Sacrifice: A Painful Virtue, Part II

As I was reading Works of Love by Kierkegaard (which is AMAZING by the way), I came across a short piece about sacrifice that I thought was great compliment to my last note about sacrifice

God [...] understands love to be a sacrificing love, sacrificing love in the divine sense, love which sacrifices everything in order to make room for God, even if heavy sacrifice were to become still heavier because no one understands it, which in yet another sense belongs to true sacrifice. This sacrifice which is understood by men has its reward in the approval of men and to that extent is no true sacrifice, for a true sacrifice must unconditionally be without reward.

Much love,
Dustin

Sacrifice: A Painful Virtue

Recently, I have been thinking a lot about sacrifice. I mean true sacrifice, the type of sacrifice that costs something-- something real, something significant, something precious. So often I feel as if this idea is thrown around so loosely that the heart of the term is easily ignored. What is this heart? It’s the sacrificial part of sacrifice. The virtue of selfless sacrifice is no small matter, in fact, it’s huge, it’s painful, it’s hard, it’s really hard. To truly give something up, to die a little inside, so that another may life, this I believe is the painful bliss of true sacrifice.

It is easy to get lost in the glorified and virtuous, adventure novel idea of sacrifice. That is, the idea that the act of virtue in itself will be so filled with grace and love that somehow the pain embedded within the act will be a little easier to bear. So often, in my head, I think of sacrifice in terms of taking a bullet for a friend: On a cool and crisp, yet eerily unsettled fall evening, I was walking home with a friend; not far, only two or three blocks. Somehow the air was a little harder to breathe on this night, as if the cosmos knew our fate. Walking past a downtown alleyway that was a little more dark and a little more sinister than usual, I caught the glimpse of evil out of the corner of my eye and without time to react I heard the deafening explosion of a spark upon sulfur. I instinctively, out of love for my dear friend, leaped between him and the lead. The act was timed perfectly, as if it were choreographed in the back lot of a Hollywood studio. The bullet caught my shoulder and lodged abruptly within the marrow of my collar, which remarkably proved itself to be a human shield, blocking what would have been a direct path to the heart of my friend. Certain death. The moment was done, it had happened so fast that I barely had time to realize what had happened. As I was lying on the ground, with blood slowly trickling out of my wound, I caught the eyes of my friend who was in complete and utter shock. At that moment, the pain of my sacrifice seemed insignificant compared to the righteous act, compared to saving the life of my friend. Then I knew, that because of this moment, our friendship will forever be united. I had no regrets, I get up and would do it again.

While looking upon this romanticized account of a hero-like fiction, it may be easy to question something. To wonder if, maybe, if this is how sacrifice really looked, than well...what would be the point? What is a sacrifice if it doesn’t cost you anything, if it wasn’t painful? Could it still be considered sacrifice? Or would it be something altogether different? This is how I believe taking a bullet might really look like: The moment was done, it had happened so fast that I barely had time to realize what happened. As I was lying on the ground, with blood slowly trickling out of my wound, I looked at what was left of what used to be my shoulder and all of a sudden I thought to myself “HOLY CRAP THIS FREAKING HURTS!!!!!SON OF A....... OUCCCCHHHHH!!!!” I then began to let out a booming scream of agony due to the pain, due to the fact that I was really shot, with a real gun, with a real bullet and due to the fact that (as far as I can imagine) getting shot really really, really really really hurts.

For me, it wasn’t until I began to sacrifice things, real things...not just abstract things....that I began to realize what it means to sacrifice. I may have never been shot, but I am beginning to know what it means to give something up for the good of another person, or for the good of a cause that is bigger than myself. I wish that the pain of sacrifice wasn't as real as it is, but I understand the necessity of it. And this fact, the fact of the reality of the pain of sacrifice, really makes the idea of sacrifice that much more remarkable. How much more are we to stand in awe of those who have sacrificed themselves in real-life, in concrete ways...all for the good of another. How much more are we to appreciate the crucifixion of the Son of God....who had real nails driven through his real hands. The remarkable thing is that He didn’t necessarily have to suffer, He could have supernaturally suspended the effects of pain and suffering, He is God, God could do what God wants. But no! He sweated real blood due to his agony, he felt real pain, he suffered, he died, the most imaginably painful of deaths! This is so breathtaking! A love as perfect as this! A sacrifice as selfless as this! Let us not stand in fear of what we might be called to sacrifice! Let us instead rest at nothing, absolutely nothing--no matter the cost, the truly painful cost--to see to it that the Lamb that was slain receive the reward of His suffering!

Fear and Trembling

I just re-read this the other day and remembered how spectacular it was. I hope it is as inspirational to you as it was to me.

