heartist

The tension of "conversion-based" Christianity - Acts - pages 96-102

2012-01-27T06:12:00.000-08:00

We've all met people who flaunt their faith with spiritual platitudes, bumper-sticker belligerence and demonstrations so demonstrative that people are "put off" in the worst way. They make declarations of judgement and predictions of the future that make your palms sweaty as you set the drag on the conversational reel and let them take the line down stream. Sometimes you just cut bait and check out of the conversation while they are still "making their point". You nod your head and figure out your taxes while they pontificate about some religious matter that matters very little, or worse yet, matters very much but they're talking so loudly you can't even hear them.

I have a love hate relationship with "demonstrative" Christianity. I've witnessed such abusive proselytization and evangelism that I don't want to be held guilty by association, and yet, I want to be expressive about my beliefs and proud of my faith in Christ. I don't want to "hide it under a bushel" or be a city on a hill that is "hidden". I want it to be seen, heard and felt. But how do you do that in such a way as to not be the obnoxious and noxious fool with a bullhorn outside of a Toby Keith concert? How can it somehow feel to others like you actually care about them, even if they don't convert? How can it come across as a human interaction instead of a human transaction? This is what I'm wondering about.

Toward the end of Acts, Paul has an interaction with King Agrippa that stood out to me:

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Acts 26:24-29

24 At this point Festus interrupted Paul's defense. “You are out of your mind, Paul!” he shouted. “Your great learning is driving you insane.”

25 “I am not insane, most excellent Festus,” Paul replied. “What I am saying is true and reasonable.26 The king is familiar with these things, and I can speak freely to him. I am convinced that none of this has escaped his notice, because it was not done in a corner.

27 King Agrippa, do you believe the prophets? I know you do.” 28 Then Agrippa said to Paul, “Do you think that in such a short time you can persuade me to be a Christian?”

29 Paul replied, “Short time or long–I pray God that not only you but all who are listening to me today may become what I am, except for these chains.”

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This conversation between Paul and the powers that be is telling. It pokes some holes in the argument that you're supposed to "witness without words" or "let your actions do the talking"...the mantras of "lifestyle evangelism". Sort of like the quote that says, "Preach the gospel everywhere you go, if necessary, use words." I will be the first to admit that this approach of "relational evangelism" is so refreshing in comparison to "bait and switch" surveys and "agenda driven" conversations that lead to a punchline or "Amway downline" of sorts. There is nothing like feeling like you "got played" thinking the person was interested in you or listening to you only to find out that they had an angle all along and it was really about them and their desired destination. Ugghhh! NO, no way will I be like that! NOOOOO!

But then, we must be careful not to let the pendulum swing too far over to the "wordless" evangelism approach because there is a time to "come out of the corner" with our Christianity. We don't want our love for God to "escape people's notice" because we were covert operatives (covert converts). This section of Scripture makes no bones about witnessing with boldness. Boldness is different than Belligerence.

King Agrippa knew exactly what was going on. He felt the pinch. He acknowledged the pressure. "Are you trying to persuade me to be a Christian?" Paul could have answered in a real post-modern way like: "No, I'm just sharing my own story, dude. I'm not trying to impose my belief system on you. We all have our own narrative and it's more about the journey than the destination....blah, blah, blah..." But he didn't. He said straight up "Yeah, I am. And not just you, but everyone else listening in on this conversation. And I don't care if it's a short time or a long time, I want people to become what I am." Whoa...this is boldness! He doesn't care how long it takes, what it takes, who standing around listening in...he loves who he is and he wants other people to have his life.

When something is so real to you that you wish your life could be experienced by others, this is the contagion of sharing your faith. If you are simply sharing a set of ideas or ideals, but you very obviously don't love your life, nor do others around you love being around your life, whatever you have to share becomes irrelevant. The power of someone sharing their faith is when their beliefs match their emotions that match their words that match their life. This is "evangelism".

Did you see the word King Agrippa used: "persuade". This is what Paul was trying to do.

And persuasion is important. It's different than using power plays and pressure points to get someone to do something. The art of persuasion is a critical component to sharing our faith...it's nuanced and layered.

I needed to see this again today, because there is a ditch on both sides of the road, covert or overt. And we need a fresh expression of bold faith that doesn't look like the "cheap tricks" of fanatics and dramatics.

God, teach us how to be bold for you, not just to be bold for you.

Does God care about Intellecual Credibility? - Acts - pages 90-96

2012-01-26T10:59:00.000-08:00

Acts 21:37 & 22:2 -

³⁷ As the soldiers were about to take Paul into the barracks, he asked the commander, “May I say something to you?”
“Do you speak Greek?” he replied. ³⁸ “Aren’t you the Egyptian who started a revolt and led four thousand terrorists out into the wilderness some time ago?”
³⁹ Paul answered, “I am a Jew, from Tarsus in Cilicia, a citizen of no ordinary city. Please let me speak to the people.”
⁴⁰ After receiving the commander’s permission, Paul stood on the steps and motioned to the crowd. When they were all silent, he said to them in Aramaic:

¹ “Brothers and fathers, listen now to my defense.”
² When they heard him speak to them in Aramaic, they became very quiet.
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It is important to not check your brain out at the door with your faith. It's not all about having a good heart I guess is what I'm trying to say. Remember, a facet of the Great Commandment is to love the Lord your God with "all your mind". Worshiping the Lord with our mental and logical self brings him great pleasure. But more than that, it lays a groundwork of respect in our interactions with society at large.

I fear that the church has let themselves off the hook in the area of academics and scholarship. We focus so much on the heart and the attitudes that we forsake the preeminent value of the mind. In fact, often in the Bible the mind and heart are used interchangeably signifying God's desire to not divorce these two all-important faculties of faith.

But in the interest of time, I wanted to make a quick point.

I loved how the people became respectfully quiet at the point he spoke to them in Aramaic. It's one thing to "want to speak"--Paul said 'my I say something to you?' and 'let me speak to the people'--it's another thing to "have something to say". I remember someone saying that most people have nothing to say but won't stop talking. This is what I'm gettin' at.

I think people know when someone is credible and a part of that credibility comes from being studied, not just spirited. You don't just show up and know "Aramaic". You have to work hard for book smarts. I would submit to you that you don't just show up in our culture with a "good heart" and expect people to "listen" to you. Intellectual credibility is as important as spiritual credibility. You have to be a "workman that need not be ashamed rightfully dividing the word of truth". A workman. Slackers who study the art of Slackology can talk all they want, but people won't "quit themselves and listen". They just won't.

In order for people to listen you have to have something to say, and in order for you to have something to say you have to be a good thinker, and in order for you to be a good thinker you have to study, and in order for you to study you have to be a good student, and in order for you to be a good student you have to make time to challenge yourself and be curious about what you don't currently know.

And when it comes time to step on that platform and open your mouth, this "moment of truth" will actually be a "true moment". Because you can't fake presence, you can't fake truth. People have a crap detector that God gave them to sniff out fraudulent faith. The good part about this is that people can also tell and feel when the person who is standing before them is studied, spirited & storied. And when they come across this they get quiet and listen to what you have to say because you actually have something to say.

Don't just speak, say something.

Just "don't it" and the Art of Saying NO - Acts - Pages 83-90

2012-01-25T14:17:00.000-08:00

If I asked you to define "personal boundaries" what would your response be? Let me ask it another way, "How do you know what to say 'yes' and 'no' to?" What guiding principles form the creed by which you govern the decisions of your goings on?

I've noticed several little interpersonal exchanges in Acts that have been good for me to detect. I especially am interested in the logic behind saying "NO" to invitations and opportunities that, in and of themselves, are fantastic.

In Acts 18 Paul was reasoning with the Jews and it says, "when they asked him to spend more time with them, he declined. But as he left, he promised, 'I will come back if it is God's will.' Then he set sail."

Bwahahahahaha! I think that's maybe one of the funniest leadership verses in the Bible! Let me unpack it just a little...

"when asked to spend more time with them, he declined."

My question is how you know when to decline offers like this? They are honestly wanting more time to ask him honest questions and soak in his teachings. This is very, very good. But something inside of him told him to say, "No". He had a grid of priorities to adhere to. They must have been internal, because it gives no indication that he provided a reason why. He just "declined".

The words that stands out to me are "spend more time". I feel like this pressure is constant and most of the time it's the voices in my head or as Seth Godin calls it "the lizard brain". The things that require us to 'spend more time' are not diminishing as time marches on. Everything is wanting our time and to be honest, every one of those things has a pretty good reason why. "just stay a little longer", "just take one more night", "just watch one more show", "just get involved in one more extracurricular activity", "just say yes one more time". And BAM. The boiling point.

Wouldn't it be fun to be asked to do something and just flat out say? Declined.

If we would ever seek to do something with our lives we must decide to not do some things. Some things always crowd out something.

The funniest part is his promise: "I will come back if it is God's will." That is the most hilarious promise I've every heard.

Try this out when someone asks you to do something. Promise them that you will if it's God's will, then SET SAIL! Now that's a promise that I don't mind making.

Essentially..."No, maybe later".

Declining an invitation is critical to maximum influence. Know when to say NO. And after you do, set sail.

Homework: Next time someone asks you to do something that you know you shouldn't, just say this:

"Request Denied." (and give them a 'talk to the hand' expression...while bracing yourself to get punched)

Jason is in the Bible - Acts - pages 76-83

2012-01-24T21:01:00.000-08:00

Acts 17:5 - But the Jews were jealous; so they rounded up some bad characters from the marketplace, formed a mob and started a riot in the city. They rushed to Jason's house..."
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Didn't know my name was in the Holy Scriptures, did you? Jason wasn't a mighty warrior or an eye-witness of Jesus. He wasn't going around preaching the gospel, nor did he serve as an elder in his church. He didn't appear to have a position of authority or a deep knowledge of the kingdom. He was just a guy.

But he was more than a guy. He was a good guy.

I love this little account of Jason. All he is known for in the Scriptures is the way he welcomed people into his house that were fleeing jealous people. And jealous people are some of the most vicious in the church. Once they get their cross-hairs on someone, it doesn't take long for them to form a bloody coo and plot an assault.

Rabble rousers are in every church, every extended family, and every workplace. "Birds of a feather flock together" as they say. Flies find the Feces...they swarm. And they don't just find it, they eat it...they love it. I hope you saw the plot of a divisive person...this is so universal you can take it to the bank. Bet all your money on this horse.

This text pegs them to the dart board...check it out:
1. They were jealous.
2. They rounded up some bad characters.
3. They formed a mob.
4. They started a riot.

If I've seen it once I've seen it a thousand times. It's clockwork. Jealousy...bad characters...mob mentality...an all out riot. Jealousy is serious business...I'm just saying.

So Jason is like the coolest guy ever. Where do the disciples go when they need a trusted friend to protect them from the angry mob of jealous characters? Jason's house. I want to be this kind of person...the one who protects leaders who are being harassed by nutjobs. The one who doesn't get in on the mud flinging. The one to whom people go when they need someone to trust.

I want that house. I want that heart.

I want to be like Jason. Oh wait, I am Jason.

The Robe, the Throne, and the Microphone - Acts - pages 70-76

2012-01-23T12:25:00.000-08:00

Acts12:21-22 - On the appointed day Herod, wearing his royalrobes, sat on his throne and delivered a public address to thepeople. They shouted, “This is the voice of a god, not of a man." Immediately, because Herod did not give praise to God, an angel of theLord struck him down, and he was eaten by worms and died.

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Wedon't fear the consequences of pride near enough. The celebrityauthor/speaker/pastor has never been more widely accepted in the church. Many leaders actually try to position themselves to garner this kind ofplatform in order to market their wares. Twitter feeds and personalwebsites slam us with self-promotion leading to the clicks, hits, subscribersor Facebook friends.

Let'sbe honest, we want to be gods. We want to sit on a self-constructedthrone wearing the garb of power delivering a public address to the masses. We want to go as public as we can, drawing the widest net of net-worth. Even in false humility it is easy to respond to praise with: "oh, itwas nothing" all the while baiting for another stroke of the ego. False humility is maybe the worst in the pride-category of crimes.

"Thisis the voice of a god, not a man." And we're addicted. Just ataste of this treatment can go to our heads like a hit of cocaine. Everything within us wants to make like it has little to noeffect/affect, but it's impossible to not crave this sort of worship. Andmake no mistake, it is worship of the highest order. We love the robe,the throne and the microphone. This is the stage we all dream of standingon.

Andthe sad reality is that people don't get struck down by God when they steal theshow. Sometimes it feels like the ones who bathe themselves in self-congratulationand self-aggrandizement are the ones who get the lead role in the play. Their ministries still grow. Their influence seems to spread and itlooks every bit like they are on top of the world.

Iwish the angel of the Lord would strike down people who steal God's praisethese days. Oh wait, I take that back, cause I'd have been dead a longtime ago. If I tried to recount the times I've pilfered God's glory, itwould be innumerable. So let me be sure to express my thanks for gracealong with my issues with grace.

Graceis great, but sometimes it dilutes what is truly true. If leaders wouldbe struck down "immediately" when they forgot who they really wereand who God really was, it sure would make it easier to discern the shepherdsfrom the schmucks. And then if they were "eaten by worms" toput the finishing touch on things, it would make it even easier to pick out andpick off pride. I think I would think twice before basking in thelimelight. I would measure my steps very carefully and make sure mymotives and methods were completely vertical in value.

Ifind it hard to know what I really want. Grace or the Guillotine. Probably if I was real honest I would want others to get the guillotineas long as I got the grace. This is what makes me think I'm a greatcandidate for being smitten by the angel of the Lord...truth be told.

God,have mercy on me a sinner.

Oh,one more thing to note: Did you notice the progression of death?

#1- Struck down

#2- Eaten by worms

#3- (then) Death

How painful would it be tohave the worms kill you and not the strike? Just a thought.

Who knew the Bible was enough all by itself?

2012-01-22T17:49:00.000-08:00

Bible + Nothing = Enough

We have so many "Bible Studies". So many supplemental materials to help us along in our interaction with the Bible. I think over the years people have just settled into the assumption that the Bible all by itself isn't enough.

Almost like the Bible can't stand alone. Left alone, it's insufficient or in need of backup support. I think people, in general, believe some lies about bible engagement.

First, that you have to understand everything in order to get anything out of it. Second, that the stories of the bible are detached from the realities of modern civilization. Third, that you need a professional to feed it to you (like Gerber baby food). Fourth, that if you've read it once there is no reason to read it again because it will say the same thing. (true, if you mean it doesn't change; false, if you mean how you read it doesn't change) Fifth, that you need "fill-in-the-blanks" and "additional commentary" in order to not lose interest. Sixth, that you can't make a mistake in interpretation or else you'll be banished from the assembly. Seventh, that the words will be too deep and make you feel more stupid than you already do. Eighth, that when you compare your observations with other people's, they won't stack up and make the "maturity" cut. Ninth, that you have to read into everything with some deep spiritual meaning and that it couldn't be as simple as it seems. And tenth, that you can't be bored by the Bible sometimes without feeling unspiritual. (I'm bored by the Bible at times, but I've learn to not over-think it and carry the self-fulfilled prophecy into tomorrow. It's not a big deal, just keep reading and don't beat yourself up. It might be something that you'll understand in 2 years or 10 years or 20 years. It's ok, don't sweat it.)

As I read the New Testament the last couple weeks, I was surprised how sufficient it was all by itself. There were passages that went over my head, yes. There were other passages that I already knew and breezed through. But then there were new nuggets of truth that I felt like I mined out for the first time. New nectar tucked in between the pages like buried pollen packed in the pedals of a flower.

Letting God speak for himself and letting God be himself without anyone else's augmentation was surprisingly fresh and refreshing.

So if you're feeling intimidated to read your Bible, don't be. Just crack it open and take it in. When you come to something you don't understand, make a note of it and move on. Don't get hung up on trivialities and incidentals. Look for the overarching storyline.

And remember, it's just as important to hear God's voice as it is to read God's word. It would be a travesty if you stopped at the words and didn't take in the voice. The voice is what brings to personality and vitality to the words.

So as I start another week of reading the Bible with my "faith community" at Impact. I'm starting tomorrow with an expectation that God wants to say something to me, maybe not everything, but something. And that is enough. He is enough.

The Church needs to Chill - Acts - pages 62-70

2012-01-20T17:33:00.000-08:00

It's easy to think of church as a busy fast-paced movement full of near-death experiences and close calls on the razor edge of faith. Like it says in Matt. 11, "The kingdom of God is forcefully advancing and forceful men lay hold of it". It could be easy to assume that the church is supposed to be going at break-neck speed full of painful toil, sacrificial service and daily opposition. We can even pride ourselves in thinking that the more "difficult" it is, the more we must be threatening Satan and prevailing against the "gates of Hell". There are certainly seasons of difficulty, but I saw something in Acts today that hadn't stood out to me before.

"Then the church throughout Judea, Galilee and Samaria enjoyed a time of peace and was strengthened. Living in the fear of the Lord and encouraged by the Holy Spirit, it increased in numbers."

I can't tell you how much I needed to hear this today. I feel like my mind can race with pressure to do more. Little peace. Little encouragement. Little strength. I start to tell myself that this is the Christian Life...striving. It's about standing against darkness and battling the spirit of this age. It's about burning the wick on both ends to the glory of God. It's about persecution and revolution born out of strain and struggle, weakness and worry. Sleepless nights combined with tireless ministry. Read that last sentence. This is nuts.

There are days like this for sure, but isn't it nice to know that there are times of enjoyment. I love that word. The church enjoyed itself for a time. And this expressed itself in 4 forms:

1. Peace. The church had a season where peace descended on them like a warm comforter right out of the dryer. They knew seasons of persecution and pain. They had witnessed their friends being martyred before their very eyes (Stephen). They had run from the law and hidden in the catacombs. They had been thrown into prison and beaten silly for sharing their faith. Believe me, they knew seasons of suffering. But God granted the church a time of peace. The church needs this respite from the restless and reckless advancement of the kingdom. In fact, the kingdom can't advance on the backs of the beatdown. They must experience rest and peace in order to create movement and meaning.

2. Strength. They get pumped up by God again. They spent time getting nourished and nurtured. They got invested in and trained. They got ministered to instead of ministering. It's easy to go, go, go...but there are times to say no, no, no. No more doing. No more serving. No more giving. Not until I get strengthened. You will give and give and give until you give out and give up. God wants us to enjoy time of strengthening and once we're strengthened, we can use that strength to move the movement. It's hard to enjoy movement when you can hardly move anymore.

3. Fear of the Lord. We don't know much about this refreshment, but I think it has something to do with an orientation on our origin (how things began...how things are). We are not God. He is not us. He can do what he wants. He is powerful and more than capable of pulling things off with our without me. It's a time to stop thinking about "Me" or "We" and getting our thoughts on the great "He". He is timeless and boundless. He is gorgeous and glorious. He is self-sufficient and omnipotent. He is "I am". Quite simply, "He is to be revered and reveled in." He is awesome. That is refreshing to know that we don't have to be awesome. We just have to know he is. Enjoyment follows this realization.

4. Encouraged by the Holy Spirit. Really? Really? You mean we don't have to live discouraged and disappointed the better part of our lives? The Spirit will breathe courage into our lifeless lungs? The church must have the intimate friendship of the Spirit in order to make it. You simply can't carry on with your "Human Spirit" if you're going to "be the church". You can "go to church" and make it with just your "Human Spirit", but "being the church" requires the "Holy Spirit". His encouragement. His empowering. His inspiriting life.

The text says that during this time when the church enjoyed peace, strength, reverence, and encouragement...the church increased in numbers. It is a lie that the church can only grow if you kill yourself making it happen. Sometimes the church explodes when it relaxes into a time of enjoyment.

May your peace hover over your church, Lord. Grant us seasons such a this.

Great fear seized the church - Acts - pages 55-62

2012-01-19T08:34:00.000-08:00

God is love, of this we are certain. The Bible makes that clear. But what we are not so certain of is what kind of love he is. Our definition of love drums up images of hearts, dating, flirting, crushes, sex, and romance of some sort or another. Love is plastered all over malls and greeting cards. It fills prime time television. The word is used to describe what we feel when we listen to the new release of U2's hit single..."I love it"--"you'll love it"! We love steak and skyping. We feel loved when someone takes out the garbage without being asked. Love is a warm feeling or a hot romance. These are all aspects of love, but I have a feeling it only grazes God's version of love.

Love in the Bible seems to entail something rarely associated with warm fuzzies. Love in the Bible is--at times--furious, jealous and exclusive. It asks for faithfulness and obedience. "If you love me keep my commandments" Jesus said. And Paul said that those the Lord loves, he chastens (disciplines). Just punishment seems to be a by-product of deep love. Love doesn't just let things go without justice. Justice is as much a part of love as mercy. Love gets angry. Love defends to the death. Love cries and gets hurt. Love is holy. By that I mean more than perfect...love is pure.

The part of the reading today that struck me was the story of where Ananias and Sapphira held back money from the land they sold and lied to the assembly leading them to believe they gave everything. It was something we all do from time to time, letting someone believe we did more than we really did or less than we really did. Embellishing a story, sharing only the parts that make the greatest impact...come on, this is standard fare for humanity these days.

But here's the kicker. They tried to lie to the Holy Spirit, not just people. The thought they could pull a fast one on God. And there was something about this offense that aroused the side of love in God that demands justice. In my mind, the crime doesn't fit the punishment, but that's what I'm learning about my faith in this New Testament reading...it's not about what makes sense "in my mind". As I see the "mind of God" on the pages of His Word I'm struck with how domesticated and tame I've made Him and, thus, my belief system. I have been shocked how uncomfortable I am with this casual read-through of the Bible wanting, at times, to just tone down and calm down Jesus. The demands of pure love seem to bring tension.

When God killed Ananias and Sapphira for their lie, it said that "the whole church was seized with fear". That's not a very popular notion, right? I mean First John says that perfect love casts out fear, right? But in this case, there was an appropriate fear of God that overcame the church. It is a fear that the Bible calls "the terror of the Lord". In fact, the Old Testament says, "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom", meaning that the beginning of living a life based on reality is having a proper fear of the Lord based on his complete "otherness". He is powerful beyond words and if we really knew who he was we would have a sense of awe, respect, reverence, and fear in his presence. To dumb him down just so that we can have a "little buddy in the sky" leads to things like we saw in this story. Jesus isn't our "homeboy". God isn't our grandpa who doles out dried apricots from his lazy-boy at Holiday reunions. He is the Almighty God of the universe, and he is to be feared and loved.

And I don't think Fear and Love are mutually exclusive as we relate to God. The one causes the other and vice versa.

I think "great fear needs to seize the church" again. We have our fill of fun. We have created family-friendly, user-friendly assemblies that don't scare off people or give our children bad dreams. This is not all bad, but I think we could use a healthy dose of fear to fill our churches again causing us to bow down before the Great King giving him the glory due his Name. We toss him around like a rag doll and one day, I fear, the sleeping Giant will awake. When you tickle a dragon, don't be surprised when you're torn asunder.

