old self: dying / new self: rising up

If you happened to read my last post, you may have noticed an emphasis on death.

Well, I’m at it again!

This post contains darkness too, but [spoiler alert!] also finishes with a whole lot of hope.

***

Flash back to Good Friday [April 19th of this year]. I found myself in tears as I reflected on one of the stations of the cross we had for Good Friday worship that evening.

The station was really simple: wheat grass seeds in a bowl, a tasteful piece of art, a handout to read, and some bright green sprouted wheat grass growing. A dear woman named Daniela at our church put it together, and I sensed her wisdom as I began to read the handout.

Reading it, I felt all these connections coming on strong. It was a short reflection from the vantage point of a seed being buried under deep soil. The seed lamented being placed underground, cried out as it was cracked and broken apart; the tiny seed protested its experience.

Then came the hopeful turn: the seed realized its death meant new life for the plant she was becoming. Having grown up helping my dad in our big Michigan garden, seeds are not foreign to me; the analogy is a familiar one, an image my heart fathoms and my experiences recount.

Speaking of Good Friday [an attempt at a segue?], Jesus spoke a number of times about seeds. In his agrarian world, these images would certainly have made sense. In reference to his own death he said this:

The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be. [John 12:23-26a / NIV]

There isn’t much to add here: Jesus insinuates [it’s fairly clear to us now, but was it so clear to them back then?] that he was going to die, but through death he would produce many seeds, and it’s probably best to interpret this as followers.

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Relating to the experience of the seed – and of my Savior – touched a part of my journey that I had not yet reflected on deeply: the past five years.

Ever since August 17th, 2013 I’ve been a proud husband to Kaile; and ever since January 31st, 2015 I’ve been a proud dad to Silas. We were prouder still to welcome in another son, Maelin on September 30th, 2016.

Amidst all this change, I finished an MDiv program, we also sold our first home, moved across the country, Kaile was accepted into and has since started [and now has nearly completed] grad school, moved again, I lost a job, we moved yet another time as I got another job, and Kaile has begun private practice therapy work in the Bay Area. The changes have kept coming and my ability to honestly reflect on them has been limited.

With the shifting seasons and new frontiers, my job has recently been rather challenging. Prioritizing youth ministry can be no easy task for a busy family in a buzzing metropolis. At the same time, I am indeed responsible for shepherding the young people in our church as well as, in some ways, their families. I’m also tasked with leading a missions board. We work to activate people to invest in our various local, domestic, and international missions partners, and we help to manage about $150k/year.

It’s good work, but it’s work that requires real attentiveness to timing. It’s work that I feel called to and passionate for, but it has pushed me in a lot of new ways.

One part of my job right now is helping support some seniors as they graduate not only from high school but also from our church context. Yes, they’ll always be loved and supported, but they’re off to new things. One of them, Laurel, is singing a song with me on June 2nd on the Sunday we’re praying the seniors into their next season in life.

Laurel is talented, thoughtful, and really loves Jesus. Her faith is strong yet tested; she’s been through a lot, especially considering her youthfulness. And she suggested singing this song, Seasons, on a day we’re celebrating the change and transition to something new.

It’s better to just listen to it on YouTube, but the lyrics are also below. Seldom do I find a piece of art that so perfectly connects the narrative of Jesus and the powerful promises of God to the everyday scenes of nature and of human experience. Despite my occasional allergy to megachurchy kinds of vibes, this song, with its authenticity and organic imagery, strikes me quite differently.

____________________________________________________________________________________________
Seasons
[Verse I]
Like the frost on a rose
Winter comes for us all
Oh how nature acquaints us
With the nature of patience
Like a seed in the snow
I’ve been buried to grow
For Your promise is loyal
From seed to sequoia
[Chorus] 
I know
Though the winter is long even richer
The harvest it brings
Though my waiting prolongs even greater
Your promise for me like a seed
I believe that my season will come
[Verse II] 
Lord I think of Your love
Like the low winter sun
And as I gaze I am blinded
In the light of Your brightness
And like a fire to the snow
I’m renewed in Your warmth
Melt the ice of this wild soul
Till the barren is beautiful [Chorus] 
[Bridge]
I can see the promise
I can see the future
You’re the God of seasons
And I’m just in the winter
If all I know of harvest
Is that it’s worth my patience
Then if You’re not done working
God I’m not done waiting
You can see my promise
Even in the winter
Cause You’re the God of greatness
Even in a manger
For all I know of seasons
Is that You take Your time
You could have saved us in a second
Instead You sent a child [Chorus] 
[Verse III] 
Like a seed you were sown 
For the sake of us all 
From Bethlehem’s soil
To Calvary’s sequoia 

____________________________________________________________________________________________

fullsizeoutput_94bIn the context of the song, it is not difficult to make the myriad connections between the text from John 12. From death, at least from Jesus’s perspective, comes new life. That’s meant literally and as metaphor.

