Let's Get Real.

Amen, I quickly say, following another lack-luster quiet time with God. I put my Bible down on my desk, where it will most likely sit for the rest of the day. Rushed, forced, and sometimes downright insulting to God...that would be the way I would describe my quiet times lately. As I struggle to figure out what I'm doing wrong, I realize that I have other things to get done, so I leave my thoughts and yearnings for God on my desk--right next to my Bible. As I prep for the day, though, I can't let any of that faulty faith or lackluster zeal for God show...because, well that would surely let others down. So what do I do?

I slip on the mask.

I'm not talking about the green, creepy thing from the aptly-titled movie, "The Mask" starring Jim Carrey. If you've seen the movie, you know that mask turned Jim Carrey into a mischievous, crazy-antic inclined man. The mask that I put on, the mask which allows me to hold up my carefully-constructed reputation and honor, is a mask of a much more deceitful and dangerous form.

It is the mask of Inauthenticity.

Surely, those who think of me as a God-seeking man don't want to see that I'm struggling--that means I'm clearly weak, right? And I surely can't let an ounce of doubt show, because if I do, the people who are supporting me financially for next year with InterVarsity at Creighton will think that I'm spiritually weak, and undeserved of their hard-earned money. And heck, why would I want to share my struggles with my friends and family--they already have enough to worry about.

So the Oscar for the Best He's-got-it-all-together Actor award goes to (drumroll please)...... me. I act out my Christian faith when I don't feel like I have an ounce of faith in my body. As God screams to me "Please!!!! I just want to spend 5 minutes with the real Brendan, not the Brendan who feels obligated to read the Bible," I fill my time with other things, thinking that surely my mask, that good ol' trusty mask, will help me cover the ugliness of me.

I post a meaningful Bible verse on Twitter and Facebook that I hope inspires others...while at the same time not letting it get anywhere near my heart. I tell others about the importance of praying for mission trips, campus events, and conversations with friends...while I go several days without praying for anything but the Hot Pocket for lunch. I teach a Bible study about truly following Jesus, just as Peter did...while I repeatedly choose to make other things of this world lord of my life instead of letting the Lord of Lords take control.

Authenticity.

For the past year, I've felt like God has been throwing that word at me. As I've tried to understand why God wants me to focus on that, I've assumed it's been for those around me. I figured God wanted my friends who praise Jesus on Sundays and got drunk the night before to learn the meaning of authenticity. I figured God wanted my friends, the ones who could spit Bible verses out like fire but also told dirty jokes, to realize the importance of authenticity.

And I, while wearing my mask, was supposed to make them aware of how inauthentic they were.

Here's the thing about God and masks: He is not a fan.

Jesus says in John 14:15, "If you love me, you will keep my commandments." There it is. None of "If you love me, you will make everyone else believe that you are following my commandments," or "If you pretend to love me in public, even if you don't keep my commandments in private, at least others see God through you...so that's good, I guess?"

God has never, and will never, want a fake me or a fake you. Which is exactly why I'm writing this. This is a frustration post, and in all honesty, the next 3 or 4 blog posts will probably be about authenticity, because being inauthentic is the thing that I hate most in myself. I'm tired of it.

I'm tired of going through the motions, I'm tired of saying "Welp, I tried to pray," I'm tired of professing my belief in authenticity when I haven't started treading that path yet myself. My hope is that one or two people reading this feels the same way.

So...the first step in recovery is acknowledging that there is a problem. Oh, and there is definitely a problem. The second through the 54th step is going to God, who is the best Counselor possible.

Now, I'm going to go read the Bible. For real.

Live like they were dyin

So yesterday was not the Rapture...which is, well, not all that surprising. I have a strong feeling that God has his own secret timing to throw the greatest divine block party; it says in Matthew 24 that no one knows when the end of the world is gonna happen except the Big Guy upstairs. However, all the hype did get me wondering: if yesterday would've been my last day (and I was 100% sure), what would I have done? Would I have hopped on a plane, traveled to New Zealand, and watched Jesus return from the countryside (which also happens to be the set of the Lord of the Rings?) Would I have spent my day in prayer to get closer to God? Or would I have eaten as many McDonald's shamrock shakes as possible in the 24 hour span?

On a more serious note, this past week there was a well-known and well-loved music teacher who, after having her husband pass away with cancer 5 months ago, needed to replace her failing pacemaker. After the surgery didn't go well and she was put into a coma, she passed away two days after the surgery. She was 50 years old and left behind a daughter who graduated from high school a week ago. As my own saddened heart and prayers go out to her daughter and those closest to her, I ponder my own mortality, and begin to see how much of a vapor my life is on this earth.

As the saying goes, I begin to think that I should "live every day like it's my last."

But something makes me pause at that statement. Don't get me wrong--it's got some great truth to it: Carpe diem, seize every moment, and savor every laugh, trial, and hug from loved ones. But what if we lived every day like it's more than just our last?

What if we lived every day like it was everyone else's last?

What if we lived like it was our mom or dad's last day? What if we lived like it was our professor's last day? What if we lived like it was our boss' last day? Even scarier: what if we lived like it was the last day of the person who seems to hate our guts...or the person who we detest?

What would that look like?

Is that possible?

