Crappy World

I used to wake up late almost every morning. I would slowly swing my legs over the edge of the bed and moan quietly but with vengeance at the cruel world, “crap.” Every day while I pulled strands of my mullet out of the crusty drool on my cheek I would complain about my sad life that was just starting that day.

I lived in obscurity in a slummy apartment behind Freddies. My mattress lay boxeless in the corner of a room I shared with my roomie, Brian. We were getting up late to go to work for a painter called Stan-the-man. His name was actually just Stan. OSHA or the effect of VOC’s were of no concern to Stan. It was a risky job but he never fired me for being an unreliable employee so we were even. I was a good painter when I came to work. Sometimes he called me his number one guy. That made me feel pretty good even though I felt like being a house painter was about a low as you could get on the employment totem pole. He used to wave a carrot in front of my nose and say, “you do good here, I’ll teach you how to run the sprayer. You’ll make $100.00 a day.” He’d wink and smile and punch me in the arm. “You’re my number one guy, you can do it,” he’d say. Looking back on it, I think he considered me a charity case. It’s kind of embarrassing.
Back then I said crap in the morning because I hated getting out of bed. My girlfriend kept breaking up with me. If I had a car, it kept breaking up with me to. I ate almost nothing wholesome. I suppose Krustez scraped off the counter, spaghetti (sometimes with sauce) and Ramen did supply carbs, but no joy. Here and there I put an egg in the Ramen – protein. Then on the occasion that we approached near starvation I would take advantage of the fact that some idiot had given me a checking account. A bad check’s worth of taco supplies and we ate like kings for a day and a half, veggies, carbs and protein. I had a bad job, a whole series of bad jobs. My boss at Athletic Xpress used to go smoke pot while I watched the store. I did get to trade my daily yogurt for pizza when I worked at the yogurt shop. But I never made enough to pay the fees from the bad checks, crap.
Now, I’ve lived another 24 years. I have many much better reasons for mumbling when I wake up. Makes my potential at 19 seem much more useful. And my girlfriend finally stopped breaking up with me. This often offsets my reasons for mumbling.
So, it’s a crappy world. We’re all going to die and we will have much misery on the way there. But the REAL truth is, we can be truly alive. The dying part of us is already dead and it’s been holding us back. Though it seems painful, really painful sometimes, and unfair, getting rid of the old dead part is good, very good, every time.
Jesus lived in this same world. According to the official, canonized accounts, he battled and… lost. He died. Just like us. His enemy celebrated his death. The local villains nodded smugly to themselves, assured in their righteousness. They won. But while skinny guys in red tights were hopping around at their stubby little miscalculated victory party, Jesus introduced new rules.
Jesus hung there on the cross for a moment in space and time that connected the power of the God who breathed life into humanity with the brokenness of dying people. It changed the game. It turned the battle. Jesus died knowing every wound and hurt and confusion and futile wish you and I have ever felt. I can barely handle my own and he took them all to death, all that pain of sick babies, broken relationships, selfish mistakes, lost identity, wrenching, night sweating confusion and anxiety, he felt and owned it all. In the realm of heaven, the brokenness vanished. It killed him. It scarred him for-ever. But he woke up, sat up and walked out. He ate breakfast, visited, took walks and restored hope.
The surprised bad guys scrambled for a new tack. Millennia of strategy lay in rubble. Their new message was a violent twisting of truth.
“Ok, so Jesus will make your life easier. Yeah, sure if you follow him, everything
will work out fine. You just gotta do it right.”
The enemy has reduced the invitation of Jesus to a pursuit of better circumstances. If we just do it right, we’ll be good looking, happily married, our family will be healthy (and green) our kids will be smart and not take drugs, our cars will be safe, the government will make good laws, we’ll have good jobs and personally rewarding, effective causes, people will like us and even if something bad happens it will be insured or under warranty. How’s that working? Crap.
Then how come I still have to pee at four am? How come people I know who follow Jesus don’t escape the crappy world, crappy life syndrome? Are we just not doing it right? Do we need another seven steps book or a workshop or a six-week study? If I go to the right church, get the right degree, live in the right part of town with good neighborhoods and schools will that fix my life or anyone’s? I don’t think so.
If Jesus died, then I’m going to die. If the enemy tried to destroy Jesus, he’s going to try to destroy me. But I have a mysterious weapon, the new rules. I have been given his abundant, powerful life. The system was hacked by the architect and I’ve been given infinite life points. The little red hearts at the bottom of the screen just keep getting replaced. No matter how many times I loose, I just keep getting better at this game. I’m learning its secrets and its hidden passageways. I’m going to beat it, and then…
This life is not the final scene. The script keeps going. The author is still writing and the main character is still revealing the drama, comedy, tragedy, horror, mystery, suspense and action of the story. In the next scene, hope is met by much more than we dreamed of. Jesus, scarred and victorious in glory will meet us face to face. People we loved will be much more lovable and so will we. Our eyes will be more seeing and our ears will be more hearing. The creator will be creating and laughing and loving. It will all make sense and be worth it.
It’s a crappy world, but it’s no longer the real world.


John 16:33