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True Freedom

July 4, 2011 in Christian Life, Thoughts of the Day

Independence day. Undoubtedly, many of us are celebrating today by enjoying time off and spending it with family and friends. Today is a reminder of our country’s heritage and freedom. I would like, however, to offer something that I have been thinking about a lot: what is true freedom for the Christian? I would like to suggest that the freedom we celebrate today, on July 4th, is at best a pale shadow of the freedom Christ offers to us, and at worst an idea that lures us into a false conception of Christ’s freeing work on the cross.

Let me start out by saying that I by no means wish to “bash” our country or its principles. As a historian, I recognize the uniqueness of our country’s founding, and our ideals; we are indeed blessed with a freedom that many people today and throughout history have not been. I am glad that I can choose my own government—that our government in theory works for us and not the other way around, that I can worship as I please and where I please, live my life as I please, and so on and so forth. But the problem with that list, for the Christian, is that word I.

Christians believe they have freedom in Christ. But what is this freedom? Is it to do as we wish and live as we please? No. Paul tells us in Romans 6:6,7 that “our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we might no longer be enslaved to sin. For whoever has died is freed from sin” And the more I see the power of sin in my own life, the more I see how the word “enslaved” is so appropriate. But Paul does not end there:  (verses 17 & 18) “But thanks be to God that you, having once been slaves of sin, have become obedient from the heart to the form of teaching to which you were entrusted, and that you, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness.” We are dead to self and alive in Christ. We are all familiar with Galatians 2:20: “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

Freedom in Christ, then, is fundamentally about far more than little old me. In fact, Paul goes so far as to say that he is no longer living his own life—he is dead to self, but that it is Christ living in him. I should no longer be concerned with my own desires, but the desires of Christ. Not that all human desires are wrong or should be ignored, but rather that I submit them to Christ my master.

Do you see the paradox with what we call “freedom” in America? Freedom here is the freedom to do whatever you wish with your life, and be free of governmental control, religious control, and free from tyranny. Freedom in Christ is the freedom to no longer be concerned about your own life, and to no longer be enslaved to your own sin, but to wholeheartedly give your life to Christ and live for him. To call him Lord and Master: two words that are inherently, not “free.” To be completely free from yourself, your desires, and your sin is true freedom.

Again, I by no means believe there is anything immoral about experiencing what I am calling “American” freedom. Indeed, we are arguably better enabled to serve Christ and live for him because of it. But I hope we can see the limitations of that freedom too. And I hope we can see that our freedom in Christ is completely independent of secular freedom, and perhaps even stands in stark contrast to that secular freedom. Christians living under the most oppressive governments, or Christians who are physically enslaved to someone, can still experience freedom in Christ, and perhaps they even have experienced that freedom more fully than we who live in “free” countries.

I leave you with the words of Christ from John 8:31-36 :

To the Jews who had believed him, Jesus said, ‘If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples.  Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.’

They answered him, ‘We are Abraham’s descendants and have never been slaves of anyone. How can you say that we shall be set free?’

Jesus replied, ‘Very truly I tell you, everyone who sins is a slave to sin. Now a slave has no permanent place in the family, but a son belongs to it forever. So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.’

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Understanding Timing

April 24, 2010 in Reflections on Grief

I question God’s sense of timing. I know the Christian answer that “His ways are higher than ours” and that “He works all things together for good.” But honestly it just doesn’t make sense to me.

Why my mother died when I was 20, for example. I’m sorry, but there’s just no way around the fact that sort of thing shouldn’t happen. God may have a plan, and he make work this into something greater, but that just isn’t something that is suppose to happen. Or why, weeks before the end of school, I learn that I sit at the same lunch table almost every day with a man who lost his mother to cancer. There are so few who understand what this is like, to meet someone with such a similar story, is great…I just wish it had been a few months ago. God’s timing…it just doesn’t make sense to me.

Or why God can’t spare me from the frustrating details of life. Like financial aid. I need more money next year than I did this year…and yet I learn that JBU is actually reducing my financial aid package. It’d be so easy for God to just take care of the financial part of life, I could honestly do without the stress. But no. It just doesn’t make sense.

My perspective on so many things has changed this semester. Business, for example. I’ll be honest, sometimes in the midst of so much going on, I get a little sick of people complaining about all they have to do. That test you are stressed over? Guess what, I have it too, oh yeah, and I’m dealing with a ton of crap going on in my life at the same time. I have learned this semester how easily offended I can be with people. For stupid things, really. Things they don’t even realize they are doing, or saying. But I notice. Some days, I feel like I have more grace for people than I use to have, and then on others, I think I have less.

