Personality Pollution

National Geographic reported last week that 80% of people living in the US cannot see the Milky Way galaxy at night. Because of light pollution (lights shining brightly enough at night to prevent us from seeing the night sky well), 80% of our population cannot see a structure of over 200 billion stars spanning 120,00 light years across. It's not that you can't see it in 80% of our geography, but where the population concentrates, so does light pollution, hiding 200 billion stars from nearly all of us.

Lamenting light pollution is not my purpose. Rather, I want to posit the question of what this is doing to our personalities.

Depending on when and where you grew up, you may have been able to enjoy laying on your front lawn or on the hood of a car, staring up at the night sky, and seeing a dark sky filled with stars. Which one is the North Star again? Oh, there it is! There's the Big Dipper, and that one is the Little Dipper. Can you find Orion? And sooooo many!

Never in my life have a I seen as many stars in the sky as I have out in the Wachara village in Western Kenya. No light pollution at all, and a sky literally filled with stars. I tried to get a picture, but didn't have the right equipment (so I'll post a picture from the Internet capturing what I was able see with just the naked eye):

The other thing we did while lying on the hood of the car staring at the stars was ponder our existence. How vast the universe! How small I am. How great is the Creator! How amazing that the One who made this would take any notice of little ol' me. I'm not as important as I thought. I fit into a tiny timeslice of a much larger reality, a much grander narrative. I'm nothing, but now I'm something because the Creator knows my name. The stars in the sky gave us a platform to consider the significance and meaning of our own existence. And we did this as kids.

The vast ocean and foreboding mountains can spur these thoughts, too, but even they are itty bitty dots compared to that sky! Nothing else we can see with our own eyes exposes our minuscule existence like the stars at night.

But what if you never get to see them, like 80% of the people in America today? What if you aren't reminded almost every night of every summer that you're nothing because of Creation and that you're something because of the Creator? What happens to your view of self, your view of the world, your view of Creation, and your view of the Creator if you never get to see his biggest masterpiece? What happens to your ego, your sense of purpose, your idea of significance, and your part in the narrative? Do you even see at all that there is a narrative? Light pollution will only increase, driving us well above 80% - what will be the increasing effect on our personalities?

The Bible uses "the stars in the sky" to refer to the vastness of other things. But if you've never really seen the vastness of the stars, can you even read these passages accurately? This phrase is intended to make your jaw drop, but if your jaw has never dropped at the sky, you're more likely to be ho hum than stunned when you read.

(source: http://www.universetoday.com/22285/facts-about-the-milky-way/)

What will we do? Our Creator has put on display for us a stunning view of who we are and who we are not, but we've blinded ourselves from seeing it. And our children will see it even less, and perhaps be hampered from struggling to see how they fit into a vast universe. Unless we bundle them up and take them to see what only 20% of Americans can see on any given night.

The God of the Bad Times

The Royals were on a great winning streak ... 6 in a row, and almost every game for a couple of weeks. Ten games in a row with 10 hits or more. Even with three All Star players injured, they were winning. They had one of the greatest 9th inning comebacks I've ever seen, or likely will ever see again. And then the bottom fell out, losing 5 in a row, with very few hits and a paltry sum of runs. Elation and heartbreak. Everything's going great, and then nothing, and I mean nothing, goes right. There was even a freak throw by an infielder that was supposed to go to first base, but went almost straight down to nail Merrifield on the funny bone. That ball could have gone anywhere, but it just had to hit one of our most productive players on that part of the elbow.

Some feel this way about our nation's history. Things were going along pretty well for a while, with "win" after "win" in almost every arena. And then seemingly in the blink of an eye, the bottom fell out and nothing seems to be going in a good direction. The economy is suffering, good jobs are much harder to find, we have one of the weirdest political seasons in our history, and we're getting into violent disagreements over who gets to use which toidy.

It's easy to feel like God's in control when your home team is "winning," whether that's your favorite sports team, your company, your nation, or even the people of faith. Because of that winning record, so to speak, it sure seems like God is in control.

When when your team can't get a hit, your company is laying off waves of employees, your nation seems to be in ever-worsening disarray, or the people of faith pushed toward the margins, it's easy to feel quite the opposite - that God is somehow not in control. Or perhaps just that He's less in control than He was before. The near-term trend seems even more negative, and so God seems even less in control.

