Forgiveness for us first

James Clear is the author of Atomic Habits, a wonderful book if you want to become a better person. Earlier this week, I came upon this quote from him:

Today is Easter. Today, Christians celebrate Jesus’ return from the dead. It was the culmination of Jesus’s earthly mission, to personify God’s love for us and to invite us all into a relationship with Him. That’s a visible sign of the grace God extends us and his forgiveness of our sins.

The message resonates with me because I’ve been forgiven a great many things, and I’m still not where I need to be in terms of being right with God. Yet God, in his grace, has granted me forgiveness for my sins.

Part of the reason God wants us to forgive is encapsulated in that quote. It might not be as much for the other person, as for us. It frees ys to move on from the harm done to us. We’ve all been harmed at one point or another, and it’s hard not to put up walls we put up because of that pain.

The walls serve their purpose; they keep the pain out. A rock feels no pain. An island never cries.

But the rock’s life is lonely and isolated. The same wall that keeps out pain and betrayal also keeps out joy and fulfillment.

As Clear says in the quote, forgiveness doesn’t say what was done to you was okay. It’s simply untethering the anchor someone else placed on you.

It’s hard work, but it’s worthwhile.

A free country doesn’t make its citizens pray

The statement was lost in the hub-bub around Donald Trump pitching Lee Greenwood’s Bible. Maybe it was just a little marketing flare, adapting his signature phrase to the situation. Or maybe it was another breadcrumb from the guy who lusts after the kind of power the President of China has.

But Donald Trump said he wants to make America pray again.

I know a number of Christians who probably wouldn’t disagree. They’d say we need more prayer. When I look around the world at some of the things we do to each other, I can’t completely disagree. But from the founding of this country, that’s always been a personal choice. You can pray or not, to whatever deity you choose or not. That’s part of what–pardon the phrase–makes America great.

Something tells me that wouldn’t necessarily be so if Donald Trump were to assume the level of power he wants. This is the man who openly says he wants to be dictator (but only for a day). It’s the guy who more or less runs the CPAC conference, where Jack Posobiec said welcome to the end of democracy and implied we need to replace it a theocracy. It the guy whose movement includes Christopher Rufo, who believes both in leveraging the power of government, and that recreational sex needs to go away.

If Trump gets the power he lusts after and we’re compelled under force of law to pray (a clear violation of the Constitution), something tells me we won’t be praying to Jehovah or Allah, or the contemplative God worshiped by people like Richard Rohr or Bono (too woke). It’ll be the real God, the one who smites all the people he’s angry at while speaking in his preferred language: Olde English. His justice will be swift and administered by the State–the same folks who define what God wants.

It’s worth noting that the Russian Orthodox Church was one of the earliest supporters of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and that it’s one of Putin’s primary pillars of power. Given Trump’s demand for complete loyalty, if he were to make America pray again, it wouldn’t be for something he doesn’t like.

It’s entirely possible everything I’ve written is hyperbole, that Trump’s rhetorical excess is aimed at owning the Libtards like me. Maybe I’m getting worked up over nothing.

But Trump’s supporters say they like him because he says what he means. This is just the most recent unAmerican thing he’s said.

I pray a lot. Not as much as I should, but more than I used to. It’s something I do of my own free will to make myself better. But I will never pray to satisfy some superior power that can make me pay otherwise.

God doesn’t force prayer. The government sure as hell shouldn’t.

The Easter Message, 2024 Edition

Jesus was executed in the worst way the Roman Empire knew. His execution wasn’t just to punish him. It was a public statement to his followers. The might of the Roman Empire was not to be trifled with–and the Jewish power structure had no problem using that might to crush anyone who caused trouble.

Good Friday and Holy Saturday are about human power and the cost it can impose on someone who runs afoul of it. We don’t crucify people anymore and we rarely execute them, but it’s a thin veneer that keeps us from being that kind of society. Though we rarely talk about it in dignified circles, human creativity is often harnessed in crushing those considered in need of it.

Tomorrow is about victory over our compulsion to crush each other. Most of us, given the chance, wouldn’t torture someone to death. But we all have the small tortures we inflict on each other. Screaming. Silence. Setting someone else up to deliver the justice we so badly lust after. In many cases, we view it as self-defense, delivering a message that says we will not be trifled with and ours is not to be taken for their benefit.

Tomorrow is about the premise of setting down those weapons, of an ascension to an existence where we don’t have to armor ourselves against that guy over there, or against that bitch who dared mess with me. It’s about the possibility of an existence where every tear is wiped dry and we can be authentic with everyone, without worrying about that authenticity being used against us.

