There is an old, trite saying that reads, “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade!”  I hate that expression.  But there is indeed something to be said for making the best of a bad situation, because the truth is that we are all going to have some bad situations come our way.  Life is not always kind and pleasant.  Sometimes we find ourselves trying to survive a very difficult season of life.  Some refer to such moments as “wilderness experiences,” when we feel far from home and out of touch with normal life.  Everything seems out-of-sync.  Relationships are out of whack, contentment is fleeting, and peace of mind is hard to find.  Been there?

 

The ancient Israelites had experienced the wilderness moment.  After the glory days of the Kingdom, back when David and then Solomon made Israel a world power, soon things got a little off track.  The Kingdom soon divided and things went downhill fast.  The Assyrians invaded the Northern Kingdom and about 200 years later the Babylonians overran the Southern Kingdom.  The nation was destroyed.  The Temple was obliterated.  All hope ebbed away.  The people were taken into captivity where they lived in exile in the city of Babylon.  It was a desperate, confusing, bewildering time.  Life had handed them lemons.

 

It is in the context of such a bleak moment that the prophet Jeremiah offered these words.  This is what the Lord of Heaven’s Armies, the God of Israel, says to all the captives he has exiled to Babylon from Jerusalem: “Build homes, and plan to stay. Plant gardens, and eat the food they produce. Marry and have children. Then find spouses for them so that you may have many grandchildren. Multiply! Do not dwindle away! And work for the peace and prosperity of the city where I sent you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, for its welfare will determine your welfare.” (Jeremiah 29:4-7)

 

Go back and read that passage slowly and look at what God is demanding the exiled people to do.  “Build homes.  Plan to stay.  Plant gardens and eat the produce.  Marry and have families.  Multiply… don’t let yourselves dwindle away.  Work for the peace and prosperity of the city.  Pray for its welfare.”  Can you just imagine that?  Babylon was the last place on earth they wanted to be.  It was the city of their enemies.  This was the place where they were marginalized and mistreated.  These were the people who had destroyed their nation and wrecked their religion.  And yet God says, “Make lemonade!”

 

Maybe there is a message for you in the words of Jeremiah.  Your life may not be going quite the way you had hoped.  You may not like your job.  You may not enjoy where you live.  You may have problems with co-workers.  There may be problems at home.  Maybe there are too many bills and too few paychecks.  I get it.  It’s hard to be stuck in neutral, especially if you are living in a strange and harsh land.  But Jeremiah proclaims a word from the Lord.  “Invest in the life you currently live.  Make friends.  Pray for others.  Look for the blessings rather than curse the hurdles.  See the potential in what each day can hold.  Find the joy in the midst of the chaos.”

 

For the Israelites, the exile lasted 50 years.  That’s a long time.  But not a second of those 50 years was lived apart from the presence of God.  I would hope and pray that the wilderness moments of your life will be much, much shorter.  I would pray that God would soon answer your prayers for deliverance and renew your hope.  But in the meantime, make the best of the bad situation.  Be the best you can be.  You may not be able to control your circumstances, but you can control your response to whatever life throws your way.  Like the ancient people of God, you are not alone and you are not forgotten.  Not now. Not here.  Not ever.

 

I had a very interesting lunch this week.  I had been asked to speak at a local Jewish Temple.  The Rabbi hosts a weekly lunch meeting designed to inform and explore key issues of faith and culture.  The Rabbi is a friend who is interested in our leadership institute here at Belmont and so he asked me to join the group for an hour or so of friendly dialogue.  Imagine the scene… Jon the Baptist taking questions from 35 Jewish congregants.  For over an hour we spoke about matters of faith. We talked about the common ground between our faith traditions and the places where the divide is rather large.  My friend the Rabbi did a nice job in creating a safe and rational conversation.  And yes he asked the $64,000 question… “Do you as a Christian think that Jews are going to heaven?”  At the end of the day the group thanked me for my candor and carefully nuanced responses.  (I also discovered that delicious food is not exclusive to Baptist life!)

