Quiet Desperation...

 Poet, philosopher, naturalists, etc., Henry David Thoreau once wrote, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." I think his observation is both brilliant and woefully short-sighted. He might have an escape clause, if by "men" he meant the "mankind" all-of-humanity kind of men. I would argue we all live lives of quiet desperation. We can only deaden the ache so much, for no matter how much food, alcohol, and pleasurable company we may procure, the ache still remains.

CS Lewis calls it the "inconsolable longing" for something we've smelled, heard, tasted, or felt from an agonizing distance. We find some comfort in structure, in routine, in "what I ought to be doing," but we can't help but feel that, in the end, we know we're in "The Matrix." We know that something isn't right. We know that we're incomplete. We know that we're missing out...on something.

Most of us succumb to the idea that...if I could just get, become, achieve, or acquire "the next thing," then, all will be well. I think somewhere deep down, we all at least suspect that, even if we do get the greatest thing, find the most loving person, or reach the highest heights...we'll still be left with that nagging ache. Movie stars, rock stars, lottery winners, super bowl winning teams, and billionaires have shown us over the years that whatever earthly height we can imagine will never be quite high enough.

I'm an English and Reading teacher, but somehow, over the last several years, I've been teaching middle school students about careers. In that study, we take an in-depth look at careers over the years, how historical events, technology, and culture influence careers. Studying history can be very revealing. One of the aspects of history that I've noticed is this: as affluence and privilege increase, so does immorality. Don't get me wrong. I am not shaking a judgmental finger, as if I somehow know better than all of humanity. I'm likely just as immoral as any other person on the planet. Honestly, the older I get, the more I feel like we human beings really ought to be cutting each other a little bit more slack.

Honestly, beyond lives of quiet desperation, I'd argue that we're all just stubborn, needy, desperate souls throwing shit at the walls and hoping...praying that something sticks. Why are we pushing up against any and every cultural norm? Why are we searching for alternate identities? Why are we starting to try to identify as things we are not? Why are we aggrandizing sexuality to the point that it is all we identify with? I believe it's because we're all hoping beyond hope that we'll find "something to make sense of it all," whatever "it all" is.

It's at about this time that you expect me to start preaching, right? Batson is one of those born again Christian folk. Of course, he's going to say, turn to Jesus, right?

To be quite honest, Jesus is my ultimate conclusion, but I wouldn't dare to presume upon your lives. I will urge you, however, to be more purposeful searchers. This is no joke. Life, this day-after-day thing that adds up to a lifetime is the most vital thing we have. Invest it in the "finding out." I've done my homework. I've researched science. I've researched world religions. I've investigated claims. I explored my own psyche. In the end, I can't get past God. I can't fathom a world of ten trillion trillion intricacies...that didn't have a lucid cause. Of all the world religions, only one speaks of grace. Only one offers a Christ who would go through all the hell on earth that we're all going through and then cap it all by being tortured and murdered...for me. Only one rose from the dead. But...that's my conclusion. I've done my homework. I am satisfied.

And yet...the ache remains.

I once believed and, for a long, long time, stubbornly held on to the idea that once I became a Christian, my life would all come together. The ache would be so satiated by Jesus that I would never long for more. Here I tread dangerous ground because I'm sure there are many believers who would say unequivocally that Jesus fulfills their each and every need. With all due respect, I salute those contented beings and...I say, "well, that is not my experience." My experience is much more of what the bible describes. "In this world, you will have trouble." Yes, I have Jesus, but I'm living in decay. Yes, I have Jesus, but it still hurts when my children are sick. It still makes me weep when I watch the news. It still feels like everything has gone terribly, horribly wrong. I'm just being honest about my experience. Sue me.

Jesus once said to the woman at the well, "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." In my experience, the thirst comes back. Some might argue that I never really "drank the water that Jesus gives." Maybe I never really believed. Maybe I lost my salvation. Maybe...or maybe not. Maybe what is shortsighted is the popular understanding of the type of thirst Jesus was talking about here. There's physical thirst when our bodies actually need physical water or...we'll dehydrate and die. And then, there's felt thirst. We might not be on the verge of death, or even remotely close to dehydration, but we still want something to drink. In my experience, in whatever version of Christianity I've lived into, Jesus has satiated the physical-need thirst. I have an anchor in my soul that is steadfast, ironclad, trustworthy, and loving. But this isn't heaven. I still want things to drink.

