Drawing lines

What is it about drawing lines that seems to be so prevalent within the way I see the world? Often times I rush to group people into those who are “in” and those who are “out”. I classify people into religious groups, political groups and moral groups. In drawing lines I seclude myself and fail to see that not only are we all connected, but in separating myself I deny any chance to love.

I was reading Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller last night and one of the last chapter hit me in a peculiar way. Miller was talking about an experience he had with some hippies in the woods, he talked about how his upbringing taught him to steer clear of liberals, homosexuals and pot heads. However, after spending a month together with these evildoers, he found that they were indeed some of the most loving and accepting people he had ever met. He reflects about some past Christian communities he has been apart of saying,

"The problem with Christian community was that we had our ethics, we had rules and laws and principles to judge each other against. There was love in Christian community, but it was conditional love. Sure, we called it unconditional, but it wasn't. There were bad people in the world and good people in the world...Christianity was always right; we were always looking down on everybody else. And I hated this... I was tired of biblical ethics being used as a tool with which to judge people rather than heal them. I was tired of Christian leaders using biblical principles to protect their power, to draw a line in the sand separating the good army from the bad one."

I have some good friends here. It was hard at first to know how I should act around them, I mean they are... catholic (gasp) or agnostic, of atheist. There was this tension, something down deep within me that was putting this enormous pressure on my heart and mind to...well, save them.

If you cannot relate to what I am saying, let me share with you a little secret. It is hard and lets not forget awkward to carry on a conversation when you are thinking about try to change the other persons minds. In fact, I am going out on a limb in saying, it is impossible to love them, when you are trying to force change upon them.

It did not take long for me to identify this pressure to "convert the world" as something that is not good. Sure, it looks good, but it isn't. In the past four months I have had some of the most incredible conversations of my life. My friends have taught me how to listen and how to love. In fact, they have shown me Christ.

We may not share the views, but when you think about the word "view" as in "worldview" there is not a person in the world the sees and understands reality in the same way. We all "view" a painting or "see" a sun set differently, is one right and the other wrong? This is a rather vast subject and one that indeed makes people nervous, in fact it makes me uncomfortable just writing about it. Can every one be right? Well, I guess that depend upon the question. Some questions are by nature objective, others not so much. I am going to leave this question/thought open. But, my original point of the post was this: drawing lines is like building a wall and when we build walls between people who think or live differently than us, we are no longer in a position to love them, and if my memory serves me right, that was one of the things Jesus kept on nagging about.

O yeah, Merry Christmas to everyone!

I will be in France with my roommates and their families. I know sounds rough. All this traveling is starting to take a tole on me, but I will try to tough it out and take a few pictures along the way.

Note: about the picture, if you don't agree with me about what I have just written you too shall face me in the circle of doom (and yes, I won).

Location: Valencia, Spain a few weeks ago

Death.Life.Love

It is interesting to observe the reaction of people when you talk about death. Often time’s people grow uneasy and squirm around in their chair as if they have a rash of some sort. Recently, the subject of death has been the object of my thoughts and conversations. A little over a week has passed since a good friend of mine died, not a day has passed since then that I have not thought about him, nor has a day passed that I have not pondered my own death. Josh was younger that me, it was as if he had just started to live. But that all depends upon our definition of life: is life a unit of measurement? If so what does it measure?

Does “life” measure time or quality? When I think of Josh, I think of both. In one way his “life” was rather short, in another he lived an abundantly full “life”. For each day that I was around him it was as if he was savoring each drop, his heart was always curious and looking for adventure. But, Josh never had to look too far, for adventure seemed to follow him.

Last night as I was sitting on my window seal, I repeated a phrase that has become a part of what I call my “night time reflection”, often times I simply look into the sky and say, “the night has come once more.” I reflect upon the day and embrace the reality that I will never get to relive it, what has passed is done, over, history. I ask myself some questions and sometimes simply have a prayer like conversation.

I have been having some great conversations with one of my friends here on the subject of love. We come from two different backgrounds and have two different perspectives on the word. It really been great, indeed some of the best conversation I have with any of my friends here. Furthermore, this subject has come to mean far more in light of Josh’s death, for he was guy who loved deeply and that is what I want. It seems rather simple right? Often times I hear people bash preachers who talk too much about love, they think he has gone soft and would prefer him preach more fire and brimstone, there is somthing attractive to rules and structure that I do not understand. We always sell love for some unit of measurement. I am not so sure why we do this, but I am tired of it and realy, I don't think it works.

To understand love as something soft is to not understand love. As Brennan Manning once said in a sermon, “The love of God is like a raging fire, everyone wants to get close enough to keep warm, but few fall into it and allow it to transform our lives.” It is a beautiful and terrifying thing, a paradoxical idea that is simple and complex at the same time.

