EL’s Dribble

Most days I’m steamrolling through… trying to “get’er done”, keep the truck moving and not stop until we get to the “prize”. I’m caught up in that pursuit most days. It’s fueled by a passion for Jesus. But I’d be lying if that higher-octane stuff wasn’t mixed in with some low-octane, dirt-filled selfish ambition to prove to the world that I’m amazing at what I do. That one day an edifice to my glory would be erected in my honor to my great accomplishments in this world. I’m no less perverted than the OG’s planning to build their tower in Babel.

My friend and I were talking about Dieter Zander recently and I asked him what’s going on with him. He was one of the first guys in North America to leave a “successful” megachurch career because he realized that there was something achingly missing. I wasn’t in tune with all his whereabouts, but he had written one of the first books about reaching Generation X people and had been slowly moving to smaller and smaller communities, rediscovering what a spiritual family really ought to be. Last I heard he was trying to start house churches in San Francisco and was no longer bent on doing the Sunday church thing. We’ve never met, but he has always been a passive role model.

I found out through my friend that Dieter had suffered a stroke in early 2008. And since then he hasn’t been the same – has not been able to resume any sort of normal ministry life. And it’s been a slow rehabilitation to just being able to speak and function normally.

Recently he had a party – a party to grieve and let go of the “old” life and embrace the “new” life. People came to share about his impact in their life. And I can imagine it being as bitter sweet as can be. He analogized it this way, “I feel like I’ve taken off my old coat, and put it down, and I’m putting on a new coat. I felt sad going to the party, like I was wearing my old coat, still wanting to do ministry the way I have for 25 years … same old familiar way. I put my coat down. It’s a transition to what’s next.”

I was talking to Sarah about it and it got me a little choked up… to have to die to something you’re not ready or wanting to die to… but you have to. It’s like having something ripped out of your hands. We experience it in small ways in a lot of things. But with something like this, it’s much more encompassing. And when it gets taken from you, you have a choice to keep dreaming of what it was like in the old days and remain in this constant state of bitterness. Or you can embrace what has come and begin looking at life from the new set of eyes you’ve been given.

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There are these houses right next to the place that we rent for our monthly worship gatherings. They are boarding houses that cater to mentally impaired adults that fall between the systemic cracks. Not dysfunctional enough to be hospitalized. Not functional enough to be integrated in society.

We’ve been next door to the houses for almost 4 years and have gotten to know a lot of the people. It hasn’t been easy… their range of ailments span widely… schizophrenia, depression, bi-polar, brain damage, psd, prolonged drug/alcohol abuse, etc. – everyone is on some more form of medication. And it hasn’t been easy to connect or love them. The truth is that I think we’re getting over the dirtiness… the smell… the ingrained suburban value that the reason you work hard is to avoid people like this… and getting over taking the easy route of just giving money and withholding the human touch.

I think the biggest struggle for our community when it comes to connecting with our neighbors is being open to integrating our lives with theirs. They aren’t charity cases… they aren’t projects for us to complete. They are people and they like everyone else are dying for someone to acknowledge that their existence in this world matters. That they aren’t alone… that someone cares.

There’s two people named Snappy and Mona. They are good friends and likely 15-20 years apart in age. And they’ve been faithfully coming to our worship times for the past few years… with no one to remind them that it’s on the 3rd Sunday. In this realm they are far more committed than some of our more “functional” people.

Snappy asked me last Sunday, “When are we going to go out to lunch? I owe you lunch!” We did lunch once before and had burritos and he was bent on going back to the same place. It’s got good memories apparently. We go and Snappy asks me politely whether Mona can come and we head over to Super Tacqueria for lengua burritos. That particular day was really packed… I was meeting with several disciple groups, doing some training and preparing for pre-marital counseling. Lots of “work” that day.

But as I was sitting in the sun with Snappy and Mona, two people who may never quite fit into the “brilliant” church structure that I’ve created, I was reminded that I was eating with two of my friends. They enjoyed my company and I enjoyed theirs. They didn’t need anything from me other than me. And I couldn’t expect anything from them other than just them. And I realized that that was enough. They remind me that it’s not always about “getting it done”. They remind me that there’s a human level to everything that gets missed when we’re always functioning on the business side of life. I’m reminded that Jesus doesn’t love me any more and Jesus does love them any less. And that the Gospel makes more sense when we have friends who are physically poor and we can recognize our common inability/desperation/incompetence in life.

Every time Snappy is in my car… he leaves a “residue” on my seat. I really don’t care to guess what it is and it kinda smells. But hey, we’re friends and friends can clean up after each other and look forward to the next burrito date.

I had my Tuesday day off today – it has not been an easy discipline honestly. I’ve been challenged by Pete Scazerro’s [and others] rebuke for people to take proper sabbaths – especially pastors. So I’ve been trying to really learn to relax, take my time, keep the rest of the world away and live in an unhurried mindfulness of God.

So I watched a movie… at home. It was raining all day and taking very “spiritual” walks in the woods don’t happen in the rain. I watched this documentary called Man on Wire. It was really interesting and the temptation is to wonder what kind of personality would do something so foolish as to string up a tightrope between the World Trade Center and walk across. Insane.

But it was really intriguing to hear Philippe Petit share about how his dream was spawned and the passion he had for something so crazy, so out of the ordinary, something that could demand his life in the pursuit. During all the meticulous planning and the numerous setbacks, he said that he needed to remind himself of the sheer exhilaration he’d feel once he’s on the rope.

The logical question would be to ask why we don’t live with the same kind of reckless passion. But I think we all know why. I sense that most of us live life placidly and occasionally embark on some death-defying challenge that reminds us that we can live, really live. It’s as if we strive to live ordinary existences needing occasional moments of the extraordinary [just to keep us sane]. What if we tried living extraordinary existences needing occasional moments of the ordinary [just to keep us sane]. Maybe life would be different… incomplete thoughts… but a few reflections after a pretty engaging documentary.

Some quotes:

“If I die, what a beautiful death. To die in the exercise of passion.”

“To me, it’s really so simple, that life should be lived on the edge. You have to exercise rebellion. To refuse to tape yourself to the rules, to refuse your own success, to refuse to repeat yourself, to see every day, every year, every idea as a true challenge. Then you will live your life on the tightrope.”