The 5th Amendment and Jesus - Luke - pages 47-54

2012-01-18T08:53:00.000-08:00

I feel as though my emerging objective in writing these daily reactions to the reading of the New Testament is to share my utter shock at the new things hitting me in new ways. Originally I thought I would discipline myself to give an account of my thoughts concerning key points Jesus was making (that I already knew about, but wanted to pontificate on). I have been humbled to realized how many details of the narrative of God's Word I have missed and how many misrepresentations I have made about who Jesus was and what he was like. He is much more human that I ever imagined and his sinlessness what certainly not to be confused with being "behaved" or "nice". He is, as I've discovered the last couple weeks, unlike any man that has ever stepped foot on this planet. I think I've thought of him as a sinless version of Ghandi...this couldn't have been further from the truth.

A detail that reached out a grabbed me today was the verse that said, "that day Herod and Pilate became friends--before this they had been enemies." How interesting. Jesus did bring about reconciliation between people...as they banded together in solidarity against him. People that were enemies became friends under the banner of their common views of Christ. The couldn't get along on anything but their opposition to Jesus. They had no earthly connection beyond their combined efforts to thwart this man and his mission.

Friends. They became friends through this conspiracy to kill Christ.

Something about their interaction with Jesus caused them to find friendship where before there was no relationship whatsoever. I found this intriguing. I see this in our world. A conspiracy against Jesus that brings the most unlikely and uncommon people together in communal vitriol. People of other faiths can do as they please in public places, but any public display of affection for Christ causes shockwaves that measure at a 9.7 on the Richter. There is such tolerance of all manner of expressiveness regarding 5th amendment freedoms of speech, but when it involves in the slightest the person of Jesus, it evokes such reactions of anger by people claiming to be violated as if they were being mentally molested or spiritually abused. The tolerance for anything and everything truly vile goes without saying, but the allowance of Christ in conversations or celebrations provokes rabid tirades.

People come out of the woodwork and rally together even as enemies against Jesus. Not God, but Jesus. He is the centerpiece of controversy. He is the talking point of tabloids. He is the fulcrum. The spine. The center of gravity. You are more than free to not believe him, but one thing is for sure...you can't ignore him. You can stand neutral in your opinion of several things, but there is no neutral ground on Jesus...you either love him or hate him. He allows no borderland.

How could a man be so influential that even peoples hatred of each other is set aside in order to join forces in friendship against this man? You can tell what's true by the level of defensiveness people have in opposition toward it. People rarely get flustered over things that have no credibility, they simply let them neutralize themselves in time. Only truth induces this kind of enemy alliance. There is no need to raise up and kill what has no merit in the first place.

Crying over the City - Luke - pages 40-47

2012-01-17T20:34:00.000-08:00

"Jesus saw the city, and wept over it."

There is something powerful about this mental picture. I remember the first time I saw my dad cry. He wept in our living room as he confronted my brother and I about pornography. He didn't even spank us that evening, he just wept. I would have rather been lashed with a horsewhip. Seriously, seeing him cry absolutely crushed me. There is something about watching a grown man weep that seizes your soul.

Thinking about Jesus balling like a baby over the city of Jerusalem moved me. He wasn't just task-driven and results-oreiented. He loved the city. He loved the lives that filled the crowded city streets. His heart has always been moved to tears by cities. Because cities represent people. And people represent souls. And Jesus was about souls.

He wept "over" the city. Looking over the cityscape he burst into tears knowing all that he invested and how little the return currently was on that investment. He mourned the reality that though he did all he could do to explain eternal life and the economy of the kingdom, for most, the concept was still foreign and the meaning still "hidden". He couldn't bear that thought without getting choked up.

I feel God inviting people to cry over their city with him. To drive through the streets and weep for the community and those whom it represents. To shed tears for the ones slipping through the cracks. Every city needs weeping prophets who care enough to cry.

First, do you "see the city"?
Second, will you "weep over it"?

We can't get so busy with the church that we forget about the city. Any church that isn't crying over their city doesn't understand the purpose of the church in the first place. It's time to go out have a good cry.

Jesus doesn't back down - Luke - pages 33-40

2012-01-16T14:00:00.000-08:00

Luke 13ish - "At that time some Pharisees came to Jesus and said to him, “Leave this place and go somewhere else. Herod wants to kill you.” He replied, “Go tell that fox, ‘I will drive out demons and heal people today and tomorrow, and on the third day I will reach my goal.' In any case, I must keep going today and tomorrow and the next day..."

After reading the Scriptures today, I simply cannot overstate how flabbergasted I was at how my interpretation of Jesus has swung from one side of the pendulum to the other. I remember the feisty, fiery Jesus growing up with hellfire and brimstone, and sulfur and weeping and gnashing of teeth and flames and such. As I studied further I came to know the human, tender, relevant and--shall I say--gracious side of Jesus that spoke to the postmodern in me. I gravitated to verses that highlighted his love and mercy and grace, and conveniently side-stepped the verses that were--as they say--the "hard sayings of Jesus".

I can't enumerate the times that I felt like I needed to tone down Jesus' language today as I read Luke. I was frankly uncomfortable with his "matter-of-factness" as he told it like it was. He spoke as one who didn't care about popularity one bit. He was on a mission, and he had a message, and it was non-negotiable. The thing that is hardest to reconcile is that in the same paragraphs he seemed to communicate almost contradictory thoughts, like a mixed message or something. On the one hand he would be the Father who welcomed the son who squandered all his inheritance on prostitutes and decadence, but then--after being asked if there would "only a few people going to be saved"--he would be the owner of the house who had a narrow door and called anyone who did not enter it evildoers. The margin of error didn't seem to have the slack I'd made up in my head. I was tossed about in the reading today trying to get my feet on the seabed but to no avail. The undertow of undulations in the text today threw me around like a jellyfish in the tempestuous surf.

The verse I mentioned in the beginning tugged at my heart. It spoke of Jesus' certitude in who he was and why he came. When threatened by fears of man and asked to leave and "go somewhere else", he retorted with the snark of a offended UFC fighter. "Tell that fox that I'm gonna..." I love it! Just when you thought the gentle Jesus would roll over and play possum, he shows us that he's got some pluck in 'em! He doesn't get pushed around or intimidated. He isn't going to let people tell him where to go and what to do. He's following higher orders and leaves when he's good and ready to leave. I wonder what Pilot did when the messengers took back this response to him? He must have keeled over that someone would have the audacity to call him a "fox"!

His reason for not backing down wasn't a "muscle-flexing" macho-man contest. He wasn't fighting for his masculinity, he was fighting for his ministry. The mission drove him. Did you hear him, "I will reach my goal." He has is eyes set on the objective that no objection could shake. He knew who he was and why he was here.

I love when he said, "In any case, I must keep going today and tomorrow and the next day..." Sometimes it's a simple as this line of logic. I need that on somedays. Strike that, I need that today. It's been a day of slogging through sludge. I feel like it just poured down "leave-this-place-and-go-somewhere-else" today...not in the sense of leaving Impact or Lowell, but just backing off on "putting my heart out there" and "fighting for the vision God's has planted in my heart for our church". I encountered some attack and I felt the levies almost give a couple times. It was great to read the galvanizing response of Jesus to critics. "I must keep going...today, tomorrow, and the next day." Yeah, I must.

I hope today you feel stirred by this random collection of responses to the story of Jesus. I'm thoroughly enjoying how Jesus is messing with my "categories".

A prayer before reading the Bible this week...

2012-01-15T18:18:00.000-08:00

A Prayer to Pray before you begin reading God's Word each day this week:

"God of this book in my hands, come to life! May words jump off the page as your Spirit adds His illuminating color commentary. Give me the ability to climb into the context roaming about in the towns, streets and homes where the characters are walking. Let me hear their voices as though I was listening in to their conversations through a thin veil. Where I am confused by the content, bring clarity. Where I am losing my way, turn on the lights. Where I am reading into the Bible, show me my imposition. Where I am only absorbing what I agree with, give me a spirit of surrender. Where I am lazy, light a fire under me. Where I am rushing through, slow me and calm me down. Where I feel distracted, give me uncommon focus. I need this Book to be so much more than a book. I need these Words to be so much more than mere words. I need this Moment to be so much more than just another moment. Please introduce yourself to me in brand new ways as well as old familiar ways...with the peace of an old friendship and the curiosity of a budding love affair. More than anything, I want to know who you really are. No more "hand-me-downs" or "hear-say". I want to discover you without a middle man. No more secondhand information. Speak for yourself and be yourself with me today. And where you don't make sense let me embrace your mystery. I believe you want to say something to me today and I'm all ears. I come expectant, exceed my expectations. In Jesus name, Amen."

Luke - pages 26-33

2012-01-13T15:51:00.000-08:00

This weekend, I'm talking about women and Jesus. I don't know why, but one of the astounding elements surfacing in this first week of reading Luke is the number of women mentioned so far in this narrative. Women were not highly regarded nor respected in this culture, so Dr. Luke is obviously wanting to hint at something in the life of Jesus. Namely, Jesus may have never loved a woman, but he did love women, and wasn't shy about entering the woman's world. Though never married, his life was given to restoring dignity to femininity defending that dignity to the death. The reason I say it like that is because his interaction with women was one of the things that disqualified him in the eyes of the religious leaders of that day. More than one time he was questioned for his comfort level in the presence of prostitutes, the promiscuous, and the peasants.

Jesus treatment of the female heart is remarkable. So let me make a few remarks. They were not sex objects to him. They were not baby makers. They were not even the weaker vessel in his eyes. They were not intellectually inferior or emotionally unstable. They were not slaves under the dominion of the man. They were not to be trifled or toyed with. They were not to be abused or abandoned. They were not to be exploited or exposed. No, they were--as he stated-- "His daughters" and in this section today he called this woman the "daughter" of Abraham.

The woman I speak of was crippled by a spirit for 18 years. She couldn't even stand up straight she was so vexed with demonized discomfort. I love it...the text says "he called her forward". That's what I long to do for women in this culture. To call them forward. To call them toward healing. To call them to the light. To call them to the front instead of letting them stay in the back for another year.

It says that he spoke into her hurting heart: "Woman, you are set free..." He wasn't afraid of that word, "woman". He named her. He knew its crowning origin. He knew its power and preciousness. "You are free." Remember, in Luke 4 this is the expressed reason for his 3 year ministry..."to bind up the brokenhearted and to set the captives free..." He was consumed with his focus of freedom fighting.

It says that "he put his hands on her"...gentle, appropriate, merciful. I'm sure she had felt the touch of a man before, but nothing like this man. His touch was full of respect and resurrection. He had no hidden intentions, no ulterior motives that drive many a man to touch a woman. No, his hands were holy. And holy hands bring wholeness.

The religious leaders were indignant (ticked) that he healed on the Sabbath saying "There are six days to work. So come and be healed on those days." Wow. They didn't view spiritual healing as spiritual. How could you be so blind as to think "healing was work"...healing was "secular"...healing was "labor". This is why Jesus came, to reclaim religion from the hands of the despotic and deceived. As it says in James he came to start a "pure religion that was undefiled". And one of the main priorities was healing women. Women of all backgrounds and ages. Abused women, used women, and misused women. Isaiah 61, his "ministry vision passage" says that he wanted to restore "beauty for ashes"...because so many women have been burnt and burnt out, a pile of ashes. And Jesus would see beauty and speak it back into being. This is why women would seek him out even if they didn't trust men, because he wasn't like other men, he was good. He was true. He was God. And they felt like his daughters. Protected and secure in his strong presence.

After he set this "daughter of Abraham" free, it says that his "opponents were humiliated, but the people were delighted with all the wonderful things he was doing." I love how Jesus humiliated people that were used to humiliating people. And more than that, I love how he delighted people that were normal, everyday human beings looking to catch a break. Oh, the wonderful things he did. This is what has always and this is the only thing that will ever change the world..." the wonderful things you do".

I can't wait to speak on this subject this weekend at Impact.

Until then, "Women, you are set free."

Luke - pages 17-26

2012-01-12T11:19:00.000-08:00

People absolutely hate what is called "organized religion". I saw a shirt a couple years back that said, "I hate religion" on the front and had a definition of religion on the back: "An institution that provides a structure of rules and rituals for people to follow in order to please God and control humans." That's what people hate. So when people say they hate organized religion, what they mean is they hate the "hypocrisy and bureaucracy" of institutionalized church, where religion is a list of rules and where a leader uses his or her power to manipulate people."

But I was struck by the "organization" of Jesus in the story I read today. I fear that the term organized religion has made people question any church that provides an org chart or tries to organize a ministry plan, policy, or procedure. There is something worse than "organized" religion and that is "disorganized" religion. Organization isn't the problem, structure isn't the problem, leadership is the problem and the heart with which the leader leads.

Jesus was teaching a large group of people and the disciples came to him and said that he should send them home so they could eat and sleep. His response showed his leadership responsibility. It always does for anyone who's a leader. He replied, "Have them sit down in groups of about fifty". I love it!--"about fifty"--as if to say, don't get too hung up on the exact number of 50, but shoot for something in that ballpark. The apostles did what he said, he manufactured the food, and the distribution began to take place. Organization, manufacturing and distribution have always been a part of ministry. Organization and order allow God's heart to be experienced in a distraction-free, user-friendly fashion. The gospel is offensive enough, so don't create a model, mode or method that offends them needlessly. What Jesus was implementing here is strategy. Strategy is an apparatus to serve the mission, a template to make ministry actually happen. You need this.

Just in case you thought Jesus wasn't into organization, I wanted to highlight this administration move. The problem isn't the order of worship, it's the worship of order. When the program serves the people, you do ministry Jesus' way. It's when the people serve the program that religion starts to go foul.

Speaking of breaking into groups...are you in a Life Group yet? This is where we manufacture Christ-followers to distribute the gospel by swapping stories, God's and ours. If not, join one this weekend! We are getting together all over the greater Lowell area to talk about what God is showing us in the Biblica New Testament study. Sign up in the cafe' this weekend.

Nothing like a shameless plug. If it felt like product placement, it was. Welcome to organized religion.

Luke - pages 11-17

2012-01-11T08:36:00.000-08:00

Once again, I'm scrambling to make a blog out of beauty. Over five times since the start of reading this Biblica New Testament, I have checked the cover to see if it is really the NIV. I have taken out my Bible to check and make sure words haven't been changed. That's how shocked I am at the new things popping out at me.

Jesus reveals himself to be the Messiah with a "coming out party" at the synagogue. It is thought to be the inauguration of his 3 year earthly ministry which started at age 30 after 3 decades of carpentry and study. A great example of the importance of preparation before presentation.

He stands before the religious leaders and opens the scroll of Isaiah to read publicly. A few phrases gripped me and got me thinking.

"Unrolling it, he found the place where it was written..." This was none other than Isaiah 61. Now I don't know how much casual reading you've done in the book of Isaiah, but trust me when I say there's a load of material that isn't the most cheery. In fact, the better part of Isaiah, though sprinkled with encouragement, is checkered with judgement for sin and the promise of retribution for rebellious idolatry and spiritual prostitution. It is heavy. Really heavy. Put it this way, he could have chosen from 66 chapters and 1292 verses in Isaiah and yet this place he want to camp out. It was this verse that he wanted to be known for. And just so we understand the intentionality of our Lord, he started the quote and stopped it with precision. In fact, he closed the scroll half way through a verse because he didn't want the second half to be read. Let me tell you what I mean...

He ended the reading in Isaiah with the verse "to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor..." but that is only half the verse. The other half reads: "...and the day of vengeance of our God" Really? Can you do that? Can you choose to open a passage, read the part you want to ready, and stop just before it takes a contextual turn in another less encouraging direction? Hmmm. I was told this wasn't good expository, exegetical preaching. I just found it strange that Jesus "opened the scroll where it was written..." and then made the decision to end at the comma instead of the period. He can do whatever he wants, I'm just saying.

I think it should at least cause us to understand that there are certain contexts of people where you have the right and, dare I say, responsibility to choose your words carefully based on your context, not just the Bible's. If the people group you're talking to need to hear the first half of the verse today, share the first half. If they need to hear the second half tomorrow, share the second half. If they need to hear the whole kit and caboodle, by all mean, lay it on them. Sometimes I think we get overly hung up on not taking God's word out of context that we forget that Jesus did it on certain occasions for certain purposes.

I don't encourage this as a practice, I just think we need to be careful not to make up an air tight theology just cause we are "erring on the safe side". I think God wants us to ask ourselves the question every time we open our mouths with other people, "how much should I say and how should I say it". From there, we ask God to do his thing.

Luke - pages 6-11

2012-01-10T11:54:00.000-08:00

So much could be said, but I haven't the time to share all the new nuggets I mined out of the text today. I've read these passages countless times, and somehow certain facets alluded me. It's like they appeared on the pages sometime since the my last perusal of Luke, but I know this can't be true. This is the genius of a book that is living and active. (Hebrews 4:16)

I want to point out two things that piqued my interest.

First, Anna the prophet. I don't know why, but I haven't thought much about her as it relates to the Christmas story. This, I suppose, has something to do with growing up Baptist and believing women shouldn't be in leadership unless, of course, it's leading the potluck or the childcare. So for me, this idea that the words "prophet" and "Anna" could be one in the same is quite striking.

I love the idea of seeing a women given a platform and a voice. Not just any voice, but the voice that is the oracle of God to the people. I think many women have been told and come to believe that they don't get to play in the "big leagues" with the "big boys". They quietly assume their role in the shadows, seen but not heard. This is tragic. The idea of Anna being the megaphone of God standing in this crucial gap between heaven and earth puts a smile on my face. I want to humanize women instead of patronize them. Thanks, Anna.

Second, when John the Baptist goes out and starts preaching repentance that produces fruit, the crowd asked him, "What should we do then?" I absolutely love his response, because it is the furthest thing from a classical religious response that you could get. "Anyone who has two shirts should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same." I don't remember ever reading this before. I know I have, it just didn't register.

We live in a day and age where the gospel has been reduced to a prayer, a sermon, a "to do" list, a song, or worse, a privatized (or personal) relationship with Jesus. John hadn't even met Jesus yet and he knew the ropes. How do you repent? Easy. "Got two shirts, give one away." Really? Really? Yep. "And anyone who has food should do the same." What are we running here a Salvation Army? What about repentance? As John said earlier "produce fruit in keeping with repentance". So how do you know whether you have really repented? Well, you will give stuff away to people that need it. This, for too long, has been the gapping hole in the gospel.

We have turned following Christ into going to church. We have turned church into a service. We have turned a service into songs and a sermon. We have turned the sermon into principles. We have turned principles into steps. We have turned steps into spiritual laws. We have turned spiritual laws into evangelism. We have turned evangelism into tracts. And finally, we have turned tracts into the gospel. This is, much like the women issue, also 'tragic'.

We need a recovery of practical gospel living. Things like shirts and food.

Luke - pages 1-6

2012-01-09T13:00:00.000-08:00

One of the things that grabbed me in this passage was the whole "Mary" topic. She has been such a polarizing personality in the Bible due to these brief descriptions and responses in Luke. So much has been made out of so little, because there is so little revealed about her in the Scriptures. Luke seems to say more than anyone, and it's still precious little.

I was struck by the phrase "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear!" This was the utterance of Elizabeth when the two met up in the middle of their pregnancies. The baby (John the Baptist) leapt in Elizabeth's womb in the presence of baby Jesus, tucked silently in the uterus of his mother, Mary.

After this encounter, Mary sang a song from which ancient religion has unfortunately immortalized and deified her making her a co-redemptive agent of salvation. A gross misinterpretation of this brief text--this short refrain in a simple song.

Mary exclaimed that she "glorified the Lord...for he had been mindful of the humble state of his servant (Mary)" and said that "all generations would call her blessed for the Mighty One had done great things for her".

Her response shows where she sees herself in the "immaculate conception". She views herself as humbly blessed, not "bless-ed". And she agrees with Elizabeth that the fruit of her womb (Jesus) is "bless-ed", not "blessed". Another way of saying it in modern vernacular is that she was lucky to be Jesus' mother, Jesus was not lucky to be her son. She was blessed; He was bless-ed.

She was the humble servant, he was the mighty one. She glorified the Lord, and felt honored/humbled that he was "mindful" of her, that he chose her of all women. It was immaculate alright, and he was the central reason why. She knew it and bent low under the overshadowed brooding of God's life-giving Spirit.

She was grateful; Jesus was great. Case closed.

The Eve of Reading the New Testament with the rest of Impact...

2012-01-08T19:27:00.000-08:00

Our church is beginning and 13 week journey tomorrow morning that will conclude the week before Easter. Over 500+ New Testaments have been purchased and we ran out of all of our Bibles and daily journals. Hopefully we will have more in the office early this week so that people who weren't able to get one can stop in a pick one up.

I'm nervous to do this, but I feel like I want to write one blog each day that concentrates on my reading that day. This commitment hopefully will deepen my experience and as well as connect our body together as we "Herd the Turtles" and start this marathon. Remember, just like the tortoise and the hare, "slow and steady wins the race"! Little by little (6 pages a day) and before you know it, we will have ingested and digested the whole of the New Testament! I can't wait to see how this will deepen our body in the coming months.

"Lord, be with our body as we take your very words into our hands and please move them from the paper page to our hungry hearts. Deepen our community through Life Groups, allow people to connect with each other and with you in ways that bring your Word to life. When people get tired, or bored, or lazy...stir them out of their stupor and light them up! Do what you did in Acts when it said the 'Word of God spread in power'! More than anything, be glorified as you take joy in the pursuit of your people and reward us with a glimpse of you. Be all over these 13 weeks! We are expecting great things. Don't hold yourself back but do what you said you would do in Isaiah 42 and 'cry out and gasp and pant'! Let us see your passion and feel you power. We are coming after you, Lord. Looking forward to seeing you and talking with you tomorrow. Until then, hover over us. Amen."

On January 9th the army will convene and advance.

Luke...here we come.

Jason

A Bad Attitude.

2012-01-07T07:49:00.000-08:00

We typically attach this idea of a bad attitude to children. They are the ones who cop an attitude when something's not fair or throw a temper tantrum when they don't get their way. Juvenile delinquents get pegged with this label more than not.

My mom used to say, "We need to have an attitude of gratitude." We used to call her a sermon in shoes. She would come out with these little phrases like it was her job, and looking back, it was. "Jesus is the reason for the season." "Delayed obedience is disobedience." And so on and so forth. She was a stickler when it came to attitude. "You need an attitude adjustment", she would say. "Change your attitude, young man" she exclaimed. Attitude was more important than actions, because it was the wellspring of what was really in the heart.

I've learned that attitude isn't just a kid thing. It's a human thing and it doesn't get any easier to have a good one with the accumulation of years. It takes militant discipline to keep your attitude in check.

There are days when I want to just go off. Something that should have taken 10 minutes takes 2 hours. Someone that should know better didn't appropriate the "better" that they knew. A car repair that was supposed to cost $80 instead breaks the bank for $230. Your kids won't stop talking to each other in cutting tones. These little things can cause a stress fracture (compound fracture).

