After Election Day

Barack Obama will be the 44th president of the United States. This news is undoubtedly being celebrated today by some readers and lamented by others. But whatever your political persuasion, there are aspects of this election we can all celebrate, and I believe we all should.

The next leader of our country was just selected by the people, rather than a judge, a mob, or a military group. Because we live here we assume this is normal. It is not, and never has been. It is our right only because we enjoy the blessing and privilege of living in the USA. I celebrate that today.

A person of color has just ascended to our nation's highest office, and two women have played prominent roles in the election. The presidency was, until now, perhaps our most symbolic racial and gender barrier, with every preceding president having been a white man. I don't think white males like me can understand the significance of this election to Americans of other races, and particularly African Americans. Nonetheless, I'm thankful that in a very significant way, millions of Americans believe they have options and opportunities in this country that they did not believe they had yesterday. They may have wanted to believe that anything was possible for them, but today it's a proven reality.

Christ-followers who disagree with President-elect Obama's policies may be tempted to disregard his claim of faith in Jesus Christ. There are no legitimate grounds for doing so. All followers of Christ should be encouraged that the man occupying the White House for the next four years says that he has an active, personal faith in Christ, and pray that God will guide him and give him wisdom. The challenges that face our nation over the next four years are as great as any in our lifetime.

Most election cycles, and this one perhaps more than others, can be very polarizing in our nation and community. We're red states and blue states, red and blue people. (Brad says he's purple; welcome the new leader of the Barney party). Exit poll results suggest that we tended to vote differently depending on our skin color, our age, or the part of the country we live in. I'm frankly tired of seeing us divided into demographic-based voting blocks. Yes, we are all Americans, and can rally around that. But more importantly, we were never called by Christ to see the world around us in these terms. If we succumb to the pull of political gravity and begin to see each other as either allies or adversaries based on our politics, we will certainly fail in our greater mission. Can we simultaneously alienate people who don't share our politics and draw them to Christ? Can we afford to imply that political alignment is a required prerequisite for Christian community?

Elections matter. Voting matters. Issues matter. When we're talking about things like national security and human rights, politics can rise to the level of life-and-death. But more than anything else, people matter -- people whose politics may differ from our own, even radically so. There is one distinction that trumps the others: we are people who have found hope and life in Christ and people who have not. And those who have not are not our adversaries, they are the prize.

Leamon

Leamon hung up the phone, threw the necessities in the back of his van and hit the road. Verizon had work for him in League City, 1200 miles away. The money was good and his wife was already gone to a training conference, so he set out to join the hundreds, perhaps thousands of workers who have flooded into the bay area in recent weeks to get our power, water, phone and cable working again, pick up our trash, and repair our roofs and fences.

Somewhere around Beaumont on Saturday night, Leamon's transmission started talking to him. By the time he reached Houston he could smell the burning transmission fluid. As his van limped into the parking lot of the Verizon service center in League City late Saturday night, the transmission refused to shift gears. He gathered a few things out of the back, left the van where it sat, and walked about 6 blocks to the Super 8 for a little sleep before returning to his van early Sunday morning. A night's rest did nothing for his transmission. He was stuck in a strange town with no transportation and no friends, and Verizon would be closed for another 24 hours. Leamon thought to himself: "What am I going to do now? Well, it's Sunday. What do you do on Sunday?" He looked across the street at the YMCA, and noticed on the marquis that a church was meeting there. "Go to church, " he said to himself, grabbed his Bible from the seat of his van and walked over.

He walked in the back of the gym-turned-auditorium and took a seat on an unoccupied row. The pastor was addressing this fledgling congregation: "we have to take the initiative in relationships. We aren't an unfriendly church because we don't care about people. We're an unfriendly church because we're all new, few of us know each other, and we're all waiting for someone else to take the initiative." Then he asked everyone in the room to put on a name tag, seek out someone they didn't know, and take a few moments to get to know them. The next thing Leamon knew, he was telling his story to a married couple. After the service, several other people greeted him and learned of his predicament.

"Leamon, what do you need?"
"I think I need jackstands and some transmission fluid."
"I don't live far from here. If you can hang around for a few minutes, I'll go get the jackstands and come back."

Hang around for a few minutes? He had all day, and where else did he have to go? The jackstands arrived momentarily, and after a ride to Autozone for transmission fluid and a filter, Leamon got to work on his van. His delivery driver came back a couple of hours later to find him cleaning up after a successful transfusion of fluid and filter. As the two men cleaned up the remaining debris from the transmission job, Leamon turned to the stranger and said, "I don't know if anyone has told you this today or not, but I love you." He laughed as he said it, the nervous laughter of a man whose real needs had been met by strangers, and who just blurted out words men don't say to each other. But both men understood.

Presumably, Leamon is around here somewhere today, repairing someone's phone lines. Or maybe he isn't.

Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it. --Hebrews 13:2 TNIV

Margaritas, Anyone?

I've been keeping an eye out for a part-time job to supplement my income, surfing through craigslist and the newspaper from time to time. One that caught my eye this week was an ad for a part-time delivery person in our area. The pay and the hours were agreeable, and the business owner seemed intent on finding someone who would "represent my company well," although what, exactly, his company was, or what I would be delivering was not clear. What the heck--I thought I'd give it a shot. I replied with my best pitch about being a reliable driver and that I would represent his company with professionalism and integrity. I received the following in reply:

Let me tell you alittle about this job and then let me know if it is something you would be interested in. I rent margarita machines to private parties and company events that are mainly rented on weekends.... It's really easy and for the most part really fun if you like dealing with people and a party atmosphere. It's kinda like being the flower delivery guy everyone is always happy to see you.