There are plenty of examples in Scripture of God being in total control while His people felt quite the opposite, most notably in the life and death of Jesus. There's also Hebrews 11, which celebrates the actions of faith by those whose lives bore little clue that God was steering the ship. It's helpful to read and reread these accounts. But there's also a sense of "that was them, there, back then." It's a little hard to be completely solaced by the stories of people dead for 2000 years or more.

Perhaps a little logic will help. Think of the times when it really feels like God is in control. Either those times are a complete fraud or they are the very evidence we need. If God is in control in the good times, that means He's sovereign over all things in order to make those times good. Therefore, that means that He's sovereign over bad things as well as good things, whether bad things or good things are currently happening. So, either good times are a fraud, that even then God's not really in control, or the good times are the proof we need to remember that God must be in control of the bad times, too. He's either never sovereign over all things or He's always sovereign over all things. He can't be less in control at any point in time.

An author is control of not only the protagonist characters but also the antagonists. She's in control of both the happy storylines and the sad storylines. The author is no less in control of the difficult parts of the story, and in fact is using both good times and bad times to accomplish the purpose of the narrative.

God's narrative is Creation, Fall, Redemption, and Restoration. He's the author of that ongoing story. There is no part of the storyline that He's less in control of than others. When we're in the chapters where everything falls apart, the author isn't losing. He's just making the story complete.

Was I Made for More than This?

Raise your hand if you've ever asked this.

Now put your hand down, because it looks odd to raise your hand while looking at the screen.

Were you? Were you made for more than what your typical week includes? Or, were you made pretty much for the life you presently have? Does your life approximate what God specifically designed you for?

I don't ask assuming "yes" or "no" for you. But I want you to think about it. Maybe you've hit that sweet spot of feeling like your "this" is exactly what God made you for. Maybe not.

Be careful of what "more" means, though. "More" does not necessarily mean more money, more recognition, more power, more reach, more of a career, or more toys and experiences. "More" could mean more depth, more honesty, more genuine relationships, more clarity, or more of some other intangible. Whatever the "more" is, do you feel like you were made for it, but aren't experiencing it?

In part, all followers of Christ should feel this. We live in the "Already, But Not Yet" Kingdom, of which we have great foretastes, but not the full measure. We were in fact made for more than this. In Christ, we were made for the full-on, unveiled Kingdom of God. And ideally, we should feel that nagging sense that we were made for more than what we presently experience.

I would also venture a guess that most of us were made for more than what we have of this life, too. What God designed us for, saved us for, equipped us for, and calls us to is almost certainly more than the life we each live today. I say this not to drive to guilt, but to open our eyes that we have not set our sights for our lives as high as God has.

C.S. Lewis wrote in The Weight of Glory:

“It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

However, the "more" in our lives may have absolutely nothing to do with quitting our jobs, going to seminary, becoming missionaries, and living in huts (although it might). "More" may have nothing to do with doing more at your local church (although it might).

But what if "more" meant that what you are presently doing, you are to continue doing, but with more intentionality for the Kingdom of God? The cab driver need not turn in his license and pack for Indonesia. Perhaps he need only to understand that driving a cab can be a very full way of living in the Kingdom of God. Rather than merely collecting fares, the cab driver enables others to thrive in their lives. Perhaps he can provide a positive personality for someone who has had to handle angry customers all day. He might even ask to pray for (or with) a customer who shares some bad news. He can understand that by God's sovereignty, he is put in contact with hundreds of people in a month - people who may never step foot in a church. He can train others to not only drive cabs, but to drive cabs in ways that serve God.

Perhaps you were made for more than this, and perhaps that "more" is that you continue doing what you're doing, but with much more of an idea that you live in the "Already, But Not Yet" Kingdom especially in the work God has for you to do.

Blind Path

Last week, I attended a retreat for a non-profit organization I serve on the board with, called Hungry 4 Him. We exist to partner with those who serve vulnerable children, which to date for us has meant orphans in Western Kenya. The Board meets in person every year or so, and online the rest of the year. This particular meeting also included a retreat, led by a licensed counselor who also conducts outdoors-themed retreats.

Our goal for the retreat was to focus on trusting God more. This involved several discussions of various passages as well as some outdoors activities - rock-climbing and other exercises. I was not physically well enough to do the rock climbing, but I was able to participate in another trust exercise. Some of us were blindfolded and the rest of us helped guide the blind along a rather uneven path, which lots of rocks, branches, level changes, and a drop off to one side.

