Editor's Note: This is the fourth of a reflective series entitled "A Reckless Love."
Josh asked tough questions. I remember him asking me why I cared so much about academic achievement. He pressed me until the conversation ended in a confession of idolatry.
Undoubtedly, Josh possessed a desire to learn. To learn from the wise, about others, and the joys and simplicities of life. But learning was not an end. Rather, learning was the means by which he would be better equipped to practically live a faithful life of worship, ministry, and service to the Lord.
And there has been much learning in the past seven weeks despite questions left unanswered.
The Lord commissioned the prophet Isaiah to comfort the people of Jerusalem. Much like Job, Isaiah responds to God that the mortal suffering and warfare of life is overwhelmingly in demand of answers.
Tough question: "why God?"
If this question is not asked in good faith, I question the sincerity of humility. Nonetheless, the Lord's answer is to the question, "where?": tell the people, "Behold your God" (Isaiah 40:9).
Since the day that Josh died, many of my questions have been "why". I have chosen to acknowledge and struggle with these questions repeatedly, but I have been reminded that I must cherish and savor the Lord's faithful presence. Ultimately, His meeting with me and others in remarkable ways during the past seven weeks seems to dismiss the power of my questions. He has met me, here, in my humble brokenness and that alone appears to suffice for the inadequacies my questions propose.
Josh Larkin challenged me to live recklessly entrenched in authenticity. And sometimes that means asking tough questions. Tough questions of myself, the men I live with, my beloved friends and peers, and my Lord.
And not tough questions for the sake of questioning. But questions with answers, and other times left unanswered, that lead to the Cross, to a changed life.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
A Reckless Love: Song and Dance
Editor's Note: This is the third of a reflective series entitled "A Reckless Love."
A friend recently told me that he first heard the song You're Beautiful (Phil Wickham) when Josh led campus worship and it seems fitting to contemplate these lyrics.
"I see Your face in every sunrise, the colors of the morning are inside Your eyes, the World awakens in the light of the day, I look up to the sky and say, 'You're beautiful.'"
When you live in close proximity to seventy guys, you learn gaits and sounds associated with one's passing by. Josh made this "passerby identity" guessing game fairly easy when he sang down the hallway or strummed the guitar. Many times, Josh worshipped through song. In the jazz ensemble, he lifted the trumpet and rarely dampened its force.
And of course an aptitude for dance cannot go unnoticed. Josh was the catalyst of worshipful dance, which so famously resulted in the Sammy II Interlude during Airband 2011.
Then there is his laugh. A category all its own of his worshipful, praising demeanor.
"I see Your power in the moonlit night, where planets are in motion and galaxies are bright, we are amazed in the light of the stars, it's all proclaiming who You are, 'You're beautiful.'"
Much like the naturally created order, Josh lived his life leading those he influenced to see the beauty of God. His outdoor endeavors certainly attested to his appreciation for the created world. But greater still, he had the ability to reveal God's beauty through his very being, his smile, his laughter, and certainly his worship.
I once told Josh that I appreciated when he led campus worship because he was authentic. His reply was along the lines: "that's what we're made to do, worship."
"I see you there hanging on a tree, You bled and then You died and then You rose again for me, now You are sitting on Your heavenly throne, soon we will be coming home, 'You're beautiful.'"
Certainly the incarnation of God enabled Him to recklessly sacrifice Himself so that we may be welcomed, by faith and volition, as His own through His resurrection. I believe this is who Josh so faithfully worshipped and goaded others to join him.
"When we arrive at eternity's shore, where death is just a memory and tears are no more, we'll enter in as the wedding bells ring, Your bride will come together and we'll sing, 'You're beautiful.'"
On April 4, 2012, Josh Larkin finally fully experienced the reckless love of the Lord as He came to meet him in deliverance and redemption. Undoubtedly, at that moment, Josh was able to say, 'You're beautiful.'
A friend recently told me that he first heard the song You're Beautiful (Phil Wickham) when Josh led campus worship and it seems fitting to contemplate these lyrics.
"I see Your face in every sunrise, the colors of the morning are inside Your eyes, the World awakens in the light of the day, I look up to the sky and say, 'You're beautiful.'"
When you live in close proximity to seventy guys, you learn gaits and sounds associated with one's passing by. Josh made this "passerby identity" guessing game fairly easy when he sang down the hallway or strummed the guitar. Many times, Josh worshipped through song. In the jazz ensemble, he lifted the trumpet and rarely dampened its force.
