MJ and Jesus

I have no place talking about Michael Jackson. Oh, I have an opinion about his music from "5" days to his last; I have an opinion about what was deemed newsworthy in his life from the get-go as well. Just because I have those opinions (and many others) doesn't mean I have to, nor should I, share them anytime, any place, with just anybody. Seems like many of my brothers and sisters that I also call "friend" (reference: Facebook lingo) have lost their discernment, if they even know how to exercise it, in sharing their opinions about others.

So, I do I have a place in speaking about those matters ... which just happened to springboard from Michael Jackson's life and legacy. I snapped last night. I have to admit that I was moved to tears several times over as bits of MJ's memorial service were replayed on a hundred channels ... I'm still not sure exactly what every tear was about. That wasn't my emotional break, though. This was ...

A "sister" in Christ who uses scripture and inspirational quotes all the time to reveal herself and encourage those who follow her life commented on the choice of casket in which MJ was placed and asked that God would forgive our arrogance. As strong as it sounds, my prayer is that God would forgive hers. Who are any of us to question the way another grieves? As I saw brothers standing shoulder to shoulder on a stage with sequined gloves themselves, I saw grown men trying to figure out how to say a goodbye they didn't see coming. As I saw the 24K casket (though I wouldn't choose it for myself), I saw not a dead man's arrogance, but a family's attempt to love their son/brother/father well in a way that would still fall short even though precious because it didn't restore life. Al Sharpton isn't my favorite public speaker/preacher, but I applauded in my heart when he straightened the truth out for MJ's children ... who gets to define 'weird' anyway? Though the memorial experience yesterday felt like "show" in moments, I was left with a longing for our churches to spend even half the effort preparing the things we will do/sing/say in worship each week and be clear about why we do it that way. (That service yesterday was truly the work of the people - MJ's family, friends, co-laborers, companions on the journey - when most of what we do as Christians is a solo effort. And, we are content to watch others do it "for" us most Sundays.)

The reason I've stretched my tyrade from last night's Facebook update to this page? I was absolutely floored by the response to my peppery words. I "spoke" them on the computer screen hoping, honestly, that the offending sister would read them and shut her trap, feeling embarrassed and set right. What I discovered was that within 2 hours, no less than 2 dozen people (many of whom didn't see the remark that angered me), voiced their agreement with me. When I checked my email and FB before I went to bed, I was struck not just by the numbers of folks who shouted their "Amen!" to the sentiment of patience, prayer, and love without condition for others. I was struck by two other thoughts that plagued my sleep ...

First, why didn't one of those folks say something before I did? If you had strong feelings, too, why keep silent? It is silence that enables the less-than-true and less-than-loving to have the loudest word. If you won't say it, who will? Stop depending on me and speak for yourself! Sometimes the quiet witness is no witness at all.

Second, my secret hope that the sister would feel sufficiently put in her place was a wish to swing the pendulum so far in the other direction that I was the one disturbing the peace - hers and mine. I may not be able to make you speak when you "oughta," but I can apologize when I'm wrong. I was wrong to want my, our sister to feel the things she wished MJ's family would feel. I only want her to change her mind because I think Jesus calls us to a different understanding and a different way of relating to one another. But, if I want to "teach" that with my words, my actions must match. I was wrong.

Needless to say, Michael Jackson has caused a big ruckus in my mind and in my spirit these days. It has nothing to do with the moonwalk or Billie Jean or any of that. It has everything to do with Jesus, though, and his call to follow him ... to be like him. To love MJ and his family like Jesus would. To love all my sisters and brothers the way he's loved me.

Freedom

Yes, I know it's a pitiful sight. Izzy had surgery a couple of weeks ago for what revealed itself as a benign mass on her little ankle. It was beginning to interfere with her wrestling career, so Dr. Frank took care of it. This was post-surgery about 2 hours. She regained her energy and her tenacity - especially in regards to removing bandages that aren't supposed to be removed yet and chewing on stitches that itch. So, it got more pitiful still. See ...

But, we're way on the other side of the pity party. Izzy got word from Doc this past Monday that the staples and the collar are history because she's healing. It's been a long time since I've seen a truer sense of freedom displayed right in front of my eyes. When we left Doc's "office" with no extra stuff, Izzy began to vibrate. She almost didn't know what to do with herself no longer constrained by metal in her flesh and the burden around her head and shoulders. First three things she did because she could? Smelled her own behind, stuck her head out of the open car window to lick at the wind, and drank out of the toilet once we hit the door (no longer literally sans collar) at home. Now, I wouldn't have chosen those three things, but for a dog they might be heaven.

As I changed clothes to head into my day at the office, Izzy spent another 30 minutes - and that was just while I was home watching - literally bouncing off the walls, and the ottoman, and Grace, and the rocking chair. She was smelling the grass without choking herself and jumping off the porch without impaling herself. And, wrestling with Grace.

I was struck watching that crazy dog. I think that most of us, if we ever had it at all, have lost our pure joy at the freedom that is ours. Most of the folks you and I know, selves included, will allow Saturday to be more about burgers and cold beverages and swimming and fireworks than the freedom that is ours because of our geography and someone else's bravery. Let's be clear that freedom and autonomy are not synonyms. The kind of freedom that Izzy's Monday reminded me of is even bigger than geography and bravery ... it's bigger than we could ever imagine. We think our grandest goal is to be autonomous as individuals, as a country - to do what we want, when we want, how we want without having to answer to anyone. But, God longs to see us throw off every hindrance (even bigger ones than E-collars and staples) and know the absolute freedom that is ours in Christ.

Funny thing is that Grace enjoyed (and still is enjoying) Izzy's new freedom as much as Izzy did/is and not just vicariously. Izzy's freedom meant Grace had her friend back, fully, truly. Maybe that's a clear sign of true freedom ... that it absolutely affects not only the one released but the others with whom one shares life.

I may never forget watching that crazy dog do really stupid pet tricks just because she could ... and genuinely enjoying the abundance of life in the process. I pray I never forget the awareness that was mine when I realized I often constrain myself or let others do it to me, resigning my freedom for something less than God intended for me. This weekend, I pray that you are aware of the blessing of geography and bravery that are represented in stars and stripes, in fireworks, and maybe even in burgers and watermelon with family and friends. Better yet, I pray that you claim and live into a freedom that's forever bigger than that, freedom that is already yours in Jesus Christ.