Flash back to that moment getting married at Grace Episcopal Church in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and indeed the months leading up to it! It was almost six years ago, but that was the death of my single self. Those moments ushering Silas – then Maelin – into the world, that was the death of our childless selves. Kaile and Ben became “they,” a little family with all the joy and busyness of family life. That moment we sold our house and moved 2400 miles away, that was the death of our comfortable, anchored selves.

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I haven’t had much time to lament those losses, honestly, because the next steps in life have been successively faster and more intense. I don’t have the time I used to, the mental wherewithal I remember having ten years ago. The faces of people I knew and loved in high school, college, even seminary, are getting blurrier; sometimes they allude me entirely. Often I’m bone-tired, aching sore from lifting kids, walking 12,528 steps in a day, emotionally worn out from the cycle of kids-work-church-marriage [and… repeat].

IMG_7713The song, the student’s life experiences, and the story about the seed losing its old self struck me at a deep, emotional level because of the many levels to which I find myself relating. My parents and some of their friends, in their late 60s, have spoken from time to time about how difficult their 30s were.

Maybe it’s winter for me right now; maybe it’ll be even more intense with each successive decade. At this point I just don’t know.

Now let me just pause to say this: I know every human being goes through challenges and struggles; and mine are so common. They are not unique – but they are my own. Comparing my story to someone else may put my experiences into perspective, and it’s indeed helpful. Counting my blessings and practicing gratitude is an enormous aspect of my spiritual growth [you can even ask my spiritual director – he will vouch for that!]. But it’s simply dishonest to pretend things are easy by saying, perennially, “there’s someone else going through something worse!” That will always be the case! There will always be someone doing worse and better than me – and that goes for all of us. Except, maybe, the 2 people out there are really are at the *top* and *bottom* which requires too much mental calculus to determine anyway!

And so, I am trying to acknowledge what parts of me have died. At the same time I’m observing how God, through the power of the Holy Spirit, is bringing new things to life in me.

My married self, though exhausted, is more patient, less self-absorbed, more loving, humbler. My parental self is more compassionate, more generous, sacrificial in new ways, loving in imperfect way yet still more loving than I was before. My working self is is less self-seeking and more open to correction and accountability. My faith has moved from a set of unquestionable beliefs to a journey with a loving and supportive friend – and the emphasis has shifted much toward spiritual practices, less so on the list of unquestionable things to believe.

Just like a seed, God is putting to death so much in me. But as Paul teaches us in Romans 6, I was buried with Christ in baptism, and I am being raised to new life with him.

Like Jesus dying then being raised to new life, God is bringing out new things from the ashes of what perished.

Goodbye, old self. You’re buried. Hello new self! You’re being raised with Christ! The kingdom of heaven is coming, even in the cracks and corners of my little life.

I’m making the lyrics my prayer:

Melt the ice of this wild soul
Till the barren is beautiful

*** 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’d welcome any thoughts or comments or reflections. My email is benvidetich@gmail.com or you can leave a public comment below.

 

 

 

 

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Charlotte’s Web / Death / Hope / Love

A little while back, our family watched a classic 1973 film: Charlotte’s Web.

How rare is it to find a movie that a two year old can enjoy as much as his thirty-something parents?

Anyway, Charlotte’s Web is a fun yet powerful exploration of friendship, change and transience, death, and coming-of-age.

Death is a theme that isn’t much fun to talk about, but it’s a reality. Not one of us can honestly expect to escape death, though we Christians insist there is hope beyond the grave. We call that New Creation, a time when God brings all things fully back into right order, a time when heaven merges with earth and we experience restoration of all that had been lost. Heaven comes down.

But death sits between that eventual hope that lies beyond us.

