I’m going to run the risk of this appearing to be a somewhat callous posting. I don’t think of myself as a callous person and hope that those of you who know me would agree. However, in some time of quiet reflection yesterday, I felt called to a theme. And, then, with this morning’s news about another terrorist attack in Europe, I just needed to take it on.

For the longest time, I was very worried about the human race. I mean I thought about it (us) a whole lot. Back in junior high school, I worried about the human race. That didn’t let up in high school, nor in college, nor for decades afterwards. I think when many of my fellow teenagers were going to parties and more than a few were getting high, I was worried about the human race. Part of my problem was that I read constantly. I mean, I read almost more than constantly. Yes, I played sports, had jobs, did volunteer work, and hung out with friends. But, I just plain read all of the time. Once in awhile I read from Friday evening until Sunday night. And a lot of it was not your basic light reading. I’m not looking for brownie points here. It’s just that the stuff I read sort of cut to the heart of problems that plague the human race. You know, you can’t read history or philosophy or the great literary works without wondering what the heck is going on.

To make it worse, I just happened to hit adolescence in the mid 60s in the San Francisco Bay Area. Not your basic backwater of activity. No, aside from reading voraciously about deep topics, I arrived out of childhood in the midst of one of the most tumultuous times in our nation’s history. Marches. Sit-ins. Demonstrations. Civil Rights. War. And, remember, this was only fifty years after the War To End All Wars. Just twenty years after World War II. Just a decade after Korea. Smack in the middle of Vietnam.

In the second grade, we became very adept at doing duck and cover drills as we looked up at the skies and wondered what atomic bombs would look like as they arrived. I could write a book about growing into adulthood in this era but those books have already been written and I’m not interested in writing a biography here … however I am interested in making a point. Or two.

To continue: It wasn’t just that stuff. In the 1960s, eminent scientists told us about the Population Bomb. In a mere couple of decades, the world’s population would explode so much, we would run out of food and natural resources. Eminent scientists predicted Environmental Armageddon as our rivers, skies, and forests would soon be irretrievable. Mass extinctions of species in the immediate future. By the 1970s and 80s, eminent scientists were warning of the impending ice age that would bury much of the northern hemisphere under glaciers. In that same era, we were told that we were running out of oil at the fastest rate and would face tremendous fuel shortages with disastrous consequences. By the 1990s and early 2000s, eminent scientists told us that, no, we were not entering an ice age, we were facing imminent catastrophe from global warming. A Nobel was awarded to some folks who predicted that by 2014, most of the polar ice cap would have fully melted. In the last five years or so, eminent scientists have stopped really talking about global warming and are now talking about climate change and the doom it will bring.

And, then, or course, there are asteroids with our name on it, thousands of thermonuclear weapons, the risks of new and unpredictable plagues to which we have no defenses, bioterrorism, regional wars and on and on.

Aren’t you glad you decided to read this today?? 😦

This drum beat of doom and gloom has to either be ever present in our consciousness or just below the surface, pressed down because it’s just too much.

Ah, but then there’s the flip side. And, this is a pretty big deal. A real antidote to this dark perspective is the belief that man is perfectible. I’ll say it again, a real antidote to this reality I’ve described is the belief that man is perfectible.

I’ll call it the Star Trek phenomenon. Star Trek (which I have been known to enjoy) is the natural progression from the European Enlightenment that held that the seeds to man’s salvation lies within man. Man is inherently good and we just have to progress into living out that inherent goodness. This was a very big deal in the 18th and 19th centuries. It was the prevailing philosophy right through the deaths of hundreds of millions who perished in the attempt by societies to achieve the perfectibility of man. I’d be happy to provide background on the thinking of leaders of Germany, China, Russia, England, France the U.S. and dozens of other countries if you doubt this.

Anyway, the Star Trek phenomenon is premised on the inherent goodness of the Federation, which had evolved into a noble enterprise (get that?) to maintain the peace and support mankind’s endless search. So, we boldly go where no man has gone before because we’ve already resolved the here and now. The real threat is from out there. Not from in here.

This utopian fantasy is the perfect antidote to the realities I presented earlier.

I was deeply affected by these realities and was intrigued by some variations of the utopian fantasies. I actually worried about the survivability of the human race. I mean, I really worried about it. To be honest, I still do but not in the same sense.

I have to tell you, I read the reflections of a top cosmologist the other day. A cosmologist is someone who is really smart and looks at really big stuff, like the nature and fabric of the universe, where it came from, what it’s made of and where it’s going. I read stuff like that because I like science and I enjoy finding challenging stuff because … well, it’s challenging.

Well, this top scientist is really worried. And, I thought I was worried. You see, he’s concluded that in about a trillion years (that’s about 70 times longer than the life of our 14 billion year old universe or about 250 times longer than our earth has been in existence and about 5,000,000 times longer than homo sapiens has been around) the universe is going to go dark. All the energy will have been burned up. No light. No life. No possibility of life. He’s really torn up about this. He says he’s struggling with despondency.

I get his pain. In other words, we’re doomed. Whatever WE is. We’re doomed. There’s no escaping it. We can try to push it out. We can hide in under the rug. It’s all going dark.

Unless it’s not.

Eleven years ago this Saturday, I was shaken to the core. I would have scoffed at this before. In fact, I did scoff at it. I had studied religious experience. For goodness sakes, I’d had religious experiences. But nothing close to the moment when I felt like I had the darkest glasses lifted away from my eyes and I could see color for the first time. I realized I belonged to another world and that I was visiting this one. My home is elsewhere.

This is what I was reflecting upon in my quiet time yesterday afternoon, while I was looking at the sky, with its wispy white clouds and some birds soaring high above. This is what I was reflecting upon when I saw some colorful blossoms in our new garden and a few bees and butterflies flitting about.

Yes, we should steward this beautiful earth. Take care of our resources. Protect its beauty and nurture its bounty. Yes, we should be aware of our footprints on both nature and man. We should battle against injustice, lift up those without, seek the good of others, learn to love deeply.

Let’s not be seduced by an endless search for perfection or from some utopian fantasy that man can develop the perfect civilization. Let’s instead allow our eyes and hearts to be open to what is right in front of us, both the beautiful and the ugly, and seek what is right and good and whole.

I may die tomorrow. Or next year. The universe doesn’t care. (I’m sorry. Some people say, “give it to the universe.” I really don’t know what they mean. I don’t mean to offend and perhaps I’ll learn some day.) Some great calamity may strike us next year or in ten years or in a thousand years. At times, I find myself being pulled back there momentarily. But, not for long. I don’t believe I am here to change civilization or to help mankind or to worry about it. I believe I’m here to love God, love the people I come into contact with, to realize that I am fully loved, warts and all, and to serve others where I may. I also believe I’m here to enjoy the bounty which unfolds each day and to be refreshed by the wonder of it all.

Please don’t tell me that mankind is improving. Yes, we are raising our collective standard of living and that’s really good. Unless that standard of living is in competition with what is really important. Don’t tell me that wealthy people love more deeply, are more compassionate and joyful than less wealthy people. Yes, it’s better to be healthy with full stomachs than sick and hungry. But I’ve known poor and ill people who live much more rewarding lives than those who do not know such want. Don’t tell me that highly educated people are more altruistic than less educated people. That they are less selfish and self-centered. In fact, I’d hazard the opposite is true.

We can retreat into our literal or figurative fortresses. Literally, we can try to wall ourselves off from all external threats. We can even choose to go cryogenic in the hope that we can become immortal by freezing our bodies for resuscitation at some point in the distant future when all is rosy. Figuratively, we can dream that some day mankind will fix itself. How nice that would be. Or we can retreat into despair like that represented in so much popular media that glorifies a dark and dystopian future. Or, like our friend the cosmologist, that in the end there is no hope for us.

