All Is Not Lost

Our plan was to backpack close to forty miles along the Colorado River on the rarely traveled Escalante Route in the Grand Canyon. 

But in one of the busiest national parks in the United States, even permits for the more remote routes are incredibly difficult to secure. After days of arduous back and forth, switching dates and negotiating where we would pitch our tents each night, we finally landed one of the most epic permits in the park. 

In my excitement, I shared this great news with my wife, who just stared at me blankly with no visible emotion on her face. 

“You do realize those dates are during Easter, right?” she asked, knowing exactly how I would answer.

“Um, no,” I sheepishly confessed.

These kinds of oversights are typical for me, though.

Like the time I left the car seat in the car and showed up at the airport terminal with Starbucks in hand, only to have my wife, baby in arms, ask where the car seat was. 

Like the time I left a week’s worth of breast milk at home when we went to my wife’s friend’s wedding in Florida with our newborn. I was supposed to be the one watching our daughter while my wife participated in all of the wedding activities.

You get the picture.

Life is full of inevitable disruptions and difficulties. 

Sometimes they are of our own doing. 

Other times, they are out of our control.

Like this season of the pandemic.

While we have made important and necessary sacrifices to protect the most vulnerable among us, there is no question that our isolation has created a sense of disruption, helplessness, and loss.

We have lost embraces to standing six feet apart.

We have lost the subtlety of a smile to face coverings.

We have lost the ease of conversations to dividers and shields.

We have lost plays and musicals and concerts, sporting events, parades and block parties, community social events, faith community gatherings, schools and classmates, work and coworkers, meals with extended families and friends.

We have lost the physical to the virtual, our natural rhythm to an unfamiliar beat.

And to compound our isolation, our sense of helplessness, and our loss of control during this time, we are fed nonstop media narratives that continue to polarize us, pit us against one another, and make us feel increasingly anxious and depressed. 

In a desperate attempt to find some semblance of community and connectedness in our isolation, we retreat to social media only to find more anger, division, and hostility, which leaves us even more fragmented and alone.

We are losing so much more than lives to this virus.

We are losing our humanity.

We are being broken down individually into isolated and fragmented parts that are increasingly anxious and angry. We are rapidly losing our sense of what it means to be a fully integrated, fully alive human being that works toward healthy relationships and community. And we can either continue down this hateful and antagonistic trajectory, feeding the beast until it consumes our souls and causes us to devolve into utter chaos, or we can draw a line in the sand and resolve to fight for our hearts and take back our humanity, finding a different, more life-giving way forward in the process.

But it has to begin with each one of us.

For there is no remedying the whole until the parts themselves find wholeness. 

As a people, we always have this mistaken idea that our help, our change, our salvation can only come from on high… from elected officials, from governments, from courts, from social organizations, from political action groups, and so on. 

But every wisdom tradition I have ever studied teaches us that our communities only change when we change individually. Our communities only find health when we find health individually. Our communities only become just, merciful, forgiving when we become just, merciful, and forgiving individually. And our communities only become whole and healed when we become whole and healed ourselves.

Jesus said that even a little yeast will permeate the entire batch of dough.

It is always the transformation of the smallest part that leads to the transformation of the whole.

While I grieve for those affected by the virus, I believe this season of loss is giving us an opportunity to look inward and evaluate who we are as individuals. 

Every construct upon which we have depended and that have held us up feebly like a crutch have been violently ripped away. Our endless rat races around life’s circumference have all ended abruptly. Our preoccupations prioritizing the exterior to the continual neglect of our interior have all ceased. 

We have never been more naked and exposed and vulnerable in our lifetime than right now. There are no metaphorical bushes behind which we can hide. We have been given an opportunity during this time of loss to honestly look inward and see ourselves and rediscover our inherent goodness and our shared humanity.

But what are we doing with this opportunity? Do we go through this unchanged and continue down this downward spiral together? Or, do we embrace this time of disruption and difficulty as an opportunity to find our hearts again and save our communities?

On Easter morning of 2014, the guys and I sat in a circle on large rocks next to the Colorado River in the heart of the Grand Canyon and watched the sunrise. I unwrapped the foil that had preserved the homemade honey-molasses communion bread I had baked before the trip. While aching and feeling the loss of not being with my family to celebrate the day, I prayed with my brothers, broke the bread, and savored one of the most life-giving and holy Easter moments I have ever experienced.

Life is difficult and many times feels like profound loss, but we always have the opportunity to embrace the moment and look-inwardly. For it is only in this place where we can recover that which is life-giving and holy.

This Body of Death, Part 2

With the purchase of my last book Beauty in the Wreckage I offered a free bonus chapter. I have decided to make that bonus chapter available now as two blog posts. This is part two. Part one can be found here. Thank you so much for your continued prayers and support friends.