And death is Silly as it probably sounds to someone older than me, I’m noticing how sore my 31 year old body gets after just a few minutes of an exercise I’m not used to – recently I ran just a few city blocks and ended up sore in quads and shins for no less than a full week!

Soreness, sickness, stiff joints, tiredness; all of these are the waypoints that point to our eventual grave.

ARE YOU DONE READING THIS YET!? I PROMISE IT GETS WORSE BEFORE IT GETS BETTER!!

There was a scene in Charlotte’s Web where Charlotte, who had befriended Wilbur the piglet, finally died. She had always encouraged Wilbur about his concerns that he’d be slaughtered for meat, always advocating for her large pink companion.

In the film, the music swelled as she ducked behind a rafter in the barn. Her final web blew away in a gust of wind, and all trace of her physical self disappeared. Even as she left indelible memories behind, she herself was no longer there. Check out the clip on YouTube here.

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As I tucked Silas into bed, he was clearly in a reflective mood. The movie was clearly a lot for a four year old to imbibe. Laying next to him and staring into his bright blue eyes, he asked a question:

“Where did she go, daddy?” 

At once I loved and hated the question.

And I cried [sorta surprisingly hard!] for some time with Kaile after I prayed with him and tucked him in for the evening.

Silas, in his own little way, was grappling with the concept of death and finality of living beings, arachnid and otherwise. And though I am filled with hope for his God-given future, I am yet distraught as I watch him wrestle with the pain and brokenness of our world.

I didn’t [and still don’t] know the perfect age to speak to him about the reality of death, but I know he’s asking questions about some central aspects of the human experience.

My wife Kaile pointed out to me during my sad post-Silas’s-bedtime moment that part of my sadness may have been stemming from seeing the connection between my own coming-of-age and Silas’s: I lost my grandmother right around the same age as Silas is now.

I’ll never forget the trip to my grandparents home in Northwest Arkansas – the Ozarks. It was 1991. Grandma was sick – that was all my brothers and I knew. But it was altogether evident when she vomited at lunchtime. I don’t know how exactly I dealt with the feelings at the time; I was four. But it hit me at some level that grandma was really sick – and though I didn’t know what eventually happened to sick people, I knew it couldn’t be good.

After my grandma died, I think somehow I changed, though I cannot pin down precisely how. There was an inner melancholy that surfaced deep in my soul, a quiet recognition that things around me were apt to shift without my permission.

I’ll never forget the sleeplessness I experienced one summer evening after a family trip. We had gone to the Carolinas, just my brothers and parents, and visited beautiful beaches and bays and – naturally – Charleston.

Sleep eluded me because I had a sense that I’d never again experience those things again.

When I was halfway through high school, my brother was making the shift to college, and wrote a beautiful poem about his shift away from the intimacy of our family life and into a life of his own. He likened himself to a deer braving new meadows and forests, also hinting at the possibility of eventual return to his former pastures.

After he read it, my mom thought I was laughing, but as I retreated to my room, sobbing into my pillow, she quickly realized she had mistaken my loud cry for some kind of giggle. I ended up having a really meaningful conversation with her later about things of the heart.

So back to my Silas, some nights ago, asking where Charlotte went.

If you click the link to the scene from the movie, you’ll notice that toward the beginning that Wilbur offers to give his life for Charlotte. She had sacrificed for him, and he reciprocated.

“But you’ve saved me, and I would gladly give my life for you.” 

All at once, I am reminded of the love of God made clear through the sacrificial love of Jesus, God’s dearly beloved son. I am also reminded of my love for my own sons. I am reminded of the temporality of life, of my own limitations and foibles as a father.

Instead of despair, though, I’m filled with hope. God is making all things new, all things right and good, eventually reuniting heaven and earth. All the sadness and loss will eventually be swallowed up in Christ’s victory over death. The love God showed us in Christ is too big, too strong, and relentless against any and all opposition. Love wins the day, in and through Jesus.

Amidst the changes and chances of life, may we lean into the eternal changelessness of our loving God.

smashed window / stolen guitar / the cycle of cynicism / the cycle of hope

As is my habit, I’m reflecting on a life event from a hopeful perspective.

I couldn’t find a great title for this post, but it’s at least descriptive. 

The story starts with Kaile leaving early this Thanksgiving morning for a sunrise service – a religious gathering honoring indigenous people and their experience in the Americas. Taking Silas out of his bed early, they drove to San Francisco and, to Silas’s absolute joy and three-year-old delight, boarded a ferry for Alcatraz Island. 