I'm learning that it is important to "put on" Christ. There is no way to overcome a cruddy attitude without "clothing yourself with Christ". His attitude, His mind, His perspective. He is the only shot you and I have at really being different than we are. His Word becomes our "garment of praise". His truth becomes our "cloak of character". His fruit grows on our tree, instead of our rotten fruit, our rotten attitudes.

Are you sick of being rotten? Me too.

Good Gossip...

2012-01-06T07:50:00.000-08:00

Talking about people is, without a doubt, the most powerful transmission of revolutionary movement. It always has been.

We call it "word of mouth". In marketing this is what you can only dream will happen when your product hits the streets. You want people talking about you and what you're doing. You want the viral spread of sentences that begin with phrases like...

"Have you seen the..."
"You gotta try out..."
"You wouldn't believe the way she..."
"I found it remarkable that he..."
"What I loved about them is..."
"If you're looking for quality you've gotta check out..."
"Make sure you go see..."
"I've never met anyone like them before."

Talking about situations and people is what the gospel means at the core, "good news". You can't transmit the gospel without talking about the new news of life change and the good things God has done and is doing in mankind. This is how news spreads. This is how good spreads. This is how good news spreads. This is the quintessential power of the gospel.

So talking about people is essential to the kingdom coming on earth as it is in heaven. This is why Paul was constantly "talking up" other churches to other churches. At the end of his letters he spent time affirming people to other people. This is godly gossip that unleashes a contagion of community. We need more of this.

There are several ways to do this, but let me leave you with one today. I think if we would utilize this phrase at the beginning of sentences in conversation, we would see a growth hormone injected into humanity and Christianity that has become extinct.

Here is the phrase:

"What I love about them is..."

Whenever you're talking to people, make time for "talking up" other people using this pump-primer. You will be amazed how contagious this kind communication and community is.

"What I love about her is how committed she is to her kids."
"What I love about him is the simple way he approaches life."
"What I love about them is their passion for excellence."

Give it a whirl today. Try talking up people using these six words. Find the good to affirm rather than the bad to expose. This is Good Gossip. This is the Gospel.

The truth about gossip...

2012-01-05T06:33:00.000-08:00

Gossip is not just spreading rumors about someone that aren't true, gossip is spreading around something that may be true but isn't constructive to the other person's reputation. I think people think it's more than ok to talk about someone as long as the conversation is factual. This couldn't be further from the truth.

Gossip is spreading lies or truths that damage another person's reputation. It is sharing with the intent of preying on another person's misfortune, making sport of their story for the purpose of mere amusement or interpersonal entertainment.

Here is a list of questions you can use as a "gossip gauge":
1. Does what I'm about to say about that person put them in a good light or a bad light?
2. Do the facts I'm about to share build up or tear down?
3. Is this conversation talking about solutions or problems?
4. Will my remarks encourage grace towards the person or judgement?
5. If this got back to the person would they thank me for sharing it?
6. The question is not whether it is true or false, the question is whether it is good or bad.
7. Can the person I'm sharing with do anything to bring about positive change in the situation?
8. Does sharing this story promote me by making me look good or feel better?
9. Lastly, have I talked to the person before talking about the person?

And speaking of #10, even if you have talked to the person first it doesn't make it right to talk about them if it breaks any rule in #1 through #9. I've heard people saying when confronted about gossip, "I'm not telling you something I haven't already told them!" That's not the point. The point must remain centered on whether what I'm sharing is constructive or destructive to the person's reputation.

There are contexts where sharing concern is appropriate, but only for the purposes of restoration, safety or finding a resolution (solution). But even then, you go to the person first and if they wouldn't respond to you then you go to the person with someone else who desires biblical restoration. At that point you either let it go and let God be the judge, jury and executioner, or you take it to spiritual leadership and let them decide on the next steps forward. The Bible says in a multitude of "counselors" there is wisdom, not the counsel of the multitudes. Spiritual counsel is different then "pooling collective opinions".

It must be said that sharing concerns and prayer requests with someone who isn't involved in the situation and doesn't need to be can be a "spiritual way" of spreading slander. "Can you pray for so and so, she is really struggling with..." or "My heart really goes out to "John Doe", I heard yesterday that his wife left him for another man. I just feel really bad for him." Sound harmless, doesn't it? But right under the religious guise of concern is a fleshly scavenger feeding on the road kill.

Gossip isn't just telling a lie about someone, sometimes it's telling the truth about someone in a way that throws them under the bus.

Talking about other people...

2012-01-04T20:00:00.000-08:00

Negativity and talking about other people often go together, so I've decided to tackle the greased pig of gossip while I attempt to kick the habit of bellyaching.

I know what you're thinking, "If I can't talk about other people, what is there to talk about?" To which my response is, "You got a point there." Well, we could talk about the weather, that's one option. We could talk about work, that's another meaty conversation. But what will we do after that minute is over?

Talking about other people feels good because it's an opportunity to talk about story without talking about our story. We are creatures who feed on story and need stories to survive. I believe this is why talking about people gives us the pleasure of swapping stories without being forced to live one ourselves and talk about how it's going. Critiquing someone else's attempts at living a story is so much easier than putting skin in the game ourselves. Tearing someone else down artificially fulfills our need to feel accomplishment because it give us the false impression that we are excelling. Cheap shots feel so good when you're looking for a victory, but it's like sucker punching someone and bragging about your prizefighting prowess. Try standing toe to toe before you talk big.

I've noticed several things happen when you stop talking about people negatively:
1. You become more confident in yourself.
2. You aren't as driven to be a people-pleaser.
3. You start thinking the best about people's motivations.
4. You struggle less with self-consciousness.
5. You feel less inclined to get in other people's drama.
6. You don't feel like bad news attaches to you as easily.
7. You reap the freedom that comes with forgiveness.
8. You begin to receive the grace you give to others.
9. You notice a person's brokenness instead of their behavior.
10. You enjoy God's unbroken communion through the day.

"The pure in heart will see God."

That sounds appealing.

Negativity...

2012-01-02T20:21:00.000-08:00

I'm making a concerted effort to not be negative. Until you try to do this you don't realize how much negativity rules your life. I think negative thoughts almost instinctively at this point. What I'm trying to say is that if I don't make myself not go there, I will.

Today I redirected a conversation away from negativity toward something more positive. This is an art to do, I soon realized. What I mean is that it's easy to say, "Can we not talk about this? I'm uncomfortable with where this conversation is heading." But that sounds condescending and comes across quite sanctimonious. I'm not interested in that harsh redirect. The reason this is an art form is because it takes a whit and whimsicalness to cunningly change course without changing topic.

You have to look for little openings to pull a "hey, but isn't that the beautiful thing about struggle?" or "yeah, but what I love about them is they're so honest" or "I hear you, but have you ever thought about that from the vantage point of a child" or "I used to think that, too, but after my humiliating bout with depression I don't look at it quite the same" or "I see where you're coming from and sometimes there's no way around that, but thankfully I am given mercy when I screw up." I think we would do well to practice creative diversions when negativity is taking the floor.

We must "make up our mind" to think truth or as the bible says "take our thoughts captive and make them obedient to Christ." (2 Cor. 10)

It gets scary when you think about the verse in Proverbs that says, "As a man thinks in his heart, so is he." You will become what you believe. Your thoughts become your theology. Your ideas become your ideology. If we can clean up the mind, we can clean up the world.

We want to catch him, he wants us to chase him...

2012-01-01T20:08:00.000-08:00

Where did all of these paintings & pictures of Jesus come from? How could you read the Bible and capture his personality so terribly wrong? As our church prepares to read the New Testament up to Easter weekend, I'm looking forward to laying aside as many preconceived notions about this man as I possibly can.

I want to let him be himself. I want to let him speak for himself. I don't want to put a new face on him or to spin-doctor him into something other than who he is. I realize that we all read into the Scriptures our particular hermeneutic, whatever that may be. If we are reclusive, we see him as such. If we are aggressive, we would like to think he mirrors our particular constitution. What he seems to lack in light of our expectation, we will gladly help along with some augmentation. Don't you like how I went from talking about me to talking about we? Funny how that happens like it's someone who does this "out there". What a crock.

In the book of Isaiah, chapter 42, God reveals himself as a "Warrior in battle" and a "Woman in childbirth". He is like a Woman and he is like a Man. He expresses himself with the passion of birth and battle. He says he is tired of "holding himself back" like a woman told she can't push yet. He is "stirring up his zeal" like a warrior getting ready to rush the enemy on the fields of bloodshed.

Throughout the Word I've noticed that he talks about himself in terms of what he is like. It causes us to stay on our toes in our relationship with/to him. He doesn't paint himself into a corner. He won't let us corner him either with reductionary "portraits" like we see in art museums and church lobbies and old folks homes. He wants to embody every seemingly contradictory metaphor the Scripture paints in brushstrokes that provide details more than definitions. He wants to be able to change gears and turn on a dime. He wants to be the lion and the lamb. He wants to be the wounded healer. He wants us to chase him; we want to catch him.

As close as I get to New Year's Resolutions...

2011-12-31T13:24:00.000-08:00

Things I'm pointing my life toward in 2012:

1. Adopting 2 boys from Ethiopia...boys that will become my sons. (the Sons of Thunder)

2. Doing a "right of passage" for Kami when she turns 13. (Purity Ring & Purity Sword combo)

3. Going on a date every week with my wife to a different place. (52 surprises!)

4. Waking up every morning and saying this prayer: "I'm yours, use me." (daily communion)

5. Getting into an exercise regimen that is consistent. (holistic health matters)

6. Leading Impact toward deeper faith and greater fruit. (God-sized dreams)

7. Reading more books and blogs about entrepreneurial leadership. (create the future)

8. Hanging out in the foxhole with good friends. (C.S. Lewis called them 'golden sessions'.)

9. Reading through the New Testament with the Christ-followers at Impact. (story intake)

10. Partnering with a local church in Swaziland and supporting their cause. (global mindset)

11. Being sensitive to sin without being overly-conscious of it. (mastery of the flesh)

12. Going to more good movies to keep my story-starved heart alive. (the universal language)

13. Planning a daddy-daughter date each month with each of my offspring. (stopping time)

14. Writing two children's books called "Pokey the Porcupine." & "Daddy Daughter Dance."

15. Finding a prayer closet and locking myself in it each day to seek God's face. (face time)

16. Affirming the Impact Leadership Team with words and actions. (fueling the Dream Team)

17. Writing more and talking less. (distilling thoughts)

18. Mentoring artists into modern-day Levites. (Artists bring meaning to truth.)

19. Finding a community mission for our family and giving our money and lives to it. (love.)

20. Loving people instead of pleasing people. (small adjustment that makes a big difference)

Things I've learned about being a pastor this year...

2011-12-30T17:34:00.000-08:00

Things I've learned about being a pastor this year:

1. Things look easier than they really are.

2. Sleeping with decisions makes sleeping really hard.

3. Failure is not only an option, it is inevitable.

4. Vision is easy, strategy is another story.

5. People will get mad at you even if you mean no harm.

6. You can't get anything done when you're fearful.

7. Integrity is more important than creativity.

8. You can wow without a team, but you can't win.

9. Losing the right people is as important as attracting the right people.

10. There is a tact and a timing to how and where things are to be shared.

11. The tight rope of family and ministry is a delicate balancing act.

12. Being a good speaker doesn't make you a good leader.

13. There are a thousand small invisibles behind each visible.

14. People's opinions are influenced deeply by perceived quality.

15. It doesn't take much for people to move from defenders to defectors.

16. Just because the Bible is powerful doesn't mean you can slack on presentation.

17. The key to keeping good people is affirmation, and lots of it.

18. At some point you just have to trust your instincts and let it go.

19. The bats in your head are worse than the critics in your church.

20. It's harder to replace good people than you would initially think.

21. For every idea that works, ten do not, but you don't know that until they don't.

22. People think they want certainty, but what they really want is something dangerous.

23. The challenges only make the accomplishments all the sweeter.

24. You can't be afraid of difficult people. There is no cult like the difficult.

25. Being a shepherd is not only being skilled with the staff, but the rod.

26. There is a direct correlation between success and seduction, triumph and temptation.

27. Financial stress in the church is paralyzing. There can't be vision without provision.

28. Ultimately only God can change the human heart.

29. Very few things get easier with time, you simply adjust your pain tolerance.

30. There is no higher honor than pastoring a flock of "sheeple".

As I conclude my first year of being the lead pastor at Impact, I can't believe the workshops and woodsheds God has taken me through. It has been humbling, sometimes humiliating. Nothing could have prepared me for this role. No class. No counseling. No conference. This has been altogether new and surprising at every turn, but I'm grateful for the great people around me who are supportive and patient with my growth curve. I'm the luckiest man alive to be blessed with the Impact leadership and followership along my side.

I look forward to more learnings in the year to come. If leaders are learners, then I want to be the most voracious student in the class.

Lying to yourself on New Years instead of dying to yourself...

2011-12-28T07:14:00.000-08:00

What is it about the New Year that makes us feel like things are really new? Something about crossing over the stroke of midnight and the changing of one little number seems to make a world of difference for many looking for a reason to be motivated.

I don't stay up to see the New Year in. I can't keep myself awake. What I'm hoping is that my change this year will have a deeper drive than the chimera of a magic moment. I'm certainly not pinning my hopes on the calendar switch. This isn't my first go around and I've come to realize real change happens when I cinch up my belt, gird up my loins and die to myself.

If I don't die to myself not one dream comes true. There are too many people lying to themselves on New Years instead of dying to themselves. This kind of resolution lasts until the second week of January if you're lucky.

Beauty is in the eye of the "beer-holder", I mean beholder...

2011-12-26T07:11:00.000-08:00

Trouble shooters are easy to find. It doesn't take much skill to point out the symptoms and sources of trouble. I wouldn't have to even rehearse to spout off a solid minute of ills that plague my immediate surroundings, shucks, if I took a deep breath I might be able to do it without inhaling, like a Jr. Higher burping the ABC's.

But beauty shooters are altogether rare. I'm finding myself more and more drawn to people that have the same opportunity to bemoan life's trouble but instead choose to look for and champion beauty. There is beauty in tragedy if you squint enough to see it through the fog. You can make out lines of love and shapes of goodness. Sometimes, the ugly only makes the beauty more beautiful. The darker the night the more resplendent the candlepower of one simple wick.

It seems that Christmas can be a time to troubleshoot the daylights out of life. I hope to spend my day thinking upon Philippians 4:8 - "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy–think about such things." This verse covers the philosophy of beauty shooting, which is as simple as choosing what things to think about. When you "make up your mind" to think about "such things" as truth, nobility, righteousness, purity, loveliness, admiration, excellence and praise, you wouldn't believe what kind of life unfolds that was there all along.

Titus 1:15 puts it this way, "To the pure, all things are pure, but to those who are corrupted and do not believe, nothing is pure. In fact, both their minds and consciences are corrupted." It's amazing how powerful our perspectives are. I hope I can lock into beauty today and "think about such things". I have a feeling the quality of my day depends on it. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

When God doesn't make things better...

2011-12-22T08:32:00.000-08:00

And the Lord said to Abraham, "Take your son, your only son and sacrifice him on the Mount of the Lord. In your obedience you will show that you are faithful to your God." So Abraham set out with his son to the place God had assigned. On the way Isaac inquired of his father, "Father, I see the wood but where is the offering for the sacrifice?" Abraham replied, "The Lord will provide an offering, my son. Though we do not see still we must trust." As they reached the place of offering they gathered stones and built an altar unto the Lord. Isaac inquired of his father once more, "Father, I see the altar and the wood, but were is the sacrifice for our God?"

Then Abraham took his son and laid him on the altar. "What are you doing, Father?" Abraham did not reply but silently bound his hands and feet. Taking a knife from his satchel he stood before his son trembling as he gripped the dagger with both hands and raised it high above his head. His eyes darted around looking for God's intervention. Surely he would spot a promise in the peripheral. He looked in the thicket for movement, but there was none. He looked to the skies for a angel, but the heavens were silent. The hopes of his heart were fading with every second of stillness.

With his eyes closed and his body shaking with a mix of fear and faith, he whispered to himself, "Though I do not see, still I will trust in the Lord my God." He looked around one more time certain that deliverance was hiding close at hand. He readied himself for the unthinkable and with the last of his strength he plunged the knife into the chest of his only son. The screams of Isaac were drowned out by the screams of his father.

Abraham was in shock, holding his son in his arms as he gasped for breath. Isaac looked at him with eyes of confusion and sadness. As Isaac's spirit left his cold body, Abraham wept aloud. He looked around wondering if he missed a sign, did something wrong. He waited for his son to come back to life for hours. He stayed on the mountain waiting for God to show himself, show his plan in all this. As the hours turned into days, his thirst drove him to throw his son over the donkey's back descending the mountain in eerie silence. The wind howled through the mountainside with the sound of whispering voices. The voices seemed to be chanting the familiar refrain of an ancient song. "why, wwwwwhy, whhhhh, whyyyyy..." The wind could not finish the phrase, but his mind completed the sentence. "...have you forsaken me?" "Wwwwwwhhhhyyy...have you forsaken me?

Arriving home, Abraham buried his son, but something else was buried that day that can't be put into words, certainly not the words of any human language.

________________________________

I wonder sometimes why this version of the story (not true, just to be clear) seems to be more true to life, especially after you watch a movie like Blood Diamond, Machine Gun Preacher and Hotel Rwanda. Or when you consider the famine in the horn of Africa or the single mom abandoned by her husband who gets two jobs to take care of her kids or the innocent child who is molested by a perverted coach. Why doesn't God always send the ram in the thicket or the angel to stay the knife?

I think it's easy to believe that when you trust God you always get the princess. You always slay the dragon. You always kick the habit or have your fortune restored ten-fold.

What I've learned over the years is that this idea that everything will work out if you just trust God isn't always true in this life. Have you read Hebrews 11 lately...yes, women received back their dead but others were sawed in two. Only on the other side did they find their ram in the thicket, the angel to rescue the damsel.

Everything works out except when it doesn't. And what do you do with God when it doesn't, when fantasy is exposed as a counterfeit of faith. What do you do when Jesus doesn't come and you get beheaded?

"Blessed is the man who does not fall away on account of me." - Jesus in Matthew 11.

I'm really having a great day and I'm in a good mood. I don't know why, but this story was in my mind as I was driving to work today and I couldn't shake it. Maybe God doesn't want us to be Merry at Christmas this year. Maybe he wants us to feel the pain of the world and that sympathy will bring the peace and good will that we're singing about. A peace that is often beyond understanding.

Just some thoughts I had this morning.

Success = Biting your tongue off.

2011-12-19T17:42:00.001-08:00

You can't believe how much success is simply earned by the simple discipline of biting your tongue.

I think the further you go in leadership, the more restraint you must exercise. There is all the more opportunity to spout off and retaliate when someone talks down to you or slanders you or patronizes you. There are days when I want to "go off" on someone dishing out a well deserved reprimand putting them in their place. Thoughts gather like storm clouds forming perfect come-backs that result in getting the "last word".

But for all the communicating one employs in leadership, the communication that leads to the greatest influence is wisely barred up behind your teeth, staved off by a mix of God's Spirit and the will to die to yourself. And make no mistake, it takes all the will-power you can muster to talk yourself out of talking, especially when it would set the record straight. These are the zingers that almost hurt to hold in.

I feel like I've been on the brink of sending several emails this week that would have felt so good to release to the wild. At times I even began tapping out a rebuttal to a disrespectful tone or a sarcastic choice of words or a false accusation only to backspace my way to a blank email exiting out of the window and moving on to more constructive exploits. I won't lie, it doesn't feel as good. There isn't an immediate payoff. In fact, it's downright gut-wrenching to let someone off the hook. It makes me mad just thinking about it.

But this is why James 3 says, "not many of you should presume to be teachers, because you will incur a stricter judgement". You can't just "go off" anymore or "tell it like it is". Nope, those days are in the rearview mirror along with other childish antics. The filter must tighten its screen, each word weighed, each motive measured.

I wonder if God's greatest rewards are reserved for the leaders who nearly bit their tongues off in an effort to take the higher and narrower road.

Daddy/Daughter Dance with Taylor (poem)...

2011-12-17T12:21:00.000-08:00

The First Guy

On a blustering evening

in the month of December,

I danced with my baby

On a night to remember.

It wasn’t the first time

I’d dressed for a ball,

Cause I have other daughters,

In fact, three in all.

But every one’s special

In a way all her own,

Cause each girl’s different

When you get them alone.

This night was Taylor’s,

The runt of the litter,

The last of the darlings

which is sweet, and yet bitter.

This was the last

Daddy/daughter dance fling,

Where we dressed up

To wiggle and giggle and sing.

She kept her dress hidden

In the back of her closet,

I wish I could take

Her excitement and pause it.

There's something about

Little girls in cute dresses,

That grabs your cold heart

and thaws while it blesses.

I waited impatient

For her to come down,

As the princess in curls

All wrapped in her gown.

And low and behold

With a smirk on her face,

She descended the staircase,

Head titled with grace.

She looked at my eyes

Awaiting my stare,

I stood breathlessly

Gasping for air.

She glided to hug me

And asked with her eyes,

“Am I beautiful, daddy?”

That look never lies.

We hugged for a moment,

Made our way to the door,

This was plenty enough,

But, alas, there was more.

We headed for dinner,

She held my big hand,

We talked about dancing

And the night we had planned.

We ate Chinese food

In a booth fit for two,

We talked and we mingled,

Our hearts stuck like glue.

We left after dinner

and set out for the dance,

the passenger seat

held a girl in a trance.

She stared out the window

With dreams in her eyes,

Living the night

Before it arrived.

Cafetorium space

Was turned into a ball,

Decorations of royalty

Filled every hall.

We hung up her coat

she grabbed on my hand,

This moment is special,

You just don’t understand.

You’re not in a school

With a Deejay and punch,

There are no boys or drool,

This is not merely lunch.

In her mind it’s fantasy

Played out in real life,

You are not just a daddy,

You are now her white knight.

As we spun and we twirled

I soaked in each moment,

Wrapping my eyes around

Her like a garment.

She climbed on my shoes

For every slow dance,

Getting some practice

For her future romance.

On one of the slow songs,

She laid on my shoulder,

My mind raced ahead

And imagined her older.

Dancing with someone

Quite other than me,

My time as her man,

Would become history.

But for now I’m the one

She looks to for love,

And I am her hero

When push comes to shove.

And no boy will ever

Know this girl like I,

Cause I am her daddy,

That makes me the first guy.

I love you, Taylor Hope Lena.

Hitting the Ceiling, Hitting the Wall, Hitting the Floor...

2011-12-16T13:53:00.000-08:00

Hitting the Ceiling. (Dreams die.)