 

Face to face conversations are important.  It’s always different when we talk to people instead of choosing to talk about people.  My discovery through the years is that being in the same room, sharing the same space, and insisting on civil and respectful dialogue is critically important to healing wounds, mending fences, and finding ways to co-exist.  Whenever we can personalize our thoughts and opinions with real flesh and blood it becomes so much harder to stereotype, condemn, and misunderstand.  Having the opportunity to speak, to listen, and to think with each other creates an atmosphere where the distances are spanned and the misunderstandings are clarified.  The problem is that such conversations are rare.  In fact, there must be an intentionality to such gatherings or they will not happen at all.

 

One of the questions that I was asked was this, “How old were you before you met and spoke with a member of the Jewish faith?”  I responded by saying that “I had met Jesus at an early age and I was pretty sure He was a Jew.”  But after the polite giggle subsided among the audience members, I had to answer the question with a real response.  Growing up in the very sheltered world of the Bible Belt, I was probably a teenager before I first met someone who was non-Christian.  In those days, I was worried about talking to Methodists and Presbyterians!  Jewish people were not even on the radar.  It’s just human nature for us to gather around the stack pole of common belief, faith, and experience.  It is also a very sheltered and limited perspective on life.  We need to recognize the diversity all around us and rather than fear those whose societal, spiritual, and cultural DNA is so different from that of our own, we need to discover ways to learn, to grow, and to befriend.

 

It has taken over half a century for me to develop a strong enough relationship with a Jewish rabbi for him to call me a friend.  That’s not because of a lack of willingness on his part… it’s because of a lack of intentionality on mine.

Every once in a while I venture away from campus at lunch time to grab a quick bite.  Don’t get me wrong… we have great food here at Belmont University, but sometimes you just crave the finer things, you know… like a Big Mac.  Today was one of those days.  I joined the other 68 million people around the world who ate at the Golden Arches.  (Not kidding.  That’s the average daily total.)  We have one of those fancy drive-thrus here in Nashville that allows people to form two lines when ordering their food.  I’m not sure it speeds things up at all, but it gives the perception of doing so.  I took the lane less traveled in the hope that it would make all the difference.

 

After ordering, there is always that awkward moment of wondering which car should blend back into line first.   There was a gap in the line and so I eased ahead.  And then I saw him coming…  the guy behind me got out of his car, walked up beside me, and asked me to roll down the window.  First, let me describe his car.  Most of it was dark blue.  All of it was dented.  The muffler was held on by a wire and it smoked like those mosquito trucks that used to drive around my neighborhood when I was a kid.  He had to open the door to order his food because the driver’s window had long been sealed up with duct-tape.  To be honest, he didn’t look any better.  His clothes were filthy, his teeth (what was left of them) were yellow, and his hair was grey.  His ensemble was highlighted by an over-stretched tank top.

 

With a little fear and trepidation, I rolled down the window.  He began… “I’m not asking you for anything, I don’t need any money, I just wanted to tell you about how these lines work.”  He wasn’t mad.  He wasn’t belligerent.  He wasn’t stressed.  He just honestly wanted me to know how things work.  I wanted to tell him that this was not my first visit to McDonalds.  “Not my first rodeo” kind of thoughts were going through my head.  But I let him say his piece, thanked him for letting me know, and then I moved ahead to the window to pay.  The employee wanted to know if the stranger wanted money or if he had bothered me.  I told her not at all… “he was just trying to be helpful.”

 

We can learn a few things when we choose to be students of life.  No, I didn’t need instruction on how to navigate the drive-thru lane.  But I did allow myself to learn a few things.  First, sometimes people are made to feel valued when we extend the simple courtesy of listening to them.  Second, relationships based on an exchange of ideas are much better than those filled with fear, anger, and resentment.  Third, we can learn from most anyone else if we assume the posture of a learner and not a know-it-all.  Fourth, sometimes we need to move out of our comfortable, cloistered lives in order to be reminded of a greater world filled with people very different from ourselves, but equally valued in the eyes of God.

