Can Parents Ruthlessly Eliminate Hurry from Their Lives?

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I read once that in the early days of his ministry at Willow Creek Community Church, pastor John Ortberg contacted a spiritual leader for advice (I think it was Dallas Willard).

“What do I need to do to be spiritually healthy?” Ortberg asked.

Long pause.

“You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life,” he said at last.

That’s it. Willard refused to add anything else to his advice—not even a footnote.

That concept sounded challenging when I only had to manage myself and my anxiety-ridden mind. Now we have kids, and hurry just feels like the baseline for every day.

Before the birth of our first son, I asked a mother of three (now four) about the ways that having a kid changes your day-to-day life.

Her eyes grew big. “The nap,” she said. “Everything revolves around the nap.”

I only have two kids, but her advice has proven true thus far. Most days I can only make the nap happen if I hurry.

If you’ve ever seen a young kid completely losing it in a store, red-faced bawling and throwing everything while shrieking, “NOOOOO!!!!”, you have most likely seen evidence of either a late nap or no nap. Not every time, mind you, but this is a typical outcome for nap-less child.

I consider myself a spiritual or contemplative writer. I also spend about half of each day with our kids. Hurry feels essential to the latter even if it’s toxic for the former.

Most days it’s on me to get the kids home in time for their naps, preparing lunch, finding what they need for nap time, and setting things up for a smooth transition for when my wife comes home to put the oldest down for a nap.

If I’m late, there’s no wiggle room. Lunch is a long, slow, messy disaster where the older child spills milk frequently, food is chewed up and then thrown by the younger child, and both require constant prodding to take the next bite.

You could say that each day is like a stack of dominos where falling off course at an early point in the day makes it that much harder to knock out the next thing.

If the kids are late for lunch, then I can expect that they’re late for their naps, I’m late to my work, the chance of at least one kid having a melt down increases, the chance of short or skipped naps increases, and then an afternoon of over-tired and cranky kids increases.

There’s no single moment that is a make or break scene. A late nap isn’t a guarantee that the wheels will fall off. It’s more like you’ve loosened up the lug nuts on the wheels and taken a high-speed drive on a bumpy road.

In order to make the nap happen I have to manage the prodding of my children throughout the morning. If we’re going to the children’s science museum and still have time for lunch, the ideal is to leave the house by 9:30 am, and the prodding always includes negotiating, cleaning up spills, and multiple threats. The journey from the parking lot to the ticket desk to the play area requires SIGNIFICANT prodding to stay on track. Then the play time is followed by more prodding to get a snack and more prodding to get all the way back to the car and then, hopefully, a little prodding to get into the house.

I know that my tendency is to be a hurried, up-tight, no-nonsense parent. While we can’t stop and look at every single display in the science museum hallway, I began to wonder this fall if I needed to work on cutting back on the hurry in my life. I started to notice that plenty of parents bring their kids 5-10 minutes late for pre-school. Yes, our son prefers to be there early, but that has yet to translate into cooperation when leaving the house without a long list of conditions and needs.

There are times when we genuinely need to move faster in order to get the kids home in time to eat and then sleep. However, hurry has also become a default setting of sorts for myself.

Hurry becomes a lifestyle rather than an occasional tactic for moving kids in the right direction when time is of the essence.

I’m working on my awareness of hurry through my daily Examen practice. I want to know when I’m making too much of a small thing. I also want to extend grace to myself when I’m doing my best to handle a difficult situation.

I can feel the pull of hurry when I’m praying, meditating on scripture, reflecting on my day, or reading at the end of the day. There’s a pull to get this done and move on to the next thing.

With hurry, life becomes a production line where tasks need to be completed efficiently and production capacity is the only goal.

Hurry hates stillness and quiet.

Hurry hates “being” because it’s all about doing. Spirituality needs being in order to translate into doing.

Parents who want to cultivate a healthy spiritual life regularly face this gap between what spiritual leaders tell us we need and the meager scraps left in our days. This spiritual struggle while parenting small children is well documented in Micha Boyett’s book Found.

Must parents watch their spirituality whither away under the burden of hurry?

I’m very much in process here. I don’t have the answers. I do have an observation:

The spirit or mindset of hurry strikes me as a far greater threat rather than beating myself up over each time I have to hurry in order to keep our kids happy and sane.

I don’t want to let hurry become my default. I don’t want hurry to be a part of nearly every interaction with my kids.

And here’s the real kicker and perhaps the greatest trap of all: We can be in a hurry to get rid of… hurry.

