So, the initial pathology report is in. Thanks to something now called a “patient portal,” we can get up-to-the minute information directly. Even on a Sunday afternoon. The needle biopsy performed last Tuesday on a persistent lump on my neck shows a number of misbehaving cells, contrary to an initial diagnosis that predicted a small stone in a salivary gland. I’m thankful for physicians who care about me and were able to expedite a scan and biopsy. While the report, understandably, has a lot of technical jargon and the pathologist was unwilling to draw a firm conclusion of exactly what the mass is, it seems likely that it is malignant. Not definitive but likely. He recommended (which is not surprising) that the whole thing be cut out, presumably quickly. I will learn more in the next day or two, I’m sure, as my ENT and primary care docs come back to work and we begin to develop a plan.

Now, I’m pretty sure that no one wants to hear the word “cancer” although millions and millions hear it regularly. This episode may turn out to be relatively benign (we hope) or even that we were able to catch a malignancy in the earlier stages.

We tend to worry about things over which we have no control. Things that go bump in the night or, to put it a little differently, things that are hidden in the shadows, out of reach. Of course, we can also worry about very tangible things that are painful and that present us with major challenges and disruptions. But, worry is a thing of context as well as substance.

Anyone reading these words knows that Diane and I are closely connected with a significant number of people who suffer, most of whom bear their grave infirmities with tremendous dignity, as difficult as that is. As I picture their faces and challenges, I realize how blessed I am that they have invited me into their lives … and in a way that is anything but superficial. It is here where being human is a thing of radiant beauty.

We are currently camping in the local hills and I awoke early while still dark. In my reflection, I was drawn to one of my favorite songs, the most well known piece by a favorite group of mine, who we had the pleasure of seeing live in concert a little over a month ago. I have referred to this piece before and listen to it from time to time because both the music and lyrics resonate so deeply. It is entitled “Oceans (Where Feet May Fail)” and I felt called to include the lyrics here along with a few thoughts. If you’d like, you can see them perform this song live on YouTube.

The first stanza goes like this:

You call me out upon the waters

The great unknown where feet may fail

And there I find You in the mystery

In oceans deep

My faith will stand.

This comes from the famous story of Jesus appearing to his boat-bound disciples as walking on the water. He invited Peter to join him, which was a shocking and difficult thing for both Peter and the others to consider. Aside from this being an account of a miracle, it’s also a metaphor and tremendous lesson.

For someone such as I, who actually believes in a providential God who loves me fully and unconditionally, the knowledge that he calls me out of any safe haven (who among us actually lives fully in a safe haven?) is not news. But, it is good to be reminded constantly. It’s not just that I am called to cut the umbilical cord daily, unclasp my gripping fingers from false idols that are so tempting and distracting. It’s that I am called to go to a “great unknown where feet may fail.” Now, that’s something. Much as the unborn baby leaves the protective womb to go to an unknown place where failure is ever present, we are similarly called. The Good News is that, while failure is at hand, so is sweet redemption. For, “And there I find You in the mystery.” I respect that many people don’t believe in God and I understand that many who do, don’t spend a lot of time thinking about what that means. But, for me, truly “finding” God is the most powerful and remarkable feature of human existence. The fact that he remains “hidden” is a mystery and understandably so. I can go on and on about how he was hidden from me for so long or, rather, how I avoided him for so long but the fact remains that upon finding him, even though there might be a huge scary dark place underneath (around) me … the deep ocean as an analogy … it is upon that relationship that my life has full meaning. And upon that knowledge, I will stand.

The next stanza goes like this

And I will call upon Your name

And keep my eyes above the waves

When oceans rise, my soul will rest in Your embrace

For I am Yours and You are mine.

So, it’s one thing to hear the call to step out of the very nice safe boat and walk with confidence amidst the nasty things tugging at us. It’s quite another thing to actually obey.

I remember vividly when I leapt from that eight story tower in a swan dive, harnessed by bungee cords. I didn’t have fear for some reason until the split second when I was actually fully airborne. My split second thought was something like, “What in blazes did you just do?!” Well, at least when bungee jumping, I trusted a harness that seemed to be extremely secure and I trusted that people didn’t die bungee jumping (with a few exceptions) and far below me was this big inflatable cushion, so the knowledge of all of these tangible things made the leap perfectly rational, albeit a tad frightening. But, God is not like that so how is it that we can actually step out of the boat?

