Lost in Thought

I stayed up late last night watching it and woke up early this morning thinking about it. Of course I’m talking about the Lost finale. If you’re not a Lostie then you can stop reading now. If you haven’t seen the finale yet, you probably ought to bookmark this post and move on as well.

I’ve read a variety of reactions to the finale online and can’t help but throw my two cents into the fray. I know what I want to say, but I’m not sure how long it will take or what route I’ll use to get there, but like the series itself, I will get there in the end.

Overall, I found it to be a satisfying finale on a number of levels.

From a narrative standpoint, I think Darlton did about as well as they could do with the sprawling narrative they’d created over the past six years. Unlike so many critics, I’m going to cut them some slack in this area because I think there are few things harder than bringing an epic tale to a satisfying end. How many times has it been done? The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter come to mind.

How many great narratives have been started with a bang only to fizzle out before the end? I’ve been disappointed by a number of stories like The X-Files, The Matrix movies, and John Twelve Hawks’ Fourth Realm Trilogy. Recently, I’ve learned to turn my disappointment into a question: if you were telling this story how would have finished it? I usually come to the conclusion that I can’t come up with a better ending than the one that has already been told. At first, I didn’t like the way Stephen King ended his Gunslinger series, but the more I thought about it, the more I came to appreciate that it was the necessary ending to the story he had been telling.

In most epics there are a limited number of options for how to bring closure anyway. In a good vs. evil epic, either good wins out and everyone lives happily ever after or you reset the cycle and things continue with a new cast of characters. Jack and Kate kill the smoke monster and everyone moves on to something else, or Hurley takes Jacob/Jack’s place and Ben throws a fit and gets himself thrown into the cave of light and becomes a new smoke monster. Instead of the final shot being Jack dying a sacrificial hero’s death, we get Hurley and Ben sitting on the beach and Ben saying to Hurley, “Do you have any idea how badly I want to kill you? (fade to black)

I know there were lots of questions left unanswered, but again, how can you tell an episodic epic story that must have a dramatic arc in every installment without introducing some mysteries that play well in the present moment, but ultimately don’t fit into the larger narrative?

I’ve done this before as a preacher, if only on a slightly smaller scale (he says with a wink). It used to be that my favorite sermon in a series was the first one. That would be the sermon where I would throw out a bunch of questions and teasers and try to get everyone interested in what I’d be talking about over the next six weeks. I’d bring up lots of problems and then promise to solve them with a careful exposition of Philippians or some other section of scripture. People would leave the service excited and saying, “This is going to be a great series. Can’t wait til next week.” Invariably, as the series progressed, I found it far easier to introduce questions than to answer them. My solutions weren’t nearly as exciting as were my descriptions of the problems I used as a hook. What began as a roar would conclude with a whimper. Luckily, most people don’t geek out on a sermon series the way fans of a TV show do, so no one ever seemed to notice that I’d finish the series without ever dealing with all the stuff I brought up at the beginning. I was incapable of tying up all the loose ends of a six week series. Can you imagine how hard it would be to tie up the loose ends of a story you’ve been telling for six years? Impossible. I don’t care who you are. Let the critics of Lost tell their own stories and do a better job of it.

Besides, are you sure having all your questions answered would leave you any more satisfied than you already are?

One of my favorite things about the reunion scene was that in the end, the questions the characters had about their experiences seemed to be unimportant. They didn’t get all of their questions about the island answered any more than we did, but none of that seemed to matter. What really counted was that they were together again. The unanswered questions were overwhelmed by the beauty of the light and their love for each other.

This reminds me of a challenge from John Stackhouse in his brilliant book, Can God be Trusted? He challenges the notion that someday in heaven we’ll get an answer to all of our questions about why God allowed certain things to happen in our lives. Where in Scripture does it say that eventually God will sit down with us and explain it all? If we think of heaven as a place where we’ll finally get some answers, we could be sorely disappointed. It may be that when we’re reunited with those we love in the new creation, the questions about who? and why? and how? will be neutralized by the light of God’s glory. I’m preparing myself for this possibility by not freaking out about all the unanswered questions I still have about the island.

