Wrote and posted this on our uncommon [good] web site yesterday as part of our weekly inspirational message. Thought it would work here, too, given the nature of this week. Here it is:

Well, there are miracles and then there are miracles. You know: Miracles are things that are plain just not supposed to happen. They defy the laws of nature. They upset our understanding of the way things are supposed to be. Some are life-altering. Then there are those that send the earth off its axis.

We go about our lives hoping and expecting that things will turn out well for us. If only. And, when they don’t, we look all around for answers, solutions, manageable directions. Some of us fervently pray for a good ending, for that special healing of our bodies, our relationships, our financial well-being. Sometimes, we get what we seek and sometimes we don’t.

What gives? Why do we get some answers, and not get others? Why do we get some yeses and some nos?

Last September, Diane and I joined a group of friends to tour Israel, culminating in Jerusalem. Immediately upon our arrival, we descended on foot from the surrounding hills on the only possible path Jesus could have taken when he arrived the week he died. At the bottom of that path is the Garden of Gethsemane, the place where he was betrayed and arrested, before being led to his trial and subsequent crucifixion. This simple journey tells us a lot.

Just like his followers who were expectant that the long awaited Messiah, or Savior of the Hebrew people, would finally put things right after millennia of suffering, we seek saving from the many troubles that darken our lives. And for a while everything seemed to be going as planned. Certainly, his followers were inspired by his triumphant processional into the city.

But soon things took a turn. For the men and women who had left home and hearth to follow Jesus, the nightmare then arrived with an all consuming ferocity. The impossible happened — God’s anointed one, self-defined as the Son of Man, the Alpha and Omega, was scourged, tortured and most-ashamedly, put to death. Hope died along with Him that day. Inspiration dealt a mortal blow.

How could this be?

From triumphant expectation on the palm-strewn path to Jerusalem, to utter darkness only several days later in the Garden. And on that lonely hillside the next day, we are observers of a common pattern to all of our lives. What we thought was supposed to be was not to be. Can anyone identify with this?

Perhaps you have experienced something of such a nature. If not, certainly you are close to those who have. Diane and I belong to such a group. It seems like an inescapable reality of life – the sudden, apparent death of hope.

But then the impossible happened again — The miracle of miracles. The thing that forever changed all of creation: Hope came back to life. Life out of certain death. Upon emerging from a hell beyond imagination, Jesus sets the stage for each of us to live eternally with the God who designed us and who loves us beyond measure.He removed the obstacle – He gave his life for our life.

And more than this resurrection of hope – this truth that Jesus rose from the dead –  sets the stage for our own resurrection. Certainly one that awaits us at the end of our lives. But also the resurrection of hope that reminds us that those moments when things are not to be – the ones that seem like our very end –  might well be the start of the miraculous, unbelievable thing that God is doing in our own lives.

This week leading up to Easter is often called Holy – meaning set apart and unique.

As followers of Jesus we live in this unique space.

It is a space where our circumstances, expectations, hopes and dreams are forever shaped by the fact that Jesus has already done the heaviest lifting and will fully love and care for us forever. It is a space enlivened by the promise that the trials of today, no matter how extreme, will ultimately melt away. It is a space where expectations are not easily dashed and where inspiration comes from the knowledge that, in essence, we are already Home.

Let’s start with the obvious disclaimer that I hold no credentials as either a psychologist or a philosopher. A lot of very bright people have attacked this question for as long as we’ve been a sentient species. I’ll be surprised if this is a long reflection because there’s way more here than I’m willing to chew on right now.

However, as I was quietly mulling over things, I felt a prompt to at least touch upon this question.

One way to think about it is to think about the nature of one’s self. This, as distinct from other people’s selves. While some may rightfully note that we are all connected in some way, we will keenly debate about the nature of that connection. In the alternative, we are all distinct in some ways and it’s to that that I turn.

Let’s get something out of the way first. Either we are important (significant, meaningful) or not. If we, as individual people, are not important or significant in any context, than the question of who I am is rather simple. “I am insignificant.” “My life is of no real value.” We could get into the particulars of why a human life is insignificant or of no real value but it probably comes down to the belief that one just does not matter. This can either be because such a person perceives him or herself as having no value or significance in relationship to other people or things, or because the person concludes that he or she is just a bunch of meaningless molecules, like every other clump of meaningless molecules.

I’ll put it out there that the thing that most determines one’s significance or value is love. Of course, this is not the only thing that determines significance or value but I believe it’s the most foundational of the many other factors, most of which are taken as substitutes for love. Obvious examples of this are how we perceive our value through our work product or position and other areas where performance matters or by our wealth and social standing.

When we see our value in terms of stuff or standing rather than as one who is loved for who we really are, warts and all, we tend to see ourselves as more “important” than other people. This is very heady stuff. Put simply, we are inclined to think of ourselves a whole lot. Push this in a direction on the spectrum far enough and we arrive at narcissism, which is actually classified as a mental disorder, a perverted vision of reality.

