Driving my body

to God-knows-where

away from the frost-bitten

chill in the air

where greatest intentions

hang still like the daggers

of crystallized ice

all pointed and jaggered

tears dropping along

the sharp edges that slash

away hopes in my flesh

like the snow, like the ash

from the fire that torches

desire and the sun

that laps at my heels

as i stumble to run

from the cold and the chill

that has frozen the life

that continues to burn

within me, within strife

under layers of frost

an ember of truth

sparks my heart and my lips

with language uncouth

sings notes of forgiveness

like teardrops of healing

to an unworthy soul

incapable of feeling

revealing, releasing

the shame of offending

repeating offenders

on whom i’m depending

to hear me, respect me

accept me, i pray

and stay with me here

in my darkened dismay

but i cling onto them

like static electricity

and cling to myself

and my soul’s eccentricity

intentions start freezing

in tense multiplicity

as i cry to the Author

of authenticity...

– Jesus (in Matthew 6.2).

blogging is a strange thing.

you take time to reflect deeply upon the world and your life in it, and what’s going on in the deepest places within you, and then (as frederick buechner says), you open up a vein and start writing. the honesty and candor that is usually reserved for a diary or journal is made available to the whole world (at least the part of the world that has internet access and reads blogs). and as soon as you write it and press the ‘publish’ button, you let go of it and let it do whatever it might do, floating out in the nebulous existence called the ‘blogosphere’.

in other words, you’re writing words meant most for yourself, sending them off into the universe like a carrier pigeon.

the difference is that, unlike a carrier pigeon, who you know will eventually return, you have no idea of anyone is reading any of it because you basically don’t get any feedback in return.

and that is a very freeing experience.

it is similar to an experience i had many years ago, when i was given the opportunity to write some songs for a christian camp in southern California. i lived 3000 miles away in New Jersey, so i wrote the songs, made a cheap recording of them, and sent them away, never to hear them again (but knowing that a whole bunch of middle schoolers would be singing them over the course of the summer).

a very freeing experience.

this is precisely why i chose to blog as one of my lenten disciplines. it has given me a reason to be more regularly intentional not only in looking deeply at my life, sorting through the fragments for glimpses of grace, but also to express what i find in writing, a gift that i have been given that i have become very lax in using. and then to let it go.

there’s only one problem with this plan.

i have a hard time letting go.

when i put something like this out to the world, i want to know if anyone else is reading it, and if so, what they might think of it. instead of setting the writing free to do what it will do (if anything), i start wondering if anyone is reading it, and if so, how many and why and what (if anything) they might be getting out of it.

and why do i do this?

because down deep inside, i feel that if no one is reading this and no one is being touched by it, then i think that what i have to say is pointless and meaningless, and so, i have no right to be writing it and putting it out there in the first place. and therefore, i myself am pointless and meaningless.

so, i look for feedback as signs of recognition, to let me know that i still have a place at the great table, that i still have a purpose in this life and a value to this world.

which is precisely the reason NOT to write a blog. at least not the reason i intended to write mine.

which becomes a very stifling experience.

the recognition that comes from this is not the kind i’m seeking in getting feedback from the blog. rather, it is the recognition of what is happening within myself…

…which leads to reflection upon the state of my soul and my fragile sense of self…

…which leads to remembrance of the One who made my deepest, truest self, the One who calls me beloved, who loves me with an everlasting love that is the core and foundation of my sense of my deepest and truest self, and who doesn’t need me to do a damned or blessed thing to prove it, to myself or anyone else…

…which leads to repentance, literally flipping a 180 away from all that leads to a distorted perception and experience of my self, others and God, and turning towards that Source of true wisdom and clear vision of who i am and what i am doing here on earth.

a turning away from dependence on the recognition of others to refill my tank of self-worth, and a turning towards the eternal Wellspring of Living Water, the River that constantly flows with life and love, and allowing it to wash over me and through me with everlasting refreshment.

a letting go of what is not real to embrace what (and who) is truly Real.

there is only one problem with this plan.

i have a hard time letting go.

but here goes.

i hope no one reads this blog today.

and i hope that one person reads it and walks away with something worthwhile.

that person is me.

now…THAT is a freeing experience.

