I’ve been thinking about this concept all day, and to be honest it kind of hurts my head, so I thought I’d share it with you, and maybe release some of the pressure.

Should my identity be made up by my ideas?

To break it down, I’m basically asking, “Should Marty be Marty and be seen as the Marty that people know because of what Marty believes to be true?”

I used to think yes, but now I’m not so sure.  Why?

Because it’s almost impossible (if not impossible) to love someone whose identity you associate with someone who diametrically opposes you in terms of belief.

I grew up a Creationist.  Not in the scientific realm, but in the “God said it, and so did my parents, so I believe it” realm.  When I first moved to Massachusetts, I remember  having lunch at the 99 with a friend of mine who had a science degree from WPI, and my friend basically told me that he believed in evolution, but he was also a Christian.  He called it “Theistic Evolution.”  Because I grew up associating the identity of people with what they believed, my world was crushed as this person who I trusted had quickly become someone who, to me, not only believed scandalous things, but could not possibly be a a true Christ follower.

Thankfully, I reconciled with my friend, and to this day we have a great relationship, but first, I had to separate my friend from what he believed.  Not that I should have to agree with or ignore what he believed, but I first am called to love people before anything else. (See Deuteronomy and that guy who “gave His life” in the New Testament).  So…

I am Marty.  And the first thing you need to know about me is I am loved and am created to love.

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This last Sunday at Fellowship, I laid down a challenge:  The “Love Spreads” challenge.

It’s based on the premise that love is always a better choice than pride, and always impacts our world more positively than it’s “p” word counterpart.  So I laid down the challenge to our church that for one week, we would make every effort to communicate everything we do in love.  Because many times we find ourselves immersed in bad habits of communication, it’s easier to explain in the things this excludes.  This means:

Sarcasm
Negativity (that is not needed to express a valid point)
Bitterness about another person or a negative circumstance (like someone who does something “stupid” or an electronic device that wont do what you want it to)
Joking around which tears down and busting
Talking to someone with malicious intent about someone else
rolling of the eyes when someone’s name is mentioned

While this is not an exhaustive list, I’m interested to see how it’s going for those who accepted the challenge, or if this is the first you’ve heard of it, what you think about the challenge in the first place?  I most certainly have failed a number of times, but I’m still working on it.

Are you willing to “spread only  love” for one week?

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This house - the inspiration for this story

The 83 year old man looked out of his upstairs apartment window wishing it would stop raining.  It seemed like that’s all it ever did anymore, and he couldn’t go out when it rained like this.  His cane probably wouldn’t hold up, and he would slip, or fall.  Either way, it wasn’t a satisfying image rolling around in his head.  Today he would be content to peek out at sheets of rain coming down in waves on the roof of the silver Nissan driving below his Brooks-E. Mountain St corner window view.

Days like this tended to bring back memories of his wife of 58 years.  Equal in age and life wisdom, she quadrupled him in energy and “spunkness” – the description the kids had given her when they were younger – until she left him for another life.  One he  never believed or hoped in, until that day.  The day of the car and the lights…and the rain.
“Why the hell did she have to drive all the time?” He thought to himself, feeling the new found flushness of his face.
“Because I still can,” he could almost hear her saying back to him, as smug as she always was, and as cute as she always would have been.  A tear emerged from the inside of his right eye.

Just as he was getting lost in his thoughts, that boy came around the corner again, the one that lived in the house next door, but was constantly walking over toward his house, and moving towards his entrance.  He knocked at the window, waving the boy away.  This was not a loving gesture by any means from his point of view, but the boy waved back, as if to say, “I don’t really care if you’re being mean and waving me away, I’m still gonna hang out here where you can’t come down and see me anyway.”

“Dumb kid” he muttered to himself, certain that he was quite clear as to what he wanted from the boy.  And even more clear that this generation of kids would ruin the world as he knew it.

It wasn’t like it used to be, for him or the world.  The world used to be so simple, and he used to be so loved.  She loved him.  He didn’t know why, but she did.  She always did.  Through their young adult life and through his career,  the kids and the bills – she loved him through all that.  And now, she was gone.  Sure the kids were still there, and their kids and even some of their kids, but about 3 months afer she left (he preferred to use this term), he realized their visits had been about her and not him.  Love seemed to be no more.

Despite the bumping and movement he heard in his hallway, he was tired and wanted to take a nap.  Tomorrow the senior agency would come and pick him up for his weekly appointment to “some kid doctor who couldn’t tell a cold from a cat” he would lavishly share with anyone who would listen in the waiting room.  He needed his rest.  “Damn noises in my hallway,” he spouted off, walking slowly away from the noise and towards his bedroom, where he hoped not to wake up.

