On the day our son was born, somebody shot video of me standing outside the operating room, waiting to go in and be with Paula.  I was nervous and excited and sort of bouncy.  There was a joy in the waiting.

            Almost two decades later, I got a call early on a Monday morning with the news that my mother had experienced a devastating stroke.  I flew home and spent the next week beside her bed in ICU, watching for the final breath.  There was agony in the waiting.

            Sometimes, you wait for something to be born and sometimes you wait for something to die. And sometimes, you’re in-between and you’re not even sure what you’re waiting for.  You’re just in the waiting.

            For the past several months, we have been in a season of transition unlike anything in our lives.  Something has ended—the steady rhythm of vocational ministry that has marked our lives for three decades. At some point, something will begin, perhaps a new ministry.  But right now…well, we’re just waiting.

This waiting has been unlike the others.  There is mystery, not knowing where the journey is headed.  There is often been a baffling silence from God, even while we strain to hear His voice.  There is confusion, as we wrestle to press meaning into this season.  There is a dulling of emotions, a vacancy sign in the window of the Passion Inn.  There is a deep weariness that no afternoon nap can relieve.

Our souls are unsettled.  Like eggs cracked and in the pan, but not yet cooked.  Like a compelling story that comes to the end of a page with the frustrating phrase, “to be continued…” Like a night-time journey down a rural road with no street signs. Unsettled.

Here’s the even more frustrating thing.  I know God is in this.  That’s sort of part of the deal for Christ-followers.  I affirm His omniscient providence and that He knows the end from the beginning.  I agree that my life is a small part of His divine purposes.  I believe that He has marked out all my days before one of them came to be, and that His purposes includes this season of waiting.  But in the waiting, those truths can have steel-cold edges.

I know the Scriptures urge me to “wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord.” (Ps.27:14) I can quote the promise in my sleep: “they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” (Is.40:31)  But in the waiting, when my heart is terrified and just crawling is a dream, even precious promises can wear thin.

What’s left? What is there solid to which I can lash my soul when nothing is familiar, nothing makes sense, and everything is odd?

Just this: my Father is very fond of me. 

He has lavished the riches of His grace on me (Eph. 1:7-8), has adopted me (Rom.8:15-17) and calls me His very own child. (1 John 3:1).  My Father loves me the same way he loves His Son, Jesus, who also walked through his own season of waiting, sensing God’s abandonment and pleading for another way to accomplish divine purposes than the excruciating pain of the cross. This Jesus, “the author and perfecter of faith, for the joy that was set before Him, endured (waited through) the cross, despising its shame and sat down at the right hand of the Father.” (Heb.12:2) 

For His Father and by His Father, Jesus made it through.

So can I.  So can you. 

Because no matter how long we have to wait to see what’s next, no matter how confusing or unsettled the future seems, our Father’s gracious love is our one most certain thing. 

Right now, in this moment. In the waiting.

            So, I’m in my hometown the other night to celebrate my dad’s 77^th birthday.  After dinner, we decided to take in a movie.  Well, it’s Halloween weekend, so the choices were fairly limited.  One caught both our eye—The Secrets of Jonathan Sperry.  It starred old guy actors like Gavin Macleod and Robert Guillaume, and had young kids, so it looked like the sort of independent character-driven movie that I’m always drawn towards.

            I knew I was in trouble as soon as the opening credits rolled and I saw Paul Crouch, Jr. listed as the producer.  Paul Crouch is the namesake of the founder of the Trinity Broadcasting Network, which has produced/financed some of the truly awful movies of all time. 

            Here’s the problem: this was a “Christian” movie. 

Now I know that seems like a weird thing for a Christ-follower to say.  We’re supposed to applaud wildly and buy blocks of tickets on opening weekend when faith-friendly, family-safe entertainment shows at the multiplex next to the latest offerings from the godless, liberal Hollywood crowd.  It’s one of our primary cultural battlefields.

But here’s the thing: there’s a huge difference between a “Christian” movie and a movie as story-telling made by Christians from a gospel-formed imagination.   People immersed in our secular world expect, parody and dismiss the first as a transparent attempt to proselytize.  Jonathan Sperry is one of those, and plays into the worst of the stereotypes that often keep Christians out of the larger cultural dialogue.

What are the problems?  Problem #1: the setting. Picture a small town in the early 1970’s where freshly-scrubbed, short-haired young boys go fishing in the river or cut yards in the mornings,  stop by the diner for a chocolate sundaes in the afternoons while nervously getting up the courage to talk to the pretty girl, and face their biggest struggles dealing with a bully who steals time at the pinball machine.  It’s a gauzy, romanticized view of the world that Christians often long for and seem to want to recreate. But that world didn’t exist, even in the early 1970’s. It contributes to the idea that Christians don’t deal well with reality and have nothing much to say to the world as it is.

