Obscured Doors of the Soul

It seems that the door of the soul usually remains closed in our culture. It stands blocked by overwhelming distractions, too heavy to move on our own, cut off from the world around us.

Occasionally, we may temporarily move the barriers, crack the door open and glance at the landscape that lies outside of the soul. We feel as if we open ourselves to others, but in reality we only play dress-up or wear a mask of some sort.     

Many of is ignore the barricades completely, going about life as usual. Sometimes we are not even aware that the soul remains hindered. In fact, some of us even add more barriers of our own, including spiritual locks and deadbolts.   


It is only through the light of Christ, as He invades our soul, unhindered and free to move by His Spirit that the door not only opens, but is blown from it's hinges, leaving an unobscured passage for the light to invade.

That light reveals our soul for what it truly is. It is then that we not only become naked to ourselves, but lay completely vulnerable to others as well.

Only then can we be completely authentic, free to love and be loved.

Free to forgive and be forgiven.

Free to be with one another. 

Free to be as Christ.      

Mike

Those of you that know me, know that I can be a rather melancholy person.  Because of that, I've always been somewhat obsessed with death.  It's always caused an inner conflict within me and I'll admit, some fear as well.  I've read verses like 1 Corinthians 15:54-58 and meditate on the words "O DEATH, WHERE IS YOUR VICTORY? O DEATH, WHERE IS YOUR STING?” and thought to myself, "Really?"  I don't know about you, but I've felt the full sting of death many times.  There is an uncertainty with death, and  regardless of the depth of my faith, there are times when I think and wonder at the mystery of my existence.  If you say that you are 100% sure of what will happen to you when you die, you're lying, or you have some spiritual insight that I've not yet grasped.  Because regardless of how strong our faith in God might be, there will always be a hint of doubt.  That's part of what faith is about.    

My friend Mike died just over 13 years ago.  I'm not sure why I'm thinking about him today.  Maybe it's because my mind is wandering from excessive writer's block.  Maybe it's because Summer is coming to an end, kids are going back to school and change is in the air.  Maybe it's just because I'm feeling a bit nostalgic and yes, melancholy this afternoon.  Or maybe it's because I just read a blog posted by a friend of mine about loosing one of his best friends this week and the grief he is now experiencing.  Nah, that can't be it.

Mike died on the Monday after Labor Day in 1997.  He came to my house on Sunday for lunch, bringing with him his beautiful little daughter, Jordan who was only 1 year old at the time; the same age as my oldest son, Ian.  We cooked hot dogs for lunch, drank a few beers, ate Popsicles and filled up a little baby pool for the kids, and our feet.  It was a good day.

Mike was having a rough time with life, as well as his marriage, so we talked a lot.  He shared a lot of his struggles with me.  I listened.  It felt good to listen.  It felt good to talk.  When he left that afternoon, I walked with him out to his car.  After getting Jordan situated in her car seat, he looked me right in the eyes and thanked me for inviting him over.  I could tell that it meant a lot to him.  You could see it in his eyes.  Just before he drove off he rolled the window down and said, "Hey, let's going fishing tomorrow since we have the day off."  I thought about it, hesitated a few seconds and then declined the invitation.  I would have loved to have gone fishing.  We were fishing a lot back then and I was always looking for an excuse to go.  But for some reason, I felt the need to spend more time at home and with my family.  I had no idea how much more was going on by turning down his offer.

The next day was Labor Day.  Mike went fishing anyway, with another friend named Tommy.  I didn't know Tommy very well, but we had all fished together a few times.  I felt a little jealous that I wasn't the one who went.  It should have be me with him.  That morning I felt a twinge of regret, thinking how nice it would have been to be in the water, hooking a few speckled trout.  But the day went on.  We sat around the house and did as little "labor" as we could.  We watched TV and played around on the computer.  All in all, it was a pretty boring day, but it was good to spend time with my wife and son.  It was good to rest.   