The answer is to “keep my eyes above the waves.” In other words, keep focused on God, not my worries or fears. For it is there, amidst the turbulence and worry that my soul (that deepest part of my essence) will rest. It is there that I will find peace and comfort. Why? Because we belong to one another: “For I am Yours and You are mine.” I had no idea what this could mean until it did. Of course, I forget and need to be reminded because I’m human and subject to frailty. Go figure.

The next stanza emphasizes this theme

Your grace abounds in deepest waters

Your sovereign hand

Will be my guide

Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me

You’ve never failed and You won’t start now.

I have reflected and written a lot about this phenomenon called Grace. It’s one of the strangest and most incomprehensible forces in all of reality when you get down to it. I think that the lyricist gets it right here. It abounds in deepest waters. I love that phrase and believe it to be spot on. While smaller graces can be present for all sorts of reasons, God’s grace doesn’t just appear in times of deepest trouble, it abounds! And, that grace comes from a “sovereign” (meaning supreme or ultimate power) hand. While I may stumble and fall, my desire to move into that place of comfort and assurance may not be enough to overcome my resistance based upon a fear that God will fail me. But God doesn’t fail and he won’t fail me now. He’s always with me, despite everything. I may not see his plan or want to trust in it but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have my ultimate best interests in mind.

(This last piece is a tough theological concept. For, we have to wrap our head around what it is that is actually failing. This is a major stumbling block to people believing in the God presented through Jesus. I know. It kept me at bay for decades. Unfortunately, I can’t go off on that tangent here and I’ve both addressed it in the past and can do so again in the future.)

The next stanza is actually repeated a number of times in the full length song

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever you would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior.

Ok now. Here’s the kicker. Up until now, it’s been all about trying to respond to God’s invitation to release the worries and deep anxieties. To trust him that he will be there regardless. No doubt about it, this is a hard thing to do but this last stanza really ups the ante.

It is no longer about responding to a call. It’s about seeking that call with no small measure of fervency. It’s about pushing beyond in such a way that the old reality by necessity must melt away as a through a mist, to be replaced with something not previously comprehensible. This is a big deal.

“Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders.”

Now, that’s something to get our attention. For, who among us knows of, not to mention wants, “trust without borders?” What does that actually mean? But, actually, that is part of the message of the Gospel. Trust God. And God doesn’t have borders or limits. After all, he’s God. Let’s not pussy foot around this. None of us wants to trust that way. It’s way too disarming or, even, dangerous to our viewpoint of who we are and what our lives actually mean. This level of trust is reckless … requiring abandonment which few or any of us really want to do, unless we have nothing left, in which case the choice might make more sense. Regardless, what does it take to actually ask God to take us there? And not just “there” but “wherever” as in completely unknown. Makes a nice phrase in a song but do we know what we’re asking for?

This is a plea to take me deeper than my normal life would warrant and in doing so, I will be made stronger than imaginable. It doesn’t make sense but that’s the core of the Good News and Jesus’ teaching. That by surrender (weakness) we are made incredibly strong. Not “strong” in the ways of the world, necessarily, but strong in the ways of a different kind of life. Of course, we can’t do this alone and so the lyricist rightfully points to both the means and the end, who is Jesus. Certainly a tough thing to manage thoughtfully if one does not accept that premise of who he claims to be. But, also a tough thing to manage realistically even if one is a committed pilgrim on the journey.

And, now, we come to the closing stanza, repeated from above.

I will call upon Your name

Keep my eyes above the waves

My soul will rest in Your embrace

I am Yours and You are mine.

I love this as a conclusion. Yes, we are called to something difficult to imagine. Called to risk. Called when failure seems likely. But this is a calling to a place so like the loving arms of a mother or father who we know has no greater regard for anything but us. And, this is the way things were meant to be.

In the face of this, what hold does worry have on me? What hold should it have? Yes, it’s natural to become anxious, especially in the face of news or circumstances that don’t  match up with the way we’d like to live our lives. But, there’s anxiety and there’s anxiety, some of which can take over and even become paralyzing. (See the massive upswing in this problem in our current culture.) Interestingly, Jesus basically says the choice is binary. Worry or trust God. That’s it.

Now, it’s not like taking a pill and the symptoms disappear. It’s more like a therapeutic process whereby we, bit by bit, learn how to reorient our perspective and, bit by bit, the embrace and the promise become more profound.