-Dustin

Fear and Trembling

by Søren Kierkegaard

When Abraham and Isaac reached the place that God had told him about, Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound Isaac, lit the fire, drew his knife, and thrust it into Isaac! At that moment God stood by Abraham’s side in bodily form and exclaimed: “What have you done? Oh wretched old man! That was not what was asked of you at all. You are my friend, I only wanted to try your faith! I called to you at the last moment. Didn’t you hear me? I cried, “Abraham, Abraham, refrain!” Didn’t you hear my voice?

Then Abraham answered God with a voice that betrayed a half mystic adoration and a half disheveled weakness that belongs to mental derangement: “Oh Lord, I did not hear you. Yet now that you mention it, I seem to remember that I did hear some kind of voice. Oh when it is you, my God, who commands a father to murder his own child, then a man at such a time is under terrible strain. Therefore, I did not hear your voice. And if I had, dared I have believed it was yours? If you commanded me to sacrifice my child, which you did command me to do, and then at the decisive moment a voice is heard saying, ‘Refrain,’ am I not obliged to believe it is the voice of the Tempter that wants to keep me from fulfilling your will? I had journeyed long, and now, when the moment at last had come, I was intent on doing only one thing. My options were: Either I should have assumed from the start that the voice that spoke to me, ‘Sacrifice Isaac,’ was the Tempter’s voice, and then not gone forth as I did, or when I had assured myself that it was indeed your voice from the start, I should have concluded that this other voice, this voice at the decisive moment, was the Tempter’s. It was the latter I chose.”

So Abraham went home, and the Lord gave him a new Isaac. But Abraham did not look upon him with any joy. When he looked on him he shook his head and said, “This is not my Isaac.”

But to Sarah he spoke differently. To her he said: “This is all so very strange. That it was God’s demand that I should offer Isaac is certain, absolutely certain. God himself cannot disavow that. Yet when I took it seriously, it was a mistake on my part. It was, in the end, not God’s will.”

Yet, as we know from the story (Gn. 22), it did not go like this with Abraham. His obedience lies just in the fact that at the very last moment he immediately and unreservedly obeyed as he did. This is amazing. When a person has for a long time been saying “A”, then humanly speaking he is rather bothered at having to say “B.” It is even harder, when one has actually drawn the knife, to be able and willing, with implicit obedience, to recognize that after all no demand is made, that it is not necessary after all to set forth to Mount Moriah with the purpose of sacrificing Isaac. The decision whether to sacrifice one’s only child or to spare him, oh, this is indeed great! Greater still, however, is it to retain, even at the last moment, the obedience, and if I may venture to say so, the agile willingness of an obedient soldier. Such a one, even when he has almost reached his goal, does not mind having to run back again, even if it renders all his running in vain. Oh, this is great! No one was so great in faith as Abraham – who can comprehend him?

Kierkegaard, Søren. “Fear and Trembling.” Provocations: Spiritual Writings of Kierkegaard, Ed. Charles E. Moore. Farmington: Plough Publishing, 1999. 89-90.

"Rich Young Ruler"

"Poverty is so hard to see
When it's only on your TV and twenty miles across town
Where we're all living so good
That we moved out of Jesus' neighborhood
Where he's hungry and not feeling so good
From going through our trash
He says, more than just your cash and coin
I want your time, I want your voice
I want the things you just can't give Me

So what must we do
Here in the west we want to follow you
We speak the language and we keep all the rules
Even a few we made up
Come on and follow Me
But sell your house, sell your SUV
Sell your stocks, sell your security
And give it to the poor
What is this, hey what's the deal
I don't sleep around and I don't steal
I want the things you just can't give Me

Because what you do to the least of these
My brother's, you have done it to Me
Because I want the things you just can't give Me"

-Derek Webb

New Music from the Greatest Band You've Probably Never Heard Of

"Right Before" from Waterdeep's new album Pink and Blue:


So, it may come to no surprise to a lot of people that I am a huge fan of musician Don Chaffer. Best known for he and his wife Lori's band Waterdeep, Don has never failed to blow me away with his unbelievable ability to dig deep into my heart with words that inspire me, knock me down and articulate feelings that I never thought anybody else could relate to. Not only that, but his talent as a producer constantly floors me; I am amazed by the way he weaves loops and sounds through his music so creatively, brilliantly and seamlessly. Anyway, you can see that I am in love with this guy's work...so much so that I just drove 9 hours each way to Oklahoma City just to see Waterdeep (and Derek Webb) in concert. More on that later, but I posted a new song from Waterdeep's brand new album Pink and Blue. I will do all I can to get others hooked on the Chaffers, I hope you enjoy it. You can get their last album (also brilliant) Heart Attack Time Machine for free on Noisetrade.com. Check it out......DO IT!

www.myspace.com/waterdeepmusic
www.waterdeep.com

www.noisetrade.com

The Second Fiddle

You know his name. When he is brought up in conversation, you immediately think of his courageousness, his optimism, and his encouraging story. Through a unprecedented disease, Lou Gehrig became etched upon the heart of America. The legend of the diamond is remembered for having battled on the field and off--through 2,130 consecutive games, and through a terminal illness that eventually bore his name. As his muscles literally squeezed his life out from him, Gehrig stepped under the spotlight, he became an overnight hero--a title that he never claimed to want, a title that he never ordinarily sought.