Just after we finished lunch, I was sitting at my desk on the computer when the phone rang.  It was Mike's wife, Kim.  She said my name, paused and her voice began crackling.  I could hear her crying and my heart began to race, feeling that sinking feeling deep in my soul.  You know that feeling?  The feeling you get just before something bad happens?  That feeling that you are right on the border of a tragedy?  As soon as you step over the line of acknowledgement, everything in your immediate world is going to change, and you feel it.  You sense it.  Here we go.  Stepping over the line.  

My first thought was that Mike had left Kim.  Not too long before, Mike had run off to Florida to escape marriage problems and the stresses of life that were troubling him.  I imagined that he had again decided to temporarily escape, and Kim was naturally upset, and was calling in hoes that I would help her track him down.  That's what I was thinking.  I wish that had been the case.  Something so simple could have been solved.  Something so simple could have been worked through.  I would have been glad to have driven out to Florida to find him.  I would give anything to have the memory of finding him fishing or sitting in some beach bar drinking a beer.  I would have convinced him to come home.  He always listened to me.  We would laugh about it today.

That's not how things worked out.  After the phone fell to the ground, I remember hearing someone picking it back up.  I heard a voice that I didn't recognize.  "Jake, this is Kim's aunt.  Kim was calling you to tell you that Mike was killed this morning.  I'm so sorry."  I stepped over the line.  Everything changed.  My reality changed.  Everything looked different.  Everything sounded different.  It was as if I stepped into another dimension.  The sting of death.

"What?  What?  What?"  That's all I remember saying.  I looked around the room, back and forth in quick movements of panic.  She hung up the phone.  My wife Kelly was sitting on the bed across the room.  She knew that it was one of those phone calls.  It was one of those lines crossed in life that you can't cross back again.  She was crying.

Through tears she muttered, "What?  What happened, Jake?  Is it Mike?  Is he dead?"  I nodded my head and began weeping uncontrollably.  It was the kind of weeping that comes from deep inside your soul and you have no control over it.  My head fell into my hands and my shoulders began heaving up and down.  This was one of the rare times in my life that I've felt the full force of mourning.  I understand grief and the powerful clutch of it.  The cold embrace of death surrounded me and I felt empty.  I walked outside and on to my driveway, staring up at the sky.  What had just happened?  Why wasn't I there with him?  Why didn't I go?  Could I have saved him?  Would I have died as well?  Why, God?  Why?        

Mike was struck by lightning from a small isolated thunderstorm that popped up late that morning.  I remember seeing it pass just to the West of my house, thinking how strange it was. There was no chance of rain that day.  Mike had left Tommy and the boat at the shore, while he ran across the beach to get his truck.  Tommy didn't even know what had happened until the ambulance showed up.  He was killed instantly.  The thoughts ran though my head once again: It should have been me with him that morning.  Maybe I could have done something.  Maybe I could have stopped him.  Maybe my obsessive compulsive tendencies would have kicked in and I would have insisted on him waiting for the storm to pass.  Why wasn't I there?   

About a year before Mike's death, he became a follower of Christ.  Not many people know that.  I had been a Christian for a few years before him and he had always thought I had fallen off the deep end.  But we were close friends so he eventually began  to ask me questions about what I believed.  He didn't talk about his faith that much with others, but we had many conversations about spirituality and God.  One evening in particular, when Mike was having an especially rough time in his marriage, he called me.  "I don't get it!  I became a Christian just like you encouraged me to do, but my life still sucks!  Why?"

I didn't have an answer for him.  I agreed with him that life did suck from time to time.  I shared with him that I often felt the same way and even questioned my faith occasionally.  I also shared with him the good things God had done in my life.  Mostly I just listened.  I listened to the pain in his voice and tried to feel it with him.  I told him that I understood and he wasn't alone in his struggles.  I never judged him and I never questioned his faith.  I guess that I just tried to be who Christ would have been for him, if He was sitting with him that moment; the same Christ that sat with me when Mike died.  The same Christ that works through me when others grieve a loss and feel the sting of death.  And the same Christ that reminded me of Mike this afternoon, and reminded me that I'll see him again.  The sting of death is gone, life still sucks sometime and I still miss my friend.  See you soon, my friend. 