And of course an aptitude for dance cannot go unnoticed. Josh was the catalyst of worshipful dance, which so famously resulted in the Sammy II Interlude during Airband 2011.
Then there is his laugh. A category all its own of his worshipful, praising demeanor.
"I see Your power in the moonlit night, where planets are in motion and galaxies are bright, we are amazed in the light of the stars, it's all proclaiming who You are, 'You're beautiful.'"
Much like the naturally created order, Josh lived his life leading those he influenced to see the beauty of God. His outdoor endeavors certainly attested to his appreciation for the created world. But greater still, he had the ability to reveal God's beauty through his very being, his smile, his laughter, and certainly his worship.
I once told Josh that I appreciated when he led campus worship because he was authentic. His reply was along the lines: "that's what we're made to do, worship."
"I see you there hanging on a tree, You bled and then You died and then You rose again for me, now You are sitting on Your heavenly throne, soon we will be coming home, 'You're beautiful.'"
Certainly the incarnation of God enabled Him to recklessly sacrifice Himself so that we may be welcomed, by faith and volition, as His own through His resurrection. I believe this is who Josh so faithfully worshipped and goaded others to join him.
"When we arrive at eternity's shore, where death is just a memory and tears are no more, we'll enter in as the wedding bells ring, Your bride will come together and we'll sing, 'You're beautiful.'"
On April 4, 2012, Josh Larkin finally fully experienced the reckless love of the Lord as He came to meet him in deliverance and redemption. Undoubtedly, at that moment, Josh was able to say, 'You're beautiful.'
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
A Reckless Love: Abandoned Social Norms
Editor's Note: This is the second piece of a reflective series entitled "A Reckless Love."
"You're an old man," Josh would say.
Naturally a morning person, I strive to be in bed by 10:30p.m. each night during the week. This seemed absurd to Josh.
From time to time, much past 10:30p.m., he would come in my room and either lounge on the futon or invite himself to wake me up and lie in my bed. It did not matter that I may have already been asleep for an hour or two. What mattered to Josh was that we would be able to share life together.
Sometimes he would just tell me about his day, a thought on his mind, or challenge me to wake up and experience something that could apparently only occur past 10:30p.m. He was willing to lay aside the social norm of sleep for the sake of intentionally demonstrating love.
In the days since Josh's death, I still anticipate each night that he may walk in the room one more time. If I could only be roused once again and stumble out of bed to cherish a few moments with him now.
It is as if every time Josh woke me up he was reminding me: "Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you." A call to "walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us."
Josh Larkin continually loved by recklessly abandoning social norms. He had hipster hair, endangered his life with extreme sports, awoke the sleeping, and spoke nearly unsettling words of truth. I believe Josh chose to exemplify Christ.
From what I know of the Lord, He lived a life contrary what was accepted by society: demanding his disciples 'be last,' loving the outcasts, and challenging the religiously righteous.
Six weeks ago, we had a conversation about his internship plans this summer and how he needed to balance the rest of the semester's school requirements. "You're teaching me to be more disciplined," he told me. And be that as it may have been, Josh's reckless love is teaching me to abandon social norms to uncomfortably love.
It has been a stumbling, terribly, painful wonderful month since he left us. And yet, for countless nights well past 10:30p.m. with studying left unfinished, I have recklessly shared tears, stories, challenging and convicting words, and worship with the men I call my friends, my brothers.
"You're an old man," Josh would say.
Naturally a morning person, I strive to be in bed by 10:30p.m. each night during the week. This seemed absurd to Josh.
From time to time, much past 10:30p.m., he would come in my room and either lounge on the futon or invite himself to wake me up and lie in my bed. It did not matter that I may have already been asleep for an hour or two. What mattered to Josh was that we would be able to share life together.
Sometimes he would just tell me about his day, a thought on his mind, or challenge me to wake up and experience something that could apparently only occur past 10:30p.m. He was willing to lay aside the social norm of sleep for the sake of intentionally demonstrating love.
In the days since Josh's death, I still anticipate each night that he may walk in the room one more time. If I could only be roused once again and stumble out of bed to cherish a few moments with him now.
It is as if every time Josh woke me up he was reminding me: "Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you." A call to "walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us."
Josh Larkin continually loved by recklessly abandoning social norms. He had hipster hair, endangered his life with extreme sports, awoke the sleeping, and spoke nearly unsettling words of truth. I believe Josh chose to exemplify Christ.
From what I know of the Lord, He lived a life contrary what was accepted by society: demanding his disciples 'be last,' loving the outcasts, and challenging the religiously righteous.
