A few years ago, I got a really fancy watch for Christmas. It tracks my heartrate, my running data, my hiking data, my walking around during the day data, my sleeping data. And recently, it got a software update that enables it to track my napping.

I’m a strong believer in napping. I think the world would be a much better place, and humanity a much nicer group of people, if everyone took 15-20 minutes out of their day to take a nap.

That being said, I have a lot of days where, for whatever reason, the nap just doesn’t happen. Too many meetings, too many upcoming projects or events to work on, and before I know it, I missed my window.

But here’s something interesting. On some of those days when I miss my nap, my watch tells me I got one anyway. You see, every morning, I have a time of prayer and meditation. And, apparently, sometimes my watch mistakes my meditation for napping. Now, I’m pretty sure that my meditation doesn’t (usually) involve actual sleeping. But, when I’m doing it right, I often do experience the sort of peace I could only otherwise get in sleep. My body relaxes, my breathing and heartrate slow. My watch thinks I’m taking an early morning nap.

Now, just a minute ago when I said I take naps, some of you were probably jealous. But others of you may have experienced a moment of mild (or not so mild) disapproval. The fact is, unlike a lot of other cultures, ours isn’t about naps. It’s not about downtime. It’s about productivity. It’s about being “on” 24/7.  

But the folks who know about these sorts of things tell us that this always being in a hurry, always having something to do or somewhere to be, isn’t good for us physically or mentally. The data shows that as the pace of our lives continues to accelerate, we’re sicker and more depressed than ever before. We need naps—and regular sleep—for our mental and physical health.

But this always-on way of living is especially bad for us spiritually. The Psalmist says, “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). God decreed a day of rest for God’s people: the Sabbath (20:8-11) (the longest of the 10 commandments, by the way). When we’re always distracted with other stuff, it’s hard to think about, or be with, God.

All of which leads me to think that my watch may be on to something. Napping and meditation really aren’t that different. Both support our physical, emotional, and mental health. Only spending regular, intentional time with God goes a step further. It doesn’t just support our physical life. It enables us to experience and nurtures the new and abundant life that Jesus came to make available to us. It enables us to slow down and experience the love that God has for us and asks us to share with the rest of the world.

Who knew Garmin was so smart?

Kirsten and I took the dogs for a nice little hike last week. The temperature was perfect. The cloud cover was perfect. The trail was perfect. In fact, everything about it was perfect. At least until we got back in the car. Then we noticed a stench. One of the dogs must have gotten into something when we weren’t watching. Interestingly, by the time we got home, we’d gotten used to it and didn’t think anything more about it.

The next morning, I went through my usual morning routine with Buster Ruth, which involves lots of scratching and petting. Then, a while later (and no longer at home), I noticed a smell. I sniffed my hands and nearly gagged. I smelled like a dead animal. I washed my hands, but I guess I must have rubbed them on my clothes, because I still smelled. It wasn’t until I got home, took a shower, and changed clothes that the smell finally went away.

We live in a world that is losing its mind. Literally. God created us for relationship—to love God and one another. And God created us for cycles of activity and rest (eg, wake/sleep, work/Sabbath). Yet our culture seems to be hurtling with ever-increasing speed towards a norm of isolation (or, at best, the shallow echo-chamber of social media) and more and more ways to stay continually active and distracted, 24/7.

I’ve read in several different places recently that you become what you give your attention to—you become what you do. Which makes sense. For instance, I speak English because that’s the language I listened to as I was growing up. I like to read (or at least I did until Seminary!) because I was exposed to lots of reading opportunities growing up.

And so, we’re presented with a choice. We can give our minds, bodies, and attention to the culture around us, which embraces and inculcates attitudes of isolation and distraction that are anti-God and at least as importantly, anti-human. Or, we can turn our attention to God and how we were created to be—at rest in God, and in love with God and one another. That choice determines who we will become.

Another way of saying it: If you lie down with dogs, you’re gonna get fleas. (Or, in my case, if you wrestle with a dog that’s just rolled around in dead possum, well …) And, in case you’re wondering which is the right choice, dead possum smells really bad.

I was talking not too long ago with someone at the coffee shop, and she said something I thought was quite profound: Jesus didn’t die so we could treat people the way people treated him.

In just a few days, on Good Friday, we’re going to remember the sacrifice Jesus made for us. My first instinct is to understate the extent of that sacrifice by saying something like, “It can’t have been easy.” But that’s far too weak. It had to have been a vicious, unbearable, never-ending nightmare. Beaten black and blue and bloody, then forced to carry his own heavy cross, then hung up on it until he asphyxiated, all the while knowing it’s not because of anything he’s done—he’s enduring it for the sake of the ones killing him. That’s beyond the sort of sacrifice I can even realistically imagine. But he was willing to do it for us. To save us.

And it’s tempting to leave it there. To stop at the “saved” part. To accept his sacrifice almost as if we were entitled to it. To acknowledge that, yes, we’re not all we’re supposed to be, we fall short, we do stupid and mean and selfish things. But we’ve been forgiven, so it’s all good. Thank you, Jesus.