As I move to conclude this, after beginning before dawn, a few other things have happened in the midst of this writing. Remarkably, I received a couple of emails from my ENT doc before 7:30am which is a feat in itself. A few exchanges later and I received a call from the office of a top specialist asking if I’d be available to meet with him at 2:20 this afternoon. Come again? Pathology report online Sunday afternoon and the decks are cleared for me to see a specialist in 24 hours? Talk about faith moving mountains. This should qualify as a proverbial mountain. I started laughing. Amen.

Homes alight. Trees resplendent with ornaments of all kinds on display in windows and living rooms. Decorative touches everywhere. ’Tis the season and it feels good.

The five or so weeks between Thanksgiving and New Years are, in America, now called the Holiday Season. A time for breaks from school and work. A time for gatherings and feasting. Getting together with family and friends. Lots of food. Lots of shopping and gift giving. It is a time of hope and, hopefully, joy.

The apex, of course, is Christmas, one of the two holiest days on the Christian calendar.  Jews also have holy days, preeminent among them Passover in the spring, Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah in the fall. Hanukkah, while celebrated in this season, is a lesser holiday, commemorating the rededication of the Temple and reoccupation of Jerusalem in the second century, BC. Only a week apart, Christmas and New Years both point to a break from the past and the ushering in of a whole new thing.

In other words, there’s a lot to pay attention to.

Music is a big part of this season. Everywhere, the sounds of the season are evident. It seems every popular musician and group has produced a Christmas album or collection. With on-demand music, it’s easy to choose the genre to fit one’s mood or perspective. As far as Christmas music is concerned, I think there are two major divisions, if that’s a good way to describe them. Loosely, secular and religious. Publicly, secular reigns. Dozens and dozens of catchy tunes with lyrics full of snow, bells, Santa, good cheer and the wide array of symbols that allow people of all faiths and beliefs to participate in the fun. On the other hand are the traditional Christian carols and hymns that play in churches and homes where, to capture a contemporary axiom: Jesus in the reason for the season.

I have lived in each of these worlds and am comfortable that both are available. We exist in a pluralistic society, one of the strengths of which is to recognize the importance of symbols that point to mighty things. Things that draw us to deeper and better places.

’Tis the season where we embrace hope and peace. A pause in our annual rhythms from regular patterns of life. A time for reflection on the idea of promise and the possibility of renewal, even as the days are short (in this northern hemisphere), many trees have lost their leaves and the blossoming of spring is quite distant. Again, this is a time when we shed the old and delight in the new: Saying goodbye to many of the things that made the outgoing year difficult and hoping that a turning of the calendar will bring about better times.

Of course, such yearnings are just a part of human nature. We recognize that much is broken and in need of repair. We find ourselves successful at this some of the time and unsuccessful at other times. We know that this has always been the case. Some dream of a time when brokenness will disappear. Most people who subscribe to the major world faiths have a supernatural name for this, whether it is, for instance, heaven or nirvana. Secular humanists also have a faith that humans will ultimately come to a place without supernatural assistance and we will have utopia on earth (or amongst the stars). Some don’t envision these possible outcomes, only a dystopian landscape where the darker aspects of reality and human nature dominate and life is unbelievably harsh and cruel. This latter perspective is, unfortunately, the case in (perhaps to a lesser degree) the lives of many who find themselves bereft for all sorts of understandable reasons this time of year, surrounded as they are by all of this celebratory activity. They feel no tug to celebrate. In fact, retreat and withdrawal is their call.

I know of all these things and reflect upon them sincerely. I am a creature of rhythms and patterns. Of ups and downs. Of the swings of life, where we exist in the midst of both joy and suffering. I accept this as a part of human existence and no amount of wishing will make it other. Amidst this to and fro, I seek signs of meaning, helping to make sense of all things. Of course, I am not unique in this. Everyone does it, either consciously or subconsciously.

And, so, I come to this season particularly keen to explore its significance as well as enjoy its many trappings. Right now, I am looking forward to the arrival, in a couple of weeks, of dear family who I love deeply and the special moments within the timeframe of one day. Gathering for a late afternoon Christmas Eve service at church where I am surrounded by hundreds of people who share my deep and heartfelt recognition in the Christmas miracle of Jesus’ birth. I will hold Diane’s hand as we stand and sing of the glory that suffuses our reality, accompanied by all of those other voices and instruments that almost make the heart want to burst. Later, we will gather for our traditional Christmas Eve dinner with family and close friends before retiring, only to rise to the new morning, surrounded by gift unveiling, laughter and love.