If Easter tells us anything, it’s that we got God wrong in the Old Testament. He’s not sitting high atop the thing, eager to rain down holy devastation on the smallest transgression. It pisses him off when we hurt each other. He would prefer we stop that crap.

Imagine being a parent of children who’ve profoundly hurt each other. Imagine they won’t both come to your home at the same time because of that hurt. That’s what God feels like. And like us if we were parents in that situation, he would like that to go away.

That’s what Easter is. It’s the costly triumph of love over what we do to each other. It’s the forgiveness of what I’ve done so that I can work hard at forgiving what’s been done to me.

It’s showing us the possibility that lies beyond our own self-identified thought pattern.

I’m a far different person than I was twenty years ago. I used to be angry, narrow, and brittle. Now, as my body is periodically angry and brittle (I’m still working on narrow), my mind and soul have softened. I’m not where I need to be, but I’m a long way from where I was. Some of that’s my work, but a lot, I believe, was me just listening to the Voice that’s always there.

Properly practiced, Christianity is not angry, narrow, or brittle. It’s the manifestation of the love that compelled Jesus to give up his godhood to come to an uncomfortable place at an uncomfortable time in history and die one of the worst deaths we could create. Any of us who came back with divine power after being tortured to death would unleash an unholy can of whoop-ass. Jesus asked for our forgiveness.

Anyone who uses Christianity as a litmus test for bestowing love is missing the point badly. I have far more in common with the thieves on Jesus’ left and right, or the adulteress who wasn’t stoned, or the woman at the well than I do with Jesus.

He asked for me to be forgiven, though I’ve done nothing to deserve it. How much, then, should I do my best to apply the same love to everyone around me.

Happiness isn’t frivolous. It’s fortification.

For my team, the Mets, today’s opening day. For baseball fans, it’s a yearly exercise in hope (often unreasonable) for a year of magic. There’s always something special about a pristine season where everyone starts at 0-0 and everything is possible (if not probable).

The cool thing about baseball is that it’s always there when you want it. I can out the Rays game on in the car. If I’m writing, I can listen to or watch any game that’s not the Rays on MLB.TV. It’s a blessing I probably won’t think twice about once the season rolls into gear.

Maybe it’s not baseball for you. Maybe the majesty of a sweeping 12-to-6 curveball when the batter’s sitting on a fastball doesn’t do it for you.

Whatever it is, those things that give your life a little extra color are often treated like extras, frivolous. Something around the edges.

Don’t let it be. Happiness isn’t frivolous. Those little joys that balance your life are just as important as the obligations often push their way to the front. Maybe it’s bird watching, or biking, or gardening. Maybe cooking a meal and having people over brings you contentment. Maybe it’s just finding a place no one knows and pulling out a book.

Sometimes that needs to come first, and you’re not selfish if you force it to from time to time.

The world is a lot of things. Parts of it epitomize the worst of what humanity can be. But there’s also plenty of magic to be found, if you look for it. Relief for those times when the worst of humanity forces its way into your life.

The fall is neutral. How I respond is either good or bad.

The realization was sobering: I’m frail.

The skies opened up when I pulled into the driveway yesterday afternoon. I had a production crisis at work waiting when I got inside. I had to get out and make a run for it. So I opened the garage door and sprinted. Three steps into the garage, down I went.

As it turned out, nothing was broken except a mouse and a couple keys on my bluetooth keyboard. I’ve got a decent-sized gouge in my right wrist and a cut on my hand. But this morning, it feels like I flipped my car over seven times and walked away. Everything hurts.

If it were Saturday, I’d spend a good part of the day in bed, but it’s Thursday and I got some heavy chores to do. Bed will come later.

At some point many people wake up one morning with the realization that they can’t do what they used to do. In reality, I’m lucky. There was no permanent damage. My phone and work laptop survived. I have a cut, a gouge, body pain, and a decision to make.

How do I react to this?

It would be easy to wallow in my realization. After all, I have four Tough Mudder headbands. I used to do P90X and Insanity. I pride myself–maybe a little too much–on self-sufficiency. Better people than me have mourned the passing of that part of life–if that’s what this is.

But the Fibro can bring frailty. A fall can cause a spell of increased body pain–as it has in me. That’s probably a permanent part of my life.

