We may have colored it with a sepia tone. Something that is too ancient to speak now. Or, perhaps, we understand the shocking nature of Jesus’ protection of the “adultress” but we preserved it in formaldehyde as a beautiful but dead thing. 

Roger Wagner insists on its present-ness. Note the phones capturing the pain as detached and compassionless. Each device could be used to call for help, instead they document. There is a man in the back. He is poised to pronounce judgment. And the stones around this woman, this sobbing woman, show that she may have already been hit. Guns point from the bottom of the frame. A camera man records the event for some local news. 

Jesus has taken the leaders’ eyes towards something indecipherable in the dirt. Is he writing out their sins? Is he suggesting our common human humility (“dust to dust”). Or, is he becoming more vulnerable and more of an object of attention to the woman to distract evil from its bait. 

Outside the frame, the story goes on.  We know that he will do more than distract evil and do far more than protect this woman (and you and I). But here, just for a moment, we are faced with the present-ness of such pain and rescue. 

Observations at the Midpoint

I have, I fear, become a cliche. At 38 I built a half pipe in my garage. It started as a wife’s concession, but each year it grew. It now stretches from one wall to the other, becoming the garage itself. Over that same time tattoos began sprawling over my arms. Two now live on my legs, one I even did myself at 39. In my twenties, lightweight with skin that hadn’t creased, it was easy to chuckle at the middle-aged man with his new Camaro–a hopeless explorer, trying to find his way back to youth. Now though, at least at a distance, it seems I am that man.

The term “Mid Life Crisis” was first used by the Canadian psychologist Elliot Jacques. He sought something to describe the hemming in of life, the restriction of possibility and the urge to rage against this closing. It may, or may not be a midlife crisis that built the ramp and etched the tattoos up and down my arms. It could be that I just happen to like skateboarding and Sailor Jerry. If you’re skilled at long-distance psychoanalysis, please send me a note. Regardless, I am starting to feel what Jacques described. A recent blood test revealed high cholesterol. As I write my lower back is whispering a new and faint ache. And, I did the math; 20 years ago was 2004 and I was 22. 20 years from now, in 2044, I’ll be 62. My daughter will be 33. My son will be 30. They may have their own children, making me a grandfather. These next 20 years will be a firecracker fuse and, at the same time, the imperceptible movement of the sun towards dusk.

Nostalgia is the midlife crises close cousin. It reaches backwards into a filtered vision of the past. It is stretching to grab a gold coin from a fountain, only to find it becomes copper at first touch. Reaching forward offers more functionality. Secure the financial picture. Achieve legacy, as best as one can. Write a will, just in case. Ask the question “What do I want in ten years” and make the corresponding plan. All things to attend to certainly, but there is a trap there too. The one living in his plans becomes oblivious to the present.

At a life transition, before moving to Tacoma and planting Anchor, a friend told me “In your twenties you try and fail. In your thirties you should find a place to put some roots down, but don’t expect much from your thirties. It’s your forties that offer some fruit. Think of it as the first bit of a harvest. Your fifties, if you stay planted, offer a harvest. Your sixties, if all goes right, you have enough to give to every twenty and thirty year old you know, telling them how you got it all.” He didn’t mean it as a financial parable. He was thinking widely–the practical insights learned in a career, raising children, and the wisdom found over decades of spiritual formation. A thousand things can go right or wrong in a life, making simple statements less plausible, but I believe my friend was, more or less, right. 

I told my wife when I started skateboarding that I wouldn’t have that long to really try it.  Age would take it away. That was four years ago. Over the last few months, I’ve started skateboarding a bit less. I’ve started running again, an old habit, because of the cholesterol mostly. My daughter, now thirteen, is reading Lord of the Rings next to me as I write this. She shares quotes with me–things she assessed as “well-written,” a welcome interruption. My son is sleeping still, but last night at a pause in our wrestling, I noticed light hair above his lip. Soon I will go to an office that is also a church building. Today I will talk about budget assumptions and staffing plans. Between meetings I will pace around my office. I will look out my window. Last  Sunday, I prayed with a man that I hadn’t met before. He told me secrets. Things he feared about the future and things that made him weep. I hugged him. Looking out the window, I am thinking of him. Later, I will go home. My wife’s words will tiptoe with mine, and dash, and then in certain moments rush in. Our eyes will squint knowingly. We have forged our way through deserts and shadow lands. The squint between the words tells secrets that only we know. We will sleep and dream things that we will mostly forget. 

