Watching the Not-So-Mighty Fall (I of V)

The world is a surreal place, these days.

Seriously. Where to begin?

Let's start with this. About ten years ago I got a real schooling on just how much of the Kool-Aid otherwise sensible people can drink. Somewhere between 2006 and 2009 I got front-row seats to watch...

a) A senior pastor (seriously) suggest bridging a $200,000 budget gap with change jars on the television. ("Every time you turn it on, empty your pockets into the jar!") Yeah. Average church attendance? 50-75 souls. Including the babies.

b) An "upstanding Christian man" forge my mortgage documents and submit different ones to TICOR.

c) Another man call a home remodeling project "done and ready for sale" when, upon closer examination, I discovered that the sinks were not yet installed.

Somewhere in the process, my naiveté got brutally stripped away.

Layer by layer.

Oh, each person had their excuses.

The senior pastor literally stripped me (illegally) of my position on the church vestry and slated me for counselling. Apparently my refusal to believe that his budget plans would work constituted obstructionism and lack of faith.

The mortgage broker sat at the table with his boss and with me. Staring at the divergent documents. "I can't explain how that happened!" he exclaimed with amazement.

The home-improvement wannabe explained, "I was going to finish painting the walls before I pushed the sink unit into place."

For me, the consequences varied.

I fled the church with my family. The pastor, so far as I know, continues to rule his roost.

The mortgage broker cracked a few hours after the meeting and confessed. He's lucky he didn't go to jail.

The unfinished condo buried me financially for about four years.

Where am I going with this?

These experiences helped prepare me for the surreal world we now live in.

And how.

Imagine this headline...

But wait. You don't have to imagine. It's real.

I find it easier now to take in surreality on the global scale because I have digested in my own life the same meal in smaller portions. I understand better now how people tell such amazing lies. It's easy. The key to it is this: They lie first and foremost to themselves. And then to the world.

"I need Pilgrim out of the way in order to run this church effectively."

"I didn't steal anything, so forging mortgage documents is OK."

"I can say the project is finished now because I plan to finish it soon."

But back to Dr. Dobson. What's going on in his head? I can almost hear it. A series of thoughts coming in rapid succession.

"I cannot bear the thought of Hillary in office."
"I want a Republican to win the Presidential election."
"How can I endorse Trump, though?"
"Well, he tells me he believes as I do..."

At this point it gets difficult. Like trying to think like a hamster. I cannot pull of the mental gymnastics required to make Trump a good selection in the mind of the man who founded Focus On The Family.

Seriously, Dr. Dobson?

Thankfully, I learned years ago to be careful with my trust -- and that with people that I do know. For those I don't know I am even more cautious.

That's good. Otherwise I'd have been shattered, watching Dobson and 1,000+ other "Evangelical leaders" go to meet with Donald Trump. Apparently the meeting went well, by their reckoning. That headline is an outcome of that meeting.

How did so many good and wise church leaders get fooled?

Well, the answer is easy to arrive at, once you realize that none of the people who attended were godly or wise. Not while attending that meeting, at any rate.

Why do I say that? Simple. It's like a math problem that can be solved only one way. A cross-word puzzle with only one solution. We have to assume they weren't godly or wise. Now return to the question and it's easy to answer.

How did so many church leaders find themselves attending that meeting and/or endorsing Trump? In a few words? Idolatrous love of power. A commitment to the Republican party that clearly supersedes matters of faith. A hatred for Hillary. Sheer spiritual folly.

Those ingredients, in varying proportions, are what's in the Kool-Aid these folk have been drinking.

As I write this blog post, it sounds smug. Self-congratulatory.

For what?

For falling for a pastor/church combo that in hindsight was wretchedly screwed up? Part of the problem was that the pastor was a former senior VP from a massive multi-billion-dollar IT behemoth. I was fooled, in part, by his prior successes in business. Does that remind you of anything?

What else? Do I pat myself on the back for losing a huge pile of family savings on a loan to someone clearly unfit for the task? Good job, Pilgrim?

As for Dobson, should I be proud that I recognize what Dobson does not? That Trump is a boorish, racist, misogynistic and depraved narcissist? No. At least a hundred million people worldwide know that. It just so happens that Dobson is not one of them. Dobson and a thousand other "Christian" leaders.

But at some point one must point out that the emperor has no clothes. Any fool would know that Trump has none -- well, any fool who learned as I did (at that church) that having amassed piles of cash is not tantamount to being an awesome and good person, let alone a good pastor or presidential candidate.