Ahhh, but the human heart is a glorious thing. When released into its potential, it’s quite a thing of beauty. I know of no state-sponsored  curriculum in school that encourages this. I know of no government program that has the vision, intent or means to assist in this. I can see little effort by dominant media to help soften and transform human hearts. I see no evidence that political leaders understand and model what is truly good and fulfilling for each of us.

But, I do not despair. On the contrary, I’m filled with hope. I have one foot in each of two worlds. I live in that place. I am a visitor in one and at home in the other. It’s neither the one or the other. It’s both. And, they pull and tug and call and battle for allegiance.

So, each day I am left with choices. I am granted control over what I think about and what I choose to do. I can choose to feel deep sorrow for the victims in last night’s atrocities in Brussels. I can feel anger at the evil that is behind it and so many other atrocities and injustices. I can feel emptiness in the hole Shannon left behind. I can feel peace when gazing at clouds and flowers or when I’m in prayer or silence. I can feel contentment at the gratitude of that call center person on the phone this morning after I spoke with her so encouragingly. I can feel happiness in this moment that my lungs are working well, that my dermatologist discovered no new cancers yesterday and that my carotid artery is silent. I can feel hopeful that my prayerful request to be available today to bless someone else’s life will be answered. I can feel joy that I will be with many dear people this week. And, of course, as a follower of Jesus, I am eternally glad that the war was won between Friday and Sunday around two thousand years ago, leaving me to do some important clean up work.

My job is to live today as God intends. Period.

I’ll leave the human race and its future to the one at the higher pay grade.

Lord, sometimes it just seems like a whole big mess out there. Like maybe we can easily be lost in the constant threats to our peace and safety. Or that our hearts break from seeing so much suffering. Or that we are easily seduced by promises that we’ll eventually solve the big problems, not recognizing that the same hearts that can break are the very hearts that can destroy. Help us to do what we can to bring life and love into places we dwell and over which we have some influence. Help us to see colorful flowers peeking out of the earth and to rejoice in the many delights that surround us. I thank you for helping me to live as fully as is possible in both worlds. Amen.

Yesterday was the day we memorialized Shannon. Perhaps close to 300 people attended an 80 minute midmorning service at Maranatha Chapel, about two miles from our home. Then a smaller group gathered at the Barrow home in Poway later in the afternoon for an informal celebration and feast.

You may have come to know me as a wordy person. Possibly even descriptive. But, I don’t have the language to adequately convey the meaning of the day. However, I’m going to try. In many ways, I expected to hear what I heard, and there’s a reason for that. But, I was deeply moved by how every element of that “celebration of life” was interwoven so perfectly. And, every one of those elements pointed to and expressed exactly the same thing.

I have written about Shannon in the recent past. What is remarkable is that, having known her only just over two years, she touched me in exactly the same way she touched her husband, daughters, and countless friends who have known her for many decades.

One poignant moment came midway through when her best friend from childhood and all the way up to the present began her talk. She started by saying she was Shannon’s best friend. But, then she looked out over everyone else and said, “And, I know each of you would say, No, I was Shannon’s best friend!” And, she was right. How remarkable is that?! How is that possible? This is not some high school BFF talk, this was actually really true.

In the past month or so, I’ve heard story after story about how Shannon deeply touched the lives of so many people. About how she tirelessly gave of herself to everyone. And this giving was done not through duty, but through honest to goodness joy and love. I heard time and time again that whoever she was with at the moment, however briefly, was given her full attention and care. She was simply present to everyone.

In recent years, I have learned that I have many best friends. These are the men and women who know me deeply and love me fully. These are the men and women who, when I’m with them, I would rather be nowhere else. We can share and rely, be vulnerable and supportive, honest and transparent. These things are love.

When I got sick last January, Shannon let me know she would wake in the middle of the night to pray for me. I know she had many, many people she prayed for. She was a prayer warrior and I know she loved me. Magnify that by hundreds and over decades and decades. She not only prayed, she infused people with her laughter and full personality. She took charge, gathering everyone around her, to pull them into a loving embrace.

Her four beautiful daughters spoke individually, but formed as a group in front of the microphone. They were followed by her husband, Jim. All of them said the same thing. Actually, they shared many different remembrances and stories, amidst their laughter and tears, but they all said the same thing.

I will come back to that in a moment.

I’m not sure if I mentioned this thought in a prior post. I probably did but I don’t want to scroll around looking for it. If I didn’t, I certainly should have. Anyway, as it’s relevant here, I’ll say it again.

We have a limited time in this life. We get caught up in all sorts of stuff. Some of it good, some of it not so good. In the end, what is left? What has been the meaning of this brief life? What legacy do we leave? How would we wish to be remembered?

Probably, in our thirties and forties, we don’t think about this much. Then, maybe in our fifties as we look behind at youth and ahead to old age, we begin to wonder. Not everyone is the same. Maybe some have thought about this their whole lives and others don’t think about it until much later or not at all. But, I suspect, most eventually get there.

How would we like the script to read? What would be its themes?

Now, some lives barely had a chance. Some have been wrought with brokenness, tragedy, illness and so on at various stages. Some people would think about past behaviors and looking back say, “please do not play that part of the tape.” Those who have never felt guilt or shame are either dishonest or don’t have a heart in the first place. No life is perfect. No one is without broken places. To deny that is to not have lived, which requires suffering and failure.

Yes, none is perfect. But, with what we do have, how would we like the script to read?

I’m certain that Shannon and her family did not in the least bit expect her script to be read so soon. She was 56.  In great health and shape. Vibrant and alive. A force of nature. Then, the terrible disease struck and, hard as she battled in those three weeks or so, it overcame her body and took her away from all of us way too soon.

But, it never took her spirit and it never took the spirit of her family and friends.

And that is the central theme of Shannon’s script. She lived into the spirit of her calling. Her central calling. Not the secondary callings of wife, mother, dear friend, helpmate. She lived into the spirit of her central calling.

This is what everyone said. This is how they explained her life and gave shape to the stories. No one minced words. No one touched on the edges of the truth. Every single one went to the heart of who Shannon was and what her life meant.

Not a person in that audience was left with a doubt about the meaning of her life.

And, honestly, I cannot imagine something finer.

At the heart of her being, Shannon loved God. She loved God more than her husband and four daughters, whom, I suspect, she loved as completely as any of us is able. She loved God exhaustively. How does one do that? Well, just look at Shannon. She breathed God, whether she was speaking about him or not. Sure, she had some edges to her. She was self-deprecating and shared her struggles. She had her faith challenged by some pretty big stresses. But, she didn’t waver. She persisted in loving God. And, to be honest, this was not some abstract form of spirit god. This was God as personified in Jesus. She loved Jesus. If that offends or puts off others, I’m sorry but that’s the truth and it was beautiful. Shannon showed us all how to love Jesus by the way she lived her life. This is not a Sunday Jesus. This is not a moral teacher Jesus. This is not a wooden figure hanging in a sanctuary or church. This is not a soft, airbrushed Jesus or a Jesus who some believe is conjured up as some sort of wish fulfillment.

No, this is the creative and loving force of all of reality that, when fully embraced and surrendered into, gushes into every nook and cranny. It brings peace and joy and allows us to transit through sorrow with hearts full of hope.

I know because I’ve experienced it. It took me to my knees and continues to do so daily. It lifts me up in ways that are really impossible to describe.

This is where everything pointed in the celebrations yesterday. The script of Shannon’s life is centered on her relationship with Jesus and how that relationship infused every other relationship and it’s the reason hundreds gathered in love yesterday and heard the most beautiful words spoken about someone recently deceased.

Some may wonder if all of this stuff about Jesus is really true. Some may wonder if this stuff about life after death is really true. It’s only natural to wonder.

I wondered until I was 51. I no longer wonder. And, I’m a very rational and scientific guy.

