Lent Day 40: Easter Vigil in the Eternal Now

Even before I became a Christian I held a special reverence for the span between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.  A lot of that is because I respect and honor holidays for other countries and cultures, even if they don't pertain directly to me... it's part of being a citizen of the world, as well as of this nation.

But the special reverence for Easter Vigil was because so many of my friends observed it.  It's a somber time between the ultimate sacrifice of Good Friday and not knowing if the Resurrection will occur, let alone when.  Two millennia later we celebrate it to be true on Easter Sunday, but each year we spend these days (the Triduum) in special memory of those three days of not knowing in that specific year.  And this is more true for the New Me, the post-baptismal me, than before.

I've used the terms Old Me and New Me rather loosely throughout this Lenten blog to refer to two distinct parts of my life:  before and after my baptism.  But I didn't intend for these terms to refer solely to the chronological time period before and after September 1985.  For one thing, I didn't more fully understand my own baptism until a few years later by taking a few Crossings classes, which I've referred to as my own Confirmation (Affirmation of Baptism) classes.

But even after a fuller understanding of my baptism ("cleansing" from the Greek) and tying my death to Christ's death and thereby gaining new life with the Resurrected Christ -- a lot of the Old Me persists and sometimes even thrives since 1985.

Oh, I try to be good and "do the right thing" and treat people well as much as I can, and that includes folks who are familiar and unfamiliar, liked and not-as-liked.  I believe that such behavior was in me long before my baptism, almost like it was written onto my heart and in my DNA and long before I had even learned the Ten Commandments.  But it's that I can't do all the good stuff all the time, or even just some of the time.  I still remember countless times when I've done thoughtless things, or said something hurtful -- which is extremely easy for me because I love walking the fine line of sarcasm and constructive criticism, and cross that line more often than I'd like.

And even when I can say and do the right things and avoiding saying and doing the wrong things, I've repressed the underlying impulses.  People don't observe those failings because I'm playing those cards close to my vest (a skill I might be too good at), but they do exist, deep within me.  When I'm not good enough, it kills part of me.  And when I'm good enough (outwardly), it still kills part of me.  Even though it hasn't killed me, it is killing me... it's the sting of death, and dying.

I started this Lenten blog pondering death and dying, and it literally started with a funeral and discussions about mourning rituals.  I don't know what actually happens after physical death, and the rational side of me simply cannot prove or disprove anything about it.

But what I do know is that the sting of death is what I feel right now.  I feel it so very acutely during this Lenten time between Maundy Thursday (the Last Supper and the "Eleventh Commandment" or the Great Commission) and Easter Sunday.  And I know that the Good News on Easter Sunday is that the new life in the Resurrection (to which I'm linked because of my baptism) directly addresses the dying and sting of death, right here and right now.  It's how I become renewed... because Christ's victory over death vanquishes the sting of death through the "Sweet Swap" on the Cross of God's goodness for my failings.  The energy required to stifle the bad impulses is no longer coming from me, but from the Cross.  It's how I can make it through the day, or through the night, and be at peace with myself, because through Christ, God has made peace with me.

I fight this battle all the time, every day of my life, every hour of every day even if I'm not actively thinking about it.  I never win the battle by myself, but each day is victorious because of the "Sweet Swap."  I live in a "time paradox" of the simultaneous Old Me and New Me, and of the simultaneous Vigil after the Crucifixion and waiting for Easter Sunday.

I'm in the Vigil of the Eternal Now.


(Blessed Lent to all... Easter Sunday's coming.)


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Lent Day 36: Christ and the Recovering Adolescent

On Palm Sunday I was a bit out of sorts during the service, a bit disoriented because of everyone (not just worship leaders) processing (or is that proceeding?) into the Sanctuary/church.

Prior to that I was teaching youth group, something that I feel like I've been doing forever, not because it's something that I got to do, but because it's something that I get to do.

Within two weeks of my baptism at age 23, I was co-teaching the youth group at my church.  The oldest students in that group were just six years younger than me, and all of them had a decade more experience in church life than me.  It's not the sort of thing anyone plans, from the youth board's perspective or the newly baptized.  It just happened, the sort of serendipity that the New Me has gotten used to, in a good way.

I don't really remember much about those early years of youth group, other than I was a ball of energy.  I was excited and anxious about being 'responsible' for a group of young adults who were really not that much younger than me.  The other thing I recall doing was mimicking what my favorite teachers did best:  ask questions... open-ended questions.  And because I was new to the church, I got to ask the teens what they thought and believed about almost anything, and in particular, why we say and do the things we do during worship service.  I always got interesting answers, and often the tables were turned.  I didn't always have the answers, but I always shared my thought process and then invited guest speakers to help provide answers to our persistent questions.