No. This blog is not devoted to self-congratulation but rather to pointing out the surreal. That tons of big-name "Christian" leaders are so morally stunted, it would be a kindness to call them emperors without clothes. The prophet Ezekiel would have described them and their actions in more graphic terms.

I'll say it again. This blog is devoted to digesting the fact that James Dobson, Franklin Graham and a number of other big-name Christians met with Donald Trump and managed to not insult him by pointing out that he's a degenerate soul about to be weighed on the balance and found wanting. It's something Donald needs to be told, however lovingly.

It would be different if Trump went to meet any one of them individually. I'd allow Trump into my home, if he asked. That's Christian love and charity in action. (And audacious hope that Trump can still change for the better.)

But that's not what Trump did. He wants the "Evanglical vote" and so he needs the "Evangelical endorsement". In order to get that endorsement, he called for a meeting with the leaders of the voting block he wants to secure. They should have smelled the rot of his intentions — it reeks from coast to coast. Godly leaders would have stayed home.

But they didn't. These so-called "Christian leaders" responded to Trump's whistle like lemmings cross-bred with homing pigeons. Didn't they realize that even showing up was going to send a message? That Trump was a candidate who reasonable Christians leaders might endorse? But show up they did.

Even attending was huge mistake, but for many of them that wasn't enough. As can be seen from Dobson's assertion, many atttendees jumped into bed with Trump. Ezekiel would have said the same thing in more graphic terms.

So No, I'm not patting myself on the back for spotting the scam.

I'm just trying to figure out...
a) why "Christian leaders" are drinking sewer-flavored Kool-Aid, and
(more importantly)
b) why anyone else would want to drink it with them.

Stay tuned...

What Superheroes Cannot Do (III of III)

So to follow up on the last blog post and finish this set of reflections on superheroes, a final thought on Kryptonite.

As Koodaigirl noted, Kryptonite is great stuff insofar as it forces us to rely on God, instead of ourselves. Add to that one more thing: it also creates space for us to enter into community with others stricken by their own versions of Kryptonite.

Examples are too numerous for me to fully recount. Here are a few.

Sunday Soccer. Ruined. I am not permitted to play for a few more weeks. So I sit under the tree and watch others play. Two little girls wander over regularly to join our local game in the park. I meet their dad, who comes to watch. First week I learn of several bad finger injuries from rock-climbing accidents. A bum wrist. And too much back pain to play. Second week he shares the story that led him to where he is now: a single father raising two girls, only one of which is his own. I never would have gotten to know him so quickly if I had not been thrown into his orbit. The orbit that involves sitting under a tree, not hot-dogging on the field. We talk injuries. We talk life.

My next-door neighbor. Stricken by some MS-ish disease a few years ago. Never had a heart-to-heart with her on it. Never felt welcome to pursue such matters. Hung out with a few neighbors a week ago on their back patio. Got into a quiet conversation with her. "Do you sleep well?" I asked. She doesn't. But our eyes and hearts connected. We both have pains that interrupt our fitful slumbers. She gave me a phrase for our state of affairs: "The new normal". I've been using it a lot, lately.

Now is a good time to mention that when sleep went downhill... when typing began to hurt... when things don't get better... I thought of Koodaigirl. And understood better what she's known for decades. I had heard the words before. Knew she faced challenges. But now am facing similar ones with her. A deeper connection, even thousands of miles apart.

Daughter's soccer game. Watching with other parents on the sidelines. Questions about my cast. Another parent joins the conversation. He's struggling, too. Rotator cuff surgery. Not healing well. Vertigo after the nerve block wore off, on top of all that. He's a truck driver. Vertigo and driving probably don't mix well. But he and I shared a common bond before parting. Shared suffering. Heartfelt words of encouragement shared before we part ways.

At work. A co-worker asks how the hand is doing. Well... not so great. I describe the numb fingers. The ones that don't bend. Then he shows me his war wounds. A finger once cut off and re-attached. "Even touching a piece of paper is like a lightning strike," he says. Another bent up -- basketball injury. The man has tattoos all over his body and hair below his shoulders, but many tattoos are Bible verses, and his wife is at home awaiting death from cancer. I whisper to him as we pass in the hall, "But the good thing is, one day we're going to get new bodies!" To which he replies, "You got that right!"

On and on they come. Mostly the past few months have served not merely to make me jealous of those still blessed with perfect health (a regular occurrence, I confess!) but also to make me aware of the tide of fellow souls around me who are suffering with even greater burdens. I now enter into their stories with greater interest and compassion.

