We can go through life as if on a treadmill. The same thing and then more of the same thing. A treadmill is nothing if not loyal to the same thing which may not be a bad thing if you want a very finite set of results. But, it’s not a good thing if you want to consider new things.

One thing that gives me great joy is to find a new thing about which I was formally either unaware or had only limited knowledge or experience. I think this is what small children must experience on a regular basis but adults, as consumed as we are in the regime of our lives, don’t apprehend regularly.

This happens to me when I find a brand new author that has a whole series of books that connect with me in a way that I wonder where they were before I discovered them. Interestingly, this sometimes happens when I arrive at the conclusion I will no longer find a brand new author that is as captivating as the last brand new author.

The point I’m trying to make is that it’s one of the wonderful things in life when we come across something that stretches us, pulls us forward, makes our world that much larger than it was yesterday.

I guess that’s a thing that I most like about teaching and learning. It allows us the ability to make the world that much larger (and more meaningful) than it was yesterday.

I tend to absorb a whole lot of information on a regular basis. In absorbing information, my default filter is always set to how relevant that information is to my experience and how I would translate it to anyone who cared to know it. I think that’s what teachers do.

So, to the point: I came across someone about three or four days ago about whom I may have only had the vaguest knowledge but for some reason leaped onto my radar. I’ve spent some considerable time watching his lectures on YouTube (in my spare time) and am amazed at his wisdom and discernment. What gives?

I think my point is that I find joy in being stretched. Some would say I’ve learned a lot. Perhaps that is true. But, I find great joy in coming across someone who has a far more developed understanding of reality than I and who possesses the ability to communicate it clearly and with the kind of character that makes their understanding not just reasonable but likely true.

One of the greatest problems we face these days is how to filter information. How to discern what is true or not. We are increasingly drawn into a thing now commonly referred to as “echo chambers” which are kind of like closed feedback loops that only reinforce things we’ve already assumed to be true. Now, on the one hand that’s not entirely bad: If we are confronted with information that defies what substantiates our conception of reality, we ought to be at least somewhat careful. On the other hand, if we only grasp on to the same story, without considering nuance or refusing to listen to or dialogue with others of different views, we make ourselves kind of a prison.

This is more and more commonplace. Times ten. While I appreciate looking at things that are contradictory to my apprehension of reality, what brings me true joy is coming across something that connects with my experience but significantly expands my ability to contextualize that experience. Isn’t that true for all of us?

So, I am like a kid in the candy shop, absorbing knowledge and using it to examine the things that I believe are worthy of examination. Having said that, I recognize that examined knowledge is just so much fluff without application and my job is to both learn and apply. At least that’s what I believe is my job as both teacher and student.

I’ve had occasion recently to think about words. I do this from time to time. I’ve always been a reader, I guess, and as such I’ve read a lot of words. Some people have a difficult time reading or, maybe not difficult but not something they enjoy much. I can’t imagine not reading but, then again, I can’t imagine fixing a car or building a beautiful wood cabinet from scratch. We each have our particular gifts. I find myself frequently immersed in words so it’s not a surprises when I pause now and then to reflect upon them.

Words and the languages they comprise, are merely symbols of certain things. They are ways we capture our thoughts, ideas and dreams and, when pieced together like we do a puzzle, they actually become a thing of themselves. In doing so, we are able to think and reason and, especially, communicate with others.

Words also lead to meaning, a peculiarly human feature and one, we too frequently take for granted. I guess I took the nature of words for granted for the longest time. They were the way I learned best and a way I was able to become lost in the most remarkable places, traveling backwards in time and around the world to experience all sorts of things from the mundane to the astonishing. It wasn’t until early adulthood, however, that I really began to realize their complexity, similar to mathematical symbols, where a single word might be the critical piece to unlock things of great depth and import. And, it’s only been in the more relatively recent past that I’ve changed some of my habits regarding use of some words.

As the theme of these pages is largely about a thing we can call faith, I want to turn to a couple of observations. They may come across as a little trite and that’s ok.

The first regards the name of that person commonly known as Jesus Christ. Known by some billions of people as God incarnate and many others as all sort of things from a vague historical figure and, perhaps, a teacher to one of the most widely used swear words, these two words can pack a punch.