I’ve been moving into a season of awareness and discernment about hurry. I don’t want to rush this. After all, I most likely became a hurried, worried parent gradually. What makes me think the solution will happen overnight?

I’m not in a hurry to address my struggles with hurry, and that feels like enough for today.

 

We Can’t Do God’s Work with the Devil’s Tools

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Let’s stop at the foot of the cross for a moment.

Let the xenophobic hate of politicians fade away.

Erase from your mind the rhetoric of those who cling to guns out of fear and suspicion of their neighbors.

Let’s bring our thoughts to the foot of the cross.

Look on God’s Son as he gasps for his final breaths in the company of criminals, soldiers, jeering holy men, a single friend, and his mother who has long ago run out of tears to shed.

He could call on the armies of heaven to defend himself, and yet he allowed the soldiers of a cruel army to torture him and put him to death in the most painful way possible.

He didn’t fight for a kingdom in this world.

With the nails in his hands and feet, hanging above the ground, he still pleaded for God’s mercy on his executioners: “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

When we secretly wish he would finally fight back or at least intervene to save himself, Jesus continues to give to us. He gives us what we need the most when we are most violent, lost, and transfixed on power and control. He gives us mercy.

For people who wanted a violent militaristic God enough that they were willing to kill this would-be Messianic “imposter,” Jesus persisted beyond all reasonable hope to show mercy with his dying breath.

What kind of God would show mercy to his own executioners?

This is the same Jesus who described God as an all-forgiving Father, who came to drive away fear, and who came into our world not as a judge but as a doctor. He came to seek and to save those who were lost, and that included the Roman occupiers, the oppressed Jewish people, and their surrounding neighbors, whether hostile or friendly.

He reached out to us with mercy, compassion, and love that drove our fear, brought seeming opposites together, and offered restoration and hope to all willing to receive it.

The cross is for those who are devastated by the reckless messages of Christian leaders about embracing firearms as our only hope and draw applause by identifying entire religious groups as the enemy.

The cross is for those who preach these messages of hate and violence and applaud it even though they claim to represent the Prince of peace.

The cross is for those who use their imaginations to bring about restoration and reconciliation among former enemies.

The cross is for those fear foreigners and spread hate, and remain so lost in their survival instincts that they can only function by dehumanizing those they cannot understand.

The cross is for those who recognize that sensible gun laws could keep high capacity fire arms out of the hands of mass killers, just as they have in every other first world nation.

The cross is for those imprisoned by their obsession with personal security and personal rights to the point that they can’t see how their individualism is devastating communities that are flooded by firearms.

 

When Christians, especially Christian leaders, invest their imaginations and emotions thinking of all of the ways they could be shot or need to shoot others, we are abdicating our calling to pray and work toward mercy and peace as followers of the Prince of Peace.

Instead of imagining how our world could be peaceful and reaching out with prayer and action to make it so, we see followers of Jesus fixating on violence as the only solution. It’s as if they have no other choice, and that is the central problem.

I don’t necessarily condemn anyone who wants to defend himself or herself. That’s not for me to say. We all have a desire to defend ourselves and our loved ones, and I won’t say that’s a bad thing.

Rather, the problem here is the narrowness of so many Christians in their response to violence. Calling on Christians to arm themselves is a failure to nurture a different atmosphere—especially when Jesus did just this when he died on the cross, breathing words of mercy over his executioners.

The self-preservation mindset is toxic for Christians who are told to “die to themselves” and to carry their own crosses. Self-preservation tells us that the cross was well and good for Jesus, but it’s not for us.

We can’t cultivate an environment of fear, selfishness, and violence and expect God’s Kingdom to magically appear. Fear, violence, and selfishness work quite well for the devil, but we never see Jesus employing them for his cause.

Even more so, the cross tells us that our task is to pray for God’s mercy on our would-be attackers, mockers, accusers, and anyone else committed to promoting violence and hatred.

The cross offers hope to extremists in the Middle East, American bigots, and supposed Christian leaders who instruct their followers to pack heat because of their enemies instead of telling them to pray for their enemies. The cross is where state violence and bigotry face the full force of God’s mercy, compassion, and forgiveness.

Christians who invest so much time in preparing to kill other people could stand to divert a bit of time and energy into praying for them and reflecting on what the cross means—especially when an emphasis on personal security is linked with marginalizing and imagining violence toward another group of people.

The cross is not a place where you should feel comfortable. It should disrupt and jar us. It should strike us as foolish and otherworldly, perhaps even impossible.