If we see ourselves as loved conditionally, as many of us do, then that colors both our view of our significance and our normal daily behaviors. To the degree that we are loved for who we truly are (warts, bad mistakes and so forth) and not for what we provide to others, then we are on track for something closer to unconditional love. If the one(s) who love us gain no advantage from loving us (as Dallas Willard would say, “willing our good”) then there are basically no conditions and we are free to live into the monumental goodness that such a thing provides.

Having grown up with no real sense of this, I believed that my acceptance was to a large degree about what I could produce. Now, granted, that production included an immensely strong call to help others but, still, the measurement of my acceptance was how well I did at the things I felt called to do. I should say that I did not recognize this at the time. I know I was appreciated by many others who affirmed the things I did well, including relationships. But, in retrospect (and after years of therapy) I have to say that the subtleties of how and for what I (and others) are accepted is a major player in how we think of ourselves. It shapes our identity and that reverberates through everything.

Of course, all of the things that make me “me” would make quite a long list. And, the psychological pieces of that total just a single slice. But, what if the most significant of all of the pieces is this thing about love. I’d not have bet on that for most of my adult life. No, I’d probably have gone on about history and the forces of economics and politics and culture, the arts, philosophy, even theology, of biology, chemistry, physics, anthropology … heck: the normal departments at a university! But, love? Didn’t really study that one.

All of that flipped upside down, which will be no surprise to anyone reading these reflections. I mean, language doesn’t do a good job of expressing what it’s like to be instantly showered with unconditional love, coming out of nowhere with unimaginable force. On the one hand, nothing else compares. On the other hand, it defines everything else and the “everything elses” get seen much more fully. This includes one’s own self.

Who am I? I am fully loved by the only one who is capable of fully loving … a love that is not of this world. Do I feel this all of the time? Certainly not. Do I do a pretty rotten job of representing that love to others on a continual basis? Absolutely. But, neither of these facts diminish the value of what I know to be true. I cannot imagine the alternative. Well, I guess that’s not entirely true. It would be more accurate to say that to try to imagine the alternative would be a good definition of hell.

Sound dramatic? Perhaps. But, to consider who I really am as one who is loved fully by God is not something you just take sitting down. Nope. It’s a show stopper. At least that’s the way I see it! Thanks for listening.

Ok. So, this is just another way to talk about perspective. I’m really big on perspective. Context and perspective. We think that our thinking is unattached sometimes. As in, “Well, this is just what I think.” In fact, our thinking is dependent on so many things. We are the creatures of all sorts of stuff, much of which has little or nothing to do with the thing or things about which we are thinking.

As an historian and observer of things, I always question perspective and the sources of perspective. Kind of necessary to determine what’s really going on.

Another way of putting this is to consider the lenses through which we look when we are examining or thinking about things. Do we realize we all look through lenses? Do we take the time to think through the nature of those lenses? Do we ask hard questions about how appropriate they are? By hard questions, are we open to direct feedback about those lenses? Do we listen with integrity to those who see the world through a different set? Honestly, I don’t think many people pay attention to this. Perhaps you will disagree.

I bring this up because here is a C.S. Lewis thought that I just ran across.

“I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen; not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.”

Now, at first glance, someone who does not see things this way may naturally be dismissive as in, “well, ok. if you want to chase rainbows and it works for you, go for it. But leave me out of it.”

It’s actually a pretty bold move to say that everything … I’ll say it again, everything … is dependent on getting one thing right.

If one’s view of things … one’s lens … is that everything is determined by what one feels is true at the moment … then basing how we look at everything on just one thing has got to be extremely foreign and oft-putting. However, honestly, we all do this whether we realize it or not. We all organize our perspective around a thing or things that we hold to be true, whether we open those to the light of day or not.

When I say I struggled with this for many, many years. Actually many decades, I mean it. I don’t think there was a philosophy or religion or political viewpoint or scientific explanation of the big picture that I was largely unfamiliar with. I tried to consider them as stand alones. I tried comparing and contrasting. I tried combining elements. I searched for explanations that others had arrived at to make sense of everything … to give a basis for how, what and why I believed in the reality of things. I searched the evidence in history, psychology, sociology, economics, the arts and literature, biology, chemistry and physics, archaeology and anthropology. My idol, in fact, became the search itself. It became a kind of obsession, like there is no possible complete explanation so just surrender to a life of looking. That’s all we can do.

Now, some may say I surrendered for expediencies-sake. Something akin to saying, “heck, I need a port in the storm so I might as well choose this one. it’s not the perfect safe harbor, mind you, but it does offer the security I’m seeking.” Honestly, that’s completely understandable. In the search for meaning or significance, we all crave some form of security, of a stable outlook, the key to which unlocks the tumblers and opens the door to the answers we desire. The problem with the current and increasing inclination in our popular culture to determine truth through feeling is that feelings are always fleeting and truth doesn’t do well on shifting sands. It’s not difficult to see, if we pay attention, that there is seemingly no end to this direction, with its insatiable appetite to lash out at those who attest they’ve arrived on solid ground.