There was a not-too-shabby Teacher called Jesus, who knew that his last day was drawing near. What did he do? Far from scarfing down shamrock shakes, Jesus (in Matthew) predicts his death to the disciples, then proceeds to give sight to two blind men, teaches 6 parables and multiple other lessons, shares an intimate supper with his closest disciples, then prays to His Father in heaven before being crucified.

In short, Jesus lives His last day the same way He lived His whole life: serving and pouring Himself into those around Him. His compassion, His passion, His heart...all freely given away. Focusing not on his own death, but instead on other's lives. Which is exactly what I want to do.

The reason that I don't want to live like today is my last day is because, honestly, too often I already do. Too often I do what I want to do, pursuing what I want to pursue, and concern myself with my life. Why? If it's truly Jesus who I follow, I want to live like it is the last dying day of everyone around me. I want to live like today is the last day to heal wounds of my relationship with another, like today is the last day to show my deepest love for my friends and enemies, like today is the last day to fervently pray for those who don't know about Jesus' love, like today is the last day to pour out myself like Jesus.

Maybe that means instead of flipping out at your parents after a long week in the house together, you cook dinner for them. Maybe that means instead of just saying to my friend "We should catch-up sometime," I actually do it and invest in the friendship that has too long been neglected. Maybe that means instead of screaming that the end-times are coming and that your non-Christian friends should repent, you show them the love of the amazing, life-changing God so they can begin to approach Jesus without shame or anger.

If it's our last day today, then so be it. But if it's someone else's last day, whether it's our best friend or the "outcast" we never talk to, let's try to give them the best darn last day someone could have. Let's try to love 'em all Jesus-like.

Freely we've received love, forgiveness, and healing from God...let us freely give it away.

Feel the wounds.

Imagine with me.

You cast your eyes at the ground, because lifting them higher just brings you shame. You try to block out the cries of his mother, which only remind you of the past 24 hours. Finally, after gaining the courage to glance up again, you make eye contact with the man who has willingly walked up this hill...to Golgotha...to his own death. His gaze doesn't scream condemnation, though, it whispers love. His eyes don't judge, but instead forgive.

But you don't want any part of it. Not because you don't believe that the man on the cross is indeed God, but because you don't believe that the man on the cross should, could, or would forgive you. Instead of walking closer to speak to him, to apologize to him, to explain your shame...you turn. You continue staring at the rocks beneath your feet as you follow the path that leads down the mountain, reminiscing in your mind about the stuff that you've done the past day. The sight of the blood that stained the rocks beneath your feet, the blood that the innocent "criminal" shed as he struggled up the hill, sting you, as if somehow you feel the pain that he feels.

As you walk through the streets of town alone, you see up ahead the entrance to Pilate's court, where Jesus was put on a trial. The angry cries for Barabbas' release still ring in your ears, but what can be heard even more clearly is your own voice, screaming for the punishment of this man. What made so much sense earlier that day seems ludicrous now, and as you wipe away your tears angrily, you can't stop thinking over and over about your own worthlessness. There is no possible way that the man, whose death you shouted for could possibly speak to you, let alone love you.

Still thinking about the mistakes you've made, you head home, attempting to distance yourself, (at least physically) from your past mistakes, and more importantly, from the man that seems to remind you of everything wrong with yourself. As you enter your front doorway and slip off your sandals, your guilt comes rushing back. The secret sins of your past are whispered quietly in your ear as you lay down on the mat. There is no part of me that is good, you think, as you drift off to sleep.

The next couple days pass, but not without the thought of what you had caused. The death of an innocent man, the one who was going to bring peace and rule as the greatest king, was because of you. It's hard to find hope when you feel like you've killed hope.

As you go about working in your home as a carpenter, mind still racing, you hear a knock. You look up...and see the same loving eyes as you saw three days prior. You begin to feel light-headed, unsure if you're in a dream or have been possessed by a demon. How in the world is he alive? How am I seeing a ghost? And why is he standing in my home? you wonder. Still ashamed, you look at the floor and mutter "Um...I don't know what to say. Why'd you come here? I mean...you don't want to know what I've done the past few days."

"I do know what you've done," the man says, as your shame and guilt begin to flood back, "but that is exactly why I've come here."

And still staring at the dirt floor, you see two feet come into your view...two pierced feet. You feel a hand touch your shoulder, which propels you to bring your eyes once again to gaze at the man's face. You see the pierced forehead, the scars of a crown that mocked this true King. Then,

"And you are why this," he says, as he touches the hole in one of his hands, "happened... Not because you cried for my death. But because your heart cried for life. So life, abundant life, is what I gave you."

So you reach out. You feel the wounds. You look at him again. And this time? The shame has left, replaced with love.

* * * * * *

I feel like that's me a lot of the time. Replace that with a modern context...sure, I didn't call for Jesus' death. But I also sometimes don't act like I desperately wanted Him to live, either. And as I realize my own faults, my own sinfulness? I turn and walk. Away from the Cross. Away from the place I need to go. Away from the only way that this brokenness can begin to get fixed.

Nooooo...God surely can't handle my pride issues. He surely can't handle the problem of lust. He surely can't deal with the fact that many days I spend more time sending emails than I spend with Him.

Or can He?

Maybe Easter is more than just a good story. Maybe Easter is more than just three days worth. Maybe the best part of Easter is that He comes searching for each and every one of us after we retreat from Him.

If it's my sin that keep me from Him, then I want to give every one of those crappy, horrible, disgusting, filthy problems I have...I'm pretty sure He can handle it.