Liturgy of the Empire

I like sports.  I guess the more accurate statement would be that I love sports but love seems like such a strong word for such a silly thing.

Yet for most of my life this silly thing has tugged at my emotions, sent me over the edge, and caused jubilee that has had me hugging strangers.

In 1997 I remember watching the Bulls win their 5^th championship and standing out on Irving Park Road as cars honked at our celebration sign.

In 2001 I remember jumping on my couch as I watched Bears safety Mike Brown make 2 game winning overtime interceptions.  I also remember shedding a couple tears when the Bears lost to the Eagles in the playoffs.

In 2005 I remember running down the ramps of US Cellular Field to see Joe Crede hit a home run to beat the Indians to push the team into the playoffs.  I remember running block after block in downtown Chicago to meet my brother Ross and watch the last out to the White Sox winning the World Series.

In 2010 I remember opening my wedding presents in joy while at the same time angrily yelling at the TV that Lebron James was taking his “talents to South Beach” instead of Lake Michigan.

In 2011 I remember going to Indianapolis and loudly taunting Pacers fans but then quietly wandering the streets of Indy after the Bulls lost.

In 2012, 2013, and 2014 I remember sitting and sulking over Derrick Rose’s continuous flow of injuries.

I can remember years of my life based on things that have happened in sports. 

But something hit me last night while watching the Bulls play the Milwaukee Bucks.  During the game a Bucks player, Giannis Antetokounmpo, made a dirty play on Jimmy Butler.  I was furious and all of a sudden this feeling of hate sunk into my gut.  Not just a “I don’t like that guy” feeling but a “that man is a terrible human being” feeling. 

In reality I like Giannis (nicknamed the Greek Freak).  He is fun to watch, tries super hard, and is a good basketball player.  But I still had this feeling of hate for him.

As I was texting about this hatred to my “Bulls Fanatics” group text, my friend pointed out that this happens every playoffs.  We begin to hate the opposing players, we begin to hate the opposing team.  He was right!  During the NBA playoffs throughout my life I’ve hated the Pistons, Knicks, Lakers, Heat, Caviliers, Pacers, Wizards, and now the Bucks, to name a few.

This morning it hit me that sports brings out this “US VS. THEM” mentality.  This mentality that if they are not us then I hate them!  Because they are not us I hate them.  Because they are not US I will never accept THEM.  When I see a basketball player in a different colored jersey other than my team I begin to form this hatred for them because that’s who they are, a “them”. 

My embracing of the US causes the hatred of the Them.

A couple weeks ago I was at a conference and heard Old Testament expert Walter Brueggemann talk about Empire.  Through his time he was talking about how the Empire=Totalism.  To make a very short summary of a complicated topic, his point was that we live in a world of Empires.  Empires control everything, they have total control over our money, ideology, imagination, the way we operate our lives.

He explained that there has always been an Empire; Egypt, Babylon, Persia, Rome!  The Israelites constatly lived in this battle, the way of God or the way of the Empire.  Today there is still Empires and the one that is the most successful goes by the name of America!

Later in another one of his talks he brought up how sports are the liturgy of the Empire.  This knocked me over!  His point was that when we get enveloped by sports (cheering on our team, hating the other team) we are giving our minds, emotions, and hearts over to the Empire!  By living and dying by the score of a game we aren’t processing our lives through Christ but only through the way of the Empire.

This scared me.  Right as he said it I had this awakening, he’s right.  When I give my mind, emotions, and heart over to watching a sports game I’m putting my Christian mind, emotions, and heart on mute.  Most of the shirts I wear are advertisements or loyalities to my team.  Most of the things I talk about with my friends and brothers are about sports.  Most of what I watch and are entertained by are my teams.

In the Empire of Rome they had sports too.  There sport of choice was cheering on a Gladiator fight.  Instead of cheering when someone scored the winning shot, the Romans would cheer when someone made the death shot.  The Romans would cheer on their ‘us’ gladiator while cheering on with hate the ‘them’ gladiator, screaming for their death.  The Roman Empire would use these games to spread national alliance, to form a people who cheered on their Empire in pride.  Chanting “Long live Casear” while cheering on the death of another man.

At many of these events part of the game was the mass killing of Roman Christians.  Whether they were burned at the stake, hung on crosses, or thrown to the lions.  These men and women chose Christ instead of the Empire they confessed Jesus as King, not Caesar.  They lived for the Kingdom of God in the face of the Empire!

