I’m a sinfully arrogant man.
You wouldn’t know it by my appearance, by my prattling on
about career successes or high school leadership awards, or my beautiful wife. I play Christian better than that.
But I’m an arrogant man because I think that my special
thoughts are God-given and are more special than your thoughts. I’m an arrogant man because I think my music
collection is better than yours; that my insightful comments regarding Rich
Mullins’ music is deeper and more thought-out than yours; that I have read more
books than you have; that I have more degrees than you do.
And the list could go until I had completely vomited my
insecurities across my keyboard and let it run through the cracks in my oversized
desk drawers to the pages held there within.
I hope this arrogance is overstated but if I ever spent some time
swimming in these dark waters, I fear that my hyperbolic confessions aren’t far
from the truth.
Forever.
Let me explain.
I was a first timer, initially led by my over-imagined
relationships with musicians I had met at shows years (a decade even?)
ago. As though my carrying out a speaker
after a coffeehouse performance by one of the Andy’s in 2002 inspired a
friendship that still burned as dark coals below the hundreds of shallow “hi”
and “thanks for the kind words” relationships musicians so often
encounter.
I don’t really know what I was expecting – but most
certainly I didn’t expect to encounter Jesus as I did. I most certainly did not expect my heroes to
lay down the tools of their trades (whether guitar, pen, or paintbrush) and speak
raw and jagged truth. I didn’t expect to
share meals with fellow journey men and women who also wake up every morning
and look into the mirror, begging Jesus to not forget them.
I am a man who has deeply felt the piano wire tension of the
siren call of accomplishment, letters after my name, and worldly success with
the quiet whisper of a still voice who persistently breathes, “There is another
way to live where peace is the foundation and where (as Andy P so eloquently
put) things are not always fine but where you are never alone.”
I’m so, so scared of being alone.
So scared.
Hutchmoot was about meals and eye contact and singing and
tears and tiny victories. Witnessing a
famous musician beam as a proud father watching his boys. Another famous musician dig deep into the
corners of his heart to wrestle with the gray matter overlap of accomplishment
and fear. A brave mother explaining her
decision to adopt another child. A tired
and stressed young couple explain why though difficult, homeschooling was the
right choice for their family. Seeing my
friend Eric weep tears that healed us all.
Hearing a tiny British woman read her own words in her own rhythm in her
own spacing. Watching a strange bearded
man weaving his way through crowds of families and hungry patrons and happy
souls hitting a cereal bowl with a stick (or whatever that beautiful bell
happened to be).
Hutchmoot was about the finding artistry and service to God
in a guitar, a beautiful song, a spreadsheet, an Irish melody, or another tired,
heartfelt greeting at the book table.
But even greater than that, Hutchmoot showed me the way a
Christian community is supposed to be. The way me are excellent in all that we
do. How we look for the joy in the dark.
How those who are in a season of plenty harvest the wheat of those who are down
because the time will come when our plenty has run bare. How we all are to make up our own special
rules and laugh as often as possible and sing, dance, and wear spacesuits when
permitted.
I returned home from Hutchmoot an humble and peaceful
man. Because you all took the time to
welcome me to your table; to honestly reflect on your faith journey; to share a
seat at the concert; and pipe out a laugh and my lame joke.
I’ve returned home a
better husband, a better father, and a better teacher. If you will excuse the cliché, Hutchmoot - not as a conference – but as a collection
of hearts, and hands and feet and people, was a light to this little lost boy. Because at Hutchmoot 2012, I was handed a
tiny little candle with a tiny little wick and a damp match.
And when I struck the match it came alive and a tiny flame danced atop my tiny candle.
And when I struck the match it came alive and a tiny flame danced atop my tiny candle.
And I looked around and saw a hundred other faces around
me. Smiling faces.
And I found that I am not alone.
Praise God! Praise God!
Praise God!
We are not alone.
~ Dizz
~ Dizz