And here, to me, is the difference that Jesus makes. I am hard-pressed, but not crushed; I am perplexed, but not in despair; I am persecuted but not forsaken; struck down but not destroyed. My thirst has been quenched, but I am still thirsty. The wound that causes the ache has been ultimately healed, but like the phantom pain of an amputee, I still feel the ache. But, for the last time, these are my conclusions after almost 50 years of searching. I've done my homework. I am content to live with the ache.

No Need to Knock

Why don't we pray? I have a list of reasons / excuses as long as my arm. Maybe you do too. Today, I was struck with an idea to put into a kind of story. I was listening to Stephen Curtis Chapman's song "Let Us Pray," and had a series of images come to mind. I think it was to help me pray. Maybe it will help you as well. 

No Need to Knock

I leave the confines of my room for the long hall with equally great weariness and wariness. I have not traveled this way for too long a time, and I do not know what I will find at the passage’s end. As soon as the flickering torchlight scatters my shadows, I feel an overwhelming urge, like an undertow, grasping with unseen hands to pull me back. I want to go back. A voice of my own thoughts whispers, “This is a path of privilege, the way of valiant souls…and royalty. It is not for me.”

I take small, tentative steps forward. I am reminded of all the times I have come this way and failed. How often had I turned back because it was too late, missing the appointment because I was distracted? How many occasions had I been turned away because I was not properly attired? How frequently had I ascended until I just…couldn’t…take…another…step, awakening later to retreat in shame? The voice is right. This path is not for me.

Especially today. Today, I am a pauper, covered in threadbare rags and drenched in filth and blood. I bear unfathomable guilt like a rotting second skin. I do not belong in this hall, the hall that stretches before me, its end in shadow growing farther—not nearer—with each heavy step. Just make it to the next torch, I tell myself. And then the next. I press on, but the incline grows steeper. My foot loses purchase. I fall and slide backward in the slick of my own grime. 

Weeping, I flail and climb to my unsteady feet. Too hard. Too far. I know I will never make it. Still, the torchlight never wavers. The One I seek keeps them alight. I know I must continue. Continue or die.

I pass one torch. Then another. I am moving more quickly now. How many torches behind me? I don’t look back. At last, the shadow ahead parts like a curtain. I am almost there! The door is before me, looming like the impenetrable gate of a fortified castle. I stand just two paces away. I raise my fist—

“There is no need to knock,” comes the voice of the One. “The door is open.”

Still seemingly heavy beyond reckoning, the impassive door glides inward, and I am bathed in light. I am at once blinded…and seen. I duck my head. I should not have come.

Fingers. Gentle as silk but stronger than iron, the fingers cup my chin and lift my head. I see the One at last, and all fear flees. And suddenly, suddenly, I feel quite absurd. 

“Tell me, my child,” He says, “why did you wait so long?”

The uncanny mirth of my situation gets the best of me, and I laugh. Why indeed did I wait so long? 

And then, I recall. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I was afraid.”

And then, it was His turn to laugh, a great braying, thunderous laugh. “You were afraid? Of me? But child, I love you. You are always welcome in my presence.”

“I thought I had waited too long,” I say. “Too late for—”

“Too late for my Grace?” His eyes shine down on me like kindly searchlights. “I am beyond time, my child. My Grace cuts the fabric of time. There is no late.”

“But I have been rebuffed.” The brittle words spill from my mouth like icicles in the sun. “I am clothed in wretchedness.”

“Rebuffed? Not by me. And your garb? You simply were not seeing clearly. Shall I fetch you a mirror?”

Those massive, gentle hands hold out an exquisite looking glass framed in pristine silver. Its pure beauty is no match for the figure I see in the reflection. I am clothed in white and gold…and glory.
I manage to splutter, “How…?”

“My Son,” He replies. “You wear the garments He purchased on your behalf. His very own.” He withdraws the looking glass, but His smile is more radiant than anything I have yet seen.

“Your Son,” I whisper. “He paid an awful price.”

“Yes.”

“For me.”

“Yes.”

“And yet, like the others, there are times that I cannot stay awake…to keep watch?”

“What father would not be warmed by His child’s words trailing off into slumber? What father would not feel the kindling of love by His child’s sleeping in His arms?”

