An Unexpected Masterpiece

One doesn’t need to be an art expert to recognize the painting above.  It is fairly familiar to many people who couldn’t distinguish its significant color and composition from crayons on construction paper. 

While most people just refer to the painting as “Whistler’s Mother”, the actual name of the 1871 masterpiece is Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1:  Portrait of the Artist’s Mother (I know, captivating title, huh?).

Interestingly enough, the piece should never have been painted.  Whistler (James McNeill Whistler, to be specific) never had any intention of creating a portrait of his mom.  Instead, he had hired a lively, beautiful teenaged girl named Maggie Graham to be his model for this Arrangement (so named because he also had an affinity for music and likened his creations to pieces of music).  Graham never showed up for work.  Irritated yet still inspired to paint, Whistler prevailed upon his widowed mother to sit in for her.

The resulting work easily became Whistler’s most iconic and easily identifiable creation.  While he was a well-decorated artist, the mention of his name quickly conjures up the black and grey image of his mother sitting ever so stoically.

This story fascinates me.

...it also challenges me.

Whistler was ready to paint.

Graham was his chosen subject/model.

Yet, Whistler did not let her failure to show up frustrate his desire to create.  Never one to waste inspiration, he used what he had.  Because he did not let Graham’s absence become an excuse to not paint, the world has one of its great masterpieces.

There are times I feel like Whistler.  I have a deep desire to “do” certain things.  In my mind, the plans I envision executing are grand and glorious.  There are moments when I feel poised to truly create a masterpiece.  But, then something always seems to fall apart or go contrary to my schemes and dreams.

Recently I visited a facility which is very similar to what I’ve always dreamed of having.  It had a full court gym, a workout area, a lounge area, state-of-the-art equipment, etc.  This has always been a part of what I have wanted to be able to offer the students and families I try to reach.  This sort of a place is my “Maggie Graham” -- the model I’ve always hoped to present to the world.  

While the place was definitely nice, it was not mine.  Instead, I have a basement youth center, a warehouse workout facility and a barn basketball court.  None of what I have is ideal.  I work with leaky roofs, thrift store equipment and a subterranean gathering place.

When I consider “Whistler’s Mother”, I am humbled.

Use what you have.

The “art” was not in Maggie Graham or a widowed mother...the ART was in Whistler.  His desire and gift to create is what mattered. 

The correlation (and challenge) for me is obvious.  I need to use my God-given drive, discipline and duties to compose the most beautiful masterpiece I can.  I cannot wait for what I believe would be the perfect model.  I cannot delay hoping for better situations.  I need to simply put whatever brush I have to whatever canvas I have and do what I can.

The world may never see it...but I intend to use what I have to create a masterpiece.

What about you?

In February of 1962, two bands auditioned for a recording contract for London’s Decca Records.

Both upstart bands had been experiencing modest success and small scale popularity in the United Kingdom.  Both groups had an oddly similar sound and look.

Brian Poole and the Tremeloes were a London-based band while their competition, The Beatles, were based in Liverpool, more than 200 miles from the British capital.

After having both bands record audition albums at Decca’s studios, the label’s leadership decided to sign the Tremeloes...not the Beatles.

The decision was based mainly on convenience.  Having the Tremeloes in London made them much more accessible for Decca.  The thought of having to have the Beatles travel the nearly four hours to London for any potential recording, performing or other appearances was logistically laborious.  

While the Tremeloes turned out to be a moderately successful group (reaching #1 on the UK charts twice [Do You Love Me and Silence Is Golden] and climbing as high as #11 in the US [Silence], they obviously never approached the level of popularity or success of the Beatles.

Excellence, it seems, is never a matter of convenience.  

All In For #5

I’ve been silent in the blogosphere for a week.  I’m not entirely sure if anyone really noticed...but leading off with that admission seemed to be necessary.  