This weekend, and coming week, marks the same time on the semester “timeline” that my mother died. I haven’t sat for finals since last May. That is more than a little weird to me. It was at this time last year that mom really started feeling ill. I came home after finals last year to a mother who could barely walk to the door to greet me. Sometimes I wonder how much the people around me realize that this is still a very present reality in my life. I wake up with it and I go to bed with it. It hurts. A lot. No matter where I turn, or what I do, I am reminded of what has happen. Even something as simple as the rhythm of a semester that is winding down can cause pain.

I hope I haven’t sounded too down here. People ask me sometimes how I am doing, and I never really know how to respond. In a day to day sense, I am doing well. But in the big picture, life is hard. I lost someone who has been a part of my life for over twenty years. Every single day, for twenty years. You don’t just lose someone like that. The loss leaves a huge void in your life, one that I don’t think will ever really totally heal. Imagine what a “bad day” feels like in normal life…that is probably the best way to describe what the “best” days are for me. I do have good days. But they aren’t like what they use to be. And that is hard sometimes.

I wish I could understand it all right now. But I can’t. And that’s alright. Hopefully, someday it will. In the meantime, I keep on.

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2009

January 1, 2010 in My Life, Reflections on Grief

I have tried to repress my inner desire to write about the past year, or to talk about the coming one. However, I just can’t avoid it. Something about the mile marker of not only a new year, but a new decade as well seems to me to need some kind of written recognition. So with that, I throw in my thoughts to the heap of opinions on the year 2009.

I must say that I am none too sorry to see 2009 depart. My year was rocked with the intrusion of cancer into my mother’s life, and ultimately, her death. Yes, it was a hard year.

Seeing someone you love under the curse of a disease like cancer is incredibly hard and challenging. I don’t know how many times I went to bed last semester crying out to God for some kind of normalcy in my life. People would talk of plans for the break, how normal it would be, and I was faced with a return to a very abnormal situation. People would talk about plans for the summer, and I would wonder if I could even grant myself the idea of planning on one more break with my mother, much less any sort of summer plans. I watched from a distance as my mother continued to battle the disease, wondering just how much information I was getting over the phone. I didn’t really know how to talk about it with people, and people didn’t really ask me about it very often. There were times everything seemed as though it could be normal, but a call home would often remind me that it wasn’t.

How does one of the most influential people in your life simply cease to exist, in one year?

I’m perhaps still very much in shock when I think about one year ago. We went on a hike recently that intersected a similar hike my family took last year at this time. It was almost surreal to me to think that just a few short months ago, life was normal. I’m coming to terms with the absence, but not with just how quickly it really happened. Wow, if I had only known where I’d be now…

I think at the start of a new year, people often wonder what the future holds. I certainly do. But in this past year, I’ve realized just how glad I am that I don’t know the future. If I had been told a year ago, as my mom and I lived out a normal, happy mother-son relationship, that she would be gone a year later, I’m not sure how I would have handled it. Had I been told at Spring Break last year that it would be my last glimpse at the normal routine life of my mother, would I have welcomed those words? Doubtfully. And even after learning of her cancer, and it’s severity, had I been told that she would be dead before the close of the year, I don’t know that I would have been ready for it.

After all, when are you ready to learn that someone you love is about to die?

I think it is the mercy of God that we don’t know the future. My people told me after my mom’s death that they didn’t think they could have handled a similar situation the same way. That is certainly a testament to the grace God showed me and my family, and still continues to do so. But it also is a reflection of the result of walking the path before you. A year ago, I wasn’t ready for this; six months ago, I wasn’t ready. Now, I’d hesitate to say I’m ready, but I am at peace. I wouldn’t have been a year ago.

That isn’t to say there weren’t good moments of 2009. I particularly loved my study trip to Ireland. I’ve longed to travel overseas for years, and the opportunity to study for six weeks in another country was the best possible answer to that longing. Of course, it also further gave me the travel bug too. But I enjoyed my brief moment in Ireland. It was the best possible contrast to the news of my mother’s cancer.

Another highlight was the spring break trip I took with my friends, to my own backyard, quite literally. I was fortunate to bring a large group of college friends to my house, and do some camping nearby. I love where I have grown up, and it is a joy to share that with others. Of course, it too was a tainted trip, for it would be the last time I saw my mother well.

There were trips to Chicago, Nebraska, and Cafe on Broadway. Laughter, shared memories, and times with people. I was surrounded throughout the year by good people. My friendships grew, and I met new people. And in the middle of the most difficult news of my life, I was surrounded by more genuine friends than I think most people have. The only times I spent alone were the ones I chose to spend alone; that speaks very highly of more than a few people’s character in the circle of relationships I am blessed with.

My relationship with God grew in many ways, for nothing turns you to God more than a crisis at home. Quiet times that seem optional when all is well suddenly become the only way to keep going from day to day. Too bad it sometimes has to be that way, but at least it produces a good result.

