disciple 13

new home

2006-09-24T17:34:00.000-05:00

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internet monk

2006-09-22T06:55:00.000-05:00

I just discovered the internet monk's blog this week, due, of all things, to a reference in an article on the "health and wealth gospel" in Time magazine. His post on revivalism, my first to read, is compelling. Even better, his current post is a review and recommendation of Shane Claiborne's The Irresistible Revolution, which I would also recommend highly.

agreed

2006-09-19T19:16:00.000-05:00

From Mike Cope's blog:

"Several fundamentalist Muslims, angered by the Pope’s statements that some parts of Islam are violent, have responded in violent retaliation. Thankfully, many moderates of their faith are pointing out the tiny inconsistency in their objections."

playing the fool

2006-09-17T21:36:00.000-05:00

I’ve been thinking some about the practicality of Jesus’ teaching lately. You know, pondering it’s relevance for day-to-day living. I’ve arrived at two conclusions, and, to be honest, they leave me more unsettled than anything else.

On the one hand there is a degree to which living as Jesus prescribes yields obvious rewards, not just beyond death but right here and now. If you’re nice to people, they’re typically nice right back to you. You forgive, you get forgiven. You love, you get loved. In fact, it is this very balance that gets preached most here in America—kind of a you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours theology. We assume that this is what Paul means when he writes that “in all things God works for the good of those who love Him,” (Romans 8:28). Living selflessly may be hard for a time, but the real truth is that you get back what you give. So your selfless living is really more like a deposit in the Karma bank. You’re gonna get it back.

The problem is that doesn’t mesh very well with what Jesus actually taught. Consider, for example, the Sermon on the Mount found in Mathew 5-7. Many believe this to be Jesus’ greatest sermon. Okay, I can understand that given the scope and depth of what He says, but most of us hold this particular teaching at arms length, refusing to really dive into it and examine ourselves in the light of it.

Jesus begins with what we call the beatitudes. We like to teach these in Sunday school. To small children. We talk about this like they’re poetic and “nice”. Nice? Here’s what I mean: some of the beatitudes make sense to me—blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, are merciful, are pure in heart and are peacemakers. I can understand these as noble character traits. But blessed are the poor in spirit? Those who mourn? The meek? Those who are persecuted? That’s blessing? This is Jesus’ practical teaching on how to live? “Be sad, be spiritually bankrupt, suppress your strengths and rejoice when people pick on you—then you are truly blessed.” Does anyone else have a hard time swallowing this?

This is the sense in which Jesus’ teachings are anything but relevant, particularly in a culture like ours. We love power and independence and being happy. We would never want anything but those things, let alone pursue their opposites.

And really when you consider Jesus’ teachings regarding being nice and forgiving and loving, even those are more than you bargain for. Jesus says to love our enemies. Our enemies. Not just the bully who picked on you in the fifth grade or that guy at the office who you can’t stand—our enemies. People like terrorists and rapists, killers and child molesters. Yeah, love them. And not love from a distance. Oh, no. Not this “Well, I love them with the love of the Lord” stuff. No, real love. Love that can be seen in action. Love like the kind of love you have for yourself or your family. Love that visits them in jail, for example.

Try that on for size. It’s hard. Really hard.

So this is what I’ve been thinking about and I’ve been hitting my head up against the reality that our culture isn’t very well situated for this kind of a life. I mean, folks here in America, “Christian” though we may be, wouldn’t be too crazy about someone who took all of Jesus’ teachings seriously and actually tried to live like that. People would think you were nuts. You kind of would be. When I read Paul and he says we should be “fools for Christ” it sounds poetic to me and kind of cool. This just sounds crazy.

But that’s what Jesus calls for. Given the course of His life, we shouldn’t be surprised. The “suffering servant” has, in fact, called us to follow Him. We act like it’s exciting and fun. It can be, but more often than not, when you get past the warm-fuzzy part, it’s as scary as it is anything else. This playing the fool stuff. This following Jesus. This social revolution.

And I’m trying to figure out how you do that. Any thoughts?

wallpaper

2006-09-11T23:08:00.000-05:00

I just added three new desktop wallpapers to my other website:

If you want to download any of these (yep, they're free), click here.

sad and confused

2006-09-05T21:11:00.000-05:00

Over the past week two of my readers have been taking me to task. In response to a post expressing the idea that love is the greatest possible weapon against hate, they have asserted that I am a hypocrite, selfish, dishonest, a liar, a gossip and generally ignorant in the nature of love. Clearly these two individuals have something of a problem with me.