At the risk of putting too fine a point on things, this man’s name was not Jesus Christ. As such, I’ve evolved away from referring to him in this way. Christ is not a last name. It is a designation; in this instance a reference to the long anticipated messiah or savior of the Hebrew people. Jesus was the son of Joseph and heralded from a backwater town on the shores of a large lake, one we call the Sea of Galilee, itself a not particularly imposing feature in remote part of the Roman Empire. For me, it would make more sense to either just refer to him as Jesus or as Jesus the Christ. To just refer to him as Christ would be like saying Lord or Savior. When Jesus asked his disciples who people thought he was, they told him that people thought he was Elijah or one of the other prophets. When he asked them who they thought he was, Peter answered, “You are the Christ.” I believe they referred to him directly as Rabbi (teacher) and, sometimes, Lord.

Why is this important? Well to many people it just isn’t. But to me, how we interpret these two words will affect how we understand the whole equation.

The thing I believe to be fundamentally true is that this person was both fully God and fully man. A feat so remarkable that it is without equal as a claim in human history. Now, Jesus, the Christ, represents this, where either of these two words in isolation may tilt our understanding of the big picture, or significance, a bit off kilter. In my experience, there may be a tendency to see Jesus as more human than divine and Christ as more divine then human. Why does this matter?

Well, a Jesus that does not reflect the truly awe-some, powerful and holy nature of God is a Jesus that is diminished and open to being made in our own image.

And, a Christ that is somehow perceived as above and beyond us, remote in his divinity is a messiah that is not one of us, a brother who took on flesh to live among us and show us how to become fully human.

Peter was often confused (one reason so many of us can identify with him and are encouraged by his struggles) but he got this one right. “Jesus, you are the Messiah.” “Jesus, you are the long-awaited Lord and savior of our people.” Now, of course at the time, he had no clear idea of what all of that meant, although he was going to learn much later.

For me, one who believes this narrative to be the most true thing in all of existence, he is Jesus, who is who he claims to be, born of a woman while also the Son of God, arrived to take upon all of mankind’s sins and to, ultimately, usher in a new creation where we are invited to spend eternity in God’s holy presence. He is Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ. His name is also Emmanuel which means God with us. To sing Emmanuel is to use one word to make up for two and to give a clear picture of who this person was and is.

One of my regrets (and I have plenty) is that I did not realize this sooner, if for no other reason than how much offense I must have given to others by doing something we commonly know as “taking the Lord’s name in vain.” Sharply and loudly exclaiming “Jesus Christ!” is perhaps the most common expletive or profanity in use today. It’s used in regular conversation and is all over the movies and TV. It is expressed without thought, but merely as severe exasperation or anger. To those who revere him, this comes as a kind of gut punch, regardless of motive. How would any of us feel if ones we truly love were debased in thoughtless manner?

We all know that, purportedly, God shared ten principals for behavior that he trusted Moses would deliver to the Hebrew people. These “commandments” are both admonishments and guidelines so the people who believed in him would know both who he is and the best way to lead their lives. Jesus sort of updated them through his teaching and example, peeling them back until he arrived at the core, which was two rules, upon which all other principles and values would build: Love God with everything and love one another with everything. Of course, we naturally feel overwhelmed by the enormity of such a condition but that’s ok, because of this thing called Grace. By surrendering into the truth of this condition and seeking both help and forgiveness, we are pulled further into the Will of God and towards becoming the types of people Jesus leads us to be.

So, what do these things have in common? Well, if we think the narrative I build all of these reflections around is just plain wrong or a fantasy, then using Jesus Christ as an expletive is meaningless to the issuer, while perhaps being extremely offensive to a listener, similar to a black person receiving the word “nigger” or a Jew the word, “kike.” I did not know this but know it now. I regret the offenses I have caused.

If, however, the narrative is true, then I fear how it is being received by the one whose name is being used so callously. In other words, if the narrative is true and loving God is the biggest deal of all, then this is tantamount to us defiling those closest to us, times ten.

When we use a name, we present a picture of a person or thing. Name-calling or bullying as it’s known, is defeating, a rejection of one’s value. It’s a coarsening that treats people as remote objects, usually in order to promote or call attention to one’s self as a compensatory mechanism. To be profane is to treat with irreverence or disrespect. We are descending into a culture of the profane and it’s called normal.

The God I know says, “don’t do this. There’s a better way. Rise up, open your eyes and see people as I see them.” The God I know says “the tongue can be a most potent weapon and we should watch how we use it.”

