an eye on the I

faith as a first-person narrative

Last year on my birthday, my mom and I were out to eat and she asked me, "How old do you feel? Do you feel a year older?" And I was happy to give her the same answer I've always given... I said, "I feel the same." And I do, always. I think certain subtleties have changed, but all along its been so quiet, that I hardly detect the movement.

It's like that person you only see once a year; and in the time away they've let their hair grow out, they're five or ten pounds heavier- and you immediately pick up on these nuances. Because to you, this new person seems unmistakably different than who they were a year ago. Somethings changed. But to this friend's family, and the people around him everyday, nothing has. They say stuff like-"Ahh, that's Carl all-right. That guy never changes."

Or have you been on a plane where outside, in reality, you're covering hundreds of miles-- but inside, on board the plane, everything seems quiet, smooth and still- like you're not even moving. We all feel this sameness; this feeling like so little is happening- like we're waiting for something.

Christians talk a lot about waiting. It's like we're waiting to go to heaven; waiting for Christ to return, waiting for the day we die; waiting to be saved; waiting for the Laguna Beach dvd set to be released; waiting for everything to be explained and made right. It's everywhere. It's even written into the songs we sing. I don't know if I was ever specifically told we're all waiting, or if I just assumed it because of the way everyone always moped around.

Either way, waiting can become an incredibly uneventful way to live. A convenient theology for the ancient art of inactivity; A hierarchical ordering where--by some vague rationale--certain portions, periods, or season of life become regarded as more important than others. Now I'm not talking about patient anticipation. No, I'm talking about emotional motionlessness, a spiritual dormancy--waiting. The stand still, sit back and watch the paint dry, 'We're Christians and we'll be hopefully reclusive until the very end of our ineffectual lives-Praise God!' kind of waiting. It's the one-and-done attitude that prays a prayer and then closes up shop.

And it's definitely the conveniently preferred option of some of us at so many times in our lives. But does that attitude really resonate with us? If you're like me, aren't you exhausted from all this waiting? Don't you want to participate, to be given responsibility, and a hand in what's happening, now. If we're honest--the truth is--we're not content to wait. We may be comfortable, but we're certainly not content.

You see, waiting implies a kind of supercilious finished-ness, an assumed inevitability. To wait in inactivity is to say, "The best offense is a good defense. This is the best i have to offer--without amendment-- and I'm satisfied letting life pas me by just as things are-- just as I am."

The problem is, who of us actually feels this way? Who has finished the job and finally closed- for good- the gap between the person they are and the person they want to be?

And who are we anyway?

It's probably easiest to simply say, "I am who I say I am" and rhetorically define ourselves in terms of who we see or perceive ourselves to be. Appropriately, we call this a self-image. But an image, by definition, is not what something or someone is, but rather how it appears to be. So self-image, we would say, is less of a description and more of a depiction.

Aristotle had this philosophy that speaks volumes into this idea. He said that who an individual is, is dependant upon the sum of one's habits. In other words, who I am has less to do with who I say I am, and more to do with who I've chosen- over and over again- to be.

Who have you chosen to be? Have you settled to wait and hope that all (you included) will be made right? Have you invested more in who you say you are than who you are choosing, everyday, in every moment, to be? Or are you someone actively becoming and being the person you want to be?

Jesus said, "My time has not yet come, but your time is always ready." The choice is yours.

fools gold

Sometimes a move forward may be disguised as a step backward.

I'm no scholar on the subject, but I've got to think that many a wise, good-willed, and learned men must have been extremely frustrated at Martin Luther King Jr's strategy for freedom. Images of police beatings, crooked court rulings, and blatant racial abuses are being transposed on televisions across the country and this guy is suggesting we fight with peaceful, non-violent demonstrations? This is our revered leader, a guy who's confused losing with winning? This is no revolution.


The nineteenth chapter of Luke tells the story of Jesus' famous entrance into Jerusalem. I picture a parade. I hear the noise. Everyone and their cousins are running out to the streets to get a look. The paparazzi have gathered. Cameras are loaded. Exposed openly to both fanfare and criticism, Jesus is on the way. But no one can see Him yet. So as the anticipation is building, attentions are turned toward what might be...

Simply reading the story, we know something is about to go down. Something big. Even my Bible's subheading labels it "The Triumphant Entry" in bold print.

But I've got to say, His entry is anything but what we'd expect from a young revolutionary come to state his claim, rally the base, and subvert the powers that be. Far from it. Instead, the methods employed are extremely unusual. Here's what we get:

Jesus is short a few party supplies so He tells his disciples, two absolutely unimpressive and average teenage kids, to go find him some reliable transportation- but not any run of the mill chariot, elephant or Clydesdale, no- He tells them specifically what He wants.

"Go to the village opposite you, where as you enter you Will find a colt tied, on which no one has ever sat. Loose it and bring it here. And if anyone asks you why you're loosing it, say to him that the Lord has need of it."

