Marco Polo

  In the month of March, I read over ten books.

  In the last two months, I've read two.

  Life is strange.  Sometimes it seems like I have all the time in the world to do as I please, while other times it seems like it takes a monumental effort to sit down and read ten pages.

  Last night I finally finished Marco Polo: From Venice to Xanadu.  It's an interesting book about Marco Polo and his travels, but not quite the page-turner I had expected.  I had thought it would have me riveted to every page, but the reality was that while I learned a lot about Kublai Khan and 13th century Mongolia, it somehow failed to keep me glued to every page, as is evidenced by the fact that it took me over a month to get through it.

  Thinking about how a captivating adventure turned into a less-than-enthralling book gets me thinking about Christianity.  How often do we take the greatest story ever told and, to quote Stanley Hauerwas, make it boring as hell?  How do we turn the great tale of salvation and love into a tamed and diminished focus on personal salvation?  How does the liberation and journey of the Israelites and the dynamic transformation of the disciples become something we have so much control over?

  Have we simply lost our awe of God?  Have we tamed and domesticated God, turning him into a handy person to have around in times of illness and panic?  Have we forgotten that the God who created the universe with a word also loves each of us 'as though there was only one to love', in the words of Augustine?

  I wonder if we still have the capability to marvel at who God is and how intense the love of Christ is.  Do we forget that each day is a miracle, and that the love of God is a story worth telling with the intensity it deserves?  Is the church willing to put such effort into telling the story, or shall we simply carry on with business as usual?