A few days ago I had an anxiety attack. What I've been doing to cope with the pressures of life is not working as well as it once did. My parents and a good friend invited me to take this time to take a step back and reflect on life and what is and isn't working. This is part of that reflection. It may at times be sappy, discombobulated, and whiney. Read at your own risk.
So much of what I do is influenced heavily by what other people think I should be doing. I crave compliments and pats on the back like an addict. More than anything, I desire to be great. The strange thing is, I've grown up with a value set that is very different from many people around me. Thus, my pursuit of greatness does not come coupled with illusions of illustrious monetary grandeur or great positions of power and influence. No, I want to be humble, self-giving, honest, and loving. Part of the problem is that I want to be more humble, more self-giving, more honesty, and more loving than you. In truth I am more often prideful and arrogant than humble, more self-serving than self-giving, more deceitful than honest, and not very good at loving.
I think I'm going for the right behaviors, but my motivation is all wrong. I am scared of people not liking me. Sometimes scared to death. I want to do well at everything I do so that people will think, "Ben, now that guy is really something". In my secret thoughts I want to be a really big deal - make a big difference - be well-liked and famous. But in reality I am afraid of so much. I'm afraid of failure - so I just don't do much. I'm afraid to meet new people - and I don't really know why. I guess I just think they won't like me or sometimes I just think I am better than them. Anyways, enough self-disclosure, I think I've made my point - to you the reader and myself.
I started reading the Gospel of John two days ago. I really wanted to hear a word from Jesus, and I wanted to start at the beginning, but I didn't want to start with the Little-Lord-Baby-Jesus-no-crying-he-makes. I wanted Jesus as an adult. That's why I started with John, maybe not the best motivation, but I'm just taking what I can get at this point. I'm only a few chapters in, but I'm really falling in love with Jesus all over again. I want to be just like him someday. I also really like John the Baptist. Here he has this great ministry, and he's crazy and radical and all that, but as soon as Jesus shows up he's all about "More of him and less of me". He's so ready to step down and let Jesus do the work. That's the kind of minister I really want to be. I just want to learn how to get out of the way. I want to learn how to put my ministerial/seminary student ego to death.
The thing that really got me excited about Jesus last night as I was reading was in John 3:17. John 3:16 gets a lot of press and I guess it's a pretty good verse, but really anything Jesus says is pretty great in one way or another. But John 3:17 is where Jesus says, "For I have not come to condemn the world, but to save it." I almost cried I was so happy when I read this last night. He hasn't come to condemn the world! I feel like a failure so much of the time. I feel like I let down God and Jesus by what I do. But Jesus didn't come to condemn the world, he came to save it. That's one of the things I really love about Jesus, he's not here to torch us all for being sinners. He didn't kill anybody while he was here. That sounds like an obvious thing to say, but I've needed to hear that. Jesus wants me to have life - even eternal life. Full life. Anyways, I don't know where this is going, so I'm going to stop. And it's my reflection so I can do that if I want.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
My First Preacher's Story
It was just a one time deal. My friend was going out of town and asked me to fill in. Class and a sermon at a small church in West Texas over an hour away from Abilene (which is about three hours outside of Dallas, for any readers unfamiliar with the sprawling West Texas oasis known as Abilene, TX.) It sounded like a pretty standard set-up: class at 10, a short break, then "worship" at 11, "then they'll probably take you out to eat afterwards" - according to my friend. Of course I was happy to help and am grateful for any experience to supplement my theological education. Because, you know, real learning often takes place outside of the classroom. I only thought I knew what that meant.
9:55 - the time in which my girlfriend and I pulled into the parking lot. No cars. 10:05 - We backed out and doubled checked the sign. It was the right place. 10:07 - I hopped out and checked the front door. Locked. 10:11 - I checked the side door. Locked. "I hope they didn't cancel church and not tell us," Laura gave voice to what we both were thinking. "Even if no one shows up, I'm standing under that tree over there and preaching this sermon at eleven!" I quipped, "I don't back out of an obligation like that." 10:15 - One car pulls up with three people, an older couple and their friend. This was class. My friend had tipped me off that they liked to discuss so my class was primarily discussion based that day. I hoped they were more talkative in class than when the 5 of us awkwardly stepped into the building.
