I thought Sammy was the coolest guy I knew. He lived next door to me from the time I was three until I was eight. He and his wife Candy greeted us every morning from kitchen window to kitchen window. We could literally see into their kitchen from ours. It wasn't a bad neighborhood, but certainly a working class smattering of houses that looked like something out of Five Easy Pieces.
Sammy spent a lot of time in his driveway wrenching his motorcycle, a homegrown Shovelhead common in the mid-1970s. I would sit in the driveway and talk to him, which he did not seem to mind. I remember staring for hours at his forearm as he worked on his bike, mainly because his forearm had a big anchor on it. Above the anchor was "USN." I did not know at the time what it meant. But I thought it was cool. I also thought it was cool that Sammy seemed to march to the beat of his own drum.
When many of us think about our lives, we survey the landscape of people and see all kinds. When people construct the cliché dichotomy--(You know, the one that starts, "There are two kinds of people in this world...")--I am not usually a fan of such poles. That said, I think I have one that might hit a nerve.
Two kinds of people: Those who encourage you to fly, and those who try to keep you in a cage.
Sammy was one of those people who flew, and liked being around other birds who saw nothing but potential and open skies. For many of us, however, those Sammy-type neighbors are fewer than the cagers.
But it does not have to be this way.
Who do you like being around more: People who try to stifle your spirit, or those who encourage you to see a world without fences?
When I moved to Houston a year ago, I found a church of people who like to fly. Many of them march to a beat somewhere deep inside their souls. At times, it has caused them to be misunderstood, even vilified. So be it. I don't know about you, O faithful bloggerland reader, but I prefer a heartfelt drumbeat any day, especially when the drumbeat out-performs the all-too-familiar prescribed rhythm everyone is expected to follow.
Sammy showed up over the years in the hearts of other people in my life in every place I have lived. But maybe for me personally, it took sitting on the edge of forty in order to see the value of being comfortable in your own skin, and appreciating others who love to fly.
Even when Jesus walked the earth, he came to set people free. In my not-so-humble opinion, it is the fault of the western church through the centuries that religion has a caged reputation. That has nothing to do with God. Does God have expectations for our lives? Of course. But those expectations do not have to include leftover Victorian sensibilities in the disguise of piety. Moreover, the primary "rule" Jesus taught us was to treat others the way we want to be treated. And I bet, especially if you are reading this essay, that you love to fly.
What would Jesus do? I am beginning to think this is the wrong question.
What wouldn't Jesus do? That's more like it. I am pretty sure he wouldn't (and didn't) judge books by their covers, and that he wouldn't mind seeing more people find their way to him in spite of the sterilized religious establishment.
I know, I know. Irony of ironies. Me, a member of the religious establishment, is criticizing the religious establishment. But until we tell people that God is in the setting free business, we should not be surprised when "non-religious" folks look at Christians and see nothing but caged birds.
It's funny when you look back on your childhood and see archetypes that color your worldview. For me, Sammy was one. My grandfather was one. A few other along the way, including my sixth grade teacher Miss Harrison who I thought was totally hot. But as I look back, I cannot for the life of me remember the conformists.
So goes the opening of Romans 12--"Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Today's church would do well to read that one out loud. The church was never supposed to be about constructing yet another establishment. And you know what? I think we are on the cusp of a time that is beginning to see that once again.
With apologies to Maya Angelou, the caged bird sings because he wants out. Take a look around. Some want to clip your wings; some want to watch you fly. Whether we talk about bringing up our children, our faith, our friends, or our extended families, it is important to remember that when Jesus preached the Sermon on the Mount, one of his dominant metaphors for helping us understand the care of God emerged as "the birds of the air." Consider them. They do not store away in barns, nor do they force the other birds to be something they are not.
I love being around people who hunger and thirst for abundant life. This entry is dedicated to you. To Sammy. To Papaw. To friends and family in the past who reminded me to cultivate genuineness. And especially to some of my new Houston friends who learned this lesson long before me. You know who you are.
And by the way, I think I know what song the caged bird sings: "We Gotta Get Out of This Place" by the Animals.
Besides Sammy, this is the poem that inspired today's particular open road:
"I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings"
by Maya Angelou
The free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wings in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with fearful trill of the things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.
