A Mysterious Manger
In reflecting back on 2009, I am left with one word that has played a more significant role in my life than any other this year: mystery. Although the word applies to many facets of my life recently, it has been particularly true of my interpretation of God and our relationship.
Although I’ve spent the last several years asking questions about my birth and the “why”s that go with that, this is the first year that I can honestly say that I’ve had that conversation directly with God. And, it is the first time that I’ve presented some of that questioning in such an open, public manner. I’m glad I’ve engaged in these areas; yet, I can tell you that none of my questions have been answered — or at least answered in a manner that I am currently satisfied with.
That’s the thing about God. His ways are extremely mysterious to me.
But, that’s not all bad. The thing I’ve come to realize about God is that I am engaged in a relationship with him – times of ups and downs, times that require work, times of contentment and times of extreme frustration. As is true with a solid relationship, though, I’m realizing it can bear these fluctuations in emotions.
I don’t need God to answer all my questions, just to be confident that he hears them and to know that there are times that he weeps alongside me.
Christmas brings us a fascinatingly mysterious story. Yet, it’s a story that I feel we’ve tried our best to take the mystery out of. Images from our nativity sets show a clean manger lined with fresh straw, Mary and Joseph with smiles on their faces and Jesus sleeping quietly.
Silent Night? Holy Night? I’m wondering if, in that moment, Mary and Joseph would have named the night as such.
Imagine the tumultuous travel that would be inherent for a woman nearing birth while riding on a donkey. The frustration of being denied access to an inn – on a night Mary would give birth, nonetheless. And, I can only imagine that Mary’s mouth was not only shouting blessings to heaven as she lay there birthing a child in a damp, stinky manger that had been used to house animals.
There are so many pieces to this story that do not make sense – so much so that you can only think that the facts are true, because no one would make up a story this crazy to introduce the Son of God!
Think about these few basic pieces of the narrative that make up the Christmas story:
– A virgin giving birth
– No room at the Inn in Joseph’s hometown of Bethlehem, leaving the birth of Jesus to be held in an empty stable
– Angels appearing to sheperds, telling them, “Do not be afraid”
– A new star in the sky lighting the way for the Wise Men to find Jesus
– Herod demanding that all males be killed at the time of Jesus’ birth
This is crazy, mysterious stuff! There’s no way around it. As much as you sing soft, quiet hymns, dim the lights and light candles in the room for a Christmas Eve service, I simply can’t get away from the absolute insanity of this story.
As a friend recently told me, though, God’s insanity is far better than man’s knowledge.
No, God does not make sense to me – but I’m not sure he was meant to. For centuries he has made himself known to humans in a way that few comprehend. So, why should I expect that to change for me?
God seems crazy. His ways appear insane. And, his methods are often mysterious.
That’s fine with me, though. To be honest, I’m not sure I’d like some of the answers that would be offered to in response to my questions anyway!
Reminder from Sanjaya
Yes, that’s right — I was reminded of something very important by our favorite local American Idol contestant, Sanjaya. Seems like miracles are everywhere this time of year!
One way or another, last week I found myself attending Black Nativity at Intiman for the second time in a matter of days. It truly is a spectacular show and I appreciated the opportunity to see it again. This time, though, I took away a very different message than I did days earlier — something that I explored in this earlier post.
Somehow I missed his introduction during the Saturday evening performance, but on Wednesday night I picked it up clearly. The young man about to sing the old hymn His Eye is on the Sparrow was the former American Idol. Although I have never watched a season of American Idol, I knew enough to recognize Sanjaya’s name. I knew him as the skinny kid from the Puget Sound that inexplicably kept sticking around week after week following the audience voting. This was confirmed for me as my friend that I attended the performance with giggled through the beginning of the song!
Sanjaya, however, reminded me of one of the most important lessons of my life — that God is near and that he has been with me every step of the way. I spend a fair amount of time here wrestling with issues around my creation and my disability, but just as pertinent are the ways in which I see God’s active hand as I look back on my 32 years of life thus far. So pertinent are these lyrics from the song —
When songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies,
I draw the closer to Him, from care He sets me free;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
In hearing Sanjaya sing these words, key points of my life (and the questions that came with them) flashed through my mind:
– Upon my birth, my parents were told that I would never walk, never feed myself and would always be reliant on help from others to do daily tasks. But, as history has proven, that was not to be.
– Nearing age 16, I wanted to drive like every other red-blooded, American young man. After much research, we found a man in California that adapted cars with a steering wheel on the floorboard of the car. In addition, the local school district and the state government paid for the expensive adaptions to the car. Having a car has offered me independence like none other in the years since.