This is the place in life where you start to give up on the things you were shooting for in your youth. You reach a certain age and you find yourself relinquishing diehard desires that “used to” drive you. Life has thrown you some curves and you’ve swung and missed enough times to know that few hit the home run, heck, most don’t even get in the ballpark. You still enjoy your life, you just don’t wish upon a shooting star or expect great things anymore. You settle for normal and simple, which isn’t all bad. Sometimes the best things in life are the little things. However, when you stop striving for the impossible, aiming high, and going for broke, you also kill the very thing that makes us like God, namely, the ability to create things that don’t yet currently exist. Only God can create something out of nothing, but we can create something that exists but has not yet been discovered. Dreams are essential to keeping us motivated to stay curious about what does not yet exist that needs to. God created and then quickly invited man to name the animals. We can’t create animals, but we can create names. But this takes someone who has an imagination and hasn’t stopped dreaming.

Hitting the Wall. (Life dies.)

This is the place in life where you begin to wonder if even the normal, simple things of life are worth pursuing. Things that are basic needs are hard to come by. Friends, Family, Work, Provision, Shelter, Money…it seems like things that are just happening easily for other people take extra/extraordinary effort to pull off. You’ve given up on hoping it will get better tomorrow or next week. Unlike the past, you hit the wall now and you just can’t bounce back. You don’t have any fight left in you. You’ve fought back before only to be in the same place again. Your relationships are tired or tiring. You’re work is paying less and demanding more, if you’re employed at all. There is too much month left at the end of the money. Debtors and Creditors are breathing down your neck. You’re on your 3^rd marriage. You’re kids are growing up and with every year they are wising up to the dysfunction and looking at you differently, almost disrespectfully. And why shouldn’t they, you don’t even respect yourself anymore. You sleep more, eat more, and sin more, but you’re still trying to hide it from everybody. The only problem is you can’t hide depression forever and the only one you end up fooling is yourself. It’s starting to get real dark.

Hitting the Floor. (I die.)

This is the place in life where you flirt with the foulest of feelings. You are either angry or anxious or absent. Depression comes in many forms, but at this level it manifests itself in the form of isolation and a complete dearth of motivation. You can’t muster energy, constructive thoughts, or baby steps of progressive movement…breathing is labor at this stage. You have exhausted all options, used every mulligan at work, and cried wolf with all your friends and family. Your mind is telling you that the walls are closing in and that it’s probably best to pull the plug on yourself before someone else does it for you. Thoughts of ending your life take on more specific plots instead of generic and general feelings. In your mind, life is already over, so why not put the period on this “life sentence”. It’s not just exiting the drama for yourself; you begin to feel like you are a burden to everyone that knows you, and that you would be doing them a favor to erase yourself from their lives. There isn’t a darker night of the soul a person could know.

__________________

I mention this progression of depression because I’ve witnessed it first hand as people spiral from the ceiling to the wall to the floor. It must be said that whatever stage a person is at, God is a God of resurrection and restoration. He can reach into the darkest of night and shine his light of life in/on your dead heart.

I don’t know that I’ve ever hit the floor, but I know the ceiling and the wall quite well. Who knows, maybe the phrase, “I just wish I could go to heaven right now. I wish Jesus would just come back.” is a spiritual way of saying you wish this life would end. I know it’s not the same as wanting to end your life, but I think it comes from similar place of wanting out of this broken and messed up world.

No matter who you are, you will hit the wall. It’s important to detect the walls you’re hitting and to get help before you hit the floor. There isn’t any shame in raising your hand and saying, “I need help, for real.” I know people feel a stigma in revealing dysfunction and despair, but it really quite normal to have these feelings. The quicker you go there with someone, the quicker you will find healing and wholeness.

I just had to write this for those shrouded in darkness. Please don’t be afraid to ask for help.

Incremental before Exponential.

2011-12-15T11:30:00.001-08:00

A phrase came to my mind a couple days ago in a staff meeting. "Incremental before Exponential."

It's hard for me to stay in this mindset. I want results, preferably big ones. My nature is not bent toward slow and steady, quite the opposite.

I get fidgety and antsy if something isn't successful on the first try. I get anxious if the preferred picture doesn't paint itself in the first few minutes of an event. I want my Life Group to be deep on the first night. I want every message I give to be "life-changing" since everything is advertised to completely "change your life" these days from soap to slippers.

We are creatures of instant gratification, and I think this might be why Paul was trying to get the people off of "milk" and onto "meat". In another passage he talked of "putting away childish things." There are several milky meanings that could be extrapolated from these texts, but I think they all boil down the inability to embrace delayed gratification and hard, slow, disciplined growth. We like growth like we like our Little Ceasar's Pizza....Hot, Ready, Now!

I was thinking about the time Jesus said that if "you're faithful with the few I will make you a ruler over the many." Small steps and little wins are where things typically start. You have to prove yourself faithful in obscurity, and often times anonymity, before God entrusts you with more. And this is for our good.

Those that are faithful with few will be masters of many. Incremental before Exponential.

The Great Impact Leadership Team...

2011-12-08T11:47:00.000-08:00

I am the lead pastor at a church with amazing leaders and artists and servants.

For some reason, I was struck with how fortunate I am to have crossed paths with the talent and heart that surrounds me. And all the more fortuitous is the honor I have to do what I love for my livelihood. My joy is my job. My vocation is my vacation. How many could say that?

Getting back to the people that I work with...these are special people.

Our Children's Ministry is led by Andrea Struckmeyer. She is a gifted writer, actor, speaker, artist and visionary. Kidzone is a full-fledged hour and fifteen minute program every week of the highest caliber. Games, Work stations, Drama's, Music, Art, Breakout groups, Snacks, Hand-on learning, Videos, and teaching pulled off by over a hundred volunteers and leaders is a sight to behold. It's like Disney land every week for infants to 5th graders. It is probably the single greatest attraction to our church for families. We are blessed.

Our Student Ministry is led by Jon Bell. He is new to the staff and is bringing such fresh energy to our body! The student ministry is exploding with growth this fall going from a little over 40 the first week to almost 100 the last 2 weeks! Wed. nights are filled with a live student band rockin' out Worship tunes, Funny Youtube clips, Dancing, Crazy games, Small group breakouts, Food, Octoball, Video Games, and Energetic Teaching! What a great job he's doing and what a genuine heart he possesses! It's great to have his family in our humble little town!

Our Community Life Ministry is led by another newbie on our paid staff, well, not so new to Impact, but a new position to backfill Bruce's position upon his departure. Bonnie is a part-time lawyer as well as a part-time staff member of Impact working with connections, communications, community, and culture. She is overseeing EMT and Life Groups and anything that has to do with community life. She knows how to network with the best of them and has a knack for pulling people together. It never hurts to have a lawyer on your leadership team, especially when you're being led by an accident prone lead pastor formerly called Dennis the Menace in his childhood. What a blessing Bonnie has been since the inception of Impact 8 years ago and how fortunate we are to have her join the team in a higher capacity to see the movement surge forward! I love the Davis' family!

Our Reach Ministry is led by a retired pastor by the name of Gene Beerens. He came out of retirement to put his neck out there for the kingdom and for the vision of Impact. He receives no paycheck and yet serves our body each week with passion and purpose making sure broken people are welcomed in and given an opportunity to find healing. He is a sage and a mentor for our staff as well as our body as a whole. What a gifted thinking and activist he is and we are blessed to have his seasoned presence on our team! Fortunate beyond words.

Our Missional Ministry is led by a retired business man named Ted Cox. He also has come out of retirement to serve the kingdom and has a unique vision of banding people together to "love their neighbors". After years of just doing church, he was moved by God to "be the church" in his neighborhood, taking the gospel to the streets so to speak. He is getting a number of people in our body to reconsider the kingdom and to wonder about how God is wanting to use them in their jobs, volunteering roles in the community, and in their neighborhoods. It's grassroots and organic. He's been such a powerful addition to the team this past year...we are blessed!

Our Church Planting Ministry is led by none other than Phil Struckmeyer, the original church planter of Impact back in 2003. He is always on the move and is often referred to as the apostle of Impact. He travels thousands of miles a week visiting churches and supporting church planters and church plants with the sweat of his brow and the beating of his heart. He is a visionary, dreamer, strategist, cultural architect, and pastor of pastors. I've never met anyone else with the humility and passion he possesses for his calling. He keeps the movement alive.

Our Tech and Programming Ministry is led by the prodigy, Dave VanKeulen. He has been on board at Impact since he was 16 years old and is a brainiac of all things technological. But he is not a techie nerd in the full sense of the word. He is the rare blend of tech savvy and emotionally intelligent. His eye for atmosphere and his ear for live sound is stellar. His attention to detail and his pulse for programmatic excellence is unparalleled. There is no way we should have someone of his caliber in the sticks of Lowell, but because we caught him early and because God is shining his face on Impact, we have been blessed beyond measure. What a gift to our body Dave is!

Our Worship Arts Ministry is led by Ryder Jones, who plays the electric guitar like he's taking a walk in the park. He composes music, writes songs, plays with a variety of bands at local venues and clubs, was the lead guitarist on Shawn McDonald's last album, leads worship with a rabid and raw heart that ushers people into God's presence, and leads our artists with a personal and professional care that is respectable and noble. His humility is extraordinary and his musical giftedness is renowned in the Grand Rapids area. What a great heart and what a generous gift of God!

Our Administration Ministry is held together by Tara Grizzel, a new member of the team. In a matter of a few short months she has organized and orchestrated several delayed initiatives bringing joy and passion to the details of administration which can often be dry and lifeless. She is a go-getter, holding my feet to the fire and making everyone accountable to follow through with their duties. She is responsible, faithful and dependable. She is a great proactive thinker. Her intuition and initiative has been a breath of fresh air and her work ethic is matchless. What a great addition to an already great team!

Our Kid's Administrator is Chas Symanski, the co-leader of Kid's Hope and the right-hand "woman" of Andrea in KidZone. She is a details oriented, task-driven, organizer of all things children and has a passion for our church and community when it comes to youth. She will be working on our new website to keep it updated and clean, taking our ministry to new levels of excellence in the coming days! What a blessing her presence has been this year!

Our Frontline Ministry has been led by Deb and Dick Frisbe, another retired couple that have devoted so much time and energy to Impact it might as well have been a full-time job the last 5 years! They lead a huge team of people who make sure everyone coming to Impact has a great first impression and a healthy connection to our culture. They are transitioning out of that leadership role and we are excited to see who comes in and builds on the foundation that they have laid! What a blessing the Frisbe's have been to our body!

Our Cleaning Ministry is led by Karen Pedley. She volunteers countless hours every week making sure our building is spotless and our volunteers are coordinated each weekend. You cannot believe the amount of meticulous energy she pours into the cleanliness of our facility, down on her knees cleaning the base boards, scrubbing toilets, dusting, cleaning windows, sanitizing toys and chairs, vacuuming floors, mopping halls, etc. She and her team don't ask for a dime, they serve sacrificially every week and God pays them with attention. There's no pay like God paying attention! I love her servant's heart!

Our Buildings and Grounds ministry is lead by Cy Floyd and his faithful sidekicks The Grieves father and son duo, Mark and Mitch. Cy is always rallying guys together to pull off last minute projects and much needed renovations or restorations. Things are constantly needing fixing and Cy and the boys are on it like stink on a monkey. Cy is a retired business man who is used to leading hundreds of people to carry out responsibilities. I can't tell you how much I appreciate his leadership at Impact and his stubborn refusal to retire from God's work!

Our Finance Ministry is led by Lori Floyd who has been laboring over our books for over 7 long years. She spends almost 20 hours a week making sure everything is squaring up in the budget and bills are paid. She is so gifted at organizing our finances and even more importantly our fiscal vision which is unlike any fiscal vision I've every encountered. The audacious goals and the risks taken to make sure we stay on the cutting edge of the kingdom would probably cause most people to quit, but she just smiles and pressing forward. I love her sacrificial passion and protection of our ministry. Where would we be without her stabilizing heart behind the scenes! Probably in jail!

Our ministry is also held together with several support staff serving in a cornucopia of capacities. Anything from putting together powerpoint presentations, to locking up the doors at night and turning off the heat, to being a mayor in Kidtown, or a KZ host in Kidzone, the babysitting for Life Groups, etc. The endless volunteers that serve under our leadership range in the the 200-300 range. We couldn't do it without all of these committed Christ-followers. From those hosting and facilitating Life Groups to those heading up the Men's and Women's ministries to those serving as mentors in the Recovery ministries to those rallying people together for the Prayer Ministry, to those leading and serving on the Frontline ministry, to our Leadership Accountability Team who superintend the goings on of Impact...it's a collaborative effort that couldn't be pulled off without everyone pulling their weight for the glory of God.

I just felt it was time to give honor where honor is due. The ministry of Impact is a complex mixture of ministry with so many layers of leadership it would take me hours to explain to you the well-oiled machine it is. Suffice it to say, that it is an honor to lead and serve along side such gifted and godly people and I hope this team stays together for many years to come.

Here's to a great end to this year and an explosive start to the next!

Bring on 2012!

Jason

left with his name...

2011-11-26T07:49:00.000-08:00

I just got back from Thanksgiving 5 pounds heavier physically, 50 pounds heavier emotionally.

Here's why.

My wife's sister has weathered a horrific turn of events in her marriage over the course of the last 6 months which has left her doing the lion-share of holding her children together as well as herself. Just seeing the collateral damage of a broken marriage firsthand was sobering.

I think the thing that just tore me up was walking up the sidewalk toward their front steps and seeing "The Terpstra's" chiseled into a rock off the left side of the entry way. I don't know why, but it just didn't sit right inside me.

How can a man court a woman, take her from her father & mother & sister & brother, ask her to take on his name, and then leave her? She is now Angela "Terpstra" and her children are "Terpstra's". Her home is covered with pictures and memorabilia with that mark of identity written on checks and documents and household furnishings, and the one who asked everyone to take on his name isn't even there. They are left with his name--in many ways bound to it--and he is off spending the holidays with another woman living another life. Something is wrong with this picture.

How dare a man invite a woman into a life whereby she leaves her name behind and assumes his identity as her own only to strand her with an "empty word"? It's not a name anymore, it's a word. I remember hearing someone say, "Your name is all you have." It is your honor, your mark of truth and trust. When you lose your name, you lose everything. All you are left with is a word, an empty, sad, vacuous collection of letters.

It's not just the woman either, the children bear that name as well. They have to sign it on their school papers and say it when called upon in class. They have to see it on the back of their uniforms when they head out on the field and hear it spoken over the loud speakers after they make a tackle on Friday night. The boys will meet someone someday and pass that name along to her. The power of a name is everlasting, you can't just move on and assume another name if you're a son. That's with you for life. There's no getting away from that name, that backstory. It's part of your heritage, your hermitage.

I watched my nephews and my niece wrestle between innocent childhood and premature adulthood in unpredictable waves of rest & restlessness. One moment they would be lost in joy and the next minute their eyes would be sunken in with sorrow. One minute they would be laughing from their gut and the next minute they would be in their room crying from the absence of their father. It was forcing them to endure something they didn't have the scaffolding to emotionally support. What do you do with that?

This name loomed over us the whole weekend. This name was attached to everything touched and talked about. This name is forever etched into our hearts like that welcome rock next to the front porch. It reminds you of days gone by and days yet to come. It taunts you to anger and haunts you with sorrow. It won't leave you be, letting you get on with the beauty of life because, for now, it's the most present/absent thing about reality.

So I'll say it again, if you're a man and you ask a woman to leave her name and take on yours, if you plan on asking her to leave everything she's ever known to come under the banner of your identity, if you want to create offspring that forever are stamped with your signature for the remainder of their days, and if you want to etch your "John Hancock" in the immovable rock of your family's heart, please understand the gravity of your every move, your every motivation, your every moment. All those under your name are counting on your nobility. Their reputation is bound to your next decision. Clave to your character.

When a name becomes a byword, you're never closer to hell in this life.

Adoption thoughts continued...

2011-11-19T08:05:00.000-08:00

My wonderments this morning concern the details of where my boys are today and who is with them.

When most people are preparing to parent children, they have 9 months to watch them grow prior to their arrival. You know where they are, safe and sound within nest of their mother's uterus. They are floating there suspended almost weightlessly in amniotic bliss, the water-like fluid that originates from the maternal plasma, and passes through the fetal membranes by osmotic and hydostatic forces. You don't have to worry where they are and whose care they are under, that is self-evident.

You get months to sing through stomach tissue to the little one, wooing them to the other side playfully and tenderly. You get to feel them kick and twist and turn fighting the cramped living space. You get to prepare your home with a nesting instinct in that miserable last trimester. With every month, the child makes itself more known crowding into your bed with you making it more and more uncomfortable to enjoy natural instincts like breathing, sleep and sex. This third party or third wheel goes with you everywhere, and yet, still hasn't arrived in the truest sense of the word. You are given an intermediate time of test driving the vehicle that will forever change your reality.

But I think the most overlooked beauty of this 9-month orientation is the knowledge of the child's location and watch-care. You know where they are and who they're with. You know how they're being treated and what they're being fed. You can take neonatal pills to ensure health and vitality. You can obey "inordinate cravings" for pickles and peanut butter and chocolate ice cream when the child's cravings cry out for something in particular. You don't have to worry about whether the child is being neglected or malnourished or mistreated. You don't have to think about whether he or she has being given physical affection or verbal communication. You don't have to wonder about the sleeping arrangements or whether they are clothed and sheltered from the elements. You don't have to obsess about "separation anxiety", your own or the child's. There is no separation, only anxiety.

That is why today I am thinking about what orphanage they are at and who their caretakers are. I am thinking about whether they are being held and talked to, nurtured and nourished. I wonder about their diet and whether they are getting enough milk for their teeny tiny immune systems. I wonder about how they are getting along with the other orphans crammed in some undersized living space. Are they being kept up at night with incessant crying; are they being given medicine for ruptured eardrums; are they being rocked back to sleep when they get spooked by a sudden sound? Who is checking in on them periodically to see if they are gaining weight or getting sickly? Who cares about them as more than a number in an institution? Do their caretakers understand that it's my son they are rocking to sleep? Do they understand that every touch of hand and tone of voice makes all the difference in the world to their development? Do they know that I'm counting on them to treat my boys with dignity and delicacy? I hope that God speaks that into their conscience today for me. I counting on Him to do that, in fact.

That's what I'm thinking about this morning. The first three children my wife and I brought into this world, we had the peace of knowing that they were always in our presence, always in our protective care. We had the constant reminder of their presence as my wife's belly expanded to make room for their intrusion. We were able to slowly adapt our lives to ready ourselves for their "grand entrance". We knew that if something went wrong, we were there, we were responsible, we were the primal and primary parents. But this time, none of these calming characteristics accompany the arrival of our boys.

We have to entrust all of these innate instincts to someone else, somewhere else. Someone we don't know living somewhere we've never been. This is unnatural.

We are counting on God to be the womb and woman. We are counting on him to be the nurse and the neonatal pills. We are counting on him to be the tender touch and the soothing voice. We are counting on him to be the father and the shelter, the milk and the marrow. We are entrusting our little boys to the watch care of their creator, the maker and sustainer of all living things, the one who holds all things together.

Hold our boys today, Father. Hold them together. Hold them for me and my wife. We can't right now, but you can.

Adoption...just around the corner.

2011-11-18T11:48:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking more about our upcoming adoption lately. That's probably because all the paperwork is done and we're simply waiting by the phone for a referral. It's like waiting for water to boil. The more fixated on it you are, the more it seems to slow down the process.

Over the past month we've settled on adopting 2 boys. One will be under the age of 18 months and the other under the age of 3. We are hoping they are siblings, but that's not a prerequisite. We're adopting from Ethiopia, which is uber exciting to daydream about. I find myself lost in thought sometimes wondering what they look like and what they are doing right now.

Are they born yet? Will they be twins? Will they be tall and skinny, or short and plump? Are they being taken care of right now, or are the malnourished and abandoned waiting for someone to rescue them?

What will it be like to have sons? I'm so used to daughters, I don't have a clue as to how to raise a scrapping young boy. Will they bond to us quickly, or will there be a season of trauma that makes the chemistry difficult? What will it be like to be transported back to the infant stage of diapers and eye infections? What toll will sleeplessness take on us that feels different than our 20's? How will sleeping arrangements work out with 5 children and 3 bedrooms? Will they be circumcised? hehe.

Will my heart connect with them and see them as my own, or will that adjustment take days, months, or even years? Will I kiss them the same way I kiss my daughters and snuggle with them, or will they be standoffish and awkward? If they don't take to our family, will I have the perseverance to treat them the same, or will it lead to insecurity that makes me squirrelly. How will it effect my relationship with my daughters? Will it enhance it or threaten it? Will their excitement wear off quickly, or will their desire for this adoption have staying power?

How will this effect our finances? Will we be stretched to the point of stress? Will God come through when we're out on the limb of faith? What things will we have to do without that we currently enjoy? Will we even notice the ways we're cutting back or will the loss of those amenities be felt?

Will these boys grow to love their lives or will they increasingly struggle with their checkered past and what led them down this detour? Will they see me as their dad, or will I always sort of be the white guy that took them in and fed them and provided for them? Will they want to be like me, or will they wish they could meet their biological father wondering about his whereabouts and features and backstory? Will these boys feel like they are one with our family, or will the color of their skin always remind them that they are outsiders? Even if we pound it into their heads, will they believe us? Will they?

Will our community accept them and welcome them in? Will they find friends at church and school that treat them so normally and naturally that they are unaware of their differences? Will it feel at home in Lowell? Will they like the things I like? Will they be artistic? Will they be athletic? With they love learning? Will they love the outdoors? Will they be outgoing or introspective? Will their unique personalities fit into the dynamic of our current family spirit?

My mind is filled with thousands upon thousands of questions like these. It's racing with excitement and trepidation. It should be, it's about ready to get rocked with the reality of 2 new little Holdridge boys being added to the litter.

May the Lord watch over those two youngin's today wherever they may be and may he prepare our home to be the perfect place for their little hearts to grow and thrive.

thankful...

2011-11-15T12:58:00.000-08:00

It is the week before Thanksgiving, and for some reason I feel the need to write out some of the blessings around me that I'm grateful for. I spend a good deal of time bemoaning the bad, I think it's about time I affirm the good.

Here is just a sampling of the myriad of blessings that surround me.

my faithful and beautiful wife.

my fierce and feminine daughters

my idyllic house set back in the woods

my rusty ole' car with the bald tires

my great job as a pastor

my awesome church family

my little town of Lowell

my health and strength

my gifts and abilities

my mind and heart

my friends who care for me

my books and my writings

my guitar

my steadfast parents

my loving siblings

my extraordinary in-laws

my pillow top mattress

my HD flat screen television

my new Tommy Hilfiger underwear

my early morning coffee from Ella's

my staff at Impact who go above and beyond

my freedom to be myself

my goofy scooter

my band of brothers on Wed. mornings

my Mac

my blog

my heritage

my relationship with Jesus and His kingdom

my salvation.

I have so much to be thankful for.

908 bottles of wine...

2011-11-12T07:09:00.000-08:00

It's so easy to read the Bible and not really read it.

For me I graze on the text and glaze over certain concepts or contexts unaware of their true interpretation and, thus, their true implication. I was reading a book recently that was retelling the amazing first miracle of Jesus, the turning of water into wine.

