Wills

I have two friends named Will. Other than names, they have little in common. 

I met the first Will when I was very young, and he’s been my companion ever since. He’s lots of fun to be around, sometimes. He points at stuff and says, “go for it,” even when to do so would be foolish or dangerous. Nothing holds this Will back. He lives in, and sees only, the present moment. He’s fun, but exhausting. We’ve had many wonderful times together, but we’ve also gotten into more trouble than I’d like to admit. 

The other Will came into my life later. He was much quieter than the other Will, but there’s a strange appeal to his calm. He never demands my attention, and he’s content to wait for when, or if, I turn in his direction. He suggests crazy things, too, but unlike the other Will this one’s suggestions are never about getting, only giving. When I go along, I never regret it, nor get in trouble. Quite the opposite. He has the uncanny ability to lead me to places I don’t see. At first, I’m usually reluctant to follow and the other Will always stands off to the side waving his hands trying to get my attention, but looking back, I can see I’m better for it whenever I follow this Will.

There are those who say I should choose between the two, but I’m not sure I’m capable of that. Life would be less confusing, but I fear both are here to stay. Instead, I’m going to try and listen to them both, equally. That, I’m embarrassed to say, would be an improvement.

“Being a Christian is less about cautiously avoiding sin than about courageously and actively doing God’s will.” - Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Mice (and other unpleasant things)

I don’t like mice. I know, that’s not very manly of me, but the list is far longer than that! Spending many years in old New England homes where mice are as predictable as black flies, I knew I needed to learn how to deal with seeing mice, dead or alive. For some reason, I thought it would help if I squinted my eyes when bending down to sweep a dead mouse into a dustpan.  Limiting my vision and not looking too closely at the corpse, I thought, made it possible to get close.

I was reminded of this strategy when I was doing my Lenten work. In a season that calls us to draw close to our character defects - those things that scare us or get in the way of our relationship with God and one another - it’s tempting to squint our eyes and not look too close.  Too often, we feel a partial view is preferable to one with eyes wide open.

·      Admitting overt lies is easier than looking close enough to see the ways we bend the truth to make us look better or others feel more comfortable. 

·      Going to church is easier than worshiping God is spirit and truth.

·      Opening our eyes to our visible unfaithfulness is easier than admitting the lust within our hearts.

·      Pledging allegiance to the flag is easier than looking at all the ways our democracy falls short.

·      Sending a check is easier than showing up.

·      Reading (or writing) a devotional is easier than living out one’s faith on a daily basis.

The ways to squint one’s eyes, spiritually, are many. When it comes to matters of the heart, it seems we’re well-practiced at squinting our eyes. Perhaps it’s time to learn how to open our eyes wide and look directly at things that scare us.

Red Shirts

It was just a red shirt. Actually, there were many red shirts, but to see them being worn by famous golfers did more to lift my spirits than I can adequately express. I can’t imagine what they must have meant to the one for whom they were being worn.

For those of you unfamiliar with the golf world, there’s this guy named Tiger Woods and he’s one of the greatest golfers of all time. On Sundays, which is the final round of all tournaments, Tiger always wore a red shirt. In support of Tiger, who was in a terrible car accident last week, many golfers wore red shirts on Sunday. It was a simple gesture of support from fellow competitors, but it spoke volumes to the golf world and anyone else with ears to hear.

For many years now, we have been inundated with the many things that divide us. The effects have been deep and far-reaching. Whether it’s because of our skin color, religious views, sexual orientation, political leanings, or opinions on any issue you can think of, it seems there’s more than enough pluribus to go around, but no unum. 

That changed, if only for a moment, Sunday afternoon. Looking at the golfers in red shirts made me feel as if the flow of the stream had finally changed. It may or may not last, but it was a bit of light during a season that’s seemed particularly dark. 

Perhaps we should all go out and buy a red shirt. Better yet, maybe we should spend the season of Lent renewing our love for one another, looking for what unites us rather than divides us. Who knows, we might even begin to see that we’re all beloved children of God. Everyone. No exceptions.

That would be a welcomed change.