Speaking of questions, one of the questions about heaven that used to bother me when I was a kid was whether or not we’d recognize each other on the other side. I remember thinking that heaven didn’t seem like that great of a place if you wouldn’t know anyone when you got there. The early flash-sideways scenes were intriguing, but it was also empty and odd to see these characters who shared so much history together bumping into each other with no sense of recognition. Of course this was a set-up for the payoff of the recognition scenes in the finale. Those scenes gave me an imagination for what it might be like someday to recognize our old traveling partners in the new creation and in a flash of recognition have the sum total of our shared experiences come together in a gestalt of joy from being together again.

Probably the most interesting thing of all was listening to Jimmy Kimmel try to summarize the teachings of Christianity on his show after the finale. I’ll have more to say about that later and what I’ll say will change your life forever.

How’s that for a teaser?

It was a Good Home

As of 11AM this Friday–and assuming there are no ill-placed tornadoes in the next two days–we will no longer own a home in Oklahoma.

I drove up to Tulsa earlier this week to get the last bit of our stuff from the house we’ve owned for the past seven years. Even though we’ve been living in Austin for almost a year now, it has felt as if the move were incomplete. It’s hard to feel like you’ve relocated when you keep sending money back to your old home.

Spending a couple of nights in our old house put me in a nostalgic mood.

When we arrived in Tulsa just over seven years ago, we brought with us two sizes of diapers, along with a newborn and toddler to fill them. We came to Tulsa with so much hope and anticipation. I was a “young preacher” back then. I had been given the opportunity to work with a church with a storied (and troubled) past. Along with the job came an opportunity to coordinate one of the largest gatherings of adults in our network of churches. It was a highly visible position. The day I took the job my circle of influence expanded exponentially. It was a heady time for an twenty-nine year old who up until then had been working with a small church in a hidden corner of the Pacific Northwest.

Six years later, Tulsa was no longer a city of opportunity, hope, and promise. Instead it had become a place of intense disappointment, frustration, and discouragement. I’ve spent a lot of time processing what happened and I’m still not sure I understand it all, but I do know this: if everything had gone well, I wouldn’t have learned anything. But with the way everything went down, I learned quite a bit. There are so many crazy stories that can be told from my six years in Tulsa. Some of the stories I want to tell, but can’t. Some of the stories I can tell, but won’t. Some of them I will tell when the time is right.

As I watched the sunset in my driveway on a near perfect Oklahoma evening, these were not the stories upon which I found myself dwelling. Instead, I looked down the long street in front of our house where both of my boys learned to ride their bikes. I walked up the steep driveway where the boys and I would lie back and look into the sky and wait for the first star to appear on warm summer nights. I stood in front of the swing set I spent two and a half days putting together one spring. I stood behind the the swings where I would push the boys over and over again until they finally learned to swing themselves. I closed my eyes and heard the echoes of giggles still bouncing from tree to tree, just like the ball we used when the neighborhood kids came over for kickball.

The next morning I made one last pass through the house before locking it up for the last time, and each room unlocked a memory. The living room was where we opened our presents on Christmas mornings. The boys’ room, now painted a neutral gray, was once a bright arena where dinosaurs and light sabers clashed.The upstairs family room was where we spent most of our time. It was the place for toys, TV, and hobbies. The final stop was our bathroom, where I would sit for hours in the jetted-tub reading, praying, and practicing my sermons. Every Saturday night I would fill that tub and baptize the jokes I was planning to tell the next day.

We loved living in that house. It was a great place to potty train boys, paint a canvas, and watch Jack Bauer save the world. (Heather did the painting; I did the TV watching.) There were mornings when I didn’t want to leave and there were days when I couldn’t wait to get back to it in the evening. It was a safe place to be.

