1) Stayed in a resort hotel (since I was 16) [Full-service everything from suspiciously happy and contented staff.]

2) Not cooked for myself for two full weeks (since I was 21) [So delicious! So disorienting!]

3) Done “Happy Hour” (ever) [Having discovered Happy Hour, I did it as much as possible. It’s rare my wallet and my taste buds agree on anything.]

4) Gone snorkeling (ever) [Swim with the fishes, the coral, and one super huge mutant lobster]

5) Gone in the water (since I was 16) or in the ocean (since I was 12) [Waves make everyone play like they’re ten again.]

6) Sat in a beach chair for more than an hour (ever) [How did I ever not experience this gloriousness before?]

7) Had a manager give me free drinks (ever) [It must have been my wife’s charming conversation.]

8) Seen a monkey in the wild (ever) [See number 9 for more details]

9) Fended off a monkey trying to steal my backpack (ever) [Monkeys are dangerously adorable. This would become a theme of the month.]

10) Watched a brain damaged anteater from a few feet away. (ever) [At the Jaguar Rescue Center. (It was not food for the jaguars)]

11) Traveled for vacation to a non-relatives house (since I was 25) [Yup, we’re that exciting]

12) Traveled to a foreign country for vacation where I did not speak the primary language (ever) [my tourist Spanish is great now!]

13) Used a taxi more than once in a day (ever) [Do not drive in Costa Rica. It’s pura vida all the time, except when in a car. Then they all drive like their hair is on fire. Or they live in New Jersey.]

14) Been offered weed (ever) [I refused, of course. I wasn’t *that* much on vacation.]

15) Watched a full sporting event on ESPN Deportes (ever) [The Golden State Warriors play beautiful basketball in any language, although, if you close your eyes, it sounds just like soccer. ‘Steph Curry….TRIPLEEEE!]

16) Run barefoot on the beach (ever) [So beautiful you don’t notice how much more your legs are complaining]

17) Drank a pina colada (ever) [See 3. It was one of many new drinks this last month.]

18) Fed monkeys with owner of the hotel I was staying at (ever) [They love plantanos and will take them right out of your hand! Eee! It’s so cute!]

19) Engaged in stare down with monkey, which I won (ever) [The one who has the plantanos makes the rules.]

20) Saw the Pacific Ocean (ever) [From a mountain vista about twelve miles away. Yes, it was that gorgeous. #winningatvacation]

21) Ziplined (ever) [Think rollercoaster in the forest.]

22) Did the Tarzan swing (ever) [While screaming, ‘This is the best swing EVER!’ and also ‘Ooeeeoooeeooooo!’]

23) Walked through the canopy of a cloud forest (ever) [Beautiful. (And exciting every time the bridge swung back and forth in the breeze.)]

24) Been to a hummingbird garden (ever) [Some of those suckers are as big as robins! They were entrancing and terrifying.]

25) Gone to a Quaker meeting (ever) [This group of Quakers is pretty awesome. They also hold silence better than any group I’ve ever met.]

26) Gone a night walk in a cloud forest (ever) [And saw a sidestripe pit viper from two feet away! And a toucan! And a bird of paradise!]

27) Played fetch with a dog using a plantain (ever) [The plantain lasted about as long as you think it would.]

28) Saw a sloth on the grounds of our hotel (ever) [I swear they pose for pictures.]

29) Got a moving truck stuck on a beach (ever) [And discovered that islanders are congenitally helpful people. Some of them even have old pickup trucks with Samson-like towing capacity.]

30) Moved to an island (ever) [From Costa Rica to a Maine island in July? Best summer ever!]

This is my opening reflection from the April edition of my newsletter.  To read more from the newsletter, including a sidebar by Melissa and a section entitled “Why Your Church Might Be the Ninth Circle of Introvert Hell”, click here to subscribe.

Like all writers, I miss deadlines.

The deadline for this newsletter, for instance.

It was supposed to go out two weeks ago, right after Holy Week. Being a church musician insulated me from the insane ecclesial marathon that every pastor experiences during the days before Easter, so I figured that, after a good day off, I could bounce back up and be ready to go.

However, by the middle of Tuesday morning, I experienced an overwhelming wave of exhaustion that was not in accordance with the amount of coffee I had drunk just an hour before. I went home, laid down, and barely got out of bed until Friday.

I suffer from chronic illness (CFS) and manage it without a problem most of the time. However, when I burn the candle at both ends for a little too long, (or sometimes for no reason at all),, my body simply shuts off, and I have no choice but to stop and wait for the lights to come back on.

This is not the story I’m supposed to tell you if I want you to pay attention to me.

Our culture worships the people who manage to grab life by the throat and squeeze it until it gives them what they want. We buy their books, watch their videos, and share their nuggets of wisdom with our friends.We listen to their strategies, their stories, and their advice as if it came from the mouth of God.