 

One other McDonald’s fun fact… there is only one place in the lower 48 states that is more than 100 miles away from a McDonald’s.  It’s a barren plain somewhere in South Dakota.  Wow, I’m glad I live in Nashville…

 

“Do you know where room 220 is located?”  I’ve been getting that question a lot these days.  The Fall semester has begun and a lot of students are struggling to be in the right place at the right time.  Room 220 is just a few steps from my office.  A surprising number of students have stopped in front of my open door to ask for directions.  I don’t mind the interruption… I like meeting the students.  But here’s where the confusion starts.  Room 220, for whatever reason, is not labeled.  There is no number on the door frame, no sign on the wall.  The entire classroom building recently went through an extensive renovation and someone simply overlooked the small, but important detail, making the room a little hard to find.

 

But let me tell you about Room 220.  It has to be the most impressive classroom space on the campus.  To say that it is “state of the art” is to undersell its splendor.  It is the centerpiece of the Massey School of Business.  First, the 2 side walls, along with the back wall, are all clear glass.  Students can see out and visitors can see in.  The room seats 30 and each student station has a large computer screen, keyboard, and input slots for nearly any device.  Unlike the stiff, wooden chairs you might expect, the students sit in nice, reclining cloth desk chairs.  The front wall is equally impressive.  There are two large presentation screens which can be controlled by the professor’s station or by any of the student stations he/she might choose.  There is also a constantly updated screen which highlights world business activities of the day including charts, photos, news stories and graphs.  Finally, at the top of the front wall is a 20-foot long digital, moving, readout of stock market prices.  It’s impressive.  Students might have trouble finding the classroom on the first day of class, but never the second day…

 

There is a place known as the Kingdom of God.  And although it unfolds all around us as Spirit-filled people enflesh the Gospel message, it is also a coming realm filled to overflowing with God’s presence and glory.  Human attempts to describe it will fall pitifully short.  It is a place where all wrongs are made right, all injuries are healed, all transgressions are forgiven.  It is a place of peace, acceptance, joy, inclusion, hope, and abundant grace.  If only people could find their way…

 

I finally gave in to the constant parade of students and stood in the hallway directing traffic.  There was joy in helping the overwhelmed find their way.  It’s also how the Kingdom is built.  We finally overcome our complacency, our apathy, and our anxieties and we say to those who are struggling with life… “Here it is!  This is the place!”  We stand at the crossroads where lives and destinies are decided and we point to the Great Kingdom.  At least that is our calling.  God forgive our silence, our casual attitude, and our appalling lack of involvement.  The Kingdom is worth finding.  The story is worth telling.  Why let someone languish when Room 220 is just down the hall?

 

 

Here at Belmont University where I direct a leadership program, it’s move-in day for all the freshman class.  By the end of the day about 1800 new students will inhabit the campus.  That’s 1800 new stories to be written, 1800 new minds to teach, 1800 cars to unload.  They have a system here on move-in day at Belmont where upperclassmen greet families as they pull into the driveway in front of the various dorms.  Literally within seconds, the car is unloaded and all the stuff is hauled up to the appropriate living space by countless volunteers.  It really is quite remarkable… maybe a little mind-boggling to the parents who are already worried about separation anxiety who watch the task of unloading unfold before their eyes.

 

It’s been almost 4 decades since I moved onto campus as a college freshman.  I still remember the moment and admittedly, I’m a little jealous of those who are just starting this experience.  I’m jealous of the opportunities they have, the future that is theirs to grasp, the experiences about to unfold.  I’m jealous of the new friendships they will forge for life and for the ways in which their world-view, faith, and intellect are about to explode.  For most, college is an exhilarating experience and my hopeful prayer is that these students will be safely sheltered, carefully taught, and wonderfully challenged.