Shannon Barrow AIJ. Alive in Joy. Alive in Jesus.  This is not RIP. This is no Rest in Peace. We do not lie down in death, merely released from any pain and suffering we’ve experienced. We do not enter into a passive state. We do not float around as some disembodied spirit. Yes, there is peace and rest but that’s just a part of the picture. More so, we get to be lifted up to the most wonderful eternity. It will be a feast. All we have to do is accept it as reality and it is ours. Is this what we want? Is this the script we are drawn to? I say time and again, I could not believe until I did. Then everything changed. The scales fell away. It was like all of the tumblers in the lock finally clicked fully and the door burst open. Colors deepened. Silence spoke. If I looked backward through that door that was slowly closing, I knew there was no going back and no wanting to go back.

I spoke with a man late yesterday. We had met a few times some years ago but had never really had a conversation. We found ourselves alone at a backyard table in the midst of the gathering at the Barrow home. Some two hours later, maybe more, our conversation wound down. It turns out we had had nearly identical experiences of God. His cathartic moment was thirty years ago. Mine was eleven. He’s about 6’7” and 260. A big guy. An accomplished civil engineer. I can’t count the times he had tears rolling down his face. From his experiences over the past thirty years. I’ve never met anyone who described the shower of grace exactly like I have. He said he was the Prodigal. I said, “no, I am.” We laughed. Fist bumped. He said he has a heart condition. I said I have a bad carotid. He said he’s not worried about tomorrow. I said neither am I. I observed that the love of God, through Shannon, brought us together.

Shannon’s husband, Jim, I’m told, has a lifelong faith referred to by many as deep and solid. Shannon called him her rock. He told a friend the other day, that this experience has only deepened his faith. He does not doubt, nor do her daughters and countless friends, including Diane and me, that we will be joined together again … in a blink of an eye.

As we were about to leave, after about ten hours of devoting our hearts to Shannon and all she meant, I heard that my name was displayed in the Barrow home. I heard that she had a blackboard that listed the people she was praying for and that my name was on it. I saw it and wept. Dear Shannon had me at the top. In her handwriting.  For now. As we are all at the top. As Jesus has each of us at the top.  Here it is.

Good-bye for now, dear Sister. Hold for us a place at the table. Can’t wait to see your smile and hear your laughter. Then, the real joy begins.

Dear Lord, thank you for Shannon and thank you for her family and friends who gathered yesterday to celebrate her life. Thank you for so much truth and love. We mourn and wonder, why now, as we wonder about so many things. It’s so hard sometimes to live with the unknown and it makes us not want to believe the truths that are right in front of us. So, we live in the tension of this life … a life of both joy and sorrow. Then, we look at your daughter, Shannon, who you love the most. As you love us the most. Thank you for the gift of her remarkable life and how she made us more like the persons you seek us to be. And we realize this resolves the tension. This helps erase the doubts. Then our spirits are lifted and hope blooms again. The kind of hope that is not possible without you. Love, Brad.

 

 

 

I’m guessing that the previous post might have been a turn-off. Things like wonder, love, grace, and grief can be very personal and they can seem within our control, so to speak. At the most, they involve our relationship with another person or thing. But justice opens the door to larger and some potentially threatening things like judgment and evil. Not your nice dinner table conversation. But, does that mean they aren’t real? As real as all of these other features of life we find so compelling or demanding of our attention?

We left off with me saying we have a choice between two things. Then, I modified that to three.

Let’s pick up there.

The first choice is whether we think it’s even important to think about this stuff or not. Of course, we can choose not to think about it. I spoke briefly about that option.

The second choice assumes we’ve determined that at least some of this stuff is worth thinking about. In that case, we need to ask questions about things like good, bad, right, and wrong. Most people at least accept this as reasonable.

The third choice, assuming we’ve decided to examine these things is whether we truly want to discover whether our lives have meaning or not. And, I believe, there is no middle ground here. We either move in the direction of ultimate meaning or in the direction of ultimate meaninglessness. I can’t honestly find a middle ground. I know. I tried for decades.

So where does this leave us with the concept of Justice? By the way, there is good news at the end of this! Wait until we get to Mercy! 🙂

But, it’s time to plow more ground and see what springs up. All is not fertile. Rocks and weeds abound. To carry the metaphor further, in many places proper nutrients are in very short supply.

Unfortunately, we have to acknowledge that this is what we have to work with. We can go about our business, blithely choosing to ignore suffering and injustice around us or we can open our eyes and our hearts to some stark realities of life. We can choose to build walls and fortresses to keep us out of the muck or we can engage with the realities of the human condition and choose to do something about it.

(As an aside, probably the hardest thing to do is to look inward to find the places inside our own life, psyche, and behavior while we point fingers at others. I intend to come back to this at some point.)

What do we see when we open our eyes to the realities of the human condition? Oh my. Enormous poverty and suffering. Brutal persecution on both small and large scales. Sickness. Desperation. Despair. Depravity. Need I go on? Love blossoms, then too frequently is snuffed out. Happiness is fleeting as we face burdens that bend us.

Once again, we can build walls and pursue our own lives, especially living in the west with our enormous wealth and privilege. We can watch the news and say “that just isn’t right!” We can demand that our government officials do a much better job of addressing these problems as sides square off to try to deal with their magnitude.

Or, we can take a breath and try to consider what justice really is all about and what control, if any, we have in this whole thing.

Bluntly, do we choose to stay on the sidelines as bystanders or do we choose to engage in this muck?

In all honesty, I can’t see any choice but to engage. Not if the concept of justice is real and that there are such things as good and bad, right and wrong.

One way to address this is to start at a personal level.

When we are wronged, there is a cost. It’s called suffering. We hurt. We naturally want payback. We want “redress for grievances.” This is the basis of our legal system and for western civilization. Why do we want redress? Because, as I mentioned in the previous post, we’re hardwired with a sense of justice.

We want criminal acts prosecuted and perpetrators “brought to justice!” We want people who take advantage of us financially in devious ways to pay us back and if they don’t, we take them in front of the system to “enforce justice.” We want billionaires who live their lives in palaces and on super yachts to at least give some of the wealth they’ll never spend to support those less fortunate. “It’s only right!” We want people who have wronged us to admit they’ve wronged us.

And, we want brutal dictators to stop the slaughter, the inhumane treatment of people under their power. “Can’t someone do something about this?”

We want money to go to causes that fight against the darker side of human life: Poverty, sickness, abuse. Most of us don’t actually like taxes but we understand that there are costs to be paid in order to have a society that functions … a society that mitigates suffering and offers the means for hope.

There are costs to be paid to bring balance.

Are we thinking of all the ways to pay those costs? Are we thinking about ways to cease to be bystanders? Are we willing to dig into that soil to remove the rocks and weeds and to find the nutrients the soil so desperately needs?

If my life actually has meaning, what is my part in all of this?

Lots of questions. I’ll try to take a shot at answering.

If you’re reading these things, I guess that you agree that life has meaning. (Unless you’re enjoying these writings as a kind of academic exercise to see where it leads.)

If life has meaning, then what is a “life well lived?”

I have to say that a life well lived is a life that seeks out injustice and tries to stamp it out. I believe this strongly.

Now, this is not easy and creates all sorts of problems and disagreements as to what that looks like. All sorts of directions that are destructive in their own right. But, that does not excuse us from taking this on. We want it for ourselves when it happens to us. We should want it equally for others when it happens to them.

One common method we westerners use is to throw money at situations. This is not bad, as money in the right places can do great good. But, money can also be used inappropriately and has its limits.

Diane and I give money and are happy to do so. I’m not saying that to boast or appear noble. We’re far from it! Some people give substantial portions of their income to support the victims of circumstances that just don’t seem right. Diane and I have our charities that we believe sincerely change lives for the better. Some are facilitated through our church and some are not. Churches get a bad rap for so many reasons, existing as they do in an increasingly secular world. But churches raise huge sums of money from people who already pay their taxes, in order to go into desperate places to relieve suffering.