So I guided another board member mostly by voice, and a little by touch, to navigate successfully down the path. There were quite a few places where an ankle could get seriously turned, but we made it just fine. Then we switched roles. However, it was my core muscles that were in pain - the very muscles one uses by instinct if they start to stumble. One wrong move, and I'd be racked with pain. But we went for it.

My guide used more touch than I had provided, which I needed. It was difficult to trust someone to go forward, but we worked it, getting over rocks, staying away from the ledge, and avoiding low branches. I was taking very small steps, but all in the right direction. I was surprised when the said we had made it - it seemed too short of a walk. But after lifting the blindfold, sure enough, we were back where we started.

Here's what struck me: I looked back at the path I had just navigated. I couldn't believe it! It looked far more perilous than how it felt. I navigated that? How could I do that? I could barely walk an uneven path that day by sight, and I had gotten through a somewhat narrow, variegated path with big rocks and a steep ledge. But because I was not allowed to see and my guide gave me what I needed to go forward, I made it through a path fraught with more dangers than I knew.

And so the lesson about the Christian life: We are mostly blind to all that goes on in God's plan and the heavenly realms. God intentionally prevents us from knowing all that endangers us, as an act of grace. And He guides us - by His voice and by touch - to take very small steps, but all in the right direction. Sometimes, it is difficult to trust someone to go forward. He allows us to navigate situations fraught with more dangers than we realize in order to progress to our destination. When the veil is lifted, we will be able to look back and see exactly what He's taken us through. We'll be surprised when we hear we have made it - it will seem too short of a walk.

For a Feeling

I mentioned in this column last November my fascination of how much time and money we spend on sports for the main purpose of feeling something specific. That's really why we pour so much into sports - so that we will feel something. For most of us, that's our main takeaway from sports. In that article, I also mentioned why I didn't think that was necessarily a bad thing. We give sports so much because we want to feel something specific.

The same thing is generally true about most of life. We work in our jobs to feel something (security, success, worth, significance). We get married because we want to feel something (loved, safe, known). We watch movies, go on vacation, and have hobbies to feel something. People abuse drugs to feel something ... or to feel nothing. We choose our politics because of how we want to feel (and this year, "feel" is part of a prominent campaign slogan). We have oomph in our activities because we so strongly demand to feel something specific.

Our faith activities, no matter how noble we want to be, are often in pursuit of a feeling just as much. Gathering together on a Sunday morning, being in a Bible study, having Quiet Time (or not having Quiet Time), participating in (or arguing about) music, volunteering with the kids, bringing a crib to a family in need, sewing dresses for orphans ... let's face it ... we do these things at least in part in order to feel something in particular. Perhaps we want to feel something noble (obedient, faithful, helpful, closeness to God, purification after confessing sin) or perhaps we want to feel something a little more self-centered (significance, heroism, superiority, self-righteous), but we definitely look forward to this activity producing that feeling.

Feelings are a big motivator in every aspect of our lives, including how we live out our faith. This is true whether we want to admit it or not.

It's true (I most firmly believe), and furthermore, I believe it's unavoidable. It's not even necessarily wrong.

If I'm right that this is unavoidable, rather than deny it, let's embrace it. You can confess it with me, "Much of my motivation to do anything is so that I will feel something in particular." Denying this entraps us in a loop of continually denying what is universally true, and as long as we're in this loop, we have trouble making real progress.

Let's admit that we're moving mountains in order to feel something, stop long enough to evaluate what feelings we're chasing, and then assess which of those feelings are futile to chase. Or even which of those feelings are counterproductive and even harmful to chase. What feelings, then, should I be chasing instead? What do I need to do to chase those feelings? Am I willing for God to be the only truly fulfillment of the feelings He wants me to have?

In the West, we fancy ourselves thinking, rational beings, motivated by what's smart and logical. (That's how we want to feel, anyway.) However, we want to feel! How we spend money proves it. Even "scientific" shows on TV are produced in a way to make the audience feel something. Don't fancy yourself more like Spock than you truly are. Embrace that you're motivated by chasing feelings, and then work on which feelings you want to pursue.

What Problem Are You Trying to Solve?

No matter what plans I take into Kenya, they get changed. I expect it, I'm used to it, and I usually don't let it stress me. It's no one's fault. Rather, it's just the nature of doing work there - there's no way to anticipate in advance what the needs and circumstances will be exactly. So, we go in with a plan that is really just to give us a point to depart from.

