Find Me Whole

Frederick Buechner is one my favorite writers. I'm reading his latest book (written/compiled at the ripe old age of 80), The Yellow Leaves. It's really less a book and more just a collection of remembrances and unfinished thoughts.

Chapter Five is titled "Fathers and Teachers." It opens with a story about the first funeral he ever presided over - a former French teacher of his from Lawrenceville named George Rice Woods. With each page he introduces someone new. Rod Emory from East Paris, Maine - a history professor. Tom Johnson, the chairman of the English department. All people with whom he crossed paths. All people who impacted him and left him changed. Better.

The chapter ends with Allan Vanderhoef Heely, school headmaster. Buechner's description of him deserves repeating.

Allan Vanderhoef Heely, the headmaster, was in his forties when I first met him. He was the most articulate man I have ever known and in many ways the most elegant. Whether he was delivering a baccalaureate address or making conversation at a dinner party or discussing life with a small boy at a baseball game, he always spoke in sentences. He loved words, loved especially discovering new ones—I remember to this day the pleasure it gave him to introduce me to “abdominous”—and used them with skill and verve but always for the purpose of saying precisely what he meant rather than just for effect ... 

[He] did not let himself be known easily, but somehow or other he managed to have all of himself present in everything I ever heard him say or saw him do. You always came upon him whole, and when he gave you his attention, the gift was complete ... No matter how briefly you saw him, he left you with the feeling that you had genuinely met.

While reading his descriptions, I could picture each person so clearly (which, I guess, is a sign of good writing). When I read his account of Allan, not only could I picture him, but I wanted to be like him. I think I have moments when I'm fully present. Moments when others come upon me whole. Moments when my attention is freely and wholly given. But they are fleeting at best.

Not only do I, personally, want to be like this ... but also corporately. As a community of faith. I wonder what that would look like. Something tells me it would be good.

Thanksgiving and Where's Waldo

Work stress. Marital tensions. Car repairs. Strained friendships. Financial worries. I could go on. But you get the point.

It's Thanksgiving, but sometimes it seems that finding reasons to be thankful is like a giant game of "Where's Waldo." They're impossible to find.

About a week ago, Rachel sat a piece of paper in front of me with a thanksgiving meditation written on it. The title read, "Thanksgiving. A time to remember and be grateful."

How trite, I thought. Despite my misgivings, I kept reading. And I'm really glad that I did. Take 5 minutes and read through the following meditation. These Exodus themed prompts will help you find Waldo. Enjoy.

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Look over the past year with Exodus Eyes - the eyes of someone who is always "on the way." For what can you give thanks?For what can you give thanks?

1. an Egypt situation of unfreedom that you have been able to leave behind.
2. a burning bush moment when your faith was affirmed and your work renewed.
3. a parting of the sea time when you made it through difficulties and challenges
4. comapnions who helped you through wilderness times of doubt and confusion.
5. manna and quail that sustained your desert hunger and nourished you.
6. your fire and cloud - when the steady fidelity of another assured you of God's nearness

Prayer: "Wondrous Worker of Wonders; I praise You; Not alone for what has been; or for what is; but for what is yet to be, for you are gracious beyond all telling of it."

Awake

One man wakes; awakens another;

It's the first line from the opening song on Leeland's new album, The Great Awakening. But it's also kind of my story. I blame Andrew Norden (and a few other conspirators). I'm not sure who he blames. But something awoke him to the possibility that faith was bigger than a prayer; bigger than ascribing to a set of beliefs; that it could become a way of living; that it could change the world and bring justice and hope; and that belief alone was far too small (and not at all what Jesus asks). Through our friendship, I awoke too.

Second one awakes his next door brother;

That's the next line of the song. It might be presumptuous (or boastful) to list a name or names of next door brothers that I've helped awaken. But that's certainly what I'm trying to do; to step into a real, earthy, Spirit-dependent, living (and occasionally messy) faith that aims to look increasingly like Jesus … and to awaken a next door brother (or sister) in the process. As this happens, a Kingdom momentum is set in motion.