Anyone who knows me -- or has seen my blog, my social media, my vehicle, my office, my home or my wardrobe -- knows I am a fan of Duke basketball.  Seeing them thoroughly trounced by Louisville on Sunday in the Regional Final certainly didn’t leave me overjoyed.

Chances are nearly everyone who may bother to read this post has seen the horrific injury Louisville’s Kevin Ware suffered.  Having his leg literally snap right in front of his teammates on the bench left some players gasping for air and wiping tears from their eyes while others (according to sideline reports) were throwing up from the sheer gruesomeness of the fracture.

While there has been much written and reported about the incident, one thing was certain to me -- Duke had NO chance from that point on.  Even though the play actually resulted in a Tyler Thornton three-pointer which tied the game, the site of a fallen teammate and the sound of his screams followed by his impassioned pleas for the Cardinals to, “just get the win”, was enough to convince me Louisville would advance to the Final Four (and most likely the championship).

Adidas even recently created special warm-ups for the team to wear at this weekend’s Final Four in Atlanta:

It just makes sense.  

Even people I’ve spoken to this week who have no athletic background whatsoever seem to “get” what is happening with Louisville.  Rallying around a teammate, working hard to fulfill his wishes, unifying in his honor -- are all things even non-sports fans understand.

Ironically, I have had several conversations with people this week about what I do and why I do it.  These well-meaning people genuinely cannot understand how I can devote my days to the “job” I have -- trying to do anything I can to serve, love, encourage and elevate others.

To me it is exactly the same thing.  

The drive of the Louisville players to “win” for Ware is rooted in the fact that they’ve struggled, suffered, succeeded and stretched themselves together.  Every weight lifted, line drill run, film session endured bonded them together.

For me, the connection to Jesus is much the same -- good and bad, hope-filled and hopeless, joy and sorrow --  He has experienced and endured it all (on His own AND together with me).  

Ware’s compound fracture was indeed traumatic and brutal.  He will forever wear its scars.  His teammates will never forget the image of it, either.  It is nothing, however, when compared to the suffering Jesus endured which we remembered just last week (and each time we take communion).   

My life of faith is no big deal.  It is just me rallying on behalf of Jesus.  If Louisville is motivated to win a championship because of Ware, how much more should I be driven to fulfill Jesus’ wishes?

“All in for #5” isn’t a hard concept for the general public to grasp.  

Why should:

“Everything you do or say should be done to obey Jesus your Lord.

And in all you do, give thanks to God the Father through Jesus...

In all the work you are doing, work the best you can. 

Work as if you were doing it for the Lord, not for people.”

Col 3:17, 23

be?

I want to bring honor to Christ, to fulfill his wishes...and to win for (and with) Him.  I’m not a zealot.  I don’t possess an extra dose of faith.  I just want to be a Champion.  He deserves that from me.

Good for us, Bad for Him Friday

Insight and inspiration can come from unexpected sources.  When they do, chances are  it is worth paying attention to for it was probably deposited there by God for us to find.

Last weekend I had conversation with a sixth-grade boy which put life into a proper, purposeful and poignant perspective.

***As an aside, I must admit I love working with middle school boys.  

For some people, this subspecies is to be avoided at all costs.  

With their personal hygiene issues, bodily function affections and 

other unclassifiable oddities, middle-school-aged guys are often viewed as 

off-putting and awkward.  For me, though, the obvious juxtaposition of 

childhood and “adulthood” makes their minds fertile soil in which 
to sow (which is impossible to do without stepping into a 

poop joke from time to time).  They’re real.  They’re ready to challenge 

and be challenged.  They are often wide-eyed and rarely short-sighted.***

One of our walls at the Youth Center we run featured a posted reminder of how we are closed on Good Friday.  As I was manning the video game counter, Andrew came up to me and said, “So...you’re closed on Friday, huh?”

I turned, looked squarely at the reminder, gestured toward it and then returned my gaze to the bespectacled eleven-year-old.  “Yep...pretty sure...” I replied, knowing full-well he didn’t come to the counter to inquire about our hours.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked. 