Our six years in Tulsa were difficult. They changed us. They matured us. Things certainly didn’t go the way we hoped they would when we arrived.

In spite of all that, when I think about all that happened in our home, I’m thankful for the time God gave us there.

I’m also thankful that after being on the market for nearly fifteen months, we finally sold the thing!

Wednesday Nights Are Different Now

Another way that launching a new church is different from working in an established church is that Wednesday nights don’t suck anymore. Wednesday nights are the thing about my old life that I miss the least.

A dirty little secret among many church staffers is that Wednesday night is their least favorite night of the week. Why? Because they have to carry on mid-week programming that doesn’t fit into the overall mission strategy of the church and therefore no longer makes sense to them. Yet the church remains committed to Wednesday nights because there is a vocal minority (increasingly vocal and increasingly minor) that would flip out like a demoniac sitting next to Jesus on a bus if changes were to be made.

I know there are exceptions. No need to write a comment about how well your church does Wednesday nights. I know there are some of you out there. My guess is that the reason Wednesday nights are great at your church is because you’ve connected your mid-week programming to your overall mission. Good for you! Rock on! Ignore this post!

But there are many who die a little death every Wednesday around 7 pm. Even more so if the Wednesday night programming is followed up by a marathon elders/board meeting that can easily swallow the opening monologue of your favorite late night comedian.

I’m writing this post on a Wednesday. You know what I’ll be doing tonight? After having dinner with my family, I’m going over to a friends house to play some poker. A few guys from Fulcrum will be there. Hopefully a few others will be there as well. It’s a great opportunity to hang with some friends, meet some new people, and lose my lunch money.

I’m looking forward to it.

Not because I’m a great poker player, but because it’s a kind of party that fits into our overall mission.

We like to call it “going all in” for Jesus.

Related Posts:
The Hardest Thing You Will Ever Do
The Flinch Reflex

Losing It All (Why Jesus Might Give us a Noogie)

In a previous post, I shared my take on the “Parable of the Talents” in Matthew 25:14-30.

I wish that Jesus would have had one of the guys invest and lose all of the talents he’d been given. How would the master respond that?

If I were telling the story, here’s how I think the scene would play out.

The servant who was given two talents says to his master, “I’m sorry. I invested both talents in what I thought was a can’t-miss business venture. The guy turned out to be scheister. He skipped town with all of your money.”

The master grabs the servant and puts him in headlock and then gives him a noogie.

The he says, “You knucklehead! What were you thinking? I know, I know, you weren’t thinking. Well, did you learn anything? Hope so. I just spent a lot of money on your education. Come on inside. Drinks are on me. I guess they have to be since you’re broke.”

The scene ends with the master and the servant discussing how big the servant’s bonus will be after the government bail out.

Maybe there’s a reason Jesus doesn’t include such a scene.

When we invest the good news of the kingdom of God into the world, it always multiplies. There is nothing more profitable than investing in others the same love, grace, and mercy that God has invested in us.

In one sense it’s risky to give grace, show mercy, pursue peace, and work for justice. We will be opposed by some and taken advantage of by others. When we explain to God what we did with what he gave us, we learn that there are no “losses” in the Kingdom economy. What may seem like the biggest risk in the world—loving others the way God has loved us—is actually, because of the goodness of God, no risk at all.

I’m not saying that Jesus won’t give us a noogie. I’m just saying that it won’t hurt very much or for very long.

Believing the Worst About God

Last week I did a teaching on the parable of the talents from Matthew 25:14-30.

On the surface, it’s a fairly simple story. The master leaves large amounts of money with three servants. The master comes back expecting his servants to have made good use of the money and ready to show a profit. He rewards those who do and he punishes the one who doesn’t. The one who fails doesn’t invest and lose the money, he simply does nothing with it. He assumes the worst about his master and his fear paralyzes him, so he buries the money. His master banishes him from his kingdom for his lack of initiative.