            Problem #2: the dialogue. Everyday conversations have a sort of “gee whiz, Wally” quality, like Opie talking with Aunt Bea over chocolate milk.  Too safe, too controlled, too predictable.  In addition, it is talk loaded with “insider” assumptions of Sunday School and church folk.   But even worse is the sense that conversations only happen as a pretense to get to the next moral lesson or “witness about Jesus” moment.  It is a Billy Graham film without the crusade scene.  It is a gospel tract come to life. 

                  Let me hammer on this a bit more. Most far-from-God people will hear this dialogue as unrealistic and struggle to make a connection with it. But even more, this will feel like a bait- and- switch to people who may be drawn, like my dad and I, to see a movie about an old guy and some kids.  But when the old guy suddenly takes the boys to a graveyard and asks them to lean close to the gravestones listen for the voices of the dead pleading “why didn’t you tell me about Jesus so I wouldn’t have to come to hell”; well, that’s more likely to tick people off than draw them into a consideration of the gospel.

            Problem #3:  the teaching.  “Just read the Bible and you’ll see” is the primary approach. I would affirm that the Word of God is primary to nurturing both saving and sanctifying faith. (“Faith comes by hearing and hearing by the word of Christ.”—Rom. 10:13) But the presentation of God’s Word in Jonathan Sperry is a bit too magical and clean.  Part of this is because everything is presented to and for children. Adults who wrestle with the authority or validity of Scriptures will find it very easy to dismiss.

            Now, all this is not to say that Jonathan Sperry has no redeeming value.  The presentation of intergenerational relationships and especially of an older man taking the initiative to mentor young boys is very engaging.  The need for many young men to have a fatherly and Christ-centered influence is certainly true. The impact of one Christ-centered life on a community is clearly demonstrated. And in one final (and underdeveloped) plot twist, the power of forgiveness is beautifully portrayed.

            But Jonathan Sperry is clearly meant for the already convinced. It is an affirmation of a certain brand of Christian values and cultural preferences.  But it really has no business at the multi-plex with other wide-release films.   It should be shown and discussed in church fellowship halls. 

            There are other films—less predictable, less overtly ‘Christian”, more compelling and intriguing in matters of faith (see Henry Poole, Juno, Bella, Babbette’s Feast) We need to discover, find, fund and applaud such films. Even so-called “secular” movies have the potential for huge discussions over coffee about matters of faith and life.  (The Dark Knight, Doubt, Defiance, etc.)

            The redemption of movie media is a fertile mission field that, like any mission of reconciliation, demands that we take the initiative to meet secular people where they are. That’s the loving thing to do.  Jonathan Sperry asks them to come too far to where we are.  That’s just not loving – or effective.

Autumn mornings spread

 Flat and paling sunlight catching

 Leaves caught in death’s throes.

  How does wasting away birth such wonder?

How does death shimmer so?

Words falter, photos fade, explanations fail

 To capture one moment’s reflection

 Off one optic nerve tucked deep,

 Longing for both memory and meaning.

How does wasting away birth such wonder?

 How does death shimmer so?

 No twin deaths, facsimile or duplicate

 Partings, but each a rare and uncommon

 Departure, awe-full in oblivion’s path.

 How does wasting away birth such wonder?

How does death shimmer so?

 Here, a mystery: the Creator designed such

 Breathtaking endings, surprising artistry in

 Last-gasp dancing into rotting.

 Such absurdity speaks a larger

 Promise to souls immersed in a broken

 World, terrified by futile holiness, guilty and

 Always dying by sudden doom or lingering years.

 How does wasting away birth such wonder?

How does death shimmer so?

 Here then, this mystery: the Christ who died the

 Bloody death of deaths vacates his tomb and

 Invites we poor dying ones into his life so that

 Flatlined heartbeats and final breaths here

 Simply transform dust to imperishable glory.

  How does wasting away birth such wonder?

How does death shimmer so?

 

 

 

            Secularism is advancing rapidly in our culture.  Those expressing “no faith” are now the third largest religious group in our nation.  Those in the 18-35 age bracket are checking out of church altogether.  Evangelicals are generally not even holding our own children. Evangelicals are often marginalized from the broader cultural conversations, treated as fanatics, idiots, simpletons or crazies.

In the face of that missional challenge / opportunity, the evangelical church has grown increasingly insecure.  Our insecurity is displayed in numerous ways: our chip-on-the-shoulder attitudes, endless programming, church franchising, and how-to/self-help teaching bias. 

But even more subtly, under the surface, our insecurity with secular people shows up in our insistence on certainty in our thinking and discussions.  We begin to twitch when conversations with far-from-God friends veer into ambiguity. Even though we trumpet authenticity in our core values, we get really nervous when friends in our own faith-family express authentic doubts or question God.

That’s why C. D. Baker’s 40 Loaves: Breaking Bread with Our Father Each Day (Waterbrook, 2009) is such a welcome resource.  The book is organized around forty brief meditations, each prompted by a pressing, not-easily-answered question of faith: Why do I want Jesus in my life? Why am I afraid to read my Bible? Why do I get so angry with God? Why can’t I overcome sin in my life? Why am I so discontented?  Why does grace make me uncomfortable? Why do I try so hard to fit in? Why can’t I relax around God?  Why have I stopped dreaming?  Each brief meditation is, appropriately, followed by more questions for consideration and a prayer.

