At The Refuge we have a high sensitivity to people who struggle with addiction. Not in the typical church sense, where the recovering alcoholic is paraded around like some trophy that shows how cool and “grace- filled” you are, and it is made clear the addict is the other person, the one you want to help. At The Refuge we have this sense we are all in the same boat, and addict or dabbler, we are all the same. But recently I have noticed that at The Refuge we have left out a silent and growing mass of addicts, and I have realized we have nothing for them.
I like to call it inspiration addiction. Like any addiction, this drug needs to be consumed in ever larger doses to maintain the high. We have created a faith culture that has confused adrenaline with the Holy Spirit. It is fairly easy to identify the addiction--“amazing” will be applied to all the movements of the service/show. For example, the worship, speaker, fog machine, light show, are amazing. I was once stuck in the lobby of a large church behind closed doors, when I wondered to someone in charge why we could not go in. He replied that making everyone wait builds anticipation and excitement. Anticipation of what? We can say God, but color me suspicious, I think it is the adrenaline rush of music that makes me sway, speaking that makes me feel, and fog lights create a sense of being part of something “incredible.” I am not saying God isn’t present in these moments, but I submit it is the fix, the high that is being promoted and everyone behind the scenes knows exactly how to feed the junkies.
I am sad today, but it will only last a few hours. I am sad because I feel I can not compete with “amazing”. I have long believed that the only proper answer to “why do you belong to that faith community?” must be something along the lines of “ I love to be with those people, who need me and whom I need, and together we are experiencing Jesus, giving Him away and growing, and becoming more loving human beings.” Whenever the answer is “I go to this or that church because of the amazing ________" (fill in the blank with anything you wish) we have become enablers to the inspirationally addicted. But at The Refuge, we have nothing amazing. No great teaching--often the most profound thing said is from some audience member. No slick program--we use for worship most weeks those friends who want to do it, not those who auditioned and have met some man-made bar of music excellence. The truth is we don’t even offer certainty, another favorite drug of inspiration addicts. At The Refuge I am realizing the only thing we can really offer is hope and long term journeying, listening more than telling, and a faithfulness to live the principles Jesus shared in every way we know how. As much as I sometimes still long for the old high, too, I am finding my inspiration sobriety is teaching me the hard but real way what it means to live an unplugged, unhyped, authentic life.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
KATHY - Reflex
“Where’s Jared? You brought him home, right?” We had been home about 20 minutes from a team basketball party at a restaurant and were mindlessly sitting in the living room watching the end of American Idol when Jose looks up from his computer and asks again, “You brought him home, right?” I immediately leaped out of my seat in a complete and utter panic. No, I don’t remember bringing him home! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, I have got to go get him right this minute. My 7 year old is stranded alone in the parking lot! It’s dark. It’s cold. Somebody call the restaurant! Where are my keys? Who cares about shoes or coats or absolutely anything else in this moment. The only thing I can think about is getting to Jared as fast I can. My response is purely visceral. No words can describe my thoughts and emotions. My baby needs me. I am in a panic while I hear Jose calling the restaurant and I am almost out the door when one of our other kids says “Jared’s here. He’s asleep in Sadie’s (our dog’s) bed.” I start to cry. I am overwhelmed with relief. The fog slowly lifts, and I begin to remember he was in the car when we left the restaurant!
I know you are thinking, so how could you not remember that??? But when you have five kids running to and fro and five voices all blending together, let me tell you, it’s easy to forget. It takes hours for the adrenaline to wear off and of course we have a story to laugh about and yet another reminder that mommy needs to keep a little bit better track of who she’s in charge of.
I would sacrifice almost anything for my kids. In that moment, my reflex was go. I didn’t think “oh, what an inconvenience” or “he can figure it out on his own and doesn’t need me” or “I would rather be watching American Idol right now.” The absolute only thing I could think about was getting to him. Me, my, mine was out of the equation.
And I was reminded how little I really live in that selfless place. The place I live most is in a world of me’s. What works for me, what I like, what I don’t like. What I’m willing to do. What I’m not willing to do. My self-centeredness is more evident to me probably than anyone else but it’s there, it’s my natural bent. Sacrificing my time, dropping everything for another human being, being willing to lay aside my life, my ways, my desires to “be Jesus for someone else” doesn’t come naturally. In fact, everything inside of me screams against it. But in that moment, when I thought Jared was alone in the cold, it was a no-brainer. Sacrifice didn’t feel like a sacrifice.
