the secret to happiness

2 August 2010 Leave a Comment

According to Harvard psychologist Dan Gilbert, here is the secret of happiness:

1. Accrue wealth, power, and prestige. Then lose it.
2. Spend as much of your life in prison as you possibly can.
3. Make someone else really, really rich.
4. Never ever join The Beatles.

Interested in more? Check the video below. It runs about 21 minutes.

For Christians (and everyone else for that matter), I think the research that Gilbert presents here is important. He presents two kinds of happiness: “synthesized happiness” and “natural happiness.” Synthesized happiness is happiness that we create in our minds when we don’t get or can’t have what we want. Natural happiness is happiness we have when we get what we want. And we think that natural happiness is far superior to synthesized happiness. Gilbert points out that our consumption-driven economy depends greatly on our continuing to think that way. But in reality, synthesized happiness is at least as powerful and true, if not more so. This is the sort of happiness possessed by people who have been through tragedy, suffering, and hardship but remain happy.

The apostle Paul seems to relate this sort of happiness throughout his difficulties. A couple of examples are in 2 Corinthians 4:8-10 and in 6:3-10 where he refers to himself and his companions as continuing in aliveness and joy despite having to survive incredible obstacles and hardships. His most astute reflection on this is in 12:6-10, in which he refers to a “thorn in my flesh.” He pleads with Christ to take this affliction away (what it was exactly we don’t know, scholars continue to debate it). That prayer being answered would be the “natural happiness” of thinking getting what we want will make us happy. But Jesus does not take it away, instead teaching Paul a lesson that enables him to achieve “synthesized happiness”: “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”

Happiness grows in the soil of constraint—having to find the happiness in where you are, who you’re with, and what you’ve got. Misery grows in the soil of too much freedom to get what you want—searching for happiness in what and who and where you think you want. Paul was constrained by Christ and the mission Christ set before him, but discovered that was where happiness was truly to be found.

Where have you and I found true happiness? When will we give up demanding “natural happiness” and embrace the reality of “synthesized happiness” that comes from things like faith, discipleship, morality, mission, and covenant?

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bread of life

31 July 2010 Leave a Comment

Several months ago, I picked up the little book Food Rules: An Eater’s Manual, by Michael Pollan. Pollan is a journalist who researched what his family should eat in order to be healthy. He recorded some of his journey and learnings in two other books (In Defense of Food and The Omnivore’s Dilemma), but in Food Rules, he distills the wisdom gained from this project into a short book of rules that we can readily apply to our eating habits. These are not all easy, but they are practical and some are downright funny too.

Here’s a sample:

  • Don’t eat anything your great-grandmother would recognize as food.
  • If it came from a plant, eat it; if it was made in a plant, don’t.
  • It’s not food if it arrived through the window of your car.

This is my favorite: “Avoid foods that are pretending to be something they are not.”

In John 6:35, Jesus says, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” John’s Gospel does not narrate the Last Supper, in which Jesus institutes what we celebrate as Holy Communion, the Lord’s Supper, or the Eucharist, depending on what sort of church you’re involved with. Even though John does not narrate a Last Supper, we should have little trouble seeing that John addresses the sacred meal in the way he brings out Jesus’teaching on being the bread of life here in these verses (John 6:25-59).

With Jesus, we may also assert: “Avoid things that are pretending to be something they are not.” Jesus is the bread of life; he is our true nourishment, so we are to avoid things that are pretending to be something they are not—our Savior, or our Lord.

When it comes to who or what to center our life, our identity, and our worth on, there are plenty of possibilities. Of course there are outright bad things to center our life on. Most of those are represented by and addiction and/or an -ism. And some people do make those choices. But for many of us, that is not as big of a problem as our preoccupation with making good things into ultimate things.