Disconnect

Last Sunday, I spent the afternoon in my kayak on Armond bayou. Sunday found me in somewhat of a fog, and after we got home from church, I felt myself slipping into a spiral of frustration and self pity. Sundays are always a little tough for me. When you work in the church, Sundays are always the busiest day of the week. I used to love Sunday, because it was as if the culmination of all the work from the week before was coming to fruition. I used to feel as if I was releasing all the love that God had been building up in me all week to the incredible people that I was blessed to minister to. I love the local church, but I have to admit: I do not look forward to Sundays as much these days.

So, before the spiral slipped to a point of no return, I decided to get out of the house. I glanced at the lawn. Usually yard work helps to clear my mind, but the length hadn’t reached that critical point, so I couldn’t justify pulling out the mower. I glanced at my running shoes. Running is always great therapy for me, but since I can only squeeze out about 30 minutes these days, it seemed like too quick a solution. Then I glanced at my bag of kayak gear. The thought of disconnecting myself from land seemed to be very appealing, and the thought of disconnecting myself from reality, if only for a few hours, seemed even better.

Armond Bayou is an amazing place. In the midst of our fast paced culture, it’s a sanctuary for animals, birds and the soul. Oh yeah; there are alligators too, and lots of them! But once you venture out a mile or so into the twists and turns of the various inlets, you cannot imagine that just over the tree lines lies suburbia. Without the sounds of cars, construction and everyday life, you hear each animal scuttle through the salt grass. Fish break the water and turtles slide off the banks as you glide past on the glass-like liquid that carries you along. It reminds me of climbing into your bed after a hard day and covering yourself up with your blankets. The outside world vanishes for a while and you create a new temporary reality.

There was a time in my life when I dreaded being alone. For me, solitude was isolation, and isolation was far too connected to loneliness. As a person who has recovered from severe depression, I can now see that being alone is not such a bad thing. The problem is not solitude in and of itself, but rather why we choose solitude. When you deal with depression, there are times when you feel isolated 24/7. It’s a great feeling to choose being alone, because you enjoy being alone.

The Bible tells us that Jesus often withdrew from the crowds of people that surrounded Him to be alone and pray. Luke 5:15 says that the news of what Jesus was doing was spreading so much “that crowds of people came to hear him and to be healed of their sicknesses. But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” There are two very significant points in this verse. One, Jesus’ popularity was growing at a very fast pace at this point. And two, Jesus still needed time to get away and immerse Himself in solitude.

I find it funny how the busier we get doing things for God, the less with we spend with God? And yet Jesus saw the importance of isolating Himself with the father, no matter how large the crowds were. And He saw this as an imperative; before the people smothered Him.

We dig deeper when crowds push in. We immerse ourselves within the waves of humanity, that rush overhead, and then wonder why be can’t breathe. Peace is found at the shore, waiting and watching for what God is doing in those that we minster to. I can see them. And they do just fine with my isolation. Jesus saw them as well, and yet after His time of solitude, He still confronted the Pharisees and healed a paralytic man. Pretty cool example.

"Kayak Solitude" - Watercolor by Judi McWilliams - www.judimcwilliamsfineart.com

The Answer, My friend, is Blowin' in the Wind.....or after?

I live on the west side of Galveston Bay. Over the last couple of weeks, I haven't been able to write anything because of the lack of power in this area. When the lights finally came on, I was faced with the inevitable question, "Do I need to write a blog about Hurricane Ike?" My answer? I guess I don't have any choice. But what to write? How does this storm, that effected my area so drastically, fit into the realm of theology? How does not having power for a week inspire me to write something worthy of adding to my blog? What kind of deep philosophical perspective can I put on the natural phenomenon of hurricanes and how they tie into life, faith and spirituality? Well, I'm still thinking.

But, as with all storms, the wind stopped. The waters receded. And the power remained off. So as I sat in the calm quiet of darkness, the one thing that became very clear to me is this: God is very powerful. Too simplistic? Maybe. Too obvious? Maybe not. You see, I think that in our high-tech and complex world, we sometimes forget this very simple fact. God is very powerful. And as I pondered over this, I thought of the story of Jesus calming the storm in Matthew 8. Most of us have read, or heard, this story many times, and our first inclination is to interpret this passage as a comforting illustration that Christ "calms" the "storms" of life. But is this really what God is trying to say to us? Don't get me wrong, Jesus does calm the storms of our lives and this is a perfectly good passage of scripture to use in getting this point across. But is this what Matthew was really intending as he wrote these words? I don't think so.