What’s in a name? Well, it can be a throw away. A meaningless reference. Or it can be a window into something immensely deep and rewarding.

With Jesus, what’s it going to be?

I could end this here and, maybe, readers who don’t share my strong views on this can leave it at that. Here’s where I go full tilt, to borrow a phrase. As in, “all in.”

There’s a song that is especially compelling. We sang it recently. It about sums it up. It’s entitled, “What a Beautiful Name.” The group Hillsong, one of my favorites, does a live rendition that expresses my feelings almost exactly. They not only speak what I believe when all is said and done, they do so with an exuberance that mirrors my own. Yes, I can rest in solitude and reflect in quiet wonder. But, I can also stand tall, arms wide open and shout with joy. Can’t help it!

Not for everyone, assuredly. Watch it at your own risk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could this be?

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

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

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

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

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

As followers of Jesus we live in this unique space.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

I was at Costco yesterday afternoon and noticed the name tag on the young woman setting up to bag my groceries. It said “Photini.” I engaged her and asked if I was pronouncing her name correctly, to which she replied, “yes.” I then remarked that I could not recall coming across that name before. She informed me that it was the name of a saint. I had to ask, “do you mind telling me the saint of what?” She said it was the name of a Samaritan. I paused a quick second to make sure I heard her correctly and then asked, “the woman at the well?” She seemed surprised and said, “yes.” Curious, I admitted I didn’t know that and asked if the name was in scripture, to which she said she was Orthodox and it was in her tradition. I thanked her for sharing that and for doing such a great job bagging my groceries. I left as we were all smiles.

Driving away I thought of several things that intersected in that moment. First was how faithful God is to granting my almost daily request to put someone in my path whom I could bless, even if only in a small way. Second, of the hundreds of people with whom this contemporary Photini must interact each working day, very few probably treat her as a real person, someone of tremendous value. She has a menial job in a very large organization. She is supposed to be largely invisible in that order of things. And, third, that her name is most fitting.

In the fourth chapter of the Gospel of John, Jesus comes across a woman from Samaria, an outcast of that day, as she was drawing water from a well. He decided to engage her, asking for a drink, which was a real surprise as she knew that he was far above her station. Learned men like Jesus did not speak with lowly women such as her. Fast forward through the dialogue and Jesus says, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

The living water in Jesus’ telling is a love that is infinitely refreshing. While we can only offer smaller samples of that, those samples are life-affirming and a reflection of our design. How often do we engage strangers with the perfunctory “How are you?” without really meaning it? How often are people around us largely invisible as we go about our business? What if we regularly paused during the day at the checkout counter or in the restaurant just to smile, give good eye contact, and say more than a mere, “thank you?” What if each of us seeks to open our eyes to see people as God sees them? No one should be invisible. We are surrounded by Samaritans and we put them there each day. Jesus offers us a way to refresh with living water. Thank you, Photini, for that reminder.

My friend Paul spoke today about something he called radical generosity. I am not new to the overall topic but I appreciated how a simple use of language can help shape whole ways of thinking.

Neither of these two words should puzzle us. We all know that the term “radical” means something entirely substantial, thorough or extreme. A radical shift is a complete shift in the fundamentals. A reorientation top to bottom. And “generosity” refers to giving a lot, more than what is normally called for. Being generous also has an element of kindness attached to it. Put the two of them together and it’s worth sitting up to pay attention.

I’m guessing that most of us would not consider ourselves or our attitudes and behavior radical in any sense. We would self-describe as more moderate, not given to extremes suggested by such a fiery term. (Perhaps, though, as we become increasingly polarized and angry as a people, moderation is in the outs.)

I wonder how many of us would consider ourselves generous as a matter of practice. I’m guessing it’s somewhat dependent upon the situation. It also may be dependent upon the standard we’d assign to our own set of attitudes and behaviors.

But radical generosity? I know some incredibly kind people. Caring and compassionate. I know people who give a lot. But being giving and generous are not exactly the same thing.

So, what does this all mean?

If we consider that generosity (especially in the context of this reflection) is something beyond the norm, then we cross the line into different territory. Fundamentally, generosity is the giving away of something valuable, a sacrifice of sorts, with no expectation of return. When we give of something with the expectation of some benefit, I don’t think that qualifies. Generosity is the shift of a weight of value from us to others, presumably leaving a deficit at our end. But, curiously, the math doesn’t need to work out that way.

