Commit everything you do to the LORD. Trust him, and he will help you. Psalm 37:5 A few Saturdays ago I watched the US Olympic Marathon trials on NBC. While some of you may think that watching a group of people run for two hours sounds boring, to someone like me it's an unfolding drama at the highest level of entertainment. So many dreams of becoming an Olympian on that starting line. And my goodness, this was an entertaining year. The men's race was all about the story of two training buddies who were former teammates from Brigham Young University. They left everyone else behind in the final few miles, crossing the finish line together and earning a shared trip to Paris this summer. How do two friends both become better than every other marathoner in the nation? Amazing. But what really caught me was when one of them was interviewed with his family a week later. Clayton Young and his wife and toddler sat down to talk about what it means to achieve such a goal, and the effort it took to arrive there. Clayton's wife joked about their shared routines as a family, especially regarding Clayton's eating and his training clothes. "It was honestly a lot of dishes washed, a lot of miles run, a lot of laundry. A lot of little things that just add up. Clayton calls it 'the mundanity of excellence.' There are so many things about being good at something that are just, really mundane and boring and repetitive. But it all adds up to something." I find the phrase "mundanity of excellence" to be so interesting. The concept is true on many levels, not just about greatness, and not just about sports. If we truly desire to move toward a central purpose in our lives, then everything we do-- even the little stuff-- should nudge us toward that ultimate purpose. And that process will always include the mundane. If our goal in life is to experience and express the fullness of life with God as the most faithful disciples we can be, I'm convinced there's a lot of mundanity to it. Everyone desires the rapturous moments with God, but learning to daily declutter our lives so that we can hear God's voice? That's a task that takes a lot of repetition. We all want deep relationships, but sharing enough minutes or coffees with another person to truly get to a soul friendship level? That takes time. Developing a character that is full of grace and love is developed not with big public demonstrations, but with daily gentle moments with your toddler, spouse, coworkers, parents. You don't become more like Jesus because of a wonderful church service. You become more like Jesus by taking your mundane moments every week, and inviting the Spirit to transform them into holy moments. You'll spend about 24 hours this year brushing our teeth (I hope). That's a lot of time! What if brushing your teeth became an opportunity to pray for someone? Or to practice gratitude to God for another day? It would move us just a little toward that beautiful purpose. The Mundanity of Discipleship. For Jesus people, discipleship isn't simply a big decision to follow Jesus. It's learning to make every moment of our lives an expression of that commitment. It's what Eugene Peterson famously described as a long obedience in the same direction. All moving us toward the goal of having the character of Christ formed deeply in us, for the sake of the world. Oswald Chambers summarized it well when he wrote, “The test of a man’s [and woman's] religious life and character is not what he does in the exceptional moments of life, but what he does in the ordinary times, when there is nothing tremendous or exciting on.” What feels mundane today? How might you see it as an opportunity to help you get a little closer to the ultimate goal of becoming like Jesus? Jesus, teach me in the slow and seemingly insignificant moments, how to move toward you. Peace, Keith
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He came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit. -Ephesians 2:17-20 For years I've been interested in the stories of the indigenous tribes of North America, and I often see wisdom in these old stories that points me to the heart of Jesus. The Onondaga Nation just south of Syracuse have a story they have told for over a thousand years, about the time when the Mohawk, Oneida, Cayuga, and Seneca people finally ceased warring against each other. The story goes that the great Creator had been watching and saddened by all that the people had become. They had forgotten the ancient ways, and lived violently. So the Creator decided to send a messenger to them, that they might one day learn to live in peace. He was known as the Peacemaker. He was given a special spirit and a special message. As the Peacemaker began to spread the Creator's message, nations listened and agreed to stop their warring. But the final greatest barrier to working together came from an evil Onondaga man named Tadodaho. Tadodaho was a sorcerer