The Perils of Taking Center Stage

You may be inclined to stop reading (because you'll think I'm a complete jerk) before you get through the account below. I encourage you to read it all before making a judgment call, though.

It was a slightly breezy, cool evening and I'd set up my guitar and microphone as part of a trio to play music for an outdoor festival on a mountain for a moderately affluent community. I had to arrange my stage area on the front porch of a small white house; I believe it was an old historic landmark. The odd thing about the setup was that my friends Chris and Quentin (or "Q"), the bassist and drummer, had to set up their their instruments (insert your own joke about drums not being an instrument) in an open area off to my right at a fairly substantial distance for a typical band layout.

We didn't get a sound check, and I remember being particularly nervous about a couple of the songs that hadn't gone too well when we practiced. Strangely, though, at that moment I couldn't remember which songs those were. Stage fright, most likely.

When it was time to start playing I stepped up to the mic and said, "Hello. My name is Dean Lusk," and immediately noticed that the crowd seemed disinterested; still mingling without so much as a glance at the stage. I reacted by throwing out a fairly dumb one-liner. Mercifully, it received some chuckles. Continuing the schtick, I put on my best Liverpool accent (or whatever dialect it is when you really don't know which dialect it is) and proclaimed, "I'm actually British," and started to wade through another stupid anecdote.

Suddenly, while I was still talking and before I even realized it was happening, Q gave a four-count with his drumsticks and he and Chris began to play the first song, "Dock of the Bay." I fell in easily enough, though I felt incredibly awkward. I guess I had been talking too much.

The first few words I sang were fine. And then it struck me like lightning that this was one of the songs I'd been anxious about. The hard part came quickly: the last half of the first line of the chorus... "watching the tiiiiiide roll in." It was slightly too high for my vocal range, and my voice almost cracked so I took a step back from the mic even before I'd finished singing the phrase. And I noticed something that was surprising and embarrassing.

This wasn't even my song. It was Q's song, and he was singing. It had been his microphone I had heard when I began to sing. I was mortified and wondered what Chris and Q thought of me (which bothered me far more than what the crowd thought); I'd essentially tried to hijack the performance with my awful comedy routine at the beginning and then by trying to sing over the top of someone else's vocal.

I put my guitar down and walked away in embarrassment and shame. The song was still going. Q sounded great. Matter of fact, even though the music was now just drums, bass, and a vocal, it sounded surprisingly good. I don't even remember if anyone in the crowd gave me weird looks as I walked through the middle of them, over to another little white house near the back of the audience, where I woke up.

I was more than relieved to realize it had been a dream, but it did reveal to me a darker side of my personality. Jesus talked about it.

“When you are invited to a wedding feast, don’t sit in the seat of honor. What if someone who is more distinguished than you has also been invited? The host will come and say, ‘Give this person your seat.’ Then you will be embarrassed, and you will have to take whatever seat is left at the foot of the table!

“Instead, take the lowest place at the foot of the table. Then when your host sees you, he will come and say, ‘Friend, we have a better place for you!’ Then you will be honored in front of all the other guests. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”
(Luke 14:8-11, NLT, emphases mine)

While I wouldn't dare execute this dream in real life, it illustrated the extent to which I sometimes live as though the world revolves around me. I've come to learn over the past few years that self-centeredness comes in many forms, all of which are corrupting and damaging to nearly every relationship, beginning with our relationship to God and extending to our families and friends.

For that reason, I hope this dream sticks in my memory for a long time to come.

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A Journey of Self-Awareness

My bad attitude ramped up on Tuesday evening.

 

Oh, it would've started at least a couple of days earlier had we not been bombarded by "significant weather event" warnings that began Thursday or Friday the previous week.

 

But I was distracted as we rode out a bumpy Monday night packed with considerable paranoia (and we were packed into the bathroom) as tornadoes ripped through Mississippi and parts of Alabama, laying waste to sections of Athens, a small neighboring city, as well as other towns and areas I know you've heard about.
 

But in the end we were safe and I was able to get back to the task at hand: having a phenomenally poor attitude. Looming ahead was the weekend.

