July 5, 2007

The people sitting behind us today were speaking in tongues. Not the real, pew-jumping and tambourine playing tongues, but rather a different language. My daughters were curious as to what language they were speaking. My girls were wanting to know what exotic land these fast talking foreigners were from. So I did what any good, eaves-dropping father would do…I took hold of the chair arms and pushed my beach chair as far back as I could. Then I faked taking a nap. I pulled my hat down over my eyes, laid motionless, and listened. I heard a “mag – niff – icko” uttered from the peculiar crowd. Seems like I once saw a TV French chef say “magnifficko”, so I told Brooklyn, Lauren, and Morgan our beach neighbors to the rear were French.
There is something intriguing and mysterious about someone from another country who speaks fluid jibberish.
Earlier this week all four of my kids had decided to fake British accents when they were out in public. All of the Scott’s wholeheartedly bought into this… with a “mum” and a “cheerio” and a few “bloody goods.” Michael, our five-year-old with a thick southern Indiana accent, sounded like he had the leading role in a bad high school play. I’m not sure we successfully fooled anyone listening in on our beach conversations, but we sure had a good time trying. Last night the whole British thing fell apart for us when we went to see fourth of July fireworks at a large pier. I reluctantly reminded my clan that some die-hard Brits wouldn’t celebrate a holiday that remembered American rebels violently and successfully gaining independence from Great Britain. With that, one of my kids let out a boisterous, “Ooooh, right you are old chap!”
Why do most of us have such strong propensity for wanting to be something or someone we are not? I do.
I have used a very pious sounding “God bless you” not to recount a stranger’s sneeze, but rather to help someone think I’m more spiritual than I am. Sometimes I will use such phrases to be accepted by people I like… and want to be liked back. I’m just not a “Praise You Jesus” kind of a person. I’m not a “hallelujah” kind of a guy.” Saying “Thank You Lord” during someone else’s prayer is not a part of my wiring. Sometimes I think it should be. Sometimes those people who say such things are very intense and intentional with their relationship with Jesus. Maybe I want to be more like them… or at least thought of by others as being very spiritual. I think such church phrases are good if they are real. I’ve caught myself saying an “Uh huh” or a whispered “Yes” during someone else’s prayer --- and I’ve wondered if that was really me or if I was doing some kind of weird, selfish, spiritual, image management in the very throne room of God. Think about that one for a moment. Could I be more concerned about the people around me who don’t know me than a God who knows and knit me from the inside out? How absurd.
David is so real in the Psalms (35-45). His words, poetry and music are not fake. He goes back and forth from calling down God’s wrath on his enemies to trusting God for deliverance to questioning God’s silence to admitting his sin to blaming God for everything. And in between his real life thoughts, he reminds himself to wait on God. Does David know he’s all over the place with his spirituality, and so he dares not make a move without waiting on God … who, by the way, is an unmovable, steady-as-she-goes Rock? Instead of faking it, David waits on God. Brilliant.
Donald Miller’s writing is resonating with me because he seems so real and authentic. I called my alcoholic, agnostic, counselor friend in Colorado, and told him he had to read Miller’s “Blue Like Jazz.” Miller writes : “It feels better to have people love the real me than the me I invented.”
Sometimes I get so tired of the me I invented. The pastor who thinks he always needs to be “on.” I flipped the switch on even at the beach today. A lady by the name of Darlene came up to me and asked if I was a pastor. Is it stamped on my forehead or something? Do I look and act like a pastor? I tend to abhor and fight the typical pastor stereotypes. Maybe it was the simple fact that I was reading my Bible on the beach while wearing a goofy t-shirt that said “Jesus Christ… He’s The Real Thing.” How’s that for authentic Christianity? Anyway… Darlene asked me to pray for her. Her husband of 35 years, Virgil, had just left her for another woman. Without thinking (click) I went into my pastoral counseling mode and asked all the right questions: Do you have kids? Have you been to counseling? Is He a Christian? Nothing wrong with the questions, mind you… but what I really wanted to say was: “That sucks!” However, I’m not completely sure pastors are allowed to say the word “sucks.” I’m very sure my mom would want to wash my mouth out with Ivory soap. There was an odd little pastor in Colorado who once called an entire staff meeting just to ban the word “sucks” from his staff’s vocabulary.
What’s my point here? I’m not sure. Maybe I just want to start using the word “sucks” so I can fool younger generations into thinking I’m a cool pastor.
I think I’m mostly tired of church games, and politically correct churchy words, and programs, and of the me I’ve invented, and church activities that keep a system of Christianity alive, but have nothing much to do with Jesus. Maybe I’m just not a very good pastor. What if people find out?
Miller writes: “Satan… wants us to believe meaningless things for meaningless reasons. Can you imagine if Christians actually believed that God was trying to rescue us from the pit of our own self-addiction?”
Could all of my self-deception and in-authenticity really be symptomatic of the fact that I’m, as Miller writes… “passionate about nothing?” Are our churches programmed with crammed-full calendars of good stuff --- and potentially passionate about nothing?
(Psalm 40:6) “Sacrifice and offering you do not desire.” Programs and activities don’t seem to impress you… no matter how religious they seem to be. “My ears you have pierced.” Lord, you have my attention. You’re opening up my understanding.
“Burnt offerings and sin offerings you do not require.” I’m starting to get the picture.
Lord, show me how to be authentic. Can I lead a real church that is passionate about important things… things that are important to You?
I (the real me, I think) love you, Lord.

ON A SOMEWHAT RELATED SIDE NOTE: My kids are real. As we were soaking in the afternoon beach rays, a bunch of seaweed floated in and took over the beach. Most adults were disgruntled and left the beach complaining. My kids embraced the gross stuff. They played with it. They piled it up. They found and collected nine tiny shrimp living in the seaweed, and thought that was so cool. Kids know how to keep it real!

There was another little gang of three boys who were building something massive and impressive in the sand. I’m not sure what they were building, but they were working with great intensity. Although every morning the ocean has leveled the previous days sand handiworks, these boys were determined to do something of lasting value. Perhaps their legacy was hinging on their creation. Maybe they actually believed they could hold back the waves come hell (can I say that word?) or high tide? I loved their intensity and unbridled convictions. Kids know how to be real! No faking it.
Maybe that’s why Jesus said we need to become more like them.