I laughed out loud. I started imagining myself driving around League City with a truckload of margarita machines every Saturday. Maybe I could hand out Springs invitation cards at my deliveries! What would it be like if I made a delivery and it turned out to be people from the church? The more I thought about it, the more my thoughts turned from "fun to think about but could never happen" to "dang, I wish I could do this." Did I think renting a margarita machine was inherently sinful? -no. In fact, I've been to some parties that desperately needed one. Part of me would enjoy the job--"everyone is always happy to see you." Part of me needs the work. Part of me likes the opportunity to rattle people's cages about what it truly means to be godly, or the ridiculous ideas we have about the clergy as a separate, spiritual class in society. But all those parts lost to the part that wants people to come to Jesus more than I want to rock the boat. If I thought I could rock the boat and help people come to Jesus, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I'm afraid passing out margaritas isn't going to do it.

At some point, somewhere, there's going to be a party with a margarita machine. At this same party, someone is going to invite someone else to a Springs gathering or a table group, or give them an invitation card to the Springs. I may or may not be there when it happens, but I will applaud.

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I realize I may have opened up a can of worms (or two or three) with this post. This is a great time to ask me questions, challenge my assumptions, or express whatever thoughts or feelings you have about this topic.

The Presence of Christ in Every Neighborhood

"So, has anyone asked you yet whether you think God directed this Hurricane to Galveston or not?" The question hovered in the air for a moment like a hawk waiting to dive on its prey.

"No," I answered, "and I hope nobody asks me that."

"We were talking about it at work the other day. It was a pretty lively discussion." I couldn't even bring myself to ask what was said. If the discussion was lively, people must have been on both sides of the issue. I know people look for explanations at a time like this, but I can't find resolution in the idea that God decided to wipe out Galveston (or New Orleans, San Francisco, New York, et al.). It's hard enough to deal with the fact that God allowed it happen without implying that He wanted it to happen. I just swung the sledgehammer one more time. Standing in the middle of a flood-ravaged house, I imagined my own family watching all our worldly goods being hauled out on the curb, and I prayed. Life is truly more fragile and less certain than the fantasy we believe. Even American middle class "security" turns into vapor more often than we'd like to think.

The stakes are higher than money or houses or goods, or even health. When you've lost everything, the way the families on Maple Lane in Galveston have, you develop an opinion about God. Is He the problem or the solution? Did He decide to ruin my life, or did He send people to help me when I needed it most? We went to Maple Lane on Sunday with hope that at least three families would choose the latter: twenty or so people and those who supported them by taking care of the kids or providing food and supplies, trying to make a small dent in a giant pile of debris that used to be a neighborhood. We worked hard for a day. We were ambassadors for Christ. We did demolition, gave comfort and a little hope.

Joan suffered a stroke a while back, then lost a husband, then a son, then a house. Two weeks after Ike, her house still sat in almost the same condition in which Ike had left it. When we arrived Sunday, she was doing the best she could with her one good arm to move a few things out of the house. When we left, there was still a long way to go, but the house was cleaner and safer and the process of recovery had been jump-started. More importantly, someone cared. Someone gave Joan a reason to believe that God is for her, not against her. Christ was present on Maple Lane.

I hope we're just getting warmed up.

The Curse of Civilization

Just a few miles down the road, Galveston Island looks like a war zone. The causeway is blocked by highway patrol. There is a tree sitting on top of the Lutheran church in Dickinson. My oldest son Jacob spent a day last week ripping carpet out of a local teacher’s home that was flooded up to the second floor, while fish swam in the black water in her backyard pool. With such destruction in clear view, it’s wrong to say, “look at the bright side.” I probably couldn’t say it to a resident of Sunrise Beach without getting a black eye. Things are worse than normal. But, ironically, we are better than normal.

As we drove back into town last Monday evening, it was about 70 degrees with a light breeze, and the full moon was already above the houses before nightfall. Neighbors were in lawn chairs in the driveways, and strolling around the neighborhood with their kids and dogs. They came out to greet us as we drove in. The scene would have been Norman Rockwell-worthy if it weren’t for the blue tarps on the roofs and the downed trees. In the days since, we haven’t had dinner without extra folks at the table or a night without guests who needed a place to stay. My sons and their friends spent two days last week helping victims of Ike: teenagers doing actual manual labor for no pay because someone had a need. Sunday, our little church spent the morning and part of the afternoon doing the same. And this week we’ll do it again.

Sadly, little of this would have happened if a terrible storm had not ripped through our community. Not that it was good for us to be hit by a hurricane; no one in his or her right mind would desire this. But sometimes the things that are thrust upon us against our will, as bad as they can often be, awaken us to things we would still be blind to in our normal, comfortable state. One of our guests this week called it the curse of civilization: it seems that as long as we have gas in our cars, air conditioning in our homes, and satellite dishes on our roofs, we’re content to just stay there, each family an island unto itself. But take away the amenities, and magically we venture out-of-doors, greet one another, serve one another. We can only hope that, as our power comes back on and the shelves at the grocery store are fully stocked, we won’t slip completely back into the stupor of self-sufficiency.

I consider civilization a blessing, not a curse. But the behavior that Ike shook us out of--or that Ike exposed--helps me to understand why the Amish feel the way they do about civilization, and how living more primitively by choice protects them from selfish living. They choose to live in such a way that giving and receiving help from others in the community is a necessity of life. I hope we make a similar choice. But let's keep Dish Network.