– Moving to college was full of unknowns: leaving home, needing help from a roommate I’d never met and moving to a big city. I’m still not sure how it all happened, but I graduated from SPU two years later and was on my way to a marketing career.
– Traveling for work posed a significant challenge. Although I had developed a basic system for how to function away from home, the device I used to dress myself was based on weak suction cups that required a flat wall surface to work properly. Again, the state Department of Vocational Rehabilitation stepped in and connected me with a man that would help develop the special device I use today.
These are just a few of the ways that I’ve seen God appear in situations that I was confounded by. And, he still often meets me in those moments today — usually at the moment that I give up trying to figure it all out!
It was nice to pause and to be reminded of this truth last week. It took Sanjaya to break through with that reminder and I’m so glad I heard it the second time around!
Subversive Baby
This weekend I’ve enjoyed my time with my dad and brother, in town to go to the Seahawks’ game today. Although that was the main reason for the two of them making their way to Seattle, we also attended Black Nativity at Intiman Theater. My dad is a big fan of gospel music and it was a fun holiday festivity.
Although there were many facets of the performance that I enjoyed, the key message that resonated with me was the unique way in which God chose to insert himself into humanity. You know the story: a virgin mother, a census to force a return to Bethlehem, the manger, etc. But, what was presented was the shunning and rejection that Joseph and Mary experienced in looking for a place to stay overnight — in Joesph’s hometown nonetheless. According to Christian belief, it was in a manger that the King was born. A king born in a manger? Now, that’s subversive! In one of the most critical moments in history, God chose to upend logic and to upset the way of royalty.
Another story presented later in the performance was a song about the woman who came to Jesus with her alabaster box in the New Testament. Simon was having a gathering of Pharisees (men of means) at his home to meet with Jesus. These were people of influence and prestige, so it was with displeasure that they responded to the entrance of a woman from the city (a woman with a sinful past) who sacrificed everything she had in order to wash Jesus’ feet with her tears and to anoint them with expensive perfume from her alabaster box. The Pharisees (the religious leaders of the time) pushed back on Jesus, noting that this disreputable woman had interrupted the gathering of people who lived holy lives. But, Jesus noted that she was forgiven and that he did not see her as an annoyance in the least. She subverted the concept of the party in a way that Jesus must have loved!
You see, God has never done anything in a logical way. He’s always been — and always will be — subversive. I think we (especially Americans) have lost sight of the true message of the Gospel. The false vision that we have of Jesus being a white baby is just the beginning of our folly! We want an organized, safe life where God does things our way. We seek wealth and power, while God entered into our world in the most humble way possible. And, there are churches out there that tell parishioners that God will bless them only if they give generously to the church.
This brings to mind this famous quote from Annie Dillard —
“On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of the conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake some day and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.”
God should scare the hell out of us! As a friend of mine says, “God is insane. It’s just that his insanity is more sane than man’s knowledge.” But, we don’t want him to be so scary and mysterious. So, we domesticate him and put him in box where we can place him on a shelf where we can retrieve him when we most desperately need him.
Jesus was born a subversive baby and loved to subvert the religious leaders in the New Testament — and I’ll bet that he continues to work in ways that upset us and topple our world.
Five Stages of Disability Awareness
by guest blogger Dan Vander Plaats
While this post pertains specifically to people with disabilities and how the church community interacts with them, I think it can be generally applied to all groups of ‘marginalized’ peoples. I think you know who I mean: people who, by virtue of background, status, race, ethnicity, orientation, or in some other way are relegated to a lesser status in the church community. That is, as a church community, we tend to naturally elevate those who are attractive, put-together, self-sufficient, et cetera.
A church community that has awakened to this injustice of disparity will eventually go through the following stages, all of which I will elaborate upon in future posts.
* Stage 1 – IGNORANCE: The stable church sees disability as a reflection only of the Fall.
* Stage 2 – PITY: People with disabilities are in a sorry state because of the Fall, perhaps even because of some sin committed by them or their family.
* Stage 3 – MERCY: People with disabilities are loved by God and we need to tend to their needs out of Christian compassion.
* Stage 4 – FRIENDSHIP: People with disabilities are actually whole people hiding underneath their disability, and God has used them to be a blessing to me.
* Stage 5 – CO-LABORERS: People with disabilities exist not only to be objects of mercy, pity, or compassion, but are actually called to work alongside me in service to the Kingdom. I am supposed to be equipping and encouraging them into every good work, just like I do for other believers.
What stage are you at? In John 9:1-2, the disciples were, at best, at stage 3 – though more likely at stage 2. The friends in Mark 2 were at stage 4. People who participate in their local Friendship Club, or who work here at Elim, are usually somewhere around stage 3 and 4 on the continuum.
