Hello declining pool of faithful readers: all two of you, and my mom if she were still alive. I haven't written anything for a while, and don't really feel like it now. So much for the regular and inspiring pastoral pep-talk that most blogs like this aspire to be.
"Yes you can! Yes you can!"
But I can't.
I feel like the little engine that could. Until he couldn't.
I know... I wrote something about Rob Bell a few weeks ago and ended it with 'to be continued...' It's sitting there in my 'Draft' box, as insightful a piece of theological reflection you'll ever find anywhere in cyberspace. Ha! But I can't be bothered re-reading it, let alone clicking the 'publish' button. And I only feel moderately guilty about not completing something I said I would.
What is happening here?
It's called "I'm a mess." Ok, that's a bit dramatic. How about, "I'm wrung out"? Ok, that's a bit better. But why don't we settle on "I'm just tired."
I had a morning of prayer with some other Madison pastors this week, and stumbled upon this psalm (86) which became my own:
Hear, O LORD, and answer me,
for I am poor and needy.
Guard my life, for I am devoted to you.
You are my God; save your servant
who trusts in you.
Have mercy on me, O Lord,
for I call to you all day long.
Bring joy to your servant,
for to you, O Lord,
I lift up my soul.
What is going on?
I have so much to be thankful for: a loving wife and kids, a great church, and a lawn-care guy who promises he'll take care of our dandelion problem. But I'm feeling blah about it all. Even a day off today, a can of Vanilla Coke, and a handful of extra-large jelly-beans hasn't done much of anything for me.
So many people have it so much worse: Bin Laden has a bullet in his head. Alabamans have lost everything in that F-5 tornado, the Mississippi is about to cause a once-in-500-years flood, and I have parishoners whose lives are falling apart.
And I'm bummed out because I'm tired? And I'm tired because I'm bummed out?
It's so insignificant and paltry. And embarrassing.
I watch those pastors on TV and they are so full of vim and vigor, something and vinegar. Every hair of theirs is in place. And this pastor doesn't even feel like shaving.
Ok, I lied. I don't watch them on TV. But if I was there on the set I'd mess up their hair and say "Get real! Have a bad day once in a while. The rest of us do."
And maybe that's the point. We all have good and bad days. Often because of circumstances. Sometimes, despite circumstances. It's just the way our physiology or psychology or neurology works. And perhaps our theology should allow for that. Perhaps our theology should give us a break once in a while. Maybe it's ok if we don't end up singing "O happy day" or "Victory in Jesus" every day.
After all, Elijah didn't. After some rather intense ministry situations we see him in 1 Kings chapter 19 sitting down under a tree where we read that:
...he prayed that he might die. 'I have had enough, LORD,' he said. 'Take my life....' Then he lay down under the tree and fell asleep.
All at once an angel touched him and said, 'Get up and eat....' He ate and drank and then lay down again.
The angel of the LORD came back a second time and touched him and said, 'Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.' So he got up and ate and drank. Strengthened by that food, he traveled forty days and forty nights...
I love that story for its realness. For its unadorned practicality. Rest, food, drink. God cares about those things, and he knows that we need them.
So where are my jelly beans? That Vanilla Coke? Ah, there's my John Grisham novel. I think I'll grab it, and go lay down.