And I enjoyed my family. Before the onsought of cancer, when everything was normal, I enjoyed sharing my college experience with my dad, mother and brother. I loved hearing about the changes at home, the books my mother was reading, the jobs my dad had, and the new drivers permit my brother held. I enjoyed the breaks I was home, getting to spend time with them. Then cancer came. But though cancer intends to destroy, it did not destroy my family. My close family became even closer, as we stood by my mother’s side, starting each day by praying with and for her, pausing in the midst of the day to pray again for her, and concluding the day by praying again. My mother didn’t want me to stay at home, even though she was ill. I think that would have been hard for her to have seen: the future of her child altered by her cancer. Of course it still altered my life, but not before it gave me a new appreciation of my mom, and the rest of my family. Nothing makes you hug someone tighter, than the realization of just how frail this short life really is.

So 2009 is over. I’m glad it is, but it would be incorrect to call it a horrible year. For with God, even what should have been the darkest year of my life, is only a dip in the stream. Had my mother not become ill, it would have been probably a fantastic year. But then again, some of the best lessons were from the reality of her condition. Both at home, at school, and among friends, life had a different perspective. I think I was more intentional with my life as a result of my mom’s cancer. It made 2009 just a little bit better at times. I hope the coming year brings more joys than 2009 did, but I also know that 2009 laid the foundation for what lies ahead. For it is just a step in the path. A cracked, uneven step from my perspective, but nonetheless important on the way. A year from now, come what may, the events of 2009 will affect the events of 2010. That should be interesting to see.

Welcome twenty-ten, it’s good to see you.

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Looking at Loss

December 21, 2009 in Reflections on Grief

Tell someone you just lost your mother, and immediately you’ll have more notes, hugs, and sympathy than you know what to do with. It is good and it is needed. I find it interesting that, though people may not have experienced the same thing, universally people understand how hard it is to lose someone you love.

I think some people assume I must be having an incredibly difficult time in the wake of my mother’s death. Certainly, it is hard, but I think I’ve laughed more than I have cried in the days since her parting. The day I found out, several people told me that they thought they were more emotional about it than I was. How can someone learn of the lose of their mother, a very close friend, and that same day turn around and genuinely laugh and smile?

The shortest and most simple answer is the peace of God. Without God, I know my perspective on everything would be incredibly different. God promises peace, and he gives it generously to those who ask for it. It probably sounds cliché to the reader, but in a way I can’t even begin to describe it; in the most difficult time of my life, God has been there.

Christians know of God’s promise to never leave or forsake us, but I think at times it is easy to feel left and forsaken. In an hour where it would be very easy to feel that God has forsaken me, I have found instead that God is closer than ever. In Him I have joy, and that joy isn’t dependent on circumstances. I’ve always hoped and believed that it would be there through the darkest storms, and now I know it can be. I may have lost my mother, but my joy did not depart with her.

But perhaps another part of my grief, is understanding that there are two ways of looking at it.

On the one hand, it would be very easy to look at the death of my mother and feel cheated and robbed. No twenty year old should lose there mother; I think most people believe that intuitively. It can be very easy to start remembering my mom, and then start looking at all the lost opportunities. My future, my career, marriage—should I be so blessed, children, the lessons I learn, the people I know; there is so much that she’ll never get to see or talk about. Yes, it is very hard to think about those things, and it can create a feeling of being robbed.

On the other hand, and the view I choose to ascribe to as best I can, I can remember my mom’s life and all of the good memories with her. As I have remembered, talked about her, looked at family photos, and the home she created, I know so well how blessed I was to call her ‘mom’.

I suppose I’m biased, but she was an incredible woman. It was the love of a gracious God that allowed my life to not only intersect with hers, but to be shaped by it in the way only the role of ‘mother’ can shape a child. There are reminders of her motherly love everywhere I turn, and rather than be frustrated by the loss, I rejoice in the great gift I was given in a mother. In some ways, I can’t even feel sorrow knowing how much I really had.

Certainly, it is easy to say I lost so much; and I did. But by that very same token, I had so much. For whatever reason, God chose to make that relationship end earlier than most mother-son relationships do. But I am intensely grateful that even as brief as that time was, it was good time.

Some people don’t even get to know their parents, some people live in broken homes, and some have parents who don’t love their children as they should. To me that seems the greater loss. I may not have had a long relationship with my mother, but the years I did have were good years. I’m thankful for that, and that every time I remember her, it will be with a smile and a laugh, because that was who she was. I won’t have the pain of a lifelong relational wound whenever I think of her.