In the math of this world, we are called to live within something akin to the “zero sum game.” This is best described as a large pie with only so many pieces. Our job is to get the most pie. We look at people with more or bigger pieces and we covet their good fortune, thinking, “if only.” We look at people with fewer or smaller pieces and we can run the range of emotions, from pity or sympathy to indifference or scorn. Maybe, sometimes, we think, “if only.”

The math of this world is anxious about generosity. Giving something of value without expectation of return is risky business, perhaps best applied very close to home. We tend to have more control over things close to home as we manage our generosity with a careful eye. We naturally pay attention to that pie because, “well, you know.”

Let’s step out of that reality and into another for a little bit. A reality where we insert an x factor or variable into this equation that changes the whole thing. A reality where there is no zero sum and the source of our motivation shifts, even radically so. What then?

I’m talking about love, of course, and more specifically, its radical expression that we call grace.

I have written a lot about these two things. The many different types of love as well as the things we say we love but don’t actually mean “love” in the most profound sense. Grace comes along as an outlier. Simply, it’s a threat to the pie. It doesn’t make sense. It’s generosity on steroids.

An example: Doting grandparents may lavish gifts upon beloved grandchildren. These gifts may even cost more than the grandparent should spend and this would be considered quite (if not overly) generous. But, let’s be honest. Grandparents in our normal framework are supposed to be lavish and who would not want generous grandparents? There is a big love exchange and that makes the transaction appropriate. We’re on the right track here.

But, it’s a stretch from this kind of normal situation to the thing my friend Paul referred to as radical generosity. And, that’s where grace comes in to supercharge the whole thing and land us in just a plainly different place.

If we use a common definition of grace as a gift freely given but undeserved, then we need to give attention to the undeserved side of the equation. It’s not difficult to conclude that people with whom we are close … family and dear friends, for instance … “deserve” our gifts. After all, that’s what we do. But, what stranger with whom we have little or no relationship, “deserves” our generosity? And, I don’t just mean money. But time, interest and care? All of those are resources, the giving away of which create a deficit on our part. Unless.

When Paul said today that “grace motivates generosity,” I knew immediately what he was talking about. As easily as 1+1=2. Grace is the fuel that drives the generosity engine. Why is this significant?

Well, first of all we need to come to a place where we believe that a generous spirit is a righteous spirit. Where we accept that a posture of hoarding for ourselves has limited and even unhealthy ramifications. Absent that, it’s tough to think that generosity is of much interest.

But, that brings about the problem of running out of gas. Sustained generosity is difficult. Unless there’s that limitless reservoir of fuel.

I suspect if someone has never experienced real grace, it’s difficultly to comprehend how powerful a motivator it is. And, it’s not the kind of motivator that pushes from behind but, instead, pulls from ahead. The compulsion is not “I have to” but “I get to.” And, my word, that’s a world changer.

Which brings us to that radical thing. When one lives within a reality suffused with grace, then the picture changes and it is a foundational change. When each breath is a gift, as I frequently reflect, that pie disappears into the mist, to be replaced by a heart and mind tuned to another objective. It becomes natural to let go of some things the world would describe as valuable to give to others when the very air we breathe is received wondrously.

As I make my way through this life, deeply flawed as I am, I lament how far I fall short of being a truly gracious man. I seek security and safety and material well-being. Admittedly, I don’t think any of these things is wrong in and of themselves. However, to the degree they control us and prevent us from being generous, is the degree to which I  believe we are making a wrong turn at the daily fork in the road.

Our God was and is radically generous. He knows our limitations but asks us to trust him, receive his gift and be eternally transformed. I can testify that he gets the math right.

Walking through that door is a risky thing. I know. I spent year after year looking at it from all angles, sometimes from afar and sometimes up incredibly close. I sensed during all of that time that there was something wrong with all of the math. Walking through, no wonder. Radical generosity was waiting and it was and is glorious.

I am listening to Mozart’s Requiem this morning. Two things about that. First, a requiem is a Mass delivered in honor and remembrance of the dead. Second, Mozart’s Requiem is simply one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever composed. As a massive choral work, it weaves together a vast tapestry of instruments and voices that wraps one in an otherworldly cocoon. It simultaneously dives deep and lifts upwards. As a Mass, it is a celebration of things at the very edge of our existence. Unfortunately the genius composer died before completing it. Fitting.