I don’t love the idea of Jesus facing his death with anguish, tears, and pleas for God to make it pass.

I don’t love the idea of Jesus accepting death rather than fighting back against the Romans.

I personally believe that I would do whatever I could to defend myself and my family if placed in a threatening situation.

These misgivings don’t absolve me from standing at the foot of the cross to pray for my enemies, to confess the ways my country has failed to champion peace (Especially with the 2003 Iraq war), to admit that my nation has done much to stoke the flames of extremism, and to pray that God will show mercy on all.

While the Romans who killed Jesus had no idea that they were killing the Prince of Peace, Jesus gave his last breath to pray for God’s mercy over them.

Jesus, on the contrary, knew exactly what he was doing. It’s up to us to stand by the cross to find out why he did it.

 

Carolyn Custis James Shares Why Our Notions of Manhood Matter

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What does the Bible have to say about gender roles and masculinity in particular? Most importantly, does the Bible’s message on these issues have any relevance to both local and global events? You’ll find plenty of weighty Biblical reflection on these questions in the new book from Carolyn Custis James: Malestrom: Manhood Swept into the Currents of a Changing World.

I had a chance to preview the book and shared the following endorsement:

“Carolyn Custis James writes with urgency, clarity, and meticulous research about issues that don’t just concern every man, but relate to the health and stability of the entire church and our wider world. This is a call for men and women to live in the health and freedom of God’s calling for both genders”

Carolyn was gracious to respond to a series of questions about her new book:

 

What prompted you to write this book? 

My motivation for writing underwent a transformation in utero as it were. Initially, I wanted to tell the powerful stories of men in the Bible who have gone missing because they’ve been eclipsed by larger figures or downsized because we’ve viewed them through American eyes or a gendered lens. Men like Judah, Barak, Boaz, Joseph of Nazareth, and Matthew.

I thought it was time to take another look at these men.

As I began to research, my eyes were opened to a global male crisis of epic proportions—a powerful force that bears down on every man and boy as they battle to achieve and maintain their right to call themselves “a man.” Manhood, so it seems, is not a birthright. It must be earned by conforming to the prevailing definition of manhood in one’s particular culture. Definitions of manhood vary from culture to culture and tend to be a moving target in cultures like our own, where the definition changes from one generation to another and is never a one-size fits all definition. Inevitably some men and boys never make the grade.

The malestrom is the particular ways in which the fall impacts the male of the human species—causing a man to lose himself, his identity and purpose as a man, and above all to lose sight of God’s original vision for his sons.”

Patriarchy (“father rule”) lies at the heart of the malestrom. Trace any of the malestrom’s currents. Inevitably you’ll end up looking at patriarchy—a fallen human system that bestows power, authority, privilege, and leadership on men over women and children and also over other men. It’s destructive impact plays out in devastating ways in the lives of both women and men.

Christians tend to avoid the subject except to promote certain aspects of patriarchy (a “kinder-gentler” version) deemed “biblical.” From what I was seeing, I couldn’t in good conscience sidestep putting patriarchy—an issue so deeply problematic (to put it mildly)—on the table. It isn’t overstating things to say every man and boy is a victim of the malestrom.

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Linking this male crisis to the maelstrom—those powerful whirlpools in the open sea known to drag hapless ships, crew, and cargo to the bottom of the sea—underscores the deadly seriousness of this crisis. When God’s sons forget who he created them to be and operate off-mission the effects are both devastating personally and catastrophic globally.

Here are just a few examples of the malestrom’s currents that cause men and boys to lose themselves.

  • Men and boys represent a staggering 30% of the millions of humans enslaved today. That’s roughly the population of New York City proper—men and boys trafficked for sex, forced labor, and soldiering.
  • A man’s sense of who he is as a man can be undermined by something as commonplace as a job loss, a demotion, a diagnosis, a foreclosure, a divorce, or simply the inevitable realities of old age.
  • Every Sunday in our churches, men are marginalized if they don’t show up with the right portfolio or pedigree. They are shamed in tongue-lashing sermons if they don’t happen to “man-up” to whatever definition of manhood a pastor embraces.
  • Even men who seem to “have it all” are just a coup or a phone call away from being dragged under by the malestrom. A man can hold the reigns of power in his country, only to be ousted or defeated by voters the next election. Then, who is he?

