James 24:7

I have never been one who feared getting up in front of people and doing whatever needed doing.  (Of course, that excludes singing...but even then it's not because I fear singing as much as I fear damaging the sensibilities of my listeners.  Or, better...I fear being driven out of town by an ear-damaged mob with pitchforks and torches.)  Anyway, as I look back over my life I can see that I have never feared getting up in front of folks.  (My memory of it goes back to some pretty cool Elvis impersonations in the first grade.)

No...what I fear is do-it-yourself home improvement and repair projects.  I was put in touch with that fear after I watched my neighbor back a U-Haul over my mailbox.  I saw it all from my bedroom window.  I saw it coming and watched, as if in slow motion, the box fall with a thud to the ground.  (I think I even heard myself doing one of those slow-motion "NOOOOOOOs" that you hear in the movies.)

Well, my neighbor and I settled up and I was off to Lowe's to buy a replacement mail box kit. I felt fairly confident although one of my demons kept saying, "It's going to involve concrete, Jim, it's going to involve concrete."  

You know how it is when you go to the grocery store and are overwhelmed with choices?  Well, go to Lowe's and check out the mailboxes.  After weighing the pros and cons of each type, I finally selected a simple kit that involved driving a stake into the ground.  On my way to the front of the store, I noticed some words on the box. The manufacturer suggested using a heavy hammer. Since I do not own a heavy hammer, I went back to check those out.  

I learned that heavy hammers don't come cheap. I was standing there weighing the cost of the heavy hammer plus the cost of the mail box kit and realized that replacing a mail box can get right pricey...and all of that just to receive junk mail and bills.

This red headed kid in a Lowe's vest sauntered up.

"What up, dude?"  he asked.

"I'm weighing whether to buy a heavy hammer," I said.  "I need to pound a stake into the ground."

"Whoa...they're kind of expensive dude," he said. " Why don't you just use like a big rock."

I hated to admit it to him but not only did I not have a heavy hammer, I didn't even have a big rock.  (I don't keep things like that around the house for fear my wife will put me to work using either the hammer or the rock.)

Well...long story short....I didn't buy the hammer but did take the mail box kit.  However, when I got that home, I found it was missing parts.

So I took it back to exchange it for the same model.  Guess what?  All four of the exact models were missing parts.  (See why I start getting a little neurotic over these home repair jobs?  My wife says, "Honey do" and I break out in hives!)

I got my money back and went to another Lowe's.  Same problem...missing parts.  I went to Home Depot...bad selection.  Finally, I went to Wal-Mart and found a mailbox kit so simple that a hairless monkey could install it.

All of this occurred over a three day period.  While searching for the right mail box, I left my old dented mailbox out by the road.  On the first day, which happened to be garbage day, I set it on top of the garbage can (after the truck had come by, of course)  I happened to talk to my daughter that day on the phone, told her about my mailbox dilemma and how I had solved it that day by setting it on top of the garbage can.  

In her driest voice she asked, "Dad, how does it feel to have become the punch line in a redneck joke?"

Since I did need to roll the trash can back down the drive way, I left the mail box out by the road on the next day.  I set it on its back side and left its mouth open.  The good old mail man dropped the mail right into the box.  (Seemed appropriate since it sort of resembled a lonely black trash can out there.)

Well, today...I finally got my Wal-Mart special up.  I even used concrete!  (Somewhere I hear Satan laughing!)

I dug the hole, mixed up the concrete, and poured it in the hole.  I set the stand down in the hole, whipped out a level, and squared things up.  

I patted myself on the back and said the usual thing I say when I actually complete a home repair project.."Good job.  You ain't as dumb as you look."  

After giving it an hour or so, I went back out to check out my handiwork.  I opened the box and closed it.  The stand sort of rocked back and forth when I did that.  But I figure it will last until the first good wind blows through...or until the mail man actually puts mail in it.

Not long ago I was hanging out in Barnes and Noble.  I picked up a Christian magazine and opened it to an article by a guy who has written about why men don't like to go to church.  As I recall, he said it is because women shape the church and the church shapes the pastors.

I heard him:  Pastors are the men that real men never hope to become.

It reminded me of a book I read a few years ago by a historian who said that in some quarters in the 1800s, preachers were known as "parlor men."  They were called "parlor men" because rather than do the work of real men like driving mules, plowing fields and making liquor, pastors sat in the parlor with the ladies drinking tea.  (He went on to say there was a reaction to that when a group of pastors founded the YMCA in an effort to create "muscular Christianity.")