We finished our remarkable 2500 mile road trip around this great western part of our country Friday night. I dropped Diane off at her sister’s in Yuma, AZ, before returning home on my own for a few days. My thoughts went to the last week or so.

Traveling those many miles on both interstates and backcountry two lane roads, one sees a lot and has time to take it all in.

How does such boundless beauty reside alongside such utter depravity?

I seem to be aware of them both, each day. Interestingly, as I observe the way things are and the way people respond to these things, it seems a good conclusion to divide people into two camps with respect to human nature. On the one hand are the eternal optimists. I have written about them before. These are the “if only” people. As in, if only we could engineer income equality or if only we could eradicate racism, sexism, private property ownership, overconsumption, etc… we could live in peace and be freed from violence. Star Trek: Boldly go where no man has gone before. On the other hand, we have the eternal pessimists, the “we’re doomed” people. As in, the future is Mad Max, Zombie Apocalypse, Blade Runner and so forth.

I wonder.

Within the last two weeks, we stood on the rims of deep canyons and gorges, formed by rivers over many millions of years. We snowshoed to the edge of a precipice (Diane sharply told me to stop) and marveled at the vista of the Colorado Rockies in winter spread out before us. Two days later, we traveled south down the spine of those glorious mountains as snow-covered 14,000 foot peaks succeeded one another and we could only feel gratitude.

When not in the mountains, we put in mile after mile in the vast expanse that is the world outside of metropolitan California. There, it is mesas and prairies and deserts where the motion is largely of clouds and our fellow travelers, most of whom are trucks, carrying the stuff we rely on and frequently take for granted. The sky goes forever as does the landscape. Hundreds of miles can pass by with the occasional town or settlement breaking the vast expanse that is the antithesis of bustle and stresses of normalized modern life. Each of these settlements offered promise at some point and maybe still does. I think about these spaces and the people who have traveled them through the centuries and still do so today.

Last Tuesday, we visited an operational pueblo outside of Taos, New Mexico. Some of the buildings have been there for one thousand years. No power or plumbing. Tribal members who reside there get their water from a stream that flows through their ancient village and they hunt on the hillsides and forests of the large mountains that are the backdrop to their community. This is not what one thinks of when we think of typical reservation life. The inhabitants refer to themselves as Indians and they have social and governmental structures that are in some ways no different from the ways their ancestors conducted themselves countless centuries before. Leaving there, we stopped alongside the highway to visit a settlement of homes that could have appeared on one of the planets in the Star Wars movies: Largely built of recycled materials, each home was a self-sustaining habitat/biosphere. The engineering was remarkable as was the attention to beauty and a willingness to live as “carbon free” as possible. Out in the middle of the vast New Mexico topography, with snow-capped peaks giving relief to the limitless terrain, they aptly named their community, Earthship. A large display in their fascinating little visitor’s center said that if only all of the soldiers in the world put down their weapons and took up shovels to build, we would be saved.

And, so it happened again. Another angry boy/man and life is torn apart. As a high school principal, having sat in a Taco Bell booth at the request of my good friend, the principal of Santana High School in Santee, CA, as she informed the couple that their son had died a few minutes before by gunshot at the hands of another student, I do my usual flashback when these things happen. I see the trauma, the crowds, helicopters, SWAT vehicles, endless lines of news vehicles with the raised dishes, ambulances, tears, broken people slumped on the ground, people searching for loved ones. Evil has its day and we all wonder how this is possible. If only …

So, I listen to this music in honor of the dead, as a way to make sense of this life, where beauty and depravity live in such stark contrast. Our hearts and minds search for answers and meaning as we feel our emotions swing to and fro. We go from celebration to grief in this seemingly never-ending journey. We strive to take it all in and to manufacture a coherent life.

The pragmatist in me is always searching for solutions but the older I become, the more convinced I am that the solutions we normally discover are fleeting and only leave one feeling at least slightly discomfited. No answers fit completely.

No, I am not optimistic in the face of all of this. Nor, am I pessimistic. As I’ve said many times, I find that I am now a realist who hopes.

I cannot let the evil that is everywhere for the looking diminish the beauty of the music or the things I have seen these past two weeks. Nor, can I let that beauty obscure the fact that we live in a broken world, desperately in need of redemption.