“Nope,” he quipped and picked up a game list pretending to pour over it.  After just a few seconds he looked up at me without moving his head.  “Well, I have a question...” he said.

“I hope I have an answer,” I retorted.  “What is it?”

Why do they call it “Good Friday”? he queried.

...and this is part of what I love about my “job” -- right there, during a weekend evening full of game playing and junk food eating, amidst dozens of his contemporaries, I was being invited to talk about Jesus.

“Well, because that’s the day we recognize Jesus’ crucifixion.  He had to die to pay for our sins so we could be right with God -- ”

Sensing I was about to possibly break into preacher mode, Andrew interrupted.  “Oh, yeah, I know that,” he said.  “But, how can that be ‘good’ for Him?!”

I chuckled.  Quite astute.  But, before I could speak up to clarify, Andrew added, “Maybe we should call it ‘Good for us, Bad for Him Friday’!”  It was obvious he was quite proud of his assessment.  

Good for us, bad for Him.
How true.  Sometimes I wonder if we truly understand just how “bad” it was.  Strips of flesh just hanging from a battered frame, bleeding blotches where a beard had been plucked out by hand, so badly beaten Scriptures record He was hardly recognizable as a human being.

“Bad” doesn’t even begin to describe the anguish and the agony.  

Once again, before I could start to share the wisdom of my life of ministry and faith, my pre-pubescent counterpart chimed in: 

“He meant to do it, though.”

He meant to do it, though.  Again...wow.  YES...yes He did!  What a powerful proclamation.  Andrew cut through all the theology, brutality, and historicity of Jesus‘ sacrifice and made it impossible not to take it personally.  What an amazing thing to truly consider -- Jesus MEANT to do it.  The humiliation and hurt, the pain and public shame of Good Friday was all on-purpose.

...and WE were the purpose.

Our conversation continued and, in true middle school boy fashion, we talked about a variety of peripheral topics (weapons, blood, the jeers of the crowd, etc.)...until we touched on the idea of Jesus‘ disciples.  A panged look appeared on Andrew’s usually chipper face.

“Boy, how sad must they have been?”  he asked.

I was about to answer and he (again...and thankfully) cut me off to say, “I guess when you’re sad, you wait for Jesus to show up so you can be happy.”

WOW.

...when you’re sad, you wait for Jesus to show up so you can be happy.

I’ve been in full-time ministry for more than two decades.  I’ve preached thousands of sermons and spent countless hours in Bible study and teaching.  But in all my experience and training I have never been so smacked in the spiritual face with the power and simplicity of Christ as I was right then.  What a magnificent breakdown of one of history’s most seminal moments.

There is no way I can improve upon Andrew’s Good Friday message...I can only relay it to you:

• Good for us, bad for Him.

• He meant to do it, though.

• When you’re sad, you wait for Jesus to show up so you can be happy.

Nevertheless

I love words.

Although the English language is confusing and, at times, frustratingly backwards in some of its rules, I still believe words can be powerful and pretty, compelling and comforting, energizing and entertaining.

I also love it when words seem to be misspelled or improperly used...only to find out they’re not.

I recall early on in my writing career (and yes, I have actually had a “career” writing), going out of my way to find reason to use words like:

• albeit

• notwithstanding

• nevertheless

They were just cool to me -- a smash-up of other words making another word which wasn’t merely a remix but was its own entity.  

Today is Maundy Thursday on the Christian calendar.  I understand that may not mean much to those of you who read this blog and don’t hold a Christian faith.  I also understand our “celebrating” this Holy Week in the spring like we do does not indicate the time of year in which the actual events we recognize took place. 

Those facts notwithstanding, today is a day when I turn my attention to the events of the “Last Supper” and Jesus praying in the garden of Gethsemane (and his subsequent betrayal, etc.).  

This is an important time for me personally.  To pause and examine what Jesus willingly endured (and conquered) on my behalf is vital for maintaining proper perspective in my life.  It also pulls me closer to the heart of God and farther from the trappings of man.