Yes, says the cynic, but what about all of those scandals? Well, of course, there are scandals. There are scandals in churches, schools, and government. In businesses and organizations of all stripes. But, that does not dissuade us from choosing to spend a portion of our wealth in places where suffering is keen.

Yes, money can help even the scales. Turn bad into good. Help right the wrongs. But money is just one way and, unfortunately, can mask our hearts and dull our eyes.

Money can lead us down a path that says that we don’t have to get our hands dirty. Either the problems are too big for someone so small as I or I don’t have the skills or time to deal with them personally.

No, justice demands our personal attention. The cost must be paid and we need to be available to help pay it.

Just as justice is implanted into us, so too do we have the means for carrying it out. And, I’m not talking Dirty Harry. Well, maybe just a little. 🙂

Here’s where it gets interesting. We come to another crossroads. One particular direction can seem to overwhelm. Where do we even begin?

If we arrive at a point where we believe the only truly moral position is to engage in justice somehow, then we need to figure out the best way. Bluntly, there’s no way to do it without getting our hands dirty. After all, it’s metaphorical soil we’re talking about. Bemoaning injustice, absent action, doesn’t reflect the behavior of an honest person. And, arriving at this conviction, we are left with options. First, we can support causes, either by money or ballot box, that reflect our beliefs. Both of these are good, so long as we do our due diligence to ensure our participation is warranted.

The second option is to get involved. Actually do something to battle injustice that requires specific action. In other words, stop being a bystander or just delegating responsibility to some organization or government.

OK. Let’s say we accept that justice is a good thing and that we should participate in good and to try to stem or defeat bad. Then, we accept that we have a role to play and that supporting causes that fight injustice is something we should probably do. We have the means and it’s just a question of priorities. And, let’s say, we determine that it has a priority, wherever that may lie. Then, we hear a voice that says we may have some personal responsibility beyond money or voting. It might be a good idea if we paid enough attention to actually doing something. What would that look like?

I have two suggestions. One is to get involved in an effort that engages in the community in some way. And, by community, that can mean being very close to home or in the region. Some effort that focuses on brokenness and seeks to bring healing. The key is to consider our gifts and talents and to apply them in ways that help others. Remarkably, we are the ones blessed through this, although that is not our intention! The second way is for us to apply this perspective in all aspects of our daily lives. So, what does that look like?

This is an area where I feel I’ve been growing substantially in the last ten years. It’s also an area that is probably the most difficult for most of us. It’s one thing (a good thing) to give our money and votes, even occasional or regular participation in an effort to help a particular group. It’s another thing to wake up each morning and to be open to the brokenness, distress and injustice that just appears every day. And, it does. Every day. It can be big or it can be very subtle.

This is where I feel we really get down into that soil because now it’s personal and immediate. It requires changing the way we view others, the world around us and (most importantly) ourselves.

And, this brings us to our last set of options in this post.

The first is to be very aware of how people behave in our surroundings. Are we attune to places where the people we are in contact with on a daily basis are suffering or hurting? Where people treat others poorly? And, if aware, what do we do about it? Do we say, “not my problem?” Maybe it’s inappropriate to intervene. But, we need to ask ourselves is that the case? Do we see bullying? Do we see brokenness? Are we too busy?

The second is to be self-aware. Is my behavior designed to heal or to wound? Am I going out of my way to encourage the people who I meet? Who I work or live with? Do I know what pains them? What is causing them to be anxious? Do I pause in kindness during a conversation with a stranger?

Now, we are deep down in the soil.

Why, it might be asked, am I linking this to justice? Because it’s all tied to love. If love is willing the good of another … not just thinking about it, but willing it, then justice is weighting the scales to balance against broken places, hurt places, hollow places … places where darkness and even evil reside.

Justice is a matter of the heart as well as the mind. Is my heart soft and open? This does not mean passivity. On the contrary, it’s a battle and takes strength and determination.

To recap: This is all about how we respond to the knowledge that there are rights and wrongs in this world. How do we respond with awareness? How do we respond with conviction? How do we act as agents of justice? How do we participate in restoration? Are we willing to step out of comfort zones and prioritizing all of our own needs against the needs of others?

Evil dwells in the hearts and minds of people who are blinded to what is just and good. It serves its own master and sets us one against another. It divides us and tells us that we are the thing that truly matters, no matter the consequences for others. Our needs must triumph. They are supreme.

The great 18th century Irish philosopher Edmund Burke is attributed as saying, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men should do nothing.”

If we accept this as true, as I do, then we must choose. And, if we choose to fight evil in both large and small places, we are called to action. That action can include sharing our wealth, our time, and talents. It must also include being open to our surroundings to notice the plight of others, to encourage others, to be an agent of love and healing. And, it must include an interior examination about our own behaviors. After all, judgment is a two-way street … something we will explore next time.

There are days I struggle with this and days I just feel blessed to be a part of the solution. It does me no good to wallow in self-incrimination, as in, “Am I really doing everything I can?” I have found that to lead into an unhealthy place. After all, this set of issues is just a piece of life. I have written widely on so many others.

None of this is easy. None of it is safe. But it is good.

Lord, thank you for opening our eyes to the realities of this world. Thank you for giving us the eyes to see, the hearts to feel and the hands to do the work that needs to be done. We understand that the soil is our lives … the lives of all of us. We understand that much of that soil is populated with weeds and rocks and even barrenness. On the other hand, we have a sense of what it’s like to methodically move those rocks, pull those weeds, open up space, and layer in the stuff of life. Help us to make this a priority. Help us to tip the scales. Help us to love. Amen.

For awhile now, I’ve put off writing about this subject and as I sit down, I’m not sure how it will turn out. Themes such as wonder, love and service or even grief and mortality are easier to tackle. Why is that? I suspect it’s because we recognize them fairly easily. On the other hand, to dive into justice and its somewhat distant cousin, mercy, makes us confront some things we don’t want to confront. The problem is not one of unfamiliarity. We have some innate sense of what justice and mercy mean. No, the problem is that we don’t want to give them some ultimate authority. We like them wrapped in neat boxes and on our terms.

Now, in a purely naturalist worldview, neither of these concepts makes any real sense. From the framework of natural selection, there is no justice and can be no mercy. These values are irrelevant in a survival of the fittest environment. Humans that try to impose these values from within this kind of worldview (because, after all, one thing humans do is to order our lives around values, unlike plants and other animals) do so as fabrications, like putting lipstick on a pig, so to speak.

For starters, let’s look at justice. This may take awhile, I’m guessing.

One way to begin is to think of justice as fairness. Who does not like fair? Everyone wants fair. Small children. Adults.  Pre-modern indigenous peoples. Adolf Hitler, Stalin and Mao. Martin Luther King and Mahatma Gandhi. Husbands and wives. Some people want what’s fair for them, “My fair share of the pie!” Others want what’s fair for others. In other words, we all seek some kind of balance. “It’s only right!”

But, then, there’s the axiom: “Life’s not fair.” What’s up with that?

So, this is something we all want and need but it’s not available. This is one reason we don’t want to go deep. We hit a brick wall of frustration.

We resolve this frustration by trying to build all sorts of systems designed to balance the scales. The west has been particularly good at this with the development of protective laws and systems of morality and ethics by which we can enforce fairness … or justice.  There’s a reason for this, of course.

We create rules and the means to enforce them, all in order to bring order. We bridle at those who take more than we think they should or get away with doing things they shouldn’t do. Most of us have a very developed sense of what we think fairness and justice really are. Let’s explore that.