I do not need to go back to a locked youth. I do not need a future, now. The real mid-life crisis is getting stoned on the past or lost in projections. The goal is to not miss the pain of aging–a day at a time–in the present. It is a beautiful and horrible,  sacred pain. Your life is not what it once was and it is not what it will be, it is only now. But, look around, see the reading daughter, the chuckling son with an infant mustache, the knowing look of scarred love, try not to tremble at it all, try not to be thankful, if truly seen, it will prove impossible. 

Two instagram accounts this week. ThePianism catalogues the best pianists of all time in a daily dose. Everyone from Nat King Cole to Oscar Levant (I have no idea who that is) will be popping up in your feed, which (let’s be honest) will be such a reprieve from another cliche IG post. On the left is TreeCraftDesignBuild. Are tree houses boyish dreams with grown man paychecks? Maybe. Are they fun? Absolutely. Give it a look.

What do you do when people you love are fighting?  - Zoey (13)

The first thing that comes to mind, my dear, is how this is a position that God finds himself in everyday. Think of the war in Gaza. Two ethnic and religious groups clashing against one another, even as they both see Abraham as their father. God, my dear, grieves. In fact, any time a person is at war with another–on the global or local level–God grieves. I know, however, that this way of looking at it may feel remote or abstract, but it is very important to think about common challenges through the lens of scripture, and even more God’s own eyes. 

But, more practically, you are asking about how you might become a peacemaker. A peacemaker tries to help the parties that are in conflict understand each other’s position. This is difficult and draining work. If the parties are angry they won’t see things clearly. So, it is best to take on the role of a listener. Listen to each person and, when the time is right, offer sympathy (“That sounds hard”) and a question (“Why do you think the other person is frustrated?”). If each person’s anger has had the chance to calm down, your listening and questions may allow each party to begin to truly see each other. The verb “see” is important. Do you remember how Jesus talks about getting the log out of your eye before you critique another person? (Matthew 7:5). When you listen and ask questions you’re becoming a spiritual physician and helping to extract the infected and blinding beam from someone’s vision so they can see and understand the other person. This is hard and exhausting work, so you’ll have to rely on more than your own strength. Ask the Holy Spirit to make you a peaceful presence. Holy Spirit, make and form Zoey into a gentle restorer (Galatians 6:1).

The Weird and Beautiful and Ever Relevant Bible

• Andrew Huberman discusses his belief in God, and not the vague mooshy God of a self-styled consumer spirituality, but a creator God that is found in the Bible. In fact, Andrew Huberman, this platformed podcasting Stanford Neuroscientist, is convinced anyone that looks at (really looks at) and studies (really studies) the brain will be in awe. For him, this awe led him to the belief in a God. 

• The Pulitzer Prize winning author of aching and luminescent prose, Marilynne Robinson has always written frankly about her faith. But, in her newest venture, she goes right to the source. Robinson’s Genesis sounds like an inviting and wonderful read. I will no doubt be picking up a copy. Give her conversation with Ezra Klein a listen. Klein confesses an ambivalent relationship with scripture but discovers, through Robinson, its surprising and irresistible beauty. 

• Jordan Peterson, known for his tears, controversial confrontations with progressivism, and (increasingly) weird outfits, offers a fascinating treatment of scripture through a Jungian lens. 

What is to be made of this bubbling up of interest in this ever ancient and ever relevant book? Could it be a sign of the tide returning an interest in scripture? Has the purpose crisis opened a window for purpose to be discovered in Christ? Justin Brierly thinks so, but I guess we will see.