Editor's Note: This is the sixth of a reflective series entitled "A Reckless Love."
Josh quickly became an intentional, meaningful, challenging, and caring friend. We only really knew each other for seven months. A miniscule amount of time in eternity.
From day one of those seven months though, we both were intentional to share life together. One night this winter before going to bed, I left a note on Josh's desk. I remember searching for a scrap piece of paper to leave a few words of encouragement.
He may have intentionally sought meaningful relationships, but he rarely purposefully organized his desk. Sometimes the means do not matter. I found a receipt; it was sufficient.
I do not recall my exact words, but the message written on the back of a nasty Taco Bell receipt was along the lines: "what you did today matters - and He is proud of you - and I am so honored to be a part of what He is doing in your life - praying for you tonight."
Seven months. Certainly a short time. But a time that matters.
It reminds me of Jesus' incarnated time of ministry. Sometimes I think I imagine Jesus came out of the womb and began preaching. Historically, of course, we know that not to be true. His time of ministry was maybe a few years. A relatively short time in eternity.
Jesus commanded us to love as He loved us. An indisputably intentional, eternally existing love. Whether I knew Josh Larkin for seven months, seven years, or seven decades, he changed my life because he recognized that love requires intentionality.
Since April 4, I have been more intentional with the men of Sammy II and those I love. If it was not for those seven months with Josh, I do not know if I could thoughtfully love others amidst his death and that of two additional students within the past seven months.
Seven months may be miniscule in the scheme of eternity, but it is all the time the Lord needed to impress a profound example of reckless love in my life.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Monday, June 4, 2012
A Reckless Love: Righteous Anger
Editor's Note: This is the fifth of a reflective series entitled "A Reckless Love."
I am rarely legitimately angry. I think I have been conditioned to be this way. Molded to believe that anger is inappropriate, unnecessary, and maybe even sinful.
It is hard to conjure memories of Josh when he was angry. With only eight months of a close, intimate friendship, there are only a few moments I remember him angry. Usually, his anger was due to some social injustice or maltreatment of someone he knew.
As I have grieved the death of my dear friend for two months to the day, there have been several moments that I have been quite angry. Angry at Josh for his senselessness that has resulted in immense pain for those he and I love. Angry with people for moments of insensitivity and disrespect. Angry at the Lord for permitting Josh's death in such a manner, in such a place. Angry for the pain of the men with whom I have shared many tears. Angry at myself for not and perhaps being unable to do anything, to help anyone, to worship amidst suffering.
Unfortunately, the list continues.
From what I know of the Lord, He too is angry; at the presence of sin, with faithlessness, on behalf of others, and on and on. He is angry because He loves us.
I would not be angry had I not deeply loved Josh Larkin.
For some time, I believed my anger to be unnecessary and maybe sinful. Has not the Lord promised victory? Have I not experienced His works? What shall I therefore be angry about in His presence? It is true that the Lord has promised and accomplished victory. It is also true that I am angry. I shall not dismiss one truth with another.
A very real danger exists that anger may lead to sinfulness, yet I pray that my anger continues to lead me to broken humility, that I may be molded and shaped by the righteous anger of the Lord leading to love.
I know now why Josh was angry amidst the presence of social injustices, hurtful gossip, intimidation, and persecution of others through words or deed. He was angry because he recklessly loved.
I am rarely legitimately angry. I think I have been conditioned to be this way. Molded to believe that anger is inappropriate, unnecessary, and maybe even sinful.
It is hard to conjure memories of Josh when he was angry. With only eight months of a close, intimate friendship, there are only a few moments I remember him angry. Usually, his anger was due to some social injustice or maltreatment of someone he knew.
As I have grieved the death of my dear friend for two months to the day, there have been several moments that I have been quite angry. Angry at Josh for his senselessness that has resulted in immense pain for those he and I love. Angry with people for moments of insensitivity and disrespect. Angry at the Lord for permitting Josh's death in such a manner, in such a place. Angry for the pain of the men with whom I have shared many tears. Angry at myself for not and perhaps being unable to do anything, to help anyone, to worship amidst suffering.
Unfortunately, the list continues.
From what I know of the Lord, He too is angry; at the presence of sin, with faithlessness, on behalf of others, and on and on. He is angry because He loves us.
I would not be angry had I not deeply loved Josh Larkin.
For some time, I believed my anger to be unnecessary and maybe sinful. Has not the Lord promised victory? Have I not experienced His works? What shall I therefore be angry about in His presence? It is true that the Lord has promised and accomplished victory. It is also true that I am angry. I shall not dismiss one truth with another.
A very real danger exists that anger may lead to sinfulness, yet I pray that my anger continues to lead me to broken humility, that I may be molded and shaped by the righteous anger of the Lord leading to love.
I know now why Josh was angry amidst the presence of social injustices, hurtful gossip, intimidation, and persecution of others through words or deed. He was angry because he recklessly loved.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
A Reckless Love: Tough Questions
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.
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.
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.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Mountains and Kisses
My days of reflection and contemplation have been few and far between for almost eighteen months now, which is quite unfortunate since I so value introspection. This pattern was dramatically altered during the past week.
A week in the Appalachian Mountains, specifically the Blue Ridge, was an ideal environment for thought development. Almost 4,700 feet above sea level, looking over the valley that is Boone, North Carolina, I spent a week with my best friend before his wedding. Our time spent together was nothing short of a blessed miracle amidst living with his and his bride's family and nearly frantic wedding planning. I have been refreshed by God's faithfulness to equip us to love and care for one another and to personally experience the bonds of meaningful relationships. The wonderful celebration of Taylor and Graci's love for one another was exacerbated by our mutual deep commitments to one another and their families. What a blessing to share in a demonstration in God's loving commitment to us!
A week in the Appalachian Mountains, specifically the Blue Ridge, was an ideal environment for thought development. Almost 4,700 feet above sea level, looking over the valley that is Boone, North Carolina, I spent a week with my best friend before his wedding. Our time spent together was nothing short of a blessed miracle amidst living with his and his bride's family and nearly frantic wedding planning. I have been refreshed by God's faithfulness to equip us to love and care for one another and to personally experience the bonds of meaningful relationships. The wonderful celebration of Taylor and Graci's love for one another was exacerbated by our mutual deep commitments to one another and their families. What a blessing to share in a demonstration in God's loving commitment to us!
Today, I was reminded that these special moments are invaluable when experienced with the Lord. His fellowship and presence is incomparable to the fleeting times of life. The moments of despair and agony are especially important times to be spent with the Lord. As Paul wrote, we are to be content in all things - assured by the grace of God, that He is sufficient even in our times of weakness. This is the reality for another friend of mine who is grieving the termination of a relationship. To share this burden with him is the opposite of Taylor and Graci's celebration, but what a blessing to also share our pains with one another just as I am assured of God's loving commitment to us.
On top of the mountains, the prophet could see into the Promised Land of what is to come, but that of which he could not yet have. So true it is today that the Kingdom is here - kissing us in the face - but it is not yet a complete fulfillment of His promises to us. We pray to have eyes to see this Kingdom, to experience it, and to await the coming of the Bridegroom for which our pains and agonies shall be redeemed and we shall be completely united as His bride in a consummation of His loving promises to us.
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