They watched as the dancers and worshipers sang and prayed, honoring this beautiful culture with their presence and curiosity. In their prayers and dances they confronted their painful history of displacement and genocide with a desire for harmony and newness. 

Those traumas live on in the lives of all of us, in the form of our personal narratives, whether it’s a trauma related to our personhood, our faith, our sexuality, or our possessions. The traumas live on in our ethnic narratives. They exist in our family cultures, whether or not we’re willing to take note. 

Sometimes our pain leads us to seek some kind of hope that is larger than us. Other times we try to drown it out with chemicals injected into whatever vein we can find, or melt it away with alcohol. 

I can be reasonably sure someone’s personal tragedy, which led to addictions, led them to smash our Volvo’s rear hatch this morning, searching for something of worth to steal. It’s getting toward the end of the month, so money was probably running low. I surmise the added pain of missing family members or feeling the weight of homelessness surely drove them back to their substances of choice – and that substance has a price tag. 

They did indeed find something: Continue reading “smashed window / stolen guitar / the cycle of cynicism / the cycle of hope”

Saying Goodbye / Searching for Home

On Halloween, I said goodbye to a great friend, Mehmet [rhymes with Emmet]. He and I had grown close, sharing the life experience of parenting young children – in my case, two energetic [read: loud] boys and his situation one spirited girl.

As I said goodbye I realized how difficult goodbyes can be.

What was more difficult was watching my son, Silas, insist on giving Mehmet’s daughter a hug. He simply would not leave the playground until he had hugged Nur. It was as if he knew she was leaving, though I had avoided telling him about it.

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Saying goodbye to Mehmet, I was reminded how I had just said goodbye to Alvaro, who moved with his young family to the East Bay. Because of the distance, he and his family will find a new church community. Our friendship had really grown, and I felt a bittersweet sadness when the news of his departure settled on my consciousness.

I also remembered staring into my friend Marco’s tear-filled eyes not long ago as we parted ways in Grand Rapids three years ago. He and his wife Kari left our little going-away party [we were headed to San Francisco] at our bungalow home in Garfield Park for Continue reading “Saying Goodbye / Searching for Home”

power & powerlessness: the male journey

Father Richard Rohr has popularized the need for male initiation rites, and the following quote tells us why:

If a young man never experiences his own powerlessness, he will eventually abuse his power.

I’ve been dwelling on this concept for some time now, and it has really struck home with me over the past couple years.

In these past couple years, we have experienced a lot of change as a family. We have moved four times in the past two and a half years: Grand Rapids, Michigan to San Francisco; a cross-city move to the Sunset neighborhood; a move to Sunnyvale in Silicon Valley; and finally a move to a first-floor unit in our apartment complex a week ago [yeah it was close by, but trust me, there is still a lot of work involved!].

I lost a job. I struggled. I somehow maintained a calling. I gained a job. pq7sfvavsisn3hrlalgsuw.jpg

We added, in God’s grace, a second son to our family. Yes, he’s cute; he’s also in the middle of tantrum season.

Though it taken some time to realize this, out of the four of us, I think all this change has especially affected me. Continue reading “power & powerlessness: the male journey”

science / God

Something not many people know about me is that I went to a STEM-focused high school. It was called the Math Science and Technology center, and to get in you had to write an essay. Mine wasn’t very good, and my confidence in my math skills was already waning as my pre-high school progressed.

At some point I received a letter – I was on the waitlist! 

This wasn’t awesome news, since my older brother John had already been in the program for a couple years, and he was flourishing in all subjects STEM-related and otherwise. But it wasn’t terrible either, because there was still a chance that I could join my immediate family’s new academic tradition.

Finally, a week before school started, I came home from soccer two-a-days to another letter:  Continue reading “science / God”

A Few Thoughts on Being Male in 2018

Recent cultural trends have led me to ask the following question:

What is the essence of masculinity? 

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That question has led me on a journey, and I felt compelled to reflect further here in my blog. Here’s my brief disclaimer [I’m no expert, just an observer!].*

To the right I thought it would be fun to throw in a quick picture of Kaile and me trying to get our two boys to take a picture. These little guys are intense! [By the way, we never did get them to look at the camera].