Well, to that historian I would say (1) God confirmed my call to the ministry one summer when I spent 3 months running a jack hammer and (2) pastors listen to the ladies to keep them from killing their husbands.

Anyway, back to the magazine writer.  He suggested that the church needs to become more attentive to the needs of real men.  He cited a particular church in Texas as an example.  They hung trophy animal heads in the building...sort of an evangelical Country Bear Jamboree I guess.

Well, after I read the article I decided that I was going to quit being a man.   No..I don't mean that.  I mean I was going to quit trying to fit into this category called "man" and just be me...myself.

One of the real profit centers among evangelicals these days is in the creation of these categories called "men", "husbands," "fathers", "leaders" and "pastors".  After the category is created a set of standards is delineated that qualifies one as a member of that category.  Sometimes they even pick one or two standard bearers for us to model our lives after.  (Any women remember "The Total Woman?")

 Ironically, I cannot help but think of Michael Foucault, a French philosopher and real sorry excuse for most any "man" category.  Foucault said if you want to understand why people claim what they claim- i.e. if you want to uncover their true motivations even as they claim to only want to speak the truth- you should follow the money and power trail.  Creating categories (Real Man), and the standards of what constitutes that category is a way to carve out a power/money niche in the world.

In other words, there's gold in them thar evangelical hills.

I've decided to keep the biology but pass on the category with its standards.

I am going to be me....myself.

I look out my window and I see this naked and spindly dogwood tree.  Leafless and gray, it stands there badly in need of pruning.

I think of Thomas Merton and the words he wrote in New Seeds of Contemplation:

"A tree gives glory to God by being a tree...The more a tree is like itself, the more it is like Him.  If it tried to be something else which it ws never intended to be, it would be less like God and therefore it would give God less glory.

No two created beings are exactly alike.  And their individuality is no imperfection.  On the contrary, the perfection of each created thing is not merely in its conformity to an abstract type but in its own individual identity with itself.  This particular tree will give glory to God by spreading out its roots and raising its branches into the air and the light in a way that no other tree before or after it ever did or will do...

Each particular being, in its individuality...with all its own characteristics and its private qualities and its own inviolable identity, gives glory to God by being precisely what God wants it to be here and now, in the circumstances ordained for it by His Love and His infinite Art."

I think of parents standing over the beds of their sons angelic in their sleep and in spite of that I hear them wonder why that boy just doesn't get it or why things just don't connect for him or why he is so unmotivated.  I think of parents standing over the beds of their daughters beautiful beyond repair but daughters nonetheless doing everything they can to be someone other than themselves.

To them I say, "Don't try to make your sons and daughters fit into some abstract category called 'nice boy, good girl.'   Rather teach them about God who is the only one ultimately able to help them be the unique self God created."

You and I are not simply members of a category.  We are each a category unto our selves.  Each of our children is unique in his or her identity.  Each may grow up to be extensions of our selves and each may grow to be strangers to us. If they are known by God and being known by God and desiring to be known by God in the unique design God has fashioned for them...if they are finding themselves in God...then "all is well and shall be well." 

Only God can tell you how to be you and only God can tell me how to be me.

We need to listen...and take courage. 

We stood on the platform and waited for the MARTA train that would take us to Phillips Arena to see "The Stones" last night.  A young man approached us and started talking...and talking...and talking.  He had just arrived from Memphis and had come to town to see "Mick, Keith and the boys."  He looked to be in his late 20s.

I thought, "Don't call them Mick, Keith and the boys...call them 'Papaw', boy." 

"Have y'all ever seen the Stones?" He said.  "I saw U2 a few months ago.  I live in Tennessee now but I used to live here in Atlanta.  I worked at Phillips Arena one time.  I play XBox...do you?  I do a lot of Madden football."

We added a lot of interesting commentary.  "You do?"  "Really?"  "Do you enjoy that?"  That sort of stuff.

 "Who's your favorite band? My dad works for a real estate company but my mom's retired.  We moved recently.  It was a lot of work.    Do you like Weezer?  How about Wilco?  I like this new guy...what's his name...oh, shoot..I forgot his name."

We shot glances at one another.

The train sped into the station.  You could feel the rush of cold air being pushed out of its way.  The doors open.  We stepped inside...us and our new friend.

He sat next to me.  "I like a lot of the old bands.  Led Zeppelin..I like them.  I saw Robert Plant...he was good.  Do you know the set list for tonight?"