As I was following the familiar storyline, something the author pointed out just about knocked me over. He stated that each of the containers of wine contained nearly 30 gallons each and so when Jesus made the "great conversion", he supplied the wedding scene with approximately 908 bottles of wine. This would be several pallets of wine being delivered at the loading dock out back. Shocking and scandalous!

I don't know why this struck me so deeply, but I found myself wondering how many times something is happening in the Scripture and I'm standing afar struggling to really comprehend what is actually happening in the story. I wonder how many little nuggets like this I've driven by over the years that touch something "truer to life" inside of me. It was a great story before, don't get me wrong, but I felt I was missing a couple things that made it striking. Almost like watching a movie without the sound. The idea of 908 bottles of wine being produced by the Son of God at a party just messes with your idea of Jesus.

I need my idea of Jesus messed with on occasion. I think I've read all there is to read and know all there to know. I feel like I've traced him out and have him outlined. I can anticipate his next move, like completing my wife's sentences. I know him like the back of my hand. This is all, of course, bunk. It's just not true. But I get to believing it's so.

It was this little nuance at the wedding of Cana that caused pause inside me and asked me to look again. To double-take. Maybe I haven't cracked the code, maybe my best days are ahead of me and that God is wanting, now, to unlock little pockets of truth, like a locket with a hidden picture. Maybe my best days of reading the Bible are yet to come. This is exciting.

Who would have thought the number 908 could make such a difference?

I wonder if you think Jesus stingy and stuffy and I wonder if the idea of him backing up an 18-wheeler and dropping off 4 pallets of wine does anything for your heart? I know it messed with my constructs and categories. Beautifully so.

Loving yourself...

2011-10-28T08:02:00.001-07:00

"Love your neighbor as you love yourself."

This idea really has serious implications.

First, I must say, I don't find very many people that love themselves. This is odd since most people are selfish and narcissistic and indulgent. But what I mean is that most people at the core dislike who they are and have a hard time cutting themselves any slack. They beat themselves up, they believe horrible things about themselves, they refuse to receive affirmation, they are dismantled at the slightest criticism because it confirms their greatest fear(s)...it's really quite sad.

I know, I know...as you look about you, people are "in love" with themselves and their accomplishments. Their ego is an over-ripened watermelon splitting open at the slightest prick of a blade's end. People talk up themselves and interject stories of their own "awesomeness" whenever a break in the conversation allows for it. Humans are vain and vaunted vultures feeding on others to nourish their own sense of self-worth. This is also true. But I think less true.

I think what is more true is that people are ineffably insecure and nervous. Flitting and floundering about with the darting eyes of a child scared of getting caught. People are afraid of exposure and what would happen if others knew just how sad, sorry and sick they really were. Even people that "are confident aren't", is what I'm trying to say. Even people that look connected aren't. Individuals that appear sinless may actually struggle more with sin than those who wear their sin on their shirtsleeve. Those that talk big are quite likely to think very small of themselves using strong language to convince themselves of what they doubt very seriously in secret.

My experience of others, especially when you move beyond the "hey, how are you?"-"Good, how 'bout you?"-"Good"-"Good to hear."-"Great."-"Welp, have a great day."-"You too."-"Bye."-"See ya." kind of exchange is that people are quite enslaved to anxiety and anger directed mostly at themselves. They hate themselves; they hate their misbehavior; they loathe their lack of follow-through and their chronic co-dependance. They are nervous about what others think and obsessed with "conversations inside their head" before, during and after the "actual conversation". They crucify themselves for saying too much or too little after an interaction. They can't accept God's forgiveness when they sin and nurse a hidden fear that they aren't, in fact, really saved. People want penance if only for the feeling of doing something hurtful to themselves to pay for their moral misdemeanor. People want to pay for their crimes, they want to feel the justification that comes through doing time. And they walk about "serving time" for their daily crimes.

People hate themselves. They wish they were better at something. They wish they could be a different person. They dislike their personality and skill sets. They don't feel comfortable in their skin. Most people put themselves up on the butcher table of their own mind and dice themselves into little beef tips. They scrutinize and criticize themselves with mercilessness. They are haunted by their own impossible expectations they place on themselves...always falling short, always keenly aware of failure and futility.

And so what Jesus is saying is that we need to love our neighbor as we love ourselves. Do you see the irony of this? No wonder people treat each other so horribly. No wonder people don't know how to reach out with grace or to forgive an offense. Road rage makes more sense. The use of the middle finger can be better explained. Rants and fits of rage provide a window into someone's soul. Fidgety awkwardness and vague answers to personal questions has an origin. Insecurity begets insecurity. Anger begets anger. Hurt people hurt people.

I am the worst of sinners when it comes to this manslaughter. I take things out on myself. I lie in bed chewing myself out, up one side and down the other. I always look at my presentation and performance through a microscopic lens of perfectionism. I turn on myself. I make mountains out of molehills. I throw babies out with bathwater. I know how to over-react to my slip-ups and punish myself with "suicide runs" for actionable or attitudinal tardiness.

The brutality with which people treat themselves makes it impossible to love anyone or anything.

I hope to be nicer to myself for the remainder of this day. It's not letting myself off the hook to actually say to myself, "I love myself and I love my life, Thank you, God."

Sounds vain, I know, but I wish I treated myself better. I think others would benefit from that.

The Simple Life...

2011-10-21T05:47:00.000-07:00

People want simplicity, but almost always choose complexity.

You ask how I know people long for simplicity? It's simple. I've heard people say it no less than ten times in the last several days. What with all the spam, dump-truck loads of ideas, multi-tasking applications connected to network devices that sync up with storage clouds that merge with blogs and facebook and google+ and twitter and pinterest and blah, blah, blah.

It makes you long for the days of cords that were attached to phones attached to walls that were attached to houses that served as someones home. Now everything is cordless, which is great and all, but don't cry the blues when you don't feel any attachment. As goes the cord, so goes the attachment.

We live in a wireless society with remote offices. Translated: A phone and a car. Cheaper, yes. But when you're feeling alone, please understand that comes with the territory when you choose to go "remote". And when you're enjoying the benefit of less overhead, don't be surprised if you're starting to feel like there's something "cheaper" about the quality of your life. Our lust for de-centralized models to save cost and hassle has led us to the slaughterhouse of isolation. So we have more wealth, but less richness. Hmmm.

There are days when I want to hoist all the connectivity and accessibility right out the window and go back to the days of simplicity. The days when you had to walk to someone's house to use their phone when you ran out of gas. The days when you had to let someone know where you were going before you left because that would be your last point of contact. The days when you had to go to a library to find a primary source or read a book to find a quote. The days when you had three channels on network television with Matlock or Murder, She Wrote as your entertainment options. The days when boys at least had to work a little bit to find porn and girls still had sleep overs where they talked instead of texted. The days when family dinners weren't interrupted by buzzing/churping cell phones and parents weren't trying to close a deal with an open laptop while listening to their child read a book to them.

I remember when I listened to 570 WSYR on AM radio soaking in Yankee baseball games and Syracuse basketball like a brittle sponge. The static airwaves crackled like an old record. No HD, no six-lane bandwidth, no connection to what was happening on those distant courts or fields other than the frequency coming through that little radio sitting on the apple crate that served as my nightstand and clothes drawer. One connection. One medium. One.

Family nights consisted of board games, singing around the piano, reading books on our parents laps (we were their laptops opened up on their knee), wrestling matches in the living room, circus with dad on his back flipping us over his head while humming a little loop like you'd hear at a merry-go-round, playing catch out in the yard, or walking down by the lake. We couldn't go online, browse DVR'd shows, check Facebook, text, tweet, or play tidily-winks with the world wide web. It was just us, a few options and what we made of them.

It is not unusual to see a household all split into different rooms of the house each connected to some technological device taking them far away from where they are and putting them in touch with something and somewhere else in the world. One will be on the internet, strike that, one parent will be on the laptop while one of the kids will take the desktop, another child will be watching Phineas and Ferb episodes that have been TiVo'd and stockpiled for convenient consumption, another will be on their ipod listening to a recently downloaded song off of iTunes, another will be on their Nintendo DS while another is playing Wii in their bedroom which can also serve as a Netflicks conduit to the world of movies. Dad is out in the driveway pacing around on his cell phone since the service isn't real great in the house. Mom is on her iPhone scrolling through status updates and making sure she doesn't miss anything. This is the "Modern Family" and we're wondering why we're making passing comments about "wanting life to be more simple"?

I know this is the trail of a rabid rabbit at best, but do you see my point? We flippantly chatter something about being busy and longing for simplicity, but our lives leave no room for that longing to be realized. None whatsoever. If only just wanting simplicity is all it took. We'd be all set.

I know it's more than longing for the "good old days" which are more old than good truth be told. But there is something to the bare naked, stripped down, unplugged age of yesteryear that beckons us backward. I fear that if we don't do something "amish" about our scatterbrained lifestyles, our lives will get away from us. We will be robbed blind while sitting in our own home. We will be pick-pocketed and won't know it until we try to make our next transaction, but by that time, it'll be too late. Your credit cards are gone, your license is gone, your social security card is gone...there's no going back.

Maybe that's why some people hook a chain to their wallets. Maybe this is why some people keep their rotary phone. Maybe this is why people won't get a Facebook account. Maybe this is why some people won't cave in a get a cell phone.

And you know what? We hate these people for not keeping up with the times.

But I wonder if right underneath our anger at the inconvenience they cause by not climbing on the bandwagon, I wonder if we're kinda jealous of their joy. The joy that comes with not knowing what you don't know. I wonder if they are the ones who have the time, space and energy to have some life in their living.

Could it be that simple?

Cheer-Leaders and Lead-Cheerers...

2011-10-07T09:16:00.000-07:00

I don't know if you've picked up on this lately, but people are dying for leadership everywhere you look. They wouldn't necessarily name it that, but that's what they are starving for.

They would probably express their need for it in sighs of cynical resignation:

"You can't trust those in power."

"The hypocrisy of authority is sickening."

"The people who are supposed to be looking out for you only look out for themselves."

"All parents say they won't get in a divorce to their kids, and then do anyway."

"Pastors aren't any different than any other leaders, they are in it for vain-glory and money."

"It doesn't matter if you're from the Right, Left or Center...politicians are crooked."

"All leaders are liars."

"Teachers don't care anymore, they are just serving time in the prison of their tenure."

"Church is just a bunch of grown-ups who are really cover-ups."

"People aren't motivated my altruistic love anymore, there's always an agenda or angle."

"The best way to not be hurt is to never give your heart to anyone for any reason."

"Even if people say differently, you're on your own and it's best you start accepting that."

"People will take advantage of you given the opportunity. Don't close your eyes."

"Families - a bunch of fakers trying to look pretty in public while being ugly in private."

The vomit that comes out of people's mouth shows a "values-virus". They instinctively know it shouldn't be the way it is, but the best they can do is tell you so. Few are chiming in with a path to "what should be", and fewer still are living the change they want to see giving a picture of "what could be".

I love Jesus statement in Luke 4..."The Scriptures are fulfilled in your very presence." Leaders read what is longed for and prophesied and "become the change", actually "become the fulfillment of the longing" in the presence of the people.

We don't need more people skilled at pointing out the problems. We don't need more people joining the "critic choir", this is for the clods and curmudgeons. We don't even need more leaders to speak on, write on, blog on and carry on about "what's wrong and why". We need leaders who embody the pining cry of society, the ache of humanity. We need leaders to rise up and become the change they are peddling.

And you know what we need more than anything these days..."cheerleaders".

Leaders who are cheering people on. Leaders who are yelling out phrases of encouragement to the players on the field and the fans in the stands. "Let's go, let's go, L-E-T-S-G-O, LET'S GO!!" "D-FENCE. D-FENCE. D-FENSE." "Be Aggressive. B-E Aggressive. B-E-A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E. Aggressive!!"

We need leaders who will be the cheerleader, but even more, the lead-cheerer. The person who will cheer when everyone else has left the stadium in the 4th quarter. The person who will shout from the top of their lungs and live to the soles of their feet the words of life, hope, solution, action and passion even in the jaws of defeat.

Our world is crying for and dying for leaders.

They needs cheerleaders. They need lead-cheerers.

We have our fill of trouble-shooters, problem-solvers, ax-grinders, hair-splitters, and belly-achers. We need vision-casters, team-builders and cheer-leaders.

Man, do we need them.

Everything is Meaningless?

2011-09-30T07:39:00.000-07:00

Meaning.

This is what I long for. This is what I feel evades me all too often.

Ecclesiastes is a book of the Bible that talks about this dearth of meaning that we often cannot find words to express. "Meaningless, Meaningless, everything is meaningless. A chasing after the wind." What do you do when a passage of the Bible is communicating a truth that isn't actually true? How do you interpret it and then apply it? Is is possible to disagree with Solomon without disagreeing with God? I don't know.

All I do know is that I couldn't agree and/or disagree more with God's Word.

The part I agree with and feel more often than I would like to admit is the apparent meaninglessness of life. Conversations seem canned and contrived. People aren't listening half the time. Environments are created to keep us from feeling the awkwardness of this vacuum. Throw in the white noise of music in the background and create a mood that doesn't require anyone to make an attempt at intimacy. Nobody has time, not the kind of time it takes to draw in and go deep. So we make passes at things like asking questions, but we don't have time for the answer should the person chose to "go there". So it becomes clear that whether or not we say we want meaning, we don't position ourselves in life to make any time for it.

I was at a pastor's gathering yesterday and we were set up at tables of 8 people as we listened to the leader guide us through vision and values. He shared for about 15 minutes and then asked us to take some time at our tables and answer a simple question: "What are the walls you're hitting in your leadership right now?" I thought: "This is going to be good to hear what everyone has to say around this table." Just then, the leader said, "We have about 90 seconds so keep your answers brief." It took about 10 seconds to figure out how to keep such a weighty question connected to a weightless answer, another 10 seconds to wonder who was going to go first and whether we were going to go around the table clockwise or counter-clockwise, and by the time we shared, people were speed-talking their way through their "leadership lids". Only a couple people got to share even with the "speed chess" velocity.

The leader would then bust into the middle of our sharing from up front with his loud microphone and pull us toward another topic, a great topic by the way. Every topical shift was so important to talk about, but we didn't actually have any time to talk. He would share some nuggets of truth and then tell our tables to take some time to each share our personal response to the question...in 90 seconds. "Where are you at spiritually right now on a scale of 1-10? Please be honest, too, because if we can't be honest here where can we be honest?" Bam, we are talking a mile-a-minute about our chosen number and the reason we chose that number. Remember, 8 people...90 seconds...sharing honestly about the currently reality of our walk with God. This went on for an hour...about 7 very important questions that we had a minute and half to talk about with honesty, meaning and passion. I couldn't help but feel queer.

I didn't feel angry at the moderator, I guess it's better than just coming to a place and having someone just talk at you the whole time about some all-important topic. I really loved even the little shreds of humanity that I heard around our table even though it was hopelessly truncated. It left me wanting more and feeling a feeling that I'm often feeling. Namely, that all the meaningful things are effectively forced into parking spaces in which they can't possibly fit. I'm tired of well-meaning people not treating meaning very well. Myself included. Let me rephrase that...myself especially.

Meaning cannot be pushed around like a pawn, forced upon us in the concentration camp of efficiency. Meaning needs time and attention. Meaning surfaces in awkward silence. It visits perfunctory places and perfectly imperfect people. It emerges as a sidebar conversation...it is usually off-topic and in the baseball diamond of life it is always coming "out of left field". That's what makes it meaningful.

Which leads me to what I was getting at a bit earlier. Though I agree that everything in life feels meaningless, I don't agree that "everything" in life is meaningless for obvious reasons that I probably need not expound upon. There is so much meaning when you're doing the "things" that are meaningful.

Taking my daughter on date on Thursday night was unspeakably meaningful, dripping with meaning, in fact. So I don't agree that "everything is meaningless". The feeling of meaninglessness, this chasing after a gust of wind that you can never catch, is felt when we live our lives in such a way as to crowd out meaning with programs, schedules, demands, expectations, predictions, predispositions, prejudices, terms & conditions. Meaning rarely finds a home inside these human contracts and constructs. There is no room for meaning at this table of 8 with 90 seconds to share the 'what and why' of your deepest passion. It will not submit to these trivial terms. Meaning doesn't want a place at the table...it is the table. It isn't a talking point, it is the point.

So is life meaningless?...yes and no. Yes, if you treat it like a whore. No, if you treat it like a wife. A whore is pursued, used and discarded. A wife is pursued, romanced and cherished. You can't get meaning from pleasure. You get pleasure from meaning.

Meaningful, Meaningful, everything can be meaningful. A running with the wind.

What's in a name?

2011-09-28T11:29:00.000-07:00

"Where everybody knows your name."

When I was younger, the sit com Cheers was in full swing. The song had a hook to it, but it was the aforementioned lyric that I think set the hook.

We didn't have a television the better part of my childhood, so I didn't ever watch Cheers unless I was at a friends house and we happened to be lazily surfing the 4 channels on network T.V. that were available at the time.

As I got a little older, I would catch reruns from time to time and it didn't take long to figure out why the show was sticky. The idea of going to a place--any place--and being greeted by name strikes a chord that almost catches you off guard when you're old enough to put words to the longing, or hear someone else do so.

Cheers was a basement bar in the city of Boston. It wasn't fancy. The set up was anything but club-like. It didn't appeal to the animalistic urges of the sex addict looking for an easy squeeze. It didn't draw the affluential or influential. It was a collection of random individuals from all walks of life looking for other people to talk to about their day. It wasn't anything sensational, just normal conversations usually centered on something that happened that day that each of them would casually weigh in on. As people weighed in on someone's story, it suddenly became more and more colorful and nuanced. Something that wasn't all that noteworthy would be massaged by community into something beautiful, insightful and wonderful. Norm was normal on his own, but around these unlikely friends, Norm wasn't normal anymore; he was endearing and transcendent. On our own, must of us are normal Norms.

But here's the kicker, it starts with someone knowing your name. You can't go any further until you cross over this border. We laugh at people who name-drop, but it wouldn't be a joke if it didn't hold some truth to it. When people start using names in a story, something immediately goes form generic and general to more interesting. We laugh at presidential candidates talking about "Margret from Cortland, N.Y. who's struggling to afford insurance as a single mother of 14", but the reason they are using this ploy is because we are suckers for it. And this is why names mean the world, because names represent a narrative. When you move from plastic names like "buddy, champ, legend, dude, and bro" to "Harry, Chandler, Kyle, Sam, or Tristin" something extraordinary happens in the eco-system of relational connection that unlocks the heart.

Knowing someone on a "first-name" basis is the cornerstone of influence. You can impress people in a nameless world, but influencing people requires name-recognition. Names lead to narratives. It's that simple.

I know this, because when I don't know a person's name, I can scarcely tell you a darn thing about their life. If I can, it's fact-based recall. It's hear-say typically. But as I lock in someone's name, their face loosens, their eyes light up and they share with more detail and drama. When I utter a person's name, it somehow tells them I'm interested in them and that they can share more freely without the internal time clock warning them that someone is about to say, "I'll let you go."

A person's name matters immeasurably.

I need to work on this. WE need to work on this as humans. We are losing this art of naming people. Not name-calling, name recalling.

We must stop accepting the label of community without the knowledge of names. You can't have real community aside from real people knowing other real people's names.

The end.

being out there...

2011-09-27T19:28:00.000-07:00

It is very important to be out there.

Even if you don't know what is coming next, just putting yourself out there gives you a shot at being there when something happens. And you never know when something is going to happen.

Church buildings are great places to gather people in hopes that something happens, but I'm learning that life really happens when you're least expecting it to. There is something about a bunch of people rising to an occasion that actually prevents the occasion from occurring. Granted there are times when you get lucky and something special happens smack dab in the middle of something planned and programmed, but rarely. The good stuff happens out there in the unpremeditated and unpredictable crapshoot of the commonplace.

It's hugging the waiters and waitresses in a restaurant you've gone to for 7 years as the grieve the death of their beloved boss.

It's running into friends on the sidewalk and making small talk.

It's attending a community collaborative meeting and listening to leaders in the community share the passions and dreams for Lowell.

It's going out to lunch with a young leader and normalizing struggle and the temptation to disown desire.

It's sitting in the coffee shop with artists and calling them up into leadership.

It's crashing into hard conversations with people that no one else is going to have with them.

It's going to counseling with your wife and letting someone else in on your pillow talk.

It's staying up late with advisors and wrestling through hard decisions with candor and valor.

It's waking up early to meet with your "trusted brothers" and talking about life as it is, not as you wish it was.

It's snuggling on the couch with your youngest daughter and kissing her soft forehead as you watch "Nanny McFee".

It's tasting defeat and victory. It's getting scathing and soothing emails. Caustic voicemails and caring voicemails. It's grinding through necessary evils and relishing moments of irreplaceable joy.

I'm finding that being "out there" is where God laughs and plays. You don't always know what you're getting yourself into...but that's the point.

So long, Facebook.

2011-09-24T08:19:00.001-07:00

Heidi and I went to counseling yesterday to lay our lives in front of someone else if for nothing else than to have someone bear witness to our story. Our denomination pays for a few sessions a year, so we go almost every year for a "check-up", sometimes several times if needs be. I can't begin to describe the lifeline this has been.

So as we poured out our hearts like water, one of the flights of conversational fancy we explored was the onslaught of social media and the constant pressure that comes with always being "connected and accessible". Heidi and I have noticed that since we got internet at home, our time has been swallowed up with staying "on-line" with everything and anything that is happening in the outside world. Increasingly, our time has been spent keeping up, checking up and following up on things that we "come across" or that "find us".

We will be at home, or on a date, or in our car and "texts, news feeds, and emails" will be announced with a cute little chime indicating that something pressing needs to be addressed or reacted to. You can't very well just ignore it, because everyone knows you got it and will assume that you don't value them as much as the next person if you don't respond according to their particular personal "time-table". Our counselor said that one of the problems with all the social media that exists is the lack of ethical education accompanying the product that serves to give us a universal code of conduct with which to function. Because of the lack of this universal ethic, we have a product that means something different to everyone that uses it. The pressure that comes with this sort of unruly relational system is incalculable as everyone gets to make up their own parameters and guidelines as they go.

I am a relational being, so the draw to be connected is very appealing to me. And yet as I talked with the counselor yesterday I couldn't help but feel that my life has been overtaken with "connection and communication" leading to "disconnection and miscommunication". I can't keep up with my inbox for one. If a couple days go by, it will get away from me and someone is stranded waiting for my response to their questions, ideas, thoughts, hurts, or encouragement that I have all but forgotten exist in the first place. I will want to, but if I don't do it immediately there is a good chance I will get behind and never revisit the conversation.

I know what it is like to "put your heart out there" only to have someone never acknowledge the exchange. Increasingly, this will occur and I just can't stay on top of the "news feed". I have more news coming in than I have the personally ability to respond to. What do you do when your "incoming communication" exceeds your ability to respond with "outgoing conversation"? Something has to give.