Okay, just setting the context! I’ll begin on a personal note.

As I came of age, I remember noticing men functioning distinctly different than women in the culture that first shaped me. There seemed to be different rules and regulations for men than for women. From what I observed then [and actually still observe today], the rules or maybe I could use the term, “cultural script” for men included:

*An emphasis on emotional stoicism: anger, apathy, and ambivalence were each acceptable emotions. Humor, in certain forms, was also okay, as was happiness. Not deep, joyous wonder, but basic happiness was fine-especially when it was sports-related. When one’s team wins, celebrating-and even complete buffoonery okay.  

*Providing financially for one’s family was always underscored, though providing emotionally, spiritually, relationally was not much of a category for male participation in the home life.  Continue reading “A Few Thoughts on Being Male in 2018”

God is Shaking the Hell out of Earth.

Imagining what God will one day do is a compelling thought, is it not? Picturing how God is at work long-term puts our present-tense actions into perspective.

Ultimately, God is ushering in a kingdom that cannot be shaken!

Along the path to this kingdom there are two compelling mountains. In Hebrews 12:18-29, the author contrasts the mountain of fear with the mountain of joy.

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a mountainous overlook deep in the Santa Cruz mountains only severalmiles south of Silicon Valley

The Mountain of Fear:

18 You have not come to a mountain that can be touched and that is burning with fire; to darkness, gloom and storm; 19 to a trumpet blast or to such a voice speaking words that those who heard it begged that no further word be spoken to them, 20 because they could not bear what was commanded: “If even an animal touches the mountain, it must be stoned to death.” 21 The sight was so terrifying that Moses said, “I am trembling with fear.” 

Clearly, there is something terrifying about experiencing God! Moses was terrified at Mount Sinai as he felt God in his bones. He hid his face. According to Proverbs 9:10,

“The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.” 

Just like we fear and respect a burning fire or powerful animal, so do we fear [respect] God. We revere God as the creator of the ENTIRE COSMOS as it continues to expand into Continue reading “God is Shaking the Hell out of Earth.”

Spiritual/Mental [Un]Rest

The Scream, painted in 1893 during a time of intense personal pain, has always haunted me. There is something haunting in the face of the painting’s subject, something sos evocative about the open mouth and hands held over the ears.

The_Scream.jpgSome psychologists conclude that, over his lifetime, Munch experienced bipolar disorder with psychosis. This particular painting was inspired by a visual hallucination in which he perceived the sky turning to blood. As everything crunched together in his imagination, terror struck him: he is quoted as having said,

“I stood still, leaned against the railing, dead tired. Above the blue black fjord and city hung clouds of dripping, rippling blood. My  friends went on and again I stood, frightened with an open wound in my breast. A great scream pierced through nature.”  

Munsch’s experience and his artistic representation of that experience both serve humanity, allowing us to see into the kind of pain others may feel. Though we often hide it well, each of us experiences various kinds of loss and hurt. It may not come in the form of a visual hallucination, but it may more often come in the form of loneliness, isolation, distrust, hopelessness, or lack of self-worth.

We moderns are not the first to experience deep pain and alienation from ourselves, others, and God. Elijah, an ancient prophet, and Jesus, who we Christians understand and believe to be the incarnate Son of God, both experienced deep pain and rejection both from other people and from God.

In I Kings 19, Elijah is running for his life, terrified of an evil queen and complicit king, feeling unguarded and alone. He cries out from his soul,

“I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors [I Kings 19:4b].”** 

That’s heavy stuff. It’s along the lines of suicidal ideation, to be sure, though thankfully he voices his anguish to God [a safe place if there ever was one!]. He’s ready to die, alone, afraid, and exhausted from the depths of his soul to his physical body and psychological center. He is absolutely spent, desiring death, yet courageously-and surprisingly-places this desire in God’s hands.

We’ll take a look at how God responds later.

Right now, let’s zoom forward quite a few centuries and check out a dark moment Jesus has right before his arrest, trial, torture, crucifixion, and burial.

He’s with close friends, praying before, quite literally, all hell would soon break loose and come tempt the world into believing evil is the larger power in the cosmos. In his darkest hour, he wants the support of friends to pray with him:

“My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me [Mt. 26:38].” 