– Hebrews 12.1.

the day started with clear skies and sunshine.

and then the clouds came.

not an unusual occurrence here in missoula. we get plenty of cloudy days. even when the rest of montana in basking in sunshine. not unlike seattle (without as much rain) or san francisco (without as much fog).

that doesn’t explain the fog in my head that i walk around in most days, but i digress.

as i watched the light grow brighter this morning, i was inspired, awe struck at the gift of being able to exist on this beautiful little blue ball ‘falling around the sun’ (to quote james taylor). and then a few wispy white clouds blew in and painted the sky with another hue, added another dimension. and my thoughts turned to that familiar phrase from scripture…the ‘great cloud of witnesses’.

and the flood of images began pouring through my mind…the people i have been privileged to know over my life’s journey who have impacted me profoundly, in ways that have truly changed my life for the better, at a level of depth most of them probably will never truly know. family members, teachers, neighbors, friends from school, coaches, fellow teammates and musicians, students and volunteers from my youth ministry days, children, youth and adults young and old from my ‘rev.’ days…as well as authors, songwriters and composers, filmmakers, actors, artists whom i’ve never met in person but have ‘met’ on the page, the canvas, the screen and stage, in my ears and my imagination…and complete strangers i have walked past or who have stopped to engage me surprisingly and insightfully.

my heart filled with wonder and gratitude for where my life’s journey has led me, and the people i never would have encountered had i not been called to this nomadic way of life known as being a pastor. i even shot out some brief messages to dear friends who are now far away from me geographically, but always close to me in Spirit and heart. warmth and light flooded my being.

and then the clouds came.

these clouds didn’t paint the sky, but rather, seemed to obstruct the light. the brilliant blue faded and the haunting grey took its place. a deep sigh ensued from the depths of my being. another dreary day.

and i thought to myself, ‘what a weird image to use for the people, the communities that are the ones who embody the Spirit to us, who reflect the brilliance of the Light of the world, who even add further dimensions to the beauty…what could God be thinking giving us a perplexing and wholly useless vision like this?’ i mean, is a cloudy day like today meant to remind us of all the ways that the ‘clouds’ block out the Light?

two deep sighs. double the dreariness.

but then it happened.

in the midst of what had become a dismal looking day, a tiny little patch of blue sky appeared amidst the floating sea of grey. and then another. and another. and some of the clouds transformed from dullish grey to dazzling white. and the sky took on yet another look.

blue and grey and white.

dreary and dazzling and multi-dimensional.

and then i noticed the sun beginning to peek through the clouds, the rays of light shooting out through the clouds with piercing beauty in all directions. the clouds weren’t only reflecting the light…they were also refracting the light in ways that caught my attention and my breath, that caused me to stop what i was doing and to stare. in wonder. in awe.

to look directly at the sun.

which i wouldn’t have been able to do without going blind.

until the clouds came.

yes, we clouds can obstruct the Light.

but we can also reflect the Light.

and we can even refract the Light.

and create a sight that is truly breathtakingly beautiful to behold…

clouds...reflecting and refracting the Light

– Genesis 2.25.

yesterday, march 1st, it was 54 degrees and sunny in Missoula.

and i didn’t the leave the house.

why?

i’m not really sure.

i’ve had the creepy crud in my head and chest for a week and a half now, but i wasn’t feeling terribly ill yesterday. i admired the beauty of the day through the windows of my house. i enjoyed the sense that spring is already here, although it isn’t (this IS missoula, after all, where warm sunshine in february and march is as likely as a snowstorm in june, which happened a couple of years ago).

i think perhaps i approached the day much like someone approaches the water on the oregon coast. it’s beautiful to look at from a distance, but you just don’t want to plunge in to the waves.

this is understandable on the oregon coast because the water is usually only slightly warm enough to not become ice. but on a beautiful, warm, sunny, springlike day…why stay inside? why not plunge into the gloriousness of that kind of heavenly gift?

i’m not really sure.

but at the end of the day, i saw an image that touched me deeply and prodded me into something resembling an insight as to why i remained a ‘lazy boy’ ensconced in my la-z-boy recliner for most of the day.