Joy and sorrow. Two distinct human expressions, more similar than they are different. Taken together, they define us and we should consider what that means. Should we lose them and devolve into a darkness that allows for neither one, we give up what is best about being human.

As I finish this reflection, the Requiem has ended and the playlist has continued into another Mozart composition, the perfectly sublime Piano Concerto No. 21. Wispy white clouds are gliding across a powder blue sky outside our front picture window, the green and colors of our garden in the foreground.

I will meet this day as I hope to meet every day. Expectant, ready and hopeful.

God, please grant me the eyes to see others as you see them, to love others as you love them, and to serve those in need. Please forgive me as I fall so far short. Thank you for your gifts of love and grace. Amen.

Awhile ago, I wrote a couple of pieces on the topic of heaven. Then, recently, one entitled,  Is There a Next Chapter? In a sense, these are all what ifs? In keeping with the theme, I’m going to do a quick dive into another side of the equation, something I’ve stayed away from until now.

While I have read and thought a lot about this thing commonly referred to as hell, I struggle with finding a place to hang my hat and say, “that’s it.” There are many reasons for this but probably the most important one is that Jesus did not talk a great deal about it and neither did other New Testament writers. This is not to say it was not mentioned or considered but that it was never the main item. That distinction goes to describing a thing called the “Kingdom of God.”

I am going to stay away from technicalities here and, instead, try to stick to broad brush strokes.

While most people in our modern society have at least a vague belief in an afterlife and most of those people believe it is at least a pleasant if not glorious place, fewer believe that such an afterlife includes the traditional concept of hell. As in eternal pain and damnation, whatever we make that out to be.

Perhaps the most commonly recognized verse in all of the Bible is in the fourth gospel, the one written by the apostle John. It can be both compelling and polarizing.

John 3:16: For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. While this particular verse was penned by John, it immediately followed Jesus’ own words in verse 15: … that everyone who believes may have eternal life in (Jesus).

On a somewhat humorous note, the only real exposure I had to John 3:16 for decades was when a whacky guy wearing a multi-colored wig would wave that large sign at sporting events. Not exactly something to get me thinking much, I must say.

I bring this up because it may be one starting point to consider the major features of a hell, should one exist in reality.

I just posted a piece on narratives and I return there briefly. While non-Christian believers in an afterlife are largely dismissive of the reality of a true hell, Christians seem to be split. In a sense, there are two competitive narratives.

An increasingly popular one largely rejects a concept of eternal damnation to a horrid place, instead choosing to bet on a God who is all loving and all forgiving. Redemption from sin (or bad deeds, lack of faith … pick your poison) is not only available but inevitable. God will not let a human suffer for eternity. This is God as Love.

On the flip side is the narrative that life with God (heaven) is only available to those who surrender to him. The alternative to that surrender is life without God. This highlights God as Judge.

What are we to do about this?

Well, I begin by not trying to make God into someone I’d like him to be. I think this is a common trap, one I struggled with for a long time and still struggle with today. I have written extensively about the character of God, something that I believe can be known, if incompletely.

I am convinced that God is both fully loving and fully judging. I can’t find a way around that conviction. In no way do I believe these two innate qualities are incompatible. In fact, I believe neither can exist without the other. (As I said  above, the God as Judge is in increasing disfavor, for reasons I’d argue have little to do with the reality of God but of how modern and post-modern people want things to be: Truth is relative, etc…)

For the purpose of argument, let’s just say I’m either correct or close to being correct. Well, then, what does that have to do with hell?

I’m not going to get all mired in theology here but just toss out where I’m leaning these days. As my friend Dawn would say when we get to theological technicalities, “Let’s major on the majors.”

For starters, I actually do believe in this complex concept called Free Will. Now, I’m not going to get down into the weeds and dissect it here because it’s a bear of a concept but I do believe that it exists in some form. In other words, we have choices and choices matter. Feel free to disagree.

Next, I believe we are hardwired to make bad choices all of the time but God is hardwired to forgive us because that’s what unconditional love does. In his own way, he wants us to make good choices, the two most important of which are presented to us in neon lights: Love him with everything we have and love one another. To the degree that we do not structure our lives around those two guiding principles is the degree to which we are drawn away from God and into making bad choices.

