Shotgun

  

Somewhere in the friendly skies between Denver and Sacramento I’m trounced/ambushed by an internal hysteria over not being prepared for retirement. Now “retirement” whatever that is, is still a ways out there… and I’ve got my retirement funds secure and growing with Lehman Brothers… whoops! None-the-less I’m overcome with this out-of-the-blue horror about the future. Specifically my future! And I’m genuinely frightened!

 

Standing in the long line awaiting my intermediate sized rental car I’m praying against whatever is responsible for the burning rod in the core of my body emitting this anxiety/fear while trying to listen to God for whatever he wants to say in all of this… It feels like I’m only shadow boxing with dread and I’m hearing nothin from God… all I’m getting is high decibel static.

 

Shuffling down the line of impatient customers toward me is a Churchill like jowled man who looks 83 wearing a floppy safari hat. With foggy eyes that never quite make contact with anyone this worn image bearer works the line offering maps of the local area… for… what, 8 hours a day? He looks miserable… I’m miserable as a new round of apprehension, accusations and sulfuric voices fill my head. I should have saved more… earlier, been more aggressive, less aggressive… shouldn’t have but that on the credit card… or that, or that… I should have been more frugal like my brother… should have bought gold/silver… should have, should have, should have…My fate is sealed to misery, that’s me at 83…misery, misery!!! (Now there is a bit of truth to all of this. Looking back I now know a lot more than I did as a younger less fathered man. There ARE a lot of things I should have done. This is what gives the Accuser a foothold of “credibility” that can destroy you (versus redeem/rescue you).

 

I get my paper work and hop on the shuttle to the parking lot to pick up my upgraded mid-sized car. The shuttle driver is another dinosaur… I’m thinking about 96 years old!!! AHHH!! Everywhere there are old men with faded gazes exerting what little energy/life they have left to make minimum wage doing menial jobs because they BLEW IT… like me!!! There I am 25 years from now trekking to Wal-Mart to welcome people as they enter.

 

I’m now in my rental beginning the hour and a half drive to my folk’s house. As I’m driving through the streets of Sacramento its as if everyone under 79 has been raptured … there are no children playing in the park, no young lovers walking hand in hand, not a single baby stroller, bicycle, teen-ager or skateboard. Everyone looks withered and stooped… the only ones walking the streets are those with a new layer of wrinkles and lost memories and friends. Gentle old folk with oversized purses or wearing felt hats, there are blublockers, old Buicks… canes and faded old shoes. 

Please note: I admire and honor my elders. I’ve always loved hearing their stories and conversing about life, history and the lessons they’ve learned. For years I went to a local convalescent hospital to simply read, hold a hand, listen… I cried and laughed and loved it. Ultimately what’s happening here has nothing to do with the elderly it’s some funky mix of warfare and God… battling for something deep within my soul. This really isn’t ageism!

Internally I’m in knots… worried, frightened and unable to shake some shaming voice that barks out at me, “You’re a failure… you’ll never have enough savings/retirement/pension funds… NEVER, EVER EVER…slob!”  (The “Slob” felt like piling on!). What on earth does my future hold?

 

And then I notice The Ancient One sitting beside me…  (riding shotgun!).

 

He warmly invites me into a conversation and communion… which kind of surprises me… I thought we were communing, conversing… heck I’ve been battling all this fear, shame, accusation… and he interrupts me,  “NO, you tend not to come to me with your fears…” 

 

Silence. I’m a little stunned. What!?

 

His voice is fatherly and inviting and… strong, as he stays with the issue for about 60 miles on highway 50.

When frightened you run from me not to me… you’re afraid of me. 

 

Your unfathered heart is crushed under the shame and self loathing you bear.

 

You go it alone instead of bringing your fears to me.  

 

Come to me. Bring your fear to me.

 

Rest, come on, let me father you.

This all felt both foreign and simple. Can it be that easy?

 

In this mix of the two of us communing I begin to see a number of things more clearly. I realize at times like this I’ve mistaken the feelings/assault of anxiety/terror/dread/shame/condemnation as the voice of God... that all the self-loathing internal hate speech is God’s evaluation of me; thus I’ve run from him rather than toward him. I’m amazed that this is true of me… and that I’ve gone so long without seeing it! Wow! I see how I mishandle my anxieties… Like a young boy I stick my head under a pillow (hiding, avoidance, paralysis, passivity, “taken out”) or I start organizing…. I rearrange my outside world hoping my inside world will follow. You wouldn’t believe how many books, magazines, seminars I’ve consumed hoping for a change that’s unreachable apart from God. Apart from God.