In his short novel on one man’s vision of heaven, C.S. Lewis has his narrator witness a woman unable to understand why her son is so happy and content in God’s heavenly presence. She is jealous for his full attention because she had made her son the complete focus of her life. The narrator asks his guide (each character newly experiencing heaven has a guide) to help him understand the tension here. His guide responds that bronze is more often mistaken for gold than clay is. Translation: It is simpler to distinguish what is bad from what is ultimate than it is to distinguish what is very good from what is ultimate.

Think about that. The great things in life—family, health, success, work we love—these are the very things that are more likely to become substitutes for Jesus Christ in our lives. Why? Because they are so good. The saying, “avoid things that are pretending to be something they are not” is helpful here. Some things (addictions, -isms) pretend outright to be our Savior and/or our Lord. The truth is that regarding the best things, we do the pretending. And when we do we place a burden on things like family, health, success, and work, that they are not capable of carrying. But when we stop our pretending and center ourselves on Christ alone for our identity and worth, we are able to receive those good things for what they are—gifts from him.

“I am the bread of life… Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise them up at the last day. For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in them.” (John 6:35a, 54-56 TNIV)

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the good shepherd

27 July 2010 Leave a Comment

Earlier this summer I was a Scripture reader in a cousin’s wedding. It was the first time in some time that I had a role in a wedding other than that of presiding pastor. In the back, prior to the service, one of the pastors (there were three — the bride had several clergy in the family) referred to his wife as his “first wife.” I’ve heard the joke before. But somehow it struck me that the mentality behind the humor—that he’s considering his current wife his first (which assumes that at some point he’ll get around to moving on to a second wife and someday perhaps a third) is not one that a person can hold in their mind while standing at the altar, offering vows to another.

We’re hoping for more. Something inside us desires unconditional and unlimited love. And one thing we discover in life is that we do not find the unconditional, unlimited love we are searching for. On top of this, we also find that we fail to perfectly offer the unconditional and unlimited love that we desire to receive. We encounter this reality in our relationship with our parents at some point, with friends, with mentors, with social circles… The list could go on.

And yet, we feel like an unconditional, unlimited love is “out there” somewhere. It continues to be our standard.

Now, entering John 10:11-18 with this in mind, let’s look at five characters in Jesus’teaching here and their relationship to what we should know about what it means to experience Jesus as “The Good Shepherd.”

First, the thief. He is trying to gain access to the sheep by illegitimate means — by sneaking in some other way than the gate. And his job description is pretty simply stated in verse 10: “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.” So, he engages the sheep, but only in order to live off of them.

Second, the stranger. The stranger, mentioned in vs 5, is not necessarily adversarial toward the sheep. The stranger’s distinguishing feature is that he is unknown to the sheep. He has no credibility. He does not seem to have poor intent, but he has no relational foundation from which to call the sheep.

Third, the hired hand. Like the thief, but unlike the stranger, the hired hand engages the sheep and even has some measure of responsibility for them. But his sense of obligation has limits. When danger threatens, he disappears.

Fourth, the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd is loving, caring, and self-giving. He knows the sheep and cares for them deeply and strongly. And the sheep know him too. They recognize him and can pick out his voice.

So what character remains to be fifth? I suggest it is the sheep themselves. And since the sheep represent us, they’re an important character to note. They are passive in Jesus’teaching. Interestingly, their relationship is the one in focus for each of the other characters in the passage: thief, stranger, hired hand, shepherd. All of these characters respond differently to the sheep, but it is the same sheep all along.

So what explains the difference in how the sheep are treated?

It seems to be none other than the personal character of the various persons. The thief is devious, the stranger is indifferent, the hired hand is self-interested. The Good Shepherd is self-sacrificially loving. He seems to love not because these are such lovable sheep but rather because love is who he is. Are they excellent sheep? Are they terrible sheep? Jesus offers no commentary to this effect because it is irrelevant. They are just sheep. No characteristics to recommend them for the best shepherd available. No, they are just ordinary sheep, nothing special in and of themselves that the Good Shepherd would care for them so much.