who loved lawlessness and wars, and the people feared him greatly. He was terrifying to look at, and it was said that his mind and body were both so tangled up that snakes writhed in his hair. Every time the idea of working together in harmony would emerge, he brought those conversations to a halt through power, chaos, and fear. The Peacemaker gathered the leaders from all the other nations to come together and confront Tadodaho. Again, he used his sorcery to try to hinder them as they traveled toward him, but the message of peace was too strong. However, upon reaching him, the Peacemaker did not condemn or overpower Tadodaho. The Peacemaker stepped forward and told him that he would have a new purpose. Tadodaho would be chosen to watch over the entire confederacy. He was powerful, and he would now be called to use his power to guide the council with thoughts of peace. In the midst of this, the Peacemaker "combed the snakes out of Tadodaho's hair." Tadodaho agreed to this new offer. He became calmer, now no longer thinking of jealousy, war, or revenge. From now on, his energy would be used for others, not against them. Beautiful story, isn't it? I find it breathtaking. There are plenty of implications, but it got me thinking about the season of Lent that we're in right now. It's a time to journey into the desert with Jesus. A time to go inward, and feel all the weakness and frailty. It's a time repent and remember that we have to trust Jesus for redemption because we can't get there on our own. Honestly, it's a time to let Jesus comb the snakes out of our hair. It's a chance to let the Peacemaker do his work. I hate snakes. I'll probably never write about them again. But I know I've always got some on my head, like Tadodaho. There's something in me that wants to pull toward selfishness and twistedness when I'm tired and discouraged. Something in me that would rather not do the work of wholeness, harmony, and connection. A pull that resists working for peace on the most personal and most public levels. But I love the Peacemaker's way of defeating evil. It is so imaginative. Rather than Tadodaho being thrown in a pit or destroyed, his skills are repurposed for the sake of others. I can't help but think of Jesus' conversation with Peter on the shoreline, when Peter can hardly look him in the eye after he's lost his way. And Jesus, far from condemnation, invites him to use everything that has happened-- every passion, every struggle, every failure- and use it all to lead with wisdom and love. You are redeemed. Now feed my sheep. If you've got some snakes in your hair too, take some time to let Jesus finally get to work with a grace-filled comb. He won't exclude you. He'll forgive and surprise you with a fresh purpose. You can breathe deeply in his love, because you've got a role to play in God's ongoing redemption. Jesus, move me into repentance and grace, so that I can join in your beautiful work. Peace, Keith *Artist Credit: Oren Lyons Starting from scratch, he made the entire human race and made the earth hospitable, with plenty of time and space for living so we could seek after God, and not just grope around in the dark but actually find him. He doesn’t play hide-and-seek with us. He’s not remote; he’s near. Acts 17:27 (The Message paraphrase) Do people say, "Happy Lent?" I don't know. But Lent began yesterday. It’s the 40ish (Sundays don't count) days of preparation before Easter. Some of you may not have even noticed that it’s begun, and some of you have. Noticing. Actually, that’s kind of the point. It’s pretty easy to walk through our lives and not notice. We don’t notice where God might be because we have places to go and people to meet. We don’t notice the non-verbals of those around us who are having a tough time. And the most interesting thing is that we don’t notice what’s happening in the deep places within our own hearts and minds due to distraction. I’ve come to the conclusion that lent is really about awareness. If we are unaware of what’s within us, we can’t possibly open those places to Jesus. It's like a moment when you freak out over a seemingly random event, and you don't admit that the real reason is that you've been anxious about something else for a week and it's just surfacing now. That happens a lot. One thing is THE thing, but a lack of awareness projects that struggle into many unrelated areas. We can walk through our lives unaware of our own internal worlds, or unable to face our struggles head on. We ignore our frailty and live as if we are machines. Or we ignore our capabilities and live as if we are failures. Lent is when we find the spiritual place within ourselves to identify with the frail and powerful Jesus, and when we openly allow Jesus to identify with our frail and capable humanity. We admit we're in need. But we also learn that we are capable of denying ourselves, of releasing unhealthy habits, and of moving toward