Jonathan and David

"the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul... And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was on him and gave it to David, and his armor, and even his sword and his belt." - Samuel 18.

Not too long ago, I heard a speaker explain this passage and it stirred a deep longing in me. It stirred a longing for brotherhood and communion and a longing for authenticity. It stirred up desires like a shoulder to cry on and for a brother to kiss without shame.

The speaker was saying that what Jonathan did, in disrobing, giving his armor, sword and belt to David, was in essence saying "Hear I am, I have made myself vulnerable for you, for I love you. Here are all the tools of my strength, they are yours."

I've had months and months to reflect on the action of Jonathan, and it just came up again in my reading. During my months of reflection, I've had many opportunities to follow in Jonathan's footsteps and allow others into my life by laying down my armor. It's brought about a profound change in my life. A change that I've longed for and a change that I welcome. For I am growing now in my understanding of what it means to be and experience Christ in my brothers.

Growing up in my family I have been blessed with tender and joyful relationships with my siblings, and they have proved to be the frame from which I've sought to find and be a brother in the church. I am so indebted to them. Their love for me really knows no bounds (unless I'm reaching for the last cookie - some things are beyond relationship).

But as I reflect on Jonathan's action, my siblings and my recent experience, I can't help but think that many, many, many church-goers are missing the familial connection that is church. Many step into our holy huddles on Sundays and feel nothing but isolated and different.

I know this because I've felt it. I dress up for church, not down. I even bring my weapons to church. And rather than loosening my belt for the feast of fellowship and homecoming, I tighten it for battle.

How I wish this weren't the case. My heart is so critical towards the church and this dynamic. Of course it's critical for many of the wrong reasons. And my heart is critical towards the very individuals who need me to be like Jonathan to them. In great irony, rather than following in his steps, I jab at them with the sword of my "vulnerable" superiority. Even my "authenticity" feeds the pride that knows no bounds in my soul.

But Jesus brings me hope. He knows what it's like to lay down power. His action goes beyond my pea-brained comprehension and up into heavenly realities. His was infinite emptying of power and glory. If Jesus resides in me today, I too can be for others a ray of hope in the ego-driven world I live in. I too can find the power to let go of power, the peace to fight for souls and the joy to enter into sadness.

There is within me a deep desire to connect, to be Jesus to others and to establish friendships that involve such self-emptying. Unfortunately, my instinct for self-preservation is frantically trying to stifle this desire. It's a desire to love. And it's a desire to risk and live. But my instinct doesn't want any part of it.

Jesus wants more for me. He's prying my clenching fists off my sword, teaching me grace and feeding me with his life. I'm learning that the tiniest actions are the most profound, the smallest gestures the oasis filled with the water of life. And he's showing me that ego takes a pounding in the life of a Christ follower.

In randomly musing about all of this, I write about realities far, far above me. But even as I do, in realization of the gap between me and the me I want to be, there is a God who I simply cannot stop, a God who's doing for this child things that I've only ever dreamed about.

I've been drawn into a kingdom, and I serve a mighty and unstoppable king, who will bring his light, justice and mercy to the nations. Go ahead ego, just try stopping that.

"You Won't Feel a Thing. You Will Feel Very Intense, Acute Pain."

I found out yesterday that I have a horrible condition. Medical professionals call it a "rebellious spirit" - whatever that means. And don't you dare ask me to look it up! You people make me so mad!

You'd think that with all of the time I've put in to God stuff, reading my Bible, blogging and simply being holy, I wouldn't come down with a condition like this. I'm fuming.

I don't think the "doctors" know what they're talking about. I think of them as medieval blood-letters who are always telling me to "do this" and "and don't touch that." The power hungry Mongols. (Not that I have anything against the Mongols. It's a good idea never to have anything against a Mongol. I hear they can be unpleasant, so I make it a point to never upset a Mongol. Plus, they're really cute with their long mustache-beardy things and their little ponies.)

As I wrote a few blogs back, I'm in a season in my life where God is gently letting me see some of my real reflection in his mirror. It can be painful. So to lesson the pain I sort of squint at it and look sideways. Sometimes I even crab-walk up to the mirror, peering between my knees so my vision is more abstracted.

But what's up with this "rebellious spirit?" Where did he come from? I've always been so obedient, compliant and helpful! Who dares hint that I might have a rebellious spirit?

Umm, my Wife and my Mom for starters. They are nodding their heads along with the doctors and mumbling "I concur."

What am I to do with this "spirit?" What can the doctors do? I don't know.

Some of you may think I'm a jerk. I suspect you're right. The doctors tell me I also have slight-to-severe symptoms of jerkiness. On a scale of 1-10, they say I'm somewhere between 1-10.

But all humor and weird writing aside, this sin in my life is detrimental to those God's called me to love and care for, as well as to me.

I can echo the country music sentiment that we really do hurt those we love the most. In case you feel left out, I can love you too, so if I see you I'll try to hurt you. I'm magnanimous in my love! Or at least I've had a huge cup of coffee this morning and it has me feeling magnanimous. "Magnanimous" is such a great word!

But there is a bright side to finding out these horrible little things about me. It's that the doctor who's revealing them is fully capable of cutting them away and healing me. His prescription has been to ask me to begin to take steps towards reconciliation between others, Him and myself. He's slowly and surely putting me back together. And for this I am extremely grateful.

I've been reading a lot of Proverbs recently. Everyone who thinks this makes me extra holy should send me a little comment of admiration. I really appreciate those and promise that I will quickly confess my pride (I feel that the time in repentance is worth the pride). But in reading Proverbs there's a pursuit that the teacher describes over and over ... and over. It's the pursuit of wisdom - God's wisdom.

How am I to pursue wisdom unless I quit grabbing the Grand Surgeon's scalpel and playing doctor on my friends, my world and myself? An untrained man with a scalpel is an accident in the making.

That's why I am so glad that God is doing the surgery (I realize that I'm running willy-nilly from one metaphor to another in this blog. Sorry!). Not only is God cutting away these more apparent sinful patterns like my rebellious spirit, he's taking the very people in my life that I've hurt the most and using them to help in the process. Surprisingly, they're not cutting off my oxygen and handing him little vials of poison. It's because they really love me. They are a flesh and blood testament to the grace of God that I receive daily.

Sometimes, in my more lucid moments, I sit up on my patients bed and just stare in bewilderment at all the people in my room. I am really spoiled to have so many who care and love me.

Last night, as I was sitting across from a dear friend who's helping me face this mirror, I said to him, "I feel now that I am really loved by God, because God's people are loving me." This is truly "magnanimous!" This is Christ's body working the way it should be. And while I am disheartened by how long and how often I have taken this love for granted, today I am very, very grateful.