the image was of two beautiful boys who are a part of our church family. they were out with their mom on that sunny day at bonner park playing wiffle ball. and the picture (which appeared in this morning’s local paper) was of these brothers with their shirts off enjoying the game and soaking in the heavenly gift of warmth and sunshine…

partly naked...completely unashamed

i saw this great pic and wondered, ‘why didn’t i go out and do that?’

then i thought that someone would probably call the cops who would charge me with indecent exposure. i mean, on a beautiful day like that, the last thing unsuspecting people would want to see is the Stay-Puff marshmallow man wandering through their park.

but beyond the sheer physical aspect of it, why don’t i venture out into the warmth and light of life more often?

is it because down deep, i wouldn’t want to be a part of a club that would have someone like me for a member?

is it because, when all the chips are down, i’m afraid of being exposed for who i really am?

and is my version of ‘who i really am’ who i REALLY am? or is it too skewered by guilt and shame, which then hinders me from more fully discovering and living into who i REALLY am?

i’m not REALLY sure.

or maybe i AM.

maybe this season of lent is a time for exposure, a time to identify and call out on the carpet all the lies that i regularly tell myself, a time to face up to all that is within me that thrives in the darkness of isolation and bring it out in to the light of reality and truth and grace and life.

maybe it’s time to reveal and embrace the guilt and shame for what it really is.

and maybe i will become less guilty and more gracious, less ashamed and more accepting in the process.

and maybe i will become more fully who i REALLY am.

i’m not REALLY sure.

as for today, i’m going outside for a run in the sun.

but for the sake of my neighbors’ well being, i’ll keep my shirt on.

– Rob Gordon (John Cusack), from the movie High Fidelity.

i’d been trying to make a special mix cd for my wife, kirsten, for months now. even years. you would think that something like this shouldn’t take that long. but for me, it has.

i wondered why. i mean, i had made mix cd’s for other friends over the years. and while it does take intentional time and thought and creativity, it’s not like i was writing a novel or a symphony. if anything, it was more like writing a blog entry. it involves all the aforementioned things, but at least for me, it also comes out pretty quickly. and i like that kind of spontaneity in expression. (it’s probably why i love jazz so much.)

but for this creation, i pondered and searched and compiled and arranged and re-arranged and edited and re-edited the order of songs countless times, trying to find just the right flow, the perfect combination of other peoples’ poetry to express my own feelings.

i’d love to say that i found it. but in the end, what i had to work with was about 78 minutes worth of space per cd, and songs that were not written by me for her or us. and like composing ‘found’ poetry, what you end up with is not nearly ‘perfection’ but, hopefully, ‘reflections’ of experiences that have shaped you and the one with whom you have traveled significant parts of your life’s journey.

what i ended up with was a ragtag collection of pieces that evoke certain memories and feelings from the past, expressed in the present with gratitude and love in hope for the future.

what i made for her was a ‘trilogy’ of cd’s…one remembering the ‘giddy’ early years, one reflecting the joys and challenges of facing ‘real life’ together, and one expressing thankfulness for a love grounded in that lived reality.

(they are NOT all in d minor, ‘the saddest of all keys’, as nigel tufnel so astutely observed in This is Spinal Tap)

as i listen to the collection now, what strikes me is not so much the end product, but what the process of compiling and creating it revealed to me.

kir and i have been married for almost 20 years now. and we’ve known each other much longer than that (since we were 8 years old…do the math and it adds up to 37 years). that’s A LOT of years and even MORE memories. so many laughs and smiles, tears and sighs, knowing glances and reckless dances, inside jokes and friendly pokes, receding hairlines and expanding waistlines, harrowing diagnoses and perplexing quandaries, unmet expectations and anguished revelations, miraculous healings and maturing feelings, glimpses of infinity and doses of reality.

and through it all, a friendship i couldn’t have invented if i were the inventor of friendship.

and a love that embraces all that’s frail and all that’s real, and transcends both of us.

it’s been quite a journey thus far. and as i looked back through all that we have traveled through – as individuals and as a couple, the moments of peace and pain, what has shocked and shaped us – i realized that so much of it came from forces around us as well as within us, people whose words and actions encouraged, challenged and inspired us, circumstances that surprised, frightened and delighted us. most of the significant substance of our journey was not our own creation ex nihilo, but rather, a mixture of elements that we discovered (or that discovered us) formed into something that is certainly not ‘perfect’, but is definitely more scandalously beautiful, preposterously eloquent, and transcendently powerful than either of us could have created on our own.

like ‘found’ poetry. or a finely crafted mix cd. allowing the words, actions, experiences of others on their journeys to become a means of shaping and expressing our own journey.

a journey we couldn’t have invented, even if we were the Inventor of journeys.

a Love that embraces all that’s frail and all that’s real, and transcends all of us.