On the other hand, I can accept reality, do what I can while the pain hangs on, then wait and see. If the frailty stays, I can use my creativity to find a way to do what I need to. I can bare what I need to and rest when I can and keep a good attitude. I can build a little more empathy for people who don’t bounce back like they used to.

The event itself is neutral. The good and bad is how I deal with it.

I want to do my best to deal with it in a productive, useful way.

If this the end is coming, what should I do differently? Maybe nothing.

A generation ago, the Left Behind series of books captured the periodic Christian fascination with the end of time. A generation before that, the Hal Lindsey movie The Late Great Planet Earth scared the crap out of me. For a fourteen year old, worldwide Armageddon and judgement of all who fall short is scary stuff.

Jesus’s second coming is often brought up during the Holy Week (the week between Palm Sunday and Easter). Among more conservative Christians, there seems like a special eagerness to see Jesus return so the unholy get theirs.

As a practicing (and mediocre) Christian, I’ve thought a lot about the end of times. To quote the great Reverend Cleophus James (The Blues Brothers), the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night.

The day of the Lord cometh as a thief in the night. HEH!

If you look around at the world, the end could be near. We’re facing the potential for massive war. Extreme weather seems to pummel someplace every day. We had the Covid. A locust infestation. The Cubs and Red Sox have both won a World Series and the Jets might make the playoffs this year. If that’s not a sign of the apocalypse…

As a Christian, what should I do differently if Jesus is about to come back?

Perhaps I should be ready to tell people about my faith. But as 1 Peter 3:16 says, I should do it in a gentle and respectful way. Maybe I should try to be a better person. Maybe I should seek God a little more in prayer and try to give control of my life over to him. Maybe I need to get serious about faith. Maybe I should actively try to show love for others in my daily life.

In other words, I shouldn’t do anything different.

I don’t have the tools to understand anyone else’s standing before God. I have enough on my plate trying to be faithful.

That guy over there? That Jew? That Sihk? That Muslim? That atheist? I have no idea where they are with God. But if God’s creative enough to make everything, I suppose He can manifest himself in different ways to attract different people.

As a guy whose kids are now adult and come home from time to time, I want them to be decent people–and they are (probably better than me). Regardless of what they believe, I feel like things are complete when they’re home. Were our relationship severed, it would create a wound that wouldn’t heal.

If I’m screwed up and I feel that way, I imagine God feels more compelled to want his kids home.

When the world’s potentially ending (which it probably isn’t), is the time to love everyone around me and let God sort out their worthiness.

Love, baby, that’s where it’s at.

Easter illustrates that it took a miracle for me to have right standing in front of God. As the recipient of that miracle, it would be presumptuous for me to judge anyone else.

Recognizing everyday beauty

At some point in my running around yesterday (as I write this), I stopped and looked at the sky. It was nothing spectacular–not the vivid sunrises or sunsets typical around here. Instead, it was just a partly cloudy March afternoon in Florida. Because a front had passed through, the haze that can seem to dominate the Florida sky had retreated for the day. It was just some white clouds floating against a high-resolution pale blue background.

You can probably see a sky like that several dozen times a year, regardless of where you are. It’s as common as a penny.

And yet, when I stopped for a second, I couldn’t help but get caught up in its beauty.

In Tampa, there’s no shortage of beauty. Twice most days the sky explodes with yellows, reds, and oranges against that same blue background, usually before the hustle of the day starts or as it’s just winding down. A pleasant early-spring sky has no hope competing against such striking beauty.

And yet, there it is. We can choose to recognize it or not.

Sometimes we can be too discriminating when we pursue beauty. I never realized how beautiful a snow covered pine forest could be until I moved south. I never realized how beautify a vista of saguaro cactuses can be until I moved back east. When you’re around them frequently, you discount their beauty.

When I lived a couple winters in Chicago, I’d have recognized a sunny March day as a blessing in a moment. The sun didn’t come up much the two winters I lived there.

What we see as a background palette can actually be beauty if we take the time to recognize it as such.

If you’re working on something, perfect is nice, but don’t sleep on good enough

Yesterday’s blog post (written on Saturday) spoke of how I was happy with the way I approached a difficult day on Friday. After I posted, yesterday was a different story.

I haven’t felt right since about halfway through the day Thursday (or since August, depending on how you measure). Friday was incredibly difficult. Saturday was okay, as long as I stopped and rested frequently. Yesterday, I didn’t stop and rest and I paid the price.

Weighed down with pain and fatigue, my mood sank like the Jets’ playoff hopes most years. As the day unfolded, I was almost looking for things I could be disgruntled about. So much for grace and dignity, right?