I have yelled at players, I have cheered on their failures, I have chanted “Detroit Sucks!”  Am I being overtaken by my love for sports?  I had to ask the question, am I living a life for the Empire instead of a life for the Kingdom of God?

The struggle to live counter-cultural to the Empire by living for the Kingdom of God is a constant battle.

Similar to the Israelites I struggle to fight off the Empire, but the truth is that I am a part of the Empire.  I am a modern day Roman, I’m an American.  I’m a member of the Empire who is striving to be a worker for the Kingdom of God.

I’m not saying that sports are evil.  I’m not trying to super spiritualize a game played on hardwood.  All I’m saying is as you paint your face black and red, as you buy $60 tickets to a game, as you wear that team apparel, ask yourself the question, “What’s in my heart?”

Can you watch silly games while living for the Kingdom of God?  Yes!  But if I’m going to err on one side it’ll be leaving the liturgy of the Empire for the liturgy of Jesus Christ; “Thy Kingdom come, thy will be down, on earth as it is in heaven.”

Yesterday as I watched the riots in Baltimore break out I was reminded of the riots that occurred in the 90’s after the Bulls won.  Neither riot is good but one is a way of crying out for injustice and pent up rage over issues that haven’t been dealt with, the other is because a sports team won a silly game.

I want to live for the Kingdom of God.  That means I need to start watching “the game” though a new lense.  As Brian Zahnd puts it, “There is no THEM; there is only US.”

Better Call Paul

Last night I was watching one of my new favorite TV shows, “Better Call Saul.”  This show is a prequel to the critical acclaimed “Breaking Bad” and is about a lawyer named Saul Goodman.  The first season is about to end and what you see throughout the season is that Saul (known as Jimmy McGill in season 1 of “Better Call Saul”) has a notorious past as a conman.  He would swindle people out of money by tricking them, he was known as “Slippin’ Jimmy.”

On last night’s episode there was a key scene where someone very close to Saul looks him in the face and tells him he’ll never trust him because of his past.  In this pivotal scene the character tells Saul, “I know you; people don’t change.”

Have you ever been known for something?  Known for being good at something?  Known for doing something?  Known for something notorious in your past?

In high school one thing I was known for was mispronouncing words and names.  I would pronounce Jude Law as Judd Law.  I would emphasize the wrong letter in a word when trying to say it.  My mind and mouth would become disconnected.

It became a running joke with my friends so much so that a myth was formed that I referred to Tom Hanks as Tim Hank…an obvious exaggeration for my ill communication.

I grew up and grew out of this for the most part. But it was hard.  I was self-conscience about stammering and mispronouncing.  I would purposely ask, “What’s that guys name?” prior to saying it so I wouldn’t pronounce it wrong.  I carried around a pocket dictionary for a while to try and learn more words!

When I’m with my long time friends we can joke about this but I can joke because I worked past it.  I changed.

Some people are known for something much worse.  Some are known as criminals because they made a mistake in their past.  Some are known as liars because they lived off of lying for a time in their life.  Some are known as adulterers, rapists, molesters, drug dealers, gang-bangers, failures, and losers.   Some people are held captive for whom they used to be because the motto of man is, “I know you; people don’t change.”

This is the motto of man but the motto of Jesus is so far away from this.  Jesus again and again in the gospels calls people to himself and they leave changed.  The blind leave seeing.  The sick leave healed.  The ‘suck your money dry’ tax collector leaves generously giving away his money to all.  The condemned leave forgiven.

Paul in 2 Corinthians 5:17 says it the best, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.  The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.”

When you come to Jesus you leave changed.  You come broken and leave fixed.  You come sick and leave healed.  You come feeling weighed down, trapped, and condemned and leave feeling unburdened, free, and forgiven.  You are new!

I believe that anyone can change.  Why do I believe this? Because this is what Jesus communicated!  There is an amazing story in Luke 7 where a notorious sinful woman entered a house where Jesus was eating.  She walks in and begins to anoint Jesus feet with perfume and wash his feet with her tears and hair.  The crowd at this party, just stare at her thinking, “I know her, people don’t change.”  Jesus looks at this woman and says, “Your sins are forgiven.  Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

The crowd thought this was impossible but Jesus knew the truth that she left changed, she left in peace.