I’m not a philosopher and lack the clarity of some really wise people. I’m a bit more of the seat of my pants thinker and observer, although I’ve read a fair share on this subject and have had more than a few discussions about it over the years. There are some things I can’t escape.

The first is that there has to be a metric or objective truth by which we determine what is fair or just. From now on, I’ll stick to using “justice” as the term, rather than fairness. Without an objective starting point, justice has no meaning. No one has the right to argue that this thing or that thing is just or unjust. It becomes a simple statement of, “this is how I feel, so that’s that.”

This same logic (of no objective measure) can easily result in this declaration: “There’s really nothing wrong with adults physically abusing very small children because it happens to give me pleasure and I value pleasure.” Sorry to be graphic. It would be a rare person who would not cry out for the hands of justice to be employed. Nearly all of us would exclaim, “this is simply wrong and it does not matter what that abuser thinks.”

You see, there’s something inside of us that cries out for wrongs to be righted. Some things are just plain wrong.

Whoa there. How can that be? As many would say, right and wrong are in the eye of the beholder. “What’s right for someone else is not necessarily right for me. What is acceptable in one culture but not mine does not mean that the practice is absolutely wrong.”

Is that true? Is it true that there are no absolute truths?

Stop.

Is it true that there are no absolute truths?

Can we not all see the fallacy!

Of course, it cannot be true that there are no absolute truths. The statement is self-contradictory.

Simply, there are absolute truths, whether we like it or not.  I could go on and on about this but I want to move forward. (If someone wants me to write more about truth, I’ll be happy to try.)

If we are at a point where we can accept the concept of absolute truth (Remember, this is something akin to saying, “I’m sorry, it does not matter that you think it’s right, your actions are indefensible and are just plain wrong.”  Think Hitler throwing millions into ovens because he thought Jews were the scourge of humanity and actually not human. If your first instinct is to go to a place that says, “You know he has a right to think that and, given power, to act on those principles. Who am I to say he’s wrong?” then you live in a world of complete relativity and should have no recourse to seek help against those who you see as having wronged you.) then we have to wonder what that metric (yardstick) is.

Which bring us to the concepts of right and wrong.

Right and wrong are judgments made by rational beings. But they are based on something deeper.

And, this is were it gets interesting and it’s also where many people just do not want to go.

It brings us back to choices. Door A opens to a path that says there is no absolute right or wrong. Everything is relative to circumstance. Slaughtering people in a crowded movie theater is no more wrong than pulling a weed out of a garden.  We have a choice to go down that path. Make no mistake about it. There are many people who think there is no such thing as absolute right or wrong. They may like going part way down the path but don’t realize where it leads. Without going into too much detail, this is where Nietzsche and later Existentialist philosophers went. And they ended up in abject despair.

Then there’s Door B, which brings us along a path that says, “I guess there is such a thing as absolute right and wrong when you put it that way, but I don’t want to really think about where that comes from. It’s just too hard or uncomfortable.”  Door B people get nervous around the nature of absolute justice, by the way.

Door C brings us to the point of being open to what lies behind our belief or feeling that there has to be some absolute right and wrong and that I want to know what that is. Pause to consider that.

Personal Detour

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a deep and abiding sense in the concept of justice. It’s never fully left me, although I admit it’s become very cloudy at times, especially when I went through a phase more akin to moral relativism, which is the temptation of Door A people and, to some extent, Door B people.

I’ve always tended to feel things strongly and to look at things very carefully. Unfortunately, as a Door B person for a long time, I was unaware of the consequences of some decisions and behaviors as I did not see them for what they were, against a clearly objective measure.

As I’ve said openly for the past ten years, I lacked a moral compass that was set on True North.

And, then, Door B did not work anymore. At the risk of being dramatic, the world came crashing in. On the one hand, I was cursed with a mind that searched for meaning and that a passive life is not a good life. On the other hand, I was blessed because, at the moment of the crash, Door C opened.

It was there, that I came face to face with the basis for right and wrong.  I came fairly quickly to the conclusion that right and wrong has to spring from the conflict between good and evil.

Back on Track

I’ll say it again, a belief that there are such things as absolute right and wrong has to come from a basis in the conflict between good and evil.

Whoa. Stop the presses. Some people who are unsatisfied with the Door B path and retrace in order to go down the Door C path will stop right here. And, this is one reason I’ve waited to broach the subject. It’s because our modern sensibilities seem to be ok with “good,” “bad,” “right,” and “wrong,” but bridle at the concept of evil.

You see, evil is sinister and personal. It suggests a quality in reality that is so bad and so dark that no light issues forth. It sucks life and destroys that which we see as good.

Absolute good is born of the wellspring of love.

Absolute bad is born of the wellspring of evil.

The opposite of love is not hate. To me, evil is the opposite of love, not hate. This is a big deal, in my opinion.  We can love and hate at the same time. (I actually don’t like using the word hate because it’s so loaded. I’ll substitute “abhor.”) For instance, we can have hearts full of love and abhor terrible injustice. There is no conflict between those things. I’d posit that, if we truly love, we can also abhor or be disgusted at the opposite of love. And, the opposite of love is evil. The key here, without going way off track, is that love always triumphs over evil and that we do not let that part of us which hates or abhors diminish our love.

To understand justice is to understand the sources of good, bad, right, wrong, love and evil.

This is what happens when Door A or Door B people come up short. And, this is where the path forward through Door C leads.

I’ve seen evil. Up close and personal. Also, you can’t read history or watch the news with an open mind and not see evil. Terrible and atrocious acts carried out by humans and justified by all sorts of means. Calculated attempts to slaughter and destroy other people, not even for political or financial gain but because the acts gave pleasure.

Door C people seek the source of good, right and love. Many call that source God. Door C people must also confront the source of evil.

This is not easy, nor is it popular. Our culture drowns in the portrayal of evil acts and evil behavior and we are desensitized to it. Some see these acts and behaviors as fantasy and tempting. They and we can become inured. And, in that inurement, we lose our ground for justice, the very justice that is hardwired into us.

This is one of the great tragedies of our time and in our lives. We can become blind to evil and even twist it in our minds to either say it’s really not evil or that there is no such things as evil.

And, with that, justice erodes. Black become white and white becomes black. We doubt good and champion bad. We try to compartmentalize this to media … games, films, etc… But, it wears us down. Our hearts begin to close off to the light. We doubt the light. And, as we doubt the light, we lose track of love. Pleasure or its spiritual twin, self-realization, build a stronghold. Neither pleasure nor self-realization have room for justice. We are reduced to non-sentient animals. We are left with two new choices: Either I am my own God or God does not exist, only the void.

Either way, what happens does not really matter. There are no scales. No justice. No judgment. That is all illusion. If we do not accept the fact that evil is a thing that must be acknowledged and confronted, we are left on quicksand, although we desperately try to escape it. Or, we are ostriches with our heads in the sand … “see no evil.”

Wow. Now that’s depressing!!

Let’s just plain admit it. There are people who commit evil acts. Come on now. Can’t we do that? Of course. So, are there evil people?

I’ll dodge that question for the moment, but we can at least agree that there are people whose hearts and minds are driven by impulses that make them do evil things. Where do those come from?

And, what do we do with them? I don’t mean what happens to them in games or in movies and TV. I mean what do we want to happen to them in real life … as when they do something horrific to someone we love? Of course, we want justice!  We want justice because we recognize evil and we know that it is bad and wrong.

So, what is justice, really?

It’s righting a wrong. It’s paying the cost. It’s actually doing something to equalize the imbalance. Hence, the scales of justice.

We all want this. We just struggle at what it looks like in practice. How can every act of evil be brought to justice, which is only right? How can the debt created by evil and injustice be paid? Is there such a thing as a cosmic scale?

To the last question, Door A people would say that’s ridiculous. Wishful thinking. Since there are no such things as absolute good, bad, right, wrong, evil (and love for that matter!), then there is no cosmic justice. Dust to dust. Meaningless before, meaningless now, meaningless after.