As I probed deeper, I discovered even more disturbing indications of just how serious a crisis this. Here is what the experts are saying:

  • Anthropologist David Gilmore linked “masculine pride” to violent conflicts in the world. He asserts that “such violence is ‘as much a product of a manhood image . . . as political and economic demands.”
  • Sociologists agree. They identify an “insidious link between masculinity and violence that fuels many of the wars that rage across our world.”

As I wrote in Malestrom,

“The need to establish and maintain one’s manhood drives men into violent action and exerts constant pressure for men to prove themselves. It fuels aggression, competition, and self-interest, and creates countless casualties at the giving and receiving ends of violence and injustice. It feeds the illusion that behind every change in the culture, every alteration in circumstances, lurks a threat to one’s right to call himself a man.”

The most bone-chilling discovery came when I read Middle Eastern experts, like Georgetown University Professor John L. Espiosito, who now are saying that young men are being drawn into the ranks of ISIS in “a search of a new identity, and for a sense of meaning, purpose and a sense of belonging.”

As one young ISIS recruit put it, “You go overnight from being an unemployed nobody to being a headache to the most powerful man in the world.”

Just this week, Rachid Ghannouchi, leader of the Tunisian Islamist party, made a comment with reference to politics and government that has profound relevance to a challenge the church needs to engage regarding masculinity and manhood: “The only way to truly defeat ISIS is to offer a better product to the millions of young Muslims in the world.”

This is the pressing challenge facing the church and the one I take up in Malestrom. What message does the Bible have that speaks into this crisis to give every man and boy an indestructible identity, meaning, purpose and belonging that will cause them to thrive as human beings? Will that message trump (apologies for using that word) other voices speaking false, inadequate, and ultimately destructive messages into the lives of men and boys?

I’m convinced that the insular debates in the church over rules and roles, who leads and who follows, and the “kinder-gentler patriarchy” currently embraced in much of evangelicalism ultimately miss the mark. But the powerful, counter-cultural stories of those missing men in the Bible help us to gain insight into the brand of manhood Jesus’ gospel brings.

I believe the church has a prophetic responsibility to address this crisis.

Malestrom is an effort to begin that discussion.

 

 

I love how this book has a very personal and global focus at the same time. Share a little bit about that. 

Considering the issues and the realities at stake, it’s hard to treat this crisis in a detached academic way. I’ve lost sleep (still do) over the crises, injustices, and atrocities against women and girls in today world. This project raised my level of concern for men and boys to full equality with my concern for women and girls. It’s hard to fathom the loss to the church and to the mission of God when my brothers set their sights too low and miss what God has in mind for them. As a woman and as a Christian, I have responsibility to do something about it. So yes, Malestrom is profoundly personal for me.

The global perspective is one of the distinctives of Malestrom and other books that I have written. The Bible is not an American book. It is a global book, and so is its message. Maintaining a global perspective changes the questions we ask. They get bigger and the stakes go up. Conclusions we draw from scripture must be applicable anywhere in the world.

Patriarchy is not the Bible’s message, as many of us have been taught. In fact, the Bible actually dismantles it. Patriarchy is the cultural backdrop that sets of in the boldest relief the radical, not-of-this-world kingdom message of the Bible. As Americans and westerners, we are as foreign to the patriarchal world of the Bible as anyone can possible get in today’s world. That ought to give us a massive dose of humility when we open the Bible and a willingness to seek help from people who know that world and can enlighten us.

Years ago I had the first of many aha moments in a conversation with a Tanzanian seminary student. When I asked him about his culture and what it meant for him to be the firstborn son in his family, his answer changed forever how I read the word “son” in the Bible. Understanding the world of patriarchy restores the power of the gospel message in extraordinary ways.

 

How would you address women who may say, “This is a book for guys”?

I would agree with them. I hope every woman who reads Malestrom will say that. In fact, Malestrom will make the perfect Christmas gift for the men we love. Sarah Bessey’s endorsement says it all:

“This is the book I’ve been waiting for—as a wife, as a mother of a son, as a woman committed to the blessed alliance God intended between men and women. This book will be healing and restorative for so many. It’s a beautiful invitation to manhood in the Kingdom of God.”

Frankly, I hope women say that about all of my books. Men need to read them too. As one man commented after reading my first book, “I know you wrote this book for women. I didn’t read it for women. I read it for myself.”

At the same time, Malestrom is absolutely also a book for women. We need to understand the issues facing men and boys and join in calling the church to engage this crisis.

 

What would you say to guys who don’t think this book applies to them because they’re egalitarian or progressive? 

I’m glad you raised this question.