I can’t wait to see friends I haven’t seen in years, people I’ve met over my life who have now found Jesus and say, “I know you; you’ve changed!”

Half a Year (6 Months)

6 Months.  It’s been 183 days, 4,392 hours, 263,520 minutes, and 15,811,200 seconds since June 12^th.

June 12^th, 2014 will be a day that will stick in my mind forever.  June 12^th will be a day that I playback again and again.  June 12^th is when my life forever changed as the life of my dear friend and mentor Kevin Bruursema was knocked onto a very different course.  June 12^th is when Kevin was riding his scooter on his way, presumably, to the church that he had been pastoring for the past 14 years.  June 12^th is when his bright orange scooter was struck by a car because of bad decisions made by the driver.  June 12^th is when Kevin went from dreaming about what the next half-year would look like to being in a reality he never saw coming.

6 Months.  I was on my way out of New Life Community Church West Lakeview that day.  I was on my way to my other job as a Pharmacy Technician.  I had my bicycle in my hands headed out the door to zoom over for my normal Thursday routine.  But I heard a shout in the building and then my phone rang.  That’s when I heard the news of the accident.

6 Months.  It took only a minute to process what was next, bike home, grab bike lock, go to hospital.  I’ve never biked faster in my entire life.  Running into the apartment, heart racing, “Brooke Kevin’s been in an accident, no details, tell people to pray.”  Back on bike, pedals have to move faster, Lord don’t let this be bad, Lord let it be a miscommunication, Lord let me see Kevin laughing that I raced over, Lord let it be ok.

6 Months.  Lock up bike, run into the ER, “I’m here to see Kevin Bruursema.”  Silence…One second passes yet feels like an eternity…”Umm hold on one second sir.”  “I’m sorry we are going to have to wait for his wife to get here before we brief you.”  Stomach drop…that’s not a good sign.  Praying. Praying. Praying.

6 Months.  Others arrive, rumors of what’s going on with Kevin are seeping out from hospital staff.  This isn’t looking good.

6 Months.  More people come, Gillian is taken upstairs to hear the truths on Kevin’s status.   Surgery!  Brain Injury!  Tears…

6 Months.  The rest of June 12^th plays out with prayer gatherings in the hospital chapel, updating those who are praying, picking kids up from school (how do you tell children their father is in critical condition?), pizza in the hospital hallway, and a successful surgery.

6 Months.  Waiting in line to get on the elevator.  Doors open.  Get on. Surgical Intensive Care Unit Floor (home for the next couple months).  Get Off.  Walk through doors and into the room.  Silence.  Kevin lays motionless.  Breathing machine makes loud noises.  Pain.  Why?  Why him?  Why a nice guy?  Why a father of five?  Why to a loving husband, a caring pastor, a visionary leader…Why?

End of Day 1.

I’m writing this 6 months after day 1 and yet this Thursday feels like a decade ago.  I remember every detail like it was yesterday but these past 6 months have been hard.  Here is what I can tell you about the last 6 months.  God is gracious in a tragic time.  God is a healer when doctors say it won’t heal.    God is caring when you most need it.  God’s will prepares you in ways you never saw coming.

I’ve been thinking how to put the past 6 months in words and I simply can’t.  Through them Kevin has gone from critical condition to talking, eating, and laughing.  Through them my son Abraham went from not being able to sit up to crawling, eating solid foods, and starting to stand.  Through them I’ve gone from training to be a Pastor to being a Pastor.  Some have asked me has it been hard filling the shoes of a great pastor?  I answer the way my friend Jim told me on day 3, those aren’t your shoes to fill.  So I’m wearing my Clarks Dessert Boots and asking God to lead me day after day after day.  What’s been hard is seeing someone I care for so deeply go through such a long road of recovery, but the road IS leading to recovery.

6 Months-I’m waiting for 6 more to see how this story progresses.  I’m hopeful that at that time Kevin will be writing his story.

6 Months-Through ups and downs, anger, sadness, happiness, hurts and triumphs, one thing has remained consistent, God our father cares for us and instills in us the power and the words to do his will.  That’s how I’ve made it through these past 6 months. And I’m counting on Him to lead me through each next ‘6’ after this.

6 Months

It’s been 6 Months.