What stage are you at? What stage do you think you should be at – where does God want you to be?
Dan is the Director of Advancement at Elim Christian Services, a client of mine. Visit his blog, Gospel of Weakness, for his continued posts in this series and for further insights on theology and how our Christian faith plays into matters involving disability.
I am privileged to work alongside with Dan and his team to raise funds for the tremendous work that Elim does with children and adults with disabilities. At Elim, they seek to move beyond the notions that the world continues to hold about persons with disabilities. Life at Elim stands in contrast to the world’s view. Through its four major program areas on its main campus and in 15 Discovery locations, over 300 servants work each day to bring 800 persons with disabilities beyond their potential to become the living testimonies God created them to be.
I commit
The weather has dramatically changed in Seattle these past few days, with clouds, rain, wind and thunderstorms rolling through the area. I’m sad to see the sun and warmer weather go, but I’m excited for a new season. It’s football season! A season of limited daylight and turbulent weather. A slower season for me personally, without a grad school class until Spring quarter. A time for me to read, take a cooking class, commune with friends and to wrestle with God.
This past month and a half has been a busy and stressful time for me. And, you’ve likely noticed that my posts have been sparse. There are certainly seasons in life and this is one that I’m glad to be done with.
This changing season opens up new opportunities and challenges for me. Here are a couple I want you to know about so that we can continue on this journey together:
1. I commit to write at least one blog post per week. Hopefully it will be more frequent than that, but there will be one per week at a minimum. This is a challenge that my friend and colleague, Jeff Brooks, gave me a several days ago as we discussed the discipline of writing and story-telling — and I think it’s a wise step for me to take.
I’m really enjoying writing this blog and admittedly, through conversations with you all, I’m starting to have dreams and thoughts about how my story might have a bigger impact on others. Whether a vocation or not, I’m seeing how God works through my words as I share my story. Writing more and telling my story is an intimidating prospect for sure; but creating one post per week is a way for me to “steer my elephant” by taking small, actionable steps every week. At the end of one year I’ll have written 52 posts — surely enough words and thoughts to use as a skeleton to a memoir or some form of a book.
2. Additionally, I commit to God to wrestle with Him more. If there is one thing that is exceptionally clear to me these past few months it is that I’ve failed to fully engage in the emotions and frustrations that apprehend me daily as a man born without arms. Wes Stafford, the President & CEO of Compassion International, spoke at the Willow Creek Leadership Conference last month and his topic was leading through the pain of your past. He told a very disturbing and moving story of his childhood as a missionary kid in Africa and how that exceptional pain has compelled him to commit his life to helping children. “No one cares what you know until they know why you care,” he said. Well, the reason I care about the issues of disability (that I’ve begun to explore here) is that God created me with a body that makes my life difficult at times. And, in that alone, there are many questions.
Guaranteed, some of that wrestling with God will spill out into this blog. There are areas of my life that are very sensitive and those will remain between Him and I for now. But, I want this space to serve as a realistic and honest place. I could easily create an entire blog that radiated with hope and that literally glowed with optimism. People love that stuff and, honestly, it’s a simple message that the church eats up! But, that’s not my life — and I doubt it’s your reality, either. Because of that, I must wrestle with God as Jacob did. Welcome to ringside!
Finally, Sunday evening will be my deadline for the weekly post. So check back every Monday and expect to see something new. I hope you’ll continue to interact with what I explore here, as that’s the part I enjoy the most. And, feel free to wrestle through life’s issues and struggles with me.
The season is changing to Fall — and that’s where simple beliefs die and blow away in preparation for a future season of growth and possibility. Let the rains come and the winds blow.
What Happened?
Now, there’s a question I get often. Hardly ever from adults, though. It’s usually the kids that ask that question, often followed by a look of disapproval from a parent or another adult. Kids just have this way of addressing the obvious and wanting to know more — it’s what we call curiosity. It’s also called discussing the elephant in the room!
As we grow older, I think many of us adults lose the curiosity of our youth. Lost to kindness, to political correctness, to internal processing. Or, even worse, lost to a sense of not noticing the other. We rush past one another barely having the time to hear someone’s response to, “How are you?” It’s like we never cared to know in the first place. I’m as guilty as anyone in this area.
Lately, though, this word keeps coming to mind. Curiosity. It’s a recurring theme for me. We hear it in common phrases like “curiosity killed the cat” or “I was just curios.” As a child, the stories of Curious George were very important to me (Curious George Goes to the Hospital was one of my favorites — far too many hospital visits growing up!). Think about it; a monkey (of all things!) goes around getting himself in trouble because of his curiosity and sense of adventure. Where has that curiosity and risk gone in us?