 

I’m silenced… and he says, Let me father you, I will care and provide… walk with me. And all the passages of scripture about me being more important to him than sparrows and wild flowers and that I need not worry about what I shall eat or wear flood my heart.

 

The anxiety attack, all the fear, contempt and shame lifts.

 

I’m loved. I want to live differently!

 

Listen to me, O house of Jacob, all you who remain of the house of Israel,

you whom I have upheld since you were conceived, and have carried since your birth.

Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you.

I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. - Isaiah 46:3-4

 

Hoops

I think God jumps out of the bushes that line the path we’re on startling us with His presence/words or with an invitation into something deeper. It could be a deeper repentance, or intimacy… another healing touch… it may be an invitation to laughter or joy… perhaps volitional strength… the point is He surprises us at times!

I chuckle as I think of Him lurking about in the most common affairs of my day… at times He even seems playful as He leaps out of a passage of Scripture I’ve read a gazillion times before giving me some new never-seen insight into my life or His person/work. Last evening I’m in a conversation with Sam about his upcoming week one moment and in the next it’s no longer Sam talking about something he’s doing on Saturday, it’s the ever-present Ventriloquist speaking to me about something I’m doing in five months and how He (God) wants to bring more healing/closure to a deep wound of mine through that event (Sam no doubt wondering why I was weeping). Sometimes He hops out of a movie I’m watching or from the music I’m listening to in ways the lyricist never ever intended. He’s with us in the moment between the market and home. He’s speaking through the plumber’s story, the sunset, the smiling child, the homeless guy on the corner, your friend’s kindness as well as those troubling souls within your life’s orbit. A couple of days ago I’m yapping with a buddy and his innocuous observation about another man sends me into an evening of confession, repentance, breaking of agreements and crying out to God for transformation. God is most certainly with us!

A quick story:

I was attending a conference session wherein the President of the organization, a true and good man, formerly a seminary professor vulnerably shares that much of his Christian life has been lived from the perspective that He was to cram his head with as much knowledge and understanding as possible and through that God would sanctify/mature him. He reflected that it contributed little to his personal relationship with God. He continues telling the audience that he attended our Boot Camp and during one of our “Times of Silence with God” he, operating from a perspective of “Yes, God speaks… but not really… and certainly not to me”, finds a quiet place perched upon a rock to listen for anything God may have to say to him. He spent 10 minutes in token respectful silence and concludes… “I knew it!” God didn’t speak… no real surprise to him, He never has. So he, Clive, does what any good Hoosier would do… wanders down to the basketball court to shoot some hoops through the rest of the time with God.

He continues the story saying that he made 10 shots in a row – which is unusual enough that his sharp mind goes analytical over what it is that he’s doing that would explain his success. “Is it the angle of my elbow?” “The snap of my wrist or the squaring up of my shoulders?”…”Maybe it’s my follow through!”

Then he misses the next 10 shots as he’s dissecting his form. And … surprise… God shows up on the basketball court saying, “Clive, you’re trying so hard, you’re so analytical… I want your heart!” Stunned and still, God begins to speak deeply to the governing assumptions of his life inviting him into something very new… and wanted (Living from the heart intimately with God). Clive asks God, “Okay… do you want me to go back to my rock?” (To finish out the “Time Alone With God”) and God answers, “No, continue to shoot hoops – but from your heart!”

See it? Surprise! Oh how he longs for a personal conversational relationship with us! And so, He is ever-present and always lurking about jumping at any and every opportunity to invite us into “more”. I wonder when, where and how He will jump out and into our lives today? – Craig McConnell

Company of Men

These last two Mondays several of us (guys from the Ransomed Heart Team) were up at Bart’s ranch with a couple of groups of men. There’s something about being in the company of men… we were skeet shooting ,  some of us enjoying a good cigar others passing,  and all of us at some point putting into words the defining desires of our hearts and the hurdles we face: marriages, finances, parenting, career issues, questions about the goodness of God and spiritual warfare.  Stories of God working were awesome. Each man a good man with a huge heart… our allies and friends. Wounded, glorious, broken, alive, true, generous… I am astonished by the company of men that surround us and share this mission with us. We couldn’t do this alone.

The mythic nature of a man’s calling simply cannot be accomplished alone. And yet “alone” is what so many/most men feel.