Three awake can rouse a town; and turn the whole place upside-down;

Recently, I read an article that offered a beautiful description of what this might look like – to turn the whole place upside-down. “The revolution, the real revolution, the revolution that will move beyond a cultural evangelicalism, the revolution of the Spirit, where lives, towns and villages are changed, this revolution will not be televised. It will happen low, on the ground, beneath the lights, in the daily cultivation of life in the Kingdom.” I love that phrase. The daily cultivation of life in the Kingdom. The song ends with these words:

One man wakes with dawn in his eyes; Surely then it multiplies.

If you want to be a part of the low, on the ground, beneath the lights, daily cultivation of life in the Kingdom (oh, how I want to be a part of this), here's is my encouragement: Keep dawn in your eyes, and keep company with someone else who is awake. (By the way, these two things actually go hand-in-hand.)

Surely then it multiplies.

True or False with Meg

Part of parenting – especially for dads – is being a pest. A good-natured pest, of course, but a pest none the less.

Today, Megan and I had some running around to do after dropping off Kyra for her mini-discipleship-group. (Thanks, Rebecca! She loved it!) Megan is a bit like a puppy. She needs constant stimulation or she gets bored and starts to chew on things. Well, not exactly. But she does get bored. And normally when this happens, she just complains about it. But today was different. We were on I-40 headed back to Raleigh when she turned to me and said:

Meg: I have an idea. Let's play true or false! I'll say different things and you can tell me if they're true or false. OK?

Dad: OK

Meg: Cool. OK. Number one.

Dad: True.

Meg: (slight confusion) wait … what?

Dad: True.

Meg: What's true?

Dad: This is question number one. That is true.

Meg: Well, yes. It is … but I haven't started yet.

Dad: True.

Meg: No. Dad, you're not doing it right. You have to wait until I make a statement.

Dad: False.

Meg: What?

Dad: False. I don't have to wait.

Meg: (laughing) Well, yes. That's true, but you should wait.

Dad: True. How am I doing?

Meg: How are you doing? I don't … what do you mean?

Dad: I mean, how many have I gotten right?

Meg: (laughing) all of them, I guess. (laughing harder)

Dad: True.

Meg: No. Dad, I still haven't started yet.

Dad: Also true. [pause] When do I win?

Meg: (laughing) OK. We're going to start now.

Dad: False. I already started like 2 minutes ago.

This went on for a good 5 or 6 minutes … by the end of which, we were both laughing quite hysterically.

Ahhh … these are the dad moments I love the most. Love you, Meg. Thanks for letting me be your pest.

Farewell, Pippin

Pippin: circa 2007 — October 17, 2011

It's a sad day in the Mulder household. Our much beloved rat, Pippin, met his end.

He joined our family as a pseudo practical joke from Uncle Vinny, but he quickly became the world's most beloved rat. You'd be shocked and amazed at how affectionate a rat can be.

The girls loved him, and both cried when I broke the news to them after school. He's buried behind the trampoline. In tears, Megan gathered a few honeysuckle flowers and black-eyed susans to put on his grave.

Pippin - you were a good rat.

Deaths

On Saturday, while fumbling through the FM dial in search of a radio-feed of the NC State football game, I heard a song by The Band Perry called “If I Die Young.”

Nice song. Great harmonies. Good writing. Fun instrumentation. (I’m a recent convert to mandolin. The world would be a happier place with more mandolin. Just sayin’.) You can listen to it here.

The last verse says:

A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I'll sell them for a dollar
They're worth so much more after I'm a goner
And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'
Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'

Henry David Thoreau. Edgar Allen Poe. Emily Dickinson. Vincent van Gogh. All great examples of what The Band Perry is describing. When they're quoted or mentioned, we all take note. They’ve all risen to great fame and notoriety post-mortem.

But it’s not only true of dead people (Insert “The Sixth Sense” movie joke/allusion
here _____.)

