We speed down a runway at 180 miles per hour and escape earth's gravitational pull. We ascend above the clouds and soar at 10,000 feet; achieving something that humanity could scarce dream of for generations. We hurtle through the sky at something like 540 miles per hour before descending back down to earth at a somehow controlled plummet to land. It's a marvel to me. Even wedged in a space too small for my six foot one frame between two total strangers, I still think flying is amazing.
I only remember three songs that were played in the cafeteria that day. This was around 1990, so every third girl wanted to play “Right Stuff” by New Kids on the Block. I brought a Disney cassette and requested “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah,” because no matter how far I travel back in my memory, I’m still a dork. And then the third song was one that I apologize for mentioning because for the rest of the day it will be trapped inside the brains of those who know it: Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”
I bring up that ode to positivity because, as we continue in our series on the Sermon on the Mount, we come to Jesus’ admonishment to not worry. I think that we sometimes we gloss over the passage and water it down to where Jesus is standing on the mountain singing “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” And that song is a lovely sentiment, but it often doesn’t stand up to the things in this life that truly cause us concerns: job pressures, financial stress, challenges in family, a rancorous political season, your pastor asking you to preach a sermon when you haven’t even figured out how to operate voicemail on your phone.
Five years ago, I preached for the first time as an adult in a seminary class. That sermon began with a story set in Nashville. Tomorrow morning I'll preach a sermon at our new church just a few miles away from where that story took place. The symmetry is kind of beautiful even as I worry about what I will say tomorrow (which is ironic because the sermon is on not worrying).
"This is not what I signed up for."
Have you ever thought that? Life has this knack for throwing us curveballs constantly. You think we would get used to it, but we don't. You go down a road expecting a certain outcome and the destination you reach is not what you anticipated. Faith is like that all the time. This is horribly un-pastoral to say, but it can be a crapshoot sometimes.
If the terrorist is a monster--if they are something inhuman, something fundamentally broken--then it flattens a complicated narrative into a tale of pure good versus pure evil. And don't get me wrong, the act of terror is pure evil. But the actor? The story of the actor is not always so simple. At least that was the reality I confronted while reading Boxers.
Starting a new job, at least so far, has been like walking into the cafeteria on the first day at a new school. There are new people everywhere. And I'm not sure where exactly to sit, who to talk to, and how long to talk. I'm the new guy.