Look at it from this perspective. What is the disciple's first reaction to Jesus calming the storm? They were amazed and asked, "What kind of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey Him?" Think about it. They didn't cheer in excitement that the storm had stopped. They didn't release a concerted sigh of relief, realizing that their lives were sparred. They didn't fall to the floor of the boat, praising God that they would live another day. They were no longer focused on themselves and the storm. They were focused on Christ.

You see, the disciples attention turned from the power of the storm to the power of this man that just told the wind and waves to shut up! Their attention was diverted and that is what I think God is trying to get across to us in this story. Sure, God calms the storms of our lives, but more importantly, He is more powerful than the storms we face. He is above and beyond any storm we find ourselves in; figurative or literal. As Jesus spent more time with these twelve men, He revealed more about who He was. As He chopped away at their preconceptions, he opened their eyes to reality in it's fullest. God is very powerful. Sometimes it takes a storm for us to realize this. And sometimes it takes the calm.

Buffet Style Christianity

We all like buffets, right? Especially when your hunger is at its peak! You look over the various choices before you and wonder where you should start! And not wanting to offend any one particular food group, we usually take a little of everything. After our stomachs reach the “Full” line, we back away from the table, loosen our belts and realize that our eyes were much bigger than our stomach! But isn’t that the way life is these days? Don’t we wish that all of our choices were as simple as buffets? Think about it. Even with our faith, we have brought the same consumer mentality into the Church. “I’ll have a little of this, a little of that, but not too much of THAT.” We customize our worship services to resemble a lunch at Luby’s rather than worship of God. And after we’re done, what do we do? We loosen our belts and realize that we took too much of what we didn’t really need and not enough of what we did.

Well, the Greeks had this concept down even better than we do, but they were even more specific. They developed a buffet line for their “gods”. These guys had gods for everything! You name it and you could worship it. They were so afraid of accidentally overlooking and offending a particular god, that they had an alter marker, “TO AN UNKNOWN GOD”. Now that’s covering your bases!

The Apostle Paul is called to preach among the non-Jews of the time, and that inevitably brought him to Athens: the Mecca of Greek philosophy and pagan thought. In Acts17, Paul happens upon a place called The Aeropagus (Mars Hill), which was somewhat of the forum and center of philosophical discussions at the time. He encounters the two most common types of philosophers: the Epicureans and the Stoics. Not only were their beliefs radically different from each other, they held to beliefs in complete opposition form Christianity. The Epicureans thought that since man cannot connect with god at all, there was no reason to seek a moral stance on anything in life. The highest value in life was “pleasure” and the only reason that man exists. The Stoics, on the other hand, were much like the Vulcans from Star Trek. These guys taught that all emotions were to be denied and would only cause conflict with seeking moral discipline and morality. They believed that logic and reason were the greatest good and god was the sum of all that is good: namely logic and reason.

Now, Paul could have easily thumped these guys with the proverbial Bible and slammed them for their pagan beliefs, but this is not what he does. Instead, Paul connects with them on the same philosophical mindset that they had been conditioned to live by. He basically tells these deep thinkers, “Hey, I know you guys are smart and love discussion! I love discussion too! Let’s talk about this incredible concept that I have been radically transformed by! I noticed that you guys are seeking god! That’s awesome! You even have an alter “TO AN UNKNOWN GOD”. Perfect! Because I know who He is! Can I tell you about Him?” Now, some of these philosophers walked away, but the Bible says that many wanted to talk more about Christ. Why? Because Paul grabbed their attention. He met them where they were. He met them where they lived and thought like they thought. He went through their buffet line and showed them where the real nourishment was.

So, when was the last time we took the time to connect with non-believers on their level? Where they are and where they live? After all, we are all seeking “truth” on this journey of life. Some have just gotten off the path a bit. God is still God and wants to connect with everyone on their own specific and customized level.