“I’ll have a glass of Merlot to go with my sirloin,” I said from my chair at the head of the table. It’s toxic, this chair’s honor, respect, admiration. “Pass the bottle again.” They laughed at my jokes, so I told more at others’ expense. I felt the exuberance instigated by the fruit of the vine as I sat at the table’s head. There was an unknown man at the table’s other end. I had not noticed him till now, his form concealed in the shadows. He arose and began pouring wine, pausing behind each guest, filling each glass with care. I felt the air move behind me as he stopped, poured, and passed on. Stories were embellished at our table as this mysterious man did our bidding. I thought he was one of us, a guest, until he retrieved the dirty plates and the scraps of our meal. He retired to the kitchen to wash and scrub the stacks of dinnerware. My friends continued their laughter, but I was fixated on his inconspicuous nature. No one asked for his service, he simply gave it. I could offer no assistance; I only watched passively. With the wine dissipating in my bloodstream, I felt strangely ashamed to be sitting so worthlessly in my chair at the head of the table. Our evening concluded. As he collected his coat to depart, I realized he had no uniform, no time card, no badge with a name on it. A stranger served us, and no one knew who we was. He accepted no tip. He kept no score and marked no debt. As he left (I didn’t want him to leave), I extended my hand to shake his. His right hand came out of his coat pocket, revealing a scarred palm clearly mangled by some horrific accident. I felt sorry for him, but his face showed no shame, only the pride of service. As he gripped my right hand, I saw the white of his eyes. “Thank you,” is all I could say. He said nothing in response, only a smile that was genuine and true. I had a serendipitous feeling I would see him again, but not at a table. “I am among you as the one who serves.” Luke 22:27 “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Matt. 20:28
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Someone recently asked me, "What makes for a happy life?" The very question itself bothered me. I've always been agitated by the "pursuit of happiness." I know that sounds un-American, but is our life's end all about being happy? Am I a boring curmudgeon or a Debbie Downer for not being a fan of "happiness?"
I felt vindicated upon reading this article from The Atlantic Monthly by Emily Esfahani Smith. She highlights a prominent Jewish psychiatrist and concentration camp survivor Viktor Frankl and his emphasis on meaning as opposed to happiness. "His emphasis on meaning, the value of suffering, and responsibility to something greater than the self - this seems to be at odds with our culture, which is more interested in the pursuit of individual happiness." I often hear the phrase, "I just want to be happy." Frankl writes, "Happiness cannot be pursued; it must ensue. One must have a reason to 'be happy.'" In other words, happiness is an outcome of a meaningful life, not something that life should pursue. A recent study done by psychological scientists tracked the difference between happiness and meaning. One of the great findings was that from a social perspective, "the pursuit of happiness is associated with selfish behavior - being a 'taker' rather than a 'giver.'" Wanting to "be happy" implies selfish things - lavish vacations, buying toys for yourself, etc. By contrast, "meaning" finds significance in doing meaningful work that affects other people. A teacher's job is not always "happy," a but a teacher finds meaning in helping young people learn and grow. I have to tread lightly here, but I contend that marriage isn’t meant to make you happy, nor does it ensure happiness. The goals I have for my marriage have nothing to do with happiness, but with meaning and significance that come from love. Happiness is tied to emotions, which come and go. Happiness can be an outcome of love, but it’s never the pursuit. Love, unlike emotions, doesn’t ebb and flow. It must remain constant, even proving itself in suffering, pain, and hardship. In fact, love is proven precisely in the “unhappy” times. Scripture never really talks about "happiness." It talks about meaning found in God-given identity. It reveals joy found in grace. It shows the deep value of love-centered service to others. A biblical doctrine of vocation, or calling, tells us that we all have value in the God-given things He has for us to do. Loving our neighbor - as a friend, family member, spouse, employee, classmate, etc. - is not about being happy. Rather it gives us the deep meaning of knowing that God called us to this important work. Am I Debbie Downer? I hope not. In this Lenten season, we see that Good Friday was not “happy,” but it means that there is a deeper love than I could ever pursue. More than happiness, this fact gives me meaningful joy. My wife Bobbi and I were able to visit Paris a couple years ago, catching a glimpse of the Notre Dame Cathedral. About 2,000 sweaty tourists roamed the cavernous church, admiring its Gothic architecture and perched gargoyles. Meandering with fanny packs and cameras, they snapped pictures of this medieval spectacle. Amidst the hoards of tourists, there were actually 30 worshipers in the chancel following the lead of four priests. For the tourists, this was another photo-op. As they confessed their sins, some gawked. "You mean people still believe in God? And they still believe they are sinners in need of forgiveness?" More flashes went off, capturing the ancient relic of Christian worship.