We are the sheep; Jesus is the Good Shepherd. Does he love us because we are special, wonderful, exceptional, A-plus, first-team, first-chair, rising star, super-qualified sheep? Far be it from me to contradict your mother (or mine) and say you’re not special, but our qualities or lack of them has absolutely no bearing on the love of the Good Shepherd toward us. Are we excellent sheep? Are we terrible sheep? It is irrelevant — the Good Shepherd loves and cares for us regardless.

C.S. Lewis sums it up well: “God loves us not because we’re lovable, but because he is love.” Why not trust a Good Shepherd like that?

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light of the world

15 June 2010 1 Comment

“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” (Jesus, in John 8:12)

This is one of Jesus’famous “I AM” sayings, unique to John’s Gospel. It is a powerful statement and, no doubt, robust with meaning. But one part of this saying has troubled me. It’s Jesus’claim, “Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness.” How can that be? I’ve been working at following Jesus for most of my life, yet I have felt myself no stranger to a darkened and unsure path. Every Christian I know has at some point said the same.

Never walk in darkness? Really?

Consider this. There are two kinds of lights: search-light and lamp-light. And there are two places to be lit: inside us and outside us. So, which light goes where?

Our idea is this: Search-light on the outside and lamp-light on the inside. Why? Simple. On the one hand, most of us would give a great deal in order to see into the future with the search-light concerning our marriages, children, friendships, careers, financial decisions, etc. On the other hand, we are not so interested in God or anyone else seeing clearly into our inner life. The dimness of lamp-light will do fine there, thank you. We’d like our failures, hurts, sins, addictions, griefs, and embarrassments to remain in as much dark as possible.

But God has the exact opposite idea: Search-light on the inside and lamp-light on the outside. The truth is all people walk, at best, by lamp-light. If you’ve spent time sitting in a hospital, you’ve been someone, or been close to someone who’s been walking by lamp-light whether you or they wanted to or not. Finding a mate, being married, raising children, losing a job, starting a job, losing a friend or family member… all of these occasions and more remind us that we walk through life by lamp-light whether we want to or not. This is the way life works.

So, in Christ, God offers us a particular sort of lamp-light. Jesus is himself that lamp-light for life’s path. Much of our relationship with Jesus is spent learning lessons about trusting to walk by his lamp-light, that is, with only enough light to see the next one or two faithful steps. That’s it. He is reliable, but we must “trust and obey,” to quote the old hymn. But Jesus is also the search-light on the inside, bringing into the light the shame and pain, sin and hurt, that we tried desperately to keep in the dark. His light exposes, to be sure. But his light also heals, forgives, reconciles, and saves. His search-light deals with what’s on the inside of us that hinders our ability to “trust and obey” the lamp-light he offers to walk through life. Who else would we want to trust to be our lamp-light and to shine his search-light on us but Jesus? After all, he is the one who felt the brightness of the search-light in the Garden of Gethsemane (“Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me”) yet who walked by lamp-light (“yet not my will, but yours be done”) all the way to the Cross in order to save, heal, forgive, and make us whole in him.

Jesus said, “I am the light of the world.” May we receive his search-light within so that we trust him to lead us by lamp-light through life.

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being fulfilled by one’s work

3 June 2010 4 Comments

I recently read Bishop Willimon’s blog post on the Patrick Lencioni book Three Signs of a Miserable Job. Though I haven’t read the book, I’ve heard an interview with Lencioni about the book. Based on that, Willimon seems to have summarized it well. And he’s touched on some of my thoughts relating Lencioni’s work to full-time ministry (from having listened to the interview).

If you’re not familiar with it, the three signs are:

  • Anonymity – Fails to meet the need to know the people above me know I exist.
  • Irrelevance – Fails to meet the need to know one’s job matters.
  • Immeasurament – Fails to meet the need to know when and how my job matters, when I’m making a difference, to see tangible progress

It’s certainly a worthwhile post to read if you are in full-time ministry or are active in volunteer ministry (though not your job, you’re putting much of yourself into the work).

