No secrets. I love the Walking Dead. It is by FAR my favorite show on television. What started as a story about surviving the zombie-apocalypse has evolved into a story about what it means to be human. The Walking Dead title does not refer to the numerous zombies which populate the show, but the fact that the wear and tear of survival gradually strips the humanity of the characters in the show. Some characters are set up as villains (such as the mildly psychotic "Governor" in the current season), while others are rivals who "lose it" (such as fan favorite Shane in season 2). Even the stalwart leader of the group, ex-sheriff Rick Grimes, has spent several episodes experiencing increasingly vivid hallucinations. It seems like, to Rick, that non-reality is more compelling than reality. An attack from the Governor's private army keeps him from losing touch completely.
One of the compelling ironies of the third season of The Walking Dead is the juxtaposition of two situations: Woodbury and the prison. The Governor runs a modern town named Woodbury, where citizens live walled in from the zombie threat and isolated from the post-apocalypse. They wear clean clothes, have limited electricity and have picnics. They also live in a thinly veiled savagery. The town's entertainment is a Colosseum-like experience where contestants have to face each other and chained zombies. Newcomers to Woodbury are appalled at how callously the citizens treat the constant threat.
On the other hand, the main core of survivors have fortified a prison for their home. Beyond the irony of a prison being an ideal place to live, the prison has none of the comforts of Woodbury. The prison is full of zombies which are (mostly) sequestered from the main cells, although a few always sneak through. The prison fence is broken in areas and allow zombies to get into the main field, providing for regular encounters with the population. There is no electricity in the prison, and people sleep in bunks at the cells. But the people there have a picture of reality. They know what zombies are like and are committed to the common purpose of one another's survival. But they have no creature comforts. How do they possibly survive or even thrive without the Woodbury-like isolation and protection? They enjoy precious conversations, the joy of a shared joke and the common tie of family which holds them in all situations.
It is not hard to draw the parallels to non-zombie-invaded society. With the world being ravaged the way it is by crises of disease, war and hunger, those reading this post likely are doing so in Woodbury. You have enough. You are not scraping by to survive. And there are people across the world who are scraping by to survive who are enjoying moments of shared smiles, common joy and helping one another. Middle-class America, on the other hand, struggles with some of the worst depression, highest addiction rates and vicious domestic violence. And if you haven't experienced the despair of addiction, you may know the exasperation of living vacation to vacation, or surviving until "this season is over." And I could easily write a series of posts about the thinly-veiled savagery of a society which lets execution videos go viral.
I have told my coach "My goal is to get to (Day X), then my schedule will clear up." And sometimes that is true. What is far more likely is that I am living in a different kind of Woodbury ignorance. My world is directly affected by my choices, but I sometimes live in ignorance of that fact. Would I need to live vacation to vacation if I chose the abundant life offered to me in Jesus Christ (John 10:10) today? Would our society be the most self-medicated society in human history if we acknowledged that our lives are producing the exact result they are designed to produce? And would it be possible that we would experience resurrection in this life if we believed the promise of true rest in Jesus Christ?
As for me and my house, I see no better time than Lent to decide the Abundant Life over the Walking Dead.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Mardis Gras, Lent, SOTU and Sermon on the Mount
Millions of people did at least one of two things yesterday: eat Paczki's (or another indulgent dessert) and watch the State of the Union Address. It was simultaneously the greatest day of caloric excess allowed in organized religion as well as an update on the health of the nation. If you are beginning to see the irony... good. The State of the Union, or SOTU in the ever-increasing desire to abbreviate for social media, has long become less of an update and more of a preview of the political arenas of the next several months. The SOTU is a time for lines in the sand to be drawn. This is made more obvious when the SOTU is followed up by two additional speeches by opponents. It's a day to score points and use them as political capital to move agendas. Meanwhile, Mardis Gras (or Fat Tuesday) is a day for unlimited consumption, a certain party down in New Orleans and a day to "get it out of your system" before the fasting season of Lent. It is indulgent as well as delicious.
