My takeaway from the Super Bowl this Sunday had nothing to do with football.  I wish I would have timed the game, because I think I watched more commercials than football.  I doubt many would claim this year’s crop of very expensive ads to be the best Madison Avenue has produced. I found them particularly offensive.

To be honest, I was already raw from listening to a “Talk of the Nation“ radio show on the topic of the economic reversal of the “benefit” of marriage.  According to the latest statistics, women are not only more highly educated than men, but also are beginning to earn higher wages as well.  For my part, I am glad women are being paid in accordance to their experience and education.  I am old enough to remember that this was not always the case. 

However, as I listened to the discussion between the female columnist and the male clinical psychologist regarding the abilities of “stay-at-home dads,” I became infuriated.  I personally know several stay-at-home dads.  They are smart, some are very well educated and all work very hard at home.  They are not beer belly, t-shirt wearing barbarians nor are they effeminate metrosexuals.  (I also know several who fall into those two categories, but in my mind the former is not worthy of the being called a leech, the latter not worthy to be named a man.)  According to the two “experts” on the radio, men need to be patronized because they may not cook as well as their spouse, and “men may send their daughters to school with three pony tails and unmatched clothes” but “that’s ok, they just do housework a little different and working women should allow their stay-at-home men freedom to do it their way.” Gag me with a spoon! [Smile stop]

First of all, men are not girls (duh!) and it is horribly damaging when women try to make them so (double duh!).  I have two beautiful daughters.  I learned to help them with their hair, but to this day I have no idea how to braid or to place more than one crooked pony tail.  I don’t need to.  I married a girl who took the time to teach my girls how to do “girl stuff.”  Secondly, men can cook and since many moms were working in the Seventies and Eighties, many men can cook far better than their spouses because they had to learn how to feed themselves as children.  Men who don’t know, can and should, learn.  Start with the barbeque brothers! [Smile stop] 

I have a lot more to say, but am beginning to border on a rant, so I will stop here and let these five million dollars worth of commercials say the rest.  I am going to go puke.

This summer I have scheduled a trip back to Oregon.  Amongst visiting family and enjoying the stunning landscapes, I will be reconnecting with people I have not really seen in twenty to twenty-five years.  These people knew me before I grew up; as I was attempting to grow up.  It is frightening.  My only solace is in the self-deception that the memory of my classmates is not as vivid as mine.

The source of my chagrin is the reality that I did not grow up completely yielded to the will and power of the Savior I confessed.  I displayed attitudes, committed acts, and spoke words I regret.

Jesus did not have this fear.  He grew up yielded to the Father and without the burden of regrets.  We would think that those who knew him, who watched him make the journey from boy to man would have been so impressed that they would only speak of him in hushed and reverent tones.

When Jesus took his rightful place as authoritative Teacher, kind words of “church” people turned quickly to murderous action.  Jesus left his hometown and shared the grace to come with those who did not know him well.

The truth of Jesus’ love for both those who knew him and violently rejected him and those who just met him and immediately followed him will be the topic for consideration this week at Main Street.

When someone says,”I love you” it is decision time, isn’t it?  Do you remember the first time you uttered those words to someone who wasn’t your mother?  Did you mean it? Did you understand what you meant? 

In the days when I was young and Neanderthal still walked the face of the planet, children exchanged Valentine cards with only children they liked.  At least that is how the “popular” kids played the game.  The rest of the group gave Valentines to everyone hoping against hope that someone “important” would give them a Valentine in return.  Every so often someone was surprised by a welcomed secret admirer.  What bliss to be paid attention by a perceived superior.  Bragging rites belonged to the one who received something more than “From: Jane” etched in pencil.  Hearts would soar and dreams suddenly bore the promise of reality with those three little words.

I remember the first time I told a girl I loved her.  I was at a party with my girlfriend, my best friend and his girlfriend.  He and I were talking sports and the girls bounced up, looked us straight in the eyes and said the magical phrase.  I was stunned, but managed to utter the appropriate reply without too disappointing a pause.  My much wiser friend kept his mouth shut.  The girls giggled, whispered into each other’s ears and ran off to join a larger group.

“What were you thinking?” my friend growled.  “You don’t tell a girl you love her unless you mean it.”

