Too Entertained....

Lent is a season of preparation and waiting. If we are faithful to the purpose, we spend 40 days challenging our faith and preparing ourselves for the grief of Good Friday, followed by the joy of the resurrection on Easter Sunday.

This week, the theme of our Lenten journey at my church is “Too Entertained.” Celebrities, video games, movies, television, cell phones, computers – we are inundated with the culture of our times instead of the Jesus culture for all time. We think nothing of missing a Sunday service but wouldn’t dream of missing The Big Game or the latest celebrity gossip. Charlie Sheen is sacrificing his life for drugs and fame and we can’t get enough of it, while we shun Good Friday where Jesus sacrificed his life for our salvation. Too Entertained, indeed.

Technology is a wonderful thing. It has made life easier and safer, and given us extra hours in which to pursue activities purely for pleasure. God does not ask us to give up all earthly pleasures. On the contrary, God gave Adam his helpmate to make his life more pleasurable. Jesus turned water into wine at a wedding party. Time and time again the Bible refers to Jesus spending time with the people who were most important to him.

But when the pursuit of pleasure overtakes everything, it is a detriment to what is real and important in our lives. We have all seen teens walking around the mall, each one frantically tapping away on their cell phone while in the company of their friends, together, but alone, each in their own little electronic reality. They appear mesmerized by the screen they are holding in their hand, to the neglect of the people who are right there in front of their faces. It is sad, I think, that they have lost sight of the flesh and blood friends they are with for the illusion of what isn’t there.

Much like a teenager wrapped up in their cyberlife, I think many of us have substituted entertainment for time with God. I find it oddly disturbing that people can tell me all about the lives of the cast of characters on American Idol, but don’t know the last time they cracked the cover of their Bible or said a meaningful prayer that wasn’t a list of demands. We live next door to people and don’t know their names, but feel like we know total strangers because they are on television. We are distant, removed from the nitty gritty realities of life, instead of focusing on God and his place in our lives.

As I have thought this week about my own personal entertainments, the superficial pleasures available in our modern culture which I put before my faith, it was not hard to come up with any number of ways where I have focused on the profane realm instead of the sacred plane. I realized that for me, being too entertained is not about any particular thing. The problem won’t be solved by eliminating cell phones, or internet, or television, or movies or athletic events or award programs or board games, although that may temporarily remind us that we are focused on a higher goal.

Being Too Entertained is about putting other pursuits ahead of the love of our Lord, and the search for His presence and will in our lives. Dying on a cross is not entertaining, unless you count “The Passion of the Christ.” It is harsh. It is cruel. It makes us uncomfortable to think of Jesus hanging there with nails through his wrists and his feet, his life ebbing away with the blood running from his body, the final words he heard the mocking jeers of a crowd more focused on the entertainment of watching a man die than on the salvation of their own souls. In the act of sacrificing himself for us, that love which passes all understanding built the path to true joy and happiness, both in this life, and in the one to come.

The next time you have a conflict between church and another activity, remember that Jesus died, not to entertain you in an over-budget movie, but to save your soul. He was real, he was human, he felt our pain, and he took it with him into his battle with Satan for our souls. If we faithfully seek that path, eternal joy and satisfaction will be ours.

The world can keep its cheap entertainment. Give me Jesus, and my joy will be for all eternity.

Silent partners....

When my children were young, I harbored the hope that they would be close in adulthood, best friends, even. I dreamed of a world in which they would be happy to turn to each other for love and support, even if I weren't there to encourage it. I imagined them calling each other, visiting each other, interacting entirely independently of my assistance, true friends of the heart.

Turning dreams into reality is a little harder than it looks on the average sitcom.

I started laying the foundation for this Utopian existence before Thing 2 was even born, talking to The Eldest about The Baby, trying to make her real in his head even before he saw her. I knew that if he could bond with her at the beginning, that was a big step in the right direction, and I worked hard to foster that.

Then came the birth. Several weeks early with a fair share of drama, and Adam displaced by the unexpected arrival. That was my first signal that this whole thing was not going to go quite as planned.

By the time The Baby could be taken out in public, she was put on display for Show and Tell. I felt proud. I was already seeing my dream come to fruition - I was A Successful Parent - he was so proud of her, he wanted her to come as his exhibit for all his friends.

Basking in the rosy glow of my early success, it did not occur to me that his desire to show her off might have more to do with the fact that he considered her some sort of odd alien specimen than a thrilling addition to his world. [What can I say? I was still working with a hormone overload and not in my right mind.]

Fast forward a few years, and the shiny new thing is suddenly an annoying toddler who puts everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, in her mouth, and who honestly believes that if she wants it, it's hers. The bloom was off the rose, but I kept reminding the older child how great it would be when they were older. I ignored the skeptical looks he would shoot my way, and clung fast to my vision. I am nothing if not tenacious.

Add a few more years of up close and personal experience, and the wheels came off the wagon altogether.

In our family, we have never used physical force to make our point. Instead, we verbally barrage the subject of our disaffection until they are so overwhelmed with the desire to make it stop capitulation is the only recourse. My children learned at the feet of the Master [me] and started putting that technique to good use early on.

At age three, my lovely little girl, sweet and innocent, one day came running down the stairs, mad as a disturbed hornet over some slight that had occurred between her and her older antagonist, who had bounded down the same stairs just moments before her with a feigned attitude of coy innocence.