Today, not many people remember that the Yankee first-baseman never was the star of the team. He had a teammate who gladly basked in stardom. You might have heard of him, his name was Babe Ruth. It took Lou Gehrig’s Disease to make Lou Gehrig a star, but the fact remains that Gehrig had no complaints living in the shadow of the Great Bambino. Gehrig, went out and played everyday, played hard, and played for the success of the team--not for his own personal achievement. Yet, if it wasn’t for this work, the Yankees would had never achieved their greatness. This is a lesson that transcends the ball field; that selfless hard work, done not for the recognition but for the benefit of all, is what truly makes the world go-round.

It is important to remember that there is a need for those who stand on the stage; who act as the voice of motivation to all. The preacher, teacher, activist, and politician are all needed facets of any community. But for every one of these public representatives, there are an army of people behind the scenes repairing and cleaning the old worn out schools, organizing the rallies, managing the finances. For every speech written into the darkest hours of the night, there is someone there to top off a mug of coffee. For every warm meal served to a homeless family on a cold morning, there is a team of unknown but dedicated chefs giving it their all in the kitchen. For every missionary volunteering to give an education to the rural children of a third-world country, there are those back home working overtime to pay a mortgage while still finding a way to donate.

Even in the early Christian church there were those working behind the scenes. Most people will remember the apostles Peter and Paul, who spent their time spreading the gospel through their preaching. But few remember Stephen, the man drafted by the apostles to be the widow-food-distribution-coordinator. Stephen, although overqualified to wait tables, did not consider the job to be below him. Not until his martyrdom was he recognized, but before then he worked hard behind the scenes--doing the unglamorous deeds, the small deeds, the deeds that are quickly forgotten.

It seems as if our culture has developed a distinct notion of what it means to be successful. To be successful is to be famous, to have notoriety, and to be recognized. I contend that the true successful people in the world are those who did not live for themselves, but in every instance lived for the good of others. This may seem like a cliche idea, something that you can hear at any given church, by any given pastor, on any given Sunday. But I believe that there is true power in the cliche--it had to have become cliche for a reason.

There is true need to honor those who spent there lives in the spotlight. There are many who use their notoriety for good. How would this country look if Dr. King didn’t have the eyes of the nation upon him that fateful day in Washington D.C.? How would the world look if Gandhi did not take the opportunity to grab every journalist, photographer, and cameraman he could to record his march to the sea? I also wonder how the world would look like without the scores of people who we don’t know--who’s names are not necessarily forgotten, but were never really known in the first place--who gave their lives to serve, to work hard without recognition.

Without Lou Gehrig the Yankees would have never won as many championships as they did, but it was not until tragedy struck that he transcended into the limelight. As Stephen fell on his knees, being belting with rocks unto his death, he looked up and saw the heavens open up, and Jesus at the right hand of the father--not sitting, but STANDING upright for his faithful disciple. To all of the second fiddles out there, remember that your day in the spotlight will surely come--even if it's not in this lifetime. Nobody shall forget the Lou Gehrigs out there, the Stephens out there. For how would the world look without them?

-Dustin


"You were the best supporting actor
The unforeseen factor
You were the guy who yanked the chains behind the stage
If you had talked a little faster
Maybe dressed in alabaster
You’d have been the hero of the age

Well here’s your day in the sun, Lou
We see it now that you’re done, you
Are the luckiest man on the face of the earth
The luckiest man on the face of the earth

You always played the second fiddle
You were the guy just right of middle
You were the man who drove the car while others slept
If you had flashed a little fancy
Maybe been a little dancy
You’d have been the jewel that they all kept

You were consistently alive
You were the king of the line drive
There was always something about the way you followed through
And in the face of that disease
When the muscles start to squeeze
The life right out of you
When most men shudder at the dread
Here’s this thing you said
‘Bout being the luckiest man on the face of the earth"
-Don Chaffer

The Suffering Church

"There was a time when the church was very powerful -- in the time when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. Whenever the early Christians entered a town, the people in power became disturbed and immediately sought to convict the Christians for being 'disturbers of the peace' and 'outside agitators.' But the Christians pressed on, in the conviction that they were 'a colony of heaven,' called to obey God rather than man. Small in number, they were big in commitment. They were too God-intoxicated to be 'astronomically intimidated.' By their effort and example they brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contests.

Things are different now. So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. So often it is an arch-defender of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church's silent -- and often even vocal -- sanction of things as they are.

But the judgment of God is upon the church as never before. If today's church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. Every day I meet young people whose disappointment with the church has turned into outright disgust."

-Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.