chris erdman

A few days ago, I sat on a train, headed to Los Angeles for meetings. I was minding my own business. Since Amtrak has wireless, I was grading student reflections on their reading of Thomas Merton and Henri Nouwen. The readings invited them to move out of the zone of their own comfort to encounter God in others. One of them, Joseph, wrote:

“God created us to be in relationship with one another. It is my tendency (and I believe most of humanity’s tendency) to shut out those around us. I can no longer assume that God can’t use all people and all relationships to speak to me.”

No sooner had I read this, than a man behind me asked if he could use my cell phone. Busy with my “work” I’d taken no real notice of him. “I said ‘no.’” And went back to my work. He stood up and started down the aisle with an handful of five dollar bills asking people if he could pay to use a phone.

He was a middle aged black man, dressed in a black T-shirt and sweat pants. The T-shirt was new. It still had the crease lines from being recently liberated from its package.

“I need to call my wife and tell her I’m arriving at Union Station in LA.”

He looked desperate. And his desperation pulled me out of my cramped, little world just enough for me to say, “Hey, use mine. But you don’t have to pay for it.”

After he’d made the call, I learned that he was on his way home after several years in prison. “Just out this morning,” he told me. “Can’t wait to see my wife. But I can’t walk from the station, ’cause the shoes she sent me are too small.”

He grinned happily despite his discomfort. A man who’d just be let out of prison was seeing the world with new eyes.

I’ve never known a day behind bars, but captivity doesn’t require a jail cell. I need others, people very different from myself, to step out of all that holds me captive inside my own cramped little world.

Intention: Help me today, Lord Christ, to see the world with the eyes of one who’s not so used to it all that I can’t enjoy its wonder.

“We should not be too sure of having found Christ in ourselves until we have found him also in the part of our humanity that is most remote from our own.”

Thomas Merton

What will it take for a true Christian revolution to take hold of us?  It’s too easy for us to build walls between us.  Who’s right.  Who’s wrong.  Who’s in.  Who’s out.  The dividing walls are becoming more numerous.  Thicker too.  Before long we’ll be trapped in a maze of our own making.  Prisoners in our own little worlds, having excluded everyone else but those who are just like us.  Far from what it truly means to be human, in-dwelt by the Divine.

Intention: Today, I’ll open myself to someone who I would otherwise ignore as too different from myself.  As I do I’ll find something of myself, some part of me I’ve ignored, judged, dismissed, and excluded from the loving embrace of Christ.

A friend’s mother died suddenly early this morning. I got the call at 3:30am. After comforting the family, I found myself plunged back into my own experiences of grief–my own mother’s, years ago, and a few more recent ones. I also found myself tumbling back into experiences of loss I thought would undo me, but didn’t.

Loss is inevitable. And it hurts. Frightens us too. Loss is a reminder of how vulnerable we are, how much we’re not in control after all. Loss of any kind can send us spinning, craving firm footing again.

When we do so, it’s not hard to bury ourselves in work or anything else that might distract us, numb us, and help us avoid the pain.

But loss is an invitation. There’s grace in it, hidden beneath the pain. Through loss we can come to greater clarity about what really matters in life.

Through some losses I thought would destroy me, I’ve learned that a lot of what I thought I needed, I don’t really need, and so much I thought I could not live without, I can, in fact, live without.

Grief has taught me how involved I am in humanity, how much I’m made for love. And loss has taught me that the one thing I need most can never be taken from me.

Perhaps that’s what it means to live Holy Saturday, halfway between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

Intention: Today, I’ll let my losses shift my priorities again. I’ll look back upon them gratefully–even through my pain–and realize they can be my teachers.  Every loss can open me to embrace life more fully.

Today I read about a new Lindsay Lohan film, “The Canyons.” It’s a microbudget film that’s an attempt to aid in the recovery of just about everybody who’s making it–director, writers, and, of course, Lohan . . . who has pretty much made herself a walking disaster, and frightened away just about anyone who thinks of working with her.