In John 15, Jesus says “there’s no greater love than he who would lay down his life for a friend.” And what does it mean, to lay down my life? I think laying down my life means I’d be willing to run out the door when someone is in need, willing to give up American Idol and spend time with someone who is lonely, desperate, hurting. That I’d get beyond my to-do list and show up at my kids school unexpectedly to show them how much I love them. That I’d give up needing to win an argument or be right or be noticed or praised. That I’d get beyond just my desire to serve others and actually spend time feeding the hungry, offering water to the thirsty, giving my stuff away instead of hoarding it. That I’d spend less of my thoughts thinking about what other people think of me and pray for others instead. It’s giving up some of the me’s, my, and mine’s for my friends.
Okay, sounds good, but why is it so hard? It’s just unnatural. What comes naturally for me is to live in my own little Kathy world. And in my little Kathy world I value status, I treasure my to-do lists, I like to be in control, I like things to basically go the way I thought they’d be. Remember, I have a carnival in my head where I am the main attraction (see previous blog). Laying down my life for my friends means I have to give up these things and rely on God, to trust mystery, to do things that never get noticed, to be flexible, to give up my self-centered way for His others-centered way. Thinking about Easter this week, Jesus gave it all up for us. All of it. But what I love about Jesus is that He didn’t like every aspect of His sacrifice. He didn’t say “hey, this is the greatest thing ever, it’s a piece of cake.” He wrestled in the Garden of Gethsemene with God, crying out “do I really have to die?” knowing His sacrifice was going to mean pain and suffering.
We’re not Jesus, and in our case, the honest answer is we don’t really have to. I can live in my own little Kathy world all I want and God will keep loving me. But I’ll miss out. I won’t get to experience the joy, the hope, the freedom, the peace, the purpose, the passion that comes from laying down my life for my friends.
I know you are thinking, so how could you not remember that??? But when you have five kids running to and fro and five voices all blending together, let me tell you, it’s easy to forget. It takes hours for the adrenaline to wear off and of course we have a story to laugh about and yet another reminder that mommy needs to keep a little bit better track of who she’s in charge of.
I would sacrifice almost anything for my kids. In that moment, my reflex was go. I didn’t think “oh, what an inconvenience” or “he can figure it out on his own and doesn’t need me” or “I would rather be watching American Idol right now.” The absolute only thing I could think about was getting to him. Me, my, mine was out of the equation.
And I was reminded how little I really live in that selfless place. The place I live most is in a world of me’s. What works for me, what I like, what I don’t like. What I’m willing to do. What I’m not willing to do. My self-centeredness is more evident to me probably than anyone else but it’s there, it’s my natural bent. Sacrificing my time, dropping everything for another human being, being willing to lay aside my life, my ways, my desires to “be Jesus for someone else” doesn’t come naturally. In fact, everything inside of me screams against it. But in that moment, when I thought Jared was alone in the cold, it was a no-brainer. Sacrifice didn’t feel like a sacrifice.
In John 15, Jesus says “there’s no greater love than he who would lay down his life for a friend.” And what does it mean, to lay down my life? I think laying down my life means I’d be willing to run out the door when someone is in need, willing to give up American Idol and spend time with someone who is lonely, desperate, hurting. That I’d get beyond my to-do list and show up at my kids school unexpectedly to show them how much I love them. That I’d give up needing to win an argument or be right or be noticed or praised. That I’d get beyond just my desire to serve others and actually spend time feeding the hungry, offering water to the thirsty, giving my stuff away instead of hoarding it. That I’d spend less of my thoughts thinking about what other people think of me and pray for others instead. It’s giving up some of the me’s, my, and mine’s for my friends.
Okay, sounds good, but why is it so hard? It’s just unnatural. What comes naturally for me is to live in my own little Kathy world. And in my little Kathy world I value status, I treasure my to-do lists, I like to be in control, I like things to basically go the way I thought they’d be. Remember, I have a carnival in my head where I am the main attraction (see previous blog). Laying down my life for my friends means I have to give up these things and rely on God, to trust mystery, to do things that never get noticed, to be flexible, to give up my self-centered way for His others-centered way. Thinking about Easter this week, Jesus gave it all up for us. All of it. But what I love about Jesus is that He didn’t like every aspect of His sacrifice. He didn’t say “hey, this is the greatest thing ever, it’s a piece of cake.” He wrestled in the Garden of Gethsemene with God, crying out “do I really have to die?” knowing His sacrifice was going to mean pain and suffering.
We’re not Jesus, and in our case, the honest answer is we don’t really have to. I can live in my own little Kathy world all I want and God will keep loving me. But I’ll miss out. I won’t get to experience the joy, the hope, the freedom, the peace, the purpose, the passion that comes from laying down my life for my friends.
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