I liken this to the common perception of our Lenten discipline. We spend 40 days in repentent humility, tracing Jesus' footsteps to the cross. For the average enlightened American, this appears like meidieval mythology. "You still believe this?" And when we talk about repentance, the average person cringes as if it is some religious form of water-boarding. "Why would you do that?" I'd like to argue the upside of a season dedicated to repentance. Upon a recent read of Jesus' trilogy of lost things in Luke 15, there is a strange connectedness between repentance and celebration. At the end of each parable, something or someone is found, and then there is a joyous party. "I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents" (Luke 15:10). If there is pain in repentance, it's overcome by the joy of the end goal - a restored relationship. Someone is found, and someone is brought back home. This is how I approach the season of Lent. There is a dissonance in my relationship with God. My repentant posture is not a medieval form of torture, but an honesty about weakened state. The end goal of Lent's repentance is not to increase my shame or guilt. Rather it is to rest in the restored relationship won my my Savior. And that is cause for celebration. "You are dust, and to dust you shall return." These words from God recorded in Genesis 3:19 are a stark reminder of our terminal condition. The consequence of rebellion is a regression of our humanity. We were constructed out of dust and divine breath. "To dust you shall return" is the regression of all that God intended for us. Extract the water that hydrates. Take away the very breath of God that separates us from inanimate objects and the animal world. And then we return to our base ingredient, the dust of the earth.
If death is regression, the gospel is a progression. Resurrection puts back together the dust, the water, the breath. It's a progression, not simply to our present state, but to a state beyond. A new man and a new woman. The image of all that God dreamed for us to be. With the the ashes rubbed into the creases of your forehead, remember the regressive consequences of your condition. And trust in the progressive hope of a life we have yet to see. All because One Man returned from the dust. Are we defined by public perception? My church body has suffered from an unflattering public perception recently. We are embroiled in a controversy over a pastor's participation in a Newtown, CT prayer vigil after the tragic massacre. Click here for the story written in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. It also got national attention on NBC, ABC, etc.
A major component of the controversy is about perception. If the Lutheran pastor shows up and prays alongside Muslims, Jews, and Buddhists, does it give the perception that he is worshiping with them, or agreeing with their statements of faith? Or if he refuses the invitation to the vigil, is the perception that he is isolationist, rude, and just a bad neighbor? What began for LCMS Lutherans as an "in house" debate has now become dirty laundry for national news media. And now, regardless of the issue's substance, the public can't see past the perception. I have brothers who are so insulated in their own denominational house that they have no idea what the neighborhood thinks. There is no sense of what the public's perception might be, only that "the pagan, secular world is out to get us." There was this blog post that claimed the number one lesson from the public media's coverage of our denomination: "We have learned that the world hates us, and is just waiting for a reason to unload on us. We can’t change that. It’s not a PR issue; it’s a Confession issue. A church that confesses Christ Alone will be hated and reviled by the world. That’s what we saw last week." I couldn't disagree more. In this instance, the "world" is offended by us, not "Christ Alone." They haven't even heard us speak the gospel yet. They can't get past the perception they have of us in order to even hear the gospel we speak. If the national news media actually heard the gospel of Jesus, they wouldn't report on it. But they didn't hear "Christ Alone," they got the perception that we are an outrageously insensitive, insulated, parochial denomination that's stuck in the 1950's. That's a story. Are we defined by this public perception? I can't determine the national news media's perception of my church body. But we work hard to gain the relational capital of those around us. We seek to know our neighborhood, our community, our city. We work hard to remove any obstacle and misperception. By being good neighbors, active in the life of community, we build credible venues in which we might be heard. "That by all means I might save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, that I may share with them in is blessings" (I Cor. 9:22-23). "If you remember it in six months, it's a big deal. Everything else is chaff." The Super Bowl is a pretty big deal. But do you remember who won the big game 10 years ago, in 2003? Or in 2005 or in 1999? And I mean without googling it or asking Siri. Do you remember where you were for the Super Bowl 10 years ago, or even last year?
I have day-to-day worries that seem incredibly minute when I put them in the context of longer spans of time. Most of my worries are entirely forgettable, which makes them very regrettable. There will be "big deals" throughout life. "Don't worry," Jesus said (Matt. 6:25), "your Father knows what you need." And He's a pretty big deal (understatement). |
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