But, to me, my most powerful urge is to just fall on my knees. I can do no other. For, the God who I recognize as sovereign and loves me beyond imagination and despite my many, many failures and inadequacies, has given me the greatest gift of all. The eyes and heart to gaze into that small and dank space in the middle of a foresaken land where, forever, the great divide between God and man was breached and the infinite light broke through. The light of redemption. The light of truth, love and grace. In the face of such light, I am awestruck, where the term “wonder” almost seems insufficient. The gift is the knowledge and the promise that transcends all prior knowledge and promises. What joy!

’Tis that season. And, I embrace it. Thank you, Jesus.

I’m so very far from perfect, I can’t see perfect on a clear day. But, I wonder.

You see, Christians are supposed to be different. And, then, I wonder.

Our lovely neighbor, Mirna, a perfectly wonderful Jewish woman and our dear friend for decades, died a couple of years ago. She was loving and adored us as we did her. She and her husband, Lou, were original owners in our neighborhood when we moved in, in 1987, and she survived his death and a number of other serious ailments with an amazing degree of grace. She always gave us a beautiful Christmas present and adored our boys. You can never choose your neighbors but we hit the jackpot with Mirna and she has been sorely missed.

Awhile after she died, her children sold the home and a couple moved in. They are both probably in their latter 50s, a tad younger than the two of us but not by much. As it turned out, they are both practicing Christians although I’m not exactly sure how we came to know that. Occasionally, I hear him singing a well known hymn in the shower with a strong clear voice. Otherwise, we don’t hear them much. Also, occasionally, we interact in front, usually to say hello. But, they are not friendly and it’s pretty clear they don’t want a relationship.

I had occasion to reflect on this, once again tonight, as I watched Tom amble slowly from his driveway, traveling on the sidewalk in front of our house, on his daily journey to the mailbox which is on the far side of our home. He does this after work each day. He’s a heavy set man and walks slowly but that’s not the distinguishing characteristic.

He never smiles and neither does she.

In the two or three years they’ve lived here, I’ve never seen them smile. I don’t think Diane and I go more than a few hours without smiling.

Now, I obviously get that life can be a tremendous burden and I’m not one to judge what difficult challenges other people face. In fact, I know people who face challenges that should bring them to their knees each waking hour.

But, I have seen many of such people beaming with radiance.

What gives?

What do people think that following Jesus is all about? It’s certainly not about wading through all the muck just waiting to give up the ghost. He didn’t teach nor live that. It’s not about following rules and making sure to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.

No, it’s about an abundance of the the life that God intends for us, regardless of the travails we face.

And, I’m not speaking of material abundance as so many of the so-called “Prosperity Gospel” advocates preach. It’s anything but material abundance. It’s about an inner state, whereby the mind and heart are aligned with God’s will. And, God’s will is about helping us navigate a world of both suffering and joy with him as our Sovereign.

Diane and I know avowed Christians who are filled with spite and envy. Self-professing Jesus-followers who are quick to judge and slow to forgive. They subsist, seemingly, under a cloud. One wonders why and how they missed the boat and it’s a sad thing, indeed.

Yes, the life Jesus lived was one of sorrow. He wept and suffered. But, he also celebrated, laughed and infused joy wherever he went. This came from a heart that did anything but judge but, rather, was structured completely around grace.

I want to reach out to grumpy and dour Christians and ask, “Why are you so mad? So angry? So bereft? Do you spend time with others who suffer terribly and seek to bring a lightness of being into their lives?” Because, that’s what Jesus did.

Jesus said he came to bring the Kingdom of God into this reality. What do people think that means? Do they think that means we glower and cast our eyes downwards? Do they think that means we stumble about our lives, coveting our private spaces and rejecting the abundance that relationships with so many others offers?

I do not walk in another’s shoes and cannot truly know the burdens another bears. But, I know about burdens and I know that we can choose how to bear them, as hard as that can be. Jesus spent a lot of time teaching us about that but I wonder if so many of his professed followers are paying attention. Which makes me sad.

I don’t know how else to greet the wonder of Christmas morning other than to marvel at the joy that there is an Emmanuel, which means “God with us.” There is actually a God who loves us beyond compare and wants us to participate in the glory that is completely available. I have tasted of this glory and it’s an amazing thing to behold.

I hope that our neighbors and others come to know this God they believe in, not as an inanimate object On High, but as a Being who is completely present, available, and ready to delight in us as only He can.

Glory Hallelujah!