In my little world, it is Christ that embodies perfect love. To read of how he treated people, how he interacted with the lowly as if he did not see what others were seeing. I often wonder what it was like when the disciples and Jesus approached a beggar on the street. Maybe the disciples simply saw the dirty clothing and smelled the urine, while Jesus was able to see beyond the external into the man’s heart, almost as if looking at two completely different people. You know, I have no idea how all this works, but I am starting to feel as though I am getting a little close to something truly beautiful. Like a dog that has picked up a scent in the woods, he runs around often looking like a fool, often times he gets distracted by other scents, but he continues looking for he knows that somewhere in those woods is something beautiful and that beautiful thing is worth living and dying for.

Oh Night

Oh night, you have come once more. The clouds cover that which is beautiful, the stars from a distant world.

She moarns the loss of her son, her love not enough to change his fate, so she weeps, weeps, weeps.

Her tired heart enters the bed, longing for sleep to grant her relief, but it does not come. She lies there alone, wishing to turn back time. If only her love could control death, but it does not and death does not control her. It is simply a part of her.

My heart is with you.

*A tribute to the mothers in Africa who have lost because of aids and hunger related deaths.

Josh. Lantz.

Josh-top left. Location: Bolivia, the Yunga Cruz trail. When:Summer 2005

As I walk along a small stream I pass over the fallen leaves, some still retaining hints of yellow, green and red. I walk with my hands tucked into my coat, my fingers slightly clinched around my thumbs, a habit since birth. Thoughts of a friend recently passed flood my mind. Like a movie, memories are replayed, sorrow, joy and hope come like the oceans tide, as joy recedes back into the ocean of memories sorrow surged forth. Oh my friend, your beautiful heart was unique. It was raw, wild and free.

He was a brother who often struggled to find his place in this materialist world.
Without shoes he serves, without a plan he departed.
His love displayed within his captivating eyes, blue and full of grace.
When tension rose, he sought expression through music.
His finger danced across the wood and metal following his joyous heart.

Josh, I am thankful for having the opportunity to serve with you in Bolivia. Looking through our pictures I can think of several stories that turned my sorrow into laughter. When I talk about you to my friends here in Spain, they are sad for not knowing you.
I remember when we finished the Choro trail and I came down with a stomach bug, and felt like I was going to die. You walked up to me with a cup that contained a gel-like substance that did not look appetizing at all. When I asked what was in it you said, “Banana, orange juice, and a few other berries that I pulled off those bushes.” When I looked into your eyes I thought that you were joking, but alas you were a sincere as ever, I declined your offer, but was thankful for the effort.

It was your genuine desire to help others that reflected the love of Christ so clearly to me. There are so many other stories, some funny others not, but through the ups and downs you maintained a pure heart to simply know the Father and his love, and that is how I will remember you. Josh Lantz a man recklessly pursuing the heart of Jesus.

December 1, 2006

It has been a long week thus far. With exams on the horizon, the big question for me is this, what do I need to know?

The classes are structured much differently here. The syllabus that is given out at the start of the course does not have a daily break down of homework, quizzes and midterm exams; rather it is a list of subjects that we will be covering with a list of books. Most classes have one primary book that is to be read along with the lectures. Furthermore, there are books with chapter breakdowns that are listed under particular topics that are to be read when the student does not understand or simply when he or she wishes fill in what the teacher left out.

Personally, I enjoy this type of format. It places the responsibility on the student. In my three short years in the University this is the first time I have actually felt like a student. One definition of a student is, “any person who studies, investigates, or examines thoughtfully” (dictionary.com). When a particular subject comes up in a class and I don’t understand, there is a part of me that looks at it like a challenge or mystery. Call me a nerd, but I anticipate the opportunity to go to the library or talk to the professor in my effort to understand. But, questions always seem to lead to… you guessed it, more questions! The process is endless.

I had only taken one history class in the university before this year. Currently I am enrolled in three, and I enjoy immensely. Sure, it can be rather taxing trying to understand the economic development of Spain in the XVI century and there is always the issue of language, but its fun and very humbling. There will always be more that I don’t know that I do and although that can be hard for a human so swallow, I think it puts me as an individual in my correct place.

The weather is cold here in Zaragoza and I miss my family and friends a lot. Last night I felt rather sick and wanted nothing more than to be in the company of friends. After a few failed attempts to call friends, I had to accept the reality of my condition. It can be romantic a times to think about being in Spain, but there are times when neither books, nor music, nor anything else can replace our desire to me in the presence of one who understand us.