Where People Are

The other night Geoff and I watched the movie “Unbreakable,” starring Bruce Willis and Samuel L. Jackson. When Bruce Willis’ character, David Dunn becomes the sole survivor of a tragic train wreck, a comic book collector, Elijah Price, becomes obsessed with proving to him that his survival must point to a greater life purpose than what he has yet realized. After piecing together the evidence that in the course of his life he has never been sick or had a single injury, Dunn begins to believe that Price may be right: maybe he has been given uncommon strength in order to protect and help those who are weaker than himself. As he surrenders to this purpose, so to speak, he calls Price and asks, “What am I supposed to do?” Price’s poignant response struck and has stayed with me. “Go to where people are,” he says, “You won’t have to look long.” I won't spoil the movie for you, in case you haven't seen it, but suffice it to say, Dunn begins to pay a little more attention and is made overwhelmingly aware of the needs of people all around him.

In the ordinariness of our days, sometimes it can seem like we aren’t making a difference in the grand scheme of things. We might wonder, “Am I doing enough?” Am I really even doing what I’m meant to be doing?Jesus said that the greatest commandment is to love God above all else and to love your neighbor as yourself. If Jesus said that this is the greatest commandment, then it seems obedience to it must be pretty high on his priority list for our lives, right? And if Jesus said, "If you love me you will keep my commandments,” then one of the ways our love for God is expressed is in how we love our neighbor. So, maybe our purpose really isn’t that complicated. There is quite a bit of freedom in being a disciple of Christ when it comes to what we are supposed to “do” with our lives. When it comes to professions and pass-times most things seem to be fair game if in doing them we can honestly show love to God and neighbor. I am finding that if I simply “go where people are,” it doesn’t take long before I become aware of their needs, of ways that I can love, serve, bless, and pray for them.The next step, of course, is to actually do these things. But it has to start with going.

You may say, “There are people all around me…what do you mean go to them?” In this technological age we can be fairly insulated from ever really having to have contact with people. We have fences that separate our property from our neighbors’; garages that allow us to go from inside our houses, out into the world and back again without ever having contact with the people next door; cell phones that often keep us from engaging with the people around us; and we can order coffee, go to the bank, pick up dinner, and put gas in our cars, all with little to no contact with another human being. Going where people are takes some effort.

When Geoff and I moved into our apartment after living with another couple for a few months, I thought that we would have opportunities to build relationships with our fellow apartment livers. It didn’t take long for me to realize that this would be quite a challenge due to our nearest neighbors not speaking English (the attempts at conversation were quite comical), and the girl below us (we lived on the second floor) having a very different schedule from ours. I tried taking cookies to our below-neighbor once, but when there was no answer I thought what if she's sleeping and I wake her up? I chickened out and didn’t try again. Looking back, I think I could have made more of an effort to get to know our neighbors, and I am made aware that living this way is something that we have to fight for. 

And going where people are isn’t just a matter of physical geography; it’s a matter of heart geography as well. It’s about being tuned to the people you do encounter. It’s about listening to them and then being available when you may be able to step in and meet a need. Sometimes it’s about simply listening, period. Usually it will require a little extra effort on our part. We need to tear through the insulation. We need to knock down, or at least start by talking through, our fences (Tool Time, anyone?). We need to open our doors. 

Maybe we can make our bank deposits inside instead going through the drive through. Maybe we can walk into the convenience store instead of paying at the pump. Maybe we can take walks in our neighborhoods. Maybe we can actually talk to the employees of the businesses we frequent [what a bright spot it must be in their days when someone talks to the people behind the counter instead of just handing them money…when we say Hey, I notice you. You’re valuable]. Maybe we can have people into our homes. Maybe church can be more of what we are instead of where we go. Maybe we can talk to the ones who are older and younger and not in the same “stage of life” as us. 

You know that group of people Jesus calls “The Least?" You know, the sick ones, the poor ones, the ones in prison? The ones most people ignore? Maybe we could go to those people. The ones who Jesus says serving is the same as serving him. If He says his true followers are the ones who love the forgotten of the world, I certainly want to pay attention. I certainly want to align my life with what He says is true. He is the Risen Lord, after all; He probably (as in definitely) knows what He's talking about and can be trusted.

What are you supposed to do?

Go where people are. You won’t have to look long.

