Jazz

You are my jazz...

        Heard it as a child

The man still trying to sort it out.

Unresolved Beauty

        Notes suspended between wonder and the blues

               Sainthood and Sex

The ache screams out

        Longing given a voice.

No words...none needed

       Groanings that words cannot express

               Just blood and sweat.

God listening to man's heart

        God talking back

Can't be taught

        manufactured

               canned

Not real jazz

        Jazz is felt

               worshipped

               given...


Like you.


Cannot leave unchanged.

Can never forget.


You are my jazz.

Messy

It's here...less than one week before Christmas day.  Any of you who know me know that I can be a bit of a Grinch this time of year.  Maybe if Christmas was in summer and I could celebrate by going with people I love to the beach it might be different, but as it is, I am not a fan of schlepping.  It seems there is much schlepping when it comes to this holiday.  All of you non-schleppers know what I mean...

Anyway, each year I'm struck by a particular theme of Christmas that seems to capture me. This year I was struck by the concept of a video that a friend of mine made with her youth group. The video was called "He Came to Get Messy".  The concept...as I took it...goes a little like this: God could have - maybe we think should have - come with a little more order.  You know, born in a palace and what not.  He should have had two regular parents instead of a teenage mom and a very confused fiancée.  He should have at least been born in a regular house with a trained midwife...but He came different.

God didn't come into the environment that we think gods should arrive.  He came into chaos...

He came into mud

He came into noise

He came into stink

He came messy

In this week before Christmas my house is full of people.  There is a family friend with her two kids, my brother in law with his wife and three sons, a Korean foreign exchange student, my wife, three boys, three cats, two birds, five fish, two gerbils, and six chickens (yes, chickens...but they aren't technically in the house - I just wanted you to know that I have chickens for greater effect.  I hope it worked).  It's something like living in a reality T.V. show.    

Now, what's important to note about me is that I'm not messy.  In fact...I kind of like order.   As I write I'm sitting by the fire, sipping a glass of wine, and listening to one of my favorite jazz records under the soft glow of the white Christmas lights that are hung on my mantle.  That is the world I created.   What I'm not telling you is that kids keep racing by me - an unlimited stream like clowns from a clown car - playing hide and go seek.  Every few minutes I hear a crash, hear some tears, and try and decide if I need to leave the high back chair that I write to you from.  When I depart from the sanctuary of my little square island of peace, I will see mess. Everywhere.  Toys will be out, snacks spilled, wet boots, animal remains, dirty dishes, and the result of boys with poor aim in both bathrooms.  

Yes, it's messy.  I want to pretend that it's not there.  I want to just talk to you.

But it is.

It's messy.

It's a lot like my life.

Maybe I like the sophisticated because I am SO not.  

I have issues.

Really big issues.

Like many of you, I didn't have the childhood that I think I deserve.  I made a ton of mistakes growing up as a result.  I struggle with things that keep me up at night.  I've made promises that I can't keep, broken hearts, violated trust, and become too familiar with dark places in this world.

But that's not all I am.

I'm also a man who loves.  I appreciate beauty.  I love my family.  I enjoy my friends.  I inspire people to be better.  I really love Jesus and believe that I can change the world.   I have a legacy of people who are better because they know me.

I'm a mess - sometimes ugly, sometimes beautiful, but all mess.

Our usual approach to God is that we don't think He can handle our mess.  We think we need to get cleaned up before we go before we hang out with Him...and we never seem to get cleaned up.  We put our stuff in boxes and refuse to let Him...or anyone...in.  

The house is a mess...and we don't want company.

But take a look at how He came.  

You know the story.  Bethlehem...donkeys...crowds of people...no room.  A compassionate (or opportunistic) inkeeper says you can go sleep in the cave out back with the livestock.

It smells...it's loud...it's scary.

The couple settles in...certainly with animals and maybe a few strangers.  

Then her water breaks.

Really?  Now?  

Wouldn't the Son of God have better timing?

Absolutely.

This is the perfect time.

And the perfect place.

The God who never needed anything or anyone has made a choice.

He chooses to be uncomfortable...hungry...dirty...needy.

God enters our mess...

and cries.

It dawned on me this season that this is what love does.  Love moves into the messy darkness of the ones loved.  A lover doesn't seek to keep clean, but intentionally moves into the hurt - the terrifying pain and confusion - of the object of it's love and gets dirty.  The lover emerges dirty, bruised, needy, and bleeding from the sheer act of love.

Love is anything but safe.

But love is the thing that keeps us safe as we love.

Those of us that have experienced life with love withheld are familiar with the messy places.  But the reasons we go there are much different than why the lover goes.  We go there to fill our need, to stop the pain, to feel - even for a brief moment - like we matter.  We know it won't satisfy our deep pain, but we have no other options...we think.  We emerge with bad information...a false identity.  

The lover moves in because He has been well loved and moves in to heal the mess.  He is wounded, bruised, spat upon, broken, and bleeding.  He doesn't come with judgement...just truth.  He sees me and doesn't blink...even for a moment.  He somehow still believes...

The birth tells me that he comes messy and comes to sing...

He songs comes with the coolest backup singers ever.

His song is one word...

Peace.

"Glory to God in the Highest and on earth...?"

Peace.

"Peace to people on whom his favor rests..."

Peace to the place where His love has chosen to put up His feet and take a load off.

He chose to live here...in my mess.

I wonder if I trust Him enough to let Him into the cave out back...where I keep the messy parts of my life.  I wonder if I'll have the courage this year to allow Him to love me.  Can I open my hand and give Him the key to the closest where I keep my skeletons?

I want to...so badly.

He want's to...so badly.

If I let Him - and let love transform my heart - will I find the strength to go back and love the way I was loved?

I want to...so badly.