If this is not confusing enough, let me say this:

Door A leads ultimately to no absolute truth, which means our lives have no absolute meaning. We are particles in a great cosmic mixture of coalescing atoms. Period. No soul. No hereafter. No supernatural reality. Most people bridle at this to the consternation of atheists who must grapple with the problem that their lives don’t really matter in any way other than to maybe procreate. So, those that bridle look at Door B and live in a kind of tension where there is a right and wrong but they can’t put their finger on it. So, some Door B people keep pushing and see Door C and decide to check it out. Well, Door C opens up a path that makes some sense until we come face to face with the problem of evil. We have a choice here. We can explore where this leads or retrace our steps. All the way back. All the way back to Door A. I honestly cannot find a satisfactory middle ground. I know. I tried for decades. C.S. Lewis tried. Many others have tried.

I ended up with two choices. Meaningless or Fully Meaningful. Again, there was no middle ground.

Actually, I ended up with three choices. (1) Either it is important to consider this stuff or not. (2) If I believe it’s important to think about and live out a life that looks at good, bad, right and wrong, then I have to choose a path that makes sense. Otherwise, I’m just a simply passive human being, wandering. Or, (3) I must choose between meaning and meaningless. There is no middle ground.

Heavy stuff. Maybe some of you reading this disagree and that’s fine. As I said before, I’m not a trained philosopher, nor am I exceedingly wise. However, this is the place I have arrived and I invite you to engage the topic.

I’ll pause for now and pick things up soon.

Lord, this is tough stuff. We want things to be neat and to make sense. It’s hard to pull up the rug and wait to see what crawls out. We live in an age where there is unbelievable deprivation and violence, yet there is bountiful good and where we are tugged by hope. Help us to go to difficult places in order to better understand our lives and how to live them out. Thank you for the gift of wisdom in order to discern things when there used to be fog. We ask for strength to follow through with the intentions that are placed on our hearts and minds, once we discern. Amen.

My friend and former student, Ashley, dropped by recently for a visit. It’s been quite awhile since I’ve seen her, although we’ve been in touch periodically. She is an accomplished writer and speaker and knows more than one or two things about blogging. While we covered a lot of ground in her visit, she made it a point to say I made a kind of tactical error early on with this blog. Always being open to criticism from my students, I inquired “how is that?” She commented that my blogs are particularly long. This was not the first time I’d heard someone reflect that my writings have length. Hopefully, breadth and depths as well, on occasion. 🙂 Anyway, she wasn’t admonishing me because they are tedious to read; instead, she said I set myself up early with having to produce just a whole lot of stuff, establishing some kind of precedent. Oh. She does have a point. Fortunately, this isn’t a competition and I’m not in the mold of Charles Dickens who, I seem to recall, was paid by the word.

Which brings me to today and another interlude. Hopefully, I’ll be in a place in the next few days to follow up on some themes that have been bubbling around. A couple that I’ve put off that will be a challenge.

For now, I’ll just share that I pretty much powered down on Thursday and Friday, attending to this and that without diving in headfirst. Yesterday promised to be extremely busy and it was. Up early. Down at Clairemont Methodist Church at 7:30am to set up for an all day Emmaus training that went extremely well. Just plain terrific people. Diane worked with the couple of dozen women (she is an assistant director) while I worked with the great men’s team. As this year’s director, it’s been a challenge due to my health situation but they’re willing and able to step in and do whatever needs to be done. It’s tough to find a group with deeper servant’s hearts than you find in Emmaus.

The day capped off in the evening with one of my favorite activities: High school sports. Most of you know that I still have strong allegiances to Mission Hills, where I served as founding principal and eight years in that position. Well, my two very good friends and colleagues, Ken (Athletic Director) and Billy (my former AP and now an HR Director), picked me up to see if the MH basketball girls could pull off the amazing feat of a third straight CIF Championship in the top Open Division. Ranked sixth in the state, we took on private school La Jolla Country Day, ranked seventh in the state and state champion last year. What a game! I’ve never seen girls basketball played at that level. Everyone said the same thing. Back and forth, remarkable talent as the girls continued to sink impossible threes as if they played in the NBA. In the end, of course, all is right with the world as our girls brought home another championship. Threepeat, as they say!  It was great being back with Ken and Billy, two of the main reasons I used to love my job.

This morning, off to church where we have the blessing of serving communion, which we do once a month. Not a perfunctory act but deeply meaningful on so many levels.

We received word of the time and place for dear Shannon’s memorial service. I’m sure some hundreds of people will attend. At prayer on Friday, we spent more time laughing and weeping as we grappled with our huge loss. There is nothing like loving community and sharing the joys and sorrows of life.

Sorry that I’m not called to really deep places today. Feel free to seek a refund from the site administrator. 🙂  Kidding aside, thank you for taking the time out of your busy lives to check in!

Full disclosure: I sort of just hit the wall. Things caught up and I’m going to try to power down again. I know I want to write about balance. I’ve learned a lot about balance in the last ten years. Still struggle with it, however. Maybe many of you have it down. Balance comes and goes, I suppose. If we’re honest, we’re always searching for the sweet spot, which can be elusive.

Our friend, Pat, termed my specialist our Tier Four doctor. I like it. Not sure if he’s out of puberty yet but I’m happy to surrender into his care. I’m not stupid. When he said I could begin to be more active, I knew he didn’t mean try to break that stair master again. While the headaches have mostly disappeared (praise God), I have no knowledge that this problem just went poof. But, my body and mind have sort of gone, “Hey, let’s get back in the saddle. We have some catching up to do!”

No single thing. A few big things. A passel of smaller things. Physical and emotional. Toss in a dose of little sleep and enough is enough. I got the message at several times today. Thank you to the several of you who shared that with me in your own way. Also, it just became so plain obvious, to be honest.

I didn’t want what happened to me two years ago to do a repeat appearance. As I retired, I’d clearly heard God say (sorry to faithful readers who raise an eyebrow at that!), “take a year off when you retire and don’t commit to anything. You need to rest, get your health in order, learn to really listen to me. There will be plenty for you to do after that time.” Well, I made it six months til January, when I began to feel tugged to jump back in and serve in a few areas. Then one morning, I stood up, my right foot slipped out of my flip flop and I was sidelined from walking and driving for months. Not sayin’ God broke my foot, mind you. But I don’t want to test that process now. Not at all.

So, I’m going to try to back off on that accelerator pedal a bit. Down to idle for at least a couple of days. My priorities still don’t change. Every day is a gift. Appreciate the moments. Receive blessings with gratitude. Look kindly upon others and enrich their lives wherever possible. None of this is hard.

Lest I be misunderstood, some of the most physically frail people are the strongest people I know. Frailties in this life can never stand against trust, hope and love.

Thank you for listening. I know I checked the stats on this blog thing several weeks ago that shows how many people read it and I was surprised. I haven’t since. It doesn’t matter. If the words resonate with anyone and help frame feelings and thoughts, then I count that as a blessing, as so many have blessed me.

Don’t get rid of that stair master. I’ll be back. 🙂

Lord, sometimes we avoid the obvious and don’t rest when the signs are clear. We choose to forge ahead because that seems like the right thing to do. Well, we know that isn’t always good. It’s hard to admit frailty. It’s hard to surrender. Thank you for showing us how. Amen.

I said Sunday night that a light had gone out in the world. I mentioned yesterday that sometimes the beacon seems distant and dim. We are so used to the metaphors of light and darkness. As I woke up in the darkness of the way predawn, quietly listening, I thought again about light.

Light is life. Vibrant. Shimmering. Radiant. Light is full of possibilities. Light is energy. Physicists will say it is also matter, in a sense. That should give us pause.