A bright cloudless day

no breeze or breath

dry, open space before me

windswept from the night before

a silence so deafening

it drowns out the screams

echoing in the empty well

that is my heart and soul

on this day

bright and cloudless

no traces of the explosion

that created among the rubble

this dry, open space before me

void of any remnant

of the life i once held

together like an adhesive

the fragments of those

closest to the empty well

that is my heart and soul

have vanished into

the bright cloudless sky

and i’m left to myself

awaiting the implosion

of all this emptiness

upon this dry, open place before me

no faces to comfort me

not even in my dreams

no arms to hold me

together like an adhesive

no thing

no one

to fill this empty well

this aching heart and soul

this lonely, windswept place

that is my dwelling

that used to be my home

but the deafening Silence

as it drowns

out the screams

and whispers

words of comfort

and enfolds me

in its loving arms

and holds me

together

for now

is all

i have

no one

but You

it’s one of my favourite statements in all of literature. a call to slow down, let go, and simply be in the Presence in the moment. my heart rate automatically reduces ever so slightly whenever i hear or read these words.

and then i try to ‘be still’. even for a few brief moments. and as i withdraw from my daily activities -whether in the morning, afternoon, or evening – and the cacophony around me fades away into quiet, i find in that exterior silence a whole new cacophony emerging from deep within me.

voices that distract me with meaningless trivia and information, mindless entertainment and endless repetition of songs and jingles that, more often than not, i just can’t stand. voices that remind me of how often i forget things that need to get done, people that need to be seen and engaged, friendships near and far that need to be nurtured. voices that call me to think more, feel more, care more, do more, BE more.

and all the while, a most familiar voice from deep within whispers to me that, when all is said and done, i really don’t amount to much as a human being in this world.

‘be still’? it’s hard for me to do that and ‘be sane’ in the process.

when the noise outside of me gives way to the noise inside of me, i turn to those older and wiser than me to help make some sense of it all. i read insights from ’spiritual masters’ who i admire and trust. and they speak to me with one unequivocal voice. when it comes to trying to ‘be still’ and listen to the Silence and let it do its life-giving work within me, and the inevitable distractions come, they give me the following advice:

‘let them be’.

don’t try and battle them into submission because, in the end, you’ll be as successful as trying to nail jello to a wall. don’t follow them down the endless rabbit trails on which they want to lead you, because then you’ll miss the whole point of spending time with the Silence – reconnecting with the Ground of all being, the Love that gives you life, the Truth that sets you free.

let them be…because what you are ultimately looking for and longing for, what you most need and desire, is not many, but One.

let them be…because while your eyes dart in all directions and your ears hear a multiplicity of sounds, your heart races and skips and flutters anxiously as your life flies past you in a seemingly meaningless blur, there is One set of eyes always fixed on you, One voice that sings a song only for you, One heart beating a rhythm of life for you, One life given in love for you.

‘be still…and know that I am God.’

i come out of moments where i do truly slow down enough to experience that Presence and remember Whose i am and who i am. and then i have to somehow re-enter the rat race, the tyranny of the urgent, the dynasty of the dysfunctional, within myself and all around me.

‘be still’? or ‘be in-sane’?

in the midst of this struggle, i came across another reading of the passage mentioned above, another version of the same hebrew text that, while essentially the same, has a subtle difference to it that makes quite a difference in how one hears it…

‘let be then…and know that I am God’ (ps 46.10, new english bible).

i love the mystery and complexity of hebrew because tiny phrases can have so many layers of possibilities and dimensions of meaning. just like the hieroglyphics of our lives.

‘be still’ sounds like a call to silence in the presence of the One who speaks in a still, small voice.

