I’ve never observed Lent. I’ve got nothing against it (I didn’t give up Lent for Lent or anything), it was just never part of my church or family heritage.

Growing up, I watched as my Catholic and Reformed friends shunned every day indulgences like soda, sugar, television (or if they were feeling a little snarky, homework, vegetables, and obeying their parents) during these 40 days leading up to Easter. But not me. I usually just collected all the uneaten candy bars at the school lunch table. In my world, Lent was a windfall. Six weeks of Fat Tuesdays.

Even though Lent isn’t part of my spiritual tradition, Ash Wednesday has caused me to reflect on a few things I’m trying to lay down. To give up. To silence. Permanently. Luxuries of sorts. Things like:

Fear

What, you don’t think of fear as a luxury item? I beg to differ. Fear keeps you safe. Hidden. Protected. Face it, it’s a whole lot simpler to stay scared than to engage the discomfort, headaches, and conflict that courage brings into your life.

Projections

I indulge my insecurities in how I’d prefer you to think of me. A hologram of sorts. If I’m not careful, I can even do it here on this blog. Living into projections is like eating deep-fried butter at the Indiana State Fair. It tastes wonderful in the moment, but there’s a high likelihood of needing a doctor in the near future.

Self-Righteousness

This nasty little booger turns my personal opinions and preferences into spiritual essentials. It overlooks my imperfection and elevates my effort, implying the sacrifice of Christ to be completely unnecessary. We all love a little self-righteousness, until we’re around someone staring own their elitist nose in our direction.

False Humility

The evil cousin of self-righteousness may make me appear open, teachable, and kind, while really disguising insecurities that can kill. Feigning weakness isn’t humility. Have an honest assessment of yourself and confidently embrace who God created you to be–the sweet spot of tension between utter dependence and audacious bravery.

Are you giving up anything for Lent?

We spent last weekend in New York City. A extravagant celebration of my daughter’s 13th year of life, and three days of I-wouldn’t-change-a-moment experiences. Including a relatively obnoxious one our last day.

We took the subway to Soho, a trendy artist neighborhood in lower Manhattan, to meet some great friends who just moved to the area for work. We met up at a little cafe just off the main strip. The sign read “Community Table,” an awkward pull-up-a-chair-and-eat-with-people-you-don’t-know concept for this introverted, Midwestern boy. But we played along. When in Soho…

Until I opened the menu.

“All of our eggs are served soft-boiled.”

“But I’d really like scrambled. Can you scramble a few up for me?”

“Um, no idiot. Soft-boiled only.” (OK, she didn’t call me an idiot, but it sorta felt that way).

Then my wife had the nerve to ask for toast.

“We don’t toast bread, plebe. I can bring you some plain bread.” (No she didn’t say plebe, but in a way she sorta did).

The food proceeded to come to our table in 20 minute shifts, but I couldn’t muster the nerve to protest. The waitress was scary. Obviously on an elevated level of culture my simple, scrambled-egg, Indiana upbringing couldn’t keep up with.

In risk of sounding as snobby as our waitress, this isn’t all that different than I’ve felt in some church circles in recent years. Like I don’t measure up. Perhaps some of it ties to my own insecurities, but there’s a definite overtone of emergent self-righteousness that makes me feel like I just had the nerve to order toast in Soho.

Over the years, I’ve grown to despise many aspects my conservative self-righteousness church culture. Defining true faith by an absence of swearing, abstaining from alcohol, (not chewing bubble gum), voting Republican, or never-wavering church service attendance. But the Fruit of the Spirit doesn’t read Prius, Democrat, and organic farming either.

The antidote for conservative piousness isn’t liberal piousness.

It’s Jesus.

But we all (and when I say all I’m first in line) have this uncanny ability to canonize our opinions. To violently swing the pendulum away from things that offend us. To find Scripture that backs up our personal preferences. And I’m just raising my hand today to say, “Stop it!”

Self-righteousness of any flavor smells awful. Kinda like a soft-boiled egg (but hey, that’s just my opinion).

Evil can show up in really unexpected places.

Last weekend we took my daughter to New York City to celebrate her 13th birthday. And while it’s not hard to imagine evil in dark underbelly of Gotham City, we stumbled onto it amidst upbeat show tunes and awe struck theater patrons.

We saw Wicked on Broadway.

(Spoiler Alert).

The “Untold Story of Oz” flips the old film completely on its head. Antagonists are protagonists. Heroes are villains. (And the talent leaves you speechless–stupid good). Ends up, the green witch that antagonized Dorothy and the people of Oz was, in reality, the moral heroine.

The villain was the Wizard.

In what seemed on the surface to be quirky and innocent, the Wizard of Oz was actually clamoring for control. Of circumstances. Outcomes. Conditions. But his greatest evil emerged from trying to manipulate perceptions. He would do anything to protect the grandeur of his false projection, including destroying anyone that might threaten to shed light on his charade.

Our insecurities aren’t cute. They can kill.

This is perhaps the greatest lesson we’ve learned on our journey home. We thought God wanted our geography. Turns out He wanted to crush the greatest propensity for evil lurking deep inside. Lies we believed about ourselves. Lies we believed about Him. Projections of a false self we felt obligated to live into.

They’re not quirky and innocent. They’re dangerous.

So where does that leave us on the house? Well, I really want to paint some epic ending to this story. Something worthy of a Scorsese screenplay (or at least an after school special). But the climactic resolution just seems kind of “normal.” And we’re kind of OK with that.

We have an accepted offer on a house just up the street from where we currently live. A house much like our current one (with a basement where we can banish the kids when they get too loud). A short-sale on a model home that’s been used by the builder for the last 6 years. Still some hoops to jump through, but the lights all look green.