On occasion, I’ve had a chance to get to know a few of those experts. I’ve discovered that when you pull back the curtain, they still have persistent struggles, make bad mistakes, and possess blind spots. They are just as human as the rest of us, even when we try to make them much more.

Rather than worshiping their strength, perhaps we should find the gift hidden in our own weakness.

This has been true for me. While I wouldn’t wish my illness on anyone, (let alone the nine year old boy I was diagnosed), I’ve been blessed through it.

Because I lost many of my friends and the respect of many of my teachers, I have an instinctive compassion and sensitivity for those who are dismissed or marginalized.

Because I was no longer able to do athletics, I read a lot, and so gained a college level vocabulary before I turned thirteen.

Because I often wasn’t able to read, I listened to audiobooks, and so gained a deep appreciation for the beauty of the spoken word.

Because of my simple lack of physical endurance, I’ve been forced to accept my limits, pace myself, and remember that life is a marathon and not a sprint. (This is a lesson I never would have learned otherwise as an entrepreneurial, Type-A personality.)

My weakness has been my strength and, at least in my very good moments, I remember that these long-term limitations on my health are not just a problem to be managed or an obstacle to be conquered, but a gift to be received.

An ancient writer once said, “Power is made perfect in weakness.”

Here’s hoping you find the power in your weakness as well.

This is the opening reflection of my inaugural “A Glorious Mess” newsletter, which will be coming out next week. Click here to subscribe. In addition to monthly reflections, you’ll get to read other newsletter-exclusive content, include a sidebar by Melissa and a section entitled “Ben’s Id.” Enjoy!

I remember the Vine’s third worship gathering.

We asked people to bring pictures of five different places in the city. We asked them to share where each picture was taken and what could be done at each place to love it like God did.

Genius, right?

We thought so.

Nearly twenty people packed themselves into our living room, bringing their images and ideas with them.

We sang a couple songs. We prayed. We read scripture.

And then, a meeting broke out in the middle of our worship gathering.

Somehow, each person’s picture morphed into a project presentation. As the presentations stretched out, often to ten or fifteen minutes each, people began to punctuate their responses with such spiritual questions as “Who’s taking notes?” and “So who’s taking responsibility for this one?”,

About an hour in, someone said they were hungry. Another added that they needed to pee.

We ended up taking a fifteen minute bathroom break in the middle of worship.

An hour and a half after that, we limped our way to the end of the most business-like worship gathering I’ve ever led. One of our friends, who was coming to worship for the first time, said, with unbelievable grace and tact, “You have a very unique community.”

The final person left and I closed the door, leaning on it slightly.

I turned to my wife. “Well, that didn’t work.”

If you’re reading this e-mail, then you’ve failed at something, probably fairly recently.

Perhaps it’s your New Year’s Resolutions, which are now expiring peaceably in a corner.

Perhaps it’s a mistake you made at work, where a decision didn’t work out as well as you intended.

Perhaps it’s a conflict with a friend, where you’re sure it’s not your fault but you’re also secretly sure there was a more graceful way to handle it.

Failure is an unavoidable part of being human and having a pulse.

So, if failure is inevitable, just make sure that you fail in the right direction.

Here’s what I mean:

After that worship gathering, I chose to fail forward.

I intentionally designed moments for community response in ways that wouldn’t take two hours to complete.

I stepped into my authority as a leader when other folks unwittingly tried to hijack our group process.

I learned that mess was a larger than normal part of a community that worshipped in our shoebox living room and sometimes I just needed to relax.

As a result, I became a better leader and a better person.

What would it look like for you to fail forward this coming month?

Not to deny,

Not to rationalize,

Not to curl up into a small ball of deliciously paralyzing guilt,

But to name your failure and then make sure that you fail in the right direction?

After all, failure is one of the most reliable ways to grow.

Here’s to a month of failing forward – for you and for me.

Here’s a story I’m telling this Sunday, (before I removed the profanity for the sake of all the good church people.) Enjoy!

Seth had life figured out.

If most people traveled through existence with the serenity and grace of a slightly drunken tightrope walker before their first high wire act, then Seth was the person who could casually tap dance on that same wire while singing show tunes and looking condescendingly at the audience below.

Seth had immaculate to-do lists.
He had immaculate to-do lists about his to-do lists.
He had work priorities, life priorities, and spiritual priorities, all printed in bold ink and framed on the walls of his house.
He was six years into a fifty year personal strategic plan for his life and so far, everything was going according to schedule.

In short, he had not only managed to tame that great beast called Life, he had wrestled it to the ground and beat the living shit out of it.

He sat at the breakfast nook, cup of freshly ground coffee in his hand, eating an orange and some cottage cheese while he contemplated the pristine order that was his life.

It was all about balance.

His pastor agreed with him. She had even preached about it. Balance, she said, was the key to a good life. You take your health: your emotional health, your mental health, your physical health, your spiritual health , you tend to them all, not letting any of them take up too much or too little of your time, and, like magic, everything will just come into focus.

