My family (especially my dad) had an obsession with Tom Hanks movies, so I grew up watching and hearing quotes from Apollo 13, Castaway and Forrest Gump over and over and over again. Apollo 13 in particular terrified me to no end - the thought of being a cosmic drifter for eternity was unsettling.
In the movie, Jim Lovell, the main character, is focused on his one mission to make it to the moon. But there's some dramatic irony there as the movie isn't really about getting to the moon. The plot revolves more around his family and all he's leaving behind...
This past week, I've learned a lot about myself. There were some responsibilities I had, and my irresponsibility ended up dumping the burden on other people. I had an argument with my parents because I want to go to Indonesia and they thought it was too dangerous. I had fears concerning the next few years of my life, knowing that the road will only get steeper.
All these situations exposed that I had been living in isolation. I didn't realize that when I drop a ball, someone else has to pick it up. I didn't realize that failing to communicate my intentions and situation fully with my parents meant that they would make faulty assumptions about where I was going and what I was doing. I didn't realize that there were people around me who are willing to carry my burdens and fears with me and who are directly influenced by my decisions and actions, and that I am as much affected by their decisions and actions though I've fought my whole life to be completely self-sufficient.
I spent my life shooting for the moon. Training to jump into a rocket and launching off as far away as I could from people, basking in my own glory and hoping I'd be recognized by the world. My aspiration has been to impress the world, not to relate with it.
I'd become an astronaut. Lost in space. Alone in space.
Lovell is shipped off into space with his two partners, and everything goes wrong. And in the days he spent shuddering in the cold isolation of outer space, he discovers what actually matters.
Jim: "Gentlemen, what are your intentions?"
[Jack Swigert and Fred Haise turn around and stare at Lovell]
Jim: "I'd like to go home."
When the astronauts finally find a way to return home, they strap themselves in their seats for a bumpy ride. Reentry meant that the command module they were in would heat up significantly as it plunged through the atmosphere. The external temperature of the module could heat up to 5,000 degrees Fahrenheit, but the temperature inside the command module remained cool; most of the heat being absorbed by the heat shield surrounding the module that would erode away as the descent progressed.
The fall comes to an end in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Rescue ships arrive to bring the astronauts safely home.
It's time for reentry. I see the heat coming. Circumstances, responsibilities, difficulties, hardships, and trials. But the temperature remains cool - because whatever comes my way externally, I have a heat shield:
"The Lord is my strength and my shield..." (Psalm 28:7)
"He answered and said, 'But I see four men unbound, walking in the midst of the fire, and they are not hurt; and the appearance of the fourth is like a son of the gods.'" (Daniel 3:25)
"...when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you." (Isaiah 43:2b)
The module ultimately lands in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And that's where I'd like to find myself at the end of this next season of life. An ocean of grace, love, and people.
"If grace is an ocean, we're all sinking." (How He Loves, John Mark McMillan)
I had a great dinner conversation with someone last night. He shared about his time being away from church people and how it has been teaching him about reality. People nag him about coming back to church - his family, his church friends, everyone - and at times, the pressure seems to drive him further away.
He fumbled for words a bit before describing what he's been facing in his time away. In his words:
"I hate saying this because it's cheesy, but there's no better word to describe what I've been seeing in the world than 'brokenness.'... But I realized that when you're genuinely vulnerable with people, you start to understand their point of view."
That amazed me. It dawned on me that he's probably been learning more about Jesus in these past few months than he had been attending church regularly for 20 years. He's learning about the reality of Christ breaking into broken lives, the reality of a Jesus who's vulnerable so that he can sympathize with our weaknesses; he's encountering a Jesus that's bigger than church events.
I unabashedly love the Church and I love my church. I remember how lonely I was in high school and how grateful I am to have people around me who will help me follow Christ and who I can love and be loved by. I'm so thankful to have people to fight this fight and run this race for the gospel with. But my friend doesn't see that. He doesn't understand why people in the church didn't see reality the way he'd been seeing it in his unbelieving friends. In its messiness and brokenness.
But I've seen that brokenness and messiness in church people just the same. The flesh that lives in us is genuinely terrifying to face at times. The I-wish-you-to-hell moments we have with people we're supposed to love, the I-will-crush-you-to-get-my-due zeal that overshadows the love of Christ. I know I have it.
I see why there's reason to be frustrated at church people, but there's reason for hope. I don't think the church holds together because the people in it are less broken or more religious or have it easier in any way.
And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. (Colossians 1:17-18)
I invited him to come to church again, but not because the people will be better. It's because despite the junk, somehow, we have to work with who we've got, not who we'd like to have. The truth in all of it is that God will make do. He'll make something beautiful out of us.
I give it all to You, God Trusting that You'll make something beautiful out of me
I want you to stop running from thing to thing to thing, and to sit down at the table, to offer the people you love something humble and nourishing, like soup and bread, like a story, like a hand holding another hand while you pray. We live in a world that values us for how fast we go, for how much we accomplish, for how much life we can pack into one day. But I’m coming to believe it’s in the in-between spaces that our lives change, and that the real beauty lies there. Most of the time, I eat like someone’s about to steal my plate, like I can’t be bothered to chew or taste or feel, but I’m coming to see that the table is about food, and it’s also about time. It’s about showing up in person, a whole and present person, instead of a fragmented, frantic person, phone in one hand and to-do list in the other. Put them down, both of them, twin symbols of the modern age, and pick up a knife and a fork. The table is where time stops. It’s where we look people in the eye, where we tell the truth about how hard it is, where we make space to listen to the whole story, not the textable sound bite. We don’t come to the table to fight or to defend. We don’t come to prove or to conquer, to draw lines in the sand or to stir up trouble. We come to the table because our hunger brings us there. We come with a need, with fragility, with an admission of our humanity. The table is the great equalizer, the level playing field many of us have been looking everywhere for. The table is the place where the doing stops, the trying stops, the masks are removed, and we allow ourselves to be nourished, like children. We allow someone else to meet our need. In a world that prides people on not having needs, on going longer and faster, on going without, on powering through, the table is a place of safety and rest and humanity, where we are allowed to be as fragile as we feel. If the home is a body, the table is the heart, the beating center, the sustainer of life and health. Come to the table.
