Lael Arrington's blog

People ask my husband, “When were you called to be a pastor?” I’ve been asked, “How were you called to be a writer?” We don’t really have the kind of answer they are looking for. But we do have a good answer, I think. We would both say, We believe that our gifting is our calling.

Last Thursday was the National Day of Prayer--a day we pray for America. A good reminder to come to our Father who loves us and pour out our heart’s desire for our country. What’s on your heart that you have been asking God for America?

In the city that is home to Harvard, MIT, Tufts, Boston College, Northeastern, U Mass—some of the world’s greatest Universities—the broken bones, broken lives we’ve seen play out in Boston this week rile up something deep within—something that challenges sophisticated, academic ideas of relative truth and tolerance: the longing for justice.

In The Year of Living Biblically A.J. Jacobs, general editor of Esquire magazine, writes, “Julie [his wife] always told me that things happen for a reason. To which I would reply, Sure, things happen for a reason. Certain chemical reactions take place in people’s brains, and they cause those people to move their mouths and arms. That’s the reason. But, I thought, there’s no greater purpose.”

This is the week we remember what it was like for Jesus to count down the remaining six days of his life--triumphant parade, turning over tables, nightly walks to Bethany, final words with friends, banquets, betrayal, arrest, flogging, mocking, rejection, exquisite pain and finally, death. So much drama and richness of life in six days. And yet it was basically a death march. And more than anyone who has ever approached certain death, Jesus knew exactly how horrific it would be. What stands out to me as I focus on his story again this year: how Jesus endured. There are two ways to endure hard things.

On Sunday night’s 85th Academy Awards the national spotlight will focus on the familiar image on every copper penny—Abraham Lincoln. Nominated for 12 Oscars, Steven Spielberg’s film tells the story of the last four months of Lincoln’s life. Or does it? Yes, it chronicles the political drama (and shenanigans) of passing the 13th amendment to abolish slavery. And, true to much historical evidence, Daniel Day Lewis channels a terrific Lincoln. But how can you draw an accurate portrait of a man that leaves out the center--his journey to faith in a great and sovereign God?

My husband of thirty-six years and I share a love for hospitality, reading and movies, of watching football, and serving God in his church. We are both thinkers more than feelers, strong personalities who enjoy Getting Things Done and closure. In other ways we are not so similar. He loves details and data. I’m the big picture girl. Nowhere he’d rather relax than in the mountains—hunting fishing, hiking. Me, I love museums, conferences, the ballet. But the difference that makes the most difference: He is more the introvert while I am a tiny bit more extroverted. Here are some things we’ve learned to give each other across the great personality divide.

We’re getting into season three of Downton Abbey and I have to admit I’m feeling just a tiny bit let down by the story so far. After I heaped such high praise on the award-winning PBS series in a previous blog, why, I’ve wondered, do I feel this way? Part of it has to do with what every story needs to be a good story. What makes us care about the character? What makes the conflict meaningful? What makes the outcome really move us?

A new year often brings new projects, new classes, new jobs, even new romance. We are hardwired from the factory to long for the next new thing. And yet the joy of the new doesn’t last. The New York Times reports that “newlyweds enjoy a big happiness boost that lasts, on average, for just two years…"

Christmas is a river. Specifically, the St. Lawerence River. Every year, the day after Thanksgiving, I climb in my little Christmas barrel and swing into the current. Home decorating, gift shopping, cooking and baking, company coming, reaching out to those who need it—I ride the accelerating flow of Christmas, occasionally slowing in an eddy of candle light, advent reflection or quiet carols, then back out into the whitewater of mailing gifts, sending cards, airport pick-ups, faster and faster until it’s Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Niagra Falls and we’re over the edge, down the drop…and then…about now…I pop up downstream and think…ok, where was I before Christmas swept me away? Where was I and where do I want to go?

As I scroll through the photographs of the slaughter of the innocents in Newtown, Connecticut I am struck by a recurring theme: parents hugging their children: a Dad on the living room sofa, one boy under each arm. A Mom outside, her arms full of two teenage sons. When life feels suddenly stripped down to the basics we instinctively reach for what truly is most important. It’s a heart-wrenching, but also a helpful reset here at Christmas-time. A reminder to stop the blinding Christmas bustle long enough to focus on what is truly important. I recently asked a number of friends who excel at wrapping words around feelings to answer the question: Of all the Christmases past what are your most beautiful, meaningful memories? The ones you’d like to pull forward to make Christmas more meaningful today? Here is what they said:

Nothing compares to the power of a negative example. Like the demotivational poster of a shipwreck with the caption: “Mistakes: It Could Be That The Purpose of Your Life is Only to Serve as a Warning to Others.” I am not the posterchild for domesticity or homemaking or caregiving.