Tears spill over my lids and run down my cheeks. “But so many times I am heavy with guilt of my own transgression. Like today, I have sullied your Son’s garments with the blackest ash of my sin.”

“That is especially why you have come,” He says. “This is my Throne of Grace. When you are besmirched, there is no place else for you to turn, not without incurring terrible costs. And there is no other place but the Throne of Grace where you will actually receive help in your time of need.” 

I am overwhelmed and euphoric. “I…I can come any time? No matter what I’ve done?”

“Any time,” He says. “Day or night. And, child, the long arduous hall you imagine at times? It is simply not there. There is a door to my Throne of Grace, and it is always open. Just come.” 

14 Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. 15 For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin. 16 Therefore let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. (Hebrews 4: 14-16)

The Unstoppable Flood

Strike from your mind any of the negative images connected to the word flood. You might have first imagined the devastating tsunamis in Japan or the torrential flooding in the South after Hurricane Katrina. Imagine the force and sheer power of those events, but not the negative consequences. The flood I'm going to discuss is as far from that as the East is from the West.

There is a flood. A raging, surging flood. Picture a pristine white mountain where the snow and ice are melting…sending a pure, powerful torrent down the mountainside. And, oh yeah, this flood is moving right through your back yard. Through everyone's back yard, really.

And you've heard some things about this flood. People are finding life there. It's something like the Fountain of Youth, only better, they say. There's safety in the flood. There's nourishment in the flood. There's cleansing in the flood. There's even forgiveness in the flood.

And, from the sounds of things, this flood is unstoppable. It flows on and on and on. No dam will hold it, no blockage will divert it, no effort of human imagination can cut off its flow. And people are *willingly* jumping into this flood. They say you can too.

But you're not so sure.

There are many reasons why people may choose not to jump into this flood. Maybe you're refusing to believe the flood exists. Maybe you're a little afraid of anything that powerful. It might even be that you don't believe that the benefits offered are something you want…or even need. Those reasons, for the most part, go beyond the scope of this post. I want to address one reason in particular, an obstacle that keeps a lot of people from jumping into the flood. It's something that has plagued me for a long, long time. It's no simple hurdle: part intellectual, part psychological, many parts emotional, and perhaps, even a part that is physiological.

There are some who linger on the edge of the flood who won't jump in because they believe their debt is too great to EVER be washed away. We all have our sins, but not all of us believe the same things about those sins. For some of us, we see them as malignant black stains that won't ever be erased. No matter what spiritual chemo we try, there's always a trace left behind that soon grows to full potency and eats away at us once more.

The flood may cleanse some folks, but nobody like me. No way. My sins go deep. Paul may call himself Chief of Sinners, but shoot, Paul doesn't hold a candle to my history. For this person, the guilt for many years of wrongdoing haunts like a vengeful spirit. No need to mention specific sins. You know what they are. It may well be that you've never told ANYONE about these things in your entire life. But they are hideous, gouging, deviant things.

For some of these folks, jumping into the flood is just way too simple a cure for what ails us. We wish it were more us-centered. Maybe we could spend our lives digging a trench for the flood. Maybe we could get out there with shovels and pickaxes and, by the sweat of our brow, just tear up the earth so that the water could flow. Maybe then, we might jump in. Because honestly, there's something in us that screams that we just CAN'T be declared not guilty. We have to pay. And the more dearly we have to pay, the better. In fact, to gain forgiveness by simply jumping in the water…well, honestly, it just doesn't seem right. I am Hitler. I am Jeffery Dalhmer. I am Elizabeth Bathory. I don't deserve an easy rescue. And…really, there just can't be anything powerful enough to save me.


Picture every one of your sins, mainly the worst of the worst. Now, what would be due punishment for those? I mean, if each and every one of them were exposed in a very public fashion, what would be the due penalty? Maybe, if the sins are really bad, maybe you should be captured and imprisoned. Would that do it? And surely, if these things were known about you, you'd be abandoned by family members, friends, those who "used to love you" until…they found out. So maybe that would be just punishment, as well. Still not enough? Let's add public humiliation to the sentencing. You'll be stripped of everything that gives you human value--even your clothing. You'll be slandered, insulted, and viciously criticized--all while those who knew you laugh or spit.