The retelling of the entire story, albeit important, is not essential for my point today.  Instead, I ‘d like us to focus on Jesus’ prayer.

It is impossible for me to fully imagine the inner conflict Jesus must have felt.   Knowing what was ahead of Him just had to shake the “fully man” part of him indescribably.  We see a glimpse of this in Matthew 26

 Then He said to them, “My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death. Stay here and watch with Me.”

The next verse illustrates the reality of the situation:

He went a little farther and fell on His face, and prayed, saying, “O My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will.”

This was not a simple, joyous culmination of a mission for Jesus.  This was excruciating.    In fact, it was so difficult, so brutal, He asked if there was possibly another way for salvation to be purchased and provided.

But then He uttered a powerful word:

nevertheless

Obviously, the words found in the New King James translation weren’t exactly the ones He used.  Nevertheless, the sentiment is clearly communicated...and ought to be clearly considered, too.

Jesus was being real with the Father.  He laid it out for Him.  He said, “I’d really rather not have to do this...”

Then came the nevertheless...

Thank God for the nevertheless.  

At its root, nevertheless means:  “Everything I said before the ‘nevertheless’ is something I wanted you to hear...and everything after it is what we need to do.”

Jesus didn’t hide His feelings during His prayer.  In the same sense, once He expressed them, he willingly embraced the Father’s wisdom and direction.

I once preached at a church and talked about “getting real” with God.  I mentioned that it is okay to tell Him how you truly feel about something...or what your true desires are -- even if they’re not exactly in-line with what HE wants. 

The Pastor chastised me and never invited me back.  He insisted ours was never a place to complain or be contrary -- especially not in prayer.

That made me sad -- not for my “career”, but for Truth.

Jesus didn’t hold back while He prayed in Gethsemane.  He told the Father what He thought...but he followed it up with nevertheless.

What an amazing word, nevertheless...especially when used in this sort of context.  

“God, here is my way of seeing things...here is what *I* would like to have happen...here is my idea, etc...nevertheless, let’s do it YOUR way.”

That’s the type of faith I want and the kind of prayers I want to pray. 

I want to be real and raw with God. 

I want to lay myself open and bare with him -- totally uncensored and unfiltered.

Then, I want the type of faith and focus that Jesus showed when he said nevertheless.

Giraffe & Mouse = Twins

I have a confession to make...

I’ve never really watched Sesame Street.  

(I’ve never seen “The Wizard of Oz”, either...but that’s for a different blog.)

Growing up, Sesame Street existed, I just never really watched it.  That doesn’t stop me from being familiar with its concepts and cast, however.  It also doesn’t mean I am unaware some of its songs and segments either.

For example, I know all the lyrics to the classic, “One of these things is not like the other...” diddy. 

Sadly I am also quite well-acquainted with the principle behind the exercise.

In fact, just like most of the rest of the world, I rather adept at looking at things (and people) and quickly offering an assessment of their differences.  I readily notice height, weight, attractiveness, fitness, demeanor, wardrobe, odor, and other easily-recognizable outward characteristics.

I am even capable of “spinning it forward” enough to render my opinions on their happiness, contentment, worthiness, wholeness, etc.

Chances are you do the same thing.

You see someone who looks trim and well-groomed wearing the latest styles and immediately imagine his life is blessed, perhaps even “easy”.  Or, maybe you take note of someone who seems self-assured in a social setting and naturally come to the conclusion that he is well-adjusted and without any personal hang-ups.

...and then the song starts to play in your head...”One of these things is not like the other...”

...and then the comparisons and self-loathing begin.  

Sound familiar?

If you’re human, it probably does.

We all seem to be wired to compare...and when we do, we’re all pretty lousy at it.

Consider this:

A typical giraffe stands 16-20 feet tall and weighs over 3,000 pounds.  Its neck alone is often 5-7 feet long.  A standard field mouse stands less than two inches tall and weighs less than an ounce.

