Songs I can't sing....

So, I have this thing with worship music. I have noticed that there are some songs I can’t sing without lying a little bit. I have no problem with songs about God, those are pretty truthful. Songs like Sing Hallelujah by Jennifer Knapp is great, hard to complain about those lyrics. David Crowder Band’s “…Never-ending…”, also great. Gungor’s “Beautiful Things” and "The Earth is Yours" are others. These are songs about God, not about me, and that is how I like it.  

I run into trouble when the song has those pesky first person personal pronouns in it. You know “I, me, we,”… those words. There are a couple, but one in particular has been haunting me recently:

“So I'll stand

With arms high and heart abandoned

In awe of the One who gave it all”

“So I’ll Stand”  - I am usually already standing at this point. If not, the Front Row Standers (those people who sit in the front row and stand up no matter what, forcing everyone else to stand up so we don’t have sit there looking at someone’s butt) will force me into standing. So that line is OK.

“In awe of the One who gave it all” – I am also OK with this line. It is hard not to be in awe of the Gospel and the God who put it together.  

It is that middle line that gets me. I can’t sing this line without lying just a little bit. If I sang it honestly it would be more like “I’ll stand with hands jammed hard into my pockets and heart carefully held to prevent damage and breaking…”.

Maybe I should just mumble under my breath the true version of the song and then move my lips like I am really singing out loud. I can imagine it would look like a Chinese kung-fu movie dubbed into English.

I realize that it is pride that keeps me from making the words I am singing match the life I am living. I couldn’t sing out loud what I am really thinking without feeling really awkward, and getting a few dirty looks. Imagine what it would sound like if I were singing "I'll stand with my hands in my pockets and heart locked away, la, la, la, la" while everyone else was singing the right lyrics. 

It’s not so much the hand raising, God gave us pockets in our pants for a reason and in my mind that reason is so you have somewhere to put your hands when you are singing at church. It is not the physical act of raising my hands at issue, it is the thought that I don’t want to be noticed, I don’t want to be embarrassed, I don’t want to be embarrassing.

It absolutely about the heart. There is pride in my heart that keeps me from making the life I am living match the words I am singing. So instead of changing my life to match the words, I sing a little lie, I keep my heart firmly and safely tucked away, my hands stuck in my pockets.

I also realize this: The source of my pride is fear: fear of the unknown, fear of pain and suffering, fear of change, fear of challenge, fear of looking silly, fear of risk, fear of being uncomfortable, fear of being asked to do more than I think I can, fear of being known, fear of transparency. Pride comes from fear. Pride is the cowardice of the man who refuses to be honest with himself …and his Maker.

To be continued....

On Fishing...

So, people who have gone fishing with me know my opinion on fishing -
"Fishing would be great if it weren't for the fish"

    I love fishing as long as I don't have to catch fish. When I am fishing I can sit for hours and nobody bothers me. When another fisherman does stop by it only takes one look at my empty stringer to get him moving again. No one wants to talk to the guy who can't catch fish.

    I get to enjoy nature's most wonderful scenes when fishing. Running up and down a river in a boat with a couple friends is wonderfully relaxing.

    I get to enjoy friendship in a completely different way when when fishing. These are times when it is OK to sit quietly with others around.

    The only thing that breaks the silence and calm of this wonderful experience is the fish. A fish on the hook invites excitement and interest and distraction and noise.

   So, maybe I am missing the point of fishing, and maybe those fishermen who work so hard to trick a fish onto their hook are missing the point too.

Not from around here are ya?