While Seth was not sure exactly where Jesus had said that, it sounded like the mature, rational, reasonable sort of teaching that he would have expected from someone as well-developed as the Son of God.

He leaned back and smiled.

Seth had discovered that there were few genuinely well-balanced people in the world.

He was proud to be one of them.

And it was then, as he raised his cup to take a self-satisfied sip, that Jesus walked into his kitchen.

Seth nearly choked, spurting coffee back into his mug, which was emblazoned with the slogan, “Winning At Life (And At Coffee)”.

Jesus walked over to Seth’s coffee pot and poured himself a mug.

Seth was a rational person. He was normally suspicious of bearded men, dressed like they had just fled the set of Lawrence of Arabia, who strode into his kitchen unannounced to drink his coffee. However, if the beard and undoubtedly outdated wardrobe hadn’t been a giveaway, the bright levitating halo and the fact this man was glowing like an overenthusiastic Christmas tree definitely clinched it.

Sometimes, you just knew.

Seth found himself annoyed. He had expected that the Son of God would at least have the forethought to call ahead before he appeared.

Jesus walked over to the kitchen table and sat down across from Seth, mug clasped between both hands.

There was a moment of silence.

“Well?” said Seth, impatiently.

“Well what?”

“Why are you here?…uh, my Lord.”

“Well Seth,” Jesus said, taking a sip of his coffee, “I’m here to fuck up your life.”

…lead a full day retreat for thirty or so people

…reformat the music program at my job

…buy and install a carpet

…install a new pane of glass

…clean up our entire house

….write and give a two hour presentation on new forms of church

….facilitate a conversation about a co-op newspaper for a city-wide visioning meeting

which means that I will not….be writing any new exciting blog posts.

See you on the other side of the crazy.

I am moving.

I didn’t see this coming a year ago.

We had just bought a house, a house big enough to grow into, one that fit the size of the dreams we had for our life in this city.

I thought we had turned the corner with the Vine and that the next season of our lives was going to involve settling down and raising a family.

I thought my time in Haverhill would be measured in decades, not in months.

However, life does not fit with my best-intentioned prognostications. As the dust settled from the Vine’s unexpected ending and we assessed our options, we realized that, if there was a time to make a change, this was a good one. After talking with family and a few close friends, after a lot of prayer and thought, we realized that God is calling us to live in Portland, ME for the next season of our lives.

I’m excited. Portland fits us. We can be close to our family, we can reconnect with childhood friends, we can become part of a good faith community, and put down roots in a genuinely exciting place to live.

I’m also grieving.

I will miss this city.

Haverhill has become home to me. I’ve grown to love how much it feels like a small town, even though it has 60,000 people. I love its deep history, stretching back to far before the Revolutionary War.  I’ve grown to love its people, a quirky mix of ages, cultures, and ideologies that have constantly pushed me out of my own relational and political enclaves. I’ve grown to love living in a community that is genuinely turning the corner, knowing that I had a (very) small part of making that happen.

I’ve grown to love the people of this city: the growing group community-minded residents who volunteer selflessly; those incredibly courageous people who make life work in difficult neighborhoods and unfair life circumstances; those business owners I’ve met who really believe that part of their job is blessing the people they’ll miss. I’ll miss the incredible youth I’ve taught, (yes, Charlotte and Montserrat, that’s you!) who amaze me with their creativity, compassion, and joy. Every time we share with someone our plans to move and they threaten to burn down our house so we can’t go, (jokingly, right?) or say, “You don’t need to go to be closer to family, you have family here!”, or start tearing up, I ask myself again, “Do we really have to leave?”

And every time, I discover that the answer is: yes.

A yes that comes with tears, but a yes, nonetheless.

I hope that my grief means that I did something right: that in the midst of the mess that was my journey in this place, that in the midst of all my mistakes, naive assumptions, and dreams that went sideways, I somehow blundered (at least a little bit) into sharing the love that God has for this city as well.

To all of you who will be a part of my journey in Portland, I can’t wait to meet you.

And: to all of you who have been a part of my journey in Haverhill, thank you, thank you, thank you.

“If there be evildoers in the Pentagon or on Wall Street or in prosecutors’ offices…that is not as morally significant as the occupation of these same and similar premises by people who have become captive and immobilized as human beings by their habitual obeisance to institutions or other principalities as idols. These are persons who have become so entrapped in tradition, or, often mere routine, who are so fascinated by institutional machinations, who are so much in bondage to the cause of preserving the principality oblivious to the consequences the costs either for other human beings or themselves that they have been thwarted in their moral development.

However many evil people hold places in the American establishment, they are far, far outnumbered, by my tally, by those bereft of conscience, so pathetically have they been dehumanized by the principalities and powers for which they are acolytes.”

– William Stringfellow, An Ethic for Christians and Other Aliens in a Strange Land

[And this is doubly true for our denominations as well.]