Vapor

Hey! It’s been a while (yet again) since I’ve posted. So much for New Years’ Resolutions of staying on top of my blog game. 

You might remember from last time that I had just moved into an exciting new community house in Roanoke, VA. I’m still here! Things are slowly shifting into place, and we’ve been hard at work making the house a functioning environment. We just welcomed our third member this weekend after he graduated from college, and we’re looking forward to a summer full of events to kick off the Aidan Community in style. (Come on out if you’re in town!)

Some of you guys have asked me where I’m working, how life is going, etc. I’m fortunate enough to work right across the street from my house. (You might also remember that my car sort of...exploded...in November and so I was without a set of wheels for about 5 months.) It’s not a thrilling job -- I sit at a desk stuffing envelopes for most of the day -- but it provides my needs, it’s within walking distance, and it’s not nearly as morally ambiguous as some of my past jobs have been. *cough* 

Plus they provide us with, like, catered lunches every day, and I have time to listen to podcasts (because I’m really trying hard to be a person who listens to podcasts now). 

I’ve also been able to help support my brother and parents as they start their own Escape Room business here in town. (They opened May 4th! Check it out; I designed their logo and website for them.) And meanwhile, my other brother gave me his old car!

Life is good. I’m satisfied. That image I wrote about in the depths of my depression about the hope of waking up one day and realizing I’m fine; leaning back at the dinner table surrounded by friends with a belly full of good food and a body pleasantly exhausted by a day full of good work -- that’s happened, folks. I’ve experienced moments of it already, brief glimpses of what life could be. 

And yet....

Much like any social media post, that isn't the full story. I have to tell you about the thoughts that have crept in. The doubts and fears gnawing at my happiness. And the beauty of a grace that I have never fully understood until now. (And still don’t, to be honest.)

But first I have to tell you about this idea I have for a tattoo.* (I know. Whaaaat?! This particular image has been in my head and my heart for well over a year, and I keep pondering it, and it keeps rolling around in my brain, and I keep finding new ways of interpreting it that have been super helpful to me...and I kind of have commitment issues, so what better way to tackle that one head on than by getting something permanently inked on my body? #reasonsNOTtogetatattoo...) Anyway, here it is:

  protagonist  

It’s the word “protagonist” that’s been scratched out with a line through the center. At first glance, it doesn't seem too profound, and the most obvious meaning sounds like an answer straight out of Sunday school. Yet it reminds me of a lot of different ideas -- some of them hopeful, some of them pessimistic, many of them overlapping and contradictory -- but one of the images that resonates most strongly with me right now is this: the idea that I don’t have to do it all. I’m not the main character of this story. There’s a saviour of the world, and it isn’t me. And that sets me free from a lot of shame, guilt, fear, expectation, pressure, stress, and disappointment. 

Throughout our lives -- especially if we grew up in the church -- we are kind of told that we’re expected to be world-changers. It might not always be explicit, but it’s always, always implied as one of the takeaways in Sunday school after reading stories about Abraham or Moses or Daniel or Jacob or Isaac or Noah or David or etc. (I call these guys the Protagonists, because the stories are always about them.) The insinuation is that, one day, we will all grow up to be just like these biblical protagonists, and do big huge wonderful awesome exciting things for Jesus. 

But the problem with that mentality is that A) life isn't a great big story -- that image works much better as a metaphor than as an actual explanation -- and B) even if it was, it isn’t possible or even likely that every single one of us will be a Protagonist. Think about all the Israelites Moses led out of Egypt, for example. We don’t know any of their stories; we don’t even know their names. They never got their own book of the Bible. Odds are that most of us who follow Christ are also going to be part of this great and nameless crowd of witnesses who dutifully served God in their own small ways. There won’t be any famous stories about us passed down from generation to generation, no tales of the glory from the good old days. We’re probably not going to face a climactic showdown between good and evil, where our singular act of faith changes the course of history forever. (We won't have spectators, I guess is what I'm saying. Yes, our lives serve as examples to others--and yes, in this day and age, it's easier than ever to make ourselves the center of public attention through social media--but what I'm trying to say is that we don't really need to put all that extra pressure on ourselves.)

Gungor’s the Liturgists podcast explores this idea in one of their meditations centered around NASA’s image of the Pale Blue Dot. The photograph is of earth from a distant probe in space, and all you can see of our planet is what looks like a tiny speck of dust suspended in a sunbeam. When you see that tiny blue dot, and you ponder how all of human history is contained within it -- every thought, every quest, every king and scientist and artist and athlete, every invention and war and concept of the human experience, our entire understanding of life -- you realize that the author of Ecclesiastes was right: All is vapor. All is meaningless. Against the vastness of the universe, what difference does one human life really make?

Whoa, deep breath. I realize that, for some of you, all of this might sound incredibly depressing, and maybe it is (or it can be). But I promise you, it’s the gateway for one of the most stunningly beautiful truths that exists in our world. Are you ready for it?

Grace.