It is a sad fact that, when it comes to gender issues, evangelicals tend to think in binary terms. We classify people, books, and ourselves into one of two camps—Complementarian or Egalitarian, traditional or progressive, as though this is the crux of gender issues.

Malestrom rejects that binary mindset by raising different questions. If you read my books through that binary lens, you’ll miss the whole point. A self-defined complementarian did. In his review of Malestrom, he wrote, “I have no dog in this fight” and proceeded to disavow patriarchy as having anything to do with his complementarianism. Instead of seeing the very damaging and dangerous global crisis that actually threatens him too, he shrugged and walked away without noticing real human lives are at stake. The issue I’m raising is deeper and far more serious that the issue he was trying to dodge.

To be more explicit, this complementarian/egalitarian debate places the church on a continuum that, if taken to its extremes, ends up with religious fundamentalism at one end and radical feminism at the other. I’m convinced that Jesus’ gospel takes us off that continuum to a radically different counter-culture way of living and working together as male and female.

It is a frightening reality, but the egalitarian message is actually dangerous if preached in a full-fledged patriarchal culture. If a woman embraces an egalitarian manifesto in Saudi Arabia or Afghanistan, she could lose her head—literally. Complementarianism and egalitarianism can’t be lived out everywhere. But the Gospel can be lived anywhere. Even under burkas.

As Christians, we have important work to do that goes beyond deciding which camp we’ll join. There are deeper, global questions that need asking. How does Jesus’ gospel speak into the lives of every man and boy with indestructible identity, meaning, purpose, and belonging that is bestowed on him at birth by his Creator? How does Jesus’ gospel radically transform what it means to be male or female? And how are we supposed to be joining forces to advance his kingdom?

The issues at stake are global and alarming—no matter which camp you embrace. We have ISIS to consider.

 

 

 

Learn more about Malestrom here or visit Carolyn’s blog

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Writing Must Be a Matter of Life or Death

 

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There’s nothing like a doozy of a hyperbole to kick off a blog post…

It’s true that there are many excellent, useful, well-read blogs, books, and magazines that are decidedly not dealing with “life or death.” Rather, I’m talking about that feeling of life closing in on you, of losing hope, or wondering if you can go on another day. These struggles vary from one season of life to another.

The (few) nights I have to get dinner ready for the kids on my own sure feel like a life or death struggle in the moment. I’m never more open to a blog post with simple meal ideas or a humorous blog post about the zoo-like atmosphere of feeding small children while my own kids are sputtering milk and throwing things during dinner.

Whether or not I pray each day won’t necessarily save my life, but there are weeks when life feels like too much. I’m angry, tired, frustrated, and flat out up to here with one thing after another. My fuse is short. My mind is raging. To be blunt, the last thing I want to do is pray, and that is when I know that I need it the most.

Perhaps I pull up a prayer app on my phone, pick up a prayer book from my shelf, or see something striking from a friend on social media, and it hits me right where I’m at in the turmoil of the moment.

Writing rarely saves lives directly, unless it’s a survival book, medical literature, or addressing a serious mental health issue. More often, good writing speaks to a pain point, an area of struggle, or a weakness that continues to nag at us.

The writing I need and you need is a revelation, a great relief, and a significant step forward.

So many moments throughout the week feel like life or death struggles, and the thing that I’ve found is that I’ll only speak to those struggles if I take risks, if I dig deep into my own flaws and personal battles.

Herein is the risk of really writing. We can play about with attacks on what we are not, and there may be times when these help open our eyes. But the vast majority of the time, we need to learn how to survive and what to become.

I need to know how you handle the frustrations of failure in your work, low points of your day with the kids when you really blow your top, or how you keep your marriage together when there’s always more laundry, more dishes, and more emails from work.

How do you handle the uncertainty of moving?

How do you navigate the loneliness of visiting a new church?

How do you go on when you’ve been working on dinner all day and you burn it all to a hot, flaming crisp?

These are the moments where our faith, our spiritual disciplines, and our relationships meet the challenges of the every day. These are the moments when we’re grasping for lifelines.

We can sink or swim, and it may not be life and death, but it sure feels like our little corner of the world is crashing or falling apart for a moment.

Who will give the perspective, the next steps, and the hope that we need?

This is where our writing can step in with words of encouragement, empathy, and wisdom.

I used to think my writing was a success if lots of people read it, but I was dead wrong.

My writing is only a success if it helps people with these small or big “life or death” struggles that make up each day. Large numbers of readers are only a side benefit of helping people, ministering to them, and lifting them above what they thought would drag them down.