I made the move to go ahead and get things set up for class when the wife of the couple said we had to prepare the "emblems" first. She was looking at a flower arrangement sitting in the middle of the Lord's Table (yes, it said in typical Yoda fashion, "This Do In Remembrance of Me"). I'm so thankful for Laura, who in the first of what would be several instances saved me from embarrassment, mouthed to me, "she means the Lord's Supper" and then asked where the kitchen was located. After the "emblems" were in their proper place. We started class. After my first question, the couple's friend informed me that she speaks Spanish primarily and that her Bible is also in Spanish because of her difficulty understanding the English. Great. Laura and I ended up having a great conversation about Mark 10, with a few comments from the ladies present. The gentleman was apparently at a loss as to what to say. Perhaps he was baffled by my profound wisdom. More likely he was confused by my nervous ramblings. No matter, class let out a few minutes early.
As we were sitting and talking with those present for class another woman came in, followed shortly by two men. The first and older of the two introduced himself as Gerald. I recognized his name as being the song leader for that Sunday. The other younger man was introduced as his son. Before service, Gerald said his son had an announcement to make. Oh no, I thought, but nothing could fully prepare me for what was said. He stood up and calmly, coolly announced that his mother (Gerald's wife) had passed away the night before. Gasps, shocks came from the 6 of us to whom this was news. Gerald then looking like he was on the verge of tears mumbled something about her being in a better place, took a step back and a deep breath, and then proceeded to ask me to lead the opening prayer.
What do you say? Every sensibility in me wanted to scream, "STOP! We don't have to just do church today as usual. We can BE church today. Why are we just going through the motions?" But this was not MY church, I was a guest among them today. I was there as one with little or no authority. And so as Gerald asked us to turn to the first song, the quiet voices of those gathered rose, some a mixture between singing and sobbing. The song was "I'll Fly Away". And it was only the beginning of a song service that focused almost exclusively on the "sweet hereafter". And as Laura's soothing soprano and my scratchy pseudo-bass mingled with the voices of the saints, we were both separate and a part of what was going on.
I scratched half of my sermon. I hope it was an appropriate word given the context, but if God's Word was heard in any part of it, it is to his glory and not mine. There was no lunch. We gave our condolences, said our "nice to meet yous" and got in the car and left. A little shook up, a little in awe, and fully reminded that there is much more to ministry than learning theology and texts. There are real people, with real lives and real deaths. But these are the saints. These are God's people. And I am humbled to be a part.
9:55 - the time in which my girlfriend and I pulled into the parking lot. No cars. 10:05 - We backed out and doubled checked the sign. It was the right place. 10:07 - I hopped out and checked the front door. Locked. 10:11 - I checked the side door. Locked. "I hope they didn't cancel church and not tell us," Laura gave voice to what we both were thinking. "Even if no one shows up, I'm standing under that tree over there and preaching this sermon at eleven!" I quipped, "I don't back out of an obligation like that." 10:15 - One car pulls up with three people, an older couple and their friend. This was class. My friend had tipped me off that they liked to discuss so my class was primarily discussion based that day. I hoped they were more talkative in class than when the 5 of us awkwardly stepped into the building.
I made the move to go ahead and get things set up for class when the wife of the couple said we had to prepare the "emblems" first. She was looking at a flower arrangement sitting in the middle of the Lord's Table (yes, it said in typical Yoda fashion, "This Do In Remembrance of Me"). I'm so thankful for Laura, who in the first of what would be several instances saved me from embarrassment, mouthed to me, "she means the Lord's Supper" and then asked where the kitchen was located. After the "emblems" were in their proper place. We started class. After my first question, the couple's friend informed me that she speaks Spanish primarily and that her Bible is also in Spanish because of her difficulty understanding the English. Great. Laura and I ended up having a great conversation about Mark 10, with a few comments from the ladies present. The gentleman was apparently at a loss as to what to say. Perhaps he was baffled by my profound wisdom. More likely he was confused by my nervous ramblings. No matter, class let out a few minutes early.