 I thought, "Yeah, Mick called me earlier and we discussed it."  Didn't say anything much.  Just shook my head and said that I didn't. 

"How many songs do you think they have recorded? My dad likes to fish.  We fish together a lot.  He wants to retire and buy a nice bass boat.  Hey have you ever heard that band 'Death Cab for Cutie?'"

I was beginning to lose consciousness.  I managed to maintain eye contact and hold up my end of the conversation. "Yes." "No"  "Really."  and the ever-popular, "Hmm. that's interesting."

"I heard a guy sold a potato chip that looked like Abraham Lincoln on E-Bay.  Imagine that...a potato chip.  I wish I had bought up a bunch of X-Boxes before Christmas..I could have made a fortune.  Do you like that new song by Train...what's it called...something about a cab?"

He followed us off the train and walked a ways with my sister-in-law.  "Have you ever played Frogger?"  I leaned over to my wife, my ears still ringing, and said, "They make a cute couple."

 My sister-in-law looked back with a "Help me" look in her eyes.  I thought of the old version of the movie, The Fly.  We smiled.

"I can't wait.  I'm going to spend every penny I have on Stones stuff.  Have you ever seen Nine Inch Nails?  I got a job with a movie theater in Memphis."

We got to the entrance where a security guard waited to run his magic wand over me to see if i was carrying a bomb.  I told him he couldn't wand me because I have a defibrillator. I might burst into flames.  He looked like he had heard that 50 times already.  

Our friend ran on ahead of us and disappeared into the crowd.  Later, I saw him with a Stones cap and carrying a bag of t-shirts and posters.  He didn't see me.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

I sat down and watched the multitudes file in to take their seats. I remembered my conversation with Tomas yesterday about something Dallas Willard had written about how we all prefer to select our neighbors ahead of time...how we seek out people who are like us...how we arrange our lives so that we minimize encounters with those who are "other".   Dallas reminded us that that is not the way of Jesus.  Jesus taught us to be open to the next one who crosses our path.  He reminded us that the burden lies upon us to be neighbors and not worry so much about insulating ourselves with a thick layer  of people who are little more than extensions of ourselves.

The lights went down.  The curtain went up.  Mick strutted.  All of the members of AARP went wild.  

I felt I had missed an opportunity.

This past Sunday I preached at North River on how critical friendship is to our growing toward wholeness in Christ.  If we are going to attain to the measure of the fullness of the stature of Jesus (Ephesians 4: 13), we are going to need the help of friends who are committed to that end themselves. 

No one bootstraps himself to wholeness.

However, part of our problem is that we have such a fuzzy understanding of what friendship is.  We use the word “friend” to describe I-know-him-when-I-see-him acquaintances and we use the word “friend” when we speak of one who knows us through and through.  The word “friend” gets applied to everyone from “those with whom I am friendly” to those who are our “second selves.” 

As Aristotle noted, even years before Jesus, the word friend is applied to those who give us pleasure (“My friend, Rex, always makes me laugh.”) and to those who are simply useful to us (“I have a friend, Rocco, who’s in the business.  He’ll hook you up.”)  While we need people around us whose company we enjoy and need people who are useful to us, we also need friends of a third order.  We need those who join us in the journey toward the good, toward wholeness, toward completeness in Christ.

Such people may not bring us worlds of pleasure and they may not know how to fix our cars, but they are ever-present to us joining us on that journey toward maturity in Christ.  These kinds of friends know how to “speak the truth in love” and evoke aspects of ourselves that we may not have even known existed. 

The church- the gathered community of disciples of Jesus- ought to be that kind of friendship.

Yet we have so many barriers…

We have our busy schedules.  I think of a woman who once said to my wife, “Gosh, I’d love to get to know you but I just don’t have time for anymore friends”.  At least she was honest… but then maybe silence is sometimes the better side of honesty.

We have the demands of life.  So much is required of us- even taken from us- in our daily work that we are more than happy to retreat into the cocoon of home and withdraw from the pressures of life.  

We are daily reminded through ads and entertainment that romance is the better part of relationship.  Being “transported” seems far more exciting than the daily requirements of friendship.   

Friendships which are primarily concerned with the journey toward wholeness in Christ take time and they require attention and the scarcest resources in our lives are precisely time and attention.

Is it any wonder that our world is filled with loneliness? 

Could the community we call “church” have any higher calling than to become a people marked by friendship?