I was googling around the other day and I came across a live version of one of my favorite songs, by George Wurzbach and Karen Taylor-Good. Here's George and Rob Carlson (and friends) performing "Much Better View of the Moon":
If I lose my job... I'll sleep 'til noon. If the news is bad... I'll watch cartoons. If my house burns down... I'll have lots more room and a much better view of the moon.
It's a song about improv, which is something I've been thinking about a lot lately. Life is just one big improvisation, isn't it? Even meticulous organizers like me know that deep down, planning is akin to rocking in a rocking chair: it gives you something to do---and there's something soothing about it---but it's not going to get you anywhere. Things happen that you didn't anticipate, and you have to adjust. With luck and grace, you "yes-and" the thing, accepting and building on whatever gets thrown at you. Accepting something doesn't mean you have to like it, by the way. But a spirit of improvisation leads us to be curious, to ask, "Well, OK. Now what?"
We are made in the image of God, and God is a master of improv. This I believe. I don't know what that means when stacked up against sturdy preacherly words like eternal, immutable, absolute, all-knowing, perfect. I just know that when I look at the sacred texts I see a God who iterates. Who pivots. Who encounters the world as it is, not as God planned it to be. Who yes-ands all over the place.
When I spoke to NEXT Church in Rochester last November, I described this God not as a planner, but as one who is reactive, who sizes up the situation and engages. Someone came up to me afterwards, bristling at the term: "Reactive sounds like a knee-jerk position. What about responsive?"
Maybe. Maybe. No, he's right, responsive is good. The family systems folks would approve. Still, I like reactive because there's something automatic in the term. Instinctive. Unpremeditated. If God is love, then love jumps into the mess without a lot of careful consideration, using whatever's on hand. A socially awkward ex-con. An unwed teenage mother. Twelve Galilean knuckleheads.
Our congregation was rocked last year with the death of eight year old Jacob. He died of ALD, which took his older brother Eric's life just three years before, also at age eight. The family grieves, the church grieves, and different people wrestle with the loss in different ways. From where I sit, there's no making sense of something like that. It's terribly sad. It's a planet-sized loss. And no God I want any part of willed that to happen.
What happens next in that family's life is not my story to tell at this point. It's still unfolding anyway. But let me say, it's a hell of a yes-and.
It's a brand new view of the moon.
I used to walk through this world cautious and oh-so-serious 'Til the life I was living was merely a near-death experience. Then I changed my story when I finally saw Where I was wasn't where it was at And now I'm alive, I let destiny drive And I'm stretching out in the back.