To paraphrase the great Lynn Anderson, I beg my pardon, but no one promised me a rose garden. In other words, I’m going to have days where my mood doesn’t reek of bunnies and unicorns. I should expect them here or there. Acknowledging my mood yesterday allowed me some space to work through the emotional trough and reset, which I was able to do by the end of the day.

By the time I hit the Publix on the way home, I was only moderately annoyed at the people who hustled to get in front of me going out the exit, then stopped dead three across half a step outside the door. It was a Gandhi-like exercise in restraint for me. By the time I got into the parking lot, I’d forgotten about it, instead looking forward to being done with my errands for the day.

It wasn’t perfect. For some people, it probably wouldn’t have been good. For me, all things considered, it was recognition of a struggle, then a reset. Sometimes starting to a bad place then course adjusting is better than not starting in the first place. It sets process to use and strengthen in the future.

If you’re working on something, celebrate perfection (or near perfection) when it comes to you. But don’t sleep on good enough. The world runs on good enough. Perfect is an extra blessing.

When it’s hard, the only way out is through. Accepting that helps.

Friday was probably the closest I’ve come to understanding what it’s like to suffer severe chronic pain. My whole body hurt. Concentrating on a simple task took Herculean effort. Sitting at a desk typing on a laptop for two hours felt like running a marathon, both mentally and physically. If I lived Friday every day, I wouldn’t be able to hold down a job.

It was day to use the changes in perception I’ve worked on since Christmastime.

My pain came because God either ordained it or allowed it. It’s not meaningless. There’s a purpose to it. And he won’t leave me to face it alone.

To be clear, it was a difficult day. Baby bunnies didn’t come to lift my spirits. There were a few work things that had to be done, but doing them was agonizing.

I did it with a clean mindset. I didn’t curse myself for what I couldn’t do and when I finished what absolutely needed to be done, I walked away without feeling like I hadn’t done my part. Maybe that’s the purpose in all this, to grow closer to God and build my ability to work through difficulty with dignity and grace.

Recognizing a purpose to my difficulty made all the difference. In my Bible app yesterday, the verse of the day came from the book of Esther. Though she was queen, Esther couldn’t enter the king’s presence unless she was summoned. But Esther was a Jew, and Haman, a royal advisor, was getting ready to exterminate the Jews. Esther’s Uncle Mordecai says that it’s possible she was put in that position to prevent the genocide.

Esther courageously entered the king’s presence. Instead of having her killed, he was glad to see her. Her life and ultimately the lives of the Jews were spared.

It was a heavy burden, one she bared with dignity and grace.

Nothing that monumental happened Friday. I did some work, then went to bed. But I trained for that. I did what needed to be done and I didn’t use my pain as an excuse to beat myself up or to be surly to someone else.

The work I’ve done over the past few months prepared me to accept what happened Friday and do what needed to be done without fighting against it. I trusted that I could do a difficult thing and it would be okay.

And it was.

Life is full of difficult days. They’ll only end when we die. If they’re inevitable, preparing for them is important work.

My way there involves God. I think it’s a good way. Yours may be different. But when we stop chafing against difficulty, we get the freedom to be creative in how we manage through it. And that’s when amazing things happen.

Pushing back against shame

“I have to say that I took on the shame that the world gave to me.” — Oprah Winfrey, talking about public attention to her weight battles.

Through much of my adult life, I’ve been overweight because of a lack of discipline about what goes in my pie hole. Because I’m a dude, I’m not judged as strictly on my weight, but I’ve judged myself plenty hard enough. And when I’ve looked in the mirror, I’ve felt shame.

With all respect to Oprah, while shaming someone for being overweight isn’t helpful, taking on that shame is a our decision, whether it’s about weight, height, or any other aspect of our lives.

When I’ve been heavy (which is practically every day of my adult life), I’ve had two choices. I could feel powerless about it and allow the shame I’ve felt to define me. Or I could do something about it. Right now, I’m down about fifteen pounds since the beginning of the year, mostly because I didn’t want to feel that way about myself.

This isn’t saying that people should be free to ridicule and hurt others because of their weight. They clearly shouldn’t.

It’s saying we have control over how we respond. It’s a hard thing to push back against shame, especially when it’s public. But it is a choice we have.

We don’t have to accept or take on shame when it’s placed on our doorstep. We retain the power to reject that shame, whether it’s about weight or any other attribute.