There is a common thread to both of these events. The common thread isn't about who is president, nor is it about politics. The common thread is that both days are days to relax one's personal responsibility. On Fat Tuesday, you can consume guilt-free. In the SOTU, you get to hear about how other people are supposed to make this land a better one in which to live. Your only responsibility is not to look. Don't look at the scale, don't look at your own life, don't look at your neighborhood.
Lent, on the other hand, is all about looking inward. Lent asks tough questions about excess and invites us into the liberating journey of self-control. Leave guilt and obsessive binge behind, embrace simplicity and grace. Lent holds up the funny paradox that getting everything we could ever want leaves us empty, but giving of ourselves to serve others leaves us full. In Lent, I find hope and energy in the Sermon on the Mount. What the SOTM lacked in pomp and circumstance it made up in grace and power. Imagine being on the brink of despair and hearing the words "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." Imagine, in an empire which spread peace at the tip of a sword, hearing "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God." Christ offers us a different way- a humble way, a merciful way.
Indulgence is easy, humility is hard. Drawing lines in the sand is easy, reaching across the lines to love one's neighbor is hard. Struggling for power and one's one agenda is not necessarily easy, but it certainly is easier than setting one's own agenda aside and listening. I guess that's why Fat Tuesday is only one day, and Lent is a 40-day journey. Perhaps this Lenten season is one where we can all pull together and embrace the Sermon on the Mount just a little bit in our lives.
There is a common thread to both of these events. The common thread isn't about who is president, nor is it about politics. The common thread is that both days are days to relax one's personal responsibility. On Fat Tuesday, you can consume guilt-free. In the SOTU, you get to hear about how other people are supposed to make this land a better one in which to live. Your only responsibility is not to look. Don't look at the scale, don't look at your own life, don't look at your neighborhood.
Lent, on the other hand, is all about looking inward. Lent asks tough questions about excess and invites us into the liberating journey of self-control. Leave guilt and obsessive binge behind, embrace simplicity and grace. Lent holds up the funny paradox that getting everything we could ever want leaves us empty, but giving of ourselves to serve others leaves us full. In Lent, I find hope and energy in the Sermon on the Mount. What the SOTM lacked in pomp and circumstance it made up in grace and power. Imagine being on the brink of despair and hearing the words "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." Imagine, in an empire which spread peace at the tip of a sword, hearing "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God." Christ offers us a different way- a humble way, a merciful way.
Indulgence is easy, humility is hard. Drawing lines in the sand is easy, reaching across the lines to love one's neighbor is hard. Struggling for power and one's one agenda is not necessarily easy, but it certainly is easier than setting one's own agenda aside and listening. I guess that's why Fat Tuesday is only one day, and Lent is a 40-day journey. Perhaps this Lenten season is one where we can all pull together and embrace the Sermon on the Mount just a little bit in our lives.
Friday, February 1, 2013
I Don't Know What You Said
How important is listening? Consider this story.
When I was in seminary, I had the coolest invention in the world. It was a portable french press coffee maker. It was the size of a travel mug, and I would put my coffee at the bottom and put hot water into the mug. After a few minutes, I would push down a metal filter and it would push the coffee grounds to the bottom of my mug. I could then drink french pressed coffee on the go. It was so cool.
Until I got to the bottom of the mug. The filter was not perfectly designed to the mug, which did not have a consistent shape and size the whole way down (look at your travel mug and you will see). So when I drank the last bit of coffee, a landslide of coffee grounds would accompany the last gulp. The first time I had a mouthful of grounds, I was very unhappy. The mug has found its way to the garbage can.
Filters are very important. They keep the stuff you don't want away from the stuff you do want. We filter coffee, water and all sorts of other things in order to deliver the freshest stuff possible. We are encouraged to have filters in our minds as well. Christ gives us a two-part filter- love God and love neighbor. Anything that crosses into our minds which doesn't facilitate one of those actions ought to be filtered out.