It is especially disturbing when I consider that I was the one to open up this medium of connection. No one made me do it. I didn't "have to" create easier ways for people to stay "in touch" with me, but I made the decision to do so of my own volition. I, at some point, said, "I want people to be closer to me and I want to be closer to people. I want to be easy to contact and connect with. I want my life to be an open book letting anyone and everyone peruse the pages of my life with the click of a mouse. I want people to stay in contact with my every move, commenting on each and every trifle, whimsically throwing out thoughts and ideas that I must digest and process. I want to be 'on' all the time. I want this." No one made me do this, I chose this. And on many days, I love being 'accessible'.

But between texting, email, facebook, blogs, cell phones, internet and cable, I feel crowded and congested like "rush hour traffic" inside my head and heart. This traffic jam is a world of my own making in an effort to be a "good pastor and a good person". Over time, it has filled my life with more "news feeds" than I could possibly ingest and digest in a thousand lifetimes. Some people can manage this chaos because they aren't creatures who absorb every nuance of life as an artist. But I am not one of those people. I soak in every dainty little detail, filing away content and holding conversations inside my head with the information that I've encountered. I don't know why this is, it just is. I'm sure it has it's bright side, but boy, oh boy, does it have an underbelly that wrecks shop on my heart.

In talking with the counselor, he encouraged me to take control of this area of my life. His suggestion was to take some time off from Facebook and any other social networks that aren't tethered to an "ethical code of conduct". I don't do a great job of managing social arenas, so for the time being, I have to deconstruct my life and reassemble it with healthy terms of engagement. This will, no doubt, be troublesome on some fronts, but I trust that I'll be able to find a balance in it all over time. For now, this is essential to my social sanity.

It was one of many things we talked about with the counselor. It's funny how interacting with someone outside the "weeds and woods" of my reality can make sense of my nonsensical patterns.

So, after this weekend, I will be disabling my Facebook for an indefinite time period. I trust it will help me get my poop in a group which lately has felt more like diarrhea.

A visit to jail...

2011-09-22T12:56:00.000-07:00

I visited a young man in the county jail today.

I noticed several things on my visit.

The place has no music playing in the entry or lobby or halls. It is nothing but echoing voices and reverberating noises. Unlike most things in life, you don't notice music until it's not there. I can't believe how music brings meaning to mundanity.

The building is nothing but cement and cinderblock. There is hardly a color in the whole building. Almost everything is gray and white which affects your mood almost immediately. The color is stiff and cold, sterile and stoic, and it isn't long before you adopt this emotional posture without knowing it. This is not a place of emotion or relaxation or recreation. Welcome to a world of gray.

There aren't paintings in the halls or in the rooms. No art. No beauty. Nothing to catch your eye and breathe life into your veins. Nothing remotely close to tender, inspirational, attractive or encouraging. I take for granted the artistry that fills most places that I visit filling me with hope and hospitality. This is not a harbor of hospitality for your heart, this a place meant to be meaningless on purpose so that you realize what you take for granted on the other side of those cold and colorless walls. This place is there to remind you what it's like when life is vacuumed out of the building and you are left with nothing be utilities and the utilitarian world of scarcity and survival.

The guards (other than my good buddy, Ben) are quiet and stone-faced, robotic and pre-programmed. They aren't inhumane, but they aren't human. They dwell somewhere in between the two trying hard to regulate their emotions so as to not appear affected by their surroundings or the feelings of those incarcerated. I want to go up to some of them and say, "Hey, you can talk to me normally, it's ok. I'm not a criminal nor a child, I'm a grown adult with intelligence and ingenuity. There isn't a need to bark orders or to talk to me as if I'm a cyborg. I'm a human who's just trying to help." But alas, many of them have on their work clothes and their work voice, and to try to get them to break character is nigh unto impossible.

As I sat in the visiting room for almost 45 minutes waiting to see my friend, I was struck with the stone-cold silence of the 6x10 space. It was so quiet, I could hear my nose whistling with every inhale. My thoughts were loud and the time was creeping along at a snail's pace. I didn't dare ask if he was close to coming for fear that I would be thrown against the wall, frisked, hauled away for a mug shot, hosed down in the basement like Rambo in First Blood, dressed in an orange pajama-suit and thrown into a jail cell waiting for my wife to post bond and bail me out. What made matters worse is that I couldn't bring anything in with me, so I didn't have a watch or a phone or any way of knowing whether 30 minutes went by or 3 hours. I just sat there in a suspense of disbelief almost untethered to anything that even resembled life.

Maybe this is why Jesus said in Hebrews 13:3 "remember those in prison as though you were their fellow prisoners...". Because until you get into one of those places, you can't begin to imagine how dark a night can be and how long a day can be. You can't even believe the jolt of hope that can come through a hand-written letter or the week of energy that can be produced by the simple hug of a caring human being.

I'm learning that I don't have to go to jail or prison to find these environments bereft of music, color, decency, art, or humaneness. Nope, it's on our block and in our backyard. It's two houses down or just around the corner. Heck, it's often in our own living room with our spouse or children. And it doesn't take much to turn the tide, just a word...

...a smile

...a visit

...a hug.

What you have done for the least of these you've done for me. - Jesus

Writing to be more grateful and thus, more graceful...

2011-09-15T08:08:00.000-07:00

I haven’t written a blog entry for over a month. I think it’s been the longest hiatus from writing I’ve taken since I started blogging back in 2005. Unlike others who take a break from writing to pursue a project or to give something up for lent or to consecrate themselves more fully to higher priorities, this exodus was more of an ebbing away that an abrupt departure or a premeditated decision. I think it was last week that I was reflecting upon my life (something I am used to doing more frequently than I have in recent weeks) and it struck me that I have abandoned this discipline/therapy almost entirely.

I’m amazed how things that feed your spirit are often the first pieces of cargo to go overboard in life. In an effort to survive, you keep the draining disciplines and dispose of the nourishing disciplines.

My nourishing, life-giving patterns include:

1. A date night with my wife each week.

2. Playing with my children and resurrecting my inner child.

3. Watching an occasional inspiring movie that breathes story into my story.

4. Getting out of buildings and into nature, out of conversation and into activity.

5. Getting off the internet and enjoying actual friendships around an actual fire.

6. Reading books instead of email, status updates and memos. (Books and Faces instead of Facebook)

7. Getting into the car and driving to a new and undiscovered location for the fun of it.

8. Going to lunch with my daughters and engaging their friends at school.

9. Saying hi to people in the community with vim, vigor and value.

10. Spending time in the Word and Prayer just to be with my Savior.

The last one may be the most critical piece of cargo that goes overboard. When you separate from your Savior, you separate from the one who saves you once and for all spiritually, but also the one who saves you each and every (I’m aware of the redundancy of that statement) day of your life. If without Him I can do nothing as it says in John 15, then nothing is precisely what I become as I divorce myself from his salvific heart.

And today as I navigate a “reentry into the blogosphere” today, I find myself grateful for writing and it’s ability to be my “silent counselor” listening to my untethered, disjointed gibberish and absorbing my scribbles and scrawlings.

On this day, I write to become grateful in hopes of becoming graceful. I’m glad to be back.

Lowell, I don't just live here, I love here...

2011-08-08T05:55:00.000-07:00

As if Lowell wasn't already the most quaint, antiquated and idyllic bedroom community in the great Grand Rapids area for a host of reasons, throw in the fact that we host the Kent County fair and you have what is called in Texas Hold 'Em a "Royal Flush"!

Yesterday my wife and I were driving through town going to a friends house to pick up firewood for a Middle School bonfire, and as we made our way down Rt. 50 out of town toward the Grand River, the fairground was teeming with excitement and energy. Animals were being led around by children, sweaty men were putting the final touches on pitching massive tents, vendors were leveling their mobile shops, "4-H"er's were mucking stalls and spreading beds of straw, and campers were lining the fields preparing for a week of sticky, humid sleep. Scores of bustling and hustling humans were frantically darting around like time-pressed ants working around the clock for the deadline of opening day. It was a sight for sore eyes.

I think I've unabashedly admitted before that I'm a farmer-at-heart and love to see the old-fashioned past-times of the simple agrarian life celebrated with vim, vigor and value. I can't wait to take the girls through the barns breathing in the pungent aroma of horse manure and petting those elegant creatures of power and beauty. I'm even looking forward to the sheep, pig, rabbit and chicken barns, though horse manure is in a league of its own as it relates to smell.

At the same time, you can't make it anywhere in our community without noticing the "Pink Arrow" craze that has officially begun. This is the 4th year of a community-wide cancer awareness weekend that culminates in a Lowell Football Game where the players take the field in custom made pink uniforms and then promptly tromp on some sorry team, making sport of them like a bloodthirsty gladiator. Shirts and banners are hanging on every light pole in the historic downtown district, storefronts are covered with posters and window paint, bumper stickers cover every other car you see drive by, people are wearing their pink t-shirts of the last three years almost frothing at the mouth for September 9th. The rabid excitement I'm sure almost scares outsiders, but this as well, is the genius of Lowell.

There is a spirit here that can be felt as you crest the Grand River bridge and see the King Milling grain bins and towers welcoming you with opens arms. In Latin is it called the "genius loci" - "they spirit of place". There is a provincial pride that dwells in the hearts of our people. We don't just live here, we love here. Here means something to us. Here is where we belong. Here is what is beloved. There is "spirit of place" that fills the streets and writes itself up the landscape and the cityscape. Even a passerby who is just driving through recognizes that this place takes itself seriously and life personally. We don't just use this town for its utilitarian purposes of providing the basic essentials for survival, we treat it as you would a home that has a heartbeat which requires investment, nourishment and encouragement. We want this place to have an irresistible spirit of hospitality, welcoming in the stranger as an angel, the outsider as adopted family. At least this is what I see and believe and want. Worse than bad, I want it.

I noticed Canfield plumbing investing in their building by bringing in a craftsman to replace old bricks and usher in "restorative masonry". Whenever I see this investment in preserving the old, my heart is filled with exceeding joy. I know that it costs more in some ways to preserve the old than to just tear it down and replace it with cheap pressboard, cheap sheetrock and cheap corrugated medal. "We pave paradise and put up a parking lot" as the song says. Or in this case, "We tear down a historic edifice and put up a pole barn." No one is thinking that it has a life-expectancy of 15 years before it will go to pot and start to rot because most people are thinking about economy and expediency, not history and mystery. I'm thankful for those glimpses of sacrifice I see in this town to preserve what is hallowed instead of replacing it with what is, in my humble opinion, hollow.

Heidi and I sat at Flat River Grill on a date last night sharing a sandwich and watching the sun go down over the river. The ducks were turning into slow moving silhouettes floating gently with the slow moving current, their heads tucked backwards under their wings like a boy pulling his pillow over his head to keep the light out of his eyes. The cool breeze moved through the patio almost giving you a chill. The lights on the showboat turned on and a couple guys walked by with fishing poles (Ben Boomers and Jeff Nemeier) and tackle boxes. Lovers walked hand in hand on the sidewalks along the river pointing and talking and smiling. Groups of friends shared stories and wine at nearby tables. It was the stuff of sappy novels, but it was real.

And as we drove home, I realized afresh why I love our little town. Because everyone lives here of all races, rags or riches, building companies or digging ditches, from minimum wager employees to seven-figure employers, from simple farmers to city slickers, carnies on one side of the road for the County Fair, cancer awareness on the other side of the road at Gilda's club...we are all different, but we are one. It is this solidarity that gives us the "genius loci" that marks us as unique.

But we mustn't think this will continue on without our active participation. We must stay engaged and create redemption and affect change right around us. We can't sit idly by hoping someone else with "keep 'r goin'" and "get 'r done"...it will die in a generation with that kind of degeneration. We must insert ourselves into the messiness creating order out of chaos. In our marriages, our families, our neighborhood, our region and our city.

So I'd like to make a toast to Lowell. Long live the spirit of this great community built on the selfless sacrifice of many who take great pains to ensure our town will be stay homey without feeling homely. Thank you for the many who lay down their lives so that people like me can drive into Lowell and feel gratitude well up saying with me, "I don't just live here, I love here." I intend to join the cause of keeping this spirit alive and leading others to do the same.

I love being a pastor...

2011-07-31T15:39:00.000-07:00

For some reason, I felt like a pastor today. Most of the time I feel more like a regular ole' person that a pastor, but today was different. I felt like a shepherd.

A shepherd doesn't feed his sheep...at least not the biblical kind. He does not bring food to them, rather he brings them to food. He does not cut, rake and bail the green pastures hauling blocks of hay to the barn broadcasting it to the huddled flock. No he leads them to green pastures and lets them roam about the hillside nibbling the vegetation themselves. No pastor ever feeds his flock, really. He simply leads them to the meadow.

He doesn't scoop up water in a bucket and bring it to them, the Scriptures are clear that a shepherd leads them beside still waters. He does the hard work to find these pastures and waters that are green and still, but the feeding and drinking aren't his responsibility. The sheep must take it from there.

In Psalm 23 is goes on to say that a shepherd "restores souls". His purpose for leading to the feeding is to bring nourishment to the core places, not just superficial quick fixes and artificial placebos of peace. No, his ambition is to bring restoration to the "sheepish" soul.

He journeys with them through the shadows of death, guiding them with his staff, chiding them with his rod. When a rod of pain is felt, the sheep knows the shepherd only inflicts hurt to prevent hurt. When the staff of guidance is felt, the sheep knows the shepherd with never nudge them to a place he hasn't traversed himself...they can trust that his staff of direction has gone to the point to which it's pointing.

I love being a shepherd. I don't always feel like a good one, nor am I saying that today I perfectly incarnated Psalm 23 in its fullness. But, by golly, I felt pretty darn close in certain moments.

I heard someone say last week that a "good shepherd" smells like his sheep. I hope that can be said of me. I hope I stay so close with them in their valleys and vistas that when I stand before God he doesn't just say, "Well done!", but that he also smiles with a crooked smirk and says, "You stink!"

I love the sheep under my care. They are not my sheep, I'm taking care of them for the Good Shepherd. I feel privileged to do so and for some reason I'm feeling very shepherdly today.

little women and a good "piece of living"...

2011-07-27T07:40:00.000-07:00

I have little girls, three of them to be exact. They are precious to me beyond words. I've been praying for them individually and specifically in recent days asking God to grant them protection, warm their hearts to his nudges, open their ears to his whispers, and soften their hearts to his Lordship.

I absolutely love being a father, but what is more, I relish the opportunity of being a father of "little women"! I love their kisses and hugs and the way they make eyes at me as the sole man in their lives (right now anyway!).

The other night, I was reading the classic book little women to them and in the beginning of the book the author took a moment to describe the "little women" that would fill almost plot line of this timeless narrative. As we read through these paragraphs, my girls lit up with joy and we talked about the descriptions of settings and the definitions of words together for almost 20 minutes together. There is hardly a more beautiful thing than laying in your bed with three little girls, reading them a book as they stare back and forth from the pages to the ceiling, and commenting on the nuances of how an author takes a simple thought and makes it come alive with fresh words.

This was the piece of writing we got hung up on from the book "Little Women". I couldn't help but feeling like I was living what I was reading in the very moment the words were moving across my lips...

"As young readers like to know 'how people look', we will take this moment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable room, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain, for a good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home peace pervaded it.

Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen- year-old Jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt, for she never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way.

Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman and didn't like it.

Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone called her, was a rosy, smooth- haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression which was seldom disturbed. Her father called her 'Little Miss Tranquility', and the name suited her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of her own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved. Amy, though the youngest, was a most important person, in her own opinion at least. A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying herself like a young lady mindful of her manners. What the characters of the four sisters were we will leave to be found out."

What a beautiful piece of writing...but even how much more beautiful is the opportunity to live this. A piece of living is always better than a piece of writing. The phrase we talked about and laughed about the longest was...

"Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman and didn't like it."

I am watching my daughters "rapidly shoot up into women" and I don't like it one bit. And yet, as I get caught up in this piece of writing, I can't help but thank God for the "piece of living" I am caught up into even as I pen this blog. My wife, the girls she gave me, and the life I get to live is better than any book in the library.

And though I hate that they are shooting up into "little women", I am trying to savor the flavor of each "piece of living" as it's happening. This is surely one of life's finest feelings.

The little things you miss about your childhood...

2011-07-19T14:52:00.000-07:00

I’m in New York for a few days visiting my folks and the little house where I grew up. I’ve noticed one thing that for some reason never stood out to me before. There are value phrases and bible verses all over the place…hanging on the walls in picture frames and plaques, covering the refrigerator with magnets and two-sided tape, embroidered into pillows and blankets, and etched into throw rugs and bath towels. They are all over the place speaking messages of hope, faith and love into your soul almost without you knowing it.

Here are a few of the phrases I’ve noticed:

- All things are possible with God.

- Ultima Cena De Jesus.

- Welcome Friends.

- Laughter in your Home. Love in your Heart. Joy in your Heart. Celebrate Each day.

- Jesus never fails.

- God bless our Home.

- A wise teacher makes learning a joy.

- God said it, I believe it, that settles it!

- The kiss of the sun for pardon; the song of the birds for mirth; you’re nearer God’s heart in a garden, than anywhere else on earth.

- The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. – Psalm 28:7

- Home: Where your heart begins.

- Home sweet Home.

- Fruit of the Spirit…Live by the Spirit…Love, Joy, Peace, Patience Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self-Control.

- May God be gracious to us and bless us and make His face shine upon us.

- Live Well. Love Much. Laugh Often.

- Our family is a circle of strength and love. With every birth and every union, the circle grows. Every joy shared adds more love. Every crisis faced together makes the circle stronger.

- Therefore, encourage one another and build each other up, just as in face you are doing. – I Thess. 5:11

- Some people come into our lives and go quickly…some stay for a while and leave footprints on our hearts and we are never the same.

- Each of you should look not only to our own interests but also to the interests of others. – Phil. 2:4

- We think God’s love rises and falls with our performance. I doesn’t…He loves you for whose you are…You are God’s child. – Max Lucado

- The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord…though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down. –Psalm 37: 23, 24

- Amazing Grace how sweet the sound…

- Grant me patience…but HURRY!

- Nana’s Kitchen…where memories are made and Grandkids are spoiled. Open 24 hours.

- God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things that I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

- My grace is sufficient for thee; my strength is made perfect in weakness. - 2 Cor. 12:9

- I am the way the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. – John 14:6

- Life is like a blanket of snow. Be careful how you walk on it for every step will show.

- Give your kid and inch and he’ll think he’s the ruler.

- It takes a long time to grow old friends.

- God’s love cannot be measured.

- I can be calm and free from care on any shore, since I know God is there.

- Jesus loves you and so do I.

- As for me and my house we will serve the Lord. – Joshua 24:15

- Be still and know that He is Lord.

- I know the plans I have for you…plans to give you hope and a future. – Jer. 29:11

- You are part of God’s plan and purpose.

- Count your blessings.

- Give thanks.

- Trust in the Lord with all thine heart.

- And now abideth faith, hope and love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

- Praise the Lord!

- Create in me a clean heart and renew a right spirit within me. – Psalm 51:10

- This is the day the Lord hath made…rejoice and be glad in it. – Psalm 118:24

- May your roots go down deep into the soil of God’s marvelous love and may you be able to understand how long..how wide..how deep…how high…his love really is and to experience this love for yourselves…and so at last you will be filled up with God Himself.

- Faithful friends.

- In all your ways acknowledge him and he will direct your paths.

- His compassions fail not. Great is Thy faithfulness. – Lam. 2:22, 23

- We can always count on each other’s friendship.

I think I’ll stop right there. As I made my way around my little childhood home, these phrases and verses and quotes packed the place. As Toby Mac says in his song, “Love is in the house and the house is packed, so much so I leave the back door cracked.” Paintings, afghans, doilies, crafts, pictures, puzzles, plaques, place mats, welcome mats, door hangers, cards, jewelry, antiques, handwritten notes on corkboard, country-style kitchen memorabilia, Christian bookstore paraphernalia, work carvings, stained-glass ornaments, pillow covers, home-made quilts, bedroom decorations, fancy frames with verses in calligraphy, crafts made by children in Sunday School, old church bulletin covers, “quote of the day” bathroom calendars, hats, table clothes and books, cut out magazine articles, notes written in the margins of bibles, encouragement written in the front of gifted books, pick-me-up sticky notes, entryway invitations plastered in the porch to set people’s hearts at ease, crosses nailed to the barn outside illuminated with Christmas lights year round exalting the cross, dashboard note-cards, Christian radio playing in the background with soothing music and the smell of fresh boiling corn on the cob wafting into the dining room, Bible Trivia games stacked among family night board game, commentaries and parenting books and Christian inspiration books line their bookshelves, family picture albums filled with mom’s commentary are stacked in corners and crevices to be picked up and perused by curious hearts. I could go on and on.

The message is clear in this house, this is God’s house, this is where His heart is celebrated and commemorated. This is where his mind and dreams are the high calling and craving. This is a place where Jesus’ thoughts on life and liberty and the pursuit of happiness prevail.

Back in the day, I barely recognized these things consciously, but unconsciously (or subconsciously) I was drinking in these surrounding like a little sponge setting my dials and wiring my “mother board”. Foundation was being laid all around me.

I noticed on thing. There is not one crucifix in this house. At first, this seems so unchristian, un-American really. But I think it’s because our home focused on the resurrection of Christ more than the crucifixion of Christ. He was still alive and we lived like it. My parents didn’t follow a dead God with a dead heart. They followed the living God and focused on living their faith as a result.

It might seem old fashioned, over-the-top, or just plain goofy, but these visitations to the old stomping grounds opened my eyes to the little things that I feel are being lost bit by bit with every year in Christianity. One of those things being homes saturated with little messages or hope and life and faith and encouragement everywhere you look. A house that becomes a living museum of the gospel…Good News filling every room you’re in, everywhere you turn.

I want to begin to fill my home with this kind of truth. May our walls drip with words of truth serving to nourish th

The Swaziland Chronicles #9 :: Flying home and Final thoughts.

2011-07-12T04:12:00.000-07:00

Thursday:

- We visited the beach on the Indian Ocean briefly on our way to the airport. The disparity of the beautiful beaches of tourism and opulent pleasure for the South African privileged was, again, difficult to reconcile. How could they be so close to each other? It is such a beautiful country that has been ravished by the majority of people being “kept in the dark” and “keeping themselves in the dark”. Make no mistake; it is very clearly both realities that are crippling them.

- As I sit in the airport and the airplanes finishing this entry, I suppose there aren’t enough words to write about my experience. My life will just have to flesh out what was has been indelibly engraved within. I mustn’t try to explain everything with zealotry to every person I meet, for I know how hard it is for others to explain to me what can only be understood when it is experienced by me.

- I will end with these two thoughts, for they have filled my mind on this trip. The first came to me on the flight over: “Above all, love each other deeply, for love covers over a multitude of sins.” – I Peter 4:8. The second thought hit me a couple days ago during the orphan’s sining and it’s been echoing my mind right up to this moment. “Long Live the King.”

The Swaziland Chronicles #8 :: Praying for woman with AIDs

2011-07-11T05:39:00.001-07:00

Wednesday (continued)....