There was a time in my life when watching TV was a part-time job. When the world of daydreams in my head was far more inviting than the real world of pain and limitation of rheumatoid arthritis. Good thing it was in the days before I owned a computer.

While hurricane Sandy was chugging north off the east coast last Sunday we were headed south, hugging the Appalachian mountains through Virginia then cutting through central North Carolina to our home in Columbia, central South Carolina. Skirting the edge of Sandy’s windfield our experience of the deadly hurricane was limited to overcast skies, winds at 15 miles per hour and passing fleets of utility trucks headed north. On Friday we had spent the day at Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, his stately home engraved on the back of every US nickel. One day before Sandy hit and one week before the election Thomas Jefferson’s world and words spoke profoundly to both national events.

It’s election season in a fallen world and a sagging economy. Our national conversation focuses on discouraging statistics, economic and cultural decline. There’s quite a chorus of voices and images out there railing at the darkness. As followers of Jesus should we join them? What are we prepared to do?

If there is one thing we are learning from Election 2012, it’s that even the “smartest guys in the room” are agonizing over how much to focus their message on empathy or reasoning. Likeability or a robust contention for facts and evidence. In this week’s debate President Obama opted to forego answering Gov. Romney’s questions about his record. Postmodern conventional wisdom tells us that if we want to win others to our point of view we do it with empathy and likeability more than evidence and facts. If you argue the facts, appeal to reason, you can seem angry and unlikable. So appeal to emotions more than reason. Just be nice.

The resounding “thud” of conventional wisdom falling flat was heard from the debate hall to the Twitterverse. Is there a lesson for us as we try to win a hearing for the gospel?

The culture is changing. Fast. Modern to Postmodern. And so is the way we connect with people, whether in politics or ministry. If we want people to trust and follow Mitt, Barak or Jesus it's no longer sufficient, in most cases, to simply present information/truth claims. People. Want. Empathy. What does that mean and how do we deliver?

Princeton theologian Diogenes Allen has said that we are living in the midst of a "massive intellectual revolution" that is perhaps as great as that "which marked off the modern world from the Middle Ages." And it’s changing much faster than ever before and more deeply than we realize.

What do you think…can we choose greatness? Or is it something thrust upon us by circumstances beyond our control? Do we even want to be great? What about being great in God’s Kingdom?

At this year’s Willow Creek Global Leadership Summit author Jim Collins (Good to Great) challenged me more than Condoleeza Rice, Bill Hybels or John Ortberg (which is saying a lot) with a message from his new book, Great by Choice.

I don’t need to read the new research in scientific journals, Newsweek or the New York Times to know that hours of immersion in Facebook, email and web-surfing while keeping an eye on TV news or sports jangles my brain. I feel it. But seeing the dangers of it laid out in black and white moves me to DO something about it. Here’s a quick summary from the July 18, 2012 issue of Newsweek:

It’s summer in the south. Unlike summer in the north, where you can play croquet or putter in the garden, it is HOT. And the heat zaps energy and creativity. I’m sure that is why men from Northern Europe explored the globe. The Arabs and Africans probably thought about if, but after 30 minutes in the blistering heat they gave up trying to build a boat. Time for a siesta.

In the south in mid-July it’s so easy to default into watching TV and web-surfing—whatever requires minimum effort while you’re hibernating in the AC. But after weeks and weeks in the 90’s and triple digits and hours and days of feeling like a sloth on muscle relaxers you have to be inspired by something like Cow Appreciation Day at Chick-Fil-A.

To this day we carry the images of 9-11 in our hearts—planes angling into skyscrapers, fireballs above Manhattan, eruptions at the Pentagon, jumpers choosing sidewalks over flames, ash-covered suits trudging silently through the smoke. In one clear-blue-sky morning our bubble of invincibility popped. And yet…as horrific as it was…we were spared. No Capitol dome crumbling, no white house charred black. America still stands.

For those of us born after WWII, we can hardly imagine not winning. Not standing proud and free. We watch Independence Day the movie and WOW at the walls of flame engulfing the White House, the street canyons of New York City. But it doesn’t compare to the feelings of 9-11. It’s the quick virtual gasp with no real threat or loss. We walk out laughing with friends and grab an ice cream. Not so the broken heart of Psalm 89.

“Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth, in my life, as it is in heaven.” Wouldn't it be a relief to respond to life, to this situation, as joyfully and immediately as the angels in heaven?

Too often, by the time I think to rely on his Spirit, everything is already in flames. How long, Oh Lord, before my natural response, the words that come tripping off my tongue, the subtleties of my body language, the surface tension of my emotional tidal pool, will be quite naturally those of Jesus?

"What will you do in the end?" asks the prophet Jeremiah. Sonny, a young Indian entrepeneur has an answer: "Outsource aging to India!" Where they respect their elders and where, instead of a tiny beige flat, your thirty-year civil service pension can afford life in his luxurious hotel. In this movie seven retirees and widows with different baggage and longings accept the offer and fly off to spend their golden years in India. OK, so it turns out to be a run-down, covered-in-dust and peeling-paint hotel. Photoshopping your brochure works better for Sonny than his guests. A fine cast, including Judy Dench, Bill Nighly, Tim Hathaway, and Maggie Smith and Penelope Wilton from Downton Abbey, shows us what happens to those who choose to work, love and overcome the losses of relocation and aging and those who choose to stay inside and read a book. What will YOU do in the end? Marigold explores several options. (Spoiler Alert)

I was talking with a friend today about contentment. She told me that she was content in some areas of her life. But in other areas she was not…and having long talks with God about it. I could so relate. I remember being in that exact, same place. I am older and further into recovery. And my recent experience with Ann Voskamp’s book, 1000 Gifts: a dare to LIVE FULLY right where you are has further rearranged my ideas about contentment. It’s made me wonder…is God’s idea of contentment the idea of being content in every “area” of our lives? Or is it perhaps a richer, deeper experience and feeling of contentment that is not “area” specific, but rather seems located in a different place entirely?

Before they hung Jesus on the cross, the soldiers offered him a little wine mixed with myrrh--a way to escape the full reality of his pain. Did you ever think seriously about why he refused?

He was supposed to claim his kingdom, throw out the Romans, sit on the throne of his father, David, return Israel to most-favored nation status. Mary was supposed to be highly honored among women. The disciples were supposed to sit on twelve thrones and rule over the twelve tribes of Israel…

But…here he was…flogged and crucified, features swollen and bloodied beyond recognition, Mary broken and weeping, disciples looking on from a distance, the people sobered and watching…the soldiers gambling for his clothes, the chief priests and elders smug and triumphant, mocking, gloating…in just five days high expectations of national and individual dreams turned to blood and dust, abandonment and betrayal. When Jesus acknowledged that he was the Messiah, the people, and especially his disciples, expected him to do what any red-blooded Messiah would do. But God, this is NOT what you promised. Did Jesus even try to manage their expectations?

There’s “sad,” and then there are those times when sorrow seeps down into your soul and collects there into an aching pool of grief. You sleep. You wake up. And for a minute it’s better. Then the drip... drip of pain begins again. After thirty-two years with rheumatoid arthritis I would rather spend a day in significant physical pain than a day in significant emotional pain, although sometimes the two are inextricably linked. When we find ourselves in that kind of pain, how might we find relief?

As James wrote, "The tongue is a fire...full of deadly poison(James 3:6,7)." It’s been a tough week for civil political discourse. Discussions over freedom of religion have degenerated into Rush Limbaugh calling a congressional witness a “slut” and a “prostitute.” Over on CNN Pierce Morgan, with apparently no sense of hypocrisy, has accused Limbaugh of crawling out of a “swamp” and demanded that he “grovel” for an apology. For good measure Bill Maher’s unprintable 2008 comments about Sarah Palin have also come under review. Why is it so hard to keep talk of politics, or any deeply-held differences respectful?

Like it or not, millions of Americans are giving up Downton Abbey for Lent. Or at Lent. The final episode aired Monday. “Keep calm and wait for September” the Facebook icons reassure.

You wouldn’t expect to find such a cool set-must see TV-water cooler buzz-show on PBS, but Masterpiece Theater has struck gold (four Emmys) with its story of Lord and Lady Grantham, their three Jane Austinesque daughters and the downstairs intrigue of butlers, valets, footmen, ladies maids and cooks. What hooks millions of viewers all over the world? A world of daily candlelight dinners, beaded Chanel gowns, side-saddle hunts and Christmas pheasant shoots is rocked by World War I, the explosion of technology (automobiles, electricity, telephones), the rise of modern media and women’s and workers’ rights and a plot laced with secrets, theft, jealousy, midnight rendezvous, dead bodies, romance and a fairly astonishing moral clarity and commitment.