But that isn't the only filter we have in our minds, is it? The work of maturity in the Christian life is one of constantly identifying and examining our filters.
In other words, I don't know what you say. I only know what I hear. You may say something to encourage me. I will hear something else because my mind filters and sifts what I hear based on what I believe about myself, God, you and the world.
Here is an example. I have a filter based on approval. If something that sounds like criticism hits my filter, it triggers a reaction. "You just don't like me," "You are wrong, I am right," "I am wrong, you are right." When I hear phrases like those, I am very likely to get an emotional reaction- an angry inner monologue, a desire to "check out," or a certain defensiveness which is unnecessary.
True listening, then, is some of the hardest work a person can do. Do you ever find yourself reacting to a person before the person is done speaking? Do you ever find yourself thinking about what "I wish I could say to _________?" Do you believe that "all ___________" believe and act the same way? Then you may have a mental filter which deserves to be investigated.
Unexamined filters have a name in our society- Prejudice. Unchecked prejudice in a society is a viral attack on God's intended shalom. And the only obvious cure for prejudice seems counter-intuitive- Listening. One of my goals is to hear as much of what you said and as little of what I filter as possible. I can't form a relationship with a filtered version of you, nor would I want to. I don't want a stereotyped/filtered version of me, I want the true me. And since I am called to love my neighbor as myself, I want to seek to know the authentic you.
So what is your filter? What keeps you from truly listening?
When I was in seminary, I had the coolest invention in the world. It was a portable french press coffee maker. It was the size of a travel mug, and I would put my coffee at the bottom and put hot water into the mug. After a few minutes, I would push down a metal filter and it would push the coffee grounds to the bottom of my mug. I could then drink french pressed coffee on the go. It was so cool.
Until I got to the bottom of the mug. The filter was not perfectly designed to the mug, which did not have a consistent shape and size the whole way down (look at your travel mug and you will see). So when I drank the last bit of coffee, a landslide of coffee grounds would accompany the last gulp. The first time I had a mouthful of grounds, I was very unhappy. The mug has found its way to the garbage can.
Filters are very important. They keep the stuff you don't want away from the stuff you do want. We filter coffee, water and all sorts of other things in order to deliver the freshest stuff possible. We are encouraged to have filters in our minds as well. Christ gives us a two-part filter- love God and love neighbor. Anything that crosses into our minds which doesn't facilitate one of those actions ought to be filtered out.
But that isn't the only filter we have in our minds, is it? The work of maturity in the Christian life is one of constantly identifying and examining our filters.
In other words, I don't know what you say. I only know what I hear. You may say something to encourage me. I will hear something else because my mind filters and sifts what I hear based on what I believe about myself, God, you and the world.
Here is an example. I have a filter based on approval. If something that sounds like criticism hits my filter, it triggers a reaction. "You just don't like me," "You are wrong, I am right," "I am wrong, you are right." When I hear phrases like those, I am very likely to get an emotional reaction- an angry inner monologue, a desire to "check out," or a certain defensiveness which is unnecessary.
True listening, then, is some of the hardest work a person can do. Do you ever find yourself reacting to a person before the person is done speaking? Do you ever find yourself thinking about what "I wish I could say to _________?" Do you believe that "all ___________" believe and act the same way? Then you may have a mental filter which deserves to be investigated.
Unexamined filters have a name in our society- Prejudice. Unchecked prejudice in a society is a viral attack on God's intended shalom. And the only obvious cure for prejudice seems counter-intuitive- Listening. One of my goals is to hear as much of what you said and as little of what I filter as possible. I can't form a relationship with a filtered version of you, nor would I want to. I don't want a stereotyped/filtered version of me, I want the true me. And since I am called to love my neighbor as myself, I want to seek to know the authentic you.
So what is your filter? What keeps you from truly listening?
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