Of course, life allows us to see. What is it we see? That may seem obvious but I think maybe it goes deeper. I think we can also choose what to see. Light, then, is a door to possibilities.

Shannon was light. Yes, we’re all flawed, something Shannon always laid out in front of us as she pointed the finger back at herself. She’d be the first to admit her shortcomings, her struggles and temptations, where she felt she fell short that week. We’d all nod our heads as our own mind’s eyes looked inward and we saw the same rough patterns. This was not beat-yourself-up kinds of recriminations. Shannon modeled how we can never be so full of ourselves that we lose touch with what is really important.

Which makes me think of black holes. Forgive the geek talk for a moment. A black hole can be seen as the opposite of light. A black hole is a collapsed star so dense, its gravitational pull so strong, that even light cannot escape. A black hole sucks in light. Do we know any people like that?  People who just know how to take and not give?

Then there is Shannon. Yesterday, as a few of us gathered in the morning just to be together, I learned even more about her capacity to give. I suspect in the days and weeks to come, those accounts will flow and flow. In the giving, Shannon spread light.

I know many, many people who spread light. They kind of just shed it. I’m sure you can think of someone or some people like that. I can’t even begin to mention all of the ones I know.  If I were to try to list them here, I’d get pretty far but run the risk of leaving someone out. How embarrassing that would be!

Ok. I’ll mention three.

One is my friend, Emily. She’s a single mom living up in Spokane. Mid 50s. Has not had an easy life. She has known all sorts of pain. Anguish. We’ve been in and out of touch over the nearly 40 years we’ve known one another. Her mother married my uncle later in life, the one who is reclusive. So, Emily is my uncle’s stepdaughter. They have not always had the easiest of relationships as my uncle is not particularly good with relationships. A month or so ago, Emily was down in San Diego and dropped by to see my uncle. I won’t go into details here but to say that what Emily found was simply awful. Being Emily, she didn’t flinch but mustered resources and single handedly rescued my uncle. Now, this may seem commonplace and many people pull together when faced with huge challenges. I can’t share all of the reasons why Emily’s actions are so noteworthy. They just are. Emily is shining light.

The second is my friend, Gary. Gary will be back in prison this weekend, Thursday through Sunday. He’s there every Monday late afternoon and for extended times, like this weekend, a couple of times a year. Gary’s light shines in many places but prison is another place altogether. Gary just retired as a world-renowned scientist, specializing in exploring the deepest intricacies of matter and energy. More than a decade ago, he heard a call to go into prison, as foreign to him as it is to most of us. He battled the call but finally surrendered. Thankfully. Gary is a beacon, bringing light to the lives of men who live in that darkest of places. Gary sacrifices a lot to go in there. The drive in traffic down to Donovan, resting as it does on the border, can be miserable. The destination is miserable. The choice is his. Gary’s actions help transform lives. They bring light.

 
The third is my Diane. I remember her walking through the door on the night of January 15, 1982. The beginning of a blind date, organized at the house of some mutual friends. All I saw was beauty and, as the evening developed, I realized that her beauty ran deep.

Most of you reading this know Diane. Some do not. Those of you who know her will understand completely why I choose to go here.

When I spoke at Diane’s mother’s memorial, I mentioned that her mom, June, seemingly had a pure and radiant heart. I shared that June had inherited that from her own mother, who was called Grandjoy by the grandkids and all others who knew her. Diane clearly inherited that heart from those women.

Diane will not like reading this. But, I need to say it. Diane lights up spaces. She blows in with smiles and laughter. It doesn’t matter where she is or seemingly who she talks to. She gives and she cares. Is there a one of you who knows her who doesn’t see that?

What do we learn from these three and the many others who they represent?

Part of me wants to go all theological here but I’ll try to refrain. 🙂  Well, maybe I’ll dip my toe in it.

We are children of the light. We are designed to shine. We are designed to pour out love and deeply bless those around us. Those who subscribe to an exclusively naturalist worldview would have to say that somehow survival of the fittest must explain why we sacrifice our own needs, at cost to ourselves, in order to give to others.  I’m not going to spend time here going down that rabbit trail. I’ll simply say that I’ve finally come to the conclusion that lives like theirs is no accident but reflective of the essence of humanity.

As I conclude this piece, it’s still dark but I can see out our picture window that the sky has the faintest tinge of deep blue. Dawn is coming. The day will begin. Life will bustle. What will all of this bring? What choices will we make today about what we see and do? At the end of the day as we slip into rest, how will our lives have mattered in the spaces between dark? Will any of the light remain?

Jesus tells his disciples in Luke 11:33-36, “No one lights a lamp and puts it in a place where it will be hidden, or under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, so that those who come in may see the light. Your eye is the lamp of your body. When your eyes are healthy, your whole body also is full of light. But when they are unhealthy, your body is full of darkness. See to it, then that the light within you is not darkness. Therefore, if your whole body is full of light, and no part of it dark, it will be just as full of light as when a lamp shines its light on you.”

Lord, thank you for the gift of Light. We recognize where it comes from. At least we try. Help us to find the dark places, in ourselves and in this world, so that light can shine and illuminate. And, by illumination, bring vibrancy, radiance and beauty. To bring life. Help us to have eyes to see, hearts to feel and the hands to carry out those things that need to be done. Thank you for bringing people like Shannon, Emily, Gary, Diane and all of the legions of others like them into our own lives. Yes, with Shannon’s passing a light has gone out in the world. Thankfully, this world still has plenty left. Amen.

Today, we grieve.

Let tomorrow come. And then the next day. Today, we grieve.

Most of us know grief. Some, all too well. Our minds wrestle. They fight it. They can’t compute the ‘why.’

Our hearts don’t wrestle, though. They just break. The ache is painful. At times, agonizingly so, especially for those whose love for the one lost knows no boundaries.

I reflected earlier this morning that grief is love’s companion. An unwelcome companion, assuredly, but its companion nonetheless. We cannot grieve for something lost that we did not love.

God loves. God grieves. Why? How does that work? Perhaps another time.

We cannot grieve for Shannon, of course. Could she communicate directly with us, she would certainly say, “Do not grieve, dear brothers and sisters! If you could only see me now. Then you would understand.” She would say, “I knew it would be really good. But, in my wildest imagination, I couldn’t conceive of this. Now, I truly understand.” She would say, “I loved you all so much. And, now, I am breathing love.” And, she would speak to us all, “He is real. Please answer the call. Listen. What is being offered is priceless beyond compare.”

No, we grieve for one another. For ourselves. A piece of us torn away and we know there’s no replacement. We reach out to others dear to us. Our tears flow. Some of us sob. Some stare silently. Most of us just want to be in the presence of others who understand what is happening. We take small steps through the day. Each one painful.

I wrote (was it a day or two ago?) that God shows up in dark places. He does. Even when we shout at him that it’s not fair. It’s not right. She was too young. How could this happen? He shows up. Perhaps right now, his beacon may seem distant and vague. This particular beacon is named Hope.

Thank you to everyone who has been praying for Shannon. Some of you reading these posts have never met her, yet you have joined in her life these past several weeks. You have joined with Diane and me in our life with Shannon and the others who love her. We are grateful. This is how life is meant to be lived.

We love. We hope. We serve. We care. We worship.

Today, we grieve.

Dear Lord, hear the cry of our hearts. Take this grief as only you know how. Thank you for Shannon. We really mean that. Thank you for Shannon. She showed us your face. We hurt so much because our time with her was too short. We hurt so much because she made us better and now we wonder what will happen to fill that hole. Then, we remember that it’s you. All along, it’s you. She is your daughter and we thank you for where she is right now. Please, please, surround her dear family and loving friends with the knowledge that they are loved and can be comforted. We lift all of this up to you. Amen.