Kryptonite makes us mortals. And that's very useful if the goal is to love and share life with other mortals. To draw a rather crude parallel, God the Son had to down a bit of Kryptonite in order to be born as Jesus. Will we not share his cup?

Returning to the title of this reflection, here's one thing superheroes don't do well: Whisper. Kryptonite reduces us to gasping whispers, and it is at that level of quiet that we begin to hear the gasping whispers of others around us. They were whispering all along, but strong ears don't hear quiet whispers. Weak ears are better suited to that task.

God gives us Kryptonite so that we can hear other people's whispers. Hear, Yes. But also to whisper back. By God's grace, to whisper back words of that same Grace. And Love. Hope. Hope that does not require all things to be made well now. Or soon. No. Hope in a kingdom yet to come.

Revelation 21:5
And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

The Healthy Benefits of Kryptonite (II of III)

Truth is, I had a few other thoughts rattling around my brain when I posted my first superhero reflection a day or two ago.

Truth also is that I've been remiss in my work, confessedly on account of it being less fun to do with just one hand. So I was going to let the other thoughts fall through the cracks and maybe catch up on work.

Was.

Then came the blog from a dear family member covering (seriously?) not merely the superhero theme but also one of the principal thoughts I'd given up on getting down in writing.

The link above is probably going to be good for years, but my rule of thumb is to assume no such thing. So I shamelessly will post Koodaigirl's post here en todo.

Hard Questions (By Koodaigirl)

"Why?"... she stumbled to formulate her question. Sweet girl.

She asked, with hesitation, as if unsure of the appropriateness. Maybe she was wondering, 'Can I even ask such a question?' ...

"Why... do you think... why, would God allow you to have this long term illness? Is there something... anything... is there a 'reason'? What has He shown you?"

What a question! What a beautiful, honest, appropriate question. We ask it all the time, don't we? Deep in our hearts, we wonder. We hesitate to ask. Why, Lord? We want to understand. We want reason behind pain and suffering. I have asked this question about many things through the years. Sometimes, I get 'the answer' (or an answer) and sometimes I don't. A hard question. No easy-come answers, to be sure.

But, when this young gal asked (who has her own long-term illness with which she must wrestle), ... when she asked... I had an answer. I knew the answer.

It surprised me.

It came so quickly to my mind and so clearly to my heart... that I just knew. I knew ---at least---one of the reasons He has allowed me to suffer with pain, weakness, and illness (in varying degrees) my whole life.

It is my Kryptonite. That was the thought. A funny thought, right!?

I am ...as I truly believe we ALL are... a gifted, competent, strong person. I am super-girl. This illness has given me a gift--a huge gift.

My answer to her was simple: It is my Kryptonite. It reminds me most days that I need God. I desperately, desperately need Him. I have weakness and that is okay... I have a strong God!

I believe that if I hadn't been allowed this suffering, I would have easily done life on my own. Entirely.

My pain and illness have been a key... a pathway and a light along the path; always leading me to my desperation for God. Through the years of suffering, if I have 'learned' anything it would be my need of God: as my Father, my Deliverer, my Provider, my Calm, my Shepherd, my Strength, and my Shield. I, laughingly, admit that I can't even sleep without Him. It's true. I can't!

I have learned--- and continue to learn every day--- that His grace is truly sufficient. (2 Corinthians 12:8-9)

After sharing this with my young friend, she said a profound thing, "Wow. That is almost the exact thought that has been growing in my heart these past weeks." God has been answering her hard, awkward question, too.

Yes! I am so glad you asked, sweet girl.

Closing Reflections (From Pilgrim)

Thank you, Koodaigirl! So many good thoughts.

Superheroes make the present world perfect (sorta) but suffering directs our attention away from our present world (which, sooner or later, will fall wildly short of perfection) to a perfect world (a promised land) that we have not yet taken hold of.

Kryptonite prevents fictional superheroes from saving the world, but for us mere mortals it delivers a timely (if painful) reminder that we are not superheroes. And that we desperately need our Savior God.

Let that be an encouragement to all of us. Superheroes are a fiction, but God is real. He is indeed our Strength. Our Shield. And, best of all, His plan is not to preserve an endless truce with evil in an imperfect world. Superheroes will face new problems tomorrow, but God has promised us a final victory and a redeemed world made perfect. Perfect for Good.

But there's another blessing that Krypronite bestows upon us. That for the next blog post, but a hint of it here.

In an earlier post, Koodaigirl made me aware of singer Audrey Assad, who has been singing to me non-stop now for a week or two. I'm not exaggerating. I have a touch of Asperger's and my tolerance for repetition really is that high! Yes, when I fall in love with some new music, I play it non-stop for a while.