- As we finished our lunch and freshened up, we got back in our cars to visit the last Carepoint of the day and the trip. It was led by a young woman (you’re probably picking up that trend of feminine leadership) who was educated, indigenous, and visionary. We entered the building, and just like many of the other Carepoints the children were sitting there awaiting our arrival with bated breath. They were restless, but quiet, smiling as we walked in the room and whispering to each other only God knows what. At this Carepoint, there were 12 older women sitting at the back table. I wasn’t sure if they were cooks at the site, but I made my way to the back and greeted them. I found out later that they are 12 of 40 on a Care Team that walks around to visit the homes of the sick and dying, bringing medicine to them, or “bringing them to medicine”. I say bringing them to medicine because it is not uncommon for them to get a wheelbarrow and haul them to a medical center or hospital for assistance. If they don’t have a wheelbarrow, they will often strap kids, youth, and even adults on their backs to get them to a med center. As we sat down and I looked at them across the room I thought to myself: “These are the heroines of the world.”

- They led us to a table in front of probably 60 children and the young woman who leads the Carepoint (called Ward #19), Amanda, began sharing the origin, philosophy and needs of what appeared to be an old government garage that had been abandoned. As we talked around the table as adults, the kids just sat there quiet and respectful even though they couldn’t hear our conversation. They simply waited and watched. She shared how they didn’t have running water or bathrooms on this facility, so the kids would run to nearby neighborhood homes of strangers to go the bathroom. They provided meals after school only on Wednesdays and Fridays because of the lack of resources. They would teach them Bible lessons in that same time frame and she shared that they were also getting ready for a community Zulu traditional celebration where they were going to perform a dance as a group. She asked if we could introduce ourselves and if the kids could then perform the dance for us as well as sing us a couple songs. We obliged without much arm-twisting.

- I stood up to introduce myself and decided to do something I hadn’t done at any of the other sites. I noticed that some of the kids along the way had sandwich bags with frozen cool-aide inside them akin to an iceypop in the States. I had written a song for Kami about iceypops back in the day and decided to sing it to them for fun. They got a kick out of it and by the end of the song, were even singing along.

- When we finished our introductions, the students stood and sang a song called “You are faithful, O Lord.” Though I only heard it once, I have in memorized and could sing it to you on command. One twelve-year-old girl led it out and the others chimed in: “You are faithful, O Lord; You are faithful, O Lord; everyday and every hour, You are faithful, O Lord.” They sang it over and over again, louder and louder as they went. My eyes filled with tear as I closed them to let the sound soak into my soul. They then performed the Zulu dance that they were preparing for the festive occasion in September. Their rhythm is incomparable.

- When they finished singing, I prayed over them. Every time I was given an opportunity to pray over a dwelling or a Carepoint, I became bolder to call upon the name of the Lord with importunity. For some reason I felt the urge to pray the Lord’s Prayer as I finished my prayer. I could hear some people, young and old, praying it with me. His Kingdom needed to come on earth as it was in heaven, or else.

- Some of the members of the Care Team were poised to take us on some home visits. My heart was not prepared for what we were about to see and touch and smell. The first shack we walked into had the smell of death and rotting flesh. A women, no older that 40 laid in bed, shriveled, skinny and panting like a person struggling to get oxygen. We learned that she had AIDs and tuberculosis and that one of her lungs had collapsed. We were literally there watching her die. As many as could from the team filled the house, listened to her story, and prayed over her. I touched her boney legs and prayed for God’s favor to fill her, whether by giving her miraculous life or giving her an honorable death. Her face was diseased and yet her eyes were soft. As I left, I grabbed her hand and said to her, “Shalom.” Without teeth, she smiled. Oh, by the way, in this little 12x12 room lived her husband and 5 kids. I don’t know where they fit on the floor, but I had given up on reason by this point in the trip. Reason and justice have little say in the conditions here.

- The next home we went to there was a Grandmother raising her two grandchildren whose parents had just died. Their older brother from another marriage had stolen all of their belongings and sold them for drug money. They had nothing. Their clothes, their toys, their bowls and pots and pans….gone. We prayed over their house asking God to restore what was taken.

- The last home we went to a mother was lying in bed with her 12 yr. old boy. He was bright-eyed and educated, very confident and communicative. She had tuberculosis (maybe aids as well) and he was her caretaker. He would get her food, care for her in her sickness, and generally speaking fulfill the duty of the man of the house. Interestingly, he seemed up to the task. We shared our pride in his stout heart and how much he loved and cared for his mother. As I said before, what children will do at the Carepoint is get their meal, eat a little portion of it and take the rest home to feed those in their household. The Carepoint will try to be generous for this reason. So when a Carepoint says they are feeding 150, they are potentially feeding over 5 times that when all is said and done. This kind of sacrifice in the children demonstrates a maturity that humbles me. I can’t help but wonder what my children would do in the same situation.

- We walked back to the Carepoint quickly because it was getting dark. The Care team mentioned that safety can become an issue after dark, so they wanted us move along to avoid any breach of security. For the most part it is very safe wherever you are in the daytime hours.

- We said our goodbyes and left the Carepoint. I was quiet knowing it was the last day of the trip and the last visit we would be making. The quietness was part shock, part soberness. I was trying to process all that I had digested with my senses in the past 6 days. On the one had I felt very thankful for America and Africa all at the same time. But I also nursed an anger at America and Africa for the gross inequality of distribution of wealth and health, justice and Jesus. These wires were crossing inside me as I sat in the back seat heading back to our guesthouse before dinner.

- We were taken to a beautiful restaurant by a sweet couple named John and Sue. They were South Africans with British-like accents and yet a dialect all its own. It was a delightful evening as they asked us questions and we asked them questions and sat in each other’s company on the patio in the open air. I had lamb shank and ox tail for the first time, and a couple glasses of ginger ale. The ginger ale gave me the age-old soothing feeling I remember when I was sick as a youngster. I was sick, but this was a different sickness that filled my insides. It was an ache of the heart. I even shared with John and Sue how this experience had redirected my emotions and aligned my vision, particularly in the areas of gratitude and grace. I think witnessing such hospitality from the people on the ground doing ministry there as well as sensing such joy in the hearts of those who had nothing dumbfounded me so deeply that it peeled away some scales of fleshliness. I just had such an overwhelming desire to be “love to the world” in that moment that I could feel my face relax and a peace hover over me that was otherworldly. We left the restaurant ironically laughing at some spur-of-the-moment jokes and some rather funny stories that had occurred along the way in our trip. It was therapeutic. The catharsis of laughter was just what the Doctor ordered. I went back to the guesthouse and began to pack for our flight out the next morning. I talked to my lovely wife over Skype and began to share some of the gritty details of the trip that burrowed down to the marrow of my experience. Our connection was sketchy, so we said goodbye to each other looking forward to reuniting after the 24 hour flight. (this is with three connecting flights) My spirit, body and mind long for her at this point. Absence does make the heart grow fonder. I slept deeply.

The Swaziland Chronicles #7 :: Another Orphanage & a Raped 14 yr. old

2011-07-09T04:49:00.000-07:00

Wednesday:

- We woke and visited another Carepoint in the remote outskirts of Durban. We were met by a 19yr. old young man. This was the only Carepoint thus far with a male presence. He was intelligent, fluent in English, smiling like he just won the lottery and offering us a greeting like we were the Royal Family paying them a visit. He grew up in this very community and was planning to go to college to pursue videography and graphic design. We learned later that he was doing an internship for 6 months as an administrator for the point person, Cindy, better known as Cindylisious.

- She started the Carepoint by herself when she saw the need around her. Focus somehow found out about her initiative and began to connect with what she was already doing. Hopechest is providing the food currently, but they are in need of sponsorship by a church in the states to carry on. There was a little boy there I connected with right away. The minute I saw him, he lifted his arms for me to pick him up. I played hide and seek with him and laughed with a shot-gun giggle that just melted your heart. (I couldn’t stop thinking about our adoption and the Ethiopian little boy that will become my son.) The children in this little room were all infants between the ages of 2 to 4 year old and were taken care of by about 5 women in all. They sang us a little song and we spent some time talking to them and holding them before their naptime. When we left this 10x25 cinder block structure they put the kids down for a nap lined up on the dirt floor in three rows. There must have been about 20-25 kids crammed in this makeshift nursery. It was cute and crushing to see all at the same time.

- In the backyard were 7 or 8 mounds of dirt that represented the graves of relatives that had died in the recent years leaving Cindy and—I think—her uncle to fend for themselves.

- We made our way to visit some the homes where the children live. It is mostly women in the villages now; many with HIV and many who are grandmothers trying their best to tend to the needs of the neighborhood children. We stopped and prayed for a few of the women in a cluster of homes asking God to Father and Husband their families. I simply didn’t know how else to pray.

- We walked down the street to make another home visit entering a destitute neighborhood full of little children running around and women standing next to their homes smiling at our entrance. One of the women was a 22 yr. old woman holding her baby. She was exquisitely beautiful and had contracted Aids recently enough that you couldn’t tell on the outside there was anything the matter. Her smile showcased straight, white teeth that sparkled in the sunlight. She had two children and was trying to eke out a living to support them. As I was talking with her and playing with her little one, one of our team members came up behind me and whispered that their was a girl over by the fence row who had been raped within the past week. I turned and saw this 14 yr. old girl crouched over, sitting on a rock, hitting a plastic bucket over and over again with a stick. She was propping her head up with her arm, fist to face, elbow to thigh. She had an expressionless look about her and she appeared as if she was staring through everything in front of her. I felt a tug to go and talk with her but something in me balked. With the knowledge of this trauma, I felt tongue-tied not even knowing where to begin to engage a conversation. But in spite of my instinct to keep my distance, I willed myself to go over to her. I stood before her and she wouldn’t look up at me. I knew that she knew I was standing there, but she wouldn’t lift her head. I kept thinking, “Just leave her alone…you are a man…she hates your kind…you are the opposite sex that just stole away her innocence. Walk away.” But again, my spirit moved me to stoop down toward her. I knelt next to her and put my hand on her shoulder introducing myself. She wouldn’t look at me. I dropped lower still willing to go as low as I had to in order to make eye contact. I wanted her to see my eyes. As I bent low, she finally tilted her head and rolled her eyes upward finally catching mine. I smiled with my mouth and eyes as I grabbed her hand and held it with both of mine. I spoke to her, “God bless you.” She smiled a bit and looked back down. I released her hand, put my hand on her shoulder again, said a simple prayer, and went on my away. My heart was pounding in my chest.

- Our team walked back to the Carepoint, said our goodbyes, and went to eat some lunch at Focus. It seemed so unfair that we could just get in and get out so easily while they had to stay there, some to a life sentence, some to a death sentence, either way imprisoned.

The Swaziland Chronicles #6 :: Durban Care Points

2011-07-08T05:13:00.000-07:00

Tuesday:

- We woke the next morning to a “bed and breakfast” setting with a communal feel. European in nature, this little slice of heaven woke my spirit for the new day. I slept deeply and recovered vigor for the day ahead. We were picked up by Reward and made our way to a coastal town to meet up with African pastors for a morning leadership conference. I wasn’t expecting much, but the speaker, Rob Parsons, was talking to me as if I were the only one in the room. He spoke of leadership and the pangs and pleasures associated with the calling. He was from the U.K. and was the founder of a ministry called “Caring for Families”. I was caught of guard with his storytelling and truth-telling.

- In the afternoon, we ate a quick lunch and made our way to the biggest of the 3 Durban Carepoints led by a woman of great vision and vigor, Zuna. She started a ministry for abandoned and vulnerable children all on her own and had only recently been introduced to Focus on the Family and Children’s HopeChest. Her dauntless hope for her community was inspiring. She had, over time, assembled community officials and a small army of women foot soldiers serving the abandoned children with abandon. When we arrived on the premises, we all gathered in a backroom/kitchen on little wooden chairs as she shared her vision and introduced us to her humble staff of volunteers. It is always humbling to stand in the presence of obscure greatness.

- We made our way to a small room filled with preschool children eager to sing us songs and smile for our cameras. Their innocence shone from their little eyes. I picked a few of them up and kissed their oily ebony foreheads. They danced a traditional Zulu dance and dazzled us through and through.

- The dusk wasn’t far from settling so we had to rush to the nearby gardens planted under the vision of this Matriarch. Rows of vegetation green and lush cascaded down the hillside. It is interesting that though many are starving and desperate all around, not one thief will dare touch this plot of land knowing that all the food is for the children. Amidst a cesspool of distorted values, this value of children is esteemed by even the most famished of criminals. I walked the garden thanking God for the kind of night-vision displayed by the leaders of this Carepoint.

- We were running out of daylight and still had to visit a third section of this Carepoint where the older students waited patiently to put on a production of sorts. Nearly 150 of the most well mannered kids were abuzz as we entered the gate to the old warehouse where they were waiting for our arrival. As we walked in through the door kids faces lit up like lightning bugs on a cool summer’s eve. We stood in front of them and individually introduced ourselves. Paul, the other pastor introduced himself before me and the kids listened intently to his voice. When they heard he was from America they looked upon him and at each other like they were meeting a celebrity. I followed him and said good afternoon in their language. I then said my name was Jason to which they responded with laughter and pointing and clapping as if I told a brilliant joke or made a Freudian slip. They wouldn’t stop gasping with delight and I was somewhat dumbstruck as I made my way back to the wall letting Reward calm them down as he spoke in their native tongue jesting with them about what I said that caused such a festive stir. I later found out that Paul and Jason were characters in a popular sitcom in South Africa and Jason was the gay character. Sometimes God has such a great sense of humor.

- The children then put on a program that stirred my heart like few things ever have. They sang worship songs with melodies and harmonies that blended with the sounds and symphonies of angels.

- Tears streamed down on my face as we closed in prayer with the children. We called upon the Father of Lights to shine down on these children with hope and healing and life and love. I was undone. I literally could not stop shedding tears. It is amazing when you are shedding tears and smiling at the same time, it leads to a rainbow of beauty much like the paradox of rain and sunshine. The prevailing thought in this moment out of nowhere was: “Long live the King”. I haven’t no idea why this phrase kept echoing in my heart. We took pictures and kids flocked to me saying “Jazun, Jazun, Jazun.” In their minds I was a celebrity, albeit gay. They wanted to hug me and shake my hand. Their faces beamed with a glow of glory that I rarely see in the States. I’m still trying to figure out why.

- We had little time and headed back to Focus on the Family headquarters to meet with the whole staff. We had a wonderful dinner and gathered in a conference room to talk about HopeChest and the merger with Focus on the Family in Africa. Again, I was humbled to be in the presence of such humble greatness. They were so gracious, so grateful. It is sobering, really. Laura, the HopeChest representative we traveled with presented the ministry explaining the philosophy of the ministry and the heartbeat of HopeChest. It was great to hear it put in powerpoint, succinct form. I believe in it now more than ever.

Then, the Focus board asked us as pastors to share our hearts. I began to piece together words while my voice box was breaking with emotion. It has been hard to share without crying up to this point, but I’m sure I’ll gain my composure at some point so that I can convey the facts as strong as the feelings. I did regain some measure of stability and shared some of my joys and fears as I prepared to return to my ministry back home. I think the thing that hit me is that I would be received much like I’ve received others who have experienced great things on a trip like this. A handshake, a smile, a brief listening ear and a return to my previous existence. This thought rocked me in that moment. It unleashed much conversation among the team there that was beautiful. They encouraged me, and after we prayed to close, many of them stayed after and shared how my words and brokenness was a rebuke to how callused they’d become living right next to it with a numbness day in and day out. I feel that we each gave each other something that was valuable as we went our separate ways. I hope it is a catalyst for revolution on both ends of the spectrum. We returned to our guest house, I Skyped my wife again, felt the stab of distance from her and my girls yet another night, a fought to retire with all of these conflicting thoughts of distress and delight flooding my heart.

The Swaziland Chronicles #5 :: Last of the Swaziland Carepoints and on to Durban

2011-07-07T03:27:00.000-07:00

Monday:

- We rose early and visited another Carepoint in the rural countryside. When we arrived, I was surprised to see the development of this particular piece of land. A church had partnered for several years investing in the children and the facility making it a refuge of nutrition, recreation, and education. I must mention that “playing” is such an important part of the Carepoint provision. Many of these children have to grow up so quickly, assuming the responsibility of an adult, that they completely miss the healthy developmental component of “playing”. This is a place where they can laugh and run and sing and dance and “monkey around” like the children that they are. On this particular care point, there was a preschool, which is quite common for the Carepoints we visited, but on this location, they also had schooling up to the 6^th grade. You could hear different classrooms singing and chanting phrases which created a very beautiful atmosphere of hope. There were also Swazi builders laying cement blocks for another structure of some kind.

- One of my favorite elements of this trip was to see something that Suzanne Deeren has spoken about and represented at Impact, Timbali. Timbali is an organization started by Julie Anderson for the women (grandmothers and mothers) who cook the food and care for the children at the Carepoints. This particular Carepoint provided a building where nearly 12 Timbali woman were gathered busily laboring over their sowing machines making backpacks, kitchen aprons, and bags of all kinds. I had heard so much about this ministry, but to see it with my own eyes was a blessing. You can’t understand how unusual it is in this country for women to make, sell and earn a living for themselves. The confidence and dignity in this little cement room was evident. This is one of the most exciting things going on within HopeChest in my opinion, the opportunity for gainful employment for indigenous Swazi’s who are discipled at the Carepoints. If you feed, love and educate without creating industry and economy, you raise them only to release them to “nothingness”. This is why there is a great need for “venture capitalist-missionaries” in the mission field. Long-term success depends on the creation of marketable goods.

- We left that Carepoint and moved to our last Carepoint visit in Swaziland. It was another rural location, but again, it had been adopted by a church and had the most amazing playground in the whole Kingdom of Swaziland! Colorful and magical for these children. There was no pre-school at this location and when we arrived, two older women were beginning to build a fire to cook some soup and beans. No children had come as of yet, but you could see some of them coming from afar. A good many walk many kilometers to reach the Carepoint to eat and play. When they receive their dinner, many of them will save the better portion of the meal to take home and share with their siblings or relatives (if they have any). Many children are just staying with whoever will take them in when they are orphaned. It was a blessing to see the playful refuge created by Hopechest for these children in need of a harbor of relaxation and safety. As we pulled away from the property and made our way to the airport, I treasured in my heart the opportunity to witness the tremendous work of God happening through willing hearts in nearly thankless obscurity.

- We flew out from Manzini and landed in Jo-burg with a short layover. Our next destination was Durban to meet up with the Focus on the Family partners and the 3 new Carepoints that were developing there. We were greeted by a beautiful man named Reward Ngcobo who is on staff with Focus. His exuberance and intelligence was weighty immediately. As we made our way to our luggage and then his car, he couldn’t stop verbally pouring out hospitable welcome upon us. It made me wonder how I could be so satisfied with the marginal hospitality I’m used to displaying. His kindness made me feel kind”less”.

- We ate a seafood dinner along the Indian Ocean with Cindy, the new leader over the Orphan Care for Focus, Shunu, a longstanding administrator for Focus on the Family South Africa with a beautiful heart, and Reward whom I mentioned earlier. After our wonderful dinner we were ushered to our Guesthouse, which was about 30 minutes outside the city. This city sprawls so far that everywhere you look are foothills of sparkling lights as if the starry sky were being reflected off the land. I had my own room for this leg of the journey that for some reason, coupled with my fatigue, caused such a sting of loneliness that I had to continually talk out loud to Jesus just to keep myself strengthened. I don’t know how else to describe it. I quoted Scripture aloud particularly the verse, “Love covers over a multitude of sins.” This verse had been on my heart since the beginning of the trip and was a prayer of power in that moment of aloneness. It was like salve to my sullen soul.

The Swaziland Chronicles #4 :: Go to Church/Carepoint & make more home visits

2011-07-06T02:41:00.000-07:00

Sunday:

- We woke up the next morning and drove to a remote Carepoint that had a Wesleyan church on site. It was a sponsored Carepoint and you could tell the difference between the development of the property and the shape of the facilities. A church building had been built in the last year and a half, a playground, and a new kitchen with two classrooms that were half-built.

- We picked up the pastor and his wife, Peter and Precious Langa, and did something really out of the ordinary. Church was officially starting in less than 20 minutes and the pastor and his wife came with us for two home visits before showing up at the church building and preaching.

- We took off and visited the first homestead. I forgot to mention that when you get there, the men sit down on chairs or stools first and then the women sit on the ground around them. This care site was just a woman (a gogo – grandma) who takes care of many children and works for Timbali. She just received her sewing machine and some material to start making crafts to sell and make a wage for her family. I prayed over her and asked for God’s face to shine on her heart and life.

- As we were at her home, you could hear a nearby church singing the most beautiful African music echoing through the valley. The saddest thing to hear was that it was a church that mixed Jesus was the religious tribal beliefs of their forefathers. This is very common for many of the churches in that area.

- We made our way to the second home visit and when we got there a beautiful grandmother was there with a little one year only baby boy wearing an unbuttoned onesy with a naked bottom. On the ground over next to the broken down hut was an old drunk man asleep on top of a cow hide on the ground in the shade of a tree. His wife went and woke him up and he groggily limped over and sat among us. He bowed his head when we met him and humbly acknowledge our presence whispering, “Hallelujah, Amen.” He told us that they have to walk over two miles to find water. They have to dig in the sand to get to the water level and then let the water settle before they scoop it out. Better than nothing, but not much better. The painful thing is that there is a well nearby, but the pump doesn’t work and no one has been taught how to fix and maintain it. This is common all around. People build things, but don’t train the people or build the infrastruction to care for what it built. (This is why so much money goes to Africa and there is little to show for it.) Starting things is easy; sustaining things take discipleship. Things start strong and finish weak.

- After we made the home visits we drove back to the church and when we pulled into the driveway we encountered the sound of people singing their guts out to the Lord. Several people greeted us as we entered the back of the church. The pastor led us down the middle aisle to the front row. The music lasted several more minutes and then the pastor stood up, took the offering (most of the money was given by our team of white people who were visiting), had us come up front and introduce ourselves, and then began to preach from Romans 5:1-7. It wasn’t very long, but very passionate. When he finished his message, he asked me to come up and close in prayer. I prayed through a translator to close the service.

- At the end of the service, a young mother came forward with a terrible sickness and asked for our prayer. She was deathly sick, and we prayed over her. As we laid hands on her we prayed for healing, miraculous and swift healing. She tilted her head and coughed like she was drowning in phlegm. Her condition represented so many her age dying of common diseases that have treatment of which they have no access. You can’t help but feel sadness envelope you like teargas.

- We toured the property around the church, which happens to be another one of Hopechest’s Carepoints. Because of the connection of a sponsoring church from Canada, this sit was developed beautifully and had the added benefit of a local church on site to deepen the discipleship. It was good to see the preferred picture and hopeful outcome of a long-term relationship formed with a caring church.

