominated by chaos. Sleep has been a misnomer. Slowing down to actually chew my food a myth. Yesterday I had the new experience of conducting two high school classes, at the same time. Whoever wrote that syrupy "serenity prayer" is apparently living on a planet other than the one I inhabit.

But here on a rainy Friday it's "Alaska Day," (our very independent State's version of the 4th.) Alaska Day means no school, so today and for the first time in a while I am afforded time and opportunity to reflect on the past week. In so doing I've landed on two related realities;

In truth, my week wasn't all that bad. I evidently just chose to make chaos my world view. Secondly, it really wasn't schedule or people demands that caused my sense of chaos, it was my own expectations. Now, if you will, allow me to get philosophical.

The line between desires and expectations is thin. Our personal desires quickly morph into expectations when left unchecked. Desires almost always require and thus hope for the cooperation of events and other people, while expectations demand that same cooperation. But what, if anything does all this prove?

In my camp we call these desires-slash-expectations "idols." Anything that isn't directed to God is therefore an idol. If my idol is "power," I will busy myself trying to avoid failure and humiliation, at the price of always feeling responsible if not angry. If my idol is "comfort," I will endeavor to avoid any/all stresses even if it results in "nothing ventured, nothing gained." If my chosen idol is "control," I will work to mitigate against uncertainty at the price of incessant worry. And if my idol is "affirmation," I will do whatever necessary to up my approval rating and avoid the pain of rejection, ultimately resulting in slavery to the desires and expectations of other people.

So what I saw and experienced as chaos this week was essentially trumped up. I saw things the way I wanted to see them...as threats to my idols; as roadblocks on my way to expectations management.

Even pastors, especially this one needs to remember that idols are made up, though the idolatry is for real. And this is why repentance is a step toward freedom...even in the midst of self-perceived chaos.

The Price of Unity

I went to a gathering of area pastors yesterday. First time for me. Mentally attaching faces to names (and church buildings) was delightful.

I didn't know I was stepping into initiation traditions. There was no overt hazing. I didn't have to stand on a chair and sing my college fight song. But I was assigned duty to bring the devotional next month. It was also mandated that I will be the speaker at the city-wide Thanksgiving's Eve service. It's how they welcome the new guy, I guess.

I was blessed with the humility and heart for the city evidenced by each guy in the room. One guy made the point of saying, "When the Apostle Paul wrote letters to various churches, he wrote to the believers in that city. Those letters made no real mention of individual fellowships, denominational alliances or doctrinal distinctives between readers." This same guy went on to say that if true today, then we...the guys around yesterday's table...would be the elders the Apostle would have held up to particular responsibility as shepherds for our city. This resonated with me.

We had but two action items. We quickly and efficiently planned both next month's gathering, and the Thanksgiving's Eve service. The remaining time was devoted to hearing about and praying for each other; not as rival pastors but as brothers. A wounded but joyful brotherhood. And I was blessed to see how no one was territorial. No one campaigned for pole position. It hit me that a lot of good can come when no one is concerned over who gets the credit.

Truth be told, every church pastor has stories of pastors gatherings in their respective histories and prior cities; some a delight, and others not so much. At worst, pastors gatherings
can resemble a collection of bantam roosters pecking at each other in the barnyard. Or maybe more like a five year high school reunion where some of the alums still maintain a sparkling view of their own prowess and potential.

But at best it's just a group of guys who love Jesus, love their wives and kids, love the city, and even dare to love the other churches in town. Like knowing we're all on the same team. The price of unity.

(Thanks, Pat Costello for the cool photo.)

Thoughts on Walking into a Closed Door

Last night I thought I was helpful. My wife even thanked me for the "wisdom" I had dispensed on her behalf. Then it happened. I proved otherwise.

While grilling salmon outside on the deck I intended to go back inside to fetch something. In doing so I proceeded to walk into the glass slider door that was already closed. (Previously, I thought only dogs did that!) I smooshed my face and crunched my hand. I deposited my beverage all over the slider glass, and myself, nearly smashing my beverage container in the process. Epic fail. At that moment any self-applause I harbored in response to my previously dispensed "wisdom" was eliminated from the clutter in my brain. My wife is gracious. We had a good laugh. At my expense. Well deserved.

On another but related note, religious people are taught to believe that their most recent thought or action determines who they are, the status of their position or status in relation to God. (And if that's true, last night I positioned myself in God's eyes as the village idiot.) It's no wonder other people see religious people as dictated by a long list of "do's" and "don'ts." It's as if the goal of religious affiliation and activity is to become a "good person." Religion, therefore is viewed by our wider culture as being no more than a lifelong quest for "morality." Problem #1 is, one person's morality is someone else's immorality. Problem #2 is, no one is truly moral.

However, religion and the gospel are not the same thing. Religion is mankind's idea, while the gospel is God's. Religion says, "do the right things." The gospel says, "Done!"