So, God says, “Here I am. Come to me.” And, by coming to him, we benefit from being in deep relationship with the God of creation. Let’s not skip over that too fast, either. By coming to him, we benefit from being in a deep relationship with him. Which is the whole point.

Here is where I disagree with many others (some dear friends and family included) that see a “heavenly” afterlife as somehow separate from living directly with God for all of eternity. It’s God that matters.

Another issue is the nature of eternity. We can either believe we (that thing that defines us as individuals) go “poof” out of existence when we die or we somehow live on, perhaps for eternity as is often suggested. I happen to subscribe to the notion that we are all eternal beings, made in God’s image, who of course is eternal. Now, I admit I might be partially wrong about this and we’ll now get to that.

Cutting to the chase, mainstream Christian belief on this topic is that eternity with God is dependent upon accepting that Jesus is who he said he was and that his advice is accurate. Surrender to him and we are made “right” with God and afforded eternal life.

This is very relieving to such Christians and more than a little oft-putting to non-Christians.

Some professing Christians are less attached to this conceptualization and argue there are all sorts of loopholes by which we can bypass this “surrender to Jesus” admonition and still make it.

The point is, are there conditions upon which we are offered eternal life with God? And, if those conditions are not met, what is the alternative?

This is where hell comes in.

There is this somewhat but not entirely humorous saying that “It is better to rule in hell than serve in heaven.” I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Interesting and, actually, pretty insightful as to one’s priorities and choices.

If “serving” God is seen as a grand weakness instead of as a grand opportunity, than the antithesis is to be one’s own god, ruling over one’s self and, presumably others. When Christians talk of the Fall, this is what they mean. The antithesis of God is not one who does evil but one who is a narcissist.

In fact, the narcissist by definition cannot fathom the two guiding principles mentioned above. The narcissist is consumed only by the beauty seen in the mirror. This is the grand choice.

Hell, then, is the rejection of the reality of the thing Jesus called the Kingdom of God for something seen as more fulfilling in both the short and long run.

Just as we can create our own hells on earth, we can opt for the same thing after we finish life here.

Unfortunately, these hells can creep up on us almost unawares as we pursue all variety of idols, all of which will ultimately fail in the end. Have you experienced a kind of hell on earth? Do you know someone who has?

I believe in the reality of personified Evil. The Enemy, as he is often referred to although he goes by different names. I believe we are offered an alternative to life with God and it is seductive. It is also the grand lie.

What does this other choice actually look like? I really don’t know other than that it is bleak and defeating. Is it a lake of fire, with pitchfork-carrying little devils stoking the flames? I tend to doubt that. Are there little devils? Perhaps. Is it lonely? Absolutely. Sorry, there will be no eternal feasting given that choice. That’s part of the lie.

So, yes, I believe in hell. After that, things get fuzzy.

Before concluding this, I want to get back to three major issues.

The first is whether, if there is a hell, it’s permanent. In other words, is there a point of no return? God judges and that’s that. Many people are horrified by this and it’s also a big challenge that non-Christians issue to Christians who profess a God of love.

Jesus and the New Testament writers had some things to say about this as have countless theologians, both professional and lay through the centuries. I have my thoughts but will reserve them for now.

The second is, as some imagine, whether those destined for a place without God, just sort of vanish into nothingness. I’ve heard it described as kind of like getting smaller and smaller until there’s really nothing left. Kind of akin to what atheists believe but maybe at a different pace. I don’t know.

The third is, if there is judgment, based upon the choices we make in this life, when does that happen and how does that work?

A common teaching is that our choice must be made with integrity before we die. (I won’t get into the quality of this kind of integrity right now.) Some balk at this for all sorts of reasons. I respect and understand some of those reasons.

In various places in the Bible we read of some variation of the statement, Every knee shall bow.” Plainly speaking, we democratic people are not big on bowing knees. So, it’s an interesting concept to consider. In short, however, I believe the reality described by such a statement is that we are given an opportunity to surrender to God. What “surrender” actually means and who we actually believe God is are things to ponder. When, where and how such surrender needs to occur is above my pay grade.

In the end, I believe that such surrender is the most liberating and powerful choice a person can make and the sooner the better. Fortunately, I am not in charge of those details. Reluctance to bow that knee, whether we interpret that literally or figuratively, leads us in a direction without a good ending. That’s where I’ll leave it for now. God bless.