On this point, last week my wife and I went to a lunch that our District Superintendent was holding for the persons leaving his district for appointments in other locations. At that lunch, he paused to remember that we don’t take time to say thank you as often as we should and that he hoped the lunch would be a way of doing so. Then he added something to this effect: “We are excited for your new opportunities and blessed for your time among us. What you have done is significant. Thank you.”

Simple as that, two out of three. We knew we were known and that what we do matters to someone in a position to say so. It was affirming. And it was an instructive example. I want to remember how easy it is to meet some of people’s needs to be known, to have their work matter, and to know when they’ve made a difference. It’s as easy as saying so and offering a gesture like a meal or a card to represent it. The challenge seems to be our intentionality to remember and practice it. I pray I’ll do so.

–

Read Willimon’s post here.

The Patick Lencioni interview is from the Catalyst Podcast, available here. (intro remarks from podcast hosts is at 10 minute mark, the interview itself begins at the 13:45 mark and is roughly 40 minutes in duration)

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strengthening our position

20 May 2010 4 Comments

My youngest child is a couple months shy of two years old. Even now, as parents know, she is becoming adept at shifting strategies in order to find and apply the most effective way to strengthen her position with me. The other night, I was putting her back to bed around 1:00-ish a.m. At first, she went for the power approach: “Stop it, Daddy!” Personally, I like this one. Not because she’s being defiant, but because of going all the way with “stop it” instead of merely “no.” Creative. I’m impressed. But I’m also aggravated and not about to give in and reinforce this approach. Then, she changes strategies: “Please, Daddy…” Better.

Now, if we’re honest, we’ll admit that this business of hunting for the best way to strengthen our position is something we’re practicing as well — with our spouse, children, employer, employees, church, community organization, etc. And, truth be told, a fair amount of our praying boils down to vacillating between “Stop it, Daddy!” and “Please, Daddy…” But both are attempts at strengthening our position with God in order to get what we think we want.

But what is the truly strongest position spiritually?

Luke 22:39-44 records Jesus’prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane and is helpful to us on this question.

Jesus leaves the upper room with his disciples and goes to the Mount of Olives. Withdrawing from them a short distance, he wrestles in prayer: “Father, if you are willing, please take this cup of suffering from me” (Luke 22:42a NLT). Notice here that at this point Jesus does not want to suffering, does not desire to go to the cross. This is remarkable. Among all the reasons he’s come to earth — to life a perfect life, reveal God’s love, preach and teach about God’s kingdom, show God’s power in healings and miracles — one reason that stands out clearly is that he came to die on the cross. But here in Luke’s Gospel, we see him praying for a different end to the night. Still, Jesus continues: “Yet I want your will to be done, not mine” (v42b). Though in this moment the weight of the task before him has him reluctant to go forward, his greater desire is the will of the Father. And we read next, “Then an angel from heaven appeared and strengthened him.”

Jesus’strongest position was in surrender to the will of God. Our greatest position of strength is in surrender to the Father’s will.

Personally, I’m more likely to seek God’s comfort, wisdom, or power in my life rather than his will. What if a taste of his comfort, wisdom, and power are given generally? What if receiving his comfort, wisdom, and power in our lives in the full abundance in which he would like to share them entails seeking and surrendering to his will for us?

Our greatest position of strength is surrender to the Father’s will for us. For in that surrender, he appears to us and strengthens us.

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the unremarkable jordan river (holy land trip)

11 May 2010 2 Comments

My trip to Israel last month was incredible and really difficult to put fully into words. But I’ll give it a shot anyway. Below is a short video describing the locale (one of many shorts simply recorded on my iPhone for my kids to check out). I say this in the video, but it bears putting in print: The Jordan River was quite ordinary. It looked much like rivers I’ve seen and in some cases canoed in Texas, Missouri, Kentucky, Ohio, and Michigan. Nothing particularly stands out to make it special except our awareness that Jesus came to his cousin John’s revival at the river to be baptized, which launched his ministry career.

