life under the sun

there lived a man (a king, a wiseman, a husband several times over) who most men would deem "successful". from the mouth of him who had more than any of us could materially gain, we hear the words, "there is nothing new under the sun... all is vanity."

in spite of my wisdom and my faith, i piss away much of my life in the realm of the vain, wandering as a prodigal in a barren land, scorched and worn by the sun and dust. most men spend a lifetime harnessing the power of the sun to turn a profit; most men prop up umbrellas or build castles (whatever they can afford) to escape the drenching vanity that surrounds us like a sea of golden sun; most men learn to swim against the current of golden rivers and are given gold medals from a golden world that praises men who respond to vanity with acrobatics and finesse. i'm not all that great at harnessing the power of the sun... truthfully, it ciphons me of passion, of glory. i can't even compete. instead, i cope in shelters: anything from mouseholes to mansions, listening to music, drinking overpriced coffee, soaking in hot tubs and swimming in pools, sitting on couches too close to others who (like me) are begging for more than survival. i wonder how many shelters will have to crumble beneath my feet until i learn that there is no escape from idleness, from complacency? how many more vines will i entrust for shade... and how many more times will I curse God once the vines have withered? most men never ask these questions; most men either pity or curse those who choose not to compete for the gold under the sun; most men are infatuated with how they compare to the other men in the room. i'm sick of that room. i want out of the room altogether. i'm trying not to care so much if many would label me "successful", or "put together", or "_____". i'm sick of simply surviving under the tyranny of the sun. it's a pathetic existence. it really is. with all of my heart, i hope never to be like most men.

rumor has it that there is someone who has answered the pleas of the downcast and discontent. this someone is offering us an existence away from shelters, inviting us to discard our gold-laced robes and giving us burlap in return; he is calling us away from a life of mere survival to a life of adventure and purpose and glory. and i've heard that those of the burlap sack are beginning to sprout wings... i hear that many are learning to fly--getting over the the sun, where eternally significant life is hidden. and the one who teaches us to fly is also the one who walked among us. don't miss this, beloved: he chose to walk so that we might know what it means to fly. burlap never felt so good.

may we submit to him who strips us naked of insecurity and pride and clothes us with himself, his righteousness. the truth is we are severely overdressed for his company; we bring a lot of baggage when come to him, but he welcomes us and the baggage we can't help but bring (and the baggage we believe we can't live without); he carries our baggage with wreckless mercy, all the way to calvary.

for all of us who have suffered disillusionment from a life of vine-hunting in the desert...

for everyone who is weary of a gilded existence and craving more...

let's get over the sun,

it's time to fly!