And so I'm sure this is exactly the kind of errand that made their jobs so fulfilling. I'm sure it's exactly what his excited young followers had in mind for that moment. Something that would legitimize them in the face of all the risks they'd taken. Imagine if it were their idea:

"Um, guys? Listen, I have a great idea- no just hear me out- something that'll really set the tone for our man's entry into the city. Something that will really let the Romans know that there's a new cat in town. Yeah, I've got it... We borrow a baby donkey, toss our shirts on it for a saddle and put Jesus on top. Come on guys, it's great right, a baby donkey? Us shirtless? Now they'll have no choice. They'll have to take us seriously."

Well... Let's really give this some thought first.

But unfortunately for the disciples at that moment, this is exactly what Jesus is suggesting they do.

But why?

Couldn't it have been different? Couldn't God have done better? Maybe bring in a private PR firm to do some early planning and make things a little more convincing? I mean, seriously, to leverage some support in the community you'd think the Jew's campaign for freedom from Roman dominance could have been served better by some strategic alliances with at least Gap or something.

Jesus of NazaREDth.

Okay, easy. I'm just throwing out ideas.

But beyond the story- and in every story- why is the way of Jesus always marked with these bizarre tactics? Even if it does fulfill Old Testament prophecy, why do the climactic moments always leave us so underwhelmed (not my coinage)? Because you'd think, in the name of numbers, of really getting the people behind Him, Jesus would have done differently.

But He doesn't.



The story of Jesus life and death is incredibly unpredictable. There are these strange junctures, these times when the story takes unexpected turns for the worse, when we've got to begin calling His leadership into question.

Like, why is He doing this? Can somebody please remind me again why we're following this guy?

Because it's not exactly a cookie-cutter approach to crowd winning, and far be it from a cheap formulaic strategy for Hollywood happy endings. No. It never is. It's sad. It's upside-down. It's tragic. Is it needless and senseless at times? I don't know, but it's Jesus' answer to every situation. And, time after time, he sticks to it.

Paul talks of this Jesusness when writing to the Corinthians he tells them, "The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God." And then he goes on to explain, "...God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; the weak things to shame the strong; God chose the lowly things of the world and the despised things- and the things that are not- to nullify the things that are."

It's like he's going out of his way to make sure they realize, 'Listen, it may look like we're losing, and like all is lost; it may not look like much now; this may not be what you had in mind... But God is here. God has won. This is how He wanted it. This is how He works.'

So as we fan through the pages, we see this approach everywhere. Jesus employing His controversial marketing strategies on everything.

The last are first.

Lose your life.

Blessed are the poor.

The meek.

The weak.

The geek, the outcast.

The God who dies for His people.

It's written all over everything. This is brand Jesus. It's crazy. But we'd be lying if we said His strategies weren't/aren't exactly the type of thing that moves us to our core. We'd be lying to ourselves if, when we really read the stories, see His strategies, and really grasp what's happening, we weren't deeply, profoundly touched.

Because we are.

We connect with the story because it makes sense. We know what it's like to be marginalized, or if not, we know someone who is. Or, at the very least, if none of the above, we admit that the last should, in fact, be first. Although it's uncomfortable, we've found it is best to lose our life because in gaining the whole world, we often forfeit our soul in the process. We've been disappointed, forgotten and excluded. We've been, on more than one occasion, handed a fallacious love that requires we give something, do something, or be something that we cannot consistently be. And so we've been conditioned to accept love as the result of these crude trade-offs. Although we sense maybe we shouldn't.

And this God who would die for us? For me? It may be backward, but we know, even in spite of ourselves- deep down we know- it's beautiful. This is a good story. This is a good God.

So while His ways are mysteriously odd, and although His story seems, time and time again, doomed to failure... we love it.

Because it's our story.



But how many times do you and I attempt to change the parts we don't like? How many times do you see the way the story's being unfolded and decide there must be a better way? How many times do you question the authority of the author's vision?

Despite what He's done, despite His consistency, we still fight to manipulate the story and implement our own vision of a better way forward. And He'll let us. But when you and I do, we slide into boots we can't fill. We pencil ourselves in to new scenes, write new lines, and devise an alternate ending that, we think, in the end, will serve a greater good. But when we do so, we unwittingly eliminate a key character- namely you and me.

Because when I'm off playing hero, who is being me?

But the beauty of God is that no matter how many times we write in our own revisions, no matter how much we mismanage and misdirect the script, He's still there adapting and rewriting, and reviving the story. Again and again.

The author is still our hero, still come to save us, weather we recognize Him or not. And He'll do anything. He stops at nothing. He creatively brings new characters into the story. Brings old ones back to life. He allows for mistakes, makes miracles, and disregards the record books. He gives grace and goes to great lengths for us.

He even makes entirely new people.



The Jews along the road that day wanted a King who would dethrone the authority of Rome. But they got what they needed instead- a guy on a baby donkey, on a collision course with death on a tree, to dethrone death itself.


Trust the author. Be yourself. Rely on the story, at all costs.