August 2013

Sandfish Lizard

The Sandfish and Me

The sandfish is a lizard that lives in the deserts of North Africa. Its name reflects its nature of diving into the sand and then pulling its legs close to its body to “swim” (like an eel) through sand. It does that in order to hide from predators or find cool relief from the heat.

As I watched a recent television feature about the sandfish, I was struck by how that lizard models conformity to God, Who “made from one, every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined their appointed times, and the boundaries of their habitation.” (Acts 17:26, NASB)

Although the sandfish is not part of “mankind,” it is clearly content in, and adapted to, its assignment to a time and a place. It seems delighted to live in the Arabian Desert – and not in the Artic, the mountains, swamps, South Pacific islands, the tundra, or Tokyo.

Our Creator could have placed that sandfish – or me – in any time of history or any place on earth. But He designed both of us for specific times and places. So, why have I been unable to adapt to my own habitat as freely and fully as the sandfish? Why do I live in a continual critique of my “desert” and its problems?

Perhaps if I humble myself that little sand creature can teach me a vital truth: I am here and I cannot change anything about here. I am also God’s workmanship. He made me; I didn’t. So why do I struggle with all of that? I seem to live in continuous anxiety; I feel the need to change my place, my times, and myself. I imagine a need to live so “prophetically” that “sinners” will fall on the ground and writhe in repentance, or that my government will change or collapse.

Why do I live in an assumption that I must emulate people who lived in other times and other places? I seem strangely compelled to live in, maybe, the Congo (or in the first century). Anywhere but here, anytime but now. I seem to think that He cannot lead His creatures in the times and places that He chose. So I work very hard to be an excellent “witness” of Him.

But wait a minute; He said His yoke is easy and His burden is light. Perhaps living prophetically and excellently should be fun. I never think about the need to live as a Chinn or with green eyes. He chose all of that for me. He also chose and appointed me to go (into my time and place) and bear fruit (John 15:16). All of that is a natural process. Oak trees don’t grunt to push acorns through their branches.

Real life is a thousand miles from religious life. Our simple acts and real words bear fruit. Routinely. Effortlessly. Those ordinary human words and acts leave an eternal and living gift in our time and space. But the gift comes from God, not me. I am a mere conduit; I can’t do it and I can’t control it. He chose that for me. Just as He chose the Arabian deserts for the sandfish.

Could that be why Jesus told his disciples (and us) to take no thought for what they would eat, drink, or wear? Since all of that has already been chosen for us, we are free to live fully, joyfully, and without worry. Kind of like the sandfish.

For example, consider how most people relate to problems. We react, get depressed or angry, fixate, or self-destruct. Yet consider how the sandfish continually copes with a life and death issue of heat; it just dives five inches from the surface to where the temperature can be fifty degrees cooler. Do you think, if we have eyes to see, salvation may await us just inches away?

The same Mind that created the sandfish also created you and me.  So can we find the same freedom and delight in our Creator as that lizard?

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Guess Who's Coming to Diner

The Audacity of Thought

In his last movie, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967), Spencer Tracy confronted the problem (for that man, in that time) of his daughter’s plan to marry a black man.

To see the movie today is to be struck with Tracy’s full minute and thirty seconds of screen time… just thinking. He is alone, at night, on his own terrace, standing or walking with his hands folded behind his back. In long shots, we see his rugged face reflecting the mental grind of deliberation and judgment.

In its own way, the scene is shocking. As art, it suggests that thinking requires solitude and space. We need the freedom to just wander through the rooms of our sanctuary, processing – at our own pace – through problems and possibilities. We also need wide latitudes for considering our response (if any) to public issues and institutions. Like Kramer in Seinfeld, I may choose to not wear the ribbon.

The freedom to think, without pressure, is a crucial liberty. And we are surely losing it. Today our sanctuary is wired with alarms that bring official power storming into our private world. They seem to have full authority to confiscate computers, demand personal reading lists, ask why certain words were Googled, close lemonade stands and track mud throughout our realm.

In fact, the spirit of our times seems to despise the whole idea of sanctuary. We cannot be trusted to inhabit a personal “castle” of thought. Presumably, our need for protection from, oh, terrorism, child predators, economic risk, etc. is so severe and urgent that experts must think for us. We live in the cultural assumption that consequences are so awful that individuals can no longer have the luxury of free thought. That may be why we have criminalized so much. It takes very little to trip the alarms. Increasingly, the entrenched powers have the right to come down on anyone at anytime.

It also seems that today we are allowed to have a “position,” but not allowed to take our time getting there. We used to think our way into certain convictions. Today, we usually arrive at a particular view because it is announced by shrill voices or because a group (our own or a dominant one) prefers or demands it. So, like leaves, we get blown into a corner. But we can’t explain why or how we got there.

It seems that everything today must be…efficient. And efficiency requires automation, compliance and conformity. To stop and think is like praying in the post office. Chaos. The atmosphere explodes with sparks if anyone resists the undercurrents of the age.

And everything must be fast.

Need my funds immediately? OK, if I just give the details of my cash and credit life to the financial institutions, they will make it so easy and fast. Trust them; they’ve already thought through it for me. The smartest guys in the room will take care of everything.

We move so fast that we depend on manufactured or archived thoughts. That’s why we love quotes. Ben Franklin or Frederick Douglass did the hard work – the months or years of strolling through the thinking process. We just scream off the freeway long enough to grab a sack of their quotes at the drive-through window.

Increasingly, humans are cells in a mass mind. Thinking has moved from the individual to the collective. “Wiki” describes that new way of thinking; it is a collaboration of mostly anonymous contributors. Because anyone can create and change the content, and leave no fingerprints, individuals have been largely sheared away from the burden and responsibility for anything.

That may be why no one seems to give a damn. We know we can’t change anything, so we stop caring. “Whatever” is the default response of the age.

Joanne and I have been married, and joyfully, almost forty-eight years. But we found that the only way into that sanctuary was to live in counter-cultural love. We simply could not and cannot live by the reasons and rhythms of dominant culture. To do that would steal everything we have.

Maybe the same thing is true of thinking. What if some engaged in active resistance of the realm? What if some heroic or romantic individuals would return to the timeless audacities of thought by…

Stepping into the beauty of silence and meditation?

Presuming to take a long time just looking and listening?

Becoming curious again?

Embracing ambiguity, paradox, and uncertainty?

Learning to seek out wise people for personal counsel?

Daring to give a damn?

The audacity of thought is looking beyond the visible until we see the unseen. No matter how long it takes or how many rules it breaks.

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