TATTOO on the HEART

Got a light?…

// January 6th, 2009 // OUT LOUD THOUGHTS

I don’t smoke. 
I wish I did.

I see all these people who share in this special community.  Some of them have found themselves on the outside looking in.  They used to be welcome inside public establishments – even airplanes – but now even outdoors they’re regulated and pushed aside to places where they can light up.

It’s a unique camaraderie that I’ve observed through coffee shop glass where the place of the disenfranchised hunch over to shield their Bics from the wind and exposing their bodies to the elements for a momentary break from life and a gasp of nicotinated relief.

I don’t smoke.
But I wish I did.

Then I could join in and share the conversation of this community.  I’ve tried to hang out with them before.  But I couldn’t stand their smoke or the smell.  The smoke singed the membrane in my nasal cavity and I was too noticeable when I flinched everytime smoke was exhaled.

I really wanted to get close.  To hear their stories.  To engage in their conversation.  Just to get a closer listen to the words I’ve never heard.  It’s not that I’m not allowed, it’s that I just won’t go there.  I can’t go there.  Because I’ll get their smoke on me.  As soon as I get in that zone, they’ll notice.  I’ll come off insincere, and they whole situation will be awkward.  I’ll be just like the rest who kick them out of their stores, off their planes, away from their doors…

Every now and then I get somehow mistaken for someone who  does smoke.  People look into my eyes and ask, “Do you have a light?”  I politely tell them, “No.”  Embarrassed they shuffle away and seem to cower.

I don’t smoke.
But I wish I did.

I find it fascinating that of all things miraculous that could’ve been chosen – restoring sight, making a limb grow, bringing someone back to life – that Jesus’ first miracle was turning water into wine.  It bugs some people.  It’s bugged some people so badly that they’ve written and pre-supposed about this miracle trying to make an excuse for why Jesus would do such a thing for His first public display of supernatural power. My opinion is that some people have just thought too much about it and certainly read more into it.   Many Christians feel the need to even make excuses for Jesus or to go at length to prove that Jesus was pumping out some really fine Welch’s grape juice.

What if Jesus’ first miracle was just what it was: the people ran out of wine early in the wedding feast – which would have been an embarrassment – and Jesus got into the wine business for a day. 

I think we’re uncomfortable with that.

I think we’re uncomfortable with the fact that Jesus was too comfortable in this situation. 

But I think this miracle precedes everything else miraculous that Jesus would do to point us to something incredibly beautiful about Jesus – that He was so at home being both God and Man  – both Spirit and Flesh.  Jesus never shied away from His humanity.  People were blown away and even rejected the fact that He could be Messiah because He was so human.  He built houses and furniture.  He blistered just like everybody else.  He sweat.  He had body odor.

I wonder how repulsed and how offended Christians would be today if they saw their Leader – their namesake hanging out in the area reserved for smokers or watching the NFL playoffs at Gallagher’s Bar.
Somehow, that One who knew no sin would be there – fitting in mind you.

I spent my whole professional ministry career working for user-friendly megachurches who specialized in being seeker sensitive, non-church, and practical. And even in those environments where we referred to ourselves as “outwardly focused,” we spent the vast majority of our time looking out the window at the people smoking cigarettes – not even close enough to get the whiff of smoke – but assuming what their thoughts, cares, and conversations might be.

And so we concocted this version of Jesus and this message that would be tailored to them without ever having to get smoke on our clothes. 

No one ever suspected that living in our 4 walls for 50 hours a week was effectively stripping the gift of humanity right off the bones.  Sadly, the average pastor doesn’t even realize that their “relevant” and “real” conversation is neither.  And a smoker doesn’t even need to see your Rembrandt smile to figure out that it’s not even authentic either.

I just think Jesus was so amazing because here is the essence of true Perfection and He fit right in.  The teachings He spoke were built into the framework of the everyday common life.  He was believable.  He was real and authentic.  And most importantly, He loved and desired a relationship with them and that made Him relevant to everyone.
There was a time that we as followers of Jesus were known as the “Church” – literally “sent ones.”  We weren’t gatherers of people to a building, but we were people who lived among – naturally supernatural people – spiritually transformed people who were sharing a human experience.

When I was a small child growing up in church we used to sing this song called, “This little light of mine.”  The point of the song was that we weren’t supposed to hide our light and we weren’t supposed to let Satan blow it out.  What the song never taught us was where to bring the light.  Because a light in an already lit room doesn’t really do much – it’s pretty much drowned out.

But a light in a dark place – the brilliance of a single light in the darkest of night captures everyone’s attention.  Its luminance draws. It’s noticeable.  It brings hope.

You want the truth?  I’m proud of the fact that people ask me for a light when I walk down the street and when I pass by those places that are meant for the disenfranchised.  I think there’s something in my eyes that people notice.  They don’t see my Rembrandt smile anymore.  They see my humanity.  And I still don’t smoke even though I may smell like it.  I carry a lighter in my pocket for those moments when I’m invited to share their human experience.  I sit on the steps of their life and engage their conversation because I truly am one of them.  The difference between myself and them is that – for the moment – I have a Light.