But, as we all know, Good Friday isn’t the end of the story. Because come Easter morning, Jesus was no longer in the tomb. He’d been resurrected. He’s been born again into a new life. Jesus’ passion isn’t just about his death. It’s not just about a transaction through which he substituted himself for us and got our sins forgiven. It is also—and especially—about new life. It’s about transformation.

It’s not just about saying, “Thank you, Jesus,” and then going on with our lives as if nothing had happened. It’s about becoming different and new through the presence of God’s Holy Spirit within us. As my friend said, it’s about being transformed from the sort of people who wouldn’t think twice about persecuting and even killing someone who dared to preach a Gospel that challenged the cultural narrative of selfishness, violence and hate. It’s about being transformed into the type of people who are willing to love our enemies (Matthew 5:44) and put our lives on the line for our friends (John 15:13).

So, let’s remember that this Easter. Jesus didn’t die so we could treat people the way he was treated. He died, and was raised, so we could be transformed into His image. He is risen, and us with him. Hallelujah!

Kirsten and I went on a little mini-vacation to Vancouver, BC last week to celebrate her last spring break as a teacher. We went to visit our daughter, but figured that as long as we were there, we might as well check out some of the most spectacular scenery there is.

It was probably 20 years ago that I was on a mission trip with my hero, Phil Dendy, and he introduced me to the brand-spankin-new Makita lithium-ion drill/impact driver set he’d gotten for $150 at the Home Depot. I think we were building wheelchair ramps and the set came in really handy because the batteries lasted a long time and charged super-fast. It was like a revelation, and tool-envy immediately set in. So, as soon as we got home, I got me one. Phil has since moved on to bigger and better things, but I’ve still got that Makita set, and it still works great.

I am not a plumber, although that doesn’t prevent me from thinking that I am. Several years ago, I put a new shower valve in our kids’ bathroom. It wasn’t nearly as simple as I thought it would be, requiring that I sweat and solder copper pipes back in the wall behind the shower. But how hard could it be, right? So, after considerable expense and effort, I finally got it finished. And it worked fine for a few weeks. Then we noticed some water on the floor. Turns out it was a little harder than I thought.

A few years later, I decided to change out our hose bibs, which were beginning to leak. One of the bibs didn’t come off very easily, but with some effort and the application of no small amount of force, I finally got it off. A few days later, when I was a thousand miles away at a seminary class in Florida, my daughter got out of bed and said, “the floor is squishy.” Turns out I applied just enough force to create a small split in the pipe. Tens of thousands of dollars and an entirely new floor later, it was fixed right.

You would think after experiences like those, my ardor for doing it myself would be a little dimmed. But not so! Not too long after those incidents I installed a water softener. Which, I will have you know, worked just fine … at least until we sold the house. We didn’t give the buyers our contact info.

Part of my motivation for wanting to do things myself has always been to save money. And sometimes, like the gambler who hits the occasional jackpot, it actually turns out that way. But I figure I’m several thousands of dollars in the hole over the long term.

However, I think the real reason I like to try and do things myself is because I like to do things MYSELF. I like the idea of being independent. I like the idea of not having to rely on anyone else. I don’t watch those doomsday prepper shows. But it’s not because I think they’re stupid. Rather, I fear I may become addicted and start doing that stuff myself.

So I was convicted not too long ago in a book my study group, where our reading went into great depth exploring the foundational Christian idea that we are NOT independent. We are social beings. We need one another. We were created for relationship. God is love, and that love is so abundant and overflowing that it could not be contained. By its nature, it needed to be shared outside of itself, so it created the universe, and us. We were created for a relationship with God, with one another, as beings created in the image of God, and with the universe that God created. It’s all interdependent and tied up together.

One of my favorite biblical images makes this point. St. Paul compares the church to the body of Christ. We’re all different, and that is good. What kind of body would we be if we were all thumbs. Everyone’s got gifts and everyone’s gifts are important. We don’t have to do everything. We shouldn’t TRY to do everything. We don’t have to feel guilty or inferior if we see someone who seems to have it all together and seems to always be doing great things for the world. On the other hand, it does mean that we have an obligation to do what we can do.

In our culture, we tend to view freedom as independence; as freedom FROM: freedom from constraint; freedom from being told what to do; freedom from other people; freedom from having to call a plumber to fix something I can fix myself.

But I don’t think that’s what God means by freedom, and I don’t think that’s the sort of freedom we were created for. We were created to enjoy freedom TO: freedom to give ourselves to God; freedom to give ourselves to others; freedom to turn away from our obsession with ourselves, our comforts, our wants; freedom to live in a world where we are not constantly preoccupied with keeping other people away from our money and our property and ourselves; freedom to become who God created us to be.