Obviously, something was up, and we waited with interest for the other shoe to drop.

As she looked over the railing, the words started tumbling out, "Adam, you are so stu..." She saw parental interference on the horizon, since we were sitting there watching this little drama play out, and changed her word to, "...pendous." No one was fooled. Although, in truth, we did laugh, and it's become a classic family story.

That was the warning shot across the bough of the family ship.

To be fair, my children did get along pretty well most of the time. In fact, they were closer than most siblings, probably, and the true fighting was not a regular occurrence in our household. But occasionally, we would skid into a period where they simply could not be in the same location without lashing out at each other.

The flash point of their mutual existence occurred every morning at 7 a.m., when the youngest child would practice piano, while the oldest child was trying to get a couple more minutes of sleep. [We are still dealing with the fallout of that bitter experience.] It would start every day with a blast, and we would go downhill from there.

I would tolerate their guerrilla warfare for as long as I could, then I would be forced to step in. The simple question, "Do we need to have A Talk?" could usually stave off the inevitable for weeks, if not months. But eventually, the simmer would come to a boil, and the process would be set in motion.

It always started with me yelling at them [by which I mean, I spoke more quietly than usual, we are not yellers in our family, and through gritted teeth,] "Okay, that's ENOUGH. GO TO YOUR ROOMS."

This was the beginning of a little game I like to call keep-away, where I would separate them, at which point, the one thing they craved more than anything else was to be together. I would hear them upstairs, quietly closing their doors, knowing that they would go through the adjoining bathroom and before long, they would end up in one room or the other. Together. Probably plotting against me.

After awhile, I would ask if they were ready to come out. They would delay as long as possible, but eventually, they would have to eat, if nothing else. So out they would come, each through their own door, pretending they hadn't already been in conference the entire time.

If they had worked things out between themselves, it would be a quick and easy resolution, and we would all go on our merry way.

Occasionally, though, they would still be angry with each other. Then it was time to pull out the big guns in my parental arsenal, The Apology, followed by The Talk. You have no idea the power of those words, until you put them into action yourself.

I have always taught my children that you apologize, even if you don't really, really mean it, because it's the only way to move forward. Eventually you will be sorry anyway, so you might as well apologize up front, and then it's out of the way.

My children, not surprisingly, have never really agreed with this strategy. [I can't wait until they have children of their own. I will bring popcorn and cheer for the kids.] Sometimes they would even throw caution totally to the wind and argue about the insincerity of it all. Eventually they realized that the more they argued, the longer they would be sitting there. Thus, they would ultimately find themselves apologizing, whether they meant it or not.

You don't just say a terse "I'm sorry," however, at least not if you belong to me. You are required to identify what, exactly, it is that you did wrong, and to apologize specifically for that action.

Neither are you allowed to issue disclaimers such as, "I'm sorry IF...," or "I'm sorry BUT...." That is not actually an apology, and it's not accepted.

After the apology, we go one step further. The other person is required to formally accept the apology, even if that isn't meant, either. I believe my line in the production was usually, "If an apology has been offered, you are required to accept it at face value." This is another step which frequently resulted in resentful argument, as they debated the merits of the apology, and howled out their disapproval of the insincerity of it all.

The lesson I was trying to teach them is that, in the end, the apology is offered, not for the person you have wronged, but for the sake of your own soul. Even if you don't mean it at the moment it is said, you are still forced to identify your wrongdoing, and ultimately, you will realize that you were wrong and will own it.

Forgiveness works the same way. You are not really forgiving them for their sake - they will go on just fine without it, if necessary - but by holding onto the resentment, you are hurting yourself.

My attitude was that you might as well just get it over with, because eventually you will be sorry and forgive, anyway. My way, it's already taken care of, and you can just move on. You will have to talk to them if you want their point of view. Trust me, if you know my kids, they have a point of view. And they will be happy to share it with you. Just ask them.

Having dispensed with the formalities, we would then proceed to the next step, which was Mom [me] lecturing on the importance of each to the other. I would wax poetic about the relationship they could have when I wasn't here with them any more. I would draw verbal portraits of the special love they would feel, each for the other, and how much it would mean to them somewhere down the line when they didn't hate each other any more. I could go on for hours, if necessary, and usually gauged my endpoint by the speed with which their eyes glazed over.

They quickly learned that by keeping quiet, they could shorten the process considerably. So dead silence would ensue in a silent collaboration until they could get away from the living room chair where they were planted, and peace would reign once more.

The road has been long, but I think we are approaching the fulfillment of the fantasy, and I find that my vision is, indeed, coming to pass. My children have a deep and thoughtful love for each other, in spite of their many differences, and they crave the kind of interaction they can only find with one another. I don't know whether those hours of sitting in the living room, each in his/her own chair, listening to someone older and wiser pontificating about the importance of their relationship actually made a difference or not. But I know that I will never regret trying.

The outcome is life changing, not for me, but for them. They are a gift to each other, and I don't regret a moment of the fantasy I hatched for them, however far away it may have appeared at times to the protagonists of the piece. They will write their own story now, and I think it will be a captivating tale.

Parenting is a crap shoot. But there is no better feeling than when you get a win.