As we were sitting and talking with those present for class another woman came in, followed shortly by two men. The first and older of the two introduced himself as Gerald. I recognized his name as being the song leader for that Sunday. The other younger man was introduced as his son. Before service, Gerald said his son had an announcement to make. Oh no, I thought, but nothing could fully prepare me for what was said. He stood up and calmly, coolly announced that his mother (Gerald's wife) had passed away the night before. Gasps, shocks came from the 6 of us to whom this was news. Gerald then looking like he was on the verge of tears mumbled something about her being in a better place, took a step back and a deep breath, and then proceeded to ask me to lead the opening prayer.
What do you say? Every sensibility in me wanted to scream, "STOP! We don't have to just do church today as usual. We can BE church today. Why are we just going through the motions?" But this was not MY church, I was a guest among them today. I was there as one with little or no authority. And so as Gerald asked us to turn to the first song, the quiet voices of those gathered rose, some a mixture between singing and sobbing. The song was "I'll Fly Away". And it was only the beginning of a song service that focused almost exclusively on the "sweet hereafter". And as Laura's soothing soprano and my scratchy pseudo-bass mingled with the voices of the saints, we were both separate and a part of what was going on.
I scratched half of my sermon. I hope it was an appropriate word given the context, but if God's Word was heard in any part of it, it is to his glory and not mine. There was no lunch. We gave our condolences, said our "nice to meet yous" and got in the car and left. A little shook up, a little in awe, and fully reminded that there is much more to ministry than learning theology and texts. There are real people, with real lives and real deaths. But these are the saints. These are God's people. And I am humbled to be a part.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Save Paris
So I suppose everyone has already heard the "news" (at least, it's been covered on news channels): Paris Hilton is out of jail and on house arrest for 40 days. So, party at Paris' house! Whoo!
I am glad Paris Hilton is just one person. Although around some people, I worry she might be an epidemic.
I am glad Paris Hilton is just one person. Although around some people, I worry she might be an epidemic.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
The Democracy of Grass
Welcome to my blog. This is my first post. Like most of America, I do most of my deepest thinking while taking showers and cutting grass. Fortunately for me, this summer I am working for the grounds crew where I attend school, so I get to do a lot of grass cutting and consequently, a lot of deep thinking. One may argue, even too much deep thinking.
Today I was thinking about a book I recently "read". I say "read" in quotes because actually I listened to it on my iPod while I was, if you can believe it, cutting grass. It's a book by Garrison Keillor called Homegrown Democrat, but that's really not all that important. What I was thinking about was the way Keillor opens his book with the claim that nobody is special. At first I was a little taken aback by this claim because, as child of the 80s, I've been told my entire life that I am special. That I am unique and beautiful and wonderful and "you don't have to listen to anybody if you don't want to, because you're your own person and nobody can take that away from you", just like everyone else is.
Of course, upon deeper examination, it is a mathematical impossibility that everyone is special. If everyone truly were special, then special would be the new norm and the truly unique people would be what used to be considered normal. But then everyone in the infinite pursuit of uniqueness through conformity would chase after the old norm (which had become the new "special") and I suppose it would continue like that until the end of time. Now don't hear me saying that I don't believe in Imago Dei, that all mankind is created in the image of God. I do believe that and if that's what we mean by "special" and "unique" then by all means we are. But the thing with being made in the image of God is that so is everybody else, so don't get a big head about it, because it doesn't make you any better than anyone else.
And maybe that's the real issue, is that when we're told that we're "special", we start to believe that we alone are special. That no one else can bring to the table what we bring. And, come to think of it, where would the world be without us? Who would fill the Ben shaped whole in the universe if I weren't here? How would the people I know function and get on without me? They need me. Who could ever laugh if I wasn't there to make jokes? Who could ever sing if I wasn't there to write songs? Of course I exaggerate for effect here (hyperbole for all you English majors), but I must admit sometimes my own pride can get this bizarre in logic.