new life. We are broken people in need of a savior. We are also Spirit-indwelled disciples who are capable of ongoing transformation. Lent is a chance for honest trust to lead to new hope. Lent comes from the Latin word for fortieth which is also where we get the word quarantine (apologies for mentioning that word). Centuries ago, people caught in sin would be quarantined from the church - removed for a time of purification in preparation for the major celebration of the year, Easter. That might seem harsh to us, but there was purpose in an intentional time to lean on Jesus in the wilderness. Soon, others in the church began to honestly say, "yo, we're in need of a time of renewal too, for we all sin!" They began walking alongside the quarantined brothers and sisters, and the church eventually adopted a church-wide season of reflection, trust, and transformation. Together, they walked in honesty and frailty with Jesus, so that they were able to fully celebrate the hope and joy of resurrection. To experience the fullness of life, you must understand the taste of death. We have to become aware of our need, in order to allow Jesus to meet it. In some circles, lent has become a New Years Resolution: The Sequel for people. People give things up so that they can conquer a vice or become healthier. Instead, whether you give something up or not, I want to encourage you to embrace these forty days of awareness. Find time to reflect, and find time for meaningful spiritual conversations away from the busyness of the approaching spring. Get away with Jesus and become aware of what is deep within you. Choose to embrace your need for God, but also choose to trust God in new transformative ways. Become aware. Lent is not a self-improvement project. It’s a journey with Jesus in a fresh way. It will indeed leave us changed, but the goal is more of Jesus, not simply a better version of ourselves. The pressure is off. You have a companion inviting you to dive a little deeper into the type of life that is possible- where joy and beauty live together with pain and frailty, yet always full of hope. Embrace lent this year by getting away with Jesus. He’s not remote; he’s near. It’s worth the effort. Jesus, open my spirit to new levels of honesty and trust with you today, so that I might reflect your image. Peace, Keith *Artist Credit: Yana Agvanyan Here a great number of disabled people used to lie—the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him.... -John 5:3-5 A few months ago I read the opening line of a prose piece called "Autumn Night" written in 1924 by a Chinese poet named Lu Xun. Beyond my garden wall, you can see two trees. The first is a jujube tree. The second is also a jujube tree. I sat with this unique sentence a bit. Why would the author use such unnecessary wording? Why not just say, "they are both jujube trees?" Are we going for word count here, like in the book reports I used to write in high school? A Tale of Two Cities is a very excellent story about so many different themes and various characters that I find it incredibly exciting and very interesting. (26 words!) No. Good poets only use extra words when they want us to notice something. And Xun does indeed want us to notice something. Two somethings, actually. And it's an important lesson for us about the way of Jesus. Each tree has its own twists and turns. It has its own unique shape and growth history. The poet is suggesting that simply saying "they are both jujube trees," may cause the reader to miss seeing them for their unique individuality. There is singular beauty and details to each of those trees. Yes, there may be similarities or shared descriptors. But they are not the same as each other. And should not be seen as such. One of the most beautiful things about Jesus was his ability to notice people, and to see them beyond labels. He was willing to see each person as unique and worthy of care. He asks different questions of Nicodemus than he asks of other Pharisees. He speaks to Peter differently than to John. He refuses to let Matthew or Zacchaeus simply be seen as tax collectors. Mary and Martha weren't just women, or even sisters. They were unique people with unique needs and unique stories. This is how Jesus worked. He was constantly around crowds, but always noticing the individuals. Jesus had a way of seeing people fully, not just as one of a crowd, but one to be uniquely cared for. We often do the opposite. The tendency is to see people and try to place them in the appropriate "crowds" to define them more easily and decide how worthy they are of love or agreement. People see two liberals or two conservatives. They see two poor people or two teenagers or two Catholics or two immigrants or two queer folks. And they feel like they know all they need to know. We often do not pause to really notice that they might be different from each other; to understand each unique story; to love