The article paints a portrait of Lohan that compares her to notoriously difficult George C. Scott, the alcoholic actor who’s made many a director shake in his boots. Only Lohan looks even more challenging than Scott.

“We don’t have to save her,” says director Shrader. “We just have to get her through three weeks in July.”

There’s a little of Lohan in each of us, more or less.

If you’re struggling against dysfunction, some part of you that makes life difficult for you and those around you, you may be tempted to think things will never change. Never’s a long time. But can you work with that part of you, give it some kind of container, a second (or third chance), a ton of patience . . . for just “three weeks in July”?

Three weeks of sane and sober living may not be enough to save Lohan. But then again, it could. It might be the footing she needs for a whole new beginning.

Intention: Today, I’ll face that challenging actor within; the one that whines and roars, and drives me nearly insane. I won’t walk away, nor will I let that part of me rule the set for the next 24 hours. I’ll try it again tomorrow, and the day after that too. Maybe get a little help from someone who knows how to tame the craziness within. I’ll give it a shot for a few weeks and see what kind of saving God’s up to within.

Most of us don’t mean to make a mess of our lives.  But a mess is what most of our lives become from time to time:

. . . sometimes for much longer than we’d like

. . . and occasionally without much hope of good coming from it.

If we’re human, we can’t avoid the mess.  In fact, as I testify here in a recent episode of the new podcast Parenting ReImagined, the mess of life is precisely where we work out a robust spirituality in the midst of daily life, where we find ourselves nearest to God, and God nearest to us.

Take a listen.  Dr. Sherry Walling is a winsome and warm interviewer (much like Krista Tippett of On Being fame, but wonderfully also her own person). In this podcast, Remembering to Breathe, she gets yours-truly talking about the darkness, brokenness, and mess of my own life, and the astonishing beauty that is emerging from it.  She helps me explore family life, parenting, spirituality, and concrete practices for living in the mess without getting sucked down into the mire.

It’s not a bad Lenten meditation on humanity, divinity, death, and rebirth.

Intention: Today, I’ll breathe.  And by breathing, I’ll pray myself nearer to my own humanity.  And by paying attention to the life that’s living in me, I’ll stop trying to escape the mess and instead, let God meet me here.

So maybe you’re in conflict with a family member, friend, or co-worker.

You think they’re wrong; they think you’re wrong. Maybe they’re being belligerent, aggressive, hostile. And you, not wanting to be a pushover, are preparing to push back.

You can push back, of course. But to what end? You’re reciprocal act of self-assertion is a summons to a fight, and a fight is what you’ll have. Part of you would like that. There’s part of you that thinks at a very primitive level. “Eye for an eye.” It’s a trap and it’ll make you part of the universal spiral of conflict and violence that’s plagued us for millennia.

You must find another way. And that other way doesn’t mean being passive, a pushover, a doormat.

No, it means letting go of your attachment to being right, proving the other wrong. It means learning how to see what is really true, sticking with the real facts–not your illusions, opinions, or perspective. And speaking that truth in a way that helps the other let go of their attachment too. If you need to be right, you’re already in a trap. But a commitment to “the truth will set you (both) free” (John 8.32).

But that commitment to truth requires you let go of your petty opinions.

Intention: Today, when I’m drawn into conflict over this or that, I’ll take a deep breath in prayer, step back, let go of my need to give someone a piece of my mind, and seek a way to move toward a truth that’s bigger than both of us.

Next time you’re stopped at a stoplight, look around. Drivers are texting, fiddling with the radio, talking to someone beside them or someone at the other end of their cell phone. The man in the car beside you is shaving. The woman behind you is putting on makeup. It’s little wonder we live through our morning commute.

Our distractedness has become an epidemic. How distracted are you? How hard is it for you to keep focused on the task you’re supposed to be doing, the person before you? Or are you reaching to check your phone for texts, following your Facebook feed, or letting your mind flit to and fro between the many different things you have to do, the worries that crowd into your brain, or your dreams for an escape from the boredom that plagues you?