Granted, some of you folks are very curious people and I applaud you for that. We all know the type — you spend an evening with them and you feel like they never said a word about themselves because they were so busy asking about your life and your passions. These people light up my days when I’m around them. Thank you to those who excel at being curious! But, there are too few of these people out there.
Instead, we pass one another on the sidewalk and look the other way. We work side by side for years, but I rarely engage enough to know your story or even your spouse’s name. We can chat about sports and can shoot the breeze for hours, but I find it difficult to ask you about issues of your race and you reciprocate in regards to my disability. We ride the elevator with each other often, but the most you can do is stare or make awkward comments about how I hold my keys on my shoulder (“You need hooks on you,” for example.)
Why is this so hard? Sometimes I wish we all had kids with us everywhere we went. At least that way we’d be forced to address the obvious and engage in the apparent. And, we’d ask questions.
On a recent trip to California I traveled to Brea to visit a former co-worker and his family. After warming up to me, his four year-old son started asking rapid-fire questions, most about my lack of arms. His parents were gracious, but also allowed him to address what was right in front of him (kudos to them!).
Over the course of a few hours he’d pretty much exhausted his list of questions for me. We’d talked about how I did most everything and he seemed satisfied. But, as we got out of the van at the park near the end of our time together, he looked at me earnestly and asked, “So, God made you this way?” I responded with a laugh and said, “I guess so.” With that affirmation, he became bolder. “God made you that way!,” he declared. “Yep — and Him and I still have discussions about that every so often,” I answered with a chuckle.
You’ve got to love the curiosity! How many of you have I not told this part of my story? And, how many of you were too afraid to ask? Admittedly, I’ve never been an open book on this topic. But, it’s the obvious question, right?
Well, here’s the short version of the story. I was born without arms; no dramatic shark attack stories here. I was simply born like this. God made me this way. After having my brother three years earlier and delivering a fairly healthy boy, my mother gave birth to me on March 10, 1977. After announcing that she’d delivered an otherwise healthy baby boy, the doctor added that there was just one problem — that my parent’s newest child didn’t have any arms. After years of doctors’ research and a legal battle over a morning sickness pill my mother took during her pregnancy with me, there are still no clear answers.
Admit it, some of you have always wanted to know!
Back to my earlier point — be curious! Engage with those around you. Ask the checker at the grocery store how their day has been and really listen to the answer. Introduce yourself to strangers, maybe even to the homeless guy on the street corner. Know what brought your co-workers to this point in their career. Ask for a family story to be told (or even re-told). Know her favorite flower so you can brighten her day. All of us can do this.
Heck, be curious about me if you have nothing else to consider. What do you want to know? What questions have you been afraid to ask? Believe me, I’ve been asked most everything at this point in my life. Bring it on! I want to engage, so ask away.
No wonder I loved Curious George! Matter of fact, I still do.
Waiting for God
Sort of a weekend of paradox for me so far.
Without getting into a ton of detail, the past 48 hours have been full of both refreshing time alone and being surrounded by large groups of folks I hardly know. It’s involved great conversation and meaningful touch and, yet, a longing for something more. And, lots of time in the presence of friends and on the phone with family, but too much time spent in my head contemplating.
What strikes me today is my need for God to speak. Much like Jacob wrestling in the Bible, I need an encounter with God — matter of fact I’m demanding it. The challenge is that God seems silent to me more often than I enjoy. It reminds me of the passage from C.S. Lewis in A Grief Observed:
Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be — or so it feels — welcomed with open arms. But go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be an empty house. Was it ever inhabited? It seemed so once. And that seeming was as strong as this. What can this mean? Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?
I have no answers for Mr. Lewis. He has captured my feelings exactly.
Ironically, on a person-to-person level, my interactions this weekend have been great. I’ve had great conversations with my parents over the phone, I’ve been around friends quite a bit this weekend and I’ve even had quality interactions with strangers (special thanks to the guy at the grocery store for recommending semi-sweet over milk chocolate chips for cookies!). And, I’ve received many hugs, pats on the back, and a meaningful embrace within these past two days — moments that mean a ton to me. (Touch is very important to me, as a man with a disability. You may never know how much a simple hug or touch means to someone who’s physical appearance sets them apart from the rest of society.)
But, the events of the weekend have also been a little confounding. And, that’s where I find myself reaching out to God — needing to know that He’s still there. Right now, there’s silence.
For this afternoon that’s okay. Paraphrased from a favorite song of mine —
I am hanging on every word you say. But, even if you don’t want to speak tonight, that’s alright with me. Because I want nothing more than to sit outside Heaven’s door and listen to you breathing. It’s where I want to be.
Sighs & Hallelujahs 