Looking back over the past couple of days and the onslaught of comments left on this blog, my predominant emotions are confusion and sorrow.

I am confused because these two critics have expressed everything from distain to pity for me, but neither has taken me up on my offer to contact me and attempt to resolve their grievances. I have made (and continue to make) this offer sincerely: if anyone who reads these words feels that I have wronged them, please contact me directly at your earliest convenience so that we can begin to work toward reconciliation. If you truly believe I have wronged you, then please consider this offer as a productive alternative to internet snipe tactics.

I am sad simply because I don’t have the desire to fight anyone.

I don’t write this blog because I want to engage in theological debate. I don’t write to prove anything about myself or for personal gain. I write because I enjoy writing. I think faith is a journey—a careening, confusing, frighteningly wonderful journey that should be shared. I am saddened that there are people who would rather fight, would rather prove something, would rather gain something (though what I don’t know) than to engage in dialogue along that journey. That they fuss and fight in the name of righteous indignation only compounds my sorrow.

If my words hold no weight for you, if something I’ve done or said has invalidated my opinion in your eyes or if you feel anger towards me and you simply cannot stomach the sound of my voice in any medium, then I invite you to ignore me with a vengeance. Pay no heed to what I write and just move along.

If you desire reconciliation, please contact me.

For those new to this unfortunate discussion or those who just want to go back and skim the highlights of the last few days, I’m sorry to disappoint but I’ve deleted all the aggressive comments—even the ones posted by my friends in defense. (Though I thank my friends for speaking up and for encouraging reconciliation.) I will continue to delete any comment that seems to me to be a personal attack. If you just disagree with me, removed from any personal grudge, please comment away. I welcome you to the dialogue.

I want to close this post by saying again that my heart’s desire is reconciliation and peace. If either of the two of you who are angry with me choose to contact me, I will be happy to listen to your frustrations and I pledge to join you in working to re-establish friendship.

I can offer you nothing more than this. Take it or leave it as you choose. Either way, please abandon your anger and move on. Life is too short to wallow in hate.

the real

2006-09-03T23:28:00.000-05:00

"Only when we have come in touch with our own life experiences and have learned to listen to our inner cravings for liberation and new life can we realize that Jesus did not just speak, but that he reached out to us in our most personal needs. The Gospel doesn’t just contain ideas worth remembering. It is a message responding to our individual human condition. The Church is not an institution forcing us to follow its rules. It is a community of people inviting us to still our hunger and thirst at its tables. Doctrines are not alien formulations which we must adhere to but the documentation of the most profound human experiences which, transcending time and place, are handed over from generation to generation as a light in our darkness."

—From Reaching Out by Henri JM Nouwen

I find the above quote deeply moving. It reminds me of what’s real.

I’m in San Antonio this weekend, visiting my wife’s family. We’re having a very pleasant time. This morning we attended her parent’s church, even getting up early enough to attend Sunday school. I have to be honest with you: I didn’t agree with every element of theology I heard this morning in class. But I learned something anyway.

There was an older gentleman in the class, a real patriarch of the church. He’s somewhat set in his ways from what I gather and more than a little vocal. Throughout class he took it upon himself to interject his opinion on the passage being discussed, frequently reading the notes from his study bible in their entirety as proof of his point of view. The teacher, an intelligent, well-read, well-prepared middle-aged woman, was kind and gracious throughout. Every time he began to speak, she not only allowed the interruption, she invited his input. She listened to his objections and answered his questions, even the dogmatic ones, with respect and patience.

It was beautiful.

Not beautiful because I agreed with everything spoken or because the lesson was delivered with masterful skill, but beautiful because a very real display of love and community played out before me. I felt like I was on holy ground watching it. Seeing the church be the church.

And that is church: our struggling together, our loving each other even as we disagree, our patient acceptance of one another as God’s beloved. It humbled me to be so close to it, to know that I might not have been so patient. To see how much I have yet to learn about love.

But it gave me hope, too. Hope in the idea that church is more than doctrine and programs. Hope that in ways both great and small God’s people are living out the call to love others. Hope that my moments of weakness and mistake will be met, not with the cold criticism of those who think themselves above reproach, but with a warm mercy and patient kindness.

We are on this journey together, you see, and the landmarks guiding us along the way are not doctrine and rules but moments of quiet, unremarkable grace exchanged by fellow travelers. No, there’s nothing mystical in that, no magic formula that cures the world’s ails. It may even seem a small thing to some, and I suppose it is.

