Waiting…

[note: I found this on my iPaq the other day from when we were traveling to Africa this past summer.  I'd forgotten it was there, but I was glad to find it again.]

I get some of my best writing done in airports.  I’m not sure why that is… I think it’s because when I’m in an airport, I’m usually waiting on something.  I think a lot when I’m waiting.

Waiting affords us the chance to think a little more deeply about things than we usually do.  I think we’re lost the art of waiting, much like we’re lost the art of silence.  We don’t like silence anymore – when things are quiet, we start to think, start to deal with the stuff that’s going on in our heads.  Waiting is the same way – it gives us time to think, so we would rather occupy ourselves another way: shopping, listening to music, reading a book, just walking around the airport.  We can’t just sit still and think and wait.

There’s something about “active waiting” that makes us come to terms with what we’re waiting on.  I’m waiting to get on an airplane for a long journey.  And up until now (after a 24-hour weather delay), I haven’t had time to sit and realize how much I’ve been looking forward to this trip.  I’ve been waiting, hoping, expecting.  And now the time is almost here.  Just sitting still for these few minutes has helped me see more clearly what I’m waiting on, what I expect and hope to happen.  It’s a moment of active waiting, and I think it will make the moment – when it arrives – even more clear and special because I really took time to WAIT for it.

Come to think of it, we spend a good deal of our lives waiting on something – actively or passively.  I’m not just talking about waiting in lines or waiting in traffic; we do plenty of that too.  But what about those intangible things?  Waiting for Mr. or Ms. Right to come along; waiting for our big break; waiting for that annoying pain to go away; waiting for things to finally go our way; waiting for that bad thing we just know is going to happen; waiting to die.

We wait.  It’s part of being limited to one-way time travel.  And if we counted all the moments we spent waiting for things vs. all those moments we actually spent enjoying the things we were waiting for… well, let’s just say we’d find things way out of balance.  It would be even worse when we realize that usually when we come to a moment we’ve been expecting, we’re too busy waiting for the NEXT moment to even notice.

What if we lived our lives in active waiting instead of passive waiting?  What if we took the time, on occasion, to sit and really WAIT – to think about the things we’re expecting and what that expectation is doing to us?  Will getting married REALLY change things?  Will that baby REALLY make things better between us?  Will this vacation REALLY be just what I need?

I think if we all took more time to actively wait, we just might find that our expectations and the actual realities will match up more often.  And in the meantime, we’ll learn to appreciate the other 98% of our lives… the time we spend waiting.

Lent Approacheth…

Lent is on the way. It’s a season I look to with both excitement and dread. Excitement, because it is a very meaningful time of year to me. Dread, because I know that my habit is usually to give something up. I dread that because not only is it a hard thing to do, it’s something I usually end up giving in to at some point or another (I dread the guilt, in other words!).

And I must confess that I have a difficult time understanding the traditions behind Lent, as well – things like Mardi Gras and Fat/Shrove Tuesday, the idea that fasting only takes place on the weekdays, not eating meat and so on. These are things I’ve done a little research into, and I understand the basic idea and all… I just don’t think it makes the season any more meaningful to me. It’s probably a result of the tradition I grew up in, in which folks talked about things like Lent and Advent in the same hushed tones of voice that they used to talk about satanic rituals and cult gatherings.

Things have changed for me (fortunately). But while I understand Lent now and the penitence that many observe, I still confess to some ignorance of all the traditions surrounding it.

I remember in high school when some older friends of mine decided to “get saved” and join the church. At a lunch after worship on the Sunday they were baptized, they told us how they’d spent their Saturday night: They’d gone out drinking, smoking, having sex, and all kinds of other crazy things (or at least they told us they did, and judging from how I’d seen them act at other times, I didn’t find it hard to believe). Our youth leader was shocked and seemed sad. I remember simply being confused. At the time, it didn’t make sense. Now it does make sense, I’m sorry to say – too much sense.

This year, I’ve decided to “add on” instead of taking away. I’m going to get up on the weekdays and go over to the church early for prayer and devotion. I’ll do it at a time that will allow others to join me before they head to work or other tasks, and I hope some others will join me. This is something I don’t do regularly enough, I admit. I don’t know if it will be meaningful or not, but I certainly know it’ll do me more good than giving up chocolate.

But that’s me. If you’re reading this, how do YOU plan to observe Lent this year? Are you used to observing it at all? How does your church observe Lent?

A Day to Celebrate

(January 10, 2007 Edition)

Next Monday, most of us will celebrate a day that we probably take for granted most years. The observance of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday was established as a federal holiday in 1986, 18 years after his untimely death on the balcony of a Memphis hotel. Sadly, to most of us it has become simply a day off from work, school, or whatever we do on a normal basis; certainly not a day to celebrate the life of a man who made a profound impact on his century.

King was a controversial figure during his own lifetime, and still remains a controversy today. Like many historical figures who are no longer able to defend themselves, King today finds his legacy threatened. He has posthumously been called a Communist and, ironically enough, both a Republican and a Democrat. He was either in league with the government or secretly trying to overthrow it. Some allege he cheated on his wife. He has been accused of plagiarism.

But no matter your opinion of King’s political and private activities, his was a life to celebrate – not just for the racial message he preached, but for the spiritual lessons he taught us. Two such lessons come immediately to my mind.

First, as a pastor, King was able to help Christians of all races see that God does not look on us as black, white, Hispanic or Asian. When God looks at us, he does not see our accomplishments or our failures. He sees us as beloved creations made in his image, as children who need his love and care. And if that is how God sees others, that is how we should see others as well.

Second, King chose a surprising way to fight the inequality faced by black Americans of his day – a way that endures as an example of Christ-like resistance. Rather than join in the violent attacks that others had launched against an unfair system, King chose to lead his followers to resist by non-violent means: sit-ins, marches, protests and boycotts.

King did this because he took to heart a lesson Jesus has tried to impress on us time and time again: When we use violence to combat violence, the only result is more pain and death. While war is sometimes necessary (and how thankful we are for those who fight for us), Jesus showed us that in the end, love and forgiveness are the only ways to break the cycle of sin and hatred.

Have we learned these lessons ourselves? They are not sideline issues. I am constantly confronted with both of these decisions on an almost daily basis. Will I strike back when I am attacked, continuing the cycle of violence and sin that has consumed the human race for millennia? Will I look at and treat others according to the things they appear to be – black or white, rich or poor, success or failure, Christian or other? Or will I see and treat people as the precious children of God, whom God has given to my care? No matter what I may think, I really am my brother’s keeper.

Let’s take a moment this MLK Day to celebrate the work of a man who gave his life – figuratively and literally – to fight the unjust and unequal treatment of all God’s children. And let us, like him, learn the lessons of Christ and allow King’s spiritual legacy to live on through us.