When I think about it, I know that as much as I would like to be an island, I’m not, nor can I be. I need the plumber (and the floor guy and the painter) to come and fix my do-it-myself projects. I’m glad there are plumbers, and bakers (donuts!) and even lawyers. I’m glad for my wife, Kirsten, and our kids; for my family; for my friends; for my congregation; for my community. Whether I am often willing to admit it or not, I need them, not just to take care of me and do the things I cannot do, but so I can be the person I was created to be; so we can share our lives and through those shared lives, create something larger and more beautiful; so we can enjoy the sort of new life that Jesus promises.

The other day was another one of those bad days. Objectively, it was a beautiful day. But I wasn’t rejoicing in it. In fact, it was one of those days when I could effortlessly identify major character defects in pretty much everyone I met. And a lot of people I didn’t meet as well. All I had to do was see their vehicle, or their house, or their dog, and I could tell they weren’t even worthy of my disdain.

Last Friday, the dogs and I were beginning our walk when I noticed a puddle in the area between my yard and the neighbor’s. I walked over to investigate and discovered what looked like a big hole I hadn’t noticed before, completely filled with water that was flowing into our yards. The hole seemed to be between my meter box and the street, so we called the water company.

When I was a kid, some squirrels chewed their way into our attic. It took a while for us to figure out that the pitter-pattering sound wasn’t just squirrels on the roof. During their sojourn in our attic, the squirrels did a fair amount of damage to the insulation, the ductwork, and various wires. Once we figured out they were there, it took months and months and months to get them out. Every time we thought we had them under control, they would manage to somehow chew their way back in. I think we ended up replacing part of the roof and installing thick, stainless steel vent screens. From then on, every time my mother saw a squirrel in the road, she would swerve, often with some moderately deranged invective, to hit it. A few times she actually got one. My mother hated squirrels.

I nearly killed my dog the other day. Not on purpose, of course (although sometimes she tempts me). I was putting out bait to kill the mice that have been feasting on the wires in my truck and decided to put one in the back yard for full coverage. Less than 5 minutes later, I noticed the bait housing was gone. I went around the corner and there was Ginger Ruth, chewing on a shredded mouse-bait-housing, with little green crumbs covering her mouth and the remains of the housing.

Several years ago, one or the other of my siblings (I’m pretty sure it was Becca) started giving a particular kind of Christmas and/or birthday present to my parents. I think it started with a T-shirt that had her picture on it, with the words “Favorite Daughter” underneath. Not at all a middle child thing.

In my sermon last Sunday I was talking about generosity. And in doing so, I used the metaphor of a walking path to illustrate how we should seek to progress—move down the path—in our generosity as a critical aspect of our spiritual growth. And as part of that discussion, I threw in, sort of as an afterthought, the fact that I had hiked on Saturday. I said it would have been kind of silly to drive all the way out to the park, put on my hikin’ shoes and knee brace and jacket and water carrier, step onto the hiking trail, and then just stop. The point of the hike is to … well, hike; to move down the path.

This week at the church I lead, we’re starting a new sermon series on generosity. It’s actually  more than a sermon series. It’s an intentional effort to get us all to reorient our understanding of what it means to give.

And so, for some reason, I’m sitting here this morning thinking about the mission trip to Belize I got to be a part of back in October. It was an incredible spiritual experience. It reminded me of my first “real” mission experience in Juarez, Mexico. I distinctly remember thinking, “This is what I was made for,” and I have felt that same way every time I’ve participated in any sort of service activity, whether for a few hours or a few days, whether in the town where I’m living or in another country.

And there’s a reason for that. It really IS what I was created for. It’s what YOU were created for. According to the Bible, we were all created in the image of God. And that God, in whose image we have been created, is love (1 John 4:8, 16). In case you missed that, God IS love. Love isn’t something God does, it’s who God is; God’s identity. And that love is fundamentally about looking out for and taking care of one another.

God’s ultimate demonstration of this love took place when he sent his Son into time and space to live among us—to give of himself as he served and healed the high and the low, the outcast and the insider, the poor and the rich. It took place when that Son, Jesus, died in order to make new, abundant, full, and eternal life possible for the whole world. It took place when that Son was resurrected in defeat of the forces of darkness and death.

That’s the image we were created in—the image of ultimate love and generosity. So, when we give from our material resources, our skills and abilities, our time, and our service, we are living into who God created us to be. Or, to put it in terms I’ve heard recently, we’re (really) living our best life.

It is also, however, not normal. It’s counter-cultural. It’s a little weird. Because the world we live in wants us to think it’s all about me. It seems to be sliding ever more quickly into a lowest common denominator formula, with the LCD being me, myself, and I.

But every time we give sacrificially, every time we participate in some way to help someone else, we push back against this slide into spiritual anarchy. And, in doing so, we become just a little more who we were created to be. So, my prayer today—for me and for you—is that we will find opportunities to be a little weird; to live into our true selves.

Kirsten and I went to the park the other day. She was riding her new bike with her friend Jennifer. My bike was (already) in the shop so I got to walk the dogs. There are lots of different trails at this particular park, and it didn’t make sense for us to try to stick together since I was walking, so we pretty quickly parted ways.

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