Baker knows the power of question. “Most of us are reluctant to admit we have questions like these.  Many of our church communities have led us to believe that certainty and confidence are proof of true spirituality.  Bewilderment or – worse yet, doubt—is seen as a sign of weakness.  Besides, questions disturb things…many of us feel the need to keep our questions to ourselves.  Ironically, we even try keeping them from God.”  But, “questions invite authenticity.  Questions give us permission to wonder.  Questions open the door for wisdom.  Asking opens our eyes to ourselves.  Asking opens our hearts to the Spirit.’

So, 40 Loaves is written primarily for “Christian strugglers”, those for whom faith never seems to come easy, who can’t stand formulaic religion or for whom “why?” is a part of most conversations. Baker writes in a conversational, non-academic style, using transparent personal stories and humor, which is very engaging.  Thus, he invites the reader to consider the question themselves and enter the exploration.

One of the strengths of the book is the consistent reference point of the gospel. Questions are not allowed to stand on their own, in a self-contained, self-referential world in which presumptions circles back themselves.  The question is placed next to the unchanging gospel and Biblical witness.  But, that is done while respecting the value of the question and avoiding the sort of simplistic  answers or intellectual sneering  that so often shuts down discussion when such a question is introduced. 

While he handles questions with deep grace, Baker is also unflinchingly honest about the root of many questions or doubts. 

+Why do I get so angry with God? “Anger against God is no small matter; at its deepest level it is grounded in the false belief that God is not good.”

+Why am I afraid to read my Bible? “The Bible has been exploited as a weapon and a source of spiritual abuse…legalism so clouded my vision that the gospel had been obscured from view….handicapped by poor instruction, I couldn’t see God’s love.”

+Why am I so angry? “I’m afraid my anger is usually reserved for the cause of me…and all too often I believe in my self more than in truth. It’s when my anger is serving my purposes that it is ungodly.  Too often I demand what I want…My pride drives me…Pride-driven disappointment is what leads to ungodly anger.”  

+Why does God seem silent in my life? “God is not silent, but rather he offers his voice in ways I too often neglect.” 

+Why does grace sometimes make me uncomfortable? “…in its unlimited, unfathomable, unmerited glory, grace is often not good news to control types, cynics or the self-righteous.  It doesn’t affirm their worldviews.”

+Why am I stuck in the past? “…being stuck in the past is not a harmless state of mind.  The past can become like a false god that isolates us, turns us inward and leaves us unsatisfied and fearful.  The past can deny is the wholeness of our lives…. But we don’t need to stay stuck.  If we need to remember something, why don’t we remember Jesus?  Jesus is our Shepherd.”

While primarily aimed at helping Christians grow, 40 Loaves could also be very helpful for conversations with seekers or secular skeptics.  It could help show that evangelicals are unafraid of tough questions and are honestly, even authentically engaged with faith that is still being formed. If we will deal with the questions our own faith raises, I suspect that we could more readily gain a place in the conversations where secularists ask their own questions about the validity of faith in Jesus.

            It has been very gloomy around here for the past few days.  Cold for this time of year, low gray clouds, blustery breezes and rain showers broken only by a constant swirling mist.

            When I ran yesterday, the mist covered over my glasses.  It happened again when I ran from the parking lot into the grocery.  It happened again when I went into the bank.  I couldn’t drive without the windshield wipers on.

            At first that was aggravating. 

            But then I heard Jesus whispering. 

            The mist is composed of thousands, maybe billions, of tiny droplets of moisture. When I walk or run through the mist, my whole body is saturated by those droplets.  I’m completely covered by the mist. There’s no escaping it.

            The Lord says that his steadfast love never ceases, that his mercies never end and arrive new every morning.  (Lamentations 3:22-23).  God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ” is “the Father of all mercies and God of all comfort.” (2 Cor.1:3) His “goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life” (Ps.23:6)—including this one.

            In other words, real, concrete, definite expressions of my Father’s kindness touch my life every day. None of it is deserved. It blows all over my messy, unspiritual, confused, not-together, often faith-challenged self.  There’s no escaping it. These mercies from the Father’s heart are outrageously, mind-bogglingly generous.

            Back to the mist and Jesus’ whispers.  What if, instead of being aggravated, I greet every speck of mist that crosses my vision as a reminder of some aspect of my Father’s mercies?  There’s no way around them and no way to count them all.  

All my days are lived in this atmosphere.  I’m saturated in His mercy in a billion ways every single day.  Most of the mercies I rarely see. I may even try to look around them–but that doesn’t make them less real.  All my ordinary days–including the moments that make Jesus smile and the ones I wish He’d never see –are awash in my Father’s mercy.  

So, tomorrow when I look at the world through my mist-covered glasses, I’ll be looking at everything through the Mercy—and I’ll smile.