After about three years of that hectic pace I was feeling burnout.  I discovered later that the average tenure for a youth worker is 18 months before burnout sets in.  One Sunday I yelled across the church parking lot to Ed Schroeder about the Crossings classes I had heard about; soon after I enrolled in a class.  It changed my life, helping me to more fully appreciate the meaning of my Baptism, to live in a way where the energy wasn't draining from me, but my energy was being replenished and renewed -- a qualitatively different kind of energy as well, coming from the Cross and the Resurrection.  In short, there was a New Me.

I continued youth work for another decade until Noah came along.  I could do the youth ministry while Amy was young and an only child, but with two young kids it was too much.  I started again after Amy was confirmed -- the affirmation of her baptism -- and joined youth group.

I was a bit tentative the second time around because I felt that much of the 'success' in my first tour of duty was because I was unrelated to any of the youth.  With some distance, the teens could be a bit more free in the discussions.  But I found it didn't really matter.  There's some adjustment because of the father-daughter relationship, but it's surprisingly pleasant to be able to talk about faith matters and other things in an adult way with my own daughter, especially in a group setting.  It's definitely something I didn't expect and I savor every moment.

On Palm Sunday Amy wasn't at youth group because she was recovering from a weekend competition.  I sort of groaned about getting up early and going because I had to do it.  But the teens were marvelous, always full of energy even if much of it was grousing about waking up early on a weekend day (but hey, I felt the same way).  As was the theme of the day I did everything out of pattern and sat in a different seat.  I looked up and noticed a picture I rarely get to see:  Poseidon from a beach, with the waves depicted as white stallions.

I mentioned how the painting reminded me of Percy Jackson and New Olympians:  The Lightning Thief (because Percy is the son of -- spoiler alert -- Poseidon), and how I somewhat enjoyed the movie but after reading the book, hated the movie in solidarity with Noah's opinion.  I then instinctively asked -- because it was clear we weren't going to stay on topic that day -- apart from the book to movie adaptation problem, why is it that it's easier to write books or make movies about gods other than the God we profess and confess each Sunday?

I actually wasn't prepared for the onslaught of opinions, but it was beautiful.  I don't need to go into the details of the discussion, but it's safe to say we'll be revisiting this same theme later in the year.  This is a wonderful phase of life these teens are going through:  a time of questioning of the world, of themselves, of God, and reflecting on what these things mean to them and how to incorporate it into their daily lives.

It reminded me of when I led a Crossings weekend workshop and one of the participants, in introducing herself with name, congregation and job, described herself as a "'recovering adolescent' -- make that 'youth minister.'"  I don't remember her name, but I laughed my head off at that comment and have stolen it and used it shamelessly ever since.  I get to be with the youth of my church, be a recovering adolescent-in-Christ and I love every minute of it.



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Lent Day 34: Charlie Brown, Christmas and Crossings

Yesterday I wrote about how much "A Charlie Brown Christmas" is a significant part of my spiritual journey.

Because I'm heading back home to St. Louis today after having watched Amy compete in the Winter Color Guard and Drum Line Championships in Springfield, MO, I don't have much time to write.  I'm dovetailing on yesterday's entry with something I wrote for the Crossings Community - an essay that talks about a slice of my life -- working in the financial services industry during the October 2008 market meltdown, crossed with the Luke version of the Christmas story, and brought together by Linus reciting Luke in "A Charlie Brown Christmas" special.  The essay is called "Lucre, Linus and Luke -- Crossing the Current Financial Crises."


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Lent Day 31: "Lost" and "Earned Grace"

Few things get me jazzed up like a hearty discussion about pop culture.  Case in point:  last night's episode of the TV show Lost.  I have a love/hate relationship with the show because it can be fantastically intriguing and other times I wonder if the creators have any idea what they're doing.

Ever since I read that the creators have two goals -- to create an entertaining hour of television every week even for those who've never seen the show, and to have all the episodes interlock in order to reward long-time viewers -- I've been more forgiving of the zigs and zags, and will wait until the series finale to pass judgment.

But last night's episode, with a title like Ab Aeterno ("from the beginning of time") and focusing on one of the best characters, the seemingly immortal Richard who shows no sign of aging no matter how far the other characters flash forward or backward in time, had lived up to all my expectations.  Long story short, Richard, in trying to save his wife by negotiating with a greedy doctor for her medicine, accidentally killed him.  While imprisoned he learned English by reading a English-language Bible.  Soon after the priest, speaking in their native Spanish, explained that no amount of Bible reading would save him because murderers are destined to hell, Richard's life was bought by a ship captain who needed English speakers on their trip to the New World.