I am not one who has much affection for the King James Version of the Bible. It’s too hard to read and understand. But, on occasion, I go back to ole King James to see how a verse is translated. And I have been surprised quite a few times with my discoveries.

As a lover of Romans 8, I can almost tell you word for word what it says from memory. But there is some phrasing that most modern versions of the Bible surprisingly leave out, which I have recently uncovered in the King James Version. 

Verses 22-23 in the King James read like this, “For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now. And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body.”

And if you don’t immediately see the beauty here, let me paint the picture for you.

All of creation, all of God’s good creation, brought into being by the loving and creative hand of God, is groaning and travailing. 

All of God’s good creation is crying out. 

All of God’s good creation is laboring through this painful experience. 

And it is not just every delicate blade of grass, every towering tree, every mighty body of water, every magnificent celestial body, and every beautifully diverse animal that runs across the land and swims in the sea, it is we too, God’s image bearers, God’s partners and caretakers, who join this collective chorus of pain and suffering, together, even while we embody and manifest the Spirit of God, a life of shalom.

It is not just that the King James Version rightly included both words, groaneth and travaileth, while other versions include just one of the words, it is that the King James Version uniquely says that we groan and travail together. 

I can’t underscore just how important this point is- we groan and cry out in this painful life experience together.

And that is the real beauty and insight of the text. The passage not only assumes that each one of us will experience and live through pain and suffering, it assumes that we will do it together.

That is why we should never be afraid to talk about what we are going through with others. That is why we should never have to suffer quietly or alone. That is why we should never have to hide in embarrassment or believe that no one else will understand.

Because we all suffer through this, together. 

Each one of us should be able to share the pain we are experiencing without judgment, condemnation, or questions about our faith, or lack of faith, in God. 

Each one of us should be able to be real about the stress, anxiety, and depression we are experiencing without being told that we simply need to read the Bible more or pray more, as if those things alone are the simple fixes to make everything go away. 

And each one of us should be able to be honest about our mental illnesses without feeling like a “lesser Christian.” 

The goal is not to be healed with enough faith. The goal is the journey of who we are becoming, in light of what we are suffering, in light of the pain we are experiencing, in light of what we are going through. 

And that is why you should never apologize for singing the praises of God in one breath, and groaning in the next.     

Because there is shalom in this fractured place. And we hold both together within us in hope.

I just attended the funeral of my 87-year old uncle who died with Parkinson’s disease. He had been a preacher almost as long as he had been alive. And the church he started was the same church I grew up in for the first 20 years of my life.

I probably didn’t agree with every doctrine of that church. And I didn’t necessarily agree with every nuance of their theology. But man, my uncle loved people. The love of the Christ radiated outward in his words and in his actions. He loved and cared for all of the people he knew and even people he didn’t know. He was one of the most loving people I have ever met. 

The amazing truth is that love can cover a multitude of differing doctrines and theologies, because it is all ultimately about how much we love God, love others, and love ourselves.

That he did. 

And it was a beautiful thing to hear all of the stories of how he loved. 

Even when his health was deteriorating, even when he was in pain, even when his body continued to tremor from his disease, he loved God and everyone around him. He lived in the wholeness of the Christ, he resided in the completeness of the Christ. And in this harmonious relationship with the Christ was the deep well of God’s goodness. It was his fullness and satisfaction, even while his body deteriorated and failed, even while his body deteriorated and failed.

That is what I want in my life.

I want to experience and share a love that transcends my broken body, that reaches down deep into the well of God’s goodness despite my pain and suffering. 

For it is in that place where we discover beauty, despite the wreckage.

God, we praise you for your goodness, but we also groan longingly, and hopefully, looking toward a future in which every tear will be wiped away, every heartache will be healed, and every burdened body will be lifted.

But for today, we groan and travail together, seeking the shalom of the Christ.

Even while these bodies exist in dysfunction, disability, debilitation, and disorder, we pray for your deep well of goodness to be our satisfaction. 

For when we are prospering, let us be satisfied in your fullness. And when we are in need, let us be satisfied in your fullness. 

For when we have plenty, let us be satisfied in your fullness. And when we are in want, let us be satisfied in your fullness.

For when we are well-fed, let us be satisfied in your fullness. And when we are hungry, let us be satisfied in your fullness.

For when our bodies are healthy and functional, let us be satisfied in your fullness. And when our bodies are unhealthy and broken, let us be satisfied in your fullness.

For when our minds are clear and balanced and thinking rightly, let us be satisfied in your fullness. And when our minds are cloudy and imbalanced and confused, let us be satisfied in your fullness.

Father, let us be patient, content, and joyful examples of what it looks like to bear the tension of our bodily pain and suffering, while becoming the wholeness, completeness, and harmony of your shalom. 

Let us experience and share your love that transcends our broken bodies.

Work in and through our every weakness, our every physical, mental, and emotional dysfunction, our every pain and through our suffering to reveal that which is eternal and valuable.