 

Among other music-related things I do, I play with a band. We had three gigs coming up, crammed into two days: one Friday evening, one Saturday afternoon, and one Saturday evening. I knew in advance how tired I'd be.

 

They say you don't get paid for actually playing music; rather, you're paid for loading equipment in and out.

 

Okay, maybe only our drummer says that. But he's right.

 

Everything I did that week was bathed in the dim, miserable fog of the thought, "I have to play three gigs this weekend and it's gonna be awful." As miserable as my self-pity was for me, I have to imagine it was doubly (even exponentially) miserable for my wife. But she was a trooper (wow, that sounds patronizing, but I'm leaving it in the post, anyway). So we all slogged through the week.

 

But sort of like Gloria Gaynor, though, I survived.

 

Sunday morning we met with our church group for corporate worship. (Full disclosure: I was, indeed, humongously tired and I went out of a sense of obligation. My wife was the only one who knew this until you guys just read it.) We had an enjoyable and relaxing lunch with some relatively new friends from our not-to-be-called-a-small-group missional community. I grilled scallops that evening, and they were even good enough for me to have served them to friends without offering up self-deprecating comments throughout the meal.

 

At some point on Monday, or maybe even Sunday night before bed, I realized I'd taken a boat-load of gifts God had given me and tossed them into a miry swamp of indifference.

 

I'm not talking about the "good" things from Sunday -- the scallops and the happy lunch. I'm referring to all of the missed opportunities to be an integral part of what God was and is doing on the world and in people all around me. That isn't a passive religious idea. The God Who created everything gives me the unmerited privilege of playing a small part in what He's doing. And that is mind-boggling.

 

So how many people did I come into contact with over the weekend who were hurting in some way? How many wanted to tell someone about how God had blessed them? Who needed a few dollars to pay his utility bill? Was there anyone I came across who was at wits' end but was trying to maintain a happy face so no one would see how devastated he was? And what were the names of any of the families that lost their houses on Monday night?

 

I've no idea.

 

So help me, I have no idea whatsoever.

 

Instead of being aware of -- or, heaven forbid, acting upon -- the myriad chances to "be Jesus" to someone (those opportunities and people are constantly in every facet of our lives), I was consumed with something rather finite and insignificant.

 

I was consumed with myself.

 

I'd like to say it's a lesson I've learned before, but it appears it's only a lesson I've been taught before.

 

So it's another week of embarking upon a journey of repentance and awareness. Not a journey of self-awareness, though. Those tend to take me where I don't want to go.

 

They keep me from going where I need to go.

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T.P.S. Reports

Two days ago I noted that I was an idiot. Today I'm filling you in on the fact that I'm sometimes a wuss (according to The Free Online Dictionary, "A person regarded as weak or timid and especially as unmanly"). There are a lot of us out there, unfortunately.

I hestitate to admit that I get out of bed some morenings and one of the first thoughts I have is something like, "Man, I'm not looking forward to this or that," and I grudgingly take on the tasks of the day. My wife already knows this about me -- I can be whiny.

It's pretty obvious that this is the result of self-centeredness. I feel like By gosh, I have a right to live my day a certain way, and when I realize that I can't, I feel like I'm being wronged somehow. In his message a couple of weeks ago, Francis Chan from Cornerstone Church in Simi Valley mentioned that time is not my time to begin with. I've known this for a long time, but I frequently don't approach the day with that attitude. I'm on earth to serve God and to do what He wills; to live and preach the Gospel and serve others along the way.

One little verse I read this morning magnified the fact that while Jesus may have dealt with the temptation of despair, He never gave in or let it deter Him from His mission:

"As the time drew near for him to ascend to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem." (Luke 9:51, NLT, emphasis mine)

Jesus knew that He was about to suffer massive brutalization, but kept his sights firmly on the mission He was to fulfill. He was determined to go through with whatever God had laid out for Him to do.

Me? I don't want to have to stay late at rehearsal some Thursday nights. How about you? You don't want to stay and hear the guy talk past 12:01 Sunday morning or have to sing a song you don't like? Don't want to help your co-worker because he should have had the TPS reports done on Monday morning? What's your issue?

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