 

I met a family on campus yesterday who were getting their bearings so that the chaordic (chaos & order) process of moving in wouldn’t catch them off guard.  They flew in from California to help their only child, a daughter, get settled.  She looked excited, anxious, fearful, and a bit overwhelmed.  That’s got to be hard.  It’s a long way from home and family.  I gave her my business card and told her, “If you begin to feel a little overwhelmed or you miss home a little too much, come find me.  I will make sure you get connected and find some folks to meet.”  It can be a big, lonely world and sometimes having people to join you in the journey will help.

 

The feeling of being overwhelmed by life doesn’t apply just to college students.  Let’s be honest… it’s a big, mean, lonely world.  Maybe the key for our survival is learning how to invent community around our lives.  It doesn’t just happen.  It is a very intentional process.  We forge friendships.  We create dialogue.  We initiate conversations.  There is a risk and reward.  But at the end of the day, it’s the sense of community that holds the key to our survival.  You may find it at your work, or in your neighborhood, or at your church, or at the gym.  We were not made to be lone-rangers.  We were created for community.

 

So if you see a lost student this week, point them in the right direction.  If you see a lost soul, offer them a moment.  And if you find yourself struggling with this big world, seek out community where you can connect.  It’s how we survive.

I had a conversation this week with a friend who is a rabbi in a reformed Jewish tradition.  We think alike about many things while at the same time we have disagreements that reach to the core of our identities if we were willing to let such thoughts escape.  But we don’t.  We talk of things we hold dear, things we hold in common, things that unite rather than divide us.  It’s better that way.  There is a gentle grace when civility and respect become the ground rules of conversations and relationships.  We joke.  We laugh.  We speak of critically important matters.

 

I asked him about the weight of oppression and prejudice that are leveled at him because of his faith and heritage.  He admitted that he has always felt the burden of hatred that is shouldered by those who live in a minority.  The fact that it is a “way of life” doesn’t make the matter any easier to bear.  He told me that he often chooses to suffer in silence rather than burden others with the angry hatred that comes his way.  When I asked, “How often do you get hate mail?”  His response was poignantly brief… “every day.”  He told me that his silence is one of the ways that he protects his wife and family from the brutality of misguided and harmful thought.

 

Why does anyone have to live like that?  Why does anyone have to feel the constant sting of hatred?  Why do we let oppression still rage in our land?  Why are most of us not engaged in efforts of reconciliation and justice?  I have to believe that until the “pronouns” get changed, nothing gets changed.  As long as we talk of those whose faith, race, gender, or ethnicity is different from ours as being “them” and not “us,” we remain stuck in a dangerous place.  Until we begin to affirm the inescapable and powerful links of our common humanity, we will never feel that “we” are suffering.  It will still be “them.”

 

There is only one planet to share and only one destiny toward which we are drawn.  The plight of every man must become my plight.  The suffering of every woman must become my suffering.  The oppression of every minority must become my oppression.  For until I join myself to the pain, I will never ceaselessly strive to make it better.  I cannot afford the luxury of a privileged posture which keeps me from addressing the problems of “my” world.  None of us can fully enjoy the euphoria of freedom until we help bear the responsibility of lifting oppression from the shoulders of others.

 

My mind remembers the words spoken in 1968 by Edward Kennedy in praise of his recently-slain brother Robert… “My brother need not be idealized, or enlarged in death beyond what he was in life; to be remembered simply as a good and decent man, who saw wrong and tried to right it, saw suffering and tried to heal it, saw war and tried to stop it.” (Memorial Service for Robert F Kennedy – June 8, 1968 at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, New York)

 

Would that such words could be spoken of us… that we saw darkness and tried to illumine it, saw hatred and tried to reconcile it, saw oppression and tried to lift it, saw injustice and tried to solve it.  It is long past time for us to begin talking and living in better ways. It is one thing to pray, “Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”  It is quite another to give expression to that prayer.  For those of us who live in the grace of freedom, may we be willing to become shackled to the responsibility of working to set free, those who remain the prisoners of oppression.