And I think that's why I'm here this summer: cutting grass, missing my family and girlfriend in Houston, thinking about the internships I could have taken if I had been more ambitious, thinking about the college degree I just earned that is, for all intents and purposes, going to waste this summer while I work a low income job with no benefits (other than a bodacious farmer's tan and two dozen mosquito bites). This is part of my education. Even though my degree is already completed, I'm learning things that were never taught in the classroom. I'm learning that even though I'm going in graduate school with plans to enter full time ministry, when the grass grows outside, I'm not so good that I can't cut it. That even as a white, upper-middle class citizen with above average grades, I'm not so good that I can't work for a hispanic male, lower-income, lower-level education.
And that's who is really taking me to school. I've never been, but I'd put a week of working for Gilbert up against any week long service-leadership conference. Because even when he's working this job and another, essentially working every weekday from 7 am to 11 pm; he's still concerned about whether I'm drinking enough water. And even though the man can mow circles around me all day long and never get tired, and his worst effort looks better than my best, he still buys me a soda for working so hard in the hot sun, and tells me to "take it easy" for the last hour and find some shade. Even though he never got a chance at upper-level education, he's working his tail off to make sure his two 13 year old twins get a shot at it. Planning on at least another five years to make the employee discount. He's living life the best he can. But he would never tell you that he's special or unique for doing it, he's just doing it. And come to think of it, I'm not sure I'm so special either.
Today I was thinking about a book I recently "read". I say "read" in quotes because actually I listened to it on my iPod while I was, if you can believe it, cutting grass. It's a book by Garrison Keillor called Homegrown Democrat, but that's really not all that important. What I was thinking about was the way Keillor opens his book with the claim that nobody is special. At first I was a little taken aback by this claim because, as child of the 80s, I've been told my entire life that I am special. That I am unique and beautiful and wonderful and "you don't have to listen to anybody if you don't want to, because you're your own person and nobody can take that away from you", just like everyone else is.
Of course, upon deeper examination, it is a mathematical impossibility that everyone is special. If everyone truly were special, then special would be the new norm and the truly unique people would be what used to be considered normal. But then everyone in the infinite pursuit of uniqueness through conformity would chase after the old norm (which had become the new "special") and I suppose it would continue like that until the end of time. Now don't hear me saying that I don't believe in Imago Dei, that all mankind is created in the image of God. I do believe that and if that's what we mean by "special" and "unique" then by all means we are. But the thing with being made in the image of God is that so is everybody else, so don't get a big head about it, because it doesn't make you any better than anyone else.
And maybe that's the real issue, is that when we're told that we're "special", we start to believe that we alone are special. That no one else can bring to the table what we bring. And, come to think of it, where would the world be without us? Who would fill the Ben shaped whole in the universe if I weren't here? How would the people I know function and get on without me? They need me. Who could ever laugh if I wasn't there to make jokes? Who could ever sing if I wasn't there to write songs? Of course I exaggerate for effect here (hyperbole for all you English majors), but I must admit sometimes my own pride can get this bizarre in logic.
And I think that's why I'm here this summer: cutting grass, missing my family and girlfriend in Houston, thinking about the internships I could have taken if I had been more ambitious, thinking about the college degree I just earned that is, for all intents and purposes, going to waste this summer while I work a low income job with no benefits (other than a bodacious farmer's tan and two dozen mosquito bites). This is part of my education. Even though my degree is already completed, I'm learning things that were never taught in the classroom. I'm learning that even though I'm going in graduate school with plans to enter full time ministry, when the grass grows outside, I'm not so good that I can't cut it. That even as a white, upper-middle class citizen with above average grades, I'm not so good that I can't work for a hispanic male, lower-income, lower-level education.
And that's who is really taking me to school. I've never been, but I'd put a week of working for Gilbert up against any week long service-leadership conference. Because even when he's working this job and another, essentially working every weekday from 7 am to 11 pm; he's still concerned about whether I'm drinking enough water. And even though the man can mow circles around me all day long and never get tired, and his worst effort looks better than my best, he still buys me a soda for working so hard in the hot sun, and tells me to "take it easy" for the last hour and find some shade. Even though he never got a chance at upper-level education, he's working his tail off to make sure his two 13 year old twins get a shot at it. Planning on at least another five years to make the employee discount. He's living life the best he can. But he would never tell you that he's special or unique for doing it, he's just doing it. And come to think of it, I'm not sure I'm so special either.
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