The ship crashed on The Island, the focal point of Lost, and we get to see Richard struggle with physical survival and eventually mourn the loss of his wife, the dear Isabella.  Because it is The Island, Richard ends up reflecting on what he'd lost in life and what he would do (which was anything) to regain his lost treasure -- Isabella.  And because it's Lost, he ends up as a ping pong ball between the two main timeless characters who have warred for ages: Jacob and Ethan.

Jacob and Ethan appear as demigods, or at least as master manipulators.  There are still many secrets to learn in the seven remaining episodes.  What's clear is that Jacob and Ethan are foes and use the people trapped on the island (throughout the centuries) as pawns.  What's not clear is who is the good one, and who's bad.  Is this some sort of God and Devil conflict?  No one knows.  But the themes of loss, remorse, sacrifice and redemption are universal, and it's all presented in an alluring manner.

What struck me most about the episode occurred when I read some commentary this morning from Mo Ryan of the Chicago Tribune.  (She, Alan Sepinwall and David Bianculli are my favorite TV critics.)  Mo is an avid fan and shares everything she loves and disdains about television -- my kind of critic.   Mo likens the island to a Hellmouth, as in Buffy the Vampire Slayer Hellmouth (and that's a whole 'nother geek discussion for another day), and NOT Hell.  She also empathizes with Richard's loss:

Much of "Ab Aeterno" focused on the ideas of sin, forgiveness, grace, penance and absolution. And faith, obviously. Jacob made Richard ageless, but we found out that Richard wanted to stay alive forever so that he would not go to hell. The poor guy.

Whether or not the island is the actual Hell of his faith, hasn't Richard done enough penance? Hasn't he suffered enough? If anyone has earned grace, it's him. If anyone has had his faith tested, it's him -- he who thought his  years on Earth were ultimately a waste of time. And what were his sins, really? He killed a man, accidentally, in order to get medicine for his wife. And then he spent several lifetimes working for a man who he thought was, ultimately, doing good things.

When I got to the line, "If anyone has earned grace, it's him," I stopped in my tracks.  In many ways it's not that noteworthy.  We pretty much live our lives trying to be good, help others, make up for the bad things we do, or for the good things that we should have completed.  After enough penance, we hope that we've compensated enough.  We stockpile enough good stuff to make up for the bad stuff.

But that's the way the Old Me used to think... the Old Me prior to my baptism at age 23.  But truthfully, even after my baptism I continued to think that way, until a few years later I took a class from my mentor, Ed Schroeder, in one of the Crossings classes.  Those classes changed my life because they showed me how the Good News permeates my daily life.  Not in some sort of academic way, but rather in a very tangible "how do I get through the day and the night kind of way."

Another time I'll go deeper into that personal history, but for now, I can sum up that those Crossings classes were my Confirmation -- or affirmation of my baptism -- lessons.  (As an adult baptized there was no need to take a Confirmation class.)  That's when I better understood what the "New Me" means.  And the biggest distinction is that no one "earns grace."  At least not from the Christian perspective.

This entire season of Lent will eventually lead to the Cross and then to the Resurrection.  Most people in the world know of this story irrespective of their own beliefs.  Most know that it was a pivotal event in human history, that it involves the execution of Jesus and the disappearance of a body.  There's been much controversy over the main elements of the story and perhaps even more controversy in the recording and differences of interpretation of those events.

For me, the New Me, the main thing that matters is believing that Jesus died for me.  And rose for me.  And that in that belief, all the things that kill me (like the incredible stress at work today) are swapped on the Cross and in the Resurrection.

That's not really new; a lot of other people believe this as well.  What was eye-opening to the new me was/is that I don't have to do anything to receive these gifts... except to believe, that is.  I don't actually deserve any of this goodness.  And I can't earn any of this goodness for myself.  It is gift -- grace -- pure and simple.

It sounds simple, but it's not simple in practice.  I think of all the people who have been generous to me over the years -- parents, other relatives, friends -- and I've been very blessed and am grateful.  Grateful to the point where I always, that is ALWAYS, want to reciprocate.  Even if it's not immediate, every act of kindness that I receive I immediately think of what can I do in the future to show my appreciation.

That's not a bad thing.  If humans weren't hard-wired to reciprocate kindness and generosity I can't fathom how the species could have survived let alone thrived.

But to receive something, a gift -- grace -- without earning it and without deserving it and without reciprocating, that's challenging.


That's something the New Me responds to...  every day, and especially during this Lenten season.  And so I keep writing...

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