Bless This Mess

Probably my favorite memory of the summer was the night Jeff and I drove up to Fishtown to see Dave Bazan. Jeff is a big Bazan fan and has been for some time, while I’ve never been very familiar with the former Pedro the Lion frontman’s work. But Jeffrey is my go-to guy when it comes to good music, so when he invited me to join him for the band’s Philly concert, I agreed to tag along. That night in June we drove up to the city with the windows down, maneuvering our way through the various boroughs of North Philly until we arrived at Johnny Brenda’s. Once inside, we grabbed a few beers and wiggled through the crowd for good placement just as the opening band was finishing up their set, and soon after they were followed by Bazan and his band. I only knew the handful of songs Jeff had been playing for me throughout the week, but they sounded fantastic and put on a really great show.

After multiple pleads for an encore, Bazan came back out by himself to play a few more songs for the hipster crowd, ending with "Hard to Be." And I remember those final moments of the show being curiously surreal: me standing there with about 200 or so twentysomethings in skinny jeans and plaid shirts, all of us singing together with one voice about the tragedy of the human condition…

You’ve heard the story, you know how it goes
Once upon a garden, we were lovers with no clothes
Fresh from the soil, we were beautiful and true
In control of our emotions til we ate the poisoned fruit

And now it's hard to be, hard to be
Hard to be a decent human being

*  *  *  *  *

More than ever, I’ve spent this summer coming to terms with the depths of my own depravity. It seems like every time I turn around, I’m being reminded of just how twisted and broken I am. My actions, my words, my thoughts and emotions…everything within me is contaminated, selfish to the core. And these defects I possess affect everything and everyone with whom I come in contact with on a daily basis. This is further complicated by the fact that I call myself a Christian, and when you call yourself a Christian you set for yourself a certain standard of living by which other people hold you accountable to, and it becomes much harder to be open about your shortcomings than before. You eventually end up trying to hide all the imperfect things about your life, because if you don’t you will make Jesus look bad, and the weight of your iniquities becomes increasingly unbearable. 

It’s for this reason that another Bazan song, "Bless This Mess," has been my constant companion this summer. The lyrics are simple: “God bless the man who stumbles / God bless the man who falls / God bless the man who yields to temptation.” I love this because in very simple words, Dave Bazan is telling my story back to me. I am the man who stumbles. I am the man who falls. I am the man who yields to temptation. I am, by all accounts, a complete and total mess. Because like we sang that night in Fishtown, it’s hard to be a decent human being. And so I sing “Bless This Mess” because it is the only hope I have to hold onto. I am not “decent.” I do not deserve kindness, or mercy, or unfailing grace. My only hope is that the God of the universe will bless this mess, sparing me the judgment that is due me and providing me with strength to make it through the day. 

It’s true what they say about Jesus, you know: he saves. We don’t have to be good enough any more. Grace is free. And that means messes like me have the kind of hope that has substance to it. I really have been rescued. Christ really has paid my debt. And I may be a mess, but thankfully that is not the end of the story. Because grace was designed for messes like me.

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