Jesus is pretty low, from my read. Overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death sounds like spiritual and mental breakdown. Was it an acute bout of anxiety-a panic attack? I don’t presume to know, I’m just an observer reading the text and wondering out loud.

Soon, he asks for relief from God:

…he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will [Mt. 26:39].” 

So let’s hop back to Elijah, who had just told God he’s ready to die. How does God respond? The response is immediate, timely, fitting. God gives Elijah a snack and lets him continue his much-needed nap:

…an angel touched him and said, “Get up and eat.” He looked around, and there by his head was some bread baked over hot coals, and a jar of water. He ate and drank and then lay down again [I Kings 19:5b].

Elijah wanted to die, but God wanted him to live.

Instead of death, he gets a nap and a snack.

And that’s not all.

A few chapters later, instead of experiencing the death he once wished for, Elijah is either the only or is one of just two people [Enoch being the other, but it is less clear] who are taken directly to be with God:

As they were walking along and talking together, suddenly a chariot of fire and horses of fire appeared and separated the two of them, and Elijah went up to heaven in a whirlwind [2 Kings 2:11].

Ironically, after begging God for death, Elijah never dies.

Now let’s move back to Jesus, who we left praying in Gethsemane. He gets very different treatment than our Old Testament friend, Elijah. God is silent, allowing his own son to suffer at an overwhelming juncture:

  1. He doesn’t get a nap, but his friends fall asleep on him [twice], failing to pray when Jesus most needed spiritual support.
  2. He doesn’t get a snack, just some gross vinegar wine whilst bleeding out on the cross.
  3. He doesn’t even hear a word from God, at least not one that’s recorded in our text. He is utterly alone for his final hours, dying alone with only a few friends left to honor him at his final hour.

God does not take the cup from Jesus, spare him this crushing, torturous aspect of his earthly ministry, and we don’t even know if there was any consolation offered to him from anyone, save the sympathy of Pilate and his wife, both Romans. And Pilate’s sympathy certainly didn’t stop him from enabling the religious leaders in their mission to kill this man claiming to represent a kingdom not of this world.

But Jesus is raised from the dead. 

God was at work despite the total despair Jesus felt at the end of his life.

There is so much to learn here, but here are some things that stick out:

  1. Like both Elijah and Jesus, our laments [and yes, any emotion including anger, joy, jealousy, yeah-anything] is always safe with God, and better expressed and externalized than repressed and hidden.
  2. God doesn’t always answer in the way we desire, but we do know our advocate before God, Jesus, has experienced unanswered prayer-and the pain native to humanity. Jesus identifies with our pain but also knows the supreme joy that comes with being “the firstborn over all creation” [Colossians 1:15]. He has seen torture, loss of friends, and an excruciating death-but also the triumph of new life and victory over evil.

The resounding joy Jesus experienced as the firstborn over all creation means he knows what it’s like to move through human life, death and through death into new, full, whole and transformed life.

And, as sisters and brothers of Jesus, we get to follow him on this life-giving and hope-filled path.

***

 

 

 

 

*Heller RH: Edvard Munch: The Scream. New York, Viking Press, 1972, p. 109)

**All biblical quotes are from the New International Version.

Let Go? [Never!]

Silas, our 3 year old, learned to ride a bike yesterday.

He asked a little girl, Autumn, if he could borrow her pink Frog bike. As she consented, I thought about how to make sure to preserve the integrity of the bike itself since it was clearly on the more expensive end of kids’ bikes.

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I was shocked at what happened next.

As I released the handlebars and relaxed my support on his back and arm, reality unfolded at a pace my imagination could not match. He was balanced and stable, moving faster than I could keep up with at walking speed.

I let go.

Silas was on his own, and he proceeded to ride all over the playground.

After recovering from the shock, my first instinct was to tell Kaile, which I immediately did as soon as I got home [I didn’t cheat and send a text message!]. She was, of course, delighted, so now we are left to brace ourselves for the task of keeping up with him.

Today, in the wake of this moment, I cannot help but continue to reflect on his newfound two-wheeled freedom.

Looking back a couple years, was meaningful when our boys first learned to walk; it was unadulterated joy to watch them first craft words [both boys] and sentences [still waiting on Maelin for that!]; it is presently an incredible gift to observe them interact positively [ie *not* hitting or pushing one another for any length of time].

