Saturday Before Easter

Errands done, garage straightened up, work project finished, yard work done, emails checked.  It’s snowing, cold… breezy. I’m leaning back in my desk chair…

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday… inhale, exhale. Lord, shift my heart to Easter.

My mind goes to the resurrection. No sooner do I say “resurrection” under my breath and I’m in tears.

There is no order or sequence to these vignettes, combined they are but a glimpse of that instant moment in time when there is no more time… in the twinkling of an eye… when I will be raised/changed.

I will be on my face in tears or adoration… no, I think I’ll be on my feet with arms victoriously thrust up with my heart bursting in praise … or maybe just still… finally still and silent…  I could see myself thrown into His arms, silent, in tears, finding the words that have been groanings deep within all my life. There is so much to say here…

I will see my father, Al McConnell for the very first time… there is nothing more I can say in this moment here.

I will see my mom… free from grief/pain.  

Lori and I will gaze into one another’s eyes like never before… our daughters, their husbands, their children and their children will be on some dance floor that’s like a jeweled sea dancing, dancing, dancing some kind of previously-unknown-heavenly folk dance that has us all holding shoulders, kicking up our feet, singing in Hebrew, with colorful hats, shimmering garments…in some ever growing family circle laughing as we wobble all over.

Lori and I will wander through some crowded banquet hall of heaven with a never empty glass filled with the finest wine. Like a massive wedding reception (only with good food and a great DJ), the hall is jammed… we don’t walk, we bounce off countless groups of re-united families and friends; bumping into Nanny & Pop, Jim Schulz, Grandma & Grandpa McConnell, my dad…old friends, old knuckleheads and “nobodies” from every era, age and continent…

There a campfire in a moonscape alpine valley with the men I’ve served with over the years… A whole lot of stories you wouldn’t expect to hear are being told… but finally a lull in the conversation comes, and someone summarizes it all, “We made it… We did well”.

Okay… it’s at this point that my writing cannot keep up with my heart and mind’s kaleidoscopic impressions. I’m flooded with emotions, pictures, images, passages, quotes, faces, stories …

20 minutes pass. I cannot describe all my heart yearns for at the mention of “resurrection”.

I cannot fully express all my heart wants to say to Christ. That day will come.

He IS risen!

Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.

For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: "Death has been swallowed up in victory."

"Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. -1 Corinthians 15

-Craig McConnell

God in The Booth (part 2)

I’m sitting in the sound booth during the first session of our Men’s Advanced Conference listening to John Eldredge. At some point my mind shifts from John and whether or not the canvas bottom “Directors” chair I’m sitting in will collapse to my speaking the next evening. I’m unsettled… antsy about the direction/content/illustrations/relevance of my topic. Actually it’s deeper than “antsy”; I was feeling the pressure to make a difference in these good men’s lives. The squeeze gripping me was for God to show up in some weighty way sweeping us up and into some degree of a stunned paralysis of awe.

In my saggy seat I’m thinking I won’t deliver. I’m pretty certain I won’t come through… change that to can’t come through.

For most of us shame/self-contempt is our backdoor friend. Shame is that one we wouldn’t admit to knowing yet flirt with throughout the day. It’s really an affair of the soul we refuse to break off. Shame serves a twisted purpose… comfortably immobilizing us, explaining our unpredictable world, numbing the mythic longings of our heart and justifying our script of small-story-victim-hood. Yet sheathed by contempt’s husk/coat is something beautifully pure, good and godly… a longing, an identity authored by God. There is a kernel.

The longing for God to come is shrouded with the shame of “Who are you kidding. You! You? You’re a schmuck… You’ve got squat to say… nothing. Zip, zero, nada nichts! “

Now… that’s a slanderous perversion of the truth.

Yet, I choose to believe this shadowy mistress of mine time and time again despite her ruinous affect upon my life. She leaves me passive, disengaged, hiding behind props and techniques, tickling ears, pleasing men, internally enraged at God, others, and myself… cursing the success of others while wishing my life of impotence would quickly end. 

I’m speaking tomorrow… and surely aware of both kernel and husk.

And then God, the forever and always present God, who has been sitting next to me all this time, leans over, clears His throat and points out a defining agreement that I’ve made and lived by: 

Something more than who I am and what I have is required of me. I’m simply not enough.

Now… that’s a slanderous perversion of the truth.

Believing that, accepting that ancient script of diminishment explains why I’m so antsy about tomorrow night… so unsettled… my failure is inevitable. Internally I’m scrambling to minimize my certain losses.

This isn’t a man pawing the earth anxious to enter the arena and fight to the death for a noble cause. Nor is it a man standing tall among a group of weary sojourners in a season of fear offering words of hope, life, strength and direction.  This is Little Craig playing third base in the All Star game with a one run lead in the ninth inning, two outs and the bases loaded hoping the batter doesn’t hit it to him.

My godless agreement/affair with shame comes to the light… my hussy doesn’t look so good in broad daylight. I understand the attraction but now it feels so very wrong... the magic is gone, the price too high, the damage too broad… this isn’t the life I want to live!

 Will you break that agreement Craig?

(Note: God has a way of overlaying messages to us. Simultaneously I’m convicted of my sin of adulterous unbelief while, in the same breath hearing an invitation to another way of living. It’s like a father who is firmly disciplining his child with an authoritative, “No, you can’t get your way on this issue” while at the same moment, everything in his eyes is saying “I love you so incredibly much”.)

I do, I do, I do (the last time I said that many “I do’s” was on my wedding day). I break all agreements I have made, I take back all ground given to this lie. Christ, I ask you to… I give you permission and access to purge this hell born script from my being. May the kernel… the life, calling and the fullness of my identity come to life! Oh may my life bring Your life to others!

Again, may I offer... God is close. He is next to you wherever you may be. There is no place you are He isn’t. He’s at work… do you see Him?

(to be continued)

- Craig McConnell