Our dear Shannon has gone to be with our Lord. A light has gone out in our world. We reach into the knowledge that she is alive and radiant but our grief is so strong right now. She leaves behind a loving husband and four daughters, all believers. Hearts breaking. Words don’t work.

I woke up this morning thinking about thin spaces. Maybe some of you are familiar with the term, maybe not. As I understand it, it’s used to describe a place where the fabric between this natural world we live in and the supernatural reality that surrounds us becomes more transparent. I’m going to run the risk of ruffling some feathers here, I’m afraid. Something I’ve tried to avoid in these reflections. If possible, though, however we may disagree about this or that, my hope is that we alight on the deepest of truths.

At a point in the early Hebrew monotheistic world, God was so holy and untouchable that he could only be experienced directly once a year by the purest of priests, and then only after he passed through the thickest of curtains. And, then in the Christian experience, that holiest of Gods became flesh and blood and completely touchable. Talk about a thin space.

In the pantheistic world, meaning God is in and around everything, God is a kind of force that permeates all substance, animate, inanimate. The thin spaces, then, become the places (often in nature) where we feel or experience that force more powerfully.

There are many faith practices that seek to mix and match both who and what God is and where he (in whatever form) is most present.

Of course, the thinnest of spaces is at the point where this life ceases to exist and we discover that either this whole spirituality thing is just a big old fantasy and part of evolutionary biology as some popular atheists proclaim, or that there really is an Other. At that point, if the latter is true, we will also know about thin spaces in this life.

I was thinking about thin spaces because I woke up early this morning (I made it till 3:30!!) as I do every morning now, thinking about my dear friend Shannon lying there in that hospital, hooked up to so many tubes, doctors courageously trying to keep her body alive so they can put in the toxins to beat down the cancer. Our desperate plea is that she gets stabilized as the doctors begin treatment. For the sake of her family, if nothing else, who so completely love her and wish to spend many, many more years as the girls marry, have children and share love.

I thought of Shannon in a thin space.

Then I thought of my aged and reclusive uncle who has chosen a life that shuns deep relationships, he who prides himself on a kind of spirituality but has little left to show for it because he has perhaps only loved a few, while distancing so many others who have tried to care.

Both of these things are happening right now and I’m spending a good part of my awake time either aware or actively engaged in some form with these two people.

This may seem like wandering for a bit but I hope these thoughts come together in the end.

And, here’s where the ruffling of feathers comes in. Deep breath. I recently heard thin spaces used to describe a particular location on earth. As, we’re going there, because it’s a thin space. It’s a spiritual place. I won’t mention locations but I can certainly tick off a few.

I’m not sure why this concept has developed. Perhaps it may because ancient people (Native Americans, indigenous peoples on other continents) practiced their particular brand of religion in that general or specific location. Or, similarly, it might be a beautiful church where tens of thousands have worshipped through the centuries. People make pilgrimages to these places, seeking to touch the Other, whatever or whomever they believe that to be.

Before I’m misunderstood, I’m all for pilgrimages of a sort. Diane and I hope to walk in the footsteps of the Apostle Paul when we visit Ephesus,Turkey this summer. Someday, God willing, we can stand on the shores of Galilee. I have sat in some really fine churches and have been awed.

But, by definition, a thin space is where God is so present, it’s nearly overpowering, all consuming. It’s here the pantheist and the monotheist should agree. Thin spaces can happen anywhere.

And, here it’s where it could get very interesting.

Naturally, we gravitate to beauty as the metric by which we judge how thin the space is. That grand and breathtaking vista from atop the mountain! That magnificent cathedral. The simple beauty of a people who have held on to their beliefs for hundreds or thousands of years.  And, all of this is good. Beauty IS a metric by which we understand our connection to God.

But, if that’s the only thing, we’re really missing the point.

I’ve seen heaven. I really have. It’s not the heaven described in books and movies but it’s heaven all right. One time, the space was so thin I didn’t think I could breathe. My heart hurt so much from the joy that I honestly thought it would burst out of my chest. It really was terribly painful but I also hoped the pain would never cease. Later, I heard that kind of experience described as “deep calling out to deep.” In my faith, that’s the Holy Spirit part of our triune God that is in me, reaching out in eternal love to the Father and Jesus. The eternal love of God is probably a pretty powerful force. No wonder I hurt!

But, I’ve also experienced thin spaces in squalor. In the most “unspiritual” of places. The Devil’s playground, as it’s described. No one makes a pilgrimage to prison in order to get in touch with a cosmic force or a spiritual experience.

Or, perhaps they do. The first time I went deep into the bowels of R.J. Donovan State Prison to worship and interact with inmates … murderers, gang bangers, burglars, drug dealers, etc…, I was actually overwhelmed with the love of God. The presence of the Holy Spirit was so powerful it, too, took my breath away. Why do those who minister to the ultimate outcasts keep going back? Because they experience God in ways that are nearly impossible to understand unless we step out in faith. Because they participate in bringing heaven into the deepest of pits.

Just as Jesus walked into the leper pits, his followers of so many stripes, ethnicities, and nations of origin choose to help redeem dark places a make them light, thin and sweet.

My God is not limited by space and time. He does not choose to be present in one location rather than another. My God happens to be all loving. Yes, it’s very hard to see him in the midst of squalor and desolation. But, just because it’s hard doesn’t mean he’s not there and can’t be found in the biggest way.

You see, God resides in the human heart. A heart that jumps ahead of the mind. A heart that beats with love. That love creates eyes to see and ears to hear. That love creates arms to embrace and it creates tears that flow in joy and sorrow.

Hugging someone who is clinging on out of desperation, weakened by grief or fear, is a thin space.

Jesus ate with sinners. Walked among outcasts. He brought rich and poor together and he said this is the Kingdom of Heaven. It is available right now. The thin space has arrived. All you have to do is believe.

I had a sense of what I’ve been saying for a very long time but I didn’t surrender to it. Then I did. I know not everyone will or is so called. But, I know I no longer have to go looking for thin spaces. I see them all of the time. Doesn’t make it easy. This is not about a constant state of ecstasy which is something I don’t seek. No, it’s not easy but it’s good. Very good. Life giving. It is the air I breathe. The air of the thin space that surrounds us all of the time and is manifest in how we worship, share life together, become engaged in this troubled world and actually partner with God to bless the lives of so many others.

In these things, God is present. He is just as vividly present in Donovan Prison or the Tijuana dump where hundreds live in squalor. He is present in the people that choose to connect with those who live there. The broken and downcast. But, it’s not just those extremes!

He is present when we smile and engage a harried employee, encouraging them and complimenting them. And we receive a smile in return. He is present when we choose to just listen and absorb someone else’s pain or struggle … forgetting our own agenda. He is present when we lift up our own failures, sins, and fears and plea for hope and forgiveness.

He is present in Shannon’s hospital room and she knows it.

He is present wherever we love, truly love. The kind of love Jesus displayed and taught us. Teaches us.

When I saw heaven that time it was because I experienced a love that transcended all understanding. In the years that followed, I’ve certainly done a very poor job of loving by that standard! But, I know that thin space was not just a mountaintop experience … and my job is not to just go find the next one. That’s not how it works. My job is to remember and to learn. Baby steps. Hopefully more forward than backwards.

I ask forgiveness from those who I’ve hurt and from those to whom I’ve not shown the love I feel. I ask for patience as I seek to grow in love.

The River is a great place to be. What a journey this all is!

Lord, help us to see you. Help us to see you in unexpected places. Teach us where to look for you. How to look for you. Help us to make that veil much more thin so that we may experience you more deeply. We thank you for the gifts of love and grace. Help our hearts to soften so we love more than judge. That we extend grace rather than express resentment. Help us to spend more time thinking of others than of ourselves and what we want. We know that with this help, thin spaces show up and life blooms radiantly, no matter the surroundings. Thank you. Amen