But it’s also what I see Jesus doing—meeting with people, people not good enough or smart enough or well-bred enough to run in the right circles, and embracing them with love and respect. In spite of their flaws. In spite of their sin. In spite of their lack of wisdom. He entered into community, birthed community wherever he went, because he loved people and he loved them as they were.

I think that’s beautiful and raw and real and while I am nowhere near his perfect standard of love, I hope I am learning daily a little more of what it means to love those around me. And I hope in the meantime, while I’m learning, those around me will be patient with me as I sometimes fail.

what you believe, part 2

2006-09-02T20:31:00.000-05:00

Part 1

Wow. I got more response (in the form of comments) from that last post than I’ve gotten in a while. It only seems nature to continue the conversation—and it is a conversation. Please, whether you agree or disagree with me, feel free to join in.

I’d like to pick up where one of the comments to my last post left off. A friend of mine (and a qualified theologian in his own right), Jeb Barr, wrote:

“We know the command to love is absolutely paramount for a Christian. But nations are not Christian. Christians must turn the other cheek and not defend themselves, but nations do not. In fact, nations are to uphold justice, and Paul even refers to their divine right to ‘carry the sword’. We certainly know from the Old Testament that God can and does use nations and war to advance His purposes.”

What an excellent point Jeb makes. I agree completely.

This calls to mind another thought that’s been bounding around in my brain lately, though it’s not an original thought. I have to credit Lee C. Camp and Shane Claiborne as the originators. Here it is:

When we talk about “we” (as in, “We should feel this way about the war…” or “Our response to 9/11 should be…”), who is “we”? The vast majority of the time I would contend that “we” is the nation of America. This makes sense in as much as we are Americans and given that we love our country. But what should the church’s response to such events be? What should we, as Christians, do in the face of such evil?

I can’t disagree with Jeb’s assertion that nations are charged with the responsibility of defending their people and preserving order. That is absolutely correct. And Jeb asks a question that needs to be asked: “If pacifism were to be embraced as a national calling rather than merely a personal one, what would it mean to ‘respond in love’ as a nation? It sounds good, but what would it really look like at a practical level?”

I would answer first by saying that I do not mean to convey that pacifism is a national calling. I believe, however, that God has called his people, corporately and individually, to a high standard of love. This means that the church and the individual disciple cannot but weep at the brutal reality of war. (And Jeb said this: “…there does have to be a disconnect between supporting that course [violent response] and also loving people, especially those that could be considered our enemies. We can support the right course of political action while also mourning the suffering caused by it and actively involving ourselves in the process of healing and restoration.”) I am made very uncomfortable by comments like “Kill ‘em all and let God sort ‘em out.” I struggle to see love in the enthusiastic embrace of violence.

Secondly, I would say that I don’t know entirely what it looks like for the church (or for me) to love our enemies, global or local. All too often we don’t even ask that question. But we need to.

As disciples, our first allegiance must always be to our God and his mission. He has charged us to love, even in the face of hate. How do we do that? What does that look like? How do we determine what is “the right course of political action” and to what degree should we attempt to persuade our government to pursue non-violent resolution? How can we be the voice of healing and of love in a world overrun by blind aggression?

I don’t know. But I think we need to start asking.

what you believe

2006-08-28T21:37:00.000-05:00

I’ve been thinking about violence a lot lately. Not really a topic I enjoy thinking about, but I’ve been pondering it anyway. I hesitate to even bring it up in this forum, to be honest with you. I really don’t want to get into anything that even remotely resembles political commentary here.

But the thing is, the topic of violence and its possible application isn’t a political topic at all. Hang with me here—it’s really a question of belief.

What is the most powerful human action? Is it violent intervention or is it love? “God is love,” James tells us (4:8) and the apostle Paul says that Jesus’ moment of triumph was his moment of sacrifice: “He canceled the record that contained the charges against us. He took it and destroyed it by nailing it to Christ's cross. In this way, God disarmed the evil rulers and authorities. He shamed them publicly by his victory over them on the cross of Christ,” (Colossians 2:14-15). Sure, the New Testament also pictures Jesus as a warrior king (in Revelation), but you’d be hard pressed to make any solid theological argument that this is the dominant picture of the Good Shepherd.