Six weeks ago, we had a conversation about his internship plans this summer and how he needed to balance the rest of the semester's school requirements. "You're teaching me to be more disciplined," he told me. And be that as it may have been, Josh's reckless love is teaching me to abandon social norms to uncomfortably love.
It has been a stumbling, terribly, painful wonderful month since he left us. And yet, for countless nights well past 10:30p.m. with studying left unfinished, I have recklessly shared tears, stories, challenging and convicting words, and worship with the men I call my friends, my brothers.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
A Reckless Love: Room 234
Editor's Note: This is the first of a reflective series entitled "A Reckless Love."
Thirty days ago, I said goodnight to my floormate Josh as I stumbled somewhat incoherently from the restroom back to my humble abode in Samuel Morris Hall.
The next day, I went about business as usual. I awoke before 7a.m., was at work by 8a.m., went to chapel at 10a.m., and class at 11a.m. I packed up my belongings to head home for Easter and as I stumbled with my bags down the hall, I made it only a few feet before stopping at room 234.
Room 234: Josh's room. My room. It's been thirty days of stumbling.
I wanted to say goodbye. At least leave a note if he was not there. The door was locked. Strange though it be, I did not stop to ponder. I picked up my bags and headed home.
Five hours later, I received a phone call from a colleague informing me that Josh had died in room 234. Shock, disbelief, anger, sadness. I could not and at times cannot yet distinguish my emotions.
The details no longer seem relevant. My friend is gone. Yet I have been blessed to continue to experience his reckless love during the past thirty days.
A year ago, my roommate and I decided to change residence halls because we knew one person on the floor: Josh. We decided to live across the hall from him and quickly began to establish a meaningful friendship and brotherhood. Now, we reside in his room.
My roommate and I moved into Josh's room a week after his death. The room has become a place of joy. The Spirit of the Lord has blessed the fellowship, laughter, tears, and anxiety my floormates have shared together in the place where we all remember Josh's smile, singing, hair, love, and worship to God.
Many days, I am still stumbling. I read, study, and try to sleep in the place of so many memories and unfortunately one of a tragic demise. Josh would be jealous of all the wonderful conversations held in this place during the past thirty days: late night words of encouragement, tears, hugs, very little studying (in his true nature), plenty of comfort food eating, and especially prayers.
Right before I went to bed the first night living in room 234, a friend reminded me of this promise: "The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing." - Zephaniah 3:17
Come on a stumbling journey with me. Let me share with you the reckless love of my Lord as lived by friend Josh Larkin. Together, we will see that the Lord has been in this place.
Thirty days ago, I said goodnight to my floormate Josh as I stumbled somewhat incoherently from the restroom back to my humble abode in Samuel Morris Hall.
The next day, I went about business as usual. I awoke before 7a.m., was at work by 8a.m., went to chapel at 10a.m., and class at 11a.m. I packed up my belongings to head home for Easter and as I stumbled with my bags down the hall, I made it only a few feet before stopping at room 234.
Room 234: Josh's room. My room. It's been thirty days of stumbling.
I wanted to say goodbye. At least leave a note if he was not there. The door was locked. Strange though it be, I did not stop to ponder. I picked up my bags and headed home.
Five hours later, I received a phone call from a colleague informing me that Josh had died in room 234. Shock, disbelief, anger, sadness. I could not and at times cannot yet distinguish my emotions.
The details no longer seem relevant. My friend is gone. Yet I have been blessed to continue to experience his reckless love during the past thirty days.
A year ago, my roommate and I decided to change residence halls because we knew one person on the floor: Josh. We decided to live across the hall from him and quickly began to establish a meaningful friendship and brotherhood. Now, we reside in his room.
My roommate and I moved into Josh's room a week after his death. The room has become a place of joy. The Spirit of the Lord has blessed the fellowship, laughter, tears, and anxiety my floormates have shared together in the place where we all remember Josh's smile, singing, hair, love, and worship to God.
Many days, I am still stumbling. I read, study, and try to sleep in the place of so many memories and unfortunately one of a tragic demise. Josh would be jealous of all the wonderful conversations held in this place during the past thirty days: late night words of encouragement, tears, hugs, very little studying (in his true nature), plenty of comfort food eating, and especially prayers.
Right before I went to bed the first night living in room 234, a friend reminded me of this promise: "The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing." - Zephaniah 3:17
Come on a stumbling journey with me. Let me share with you the reckless love of my Lord as lived by friend Josh Larkin. Together, we will see that the Lord has been in this place.
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