How can that be?

My standing as a Christ-follower is not based on how well I adhere to the "do's and don'ts list." Good thing, since I'm just seconds away from my next epic fail. Instead, the gospel tells me that my standing isn't predicated on my behavior, it's based on Jesus' accomplishment. In what Martin Luther called the "Great Exchange" Jesus took my sin to the cross, and in exchange gave me his standing before God. Not based on what I do, but on what Jesus already did. This is undeserved; the very definition of grace.

Freedom for me is found in not having to please God for my worth, standing or future. He's already pleased with me solely because He's pleased with Jesus. I am now free to abandon my own false sense of propriety, my own conjectures of morality, and even my score on the "do's and don'ts list." I'm free to love and serve because I'm freed from having to earn and self-justify. I am freed from hoping other people will see me as wise, and freed to follow after the truly wise One.

Even when I'm attempting to walk through closed doors.

Before I die...

"The report of my death was an exaggeration" said Mark Twain. Same would be true of me, as this is no posthumous announcement. But I did notice something rather interesting in downtown Juneau the other day.


A large, multi-panel chalkboard has been set up, just down the street from the State Capitol Building with the words "Before I Die..." and then spaces for folks to fill in the blanks with their hopes and dreams for their remaining days. Maybe it's just performance art. But it was enough to stop my car, illegally mind you, and give it a look over.

For sure, there was the expected assortment of inane, juvenile statements that included sexual conquest, self-medication, unicorns and leaping tall buildings. We are Alaska, but not immune to dumb thinking. I also read responses that had more to do with general good will, peace between nations and stopping to appreciate the little things in life, albeit with my addendum that nothing in Alaska is little.

With my car continuing in its illegal placement I read the rich variety of responses. And this got me thinking: Before I die, what do I wish for?

The previous evening I attended an organizational meeting for Young Life, and I was blessed with how the people there represented a wide number of local churches. But we were on the same page with the same priority - new gospel life for students in our city. Before I die I would love to see the churches in our city unified in relationship and shared mission. That would be witness on a big scale!

The Tuesday morning before I gathered again with our Porterbrook fellas. (It's like seminary training, but I don't tell them that.) These fellas come from several churches, and are looking to learn in order to lead. Before I die I want to see a cadre of men rise up to humbly and effectively lead in their homes and churches and start up new churches throughout Southeast Alaska.

Deb and I visited a church on Saturday (!) evening. They were as friendly and welcoming as a church could possibly be. Before I die I want to see my own gospel witness and proclamation, and that of Radiant Church Juneau be welcoming, and not condemnatory. 

Before I die I want to insure that my wife knows she couldn't possibly be more adored than she is by her husband. Before I die I want my children to know their father is fully engaged and immensely proud of them. Before I die I want to see Radiant Church Juneau be a radiant expression of the gospel to our city.

No, I didn't add my wishes to the downtown Before I Die board. Instead, I asked God to write them on my own heart. That way, I'll be less tempted to settle for lesser wishes.

Love the City

Summer ended. In one day. Thursday, August 15 the sun was replaced with dark rain clouds, the temperatures plummeted, spawning salmon began filling our streams and our version of "fall" was initiated. The first half of summer revolved around our own travel adventures. The second half of summer (now fall) has been consumed with hospitality and tour guiding.

We've enjoyed visits from family and friends, most of whom have been in Juneau for only hours at a time while in port with their cruise ships. Sometimes we've had eight hours, other times maybe ten hours to show our city off to our visitors. Kind of like speed-dating.

In just the past two days alone we have included the glacier and bear sightings, Nugget Falls, the Tram and its views, shopping downtown, the Valley, our living room, the Hangar, the Island Pub, St. Therese, Eagle Beach, UAS, TMHS and lots of potential Christmas card photos taken. It's been a whirlwind. It's been fun.

Our visitors have each asked, "Why Juneau?" After an hour or two they answer their own question, and find themselves loving our city as we love our city. Juneau is not hard to love. Rain clouds or not.

It's been said, people in Juneau either love it here...or they're planning to move away. There is no in between. We love it here. We love talking about our city. Loving our city is vital.

A church cannot really be the Church if that church does not love their city, and the people in their city. A church can only really be the Church when it is willing, even joyful to engage the culture. Too many churches in too many places have settled for church as safe zone, as separation, as protection and isolation from the culture. But that's not what the Church was called to be and do.

Without gospel compromise Radiant Church lives in light of the mandate to be enthusiastic and engaged with our city. We are "Radiant Church Juneau," and the "Juneau" part is important. We are called to love this city, our city in tangible and intangible ways, in gospel ways, and this forces involvement as well as placement.

Functioning as host and self-proclaimed tour guide reminds me that I love my city, that I need to love my city. Our city, and every city needs gospel-centered people who will love their cities; enough to talk about their city, and to their city.