MattConner.net

“Certainty is the place you stop when you’re tired of thinking.”

I loved this quote when I first stumbled across it. I guess I have always had a problem with people who are so firm on what they perceive as the correct worldview, as if God has revealed all mysteries to them and them alone. Growing up, it was a church that was certain about who was saved and who was not. In college, it was professors certain how the end times were going to work out. In a career in ministry, it has been leaders around me certain that their methods are the best.

On the television, it’s no different. News analysts and talk show hosts certain that the Republican or the Democratic agenda hold the key to our country’s future. Entire shows are built around bringing two entrenched people together on opposing sides of a particular debate and watching them go head-to-head. The winner? It’s certainly not from convincing the other person that they are incorrect. Instead, it’s usually the wittiest, able to make the other person seem less together or less educated on their topic because the sarcasm from the other “certain” side presented their case better.

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M.A.S.H. Mansion. Apartment. Shack. House.

Did anyone else ever play this silly game? Everyone did when I was in early elementary school. The concept is easy: the player makes four choices corresponding to lists of everything that he/she would ever want. List categories could include future spouse, car, place to live, job, number of kids, etc. Then someone picks a random number and counts to that number, crossing off a choice each time. Eventually, you are left with predictions for your future.

The funny thing about it is that you could never lose. The four car choices would be along the lines of: Corvette, Ferrari, Lamborghini, and Rolls Royce. The places to live would all be exotic and fun. The job would be something with high stature and a ridiculous salary. Even as kids, we were focused enough to know the ‘American Dream’ when we thought about our tomorrows.

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Sometimes you have to wonder what some people are thinking.

My official title was ‘Technical Support’ at the time, although I don’t know either how technical or supportive I was. I worked for an internet service provider and fielded calls from people who were having issues with their on-line connection. On this particular day, I get a call from a guy who sounded he was straight out of “Green Acres”.

“Tech support, this is Matt.”

“Yeah, I’m havin’ some issues with my ‘puter. My wife said I had to call y’all before I tried to fix ‘er myself.”

“What can I help you with, sir?”

“Well, this thing here’s runnin’ real slow. I got the cover off this stupid thang and I whipped me out some WD-40 here, but my wife is goin’ crazy and thinks I might ruin somethin’.”

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My wife wears many hats, but one of my favorites has to be her “Genie” hat. Because while friend, lover, support, partner, etc. are all fine and good, there’s only one that provides various objects or food out of thin air for my consumption. It seems I have barely had time to notice that I am in need of deodorant, for example, when “Poof!” another one appears. Hmmm, what else do I need? Something mailed? Gone. More groceries? Ka-zaam. When you’re married, everything seems to magically appear as if I could wish them into existence.

But every now and then, the genie retreats to the bottle and I have had to fend for myself at the grocery store. Now, I loathe the grocery store. I hate carts and aisles and crowds and coupons and beeps and sales and racks and displays and cans and boxes and lines… oh, those are the worst. Luckily, most stores have the new self-checkout lines available for me to simply take care of my own needs and allow me to exit as quickly as possible.

Upon my last visit, I found my mentality checked, however. A local man who could have easily been staying at the homeless shelter was checking out immediately in front of me. This particular store had the aforementioned lines but they were all broken, so I was stuck behind this guy and his endless banter with the store clerk. The conversation soon included me, as I was asked my take on football, weather and the like while each item was properly scanned and stored.

I mentioned the self-checkout lines, asking when they planned on getting them fixed and that I missed them, as if they were some ex-girlfriend who had left me recently. The guy in front of me shrugged and turned and simply said, “I prefer to deal with humans.”

We all have a trade or vocation. I am a pastor. My currency is relationships. My clientele is humanity. Business is good, so to speak, when I am highly involved with the lives of the people around me. And it was the unkept, lazy-eyed man in front of me who is better at my job than I am.

“I prefer to deal with humans.” I have to admit that I don’t. Many times, I prefer to deal with machines rather than people. Humans are sticky. Relationships are messy and time-consuming. And I am far too concerned about my own self, my own time and my own agenda to have to spend an extra few minutes in lines that involve people with their own needs, concerns and issues.

But the gospel is found in that line. The gospel is found in that man. The gospel is found in maintaining a preference for humans. The gospel is in slowing down. The gospel is in looking up and looking outward. The gospel engages instead of retreats. God prefers to deal with humans. And so should we.

I am currently elevated. Sitting in a coffee shop in Denver and getting some time to catch up, write, study and chill after a weekend of skiing and speaking at a church retreat in Breckenridge. But that’s an aside to my inspiration for writing…

My flight over here, on paper, looked like a potential nightmare. I’m sitting in a window seat on Frontier 615 and a lady sits down with a baby and says, “Well, looks like you’re the lucky winner.” I smiled and nodded as politely as I could when confronted with the notion of a crying baby with ears popping for three hours. I grabbed a quick catnap on the runway during the de-icing process and woke up with an eight-year-old boy in the middle seat. The stewardess, who sees my confusion, explains that his parents are several rows up and there wasn’t room.

Now it’s me, my faux wife, and our two kids. I don’t even know my kid’s birthdays, although maybe that’s not that uncommon. Anyway, turns out the kids are wonderful. They don’t make a sound for three hours. Not even the baby, who by this time has captured my heart with his Adorable Quotient (AQ being the scientific measurement for levels of cuddliness divided by any annoying smells) of 9.7.

The mother held the child the entire flight. Never let him down and never let him move too much, keeping him distracted with the perfect amount of crayons, cars and food. When we landed, the mother said something to me that I haven’t been able to forget:

“If I let his feet hit the ground, he realizes that’s an option…”

Immediately, my heart latched onto it, so much so that I have been pondering that phrase for the last several days. Moments in my mind of a cosmic father figure who sometimes won’t let me run. I have dreams, I have longings, I have visions I want to do, achieve, become. And there are moments when the voice inside is silent and invisible hands seem to be holding up progress in my life.

I have the ability to run. I long to run. I love the feeling of running and wanting to interact with the world, bringing whatever it is to it that I can. And yet there are moments when life seems still, progress seems frozen and confusion sets in.

“Why am I here?”
“What is the reason for the stasis mode?”
“Why am I stuck here in your lap?”

When my pretend wife told me why she wouldn’t let my pretend baby on the floor, I realized then a much bigger reason for the moments I feel constricted or even stuck. I strive for child-like levels of faith, but I’m also still caught in a child-like perspective of life as well. I can’t see as far as I think I can. And I struggle and squirm in the lap of limitations of a God who knows when to hold me back and when to release me.

There are times when I realize that my feet were allowed to touch the ground and I ran right into the chaos, disorder, habits, destructive decisions or patterns that the parent knew I would run into. And it’s a good parent who knows when to pick me up and when to let me down.

The pendulum is swinging, and that is a good thing.

However, we must make sure it stops at the bottom rather than simply swinging to the other side.

The church has long been known for its politics. Even recently, RELEVANT’s own website ran a link to an article about a pastor casting out members from his church for not voting for President George W. Bush. It is not just the right, it is the religious right.

When politics are mixed with religion, disastrous things happen, as illustrated by all of church history (i.e. The Crusades, early persecution of church). And the modern church has also offered a poor representation of the gospel when we are too busy sending a petition, picketing, or yelling on Fox News Channel about what politics God would side with.

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