“You may freely eat the fruit of every tree in the garden…” (Genesis 2:16 NLT)

It’s nice. It’s us. And we feel God’s smile.

All along, we thought this journey was about sacrificing geography. Family. Space. Schools. Turns out God wanted to crucify something much more important: Our people-pleasing-God-as-a-sick-sadistic-Father-afraid-to-make-a-decision-false-projection.

Dead and buried.

Yet Jesus in us is more alive than ever. We’re getting comfortable in our own skin. Not with our sin, but with who God originally created and intended for us to be. Unashamed.

We found our way home, and it’s incredibly liberating. Have you?

All this week, I’m sharing highlights and insights from our personal journey. Perhaps you’ll find them encouraging. Or maybe a bit challenging. You might even disagree. But however it all goes down, I hope our messiness might help you find your own way home.

In my last post, I confessed our family’s visceral (and sinful) need for approval. The moment our house sold, the voices of other people’s expectations immediately began manipulating like a DC lobbyist. But even after our own version of “campaign finance reform,” there was still something eating at me. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

And then one morning it hit me: I think God is a sadist.

When faced with decisions. Choices. Alternatives. I intuitively assume God’s will is always the least desirable option. The most unappealing. The most painful.

How sick is that?

Does God call us to sacrifice? To lay down our selfish motives? To destroy our idols? Did He warn us there would be suffering, heartache, and pain? Absolutely! But if following Jesus means a life of self-flagellation and the active pursuit of misery, then we need to stop calling it The Good News. Jesus came to bring life, and life more abundantly. (John 10:10).

When God created Adam and Eve and placed them in the Garden of Eden, He gave them the following instructions:

“You can eat from any tree in the garden, except from the Tree-of-Knowledge-of-Good-and-Evil. Don’t eat from it. The moment you eat from that tree, you’re dead.” (Genesis 2:16-17 MSG)

When it came to finding a new house, we kept asking God for his moral will on the subject. Is it God’s desire for us to live here or there? Big or small? City or suburbs? The conversation went something like this:

“Where do you want us to go, God? Please, tell us.”

“You can eat from any tree in my garden, just stay away from that one.”

“No, no God. Your will. We want to be in your will. Which one do you want?”

“I’m serious, any tree in the garden. Except that good and evil one. Seek wisdom. Seek counsel. Use common sense. Lean into my sovereignty. But choose. Eat freely. Enjoy.”

“Wait God, I can’t be hearing you right. You’ve gotta tell us! We want so desperately to be surrendered. To know that we are smack dab in the middle of your will!”

“Dear Me, Erik – you are! Now please go make the call.”

The reality? We were trying to avoid the responsibility God had given to us. The responsibility to choose. Fear had given way to a false humility. A false servanthood. What we really wanted was inarguable ammo to use against all the internal voices and expectations. A supernatural trump card to justify what we did or did not do. It was about self protection, not self-sacrifice.

And God called our bluff. He set us free, and then laid squarely on our shoulders the responsibility that comes with it. We’re not assembly line machines mindlessly manufacturing the work of the Kingdom. We’re children of the King.

We thought selling our house was about geography. We were wrong.

What lies do you believe about God? Do you struggle with taking responsibility? Do you assume God’s will was the worst possible option?

When we sold our house last month, we assumed the journey God was leading us on had to do with where we live.

(Home. Live. Seemed like a reasonable connection to me).

Little did we know, God had something much bigger in mind. Signing that purchase agreement was the equivalent of pulling our thumb out of the dyke. A back hoe moved in and began excavating some deep places in our hearts, ripping up the roots and setting them on the surface for everyone to see.

Things we knew. Things we didn’t know. Stuff we were dealing with. Stuff we thought we’d already conquered.

Over the course of this week, I’m going to share a few of these uprooted revelations with the hope you might find a bit of yourself in our messiness – your own “journey home.”

The week after we sold our house was heavy. I literally felt a weight. In my gut. On my shoulders. In my spirit. And my face registered every pound. Our realtor was showing us houses all over Indianapolis and all I wanted to see was the bathrooms.

Could I discretely vomit in here while they’re checking out the kitchen?

After a few days of soul searching, my wife and I both realized the culprit: Expectations.

As leader you always feel it, and some of it’s healthy. We lead with our lives. “Follow me as I follow Christ.” (1 Cor. 11:1) But when the weight of opinion and other people’s convictions begin to dominate your thinking, you’re no longer able to be true to yourself or listen to God.

Somewhere on my journey I learned that agreeing with others avoided conflict, and avoiding conflict eliminated embarrassment, pain, and shame. Elevating other people’s opinions above my own convictions kept me in the club.

My wife grew up under the pastor’s kid microscope. She and her brother can recall stories of self-righteous board members physically pulling chewing gum from their mouths on church property under the guise a passing motorist might think a 6 year old was chewing tobacco. (You can’t make this stuff up).

Perceptions involuntarily became important to both of us. Surrendering to the expectations of others a coping mechanism. So when a simple, little “For Sale” sign turned “Sold,” the voices of old conflicts and angry board members began ringing in our heads.

“So I guess you’re gonna….”

“Wow, it’s about time you…”

“Surely you’re not planning…”

What will people think? How will they perceive us? What do they expect? A root we were already well aware of (and thought we had dealt with) got re-exposed to the elements. Novocaine free.

People pleasing isn’t just unfortunate, it’s a sin. Elevating the accolades of others above the love of God. Surrendering to outward expectations rather than pressing into who God designed you to be. It’s a reminder we’re broken. It’s a call to repent.

Do you wrestle with the weight of pleasing others? How does it affect you? Is it ever a good thing?

Sometimes God pulls and end around. He calls a run play when you were 100% sure He was going to pass. That’s the journey we’re on here. Our journey home.

More beautifully uncomfortable revelations to come later this week.