In about two hours of napping, he dreamed.  Dreaming always takes so much out of you, and he was never a fan, but this time it was no use.  He couldn’t stop from dreaming.  He dreamed he was at a party.  The party must have been at his only daughter’s house.  She was so beautiful, though he never told her so, preferring to leave the “mushy” stuff to his wife.  It seemed that the party centered around him – they were celebrating him.  Whether it was his birthday or anniversary, he could not tell.  But he did see the sign that said his name, and for once his family all centered around him, smiling and laughing about his life.  He decided that he would take the opportunity during a quick lull to ask them all a question.  After all, they were all there, and he wanted to know.
“Why did you stop visiting me when she died?” He asked his room full of family members and friends.  Immediately their smiles turned to scowls, and they turned away from him, one by one.  Unsurprisingly, he opened his eyes in a cold sweat, and the daytime rain had given itself over to a nighttime drizzle.  He took a sip of the water sitting at the side of his bed.

“Finally, the son decides to show its face,” the 83 year old man thought, smirking to himself as he peered out the same corner window he gazed at .
“What?” the man watching TV in the other room asked, deafened by the volume of old reruns of Miami Vice blaring from the speakers.
He ignored his son’s question, only to ask one in return.
“Why are you here again?”
Begrudgingly, the man stood from his father’s favorite seat and said, “I told you dad, I am going to take you to the doctors office today.”  The younger man shut off the television and asked his dad if he was ready to go.
“Don’t rush me, I’m putting on my coat.”  The man reacted a bit more harshly than he should have, the son thought, and responded, “You okay dad?”
“I’m fine,” came the predictable response, with an unpredictable tag along.  “I just don’t understand why you people don’t love me.  No one loves me…like  she did.”  The last 3 words trailed off, but the meaning was clear.

Silence in the room for the next 5 minutes as the man readied himself for the doctor.  The son eventually broke the silence.

“Dad, who did you have fix your apartment door and paint the hallway?”
“No one.” The dad responded, looking at his son like he was an alien.
“Someone did it.  And did a great job too.  I asked your idiot landlord how much that was going to set you back, and he said he didn’t do it, and you didn’t ask.”

“Nope. I did not ask.  And if I did, he would have waited until I got in a damn car accident to do it.”  The words stung himself  more he thought they would.
“Well, someone must love you, because the walls didn’t paint themselves and the door didn’t fix itself.”

His son opened the apartment door for him, walked him slowly across the freshly painted hallway, and towards the newly-fixed front entrance, as a beam of sunlight shone through it’s window and splashed on the old man’s face.

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I love when someone decides they hate your blog post, then  writes a comment about it, and shares with you how judgmental you’re being because you shared an opinion on your own web site that they neither had to visit nor did I expect them to.    It’s such a modern way to handle things.

And so very post modern of me to love it.

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2,000 years ago, a young carpenter from a po-dunk town of Israel rose to the ranks of the known and stirred up the established religions of the day by claiming to be God and throwing out ideals like many of the ancient prophets did – Justice, hope, and peace (amongst other universal ideas).  Jesus is risen!

700 years ago, A guy by the name of William Wallace (if you believe the movie) cried out for the ideals of freedom for every individual against an established feudalistic order of the day that was hell bent on keeping the land owners, land owners, and the peasants, peasants.

100 years ago, two men were born, one in the north and one in the south, who believed that things were not right, but they could be.  So these men fought for equality, hope, and the American dream, both rising to national prominence, and both were shot for these ideals they were propogating.  Martin Luther King, Jr. died at a hotel on March 29, 1968 and Ronald Reagan survived an assasination attempt on March 30, 1981 (coincidentally hours before my sister, Brooke, was born).  Reagan went on to finish out 8 more years as the president of the United States.

I use these examples, not to call our new president (as of this January) any type of savior or freedom fighter or even a uniter – He’s not a savior and hasn’t been around long enough to fight for freedom or unite anyone.  But I want to continue to propagate a different message that I believe every politician, pastor, and leader should hold on to beyond this election week.

When given the choice between cynicism and hope – we will ultimately choose hope.

When given the choice between hate and love – we will ultimately choose love.

When given the choice between injustice and justice – we will ultimately choose justice.

When things aren’t going well, the temptation is to start playing the cynic and attack the opposition, but the irony is that time and after time after time the person or people who accentuate their ideals ultimately win, over those who attack the opposition.  Could it be that God created the world this way?

I know there are a lot of arguments (even good ones) against this thought process.  But the examples for ideals far outweigh the examples of playing the cynic.  Just look at the opposites of the aforementioned examples.  They are famous too:  The Pharisees, King “Longshanks”, George Wallace, and Walter Mondale.

My case is now rested.