I’ve taught on this parable before, and frankly, early last week, I was dreading delivering another boring, guilt-inducing treatise on how we need to get busy showing a profit for the Lord.

But this is why I love parables. They’re open to being interpreted on multiple levels. The deeper I dug, the more gospel I found, until by Friday, I couldn’t wait to share what I had learned.

But first, I had to dig through a few levels of hard soil that have been used to grow so many sermons that it has been depleted of life-giving nutrients.

There’s the straightforward interpretation that we should be good stewards of the money that God entrusts to us. It’s God asking the question: What did you do with all the money I gave you?

Go one level deeper and you get a story about being a good steward of whatever talents or abilities God has given us. This has been such a historically popular interpretation that the English word “talent” is derived from this parable. It’s God asking: What did you do with the talent I gave you? What did you build, teach, organize, or create?

Keep digging and you hit some richer soil that yields a story aimed at ancient Israel. Jesus is critiquing Israel’s poor stewardship of the blessings that God gave them. Blessings they were supposed to share with the rest of the world. It’s God asking Israel: Why have you not been a light to the nations?

Dig a little deeper and you’ll hit what they call in the movies “paydirt.” Here we find a story addressed to those who had started following Jesus as he preached about the Kingdom of God. To be a follower of Jesus is to be entrusted with the message of the Kingdom. It’s a message of love, grace, mercy, forgiveness, hope and justice.

While he is away, Jesus expects this message to be set loose in the world and to spread like yeast through dough or to grow from a small seed into a large tree.

Jesus gives the good news of the kingdom to each of his followers in abundance. If you’re keeping score at home, then yes, not everyone gets the same amount. Some people need more grace than others. Some require more mercy. Some need double the love to flourish. I bet you have some of these people in your family, or maybe in your church.

Is it possible that the “5 talent guy” in the story is actually the biggest sinner who needs the most grace?

Regardless of the amount received, each person is expected to share the message of the Kingdom so that it grows and multiplies.

Imagine having a conversation with God someday and being asked: So, what did you do with all the love I gave you? What do you have to show for all the grace and mercy I showed you?

There will be many who will show God exactly what they did with his grace. There will be story after story about how they shared his love and goodness with others. Those who have been forgiven much will love much. The Kingdom of God will be twice as large, twice as deep, and twice as beautiful because they were good stewards of the good news. Their joy will continue to multiply as they sink deeper and deeper into the goodness of God and the new world he’s creating.

There will be others who will have nothing to show for all the goodness God sent their way. They were never able to trust him. They couldn’t believe that he was as loving as others said he was. To them, he was always a harsh taskmaster who was looking to catch them making a mistake. They serve him, not out of love, but fear.

Because they believed the worst about God, they buried the good news of the kingdom and refused to put’s God love, grace, and forgiveness into circulation.

The great irony of the story is that the end up getting the God they were afraid of disappointing. They are excluded from the party not because they made mistakes or misused what they had been given, but because they refused to do anything with it at all.

They miss out on the joy of the kingdom, the life of the party, because even though they were entrusted with the good news of God, they have no joy or life in them.

What a sad story. What an unnecessary ending.

I wonder if the thing that frustrates God more than anything else is our failure to trust his goodness?

He trusts us with so much. He gives us so much grace; so many opportunities. There is no limit to his generosity. He invites us to partner with him in putting a broken world back together again.

How many of us never fully throw ourselves into the project because we can’t quite shake the idea that maybe God is setting us up for a fall? How different would our response be if we really believed he was setting us up for a life of unspeakable joy and an invitation to the party of a lifetime?

I love how Robert Farrar Capon summarizes the message of this parable. He says, “The only reason judgment comes is that there will always be dummies who refuse to trust a good thing when it’s handed to them on a platter.”

Read Part 2