But there was something so poignant about first riding a bike. It’s an either-or kind of skill. Unlike speaking, reasoning, and walking, riding a bike without training wheels is, unlike so many things in this world, rather binary. You’re doing it-or, well, not.

Suddenly, I was transported to a sloping driveway in Big Rapids, Michigan, in the very early ’90s. Probably not wearing a helmet, I remember piloting my $5 purple banana-seat down the driveway after my dad let go.

They let go.

I let go.

There really is something profound about this process of letting go.

Over a lifetime, each one of us either chooses to or is forced to let go of identities, occupations, relationships, habits. Parents have the very visceral experience of letting go as their children move to new levels of independence.

Along these lines, it seems letting go of one’s child is a process that comes with cultural expectations. As an American with many generations going back in time on both sides, my culture tells me I need to let go, to promote autonomy, to encourage my kids to find their voice and engage their world. While I have some nuance that I place on this strong push for independence, I generally agree.

And yet, for my family and community of faith, we have a special narrative framework in which all of this letting go / autonomy-seeking is couched. The story of God’s creation, preservation, and ultimate restoration of the world and the cosmos through Jesus is my larger framework, and any letting go I do fits into this bigger picture.

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As I reflect on the present-tense grace and long-term hope that my faith offers, my mind also wanders to that time later in life when letting go hurts. Frankly, I assume my kids are going to reject my voice in their lives, whether gently or overtly. In the maturation process, I can’t imagine even most of childhood, latency, and adolescence to be free of challenges and heartache. I’m open to being surprised, but I brace myself as I hear so many stories from other parents.

I think of a friend who has a child in the Army. She worries about him, as one might expect, and prays for his well-being, certainly his physical preservation, even as she also prays for his spiritual, emotional, and relational journeys.

She let go.

I [am/will] let[ing] go.

And when my son rides off on his bike on his own, it’s a picture of my limitations as a parent. I felt tears come to my eyes as I walked home with Silas on his bike and Maelin [somewhat] content in the stroller, imagining our toddler at other milestones in his childhood and later years.

Back to the narrative framework of Christian faith/hope.

So many times in Jewish/Christian Scripture we hear the biblical authors referring to God as a Father. Some texts also give a deep sense of maternal qualities as well, and we conclude how something about God’s character is like that of a parent.

But here’s the problem.

Not all human parents are good. And sadly, some die before having the chance to parent, or they leave, or they’re separated as refugees, or they’re conscripted into a war, or…

Anyway, I’d contend that every parent [myself especially included] inculcates their child with habits and predispositions that are harmful. We could call it the filial passing-on of the sinful nature. Yes, we of course pass on tons of good qualities as well; but it’s a mixed bag, isn’t it? We are beautiful, good beings, created in God’s perfect image, yet we, to varying levels, are simultaneously corrupted at our core by sin.

It sounds old-school sometimes to say it this way, but the term *sin* can be quite helpful. In short, sin separates us from God and each other. Conversely, because of God’s transforming grace made apparent in Jesus, we are reunited with God-and with one another as well. As we experience the massive forgiveness God extends to us, we cannot help but keep one another’s sins in perspective.

Remembering God’s grace toward us, we are left with no other option than to extend it to others. 

But God doesn’t just forgive; God also restores. God gives 2nd and 5th and 194th chances, “grace upon grace” as John 1:16 phrases it. The grace we receive helps us pause, take note, then [eventually] search for opportunities to extend that same grace to others.

Back to letting go.

I think one of the most meaningful steps in the journey of faith is when a child’s faith becomes their own. The training wheels-mom and dad and church friends-eventually come off as we launch into an educational journey, military service, or a regular job, and at some point, so many of us discover there was something real and life-giving and salvific happening throughout our entire life, and we didn’t even know it.

On that same *letting go* concept, I’m struck with this closing thought:

Parents let go. Then their children, who often become parents must also let go; and the pattern continues. But God, from what is revealed in written Scripture, is and always will be a good and loving and patient parent. And he even loves us enough to always correct and restore and redeem our wandering selves. Instead of bracing for a future moment of letting go, we can be sure that in God our future is secure and safe, that through Christ our Lord is making all things new through the power of his Spirit.

Unlike Kaile and me and all human parents,

God doesn’t ever become disinterested;

God doesn’t become impatient with us; 

God doesn’t get disappointed in us;

God doesn’t leave us;

God doesn’t let go. 

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