Most of us have a worldview shaped by the experiences we have had, the places where we live, the people surrounding us, and the media that we choose to let in.  My worldview is seen through the lens of a middle-aged, white, southern American.  I grew up in an upper-middle class family.  I lived in a safe and comfortable home.  I went to school in an environment where academics were stressed and where minorities were not well represented.  Like many others, my worldview could have been very predictable.  I could have made it through life with few people who looked, acted, or thought differently from me.  Such a limited viewpoint could have handicapped me in a lot of ways.

 

But my worldview has been broadened along the way.  I went to college (thanks to the generosity of my parents.)  I learned about important subjects and all about college life.  My mind was exposed to learning, to books, and to great thinkers.  After college I went to Graduate School where my world continued to expand.  I studied hard and learned much.

 

But education was not the only experience that broadened my perspective.  I got married and raised 3 kids.  Certainly my perspective broadened.  My wife, who understands far more than me about many things, has helped me to grow in a lot of ways.  When I raised my children I thought the wisdom would always flow in one direction… from me to them.  But I quickly discovered that they had much to teach me about being a father, role model and provider.

 

I have also benefited from the interaction over the past 3 decades of being a pastor to a lot of people.  Being a minister helped me to form opinions, challenge biases, and stretch my understanding about many things.  I have also traveled the world.  I have spent a lot of time in the third world in places like Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and the developing areas of Brasilia.  I have seen real poverty, need, and hunger.  I have seen exciting world capitals like London, Rome, Madrid, and Zagreb.  I’ve traveled to places like Rio de Janeiro, to the Andes Mountains of Ecuador, strolled the streets of Munich and walked the beautiful beaches of Hawaii.

 

With every relationship, every learning opportunity, every place visited, I have opened my life to a greater world.  I don’t see the world and its people the way I might have once seen it.  I hope that I have learned a little more about tolerance, a little more about acceptance, a little more about the value and worth of each person.  I hope that I have learned more about how my resources can benefit those in need.  And I’m not through looking yet.  I have windows yet unopened and thoughts yet unexplored.  But here’s what I have figured out along the way… perspective takes intentionality.  We grow when we choose to look and listen and explore.  It is with open minds and listening ears that we become more than ourselves.

 

Let me challenge you to open up the window of your mind a little more.  Build intentional relationships with people who are very different from you.  Read a book written by a writer with whom you may not agree.  Volunteer at a local non-profit and give yourself away.  Take a mission trip and explore how other people live.  It’s a choice.  Either we cloister ourselves away and never look beyond our own limited experiences or we create new and mind expanding ones.  Go. Risk. Immerse. Explore.

 

Some days bring with them a sadness… a deep sorrow that can’t be easily erased, forgotten, or conquered.  Yesterday was one of those days. It brought a profound darkness into which I have yet to discover much light.  Completely unannounced, a pair of investigators from the Mississippi State Public Defender’s office found their way to my office.  “If you’ve got a minute, we need to talk to you about Jack Orson.”  (The name has been changed for obvious reasons.)  It was a name that I hadn’t thought of in the past 4 or 5 years.  In fact, it took a minute for the name to even register in my mind.  Slowly, the memories began to surface and images of a bright, quiet, but contented young man soon splashed across my mind.

 

I remembered some of his story.  His parents were divorced and remarried.  His father lived here in Nashville with a whole new family and his mother lived back in Mississippi, near the Gulf.  They have been divorced for a long time.  Jack spent much of his adolescent years being “ping-ponged” back and forth between his birth parents.  A couple of summers were spent here in Nashville.  He was quickly accepted into our church’s Youth Group.  He went on youth camps and mission trips and was liked by all.  After High School graduation, he slipped off my radar screen. He moved back to Mississippi where he went to work while living at his mother’s home.