Amen.

Beauty in the Wreckage: Finding Peace in the Age of Outrage is available everywhere online in digital, audiobook, and paper versions. It is also available as a signed paperback at Viewpoint Bookstore.

This Body Of Death, Part 1

With the purchase of my last book Beauty in the Wreckage I offered a free bonus chapter. I have decided to make that bonus chapter available now as two blog posts. This is part one. Thank you so much for your continued prayers and support friends.

I have prayed quietly in tears. I have had those closest to me pray faithfully for me. I have even had my church family surround me, put hands on me, and cry out to God on my behalf.

But God has not answered my prayers. God has not answered our prayers.

And it is here, in this uncomfortable place, where we uncover the most difficult area of faith, which is many times too taboo, too controversial, or too difficult for the Church to discuss. It is the place where any acknowledgement of the fact that God sometimes does not seem to answer our prayers is somehow believed to undermine God’s power and then somehow compromise our faith at its very core.

But neither of those sentiments are true.

The cold, hard fact is that there are prayers that God does not answer. In fact, there are many prayers God does not answer. And it can be frustrating and maddening and bewildering. It can push a person to the very edge of unbelief, sometimes even tipping them over the precipice of faith. The silence of God appears seemingly detached and indifferent to our pained groans and our needful cries for help, appearing to leave us abandoned as orphans- lost, alone, and destitute without any hope beyond ourselves.

I don’t speak of such matters in ignorance. Over the last nineteen years of my life I have dealt with chronic body pain. And for the most part, I keep it to myself. I don’t talk about it much. I choose only to share it with a few close friends and family, because I don’t like to be the center of attention. So in my mind, the less I share about it, the less people will focus on me. And that is the way I prefer it. But in those few instances when I have opened up with others, they have been very surprised at how much I suffer through my pain.

Even as I write these words at this very moment, I feel physically worse than I have ever felt in my life. Every day I have the physical sensation of what feels like daggers stabbing into the nerves of my upper back, forearms, chest, and calves of my legs. The pain pulses through my nerves and radiates non-specifically throughout my body. My doctor told me at a recent appointment that a guy who is as healthy and active as I am should not be experiencing pain like this.

But I am.

And while I have tried almost everything under the sun to alleviate this pain, I wake up with it each day and carry it with me everywhere I go. And to make matters worse, my latest treatment regimen has me feeling worse than better. That is why I told my wife the other day that I can’t imagine having to live in this kind of pain for the next twenty to thirty years.

God, help me.

I can identify with the cry of the Psalmist, in my suffering through unanswered prayer, as he writes, “O Lord, heal me, for my bones are in agony. My soul is in anguish. How long, O Lord, how long? Turn, O Lord, and deliver me. Save me because of your unfailing love.”

But in response to my pleas and groaning, there is only silence and questions.

Why is it that God has not answered my prayers when I have asked for relief from this excruciating pain that won’t go away? Why is it that God has not answered the prayers of those closest to me when they have prayed so fervently and sacrificially for me?

Why is it that God chose to not answer one of my closest friend’s prayers yesterday when he put his arms around me and prayed over me like no one has ever prayed for me before?

I don’t know.

It’s easy to talk about life to the fullest, a life of shalom, when life is good and when you physically, mentally, and emotionally feel well, but isn’t it impossible when you have a debilitating disease, or when you are suffering from the excruciating pain of a physical illness or disease, or when you are losing your mental and physical capabilities, or when you are struggling through a physical or mental disability or illness?

I confess that when I am in the most pain, I am also at my worst. And it is really hard to admit that. I can hear the cynic sitting on his couch right now, “You mean the guy whose book I am reading just said that he can be a cranky monster when he is in pain? And he is talking to me about how to live in abundance! Ha!”

Right? I get it.

For all the areas of my life that I most easily seek and reside in shalom, I am still a student learning how to embody completeness, wholeness, and harmony in all things when I am physically suffering.

While it is easy for me to remember the big picture and keep my current condition in perspective, I too easily let my pain override my character and disposition toward others, usually toward my wife and kids, and I devolve into a crumpled ball of impatience and frustration.

It is certainly one thing to have idyllic notions of how life ought to be when life is good, but quite another when your body is in constant pain, when you are mentally exhausted, and when your son reminds you that you forgot his blanket and cup of water after the nighttime prayer. And to be honest, it is hard to care whether or not I am living in shalom at that exact moment.

Idealism has to have limits, right?

But what if we have had this thing wrong all along? What if a life of shalom, a life of wholeness, completeness, and harmony in all things actually takes into account our pain and our suffering? What if a life of shalom is able to transcend every degree of pain and suffering, every malady, every dysfunction, every frailty, and every disability? What if a life of shalom can, not only be found in the most likely places, but found even more readily in the most unassuming, least expected places, like in our pain and through our unanswered prayers?