This most recent trip, however, had one of the more demanding last minute changes. Again, no complaints, but it required the most radical adjustments so far, and it meant the first week would be incredibly hectic and the second week would be a bit more relaxed. But it was in the middle of that hectic week that I kept turning the same question over and over in my head:

What problem are you trying to solve?

Because I was so short for time, having to jettison every bit of unnecessary weight on this storm-tossed ship of a week, choosing between "mostly necessary" and "absolutely necessary" (since "optional" had already long been tossed overboard), I spun around this question night after night. Make sure you're trying to solve the right problem before you expend what little personal resources remain.

I could be trying to solve any number of problems:

• College credit for 30 or so students as part of their degree program
• Lack of robust collaboration between two organizations doing similar work
• Large scale orphaning
• Systemic poverty
• Lack of rich training materials
• Colleagues with serious illness
• Lack of clean water
• Feelings of personal significance
• The need to "make a difference"
• Faithlessness

And so on. Any number of problems I could be trying to solve. 

I wanted to dig deep into my own motivations - not just the motives on the surface that are easy to identify, but way down in the core of what my motivation was to put myself through these challenges. If, for example, the problem I was trying to solve was personal significance, then I'm wasting time, money, comfort, and sweat. If I'm trying to solve systemic poverty, then I'll never make a serious dent in that problem. It matters what problem you're trying to solve - the deep, secret motives of the heart.

What problems are you trying to solve? Are you trying to solve the problem of personal significance? Are you trying to solve the "problem" of non-upperclass-ed-ness? Are you trying to solve the problem of illiteracy or human trafficking or discrimination? Are you trying to solve the problem of someone else's behavior? Which problem(s) are you really trying to solve? Because it matters. 

If we're not trying to solve the problems we should, we're wasting our time and limited resources. Some problems aren't worth solving. Other problems are enormous, but still worth our efforts. Some problems are exactly what we should be solving.

Asking the question this way ("what problem am I trying to solve?") is not a radical departure from other ways to examine one's life. However, I find the particular wording of the question helps me to think about my life from a different perspective than other questions of self-examination. Perhaps that's only the case for people like me who fancy themselves problem-solvers. Maybe the better question for you is more interpersonal. For example: "Who am I trying to benefit?"

No matter which question you ask, this is the kind of question well worth asking. We have exactly one of these lives to live. I sure want to spend my trying to solve the right problems.

We Don't Have to be Involved

We don't have to be involved.

We really don't. In fact, it would be easier if we weren't. Besides, we have our own problems to worry about, let alone someone else's messes.

In my trip to Kenya, I visited a man named Obedi. Obedi is a former student of mine at the seminary in Ahero, and now is a pastor at a large church in Kisumu. He was always a diligent student with a contagious smile. His congregation loves him and his family, which includes a couple of small children. But Obedi has a heart condition and will not survive the year unless he raises $25,000 to have a surgery done in India. There are no specialists for this in Kenya. They are trying to raise the funds, but fundraising on this scale rarely succeeds. It was hard to look in his eyes, shake his hand, and try to offer support and encouragement, although my discomfort is minuscule compared to what he's facing.

I didn't have to be involved in Obedi's life. I didn't have to go over there and teach, and even going over there, I could have taught without getting involved. I didn't have to stay in touch with him over the years through social media. I could have lived my life quite nicely without getting caught up in his life-and-death daily existence.

I've told many of you about Giorgia, a young woman in Italy, who just had a lung transplant. We've been friends with her family for 25 years, even before she was born. We've visited them at different stages in her life, and each stage was punctuated with breathing treatments and struggles. This last trip, I couldn't visit her because she was in the ICU. We didn't have to get involved. We didn't have to find ways to play with her when she was little in ways that would not take the wind out of her. We didn't have to write her emails when she had to stay in the hospital. We're not heroes and we're not the solution to any of these problems.

Giorgia died last week - the day after I left. And we didn't have to get tangled up with her and her grieving family.

Of course, there are those in deep poverty in Kenya without clean water. There's nothing about our lives that forces us to arrange for dozens of households to get clean water. If this never happened, we never would have heard about it, and our lives would have continued on without a wrinkle.

We choose to get involved in things we don't have to. Not just Lynne and me, but all of us. We choose this. And it would be easier if we didn't. But it wouldn't be better.