‘let be then’ sounds both like the wisdom to allow the distractions that inevitably pop up in the midst of the silence to simply be, AND the invitation to continue walking through the challenges and the joys in the cacophony of everyday life in much the same way.

to ‘be still’ in the sacred silence, and to ‘let be then’ in the chaotic clamour that arises within and without.

to be still. and to still be.

i guess lent reminds me that i need to practice the one in order to more fully live out the other.

– Henri Nouwen, Letters to Marc About Jesus.

Lent is an intriguing, interesting, perplexing paradox. It starts at the time of year where winter and spring engage in a wrestling match for dominance over one another, even though spring always wins out in the end. It involves letting go of parts of life in order to discover other parts of life that have been with you all the time. It invites us to listen to a silent Voice, to look for an invisible Vision, to think about an uncontainable Being, to feel a mysterious Spirit.

In short, during lent, we are to engage an absent Presence.

that sounds really esoteric and uber-namby-pamby, no?

i mean, about the only place i could conceivably go from that statement is into the ether-sphere of pseudo-philosopho-babble (if there even is such a thing). and as hard as i may try (and even succeed on occasion), there are still many others more gifted than i to pontificate along that line of reasoning. i just seem to be a little too earthy for that.

i think about music instead. and movies. and food. and empty clothes hampers.

last saturday, i arrived home from springfield, mo, after celebrating my in-laws’ 50th wedding anniversary with kirsten and the boys and most of her family. it was a wonderful and memorable occasion. i came home a day before the rest of my family so that i could be at church on sunday (it IS my job, after all).

so i was home. alone.

at first, i enjoyed my new-found and short-lived freedom. i put on the music i wanted to listen to. i rented a movie i wanted to watch. i ordered the pizza i wanted to eat. i didn’t think about what anyone else in my family may have wanted to hear or eat or watch. the ‘lion’ within me was set loose for a night. ‘I AM BRIAN…HEAR ME ROAR!’

and then i listened to the music…and i watched the movie…and i ate most of the pizza. and none of that could fill the loneliness that crept into my senses after i finished my little bit ‘o fun.

i started wandering around the house looking for something, someone, anyone. the roar of my soul had turned into a rumbling in my stomach, and then an ache that came more from my heart than anywhere else. i went into our downstairs bathroom to sit down and wallow in my sadness.

after a few moments, i noticed an unmistakable scent. it came from the boys’ clothes hamper. it was empty, but the smell of their dirty laundry still emanated from the straw fibers of its being (they ARE teenaged boys, after all).

it’s a pretty unbearable smell, one that i’m counting the days until it dissipates (or at least until they embrace the wisdom of showering more than once or twice a week). but in that moment, it didn’t disgust me. rather, it made me smile. and then laugh. and then ROAR with joy.

then i went into the boys’ rooms…and i swear as i sat in the stillness and silence, i could hear ian’s infectious, musical giggle, trevor’s impersonation of will ferrell doing alex trebec on celebrity jeopardy, both of them singing along to their favourite music…and i swear they were there, right beside me. not physically, but in Spirit.

i went upstairs and had a similar experience of kir’s presence…in our bathroom, our dresser, the empty half of our bed…our empty clothes hamper. these were not just memories being rekindled in my imagination.

their presence was real to me.

and i experienced their presence in their absence.

people will point to to a bird flying in the air or leaves rustling in the trees or the shape of sand dunes in the desert or on the beach to describe the reality of air, the power of the wind. you can’t see it, but signs of its presence are everywhere. when i hear insights such as these, i’m reminded of a quote from Jeremiah Biggs, a child in one of my favourite Christmas movies, The Preacher’s Wife:

Just because you can’t see the air doesn’t keep you from breathing.

And just because you can’t see God doesn’t keep you from believing.

and while these thoughts ring true, what i experienced the other night – and perhaps what we are all called to experience during lent – is not so much a reminder of the invisible nature and presence of God, but rather, an encounter with the One whose presence is actually revealed most poignantly IN his absence. maybe it’s something more along the lines of needing to experience the emptiness of hunger in order to truly receive the pleasurable sustenance of food as a gracious gift rather than as something i earned the right to enjoy. or needing to feel the pangs of loneliness so that i might be opened more fully to the real presence of companionship, relationship, love.

to sense the joy in suffering.

to engage the pleasure in pain.

to experience the Presence in absence.