Fr. Richard Rohr teaches that the two pathways of transformation are great love and great suffering. The Holy Scriptures echo this sentiment by teaching us that suffering can be the ground through which character grows, perseverance flourishes, and hope proliferates.

And it is this seeming paradox that is the profound mystery of God.

While God does not cause our pains, afflictions, disabilities, frailties, or sufferings, God may use those things that are considered foolish, weak, despised, contemptible, and of no value by worldly standards to undermine that which the world views as important and then manifest the shalom of the Christ through them.

And we see this principle time after time after time in the Scriptures.

It is the last who becomes first. It is the guest in the back who becomes the guest of honor. It is the poor who is made rich. It is the meek, the poor in spirit, the mourners, the merciful, the peacemakers, and the persecuted who are blessed. It is the tax collectors and prostitutes who are invited to enter the kingdom first before the religious.

It is the wayward son for whom the party is thrown. It is the one lost sheep who is sought while leaving the 99 behind. It is in the desolate field where the treasure is found. It is the anti-hero- the Samaritan, the tax collector, the Centurion- who all become the heroes of their story.

It is working through the blind and lame and demon-possessed and other outcasts to demonstrate the power of God. It is Jesus using a group of country-bumpkin disciples, who didn’t make the cut with other rabbis, to launch the biggest restoration plan in history. It is a crucifix of ultimate defeat and humiliation that becomes the symbol of ultimate freedom and victory. It is Jesus who leads by serving, who exemplifies power through sacrificing, and who forgives his murderers while he is dying. It is Life resurrecting triumphantly and defeating what appeared to be the absolute and final verdict of death.

None of it makes sense.

Everything by God’s standard is upside-down from the way we would expect it to be and it defies every value and convention and logic of the world.

By our standards, being first and in front is highly valued. By our standards, being savvy and cut-throat and having a take-no-prisoners approach to life are the attributes of the rich and successful. By our standards, writing off those who abandon us, cutting our losses by keeping what we have, and excluding the embarrassing and shameful outsiders is the way we operate. By our standards, using a highly-qualified and prestigious team to launch initiatives is essential to the success of a new global venture. By our standards, serving, sacrificing, and forgiving is the way of losers who never make it to the top of anything. And by our standards, making your marketing symbol a grisly, inhumane, and torturous death device will never get your initiative off of the ground.

It is all foolishness.

So by our own convention and wisdom, God using the foolish, the weak, the despised, the contemptible, and the valueless is utter nonsense and completely laughable. But, as we see time and time again, God’s power is made perfect in insignificance and in weakness.

That is exactly how God has chosen to reveal those things of ultimate value.

And I absolutely believe that it stands to reason that God can work in the least expected, least likely places today, as well. God can work in and through our every weakness, work through our every physical, mental, and emotional dysfunction, work through all of our pain and suffering to reveal that which is eternal and valuable. For while our bodies are wasting away, even unto death, the eternal shalom of the Christ transcends our condition, fills and satisfies us, and reveals the goodness of God.

That is the wisdom revealed by the imprisoned apostle, Paul, when we wrote a letter to the church in Philippi. In his captivity, likely to the Romans, Paul shared that, “[He has] learned the secret of being content in any and every situation”

The word “content” seems to be a far cry from the wholeness, completeness, and harmony in all things of shalom, but digging a bit deeper into the original Greek reveals that the word for content is a more robust word than we have been led to believe.

On the surface, the word content conveys that a person is “just okay,” or “indifferent” to their particular situation or condition. If the situation is good, I am okay. If the situation is bad, I am okay.

But the original Greek word, autarkés, reveals that a person is content in the sense of being satisfied because they are living in God’s fullness.

In autarkés, there is a deep satisfaction in, not only being wholly enveloped in the fullness of God’s shalom, but carrying that shalom deeply within us. And it is this secret that enables us to tap into the deep well of God’s goodness and be fully satisfied regardless of the pain or suffering we are experiencing.

Again, I am not quite there yet myself, but I am learning. I long for the day when I can repeat those very words of Paul as my own, even when my body is stricken with pain.

The truth is that we embody on a small scale the much larger reality of the life all around us. It is a life carrying the unresolved tension of pain and suffering in the present with the hope and anticipation of restoration in the future. And we carry this tension with us everywhere we go, waiting patiently and contently in hope, while continuing to give praise to God with every breath in great anticipation of this tension being resolved, once and for all, and all things being renewed and restored as God always intended.

But as we look to the future, we cannot carry this tension with us alone in the present.

We must carry on together.

Peace…

Brandon

Read This Body of Death, Part 2 here.

Beauty in the Wreckage: Finding Peace in the Age of Outrage is available everywhere online in digital, audiobook, and paper versions. It is also available as a signed paperback at Viewpoint Bookstore.