  So, my wife and I were flying back from New York City after celebrating our 25th anniversary when I discovered a curious unwritten rule : you cannot call yourself a "New Yorker" unless you have lived there for 30 years, and you cannot say you are "from Brooklyn" unless you have lived there 32 years. These are a light compared to the requirement to say you are from Newport, RI, which is three generations, which makes me a little sad because I had hoped by two 6 month stays in Newport would count, evidently not.
  In Eastern Arkansas they refer to a non-native as someone who is "from off".  For example, if you ask for directions to Blytheville, Arkansas and pronounce phonetically instead of "Blivl Arkensaw" then they know instantly you are from "off" and will give you the directions which will include a stop in Oil Pump and a left turn where the big Oak tree used to be.
  All these labels and requirements and unknown rules make me wonder about our own church. What are the unwritten rules that exist within our Body of Believers? How long does someone have to attend in order to be considered a "native"? Do we give knowing looks to others when someone mispronounces "Shibboleth" (did I just do that very thing by making an Biblical reference which only those who know the story will understand and get the inside joke?) Do we treat new people as though they are from "off"? Have we created our own classes within the church?
  I cant speak for my church since we just moved and are pretty new, but I know I have, personally. And it is wrong. And in reality there is only one class of people within the Body of Believers - sinners, enemies of God, who have been redeemed and rescued and adopted into a family that goes beyond DNA, and we are all somewhere on the road to sanctification, struggling one step at a time, looking for the day when we will finally see our Redeemer face to face. 

Old Buildings...new hope...

         So, I get to drive around a lot and I love to look at old buildings, particularly out in the country. As I drive by I think about who might have built it. I wonder what it was like when it was new. I imagine a young family, excited to begin a life together in their new house. I envision the proud owner of the new hotel opening up for business near the thriving train station. And then I look at the old worn out building and wonder what happened. What happened to the hopes and dreams, what happened to the people?

         I have started thinking about people the same way lately. When I see an old man sitting under a bridge in the cold, or a young woman walking down the street at night, or a child looking through the garbage for a meal, or just a guy, worn out by life, I wonder about them. Certainly they are some mother’s son, some father’s daughter. Could they be someone’s brother or sister? Do they have their own sons or daughters, or grandchildren?

         What happened to their hopes and dreams?

         Unlike buildings, people cannot be boarded up or torn down. People are made in the image of God. People in the most horrible circumstances still have hopes and dreams. People in desperate circumstances desperately need to be restored to life through infinite grace, love, and mercy.  And I am pretty sure that is one of the reasons we are here….

Little Mirrors

   So, I am pretty much convinced God gives us children to be little mirrors. 

  I bought my youngest son a little RC helicopter to replace the one I had broken on the inaugural flight...two years ago. We had had a couple of rough days an I figured this would help make a good peace offering. My ulterior motive was that I was going to let him do it all on his own and only help him if he asked for it, nicely. I hoped he would see that he does need help occasionally and his pride was keeping him from enjoying life. I could probably stop at this point and you could fill in the rest.

   Off he went, very happy and excited, to try out his new toy. I encouraged him to make sure he read the directions. Five minutes later he is back, the helicopter is on the roof. (Sweet, here comes teaching time!) I showed him how to climb out his window and onto the roof and the world was right again. I once again reminded him to make sure he read the directions. 

  This time it went on the roof again but he was able to get it down without help. I guess he learned something, not the lesson I had hoped for but the day was young. I asked him if he had read the directions and he had not, yet. 

  Five minutes later he was back inside and the helicopter would not fly. The battery was dead. "I thought it would go for 5 or 6 hours, not 5 minutes!" His expectations ran smack into reality and physics, his expectations lost, and he was very, very, very, very disappointed. 

   And the helicopter would not charge. A double whammy. Not only were his dreams of flying his toy helicopter up high enough to "almost run into another real helicopter" crushed, but the reliability of the little toy was suspect since it was clearly broken.  

  It was teaching time again. "Did you read the directions?"

 "No."

   "If you had read them you would have seen this warning against flying your helicopter outside. You would have also seen where the flight time was 5-6 minutes, and you would have seen how to fly it the first time so it doesn't crash and break.  Just read the directions. They will save you a ton of pain and heartache and disappointment. They will help you have realistic expectations. They will help you make good decisions. They will help you if you would just take the time to read them."

  And this is where the tiny mirror comes in...the child who is a little reflection of me.