Ultimately I don’t really like using the word ‘loss’ or ‘death’ since because of the sacrifice of Christ, my mother’s death was really only a temporary separation. It is a loss only in that I must live these few short years on earth without the present-ness of my mother’s relationship. And to that, I can only say, I truly had so much. I have not lost, but gained; for now I can say that even though she is no longer here, my relationship with her is better than before. It may sound strange, but I appreciate her now even more than I did a year ago. I’ve always know I was blessed to call her mother, but I see that now more than ever in her absence. That too is a gift, for since I will see her again, I can give her an even bigger hug, and say “I’m so glad to see you mother.”

I’ll shed my tears, and I’ll have my sorrows, but it is only a reminder of what a gift I had. To my God, I am thankful for the beautiful years with my mother. To my mother, I am thankful for the love and care she showed. And to my friends and family, I’m thankful for the incredible support you have shown me. Yes, I have not lost, but gained. I truly have so much, and for that, my tears are tears of gratitude and joy.

What do you have?

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The Close of a Chapter in the Life of a Traveler

December 15, 2009 in My Christian Walk, Reflections on Grief

I’m a traveler at heart. I love journeys, I love the discovery of new places, new things, and the return to favorite spots, the timeless memories they encompass. Since I was a child, family vacations were always an exciting time, and I looked forward to not only the destination, but the journey to get there as well. My greatest travel adventure took place last summer, my first overseas trip to Ireland. I was not surprised to find that I loved it there, and I loved the journey to get there.

It was time that shaped my life. The company of old and new friends, new experiences, and a glimmer of the familiar were molded the days of my life in Ireland. Somehow, in a way that only traveling can be, there was a normalcy to each day, and yet an ongoing adventure every morning I woke up; a duality of emotion.

Returning from a good vacation, or an exciting overseas adventure is always a bag of mixed emotions. I returned from Ireland happy to have experienced a new culture, made new friends, and with some great stories as well. I also felt an indescribable sadness to leave that behind. Though I know I may someday return—something I would certainly hope to do—I know that I will never have that trip again. The memories we had of our class times, adventures on random Irish roads compliments of the GPS, and shared laughter are all things that can’t be repeated. No trip will ever be the same, and that isn’t really a bad thing. Still, I returned with a sense of sorrow and loss knowing that it was over.

My mom always described the days after a good vacation as bit of a letdown. You just had an adventure, something fun, with good memories. Returning to normal life is an adjustment, and sometimes it takes a bit. But always the trip quickly becomes a memory, and one starts looking to the things of the future. New adventures, daily routines, and the demands of what we call a normal life shift the focus from the sorrow of leaving the trip behind to the excitement of the future and the unknown. And you move on; never forgetting that trip or vacation, or the memories of them, but not dwelling on their departure. I’ve been though many trips like that; Ireland was certainly no exception.

I still have days where I miss the trip to Ireland. Sometimes it’s a word, or a song, sometimes it’s reminiscing with friends; either way the joy of that trip never really leaves. Yet I also don’t spend every minute wishing that I was still in Ireland.

Right now, I feel like I’m at the end of a good trip. A chapter of my life is closing, and with it comes some sorrow and pain at leaving something behind. But it also comes with the promise of a life ahead, filled with more joys, sorrows and memories. Life right now is not about crying over the closing chapter, but crying tears of joy for the wonderful memories of the pages that are now past.

Losing someone you love is never easy, and it will always have moments of intense grief. Especially when that loss comes at a time and an age when it never should. But like a good trip, the memories are still there; the good times will never be forgotten. There will be those moments of letdown, and longing to return to a moment of time that just flickered past. But there will also be times of looking ahead to the next adventure; the next chapter.

Just like a book, a life has a past, a present and a future. In a book, the reader follows the story, turning the pages, taking in one page, one line at a time, moving forward into the future of the book. In life, time is the mover of the pages. And just like a book, the chapters yet to be read depend on the chapters that have closed. The joys and sorrows of what have past are necessary for the story to develop and continue.

For the Christian, the end of the book is known. Reunion with the Creator, loved ones, and a world as it should be are all promised and await the completion of this short novel of life on earth. What is not known are the pages that complete the start of that story to the end; and in those pages the adventure is found.

The book of my mom’s life is now complete and closed. She has started a new story; one without an ending and one infinitely more full and complete than this dim shadow of what we call life. With the completion of her book comes the closing of a chapter in my own life. As with the end of a trip, I’m sad, and I long for just a few more pages of time. But my story doesn’t have those pages, instead an adventure that is too big for me to see yet is just starting. It can only begin if the last chapter closes. I rest knowing that I have much joy in the pages ahead, and that I can look to another story at the end of this one; one without death, pain and loss. A story that starts with the reunion of what was lost in the closing of my chapter. A reunion that does not end.

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