Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Grandma.

I don't know if I should post this.

_________________________________________________

I didn’t really know what to do with myself, so I just sat there and held her hand and told her to rest easy, and told her that I loved her. I don’t remember if I said that last part out loud, but I thought it, and I’m not sure she would have heard me anyway.
She just lay there, mostly asleep, drifting in and out, waking a little, eyes closed, murmuring words I couldn’t quite understand and feigning laughter under her breath. It was a shadow of the laugh I’d heard from her while I was growing up, but it was the same laugh. I held her hand and watched the people in the hallway whisking past the door.
They were loud, and the people on the soap opera on television were loud too, but Grandma still slept. She breathed heavily, dressed in her light blue sweater, still wearing her slippers and lying on top of her covers. When she’d drift into consciousness, she’d reach for the beads around her neck, and I’d try to help her find them.
On her bulletin board were pictures of all of her family - her children, her grandchildren, her great grandchildren, all surrounding a big picture of her and her husband. I knew that if she woke up and if I asked her about him, she’d tell me it was Adolph, that he was her husband and that he was a good man. Her eyes were failing her, but she’d easily recognize the image. There were a lot of people in the pictures, dozens and dozens of people who would never have been if not for her. They were scattered across the country, now; a few lived around here and would visit her faithfully, daily. But for now, she was alone except for me.
And I would leave, too. I would have to walk away soon enough, because the world was waiting for me. And I wondered how I would leave. Every time I tried to walk away, she would stir, and I would turn around and stare at her again, and I’d convince myself to stay a little while longer.
I sat and tried to talk to her, tried to say something, tried to say the right something. But she couldn’t hear me, and if she could, she couldn’t talk to me. And so I just told her to rest easy.
And so I wondered why I was there, not talking.
But then I realized that this – me being there – wasn’t about talking. For some reason, it was alright that we couldn’t talk. We didn’t need to.

And so I sat, and I listened – to her breathing, to the television, to the people in the hallway - and I held her hand, and I told her to rest easy.
But eventually, I knew that I couldn’t stay any longer, and the world wouldn’t wait. And so I got up and I walked to the door, turning one last time to watch her lie there and breathe, and rest.
And this was when I finally realized that this might be the last time that I would ever see her alive. So I stood, and I listened and I watched. And I turned, and I walked away from my Grandmother.
As I walked down the hall, an old woman in a wheelchair stopped me and asked in a gentle voice, “How are you doing today?”
I told her I was good, and asked her how she was.

She told me she was fine.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Easy

We want it to be easy, but we know it shouldn’t be. It ought to be hard. It ought to be difficult for us. Life is not supposed to be a cakewalk. If it’s easy, they say, you must be doing something wrong. The easy way is never the right way.

That might be why religion is so popular. I don’t mean that to speak of generally “religious” people, but rather the inherent actions and processes and formulas of many religions. Do this and you’ll be rewarded. Follow these steps and then you’ll be happy. Complete this hierarchical eight-step program, put the Keds on your feet, then drink this juice and you’ll have your ticket on my moonship to the Great Comet.

Religion makes sense, I guess. Nothing in life is free and if it is, then you don’t want it. You better work for it.

Maybe that’s why Christian bookstores are popular, successful businesses. Christian books are very popular. Walk into a Christian bookstore someday and take a look at all the stuff on the shelves. They’re filled with stuff for us to do. We look to them for ideas on how to get it right. We figure someone else got it together, got in on the secret, and wrote it down for us to follow, too. We look at ourselves and realize there’s something we’re not doing right, and we try to find the book that will help us get it right. There is some tiered, stratified, organized system of “inspirational” books that encompasses all the categories of life, and one at a time, we’re going to tackle those issues by reading their corresponding books.

First, you need to get right with Jesus somehow. Get the right picture of him. Then you learn how to pray right. Then you figure out how to tithe, which is inevitably tied to getting your finances in order. Veggie Tales for the kids. Get some worship music, too. Learn how to defend your faith. Learn more about Jesus – learn how he wasn’t a republican or a democrat. Got a nagging issue? There’s a book for it. Become a better man, or a better woman. Then, somehow, figure out what it is, specifically, that you’re supposed to do with your life. Then, when all this is done, I guess, learn how to enjoy life, too.

I suppose it’s not surprising that this might overwhelm someone. There’s a whole lotta stuff a person has to have in order to be right with God.

Which isn’t what Jesus preached, I don’t think. He didn’t bring all sorts of rules and laws. He said he didn’t come to abolish but to fulfill the law. I’ve heard a few different takes on that. I’m not sure exactly what he meant, but I think I know what he didn’t mean: That in fulfilling the law he brought a whole bunch of new rules, struggles, and problems with him. He said his yoke was easy and his burden was light. (Mt 11:30)

My question is: When did his yoke get difficult, and his burden heavy? When did following Christ become so hard?

I think I have an idea. I think it became (and becomes) heavy when we put the focus on ourselves. We are saved by faith. But we are not saved by faith in ourselves. We are saved by faith in God… it doesn’t reflect our own power, it reflects God’s. Faith is our focus on God. A.W. Tozer said “Faith is the continual gaze of the soul on the Triune God.” So long as we have our eyes upon him, and not upon ourselves, the burden again becomes light, and the yoke easy.

I don’t mean to devalue a useful and inspirational book industry. I don’t intend to imply that Christian books are all a bunch of waste.

My point is this: We make Christianity too hard. We make it harder than Christ could possibly have meant it to be.

I’ve prayed before, and been consumed by the idea that I wasn’t hooked up right, that I wasn’t dialed in correctly, that my heart wasn’t in the right place to be praying at that moment, and that there was no way God was really paying much attention.

And I’ve thought and thought and unthought and rethought all kinds of things on what God wants me to do with my life. I’ve driven myself mad trying to decipher God’s cryptic messages and his sometimes frustrating silence or vagueness.

And I’ve stood in worship services and sung the words on the screen or in the hymnal or on the paper and decided what I was going to eat for lunch or how I was going to finish my homework or what I was going to watch on TV that night.

We can’t “dial in,” God isn’t cryptic or deceptive, and he built all of us with minds prone to wander. It’s that same wandering that draws us seemingly out of nowhere to ponder – even marvel at – him while we lie awake at night or sit in traffic.

Jesus wants us to look at him. He wants us to look to Him for the example, and to do our best to obey it. He wants us to acknowledge him and demonstrate love.

It isn’t supposed to be hard. Every time we’re hit with the idea that there’s something we have to do, it’s important to take a step back and wonder where that’s coming from. Whenever we think it’s complicated, it’s time to ask what makes it so.

Maybe that urge for life to be easy makes some sense.