I mention Audrey Assad here because (all topics eventually return me to my recent thumb injury) I have not been sleeping well, of late. Normally? I sleep soundly every night. But with a cast on and two throbbing fingers, I've now been tossing and turning for weeks.

Should we laugh? Cry? Do both? I'm not sure. But during several sleepless nights I could literally hear Audrey singing to me. She kept singing the same song. All night long. (Is she Asperger's too?) What was she singing?

Wait for it...

Restless

And I'm restless, I'm restless
'Til I rest in You, 'til I rest in You
I am restless, I'm restless
'Til I rest in You, 'til I rest in You
Oh God, I wanna rest in You

..And Other Lies Batman Taught Me (I of III)

God Speaks

The saga with my thumb injury continues.

Over the past six months I have spent countless hours doing and receiving therapy on it. To call it time wasted twiddling my thumbs would be close to the mark. "Twiddling my thumb" would be even closer still.

This is not the life I ordered.

The other day I walked in beautiful sunshine. Laps around the office building where I normally work. Thumb therapy break. May as well do it in the sun, I guess.

As I walked, I ruminated on the time I was wasting, possibly to no use. Who knows. If all goes perfectly, I'll have half the healthy thumb I had before this fiasco began. The other outcomes go downhill from there.

"I am spending my life tending to an injured thumb."

That's not hero stuff. But then I spoke these words to myself:

"What I do is a lot less important than who I am."

The things I can no longer do? They don't define me.

How I react to this loss? Now that says a lot about who I am. It also speaks volume as to how much I trust the God who runs this place.

Who will I become in response to this loss? Will I be bitter? Or will I wait patiently to see how God will work his magic, bringing good out of this mess that is my life.

These were stern words: a silent sermon served up to myself by myself. But I was and am confident that this sermon was faithful to the testimony of the panoply of scriptures.

The Bible is nothing if not a salve for those who are suffering. Pain is the key that makes visible to us the message of hope that was there all along.

But I digress, and besides... someone else is waiting to speak.

Batman Speaks

I went home later that day and ran into my son watching Batman Begins.

Heady stuff.

But as I watched Bruce Wayne recover from a crushing blow to his body delivered via a massive falling beam of wood in a burning home, I turned to my son with a smile.

"He'll be Batman in three minutes, whole and strong. But I'm still unable to recover, after six months, from an accident that happened while I was washing a dish in the kitchen!"

But then came the coup de grâce. A few minutes later, Batman explained a deep truth to the hot chick who wanted to know who it was under the mask. Batman paused dramatically, then turned to her and answered...

"It's Not Who I Am Underneath, But What I Do That Defines Me."

Wait a minute. That sounds familiar. Except it's reversed.

And it's a lie.

Batman may be defined by what he does, and that's cute. It does make for exciting action flicks. But Batman doesn't exist. For the rest of us flesh-and-blood mortals, Batman's fiction doesn't work too well.

We mortals die when 200-Lb ceiling beams fall on us. Heck, a Pyrex casserole pan was enough to do me in!

But unlike our fictitious superheroes, we mortals are (thankfully) still useful to God when we're broken messes. Thank God, we're not required to perform our way through a Hollywood CGI extravaganza in order to prove useful to God.

[I can hear the question out there. "Don't we all know this? It's a stupid superhero movie. Don't over-analyze it, Pilgrim!" OK, I hear that thought. But we humans become what we eat, and the lies we hear from our entertainment? They don't flush out of our system so cleanly as all that. That's why I take Batman's message seriously.]

What Batman said was a lie. But I say that principally because he jumped off a tall building just after saying it.

(News flash: Jumping off tall buildings doesn't define who we are.)

But what Batman said is also quite true. Here's what I mean.

Remember the old faith-vs-works conundrum? "Show me your faith without deeds and I will show you my faith by my deeds." We could go around this merry-go-round a few times, and both parties have a point.

Who I am is revealed by what I do. True!! And how.

What I do also changes me. It affects who I become. Also true!! And how.

Both good points, but Batman's saying something else. He's saying, "I am who I am because I save the world."

Jesus could get away with those words, but Batman is out of his depth. He speaks the lie of an output-obsessed culture that no longer know how to face or embrace silence. That, my friends, is cowardice. It takes bravery of a very special sort to faithfully observe Sabbath rests.

The truth is this: I can be priceless to God. While twiddling my thumb.

So can you.

Let that be an encouragement to the both of us.

To Be Continued...