Every now and then, we come across someone who has “died” but is still very much alive. You know them when you see them. They are that rare person who is truly comfortable in their own skin. One who has discovered how to live un-self-considered - freed from the terrible burden of being the center of their world. They are so few-and-far-between, they almost always catch us off-guard. We’re enchanted. Something inside of them is so vibrant and alive … it calls to us and awakens within us hopes that we didn’t know we held. Or, perhaps, hopes that we didn’t know held us.

We’re struck by how these men and women are somehow immune to the voices of culture screaming out “Climb the ladder! Be thin! Chase after wealth! Wear this! Pursue beauty!” … voices we can’t seem to silence. When we find these people, we’re inspired to be better sons and daughters, friends and neighbors, husbands and wives — better people.

And we start listenin’ because it’s hard not to listen to a dead person.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In part, this is one of the effects of discipleship. As the character and person of Christ is formed in us, we too become less self-considered and Paul’s words in Galatians 5:24 become increasingly true.

“Among those who belong to Christ, everything connected with getting our own way and mindlessly responding to what everyone else calls necessities is killed off for good — crucified.” Gal 5:24 (The Message)

Being Sexy is Exhausting!

If you know me, this blog title may strike you as a bit strange. Sex appeal has never been a super high priority of mine … at least not on the exterior. Although, I did go through a brief college phase where I spent an inordinate amount of time at the gym and, consequently, in front of mirrors. Fortunately, that was in the pre-cell-phone-camera and pre-Facebook days or I'd probably have 100s of those vain little bathroom-mirror-self-portraits littering my profile pics. Rachel hears stories about the once-buff version of Curtis, and I think at times, she quietly pines for a re-emergence. But that has long since faded into the past.

When it comes to faith, however, it's a different story. Sex appeal has been a driving force for almost all of my vocational Christian life. I've tried it two different ways. And I'm learning (the hard way) that neither of them work … because being sexy is just exhausting.

First – the sexy Sunday. Don't get me wrong. I think Sundays should be fantastic! They should move and inspire and challenge and run the full-gamut of emotions. But often this desire gets off course and distorted … and Sunday becomes something it shouldn't. The weekend service becomes our end instead of a means. It makes me think a little of Dallas Willard's great piece on Vision, Intention, and Means. In the Christian faith, the only vision that will truly create the intention to pursue the means of discipleship is to hold up a true, compelling, beautiful vision of Christ. But it's so easy for churches to slip into holding up Sunday instead. And the moment this happens, the slow exhausting death of staying sexy begins … because propping up Sundays is relentless and exhausting. (An important side note: Jesus holds himself up.)

Second – the sexy midweek. In a Kiva, charity:water, TOMS world … this is a very sexy alternative to option one. My daughter, Kyra, is in the Key Club at her high school. Being from Canada, I had never heard of a Key Club before. It's basically a service club. They find ways to serve others and give of themselves. It includes volunteering at shelters and visiting retirement homes and participating in human-trafficking walks and much, much more. These things are awesome! I love that Kyra has the opportunity to do this!

Again, don't get me wrong. Servanthood is key!! Christians should be marked by it! I have a KIVA account, wear TOMS, just adopted a dog from a rescue shelter, and I have friends in a band benefitting charity:water. But service isn't supposed to lead our faith. It can't. And here's why.

Service is a faith by-product. It is a characteristic of discipleship. It's not the start; it's a result.

Here's what I feel / sense / believe that God is teaching me. Sexy doesn't work. Plain and simple. And it isn't supposed to. In fact, all attempts we make to sell a sexy version of Christianity undercuts the gospel. We're selling a lie. I heard an interview conducted by Bill Hybels where he was interviewing Eugene Peterson. They began talking about how we invite people to faith / salvation. Eugene said (I'm paraphrasing because I can't find the original podcast), “We need to change our invitation. It needs to be short and brutal. It will cost you everything. The invitation must start and end with the real cost of discipleship.”

Discipleship isn't sexy. Not at all. It's hard. And it lives and flourishes only in cultures and relationships of accountability. But when it happens? Oh, the beauty!

Moment of transparency. It's hard to let go of sexy.