Now for context’s sake, our location on the river is far north of a likely spot for John’s ministry to be taking place. This is because the area we were in is surrounded by trees and other natural greenery. John was baptized persons in the desert wilderness, which would be further to the south, nearer to the Dead Sea. The desert is just outside of Jerusalem (you can see the Dead Sea on a clear day).

The plainness of the Jordan River reminds me of the Christian spiritual journey itself. The journey is ordinary. As Eugene Peterson says, “Anyone can do it.” The significance that marks each spot is due to what God in his grace has done there rather than the attractiveness of the setting. Like so much in our lives, the power comes from God’s entering that setting, usually quite unexpected, and blessing it with his presence.

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week with eugene peterson 1

23 February 2010 1 Comment

At the beginning of February, I attended a conference with Eugene Peterson at Asbury Theological Seminary‘s Orlando campus. The style of the gathering was distinctively conversational and the content centered around Peterson’s recently completed five-volume spiritual theology (titles listed at end of post; he shared that his wife began calling them the “Peterson Pentateuch” while he was writing them). Peterson began each session by sharing from one of the books in that series: the basic thesis, major points, and some of the background to the book. Then someone from Asbury Orlando who had read the book for that session joined him on the platform for conversation around the book, after which the whole conference was invited to ask questions and join the conversation. There were perhaps 150 of us. I enjoyed the format a great deal. Here are but a few of the thoughts from my notes. I’ll share more this week.

  • “You can give attention to someone in a short amount of time, but never in a hurry.” – Being present to someone is much of what it means to love and/0r minister to someone.
  • By “Practice Resurrection” (the title of the 5th and final book in the new series), Peterson means that we practice the Christian life, not in the sense of practicing exercises in order to get better at something (though we do want to get better a resurrection living), but instead that we “participate in a way of life that is a practice (like practicing medicine, law, etc), a way of life larger than me, that encompasses me — an integrated way of life embodied in what we think and do.”
  • “There are no mysteries in America, just problems to be solved.” – Our proficiency in problem-solving is likely our greatest achievement as a culture and society. But Peterson followed this line by asking, “Is it any wonder that we bring this attitude to the Christian life?” The Christian life is about God doing for us what we cannot do for ourselves. By contrast, problem-solving is about our seizing control and making something happen.
  • Since we believe in God as Trinity, revealed in relationship over function (Father, Son, Holy Spirit), everything about Christianity, Church, and ministry must be/require relationship. We must notice what is de-personalizing and refuse to participate.

more later…

—–

The five-volume set consists of these titles:

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ashes and intimacy

19 February 2010 1 Comment

As silent figures amble from the sanctuary Wednesday night, we begin observing the Lenten season. During the imposition of ashes, I always get reflective.

There is something about each face that presents itself before me to receive the smudgy cross, to hear the lovely morbid words, “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return,” and the bare call to conversion, “Repent and believe the gospel.” This is intimacy, with all its playful shyness and awkward terror –flesh pressed against flesh, the truth about our common humanity briefly acknowledged. As I meet eyes with person after person, I smile. It seems the least I can do before administering these naked and forceful words.

As I place the ashes on forehead after forehead, I ponder each one. Teenagers come, death and mortality juxtaposed defiantly against their clumsy adolescent vibrancy. Older folks come, sage eyes speaking the deep truth of the liturgy back to me even though my lips are the only ones moving. Mothers and fathers come, mindful, prayerful, spiritual, yes, but wanting their visions of graduations and weddings and careers and grandchildren to be truer than the ashy truth of this night.

Pastors know the rules of the trade. No pressing the ashes harder on some persons than on others. Use the same amount of ashes with everyone. Do not be more eager to impose some than others. Having sat in committee meetings, hospital rooms, school plays, and soccer games with these people, we may have a list of specific sins of which to be repented. But they know ours as well, the narcissisms common to the baptized. This is real worship in the beloved community of death and gospel, ashes and intimacy.