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God, help me to care for the people you’ve put in my life.
You have been incredibly gracious, loving, loyal, forgiving, and soveriegn, guiding me and moving me.
And all I want is to surrender to You.
Unfortunately, if I was being honest, I would say that these incredible feature I have just described you as having have also made me complacent at times and unloving to others at times, not because of who You are, but because of who I am – selfish.
So with the same discipline that I must use to exercise or eat right or not waste my time, help me to love others.  Not only by the likeable qualities of kindness and peace, but also truth and faithfulness and courage.
Then, and only then, will I know what it is to be like Your Son, Jesus Christ.
And that’s what the people in my life need.

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Since our church is participating in that One Prayer thing, I’ve been thinking a lot more about unity in the body of Christ, and also about unity in my life.  You see, I like people.  I like a lot of people. I love a lot of people. But there are some that I just don’t like - Even Christians (or should I say, especially Christians).
So then I run into this verse yesterday with my small group: 1 John 2:9-11 – “Anyone who claims to be in the light but hates his brother is still in the darkness.  Whoever loves his brother lives in the light, and there is nothing in him to make him stumble.  But whoever hates his brother is in the darkness and walks around in the darkness;  he does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded him.”

So here’s the thing – I like a lot of people, but even though I’m pretty friendly and like a lot of people, there are still some people in my life that I choose not to  be around a lot for various reasons.  I’m sure many of these people also choose not to be around me.  One might even say that I don’t like them and they don’t like me.  Simple question today for a simple Friday:

Is “don’t like” different than “hate”?

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John 15:13
“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

Depending on who you are, you like to be in certain kinds of relationships.  You’ve probably said or heard things like this:
“I like having lots of good friends who I can be around all the time”  or
“I only have a few very close friends, who I share my life with” or
“Wow, I hate people, and especially you Marty.”  (please don’t say this, as I would be greatly upset)

Your relationships make up the person you are, and this is not a bad thing, but no matter which one of these (preferably not the last) you are, let me challenge you to go beyond a cultural mandate and do what people don’t expect of you.
For instance, the first statement is where I live.  I used to have tons of friends, and none of these relationships were very deep.  Then a friend challenged me on this, and I “worked on it” – developing closer ties to individuals.

“sorry, she doesn’t count in this question, but she can cook up a storm.”

Or if you are one of those people who have a few close friends (not counting your computer, your mom, or a bottle of Jack Daniels), it might be worth going outside of your comfort zone to reach out to more people.

How do you like your relationships cooked?

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This last Sunday a young girl in our church, I would say about 19 or so, came up to me, with her parents and started chatting with me. They are new to our church, and I would almost say new to church, period. We were making small talk, when I asked her what she was holding.  I could see that it was a stack of pages and that on the front of the page, towards the middle, it said “BY: (Her full name)”

She told me it was a book of poetry and writing that she had done.  I asked her if I could look at it, and she hesitantly said yes, then told me I could keep it for the week,and could return it next week.  I accepted this offer, and this morning, made a point to read her writing.

I should probably mention that this girl openly struggles with some difficult learning disabilities.  It was one of the first things that I found out about her when I met her family in November, so I really didn’t know what to expect in the pages I was about to read this morning.

I took off the paper clip and began turning the pages, and for the next half hour was immersed, not so much in the technical excellence of the writing, though she clearly has some talent and time poured into her work.  But I was immersed in her writing because of the passion and the themes it projected.  Here was a girl who I know struggles with some serious issues, and never wrote one word about how unfair her life was, or why God would create her with so many problems, though It would have been perfectly understandable for me to read about this in pages written from her own words.

But her work was not going to be stifled by talk of pessimism and complaint.  She wrote of beauty and creation and our need to change ourselves, if the world was ever going to change.  She wrote of peace and love and of God, who expects certain things from us, like for us not to hate each other.  And the entire time, I sat at my desk in awe that what I expected to fill these pages was not there, and what I did not expect conveniently arrived in the vehicles of these poems and stories so that I could be inspired to keep doing what it is that I do.

I have a similar work of writing from Chuck, an old student of mine from Atlanta, Georgia.  Chuck was amazingly talented and did a project of writing and poetry in one of my classes.  He had the project bound, and gave me a copy, which I still have today, 11 years later.  He wrote of many of the same themes and challenges of the girl I read this morning.

I have the privilege of talking to Chuck every once in a while to this day, and even had breakfast with him a few months ago while attending a conference in Atlanta.  I wondered, though I never asked him, if he felt time had jaded him or made him better from the ideals he wrote about in his youth.

I also wonder this about me.  I had a book too.  A book and journal where I wrote my ideals and passions and ways that the world needs to change.  And when I think about Chuck and when I read this guy and this guys writing and when I read poems and stories like the ones I did this morning, I wonder, “Have my passions been limited to a pop song with great lyrics?”

Or am I doing something about it, starting with myself?

This post is for Watercooler Wednesday with Randy Elrod.

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