I did mean it, sort of. I at least meant it now that my buddy thought I was an idiot.  I wasn’t about to admit that I had not thought my response through or was in any way giddy that a girl said she loved me.  I couldn’t admit that level of uncool.   The internal conflict raged between the recognition that I really did not know what I was getting myself into, and the primordial desire to be loved by a girl.

Decades are now passed since that day and I am still learning to love.  For many love is some sort of chemical reaction, a biological response.  For others love is a philosophical commitment, a choice of will.  Others don’t believe such a thing even exists.  For me love is the basis of all I know.  Love is my only hope and being loved is my only salvation.

Who this love is and how this love is, will be the occupation of my friends at Main Street this month.

What are you wrapped up in?  A television show, a sports season, a job, a relationship, a house, a hobby?  What empowers you to face the difficulty of the day and to look forward to the promise of tomorrow?  When life’s accomplishments lay in ruin around your feet or when the bent of your mind is descending ever lower, what is your remedy?

Ever try the “snuggie” of praise? 

I have long struggled with what the medical profession refers to as “depression.”  My particular condition is a mixture of personality predisposition and chemical imbalances in my blood (and probably brain).  I range from feeling “blue” to dealing with irrational and unwanted thoughts/plans of suicide.  I am fortunate in that I have yet to need medication to survive. 

It is my deep belief that the remedy taught to me in song by my mother decades ago is crucial to overcoming days when I just want to crawl in a hole and stay there.  It has been my experience that when those days come when I cannot face what it means to be alive, my willful response to vocally honor God for who he is, what he is doing, and for his grace to me, throws off the “spirit of faintness.” The fulfillment of this promise exceeds beating the press of the day.  The donning of the “garment of praise” guarantees the wearer oak-like strength to the glory of the God who plants such trees.

…To grant those who mourn in Zion–to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes…the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified.  (Isaiah 61.3, ESV)

Try it, this wrap up will be far more satisfying than any you have tried before. This praise dynamic is time-tested and proved to work across ages and cultures.

I have noticed on these cold winter days, the brave few who need tobacco often partake in groups.  It is a rarer sight to see someone shivering alone.  It seems like even the rugged individual instinctively knows some things are better shared. 

Yes, most would agree, “relationships are important.”  What we agree about and what we do in this present world are most often two markedly different things.  We know we are pre-wired for relationships, yet we exert very little effort to make and maintain healthy connections.  We yearn in our hearts for someone to really know us while simultaneously erecting protective barriers against just such knowledge.

We have substituted, “How are you?” “Fine, thank you. And you?”  for substantive conversation. We have exchanged the group party for the challenge of a few intimates.  We have proxied the difficulty of face to face entanglement to the offerings of television drama.  

Jesus’ petition for his disciples, “I pray that they will all be one, just as you and I are one–as you are in me, Father, and I am in you.  And may they be in us so that the world will believe you sent me” (John 17.21, NLT) seems to us to be just as remote a reality as heaven. 

Do you have a group of people who would brave the slice of the North wind for no other reason than to suffer with you?

We need to regain the power of relationship-based living.  First a reconnection with God through his son, Jesus.  Then a real reconnection with others in our lives, family first.  Since each one of us operate from some level of relational brokenness, it will be difficult.  There will need to be a lot of forgiveness extended and received.  I believe the only way for us to be whole is to do so in community, no matter what the Marlboro man says.

One of my favorite book titles in the ’90s was Bill Hybel’s, Descending Into Greatness.  What a great challenge! More than that, what a deep truth.  A mark of distinction within Christianity is the call to become less; to live in such a way as to magnify the One we are supposed to follow.

The call to take the “lower chair” in order to honor someone else is not only counterintuitive, but, dare I say, contra-human.  Our culture professes to want everyone to win, to make all things egalitarian but still practices the “survival of the fittest” mantra we adopted in the nineteenth century.  The only time we value equality is when the ease of mediocrity outweighs the need for excellence.

The man referred to as “John the Baptist” was an extraordinary individual.  John’s way of life testified to complete clarity regarding his purpose and passion as a human being and as a creation of the God he served.  John did not allow the opinions of others to dissuade him from performing his life’s work and nor did John countenance the temptation to be jealous of his cousin’s growing popularity.

Because John’s earthly story ends with beheading, we have oft forgotten the power of his life.  It is life worth talking about and seeking emulate.

My friends at Main Street will be doing so this week.