well. And when we fail to see people as complex and having their own unique stories, we create a culture that caves in on itself, too. Before we realize it, we find ourselves getting grouped into whatever categories people make up for us, being seen not as having our own unique story, but as just one of an easily labeled group. For community to flourish, we must see both trees. For relationships to be transformative, we must be eager to hear one another's stories. This the beautiful way of Jesus. Jesus invites us to look at those around us, gently acknowledging that each one has unique hurts and hopes. Each one has imperfect stories that shaped them. Each one has to eat several meals a day (just like you!) and experiences loss and excitement and regret and joy. How can you notice and care in a new way this week, in a moment that it would be easier to group and label? Jesus, give me your vision to notice faces when I'm tempted to only see the crowd. Peace, Keith Little children, you are of God, and have overcome them. For greater is he that is in you than he that is in the world. -1 John 4:4 I saw some grass the other day. I know, this is a gripping start. And I thought... Every blade of grass that grows, by its very existence, defies the almost overwhelming power of gravity. We're right in the middle of a fairly depressing time of the year for most people out here. Days are cold, the holidays are long gone, and the commute home is still pretty dark. Even the promise of spring feels untrustworthy when the weather changes every week. And the political cycle is starting to spin like a broken washer that won't stop, and violence and heartbreak are around us in the news. There's just a whole lot of ugliness. We can feel powerless in the world, and even powerless to deal with our own blah-ness. We can feel that gravitational pull of despair and discouragement. So today I'm offering just a little reminder of the promise that God's Spirit is up for the task. In 1 John, John is writing to the early church, who have been struggling with how to handle the overwhelming messages swirling around them that looked very little like Jesus. People were spreading alternative narratives about what was real and true... and none of it looked like the love of Jesus. That is the whole theme of his letter. Everyone was discouraged. And John challenges them not to let that sense of discouragement take over, because "He that is in you is greater than he that is in the world." Today, we might take that message and say the Spirit of Jesus in you is stronger than the gravitational pull out there toward despair, sin, and darkness. You may feel flimsy, but God's spirit is moving through your veins, and there is strength available that you don't even realize. Remember, a tiny blade of grass can defy the entire gravitational pull of the earth, as long as it's rooted. There’s a lot of power towards darkness, despair, and selfishness. But it’s not an even match to the power of light and love that we have through Jesus. A little light will always be more powerful than the greatest darkness. Christ in us enables us to change our outlook, to stay energized to doing good, and to remember that God is able to bring redemption in every situation and person. Even me. Even you. Even your enemy. I'm all for being a realist, and reality can feel pretty grim sometimes. But I often wonder if my realism is actually just a half truth of "the world is messed up and so am I" that completely ignores the whole truth, "yet Jesus is in me giving me strength to participate in redemption." God’s Spirit in you is stronger than any power out there to pull you away from love. You're allowed to feel weak and tired. You don’t need to be dishonest or gloss over any of it. You're allowed to look around at the world and notice a gravitational pull toward sadness and selfishness and violence. And yet. There are blades of grass everywhere, rooted in defiance. So when we find ourselves with the early followers of Jesus exclaiming, this is all too hard and it feels impossible! Then we also hear the merciful words of Jesus proclaiming… with God, all things are possible. With God... sadness and death and untrue thoughts and massive injustice and feelings of despair won't have the last word. God’s goodness in you is powerful. It can break through in a moment of kindness to a stranger. Or in a lighthearted moment of laughter in the middle of a sad day. The gravitational force of despair and sorrow can be countered by one prayer, one encouraging text, one extra large tip at dinner, and one moment of forgiveness. The Spirit will give you the strength you need and the eyes to see. Just stay rooted, and you'll have the strength to grow upward and outward, almost miraculously. God is with you today. Jesus, bring fresh hope and fresh conviction as I start my day today. Peace, Keith |
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