P.S. Should you think that by using the word "maybe" I am saying Jesus' commands are somehow optional, please note that I use this word often simply to make things that we may take for granted stand out in a fresh way. Sometimes understatements have a way of grabbing our attention, and showing us how far from the mark we are, if that makes sense.

Hope for the In-Between

Sunday I felt the relief of Easter wash over me like a long-awaited rain. This day has grown more significant and special to me in recent years. Growing up, I knew it was important, but I never quite realized how essential the resurrection is until my twenties. Up until then, it always seemed like I was on the verge of discovering something great, but never quite able to break through to experience that aha! moment that I craved. Then, through reading and reflection (There's a reason this blog is called Reflective Journey. There's tremendous value in reflecting on stuff. I digress...) and conversations with my dear community, over time I began to grasp the significance of the fact that Jesus rose from the dead.

The Saturday before Easter, that day of silence in the Church calendar, I allowed myself to imagine what it must have been like to be Jesus' disciples after he was laid away in a cold tomb. I tried to imagine the feelings of loss, confusion, and disappointment that they must have felt. We really thought this was it. We thought the Kingdom was here. We trusted you, Jesus. I allowed myself to "go there" for a brief moment and to think, what if Jesus hadn't come back from the dead? If you allow your mind to go there, it really is a dark thought. It's worse than the feeling of emptiness I had as a child after a sleepover, when all my friends had left, when I would look around at the mess my mom was sure to make me clean and wonder what now?  

What now? they must have thought. How do you carry on when you had been this close to victory, to a meaning and purpose so much bigger than catching fish every day? How do you carry on when the one you had staked everything on and left everything for turns out to be someone who seems much more like a scoundrel than a Savior?

Of course, that's not a good place to stay for long, because we do know the rest of the story. But thinking about what might not be, or might not have been, usually helps us appreciate what is, and had I not reflected upon the significance of Friday and Saturday, Sunday would not have felt near as sweet. I really felt like I was bursting at the seems as I sang, "...Then bursting forth in glorious day, up from the grave He rose again," and "Christ has died, and Christ is risen, Christ will come again." I knew how desperately I need a Risen Lord and I celebrated. That was Sunday.

Today is Wednesday. I still know how desperately I need a Risen Lord, but already some of the shine of Sunday is wearing off. Yesterday I had a complimentary "spa day" at work and I realized that no matter how peaceful your surroundings are, you can still have a hard time relaxing and being at peace. Wherever you go, there you are, right? Then, I came home and was faced with the sad situation of a troubled neighbor boy whose mom had told him to leave the house because he was suspended from school. There is a daytime curfew and he had nowhere to go, so asked if he could "just chill' at our house for a little while. He's only fifteen. His dad is dead and his mom routinely tells him to leave the house, apparently whenever she just doesn't feel like having him around. No amount of comfort can really insulate us from the pain of the world around us (nor should it, really). And then there's the selfishness of my own heart and how good I can be at keeping track of the wrongs of others, but want them to have a terrible memory when it comes to mine.

It's quite astounding the spectrum of emotions that can be experienced between Sunday and Wednesday...even between Sunday morning and Sunday night. Sometimes Monday hits hard, and by Tuesday you're slumping, and by Wednesday you're ready for a do-over. And today I'm reminded that I need the reality of Easter to permeate every day. Not that I need to live in a constant state of emotional high, but that I need to live in a constant state of hope. Peter said it like this:

                          Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ!
                          According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again
                          to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from
                          the dead...
                          (1 Peter 1:3 emphasis mine)

Did you catch that? Our hope comes as direct result of the resurrection. And it's a living hope, because it's based upon the Living Lord. Celebrations are important, and ideally, life should be lived with a sense of celebration because of our hope. But when the sense of celebration eludes us, when Monday hits hard, when life is just hard, there is still hope because of the fact that Jesus is alive, and his resurrection validates everything He ever said. That means that when He said, "Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age," He really meant it. That means that when he said He won't leave us as orphans, but that he'll send us the Holy Spirit as a helper, he really did. That means when he said He was going away, but he's going to come back again, He really will. That means that just as God had a plan in the in-between time of Friday and Sunday, He has a plan in the in-between of Jesus' resurrection and ascension and the time that He will return. In a sense, this time is our Saturday, but unlike the disciples then, we know that resurrection has come and is coming. Hope is in the air. Jesus is alive and He's coming back. So, while we groan in these tents (2 Cor 5:2), and while the whole creation groans (Romans 8:22-23), let us not forget that we have a living hope, a hope that carries us through every day of the week.