 

“So what’s going on with Jack?” I inquired.  The two investigators looked at each other for a moment as if wondering how to answer the question.  “We are defending Jack in a court case.  Actually, he has already been tried.  We are trying to talk the judge into a lesser sentence.”  It was then they shared the tragically sad news of Jack’s story.  For some inexplicable reason, one night after work, he got in his car, drove three hours to his grandparents’ home, where he brutally murdered them both.  He was found late that night driving erratically, with blood on his clothes, a knife and pistol riding along in the car with him.  He now spends his days on death row, awaiting execution.  The defenders are trying to commute the sentence down to life without parole.

 

I understand the heavy-handed sentence.  Jack made terrible choices and will pay for those choices for the rest of his life, whether or not his life will end in months or in decades.  It’s such a waste… 23 years old and never to know freedom again. He will spend a lifetime remembering his heinous acts.  Although I am certainly mindful of his victims, those who are dead and those who now live with what their son has done, I am also mindful of his self-imposed victimization.  I think about the life ahead of him.  How many dark moments will he live?  How many caustic remarks will fill his ears?  How many acts of violence will find his body?  How many tears will flood his eyes?  How many abuses will he know?  It’s just a sadness that I can’t seem to erase, forget, or conquer.  My prayer is that somewhere along the way, he might find a gentle grace and be reminded that there is a loveliness hidden deep inside, put there by a Creator God who will forever refuse to let go of him.

There are many of us who try to live out our lives under the restraint of the moral compass we call Holy Scripture.  It is our guide, our rule, our authority… or so we once said.  When I was young and growing up Baptist, there was a very rock-solid foundation under my feet and those of my generation.  We believed that Bible was, “God’s divinely inspired word which contained truth, without any mixture of error.”  We defended it.  We attempted to live by it.  We longed to handle it accurately.  The popular bumper sticker of the day read, “God said it. I believe it.  That settles it.”

 

But the winds of change are starting to blow.  If honest, most of us have exchanged the authority of the Word, for the authority of the Spirit.  It has been a slow, but very persistent shift.  Whether or not God has spoken anew to our generation, or we have just grown uncomfortable with a Bible-ethic that doesn’t fit our agenda, one thing is certain… we have begun to exchange written word, for the Spirit’s voice.  We have taught ourselves to view scripture through the lens of the Spirit that dwells within us.  As a royal priesthood, we have adopted the right to read and interpret Scripture as the Spirit nudges us.  And of course, we think we are right.  We believe that our interpretation is “most enlightened” and therefore most correct.  We patiently and condescendingly wait on others to catch up.  So you see the problem… If we declare to live our lives under the guidance of the Spirit, which can become filtered through our own experiences, biases, and opinions, then is it possible that a conflict may result between the authority of Scripture and the perception of Spirit authority?

 

Some may well argue that Spirit voice should always trump written word.  After all, the Spirit is part of the Godhead, the written word is merely the recorded voice of God.   Who’s to say that it too might reflect the biases of those who wrote it?  Did the Biblical writers get it right?  Is everything written and implied in the text exactly what God chose to communicate?

 

The other side of the argument follows this logic… Written Word should always trump Spirit voice.  The Written Word has stood the test of time, declaring God’s truth for generation upon generation.  The truth contained within the pages is set in stone and does not bend according to the popular opinions of modern culture.  This logic insists that God’s Word doesn’t change… only our willingness to obey it seems to wax and wane.  A defender of the Word would argue that those whose theology stands counter to the faithful witness of Scripture have surely not heard the voice of the Spirit, but rather the voice of self & society that allow for a bending of the rules because it matches their own opinion.

 

So how does one read the Bible with open-minded, obedient eyes, while allowing room for the Spirit to speak?  First, we must decide the answer to this question… “Can the Spirit allow us to develop an interpretation that is contrary to the Written word?”  In other words, do the two offer conflicting and competing voices?  Will the Spirit really allow for interpretations that are vastly different from what the Bible states?  To answer with a resounding “yes” means that Scripture’s voice no longer holds value for us… it is supplanted by the Spirit’s directives.  To answer “no” means that we deny the Spirit room for any fresh revelation or insight… moral codes and righteous thought can never change or bend.