No doubt, Lewis’ simple reflection would get him derided or ridiculed in popular culture today. “How dare he!” Well, how dare I.

If I had a deck of cards, each one imprinted with a different philosophy, religious belief, or world view, and I decided to cut the deck and go all in on the one which arrived face-up, that would be silly. On the other hand, if by the process of extensive analysis and experience, I arrive at the only explanation that truly makes sense, no matter how strange it may be, that would not be silly. Furthermore, if after coming to that conclusion, every single feature of this life points to that explanation as authentic, the absence of which would contradict what I know to be true about each of those features, then it’s an academic exercise to look through a different lens, but that alternative lens (way of thinking) is, ultimately, a poor substitute. Think of Einstein’s 1905 earthshaking publication of his theory of relativity, which built upon the truths of the past but completely reoriented everything. It has been tested gazillions of times. There has not emerged one shred of evidence that that lens is faulty. While we may learn a lot more, nothing suggests it is not true and it is the lens through which we look at everything from the tiniest of particles to the most massive of galaxies, of space and time  and all of the forces which make our existence possible.

Christianity is like that. Not the Christianity that is, unfortunately, in place in some of our churches and communities. Not the Christianity that is increasingly occupying space in the minds of Hollywood and much of academia. But, the Christianity that is rooted in the life, ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus. It is a vibrant and fully edifying explanation. It certainly does not provide easy answers and simple comforts. It is definitely not a safe harbor where one avoids the storm, securely ensconced dockside.

Sunlight is dangerous. In fact, it can be very dangerous. But it is also completely life-giving. C.S. Lewis simply says that he has arrived at the conclusion that Christianity is as fundamentally true as the most basic things we accept to be true. This brilliant man and scholar, a dedicated atheist, after years of struggle and examination, finally arrived at this conclusion because it’s the only one that made sense. So, when he concludes his thought with the observation that everything only makes sense because of this fundamental truth, that’s quite a bold statement. In the thirteen years since the tumblers clicked and the safe door opened, I haven’t seen one thing that dissuades me from agreeing with him. And that’s that.

Arguably, I think this would be a good discussion point. If asked, I’d probably get to thinking and then try to narrow his various goals for us down to just one. Might take some doing.

I bring this up because of a sentence I just read in a book my friend Ryan loaned me this morning.

Without going into a lot of detail, the book is about many of the massive challenges facing the church today, many of which are of its own doing as well as the doing of the people who work and volunteer with them. The sentence is near the end of a chapter on the way narcissism is so insidious and destructive, in our society at large, in our churches and our personal lives.

Actually, the sentence is rather simple. The author says,

“Jesus’ ultimate goal in our lives is not to make us comfortable but agents of transformation.”

Doesn’t sound particularly impressive on the surface, does it? But, let’s just take a moment to consider what’s really going on here.

There is the terribly false narrative out there that has pretty much fully hijacked the guiding principles of our lives. It is the belief that we have the unalienable right to the pursuit of happiness. Goodness gracious! It’s in the founding document of our infant country: The Declaration of Independence. And, said the authors (Jefferson did not draft this alone), this right, among others such as life and liberty, were “endowed” by the “Creator.”

And, here I come along and say that this is a fiction which steers us away from the truth. And, it’s both a bold fiction and a dangerous deviation.

In fact, as I’ve argued before, we have no “right” to happiness. Nor, would we want one. Happiness is always fleeting and in the pursuit of it, we only end up becoming unhappy. Don’t get me started.

To bring us back, comfort is closely akin to happiness. We have no “right” to comfort. Someone, please define comfort as an ultimate thing and then extrapolate that to a right for everyone. How does that work? I know of a number of people who live in what most of us would say are very comfortable circumstances but who are quite unhappy in those circumstances … in other words, uncomfortable.

No, there’s no way around the conclusion that Jesus really is not all that concerned about our comfort, nor our happiness. (Please, do not confuse happiness or comfort with joy, about which Jesus is quite concerned.)

Instead, he is primarily concerned about transformation. Ours and everyone’s.

And, here, the simple is also the profound. Transformation always comes at a cost. True transformation is always discomfiting. It involves sacrificing something in order to obtain something else.

All of this leads, obviously, to the question of what kind of transformation the author claims is the ultimate goal of Jesus. It would be natural to leap to the conclusion that by the word “agent” he means the transformation of others. Well, yes. But, of course, the first place we need to look as agents is in the mirror. Where the narcissist will delight and be consumed by the surface beauty of such an image, the follower of Jesus will only see someone who is broken but still completely loved by God. To be in the place of fully realizing both of those things is transformative and nothing short of miraculous. Amen.