- After this visit, we made out way home, got some rest, and headed to a market with desperate vendors in a “bartering” setting begging for us to purchase their wares like their lives depended on us buying their little trinkets…this might not be far from the truth. I bought a few different things for my daughters, but felt horrible as many begged me to come to their storefronts for a “special Sunday deal” (that’s what they all were taught to say). It is hard not to just empty your wallet and give away all your money to everyone you see. But it is like trying to put out a forest fire with a thimble of water. It would vaporize before it hit the parched soil.

- We had some dinner at a place with killer chicken and fries and returned to our “guest house” to retire for the evening. Each evening I have Skyped my family and it has been so refreshing to see their pixilated faces and hear their digitally disrupted voices. I miss them horribly and with every day I see the brokenness of this place, I’m struck with the blessedness of my life and wife and children. When I log off, I feel my heart cry. Though my tears are used up throughout the day with the horrific conditions of what I’m seeing here, my heart is crying to hug and hold my family. Tomorrow we visit another Carepoint and then fly out to Durban, South Africa to visit some more potential Carepoints there.

The Swaziland Chronicles #3 :: More Carepoints and Home vistis

2011-07-05T05:54:00.000-07:00

Saturday

- We woke up and visited a remote Carepoint connected to an Assemblies of God church. It was a large facility, but it wasn’t running because these Carepoints only run from Monday to Friday and we happened to be there on a Saturday morning.

- Even still, children started pouring in to play and hang out. Out of nowhere, they circled them up and played games and sang songs. (duck, duck goose)

- The Pastor’s wife teaches them songs and they sing them with her. I bought one of her cd’s which features her songs and the children’s choir accompanying her.

- On the way home we pulled off the side of the road and Jumbo brought us some awesome chicken and cooked cabbage. It was delicious! We took it to his house and met a couple that works in the most remote and destitute Carepoints in the desert lands. This is where Suzanne has done a good bit of her work. We will not be able to visit these check points due to the tenuous nature of some of the things happening in that region. They didn’t go into great detail about what was taking place, but they are trying to iron out some wrinkles occurring here at the moment. The Carepoints are functioning still, they just find themselves in a transitional stage. My conversation with those particular leaders was disturbing and heart stopping. Meeting these leaders who are laying down their lives to keep people alive is humbling and unsettling concurrently. I don’t know how to live with myself after leaving their presence.

- We then made two home visits where we drove into the remote country to meet these people where they live. Before we visited two homes we picked up a girl by the name of Claira who served as our translator. She is being discipled as a young lady who is trying to keep herself pure until marriage and make something of herself and her future for the Lord and her future family.

- The first home we visited was made of sticks, mud and straw. I believe there were 6 children and a mom (rarely and amazingly their father was there as well...this is unusual due to the Aids pandemic). His head was down in shame and disgrace almost the whole time. It was the first home visit, so the up close and personal vision of poverty hit me very deeply. I prayed publicly after we talked with them for a bit and cried as I asked God to shine down His face on their homestead. We left them two bags of food as a blessing.

- The second home we visited was as single mother of 6. Her first husband died of Aids and left her with 4 children. She met another man, had twins with him, and he is nowhere to be found. When we got to her house, the kids had food and flies all over their faces, the one little boy was naked and shy, and her 10 year old daughter just stood by the door and watched us talk to their mother. The mother was delightful and beautiful. She was deeply grateful for our prayers and the bit of food we left her. It was surreal because the view from her house was beautiful, her house was the size of a standard bedroom, and the yard was covered with trash and garbage. Everyday these people have to walk miles just for water say nothing of education and food. That was what floored me.

- We came home and got ready to go to dinner with Jumbo. He took us to a restaurant for some good food. I had a steak that was delicious. We were able to talk more personally there and were able to ask questions about his leadership and his longevity of vision for Swaziland. He seemed very optimistic about his stamina for the picture God had planted in his head for Children’s Hopechest.

- What I love about Jumbo is that he doesn’t just have a heart for missions (what I mean by that is the spreading of the gospel), but he wants to begin a holistic ministry that creates sustainable health through the indigenous population. He is a venture capitalist, entrepreneur, visionary and a confident leader. He is straightforward, no holds barred, honest as Jesus, and as serious as a heart attack about his mission in Swaziland. His vision to create a micro-economy of employment for those who are coming up through the Carepoints is critical to long-term systemic change in their Swazi value system and cultural norms that are filled with denial and ignorance.

- Just brief notes about the economy and psyche of the Swazi culture:

o 95,000 are employed and roughly 950,000 are unemployed (90% unemployment)

o 70% of those employed are government jobs which means there are only about 25,000 actual jobs outside of the governmental system propelling the economy. Herein lies the hopelessness the hovers over the land like smog.

o The government is on the brink of folding because of lack of funds, which will result in even more unemployment and chaos in the culture.

o To make matters worse, of the business and employers, nearly al the people employing the Swazi’s are Chinese and Indian businesses. They run pseudo-sweatshops and pay next to nothing (sometimes failing to pay them at all by lying to them about lack of revenue). The Swazi’s have no choice but to keep working in hopes that money will come eventually.

o The average wage per day is less than 2 dollars in the nation.

o This country has the lowest life expectancy and the highest HIV/AIDS rates of any country in the world.

o Sex trafficking is epidemic due to the lack of basic essentials and the extremes young woman will go to in order to secure food for their families and the children.

o Women do most of the labor and heavy lifting to hold families together and fight for survival and the men are by and large lazy and unmotivated.

- We came home, settled in our rooms and recovered from the visual and emotional trauma of the day. I can’t think of anything to call it but something similar to “Post Traumatic War Syndrome”. I’m not comparing war to watch we say, but when you experience darkness and death and despair on the level in which it exists in the Swaziland, it is traumatizing on some level, this I know.

The Swaziland Chronicles #2 :: The Manzini Carepoints

2011-07-04T02:37:00.000-07:00

Friday:

- We landed in Manzini, Swaziland and met Jumbo (the large man and head man of the operation of Children’s HopeChest CarePoints.) He is a no-nonsense kind of guy with a kind heart but a firm vision. Just the kind of guy you need on the ground under these harsh conditions. You can’t be a limp noodle and lead here, let me tell you.

- We went to our hotel (guest house with 12 rooms) and it was very pleasant, almost like a bed and breakfast. I was happy when I found out we had hot showers. I didn’t know what to expect.

- After we settled in we visited three new and unsponsored CarePoints in Manzini. They were inherited from Joyce Meyer Ministries and due to a drop of funding in her ministry, they had to let go of these three inner city points of refuge. Children’s HopeChast decided to take them on by faith.

- Kids were everywhere running around this “orphanage-like” plot of land equipped with a preschool, a well, and a food kitchen. The preschool was for 4 yr. olds through kindergarten. They move on from there into 1^st through 3^rd grade and government funds their schooling, then they’re on their own and if their parents or grandparents can pay, they can further their education. If not, they stay right there mentally as their bodies grow up on the outside of them. Education is key to the possibility of a different life in the future. Without it you are doomed to economic despair and desperation. Even with sufficient schooling there are so few jobs available for people to be gainfully employed. It started to become clear to me that this was the famine that was killing their culture, unemployment and unemployability. Without the creation of jobs there is not work to give your yourself to leaving you helpless and hopeless, educated or uneducated. They need economic entrepreneurs as much as missionaries in Swazi, maybe more.

- Let me give you a brief description of the children. Very few have shoes, they are very dirty, most of them eat their food with their hands out of bowels that they brought on their own from where they live, they love being video taped and seeing themselves in the view screen, and the little ones wanted to be held. All of them love to stare at the new mysterious white people with long, smooth hair.

- There was a women teacher at the first Carepoint. She is a Swazi woman who teaches the ACE (Accelerated Christian Education) program to bridge them to government paid school from 1-3 grade so that are prepared to succeed. She is very special and extraordinarily qualified.

- The food is essentially “grits and beans”. Period. I didn’t see any other option. This food is bought and brought to them each week via delivery by Children’s HopeChest volunteers and is specially made with ingredients that are balanced nutritionally. Well, more nutritious and balanced than they are used to getting anyway.

- At the second care point, they were teaching a story of Joshua when we arrived and had the kids quoted Joshua 1:8 – “be strong in the Lord…” and then the kids repeated back a chanted prayer before they lined up to eat. After the prayer was over, the kids’ gang-rushed the food kitchen almost desperately. The female leaders had to discipline the students who were pushing and shoving for food. I could tell they were much more needing than the other care point we had just visited. It wasn’t far away from the other place, but it seemed to be a more abject expression of poverty.

- The third care point had less kids, so I had more time to talk with them and play with them. Eventually I got them in a line and swung them around in circles. Kids came from far and near to get in on the action. My muscles were very sore after picking these kids up for about 15-20 minutes.

- We came back to the guesthouse, cleaned up, and went over to Jumbo’s house and met the Children’s Hope Chest and AIM (Adventures in Missions) staff that provide leadership to the various HopeChest ministries on the ground in Swaziland.

- Some of the topics of conversation were as follows: The need for micro-economy and sustainable income after education, the “Geranium Farm” Jumbo has started to get the oil for a new perfume business he wants to create in order to employ Swazi’s coming through the care points, getting an education, and needing a livelihood to sustain life with gainful employment. We talked about the three-tiered HopeChest strategy:

o Survive – Food and Water

o Thrive – Education & Discipleship (preschool and beyond)

o Succeed – Employment as Adult

- We talked a bit that night about the Timbali Craft’s connection to the Carepoints and the discipleship of the women who serve at the Carepoints (nearly 100). This was an important connection to make for me as I saw the vision and the effect of Suzanne’s work with Timbali and the selling of their hand-made products in the States.

- Oh, I forgot to mention that the power had gone out in Mazini that night, so Jumbo’s house had not power and we were forced to carry on in candlelight. It was fun. There were probably about 25 sdults and children there. We talked into the wee hours of the night then heads back to the guesthouse to try and get some much needed sleep. My body was still having a difficult time adjusting to the time difference.

The Swaziland Chronicles #1 :: Sent out and Setting Out.

2011-07-02T04:30:00.000-07:00

These are some snippets of my trip to Swaziland. It was a 9 day adventure with God to explore the possibility of partnering with He and and an organization called "Children's Hope Chest" to care for abandoned children, orphaned and vulnerable.

I feel a bit like the apostle John must have felt when he was trying to wrap up the wonders of Jesus life in a relatively short chronicle called the gospel of John, for how to put such paltry measurements on moments with Jesus and His mighty works. Listen to John as he tries to apologize for cutting short the glories of God...

John 21:25 - Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.

And so I apologize in advance as well. I could never do justice to explaining the injustice I was about to be thrown into headlong. But first, I had to leave the comforts of home, so I will take you back to a humble Wednesday evening, the night I said my goodbyes to family at the airport to strike camp and walk into the unknown...

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Wednesday Evening:

- My wife and kids dropped me off at the Grand Rapids airport and I remember checking in and just sitting there all alone for a couple hours as I awaited boarding. There is something about leaving on a 10-day trip like this by yourself into the unknown that is unnerving and exciting in ways I can’t right now find words for. But I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t admit that fear was creeping into my insides. No matter, there was no going back now.

I I met up with Paul, a pastor from California that was joining me on this trip, in Chicago O’Hare after eating boneless chicken wings to fill my stomach before the long 8 hour trip to Frankfurt that would last the better part of the night.

- As I stepped on the plane and looked for and “forward to” my window seat, a father standing in my row asked me if I would trade with him so that he could sit with his wife and kids. This put me in the back of the plane next to a little kid who was fidgety as all get out. The little boy ended up laying on my lap and shoulder throughout the night. It was a long night, needless to say.

Thursday:

- We landed in Frankfurt and met Laura from Children’s HopeChest and went to our Day Hotel to shower before going on a tour of Frankfurt. It is not the most beautiful of cities in Germany, but it stretched out our legs and gave us some fresh air and fresh sites after being balled up in what seemed like the fetal position for the 8-hour flight.

- We ate some vintage German sausage for lunch, walked the city streets, then went back to the Airport to catch our plane from Frankfurt to Jo-burg, South Africa.

- I couldn’t get to sleep so I watched the Never Say Never Justin Beiber documentary. (mockumentory depending on whether you’re a fan or not).

- I had an interesting experience the first time I went to the bathroom in the back of the plane. As I walked to the latrines and turned the corner, I caught a couple making out among other things in a single latrine. You here about this stuff in the movies, but it was quite another thing to witness it in living color. I awkwardly looked away as they chuckled and made their way back to their seats disheveled and not embarrassed nearly enough. Maybe Germans don’t see this as a violation of social graces. Whatever the case, I thought I would log it for the record.

- I read a little bit more of the book “When helping Hurts” by Tom Davis the CEO of Children’s HopeChest before dozing off for the night. The stories were moving and I imagined myself in those places in a matter of hours. It was surreal to think that I wasn’t just watching “American Idol gives Back”, or an Oprah special on African orphans, I was really going to experience this for myself in real time, in real life.

- It was a 9-hour flight, so I caught what little sleep I could along the way watching movies, reading, people watching and woolgathering (daydreaming). I thought we would never arrive.

A note I wrote to my friends a while back...do you have friends you write to?

2011-06-25T13:39:00.000-07:00

It's been a week of polarized emotions for me. I think I've enjoyed life so thoroughly in some moments that I forget I'm not in heaven, and other moments I can't believe I'm not in hell itself.

Maybe this is just the nature of living in a world that is both groaning for redemption (Romans 8) and declaring the glories of God (Psalm 19). One moment it is taking you up and the next it is taking you out. I can experience both feelings of pathos (pathetically) within moments of each other. From a T-bone steak to a "bit of bad beef" as we've talked about before.

I really wish we could get together more to see each other's faces and hear each other's voices. That's probably why Paul had these exact sentiments when he was writing the churches...he speaks often of his desire to see their faces and to meet up with them. I think writing is a beautiful medium to share your heart, but it lacks the cherry on top. It's just not complete.

I long for life as much as ever. The pangs of passion still are beating on the drums of my heart. Pining is at an all time high. Dreaming has never seen a better day. And maybe it is the last bit of fulfillment in about every arena that keeps you leaning toward the kingdom, because even if we could set things up perfectly in this world, we would still leave the experience yearning. But it doesn't meanw we should give up on the "kingdom come" lifestyle in the here and now, right? It doesn't mean you slink into resignation and settle for crumbs at the great feast of life. I intend to pull up to the table and eat with both hands, no silverware, no napkins--enjoying the extravagance of God like a kid at a carnival. At least this is my affection's affinity. I just hope it doesn't result in affectation instead. Affection's nemesis is Affectation. At least for me.

I fished twice this week. Oh, how I loved that.

I swam in our new pool in the backyard with the girls.

I read some amazing stuff from Donald Miller and Erwin McManus.

I got to study "mirth" this week...who gets to study mirth and get paid for it?

I had two young guys I'm working with declare their newfound intent to go into ministry...that's a cool thing, hugh?

I saw Public Enemies last night...great flick...great cinematography!

I met with a guy who has a big dream to do something great for God.

I met with a couple getting married that saved themselves for marriage after four years of dating...that's rare these days.

I played "Gorilla beats the Man" with my daughters this week.

I had a great creative programming meeting with my team this week. Imagination just stirs up my spirit somethin' fierce.

There's more, I'm almost sure of it. And I must fix my eyes on the "have's" not the "have not's". And I have alot. An awful lot. An awesome lot.

And one of the things I have is "you". For the first time in my life I have someone to write a little note like this to. I can share my heart with kindred spirits who have a penchant for similar delicacies. I don't have to keep this to myself. And that, my brothers, is a little slice of heaven to be sure. Probably what I'm looking forward to most about heaven aside from meeting Jesus face to face, is the opportunity to sit with friends for hours, days, and years...enjoying the eternal bliss of swapping stories and making stories...free from the resistance of jobs, duties, distractions, temptations, trials, and most importantly SIN. This day is coming, but for now, we must fight for it in the now. And this blessing is reserved for those who will not tire of the battle for brotherhood. We don't have to wait for then and there, it's now and here, if we will but seek it wholeheartedly...it's wholeheartedly, or holeheartedly.

I've live too many years holeheartedly...and I don't mean to return to that culturally acceptable place. It feigns fulfillment, but it is filled with holes, some pin holes, some gapping holes, but holes nonetheless.

So, thank you.

Thank you for filling those holes with your presence, giving me a shot at being whole.

With masculine love...

Jason

The Man begins to Notice beauty...

2011-06-24T02:25:00.001-07:00

John Eldredge quote:

"Down through its history the church has held up the good, the true, and the beautiful as a sort of trinity of virtues. As we think over the stages of the masculine journey, we find that the boy begins to understand Good as he learns right from wrong, and the warrior fights for what is True, but when a man comes to see that the beautiful is the best of the three, then is the lover awakened. As with the other stages, you'll find expressions of it in this youth, but something happens about the same time a young man begins to become a warrior, late in the cowboy stage, late in his teens and into his twenties. Awakening with his passion for a battle you will often find another longing emerging, a longing for...he knows not what. An ache, often expressed in music, or perhaps poetry, a film or a book that stirs him like never before. His soul is undergoing a sort of second birth.

He begins to NOTICE. Sees moonlight on water for the very first time. Is stopped by certain movements in a song he loves. Pauses to realize that a snowflake or a flower is really altogether amazing. Discover authors that stir him with some special quality in their writings. Now yes, it is often aroused by a woman. Baucher tells of a time when as a boy he fell in love with a girl in Bermuda, "and all the beauty I longed for beyond the beauty I longed for in her." Woman is the personification of Beauty, and it often takes her to turn the young man's attention from adventure and battle, "turn his head," as the phrase has it, and his heart comes along for the turning too.

A young writer who came to see me said that he began to write poetry, and lots of it, when first he fell in love. Over time the woman faded from view--it was a high school romance--but the writing continued, his heart awakened. This is the story of the pilgrimage of Anodo in MacDonald's Phantastes, where a man is awakened by particular beauty from whence he must take a perilous journey to find that it is Beauty itself he longs for."

hanging on the moment like a drop of mercury...

2011-06-22T16:36:00.001-07:00

As I sit here in the airport waiting to take flight Africa bound, my heart was reminded by heart to "be present" and "stay present" from this moment forward. To not linger in what I'm immediately emerging from, to not lean toward what I'm stepping toward, but to sit squarely in the moment. I don't even want to "look forward" to the trip presently. I want to sit in the airport and think about God's accessibility right here, right now.

So with the click of each keystroke, I'm dwelling in the moment, drinking in the moment.

Would you like to join me?

“It’s Now or Never! You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find eternity in the moment,” urges Henry David Thoreau, the nineteenth-century American philosopher.

Leave the past to God’s mercy. Leave the future to God’s discretion. This moment is all there is.

The Chinese philosopher Lao-tzu counsels, “The Purest Human gives himself up to whatever the moment brings.”

The Hasidic teacher Rebbe Nachman advises, “Each day has its own set of thoughts, words and deeds. Live in tune.”

The Sufi mystic Rumi says, “Stay here, quivering with each moment…like a drop of mercury.”

Be here in the moment, as the artist is here with focused attention, whether you are cooking, cleaning, praying, playing, working or reading. Be here in the moment, as an athlete is here in the sweet spot of time when everything is effortless, fluid and free.

“No moment is trivial since each one contains a divine kingdom of heavenly sustenance,” explain the eighteenth century Jesuit Jean Pierre de Caussade.

The banquet is spread out before us, and it is the wish of the Divine Host, God Himself, that we partake of the present moment without regrets of the past or fears of the future.

Pledge yourself to the moment and let it teach you. Surrender yourself to the present and let it preach you.

Episcopal priest Robert Capon warns, “We spend a long time wishing we were elsewhere or otherwise.” We are like the character in the movie Postcards from the Edge who sends a card home from vacation that says, “Having a wonderful time. Wish I were here.”

Teacher Jack Kornfield comments, “The quality of presence determines the very quality of life.”

A so we must stay in the moment, for that is where the Invisible Lover is, hovering as close as your next breath.

So drink deep of the shining and ephemeral glories that surround you. Drink deep of the present moment which nourishes your soul. Drink deep of the grace-notes that accompany your experiences of the sublime. Then you will never have to utter the lament of the third-century philosopher St. Augustine: “Too late have I loved you, O Beauty, O Life, so ancient and so new, too late have I loved you!”

We must live in the moment, this moment.

For this is where God is, this is where God lives.

And to find him is to open our eyes to the present.

The Present. The Present.

Leaving for Africa...

2011-06-20T06:08:00.000-07:00

Martin Luther King Jr. wrote something that struck me to the core:

Some believe there is nothing one man or one woman can do against the enormous array of the world's ills -- against misery, against ignorance, or injustice and violence. Yet many of the world's great movements, of thought and action, have flowed from the work of a single man or woman. A young monk began the Protestant reformation, a young general extended an empire from Macedonia to the borders of the earth, and a young woman reclaimed the territory of France. It was a young Italian explorer who discovered the New World, and 32 year old Thomas Jefferson who proclaimed that all men are created equal. 'Give me a place to stand,' said Archimedes, 'and I will move the world.' These men moved the world, and so can we all.

Let no one be discouraged by the belief there is nothing one man or one woman can do against the enormous array of the world's ills - against misery and ignorance, injustice and violence... Few will have the greatness to bend history itself; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation...

It is from the numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centre’s of energy and daring, those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.

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Was not Jesus an activist, an extremist for love - "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them that despitefully use you." Was not Amos an extremist for justice - "Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream." Was not Paul an extremist for the gospel of Jesus Christ - "I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus." Was not Martin Luther an extremist - "Here I stand; I can do none other so help me God." Was not John Bunyan an extremist - "I will stay in jail to the end of my days before I make a butchery of my conscience." Was not Abraham Lincoln an extremist - "This nation cannot survive half slave and half free." Was not Thomas Jefferson an extremist - "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

So the question is not whether we will be extremist but what kind of extremist will we be. Will we be extremists for hate or will we be extremists for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice - or will we be extremists for the cause of justice? In that dramatic scene on Calvary's hill, three men were crucified. We must not forget that all three were crucified for the same crime -the crime of extremism. Two were extremists for immorality, and thusly fell below their environment. The other, Jesus Christ, was an extremist for love, truth and goodness, and thereby rose above his environment.

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The Kingdom of God has always been about Poetic Justice…

The Scriptures are replete with a heart for engaging injustice with love…

Pr. 14:31 - He who oppresses the poor shows contempt for their Maker, but whoever is kind to the needy honors God.

Pr. 19:17 - He who is kind to the poor lends to the LORD, and he will reward him for what he has done.

Pr. 21:13 - If a man shuts his ears to the cry of the poor, he too will cry out and not be answered.

Is. 58:6-7 – “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter — when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Ps. 140:12 - I know that the LORD secures justice for the poor and upholds the cause of the needy.

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Ps. I want to be extreme, even if this pushes me further to the fringes. If being "further to the fringes" is the byproduct of challenging the nominal life of spiritual/social normalcy, then kick me to the curb. As I leave for Africa in the next couple days to explore God's next step for Impact as it relates to engaging global poverty of stomach and spirit, I ask that you would pray that God will speak deeply and clearly into my heart His dreams for this merger. All I know is that we need Africa as much as Africa needs us.