—-

We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. (2 Corinthians 4:10 NIV)

For more Ash Wednesday reflections, see this summary from CCblogs.

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grace lost and found

29 January 2010 2 Comments

“Hey, honey. Wake up. I’m not feeling well.” My wife’s steady voice drew me out of slumber about one o’clock a.m. on our first Sunday in the new church.

“Wha… What? What’s up, love?”

“I already spoke with a nurse at the hospital. We need to go to the emergency room. I’ve been up for an hour now. I’m having some pain in my belly.”

We were four days removed from a four-hour trip north to a new church assignment and about four weeks or so removed from the beautiful blinking static pinto bean confirming that our first child was indeed planted and growing inside Abby. We had driven home from the doctor giddy, knowing that one of our first tasks in our new town would be to locate a good OB/GYN to shepherd us through our 40-week journey into first-time parenthood. It was clear on this night, from her calm but direct tone, that Abby was more than a little worried. But there was no sense getting ahead of myself; I would stay cool and see what the professionals discovered.

“Ok,” I answered, becoming less groggy by the minute as I got out of bed quickly now and began to dress in jeans, un-tucked short-sleeve polo, and running shoes. Pulling on a cap and snatching up my wallet and keys, I checked for Abby’s whereabouts. She was dressed by now and ready to get in the car.

We lived a short drive from the larger, regional town. It had been years since I had driven these roads of my youth but managed to pilot us straight to the hospital. Parking was no problem at this hour of the night. I picked a spot near the front, placing us a stone’s throw from the automatic doors. A nurse checked us in and in short order we were sitting in a sterile white room, waiting.

In order to remain optimistic about the health of our baby, yet realistic about what we knew was possible I had adopted something of an agnostic position on the matter: I would remain undecided for now, hoping for the best. Abby had a seat on the emergency room bed with its paper-cover freshly rolled and taped after the room’s previous occupant.

I remember the difficulty the nurse had sticking Abby’s arm with the needle. I remember going to another room for some sort of screening for Abby. And I remember the doctor, with whom we had become familiar over the blur of a four hours we spent the ER, walking into our room for the last time with a caring expression on his face, a sure give-away. He took a silver pen from his white coat and began to draw on the bed’s paper-cover. “You’re having a miscarriage,” he said. He was direct in speech while empathetic in tone and demeanor. He drew simple pictures to illustrate what was happening inside Abby. He assured Abby that she had done nothing to bring this on — “No, you didn’t overdo it with the packing.” Then he shared his own story. His wife had miscarried in each of her first four pregnancies, devastating her every time. On the fifth try, she finally broke her streak en route to five successive babies delivered safely into their family.

We knew he wasn’t promising anything out of his control. But we also knew we were thankful for some perspective, delivered with genuine warmth and compassion. Then he asked if he could pray for us.

Not long after we arrived back at home, the sun already greeting the day, Abby called me into our bathroom to point out a tiny bloody glob in the toilet. She looked at me solemnly. I told her to flush.

Abby felt the baby was a girl, and named her Grace.

In Christian parlance grace is unmerited and unexpected blessing, an unforeseeable gift to be received with thanks and humility. And grace has a way, once it has taken a foot-hold in one life, of spreading.

Seven weeks later, about a quarter to five in the evening, there was a knock at the door. Abby answered it. I was working from home. A young mother in our congregation, roughly twenty weeks pregnant, had just been told that her baby boy had died in her womb. They would induce her in the morning because she had to deliver him stillborn in order to get him out. Tears upon tears. I would perform the funeral three days later, woefully inadequate to the task. And yet somehow a blessing to this hurting family, having lost and found Grace on a sticky June night myself.

————–

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. (2 Corinthians 4:7 NIV)

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