Yet, their necks is precisely the same.  Made up of the same seven bones, the necks of these two creatures are structurally identical. 

Same construction.

Same content.

Vastly different appearance.

Plato once said, “Be kind for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

Even the most seemingly “together” person holds the same internal “structure” as me.  Those people who seem to be care-free may actually be struggling with inner conflicts just like I am.  Those individuals who are skinnier than I am may losing the fight with other battles I have already won in my own life.  Those people who fire up the “One of these things...” song in my head may very well be looking at me humming the same tune wishing they had something they perceive me as having.

I’ll be honest, I would never look at a giraffe and a field mouse and think they shared a neck blueprint.  Nope...just too much of a difference on the surface.  But, they do.

In just the same way, I am not likely to look at others who are more successful, more attractive, more well-liked, etc., than me and believe we have common frameworks.

But, I need to -- for my sake, for their sake, for Christ’s sake.

We are all flawed -- no one I encounter is without blemish or weakness.  Some may hide it better than others, but we all have things which haunt, humble and humiliate us.

We are all fallen -- no one I encounter is able to rise to an holy level of acceptableness (Romans 3:23).  Some may comport themselves as complete but even their best isn’t good enough (Isaiah 64:6).

We are all fixable (2 Corinthians 5:17 & James 1:2-4).

While I’m sure Sesame Street never intended to train us to compare and compete with others, the “One of these things...” mentality is detrimental.

By now the song is probably stuck in your head (and will remain there at least for the rest of the day).  Don’t ditch the music...just switch the message.  Try this instead:

All of these things are just like the others, 

All of these things have things that are wrong, 

If I can stop thinking I’m worse off than the others 

I have a chance to grow and be strong. 

Half-Full? Half-Empty?

We have all probably seen an image like the one posted above.

In general, we are all likely to be familiar with the world-view assessment it offers as well.  If you see the glass as half-full, you are an optimist.  If you view it as half-empty you are a pessimist.

It is a fairly interesting (and accurate) means of examining one's perspective, understanding and approach to life.

At the risk of being snarky (and annoyingly over-thinking), allow me to offer my take on the glass:

It is twice as big as I thought it would be.

I remember jokingly offering that as my answer to a friend who asked me the famous glass-view question once.  He was trying to illustrate how I am often too negative about certain subjects (which I admittedly am).  I was trying to be clever and evasive...

...but then I realized, that is how I see life's "glass".

It is just way bigger than I thought.

The times when I see it as half-full are the times when I've poured all I can into it...and am still left lackingly incomplete.

The times when I see it as half-empty are the times when I'm trying my best to get the most out of it...and am still left exhaustedly unfulfilled.

Can you relate?

To see the glass as half-full or half-empty focuses on me.  But, life is not just about me.

To see the glass as twice as big as I thought it would be focuses on something more.  Life is about the "something more".

Obviously, if you know me or have read some of my other posts, my "something more" is an active and on-going relationship with God through His Son, Jesus.

When I give everything I can and find out I am not "filling" the glass of life, I need to be able to turn to a source more vast and varied that me.

The familiar Psalm 23 ("The Lord is my Shepherd") contains this phrase (v.5)

...you fill my cup to overflowing.

In John's Gospel (10:10), Jesus says this:

...but I came to give life—life in all its fullness.

After I've done all I can, life still isn't completely "full".  That truth is what drives many people to despair...or at least desperate (and damaging) attempts to find ways to fill it.

The opposite is also true.  To try one's hardest to get the most out of life and yet to feel as if something is still lacking can be quite disheartening.

I am not an optimist.

I am not a pessimist.

I am a realist.

...and reality has proven to me that the "glass" of my life is simply twice as big as I ever imagined it to be.

I cannot get a "full" life on my own.

I cannot get the most out of life on my own.

Only when I realize there is more to this life (a glass twice was big), can I ever even begin to have a chance to experience it completely.