Oh God raise up companies of men! – Craig

The Taxi

Lori and I fly into LA ostensibly for me to officiate the wedding of one of my daughter’s friends. The wedding is on the beach where we lived prior to God’s calling us to Colorado (“on the beach”… how “cool” is that!?).  Friday night the rehearsal on the sand goes well. Yeah the marine layer moves in a little early… and the on shore breeze is brisk… but hey it’ll be great manana. (Note, while I tend to over plan for every contingency I still view myself as an optimist).

Following the rehearsal dinner fare I’m caught flat footed by the affection the two families express toward one another…  I feel like a voyeur peeping in on the intimacy of others. I wonder why love surprises me… am I a cynic?  

A little back story, lately I’ve been picturing,

 The Apostle John in extreme old age at Ephesus being carried into the congregation in the arms of his disciples unable to say anything except “little children, love one another”.  At last, wearied that he always spoke the same words, they asked: “Master, why do you always say this?” “Because”, he replied, “it is the Lord’s command, and if this only is done, it is enough”.* 

As every broken, disappointing, sinful, foolish, evil and wacky person in my orbit scrolls across my mind I find the simplicity of the command to love God and others deeply disrupting and profoundly descriptive of my deepest desire. It is astonishing that in the presence of love I doubt it, run from it or am startled by it. The nature of these relationships unfolding in heartfelt tested words of appreciation and gratitude, a slide show and music speaks to the life I want so very much to live. I leave the dinner with a hunger to be the apostle John muttering over and over “Oh my friends, love one another… it is enough to love” from some deep true place.

The next day, Saturday, is the wedding and despite my unfailing optimism the marine layer blows in at hurricane category 4 strength. And so the wedding crowd of 100 is blown into a tight circle of family and friends. Prior to the bride’s entry the one girl who everyone’s eyes were upon was the one wearing the full length Alaska parka with fur lined hood… (A contingency option I did not consider). We were huddled like penguins on the sand as Claire and Doug’s magic moment unfolds.

Forsaking all others I choose you to love and cherish forever and always no matter the circumstances (richer or poorer, better or worse, joy or sorrow, sickness or health…) till death do we part I will be there for you.

They are so in love… so good for one another… so young… and beneath my pastoral smile is a smug/arrogant posture,

Ahh… it has taken Lori and me thirty-three years to reach that level of blissful raging agape self sacrifice!!!!

 So with a weekend filled with wedding festivities, all-too-brief visits with our kids and a visit to our favorite taco joint we’re ready to face whatever United Airlines throws at us and return to Colorado.  Up rolls the taxi we called for the eleven mile scamper up to LAX, the cabbie bounds out of the Chevy, flicks his cigarette butt in our friends rose garden and with a few hand motions and heavily accented broken English-grunts motions for us to get in… and so we do.

Now let me quickly insert that I’ve ridden many a taxi in the renowned cities of the world and survived! A taxi ride is a taxi ride… you go to Mac Donald's for cheap burgers, Home Depot for chain saws and taxi rides for near death experiences… right?

So we peel out of the driveway taking the first turn on two wheels! He’s breaking every speed law, dodging parked cars, cutting off slow pokes and alternating between “G” force accelerations and crash test braking (which includes some front end clanking and sharp veering to the right). About three blocks into the ride we can smell some combination of his cologne, hot brakes and radiator fluid. Somewhere between running a red light and nearly hitting an odd looking Dodger fan on single blade skates pushing a refrigerator across the pedestrian zone I’m getting a little annoyed at my wife…. Lori. She’s got a death grip on the back of his seat… she’s hyper-ventilating, gasping… she’s in some kind of a panic-funk and for some reason giving me the stink eye. She’s stressing … a bit over dramatic and I’m thinking “Hey… pull it together woman… it’s an E ticket, what do you expect”

We get to the airport and she’s not speaking to me. What’s with that?  

So in true “husbands love your wife as Christ loves the church” fashion I feign ignorance and compassion asking, “What’s wrong with you?”  To which she responds with “stink eye” times ten… saying so much more than the words spoken convey, I don’t want to talk about it”.  After a calming glass of wine and a long eighteen minutes she begins to cry and with shaking voice share with me how she’s never been more terrified for her life and that I totally missed/abandoned/failed her.

And I did. I missed/abandoned/failed her. Totally. I could have/should have done something… I wish I had done something, anything. I did nothing. That’s not the man I want to be. 

 Little children love one another. Till death do we part I will be there for you.

I’m a much better lover now than I was ten years ago but there’s still a little more ground to cover before I’m a finished model of blissful raging agape self sacrifice. – Craig McConnell

*      Commentator/expositor John Stott in his commentary on The Epistles of John cites Jerome’s re-telling of this story of ‘blessed John the evangelist’.