– Alan Jones, Soul Making, pp. 84-85.

it is the third day of the lenten journey.

and i just watched a public confession of brokenness and sin.

i’m sure most people on the planet have at least heard about the saga of Tiger Woods in recent weeks. the accident and accusations. the mystery and mistresses. the explanations and evasions, infidelities and invasions, unfaithfulness and uncertainties. a global hero humiliated. a transcendent figure thrust forcefully and painfully down to the cold, hard earth. an otherworldly image suddenly facing life in the real world.

countless people have made their observations and examinations of the situation, seeking to bring some kind of clarity to the confusion and meaning to the mayhem. i don’t feel led to follow suit.

why? because the only sense that is to be made of this situation must ultimately be made by Tiger Woods himself. because it is his journey to travel, not mine. because, at least for me, any attempt to evaluate his experience ultimately becomes a means for me to manipulate my perception of my own journey and experience…to convince myself that somehow i’m in a position to evaluate and comment on his situation because i have no need to evaluate and face up to my own brokenness.

why take a cold, hard look at the depths of my own soul when i can take odd comfort in looking at someone else’s, and somehow feel a sense of superiority in the process?

after viewing Woods’ press conference today, i feel led not to evaluate him but to examine myself…not to conjecture or comment, but to confess…not to revile or revere, but to reveal.

why? not because of his statement or his stature, his honesty or his humility.

it was because of his tears.

i had seen tears in Tiger’s eyes before. the first time he won the Master’s, hugging his dad in a poignant moment that spoke volumes about a man who spoke very little in public.

but the tears i saw in his eyes today were different. they were tears that came from a different place, just as real but perhaps from an even deeper place within himself. the place where all accomplishments and accolades fade, where all pretense and pretending is revealed for what it truly is, where honesty is honoured, reality rules, and the truth sets you free.

in the words of Alan Jones, what i saw today were tears of compunction.

they were the tears of someone who had truly been cut to the heart, whose morals and motives no longer matched his actions, whose life had spun out of control and drifted far away from its spiritual and emotional center. they didn’t stream from his face like they would in some highly scripted Hollywood creation, although he did read from a script. they just welled up in his eyes like a person who had tried to control them and everything else in his life, and who had arrived at a place where he no longer could.

they weren’t rehearsed. they were real.

they weren’t contrived. they were compunct.

and in light of witnessing a moment of grimly beautiful reality, i felt like a complete fake.

for all the ways i project calm in the face of adversity, peace and playfulness in the midst of chaos and concern, how often do i honestly admit to myself, to God, to others that i feel like an anxious wreck in the depths of my heart and soul?

in moments where i seem to give the impression that the truth has set me free to be more fully myself, why do i still feel that nagging sense within my deepest self that if people knew who i really was, they wouldn’t want to give me the time of day, let alone listen to what i have to say or entrust some of the most precious parts of their selves and their lives to my care and concern?

in a life’s calling where living within your means is crucial and material possessions are merely a means to greater ends and not an end in and of themselves, why do i still feel the magnetic pull to acquire more and more possessions, as if having those things will somehow make me feel more complete as a person?

why is it that so often, with all that i know about human development and how we are mysteriously and wonderfully made, i end up needing people to need me in order to feel as if i have value and purpose in life?

after all the miles i’ve traveled thus far on my journey of life and faith, how come the Truth still has not completely set me free from fear?

i sift through these questions and more…and i wait for compunction.

i wait for the tears.

but they don’t come.

maybe it’s because Tiger has already been through a lent’s worth of days sojourning into the depths of his heart and soul that the tears have come for him. life does that to us sometimes. and he has many more miles to travel through the fears and tears to love and healing.

maybe it’s because those times of compunction can’t be created or manufactured, but simply experienced in the surprise of the moments in which they arrive…unannounced, unanticipated, unpredictable.

maybe the power of fear and distrust is much stronger within me than i ever imagined.

maybe the tears can’t well up easily from those dry and barren places in my heart and soul, like water trying to well up through the parched surface of a deserted plain. the water is there, the River still flows, but sometimes it takes the sharpest of punctures to get down to the bottom of the well.

maybe i’m just stuck with the questions for now.

questions and fears…may they lead to wisdom…

and tears.