Distraction isn’t a modern problem, but the level of our distractedness is.

The first step out of the problem is simply recognizing it and its effect on your life.

Intention: Today, I’ll simply notice my distraction and the things that lure me away from what is real, what is right in front of me. And I won’t judge myself for being distracted. Noticing it is enough for now. Changing it will come later.

People come to see me often carrying heavy burdens, frightening breeches in their self-confidence, debilitating brokenness.

Early on, I thought my job was to fix them . . . of course, always with God’s help. As I’ve aged, I’ve come to realize that while they want relief, I can’t fix them. What’s more, they don’t want me to fix them. They want the dignity of fixing themselves . . . with God’s help. What they need from me is a listening ear, a prayerful, sensitive heart, a mind alert to what’s going on that they can’t see. What they need is my blessing for the journey that must walk.

When it comes to that point in our relationship when the need for blessing opens up before us, I often open the Scriptures to the prophet Isaiah and read, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you,” says GOD. “When you walk through the fire, the flame shall not consume you. You are precious to me, and honored, and I love you. Do not be afraid for I am with you” (43.2-5).

There is power in presence. Be a presence that blesses others today. Receive the blessing of another’s presence today.

Intention: Today, I will embrace the presence of the One who loves me and walks with me. And when I meet someone in crisis or pain, I’ll bless them with my presence and will avoid trying to fix them.

The stuff that makes us so serious often isn’t so serious to God. “Why do the nations conspire and the peoples plot in vain?” asks the psalmist. “The One who sits in the heavens laughs” (Psalm 2.1 and 4).

That doesn’t mean God doesn’t care about what scares us, or worries us, or troubles us. It means that God sees things differently than we do. God has a longer and larger view.

That fact may bother us; we’d like God to care more about what worries and wounds us and our world. But who’s to say God doesn’t? Who can say for sure that God isn’t caring in the best way God can care? Who can really say that God isn’t working behind the scenes in ways that are better than the ways we’d devise?

You’ve been around those who are serious and concerned (and perhaps that makes them get involved in fighting what’s wrong in the world). But while their serious concerns makes them energetic in righting wrongs, they’re frankly a drag to be around. Their eyes don’t shine, their words are hard, their touch isn’t gentle.

God’s levity in the midst of a world in pain might seem to us to be inappropriate. But isn’t it possible that playfulness, humor, and lightness might have their own power in healing our hurts and righting what’s wrong?

If we can let go our obsession with handwringing, maybe we’d be be able to better hear God’s call and follow God’s path as we participate in the Lord’s mysterious, cosmic dance of life that’s transforming our world.

Intention: Today, I’ll let go of my grievances and grumbling. I’ll smile a little more often. And I’ll try to trust there’s a mighty Hand at work behind what makes me feel powerless and angry. And I’ll listen for the distant sounds of God’s laughter.

The seventh in a series of posts on companionship and the spiritual journey.   Please pass along to those you consider companions on your journey into the fullness of God.

As you journey forward, you’ll most likely want to choose your own companions. Who doesn’t? There are scoundrels out there, and who wants to spend a long journey side by side with someone whose personality’s as annoying as a garbage truck slamming dumpsters around outside your window at five in the morning?

I’ve come to learn that those who’ll help you most aren’t the ones you’d choose for yourself. So don’t go looking for your companions. Instead, keep focused on what you seek. Walk in the light that’s given you and remain open to God’s mischief along the way. The Holy Spirit will orchestrate surprise meetings with remarkable people traveling in the same direction. Some of them are already part of your life; you’ve just not yet recognized their gifts for your journey and yours for theirs. If you focus on trying to find the friends you think you need, you’ll miss those God’s already put right under your nose, as well as those God will bring you.

And don’t be fooled by the sometimes strange folk God brings your way; these companions might not fit in well at a dinner party back home, but in the mischief of God, they’re the ones who’ll bring you the comfort, humor, wisdom, safety, and challenge you’ll need along the road to God.