For some of you, that might just be enough to pay for your crimes. But for others, they go even deeper. All of the above, plus some. Your sins, your hideous evil thoughts and actions, would demand agonizing torture. Maybe something where your body is torn to shreds or stabbed through with blades. And honestly, you feel it wouldn't be right for your consequences to end in anything short of death. All of that---it's all what you deserve. And…maybe…maybe you're right. Maybe you do deserve the massive list of penalties listed here. I'm not going to argue with you. Maybe you are that awful. I know sometimes, I've felt that way about myself.

Take another look at that list of consequences. What if the flood we were talking about was unleashed when someone else took all of those horrible penalties--ALL OF THEM--but he himself had never done anything at all to deserve them. What if he endured even worse, but he did it on your behalf. Truth is, someone did. Jesus of Nazareth was captured and imprisoned. He was ridiculed, spat upon, and mocked. He was abandoned by his twelve closest friends. He was presented publicly as something worthy of scorn and stripped of his dignity--even his clothing. And the public who claimed to have his back chose to have a murderer set free, rather than free this innocent man. Jesus was then whipped and scourged to within an inch of his life. And finally, Jesus was murdered in cold blood, killed in a public execution fit for a criminal. Worse still, and perhaps maybe something we can't begin to understand, Jesus was abandoned by God the Father.

That…was Friday.

Whatever your past, whatever your history, whatever your addictions, or sins--whatever penalty you think would pay for it--Jesus bore it ALL. And He did it to pay for you, to buy out your contract, to release you forever from bondage. The sins were great. The penalty was great. But Jesus paid it--IN FULL. That's what Jesus meant when He said, "It is finished."

So what about the flood? Could it possibly be powerful enough to wash even you clean? Why not? The penalty, the due penalty, the worst you can imagine, was endured and paid.

But then…there was Sunday.

Jesus didn't stay dead. That's an incredible line, isn't it? See, the flood wasn't unleashed when Jesus died. The torrent was launched when Jesus rose from the dead. See, anyone who has the power to come back to life is someone who can help you out. We're talking about the power of God. The power that created the universe and all the life in it. We're talking about the power to create life from nothing and the power to bring dead things back to the living. This is the Unstoppable Flood. There is nothing you could humanly imagine that is so great a sin that Jesus couldn't beat it down. You might be a bigtime sinner, but sorry, you aren't that special. You cannot out-sin God's grace. If you step into that flood, you will be cleansed. The penalty you were due, will be washed away forever, marked PAID IN FULL. This flood will give you life. It will nourish you. It will grant you everlasting forgiveness. And one day, it will give you a chance to hold the nail-scarred hand of the one who took your penalties.

There's only one catch. You need to jump into the flood. You need to believe that Jesus is the Son of God who paid for your sins, who suffered and died for you, and rose again so that you could see that HE beat the snot out of sin & death once and for all. Jesus is the Unstoppable Flood.

Come on in. The water's good.

[Originally posted on Easter, 2011]

Will the Real Prodigal Please Stand Up?

This past Sunday, we had a guest speaker preach on The Prodigal Son. It was a captivating talk, and I learned a ton. Strangely enough, though, as much as I learned from the speaker, I found myself thinking about another aspect of the parable. It stemmed from the actual meaning of the word "prodigal"--one of the points the speaker made about the word's real meaning struck a chord and made the parable more meaningful to me than perhaps ever before. So, buckle your seatbelts, Dorthy, because Kansas is going bye bye!

In common use, the word "prodigal" has come to mean "wayward" or "errant," "lost" even. But the original meaning is quite a bit different. Prodigal actually means "recklessly extravagant, wasteful, or lavish." Wasteful and reckless, we get. It makes sense. After all, the son, took his portion of his father's estate and wasted it on carnal pleasures: food, drink, fair-weather friends, and female companionship. But "extravagant" and "lavish" bring to mind the provision of absurd luxury or giving in abundance. Maybe we can apply that to the son and therefore call him prodigal. But I got to thinking someone else in the story might actually be more prodigal. I was thinking that someone might be the father…who is symbolic of God. Before you cry "Blasphemy!" or start gathering flaming brands and pitchforks, hear me out. 

