Monday, November 28, 2016
Two Kinds of Buckets
Exactly one week ago, our friends Becca & Adam packed up their family in Atlanta and drove into the night to hang out with us for 24 decadent, wonky hours. They showed up on Tuesday around lunchtime while I was upstairs "handling" the crime scene that is the kids' bathroom then, as an expression of my gratitude, I immediately whisked Becca away to Kroger. She also obliged when I asked her to keep me company for the approximately 6.33333 hours it took me to make a humble pot of soup for dinner.What I'm trying to tell you is, visit at your peril and/or boredom.
Later, the kids watched Tom & Jerry in the basement, and us adults managed to stay awake until almost midnight as a demonstration of our eternal youthfulness and vigor. (It helped that we had a crockpot full of strange and delicious dip consisting of sausage, cream cheese, and Rotel melted together.)
We spent most of our time commiserating about loving people with complicated lives and how the mess so easily bleeds onto us. On paper, it seems like it wouldn't be worth it. We unanimously agreed that life used to be simpler, not to mention quieter. But they hold the secret in their hearts and in their bones - life was meant to be lived near the margins. The magic is never far from the mess.
We parted ways reluctantly and headed off to celebrate the season of thankfulness with our respective families. I spent much of Thanksgiving day alternating between bites of peanut butter pie, sad thoughts about my locked up friends, and bites of sugar cream pie.
One day later, I was leveled over the destruction and suffering in Aleppo, Syria. The thought of families being torn apart and children facing imminent starvation weighed on me as I tried to enjoy the day with my own healthy, happy, safe, and overfed family. The thing about love is that it's often inconvenient. Love, in its purest form, is lived without regard for what it might cost us.
Now, the tree is mostly up and I burned the Harvest Spice candle down just in time to replace it with a piney one. Christmas is in the air, and I'm still feeling some type of way.
At the risk of repeating myself for the 7th straight December, this time of year throws my emotional equilibrium out of whack. I wrote about this way back in 2010. Silas was home for his first Christmas, we had recently met a small community of homeless people who were skewing our worldview against everything we thought we knew, we were knee-deep in Radical, and we had no earthly clue that it was only the beginning. The door was cracked open just a smidge to the burn of the world. We found ourselves wondering if maybe by choosing to walk toward the hurt rather than away from it, our own weary hearts would somehow be healed.
When I was a kid growing up in the country, I remember my dad teaching us that the best way to carry something heavy is to carry something equally heavy in the other hand. From personal experience, this applies to buckets of water, oversized suitcases, grocery bags filled with cans of Spaghettios, concrete blocks, and dense emotions.
Decades later, I remain a distracted and forgetful student of balance. Gratitude and sorrow aren't, as I once believed, mutually exclusive. They actually pair quite well together, one in each hand.
It can be easy to get caught up in focusing on my own comfort. Or even to ebb into the dark seas of sadness, staring too long at grief and disunity. The trick is to keep filling the other bucket. And the only way that's possible is Emmanuel, who comes to be with us, who offers the hope of salvation, who calls us to drive our ego, our pride, and our common sense into the dirt as we love each other more. The world says, "Save yourself first!" The Gospel tells of a narrower way where life is found through death, and where gratitude and sorrow twist into an enduring cord of hope.
In her book Accidental Saints, Nadia Bolz-Weber talks about the importance of keeping Herod in Christmas. Though the tidy version initially feels nicer with its sugar rushes and cheery lights, we can opt to stop dumbing it down and acknowledge the suffering Jesus came to redeem. This is the only way to celebrate Christ's birth with authenticity.
The finest gift we bring is our willingness to stare pain in the face while carols hold the beat. Aleppo, Standing Rock, addiction, chaos, strife, abuse, grief, the attack that occurred on an Ohio college campus while I wrote this blog post - In his name, all oppression shall cease. Today, while our computers light up with flash deals and Amazon magically spirits new stuff to our front doors, we can fill the other bucket, surrendering what we think is "ours", and releasing it back into the kingdom.
The heartbreak of the world around us won't wait for the party to end. The heartbreak is the very reason we sing.
Here are a few of the organizations* Cory and I enthusiastically support:
Owens family (with Africa Inland Mission)
The Good Story
The Mentoring Project
Tiny Hands International
*Another way to fill the bucket is to look around your actual life and find people who need help. Think single moms, struggling families, older folks falling through the cracks, friends in jail who pay through the nose for basic needs like shampoo, Q-tips and sports bras...This kind of giving is not tax deductible, but Jesus says it counts, too. ;)