 

So who controls the Spirit?  Or better yet… are we controlled by the Spirit or do we attempt to control the Spirit’s voice in our lives?  For the sake of argument, let’s affirm that God’s Word and God’s Spirit never conflict with each other.  In other words, whatever is written in the Word can only be magnified by the Spirit’s voice.  The Spirit will give clarity and conviction to those who take the Word seriously.  Such a faith position brings sharper focus but heavier responsibility.  Or… for the sake of argument, let’s affirm that God’s Word and God’s Spirit have the room to wrestle with each other and the outcome is not always won by the Word.  Sometimes the Spirit speaks louder.  Such a position can quickly erode Biblical truth in exchange for our interpretation of truth.

 

If the Spirit’s role is to guide us in all truth (John 16:13), then how can the two… Word and Spirit… ever compete?  Isn’t the same God fully present in both?  So maybe the problem is not found in Scripture, nor in Spirit, but in our unwillingness to lean into what both demand of us.  If the spirit within you teaches you to bend the rules of Biblical authority, then you’d better be careful of that spirit’s voice.  It may not be the voice of God, but rather the serpent’s whisper who again and again says, “You don’t really have to obey God… surely you won’t die.”  And suddenly we will find ourselves living somewhere east of Eden.

 

Let’s be honest… there are some really important issues out there which are testing the mettle of our generation.  Read the Word with a conviction that it always speaks truth and intention.  And then pray for the clear, crisp voice of the Spirit to give even more insight, so that ambiguity is erased and obedience becomes the watchword of the day.

I know that it’s a very trendy thing to do… that of buying a YETI tumbler to keep one’s drink super-cold for a long time.  You’ve seen the really hip people with one in their hands.  Made of brushed stainless steel they promise the latest and greatest technology in terms of insulated drinkware.  And I have to admit that I really like the one I purchased last week.  When people come into my office, I can tell that they struggle with “tumbler envy.”  I just nonchalantly reach for mine and rattle the ice around a little bit.  My morning Mountain Dew hangs around all day, carefully insulated by high-tech foam and stainless steel walled construction.

 

As I think about the recent events in our nation… the way that violence and evil continue to raise their heads, I find myself wishing for a little more insulation.  There is a part of me that wishes I could shield myself and those whom I love from all the tragic and terrible winds that tend to blow through our culture.  I wish I could shield this generation from the anger of violence, the injustice of prejudice, that ugliness of racism, and the fear of uncertainty.  Wouldn’t it be great if I could just surround my family with high-tech foam and stainless steel?  Wouldn’t it be great if I could just keep all the evil out?

 

Maybe that’s the problem.  Maybe I have been cloistering myself away too much already.  Maybe I could make a difference with presence, voice, and activism… if I would but choose “to light a candle instead of just cursing the darkness.”  Maybe it’s not enough to kneel behind a closed and locked door and pray for protection.  Maybe it’s time to be salt and light.  I wonder… until all families are safe and all homes are secured and all races are respected, have I met my moral and Christian obligation to love my neighbor?  I can always shake my head and say, “It sure is a pity about what happened to that guy on the news.”  But then I remember that the guy on the news is someone whom Christ loved and died to redeem.  Christ appreciates the value, dignity, and worth of every person.  How can I do anything less?

 

So maybe it’s not a bigger YETI that I need, but a bigger heart, a broader vision, and deeper compassion.  Maybe it’s time for intentionality on my part.  Maybe it’s time get more involved.  Maybe the walls that I want to build to keep me safe are the very walls that keep me from being the presence of Christ in the world.  The time for indifference and non-involvement is long gone.  I John 4:20 “If someone says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar; for the one who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen.”