6 Months since the birth of my son, Abraham.

6 Months since I was immersed into parenthood.

6 Months since I’ve written on this blog.

It’s been 6 months since I’ve written anything, well, because being a parent is hard.  Yes, I know I’m breaking new ground here but being a dad is hard.  Taking care of another human being is not a 40-hour a week job but it’s a 168-hour a week job.  So to get back to writing again I thought I’d summarize what the past 6 months have been like.

To begin with, the first month of having a baby disappears before you even know it.  All I can remember is waking up in the middle of the night to grab the boy to bring to his mom, changing his diaper, and being over the moon when he smirked at us for the first time.  I also remember being terrified at every new corner.  Is he still breathing?  Is he too hot?  Is he too cold?

After the first month I thought maybe we are figuring this parenting thing out but then these so-called ‘growth spurts’ came about.  Every time I think I’ve figured out how my son operates he decides to change his habits and throw us off our game.  What do you mean you don’t like to be swaddled, you used to love that! Why aren’t you sleeping, you should be sleeping!

Over these past 6 months Abraham has put us through health scares, many sleepless nights, endless amounts of entertainment, and some of the most enjoyable moments of my life.

After Brooke and I got married the biggest thing I realized was how selfish I am.  How I want my things and I want to do things my way.  I realize this and I try to put Brooke’s needs first (seems to always be a work in progress), as two become one.

After Abraham was born the biggest thing I realized is how much independence drives me.  I can no longer make spur of the moment decisions. I can no longer do things whenever I want. I have a son whose needs come first.  It’s easy to think about the things I can’t do, but the truth is that having a child depend on you is one of the hardest yet most rewarding jobs.

A few weeks ago I faced a breaking point.  Brooke was working and I had Abraham for the afternoon/evening.  He had been with my mom for morning/early afternoon and he was deciding not to eat from the bottle again.  I got him home and by that time he hadn’t eaten for 4-5 hours (yet if you’ve seen my son, you know if he didn’t eat for a week he has enough fat to sustain him). Needless to say, he was crabby.

So I warm up his bottle, sit down and for an hour I try to feed my son, but he keeps pushing it away.  His cry is getting louder and louder and he just refuses to eat.  I try to put this crabby boy to sleep but he refuses to sleep, he just keeps crying.  I try and feed him again, more refusing and more crying.  At this point it had been about 2-3 hours of crying, not eating, and refusing to sleep, I hit my breaking point.

I was rocking my son trying to calm him down when tears started streaming down MY face.  I was trying so hard to give him what he needed but he wouldn’t take it.  I began to ask the questions, “What did I get myself into?”  “Am I cut out for this?”  “Am I bad parent?”  I was texting Brooke while sobbing, and I felt like a failure.  I was failing as a parent.

So I put my son down, laid on the couch and took a deep breath.  I prayed asking God to give me the strength to go back in and care for my son.  I knew that even though I felt like a loser, like a failing father, I had a responsibility to care for my son at all times, when I’m tired, when I’m angry, when I’m failing.

I went back in with a new attitude and cared for my crying son till he finally fell asleep in my arms.  I stared down at his adorable face and I thought I’d do it all again.  I’d go through these past 4 hours of crying and screaming to get to this point, my son asleep in my arms, relying on my care for him.

Here is what these past 6 months have taught me.  I’m never going to figure out parenting.  I’m never going to feel like I’m an expert, like I’ve got all the answers.  When Abraham wakes up at 3 AM, I’m never going to enjoy getting out of bed to rock him back to sleep.  But I’m always going to care for him.  I’m always going to look out for what’s best for him.  When he refuses what I know he needs, I’m still going to offer it to him, even though it pains me when he refuses it. As his parent, I need to care for him by giving him what he needs.

Ultimately, when I was sitting there with my son asleep in my arms, I thought how our Father, God, knows what is best for us.  Yet, as his children, we try and go our own way, we refuse the care that he is offering us.  We cry and throw fits when things don’t go our way while he is holding us trying to feed us the truth we need.

My son has taught me that just as he refuses the care I know he needs, I refuse the care God knows that I need.  I know I cry and scream and don’t make it easy for God but I also know that he will always be there caring for me.  I just have to stop fighting and accept that he knows what’s best for me.  So many times I fight for my independence but really what I have to do is realize I am ever dependent on God and his provision and care for my life.