First, let's look at the actual text from Luke:

¹¹Jesus continued: "There was a man who had two sons. ¹²The younger one said to his father, 'Father, give me my share of the estate.' So he divided his property between them.
 ¹³"Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. ¹⁴After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. ¹⁵So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. ¹⁶He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
 ¹⁷"When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! ¹⁸I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. ¹⁹I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.' ²⁰So he got up and went to his father.
      "But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
 ²¹"The son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.^[a]'
 ²²"But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. ²³Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. ²⁴For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate.
 ²⁵"Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. ²⁶So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. ²⁷'Your brother has come,' he replied, 'and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.'
 ²⁸"The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. ²⁹But he answered his father, 'Look! All these years I've been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. ³⁰But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!'
 ³¹" 'My son,' the father said, 'you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. ³²But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' "

Mannn, is Jesus a great storyteller or what! I love this story. It is SO rich and SO full of hope. And I think for too long, the focus has been on the son who left and came back home. We often call it the prodigal son or the "lost son." Maybe the son is one of the main characters, the protagonist even? But he's not the hero of the story. The father is.

In the narrative of the story, the father allows his son to take his portion of the estate--early. This was to be the son's inheritance. However, the father lets the son take it and leave. In essence, saying, I will not force you to stay. I will not withhold this from you. I won't force my will upon you. The father represents God, and isn't this just like God? He won't force us to love Him. If we choose to run off and spend our time and talents on stupid stuff, God will let us. He doesn't force us to love him. He will allow the consequences of our sin to wise us up, though. And that's just what happened to the son. The son comes to his senses and returns. Do you see the point I'm building here? The father sets aside a certain portion of the estate. Think of this as riches, wealth, material, etc. The father sets this all aside for the son. It's a substantial sum too. The son was able to PARTY it up in the most lavish ways. And the father gives this to the son WILLINGLY. There's no fight. Even though it likely hurt the father's feelings, the father still let the son go. That is reckless, lavish love. 

But even more so is the son's return...or rather, the father's welcome. When the son comes home, thinking he's blown the possibility of sonship, hoping just to be a hired hand, a servant…the father runs to him. RUNS TO HIM. Have you heard that song? The father runs to the son. That's ridiculous, reckless love. And not just that, but the father throws a new robe on the lad, slaps a suh-weet ring on his finger, and calls the entire estate to a halt for a HUGE "welcome home" party. Talk about wasteful. Even the older son recognizes the excess. Anyone else hear the ring of Judas' voice in the older son? But if the word prodigal originally meant excessive, lavish, extremely extravagant, who in this story was more lavish than the father? No one. First he sets aside a portion of the estate, then he gives up the portion to the son, then after the son has wasted it and comes home, the father uses up even MORE resources to welcome the son home in GRAND fashion. Holy cow! What a wasteful father. What a wasteful God. And aren't we glad that He is. 

See, in our eyes, the son was a screw up. He blew it...BIG TIME. He wasn't worth the time of day, wasn't worth even a servant's position. But to the father, the son was more precious than ALL of the estate put together. To the father, the son was so precious...the only thing that mattered was having the son back home with him.

Jesus told this parable. There is no authority greater.  The kingdom of Heaven is like this. God is like this. God is good. He is a better kind of good than we can imagine or identify with. If we think we love our own children, God loves His more.

Now, I know some have interpreted this parable and have identified the "lost son" as a nonChristian who comes back to the father and is "saved." Some say the indignant older brother represents "Pharisee-like self righteous folk." After all, Jesus had a slew of Pharisees listening to Him tell this parable. Maybe the lost son represents the Gentiles and the older brother, the Jews. It might be. But regardless of the other characters, I think we need to focus on the Father. He is the One we should draw near to. He is the one willing to waste everything just to bring us home and welcome us to the place we MOST belong. He is the One who is so generously good that we very well can call Him prodigal.

So what's the take home on this? First, if you're a believer, stop and thank God right now for His goodness. For He gave us this life; He gave us all the good things in this world; He gave us a portion of everything. Praise Him. If you're not a believer, remember how much this Father loves you. He is waiting, not with blame, not with guilt, not asking for an explanation. God wants you to come home. He wants to embrace you and robe you. He wants to give you the family ring and throw a big party for you. And who says Christians don't party? Turns out, no one, but NO ONE throws a party like God's parties! See the invite below:

Who: You (whoever you are, no matter where you've been or what you've done)

What: Welcome Home Party!  (Abundant life on earth and eternity to boot)

Where: Your real home  (Heaven)

When: Right NOW (and much more after this life)

Why: Once was lost, but now are found (God is good. He loves you forever)