Grace means that we don’t have to do everything, (and it's foolish to think we even could). We don’t have to be big damn heroes of big damn stories. Grace says our lives are vapor, and therefore the world does not depend on us. Grace acknowledges that Jesus is the author, perfecter, and protagonist of our faith -- not us. Grace offers us the chance to be a side character, to make mistakes that don’t affect the outcome of the story, to put others before ourselves, to be still and be.

When you’re not a Protagonist, you understand that life isn’t all about you. You become free to focus on others and to accept your place in the cosmos with dignity and a special sort of fearless power. 

(Because when the Fate of Everything is not hanging on the line, it’s amazing how free you become to pursue whimsy and beauty and creativity and passion and love -- without a paralyzing fear that you’re doing it wrong, that you’re going to make some kind of crushing mistake, or that you’re wasting your life.)

Grace. It’s not about you, remember?

Christianity isn’t for the elite. It isn’t just for the people who have their lives all figured out. It isn’t for the ones doing the right things, the best things, or the biggest things in an attempt to prove their worth. It isn’t exclusively for the Protagonists.

No, Christianity is for the lowly, the boring, the ordinary, the sidekicks. It's for those who can't, or those who think they can't, or for those who feel like they have proven they can't once and for all by falling flat on their face one too many times. 

When we view the Bible as the stories of Protagonists, we basically treat the Bible like a greatest hits highlights reel, or like God's facebook page. We only see the good parts that make good stories -- full of conflicts and a call to action and heroes and victories -- and we ignore the bits where the protagonists spend large chunks of their lives in prison, or 40 years wandering lost in the desert, or laying on their left side in the dirt for 390 days in a row (that was Ezekiel, btdubbs). So why do we get so hung up on feeling like "we're not doing enough for Jesus today" when, in the grand scheme of things....neither did these people? They might have had moments that were memorable, or led lifestyles that were ultimately focused on God, but overall, when you actually break it down, their days were really kind of... ordinary. Boring. Mundane. Their lives really aren't that different from yours or mine.

So maybe let's break away from this whole "world-changer" idea. You are not a failure if you didn't do anything Protagonist-worthy today. Maybe we need to redefine “success," “extraordinary," and our sense of self-worth. Our lives matter because Jesus said they did when He gave His for us; let’s stop trying to make them matter through other means. Not because we’re good Christians or we impressed our spectators or because we're perfect protagonists. 

The truth is, (language alert), you could have royally fucked up every single gift and opportunity you were ever given, and the Father would still run to His prodigal child from a great distance with a robe and a ring and a great big party. 

Grace.

It’s what makes life worth living, what makes the ordinary so….extraordinary. (ba dum ching)

Breathe it in. Let it fill you. Let it inspire you to live a life of humble ordinariness. Let it free you from the need to be great, the need to be noteworthy, the need to mean something.

And find rest, dear soul. Don’t try so hard. You are loved through grace. 

Let that be enough.

*Note: I'm probably not going to get this as a tattoo. (If anything, I will get a piece of Scott Erickson's art on my body.) But I recently read Liz Gilbert's book on creativity, Big Magic, and it contained a brief but interesting perspective on tattoos: tattoos might be permanent, but our bodies are temporary. She tells a story about how, since we're only here on earth for a short while, her friend decided a long time ago that she wanted to decorate herself as playfully as she can while she still has time. I'm not sure I could be so cavalier about inking my body, but I have to admit I resonate with the idea of being bold and taking chances and not taking life so seriously.

**Double Note: I almost hesitate to publish this, because I realize that it could be easily misread as defeatist. I'm not saying don't try. I'm not saying nothing matters. Lord knows, my own personal journey has exhibited as much in my quest to do something, to heed Jesus's call to action, to practice Christianity outside of Sunday mornings and outside the church buildings. I am excited to one day get back into that world, and use my experiences to teach teens and young adults and college students inside the Christian context. Absolutely! But that doesn't mean I'm not good enough if I'm not doing those things right now.

I don’t know much about surfing (except for that one time I rented a board on the beaches of Sydney for a couple of hours), but even though I was never able to pop up, I can imagine exactly what it feels like to ride a wave. Because that’s what my life felt like before burnout and depression knocked me off my feet, back before I drowned in a sea doubt and fear and feelings of worthlessness. I faced waves as big as mountains, and they became footstools to my feet. I was soaring, flying, hoping, dreaming, risking, living, trusting... And it was exhilarating.

Now, to be honest, I often feel like I’m in full-on survival mode. I’m hunkered down on the surfboard, doing the best I can, clinging to control, and trying not to go under again. Those waves that seemed like mountains before are gone now, but I’m surprised to find that I’m also just as terrified of even the tiniest swells, too. I don’t want to mess up. I don’t want to fall. I don’t want to drown again.

And that’s OK.

Why? Because Grace wins.

No, I'm not advocating laziness or avoidance or give-up-on-all-your-dreams, here; when that next wave comes, you better believe I'm going to try my best to stand up and ride it to the end. However, I find comfort in the ever-present but often-overlooked grace that whispers gently in my ear: "It's OK if you fail. I'll still be here. I'm not judging your worth on this. You are already enough."

And I guess that's the point that I'm trying to convey in this blog post.

Peace,

--JD