Over and over again, scripture speaks of the power of God’s love—from the Psalms to the prophets right on into the writings of Paul. It is God’s “steadfast love”, not God’s military might, that is so impressive and so alluring. Yes, he is powerful and he can be destructive, but it is his grace and mercy that not only pull us toward him but also change us in the process.

We don’t end up living out the transformation Paul talks about in Romans 12:1-2 because God scares the hell out of us but because we begin to understand that “nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can't, and life can't. The angels can't, and the demons can't. Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, and even the powers of hell can't keep God's love away. Whether we are high above the sky or in the deepest ocean, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord,” (Romans 8:38-39).

Indeed, nothing is more powerful than love.

If you believe that, and it is a question of belief, then you cannot support violent action as a solution to any serious problem, if for no other reason than this—it simply isn’t the strongest possible response.

The world is aching right now in the aftermath of hatred unchecked. How can we affirm that hating our enemies back will solve anything? Isn’t it time, in these days of extreme suffering and pain, that we counter with the most powerful offensive possible? We have no strategic counter-strike at our disposal with more explosive potential than love.

It pains me to see so many of my fellow disciples ready to see more violence in response to violence. As if this cycle could ever bring about resolution, much less redemption. I do not believe this is what we have been called to.

No, I believe we have been challenged to defeat hatred with love. I only hope we will find the courage to answer the call…

better than i can say

2006-08-22T19:04:00.000-05:00

Check out this post from Mike Cope's blog. I bought the book last night on Mike's recommendation and at 100 pages in I can tell you it's one of the best books I've read in a while.

* * * * *

updated saturday, august 26, 2006 at 12:36 am

Okay, four days later and 250 pages into the book and all I can say is that it's not for the faint of heart. It will challenge you in all kinds of ways, but Claiborne sticks strong to scripture and clearly has a deep love for God and his people.

I highly recommend The Irresistible Revolution, but I do so with a caution: read it only if you are ready to be challenged.

moses and elijah

2006-08-19T10:58:00.000-05:00

A while back I was reading the gospel of Mark, right up to the point in chapter 9 when Jesus goes up on a mountain and talks to Moses and Elijah. (Theologians and the notes in your Bible call that “the Transfiguration”.) Every other time I’ve read that story I’ve assumed that the point was to make it explicitly clear to the disciples who Jesus was. They seemed to be having a hard time figuring it out and understanding it, so I’ve always thought this was God’s way of saying, “Here’s who Jesus is: He’s my Son. He’s the God of Moses and Elijah. Pay very close attention to what He says.” That is, after all, kind of along the lines of what God says from the clouds on that day.

But a new thought occurrs to me. What if Jesus was just missing His friends? I imagine that before coming down to earth and taking on this suit of skin He could sit around up in heaven and talk with Moses and Elijah any time He wanted to. In fact, they probably sat around all the time, talking and laughing and just being friends. Of course, before He came down to earth He would have to ask Moses and Elijah what it was like to be a human and then use His eternal imagination to fill in the blanks, but there on the mountain He had His own personal experience to call on. That day, standing there talking with His friends, I wonder if He told them that He understood more fully the struggles of humanity—and that He understand Moses and Elijah better, too. I wonder if He didn’t embrace them and cry, saying, “My friends! My friends!”

What if the voice of God that day was as much for Jesus as for His disciples? Before embarking on this whole incarnation thing, Jesus had been able to sit around with God the Father, too. Maybe this voice from heaven, while unarguably affecting the disciples, also affected Jesus. Maybe it was deeply encouraging to Him, the voice of His Father affirming who He was and that He was worth paying attention to. That would encourage me.

What if Jesus was there that day, on the mountain, because of something He needed?

I’ll tell you what really gets me: the idea that Jesus’ friendship with Moses and Elijah was so valuable to Him that He would want to do something extraordinary just to be able to talk to them for a bit. To be honest, that idea shakes me. It shakes me because the God of the universe forging a friendship so deep with two men is an amazing thing. Consider what we are compared to Him—how could friendship with us in our fallen, disheveled state be that valuable to Him? Or as David says, “When I look at the night sky and see the work of Your fingers—the moon and the stars You have set in place—what are mortals that You should think of us, mere humans that You should care for us?” (Psalm 8:3-4, NLT).

And yet, He does care. He does want friendship. He does so long to be close to me, to huddle together with me on a mountainside or on a walk or even in my own living room, talking and laughing and crying and getting to know me better as I come to know Him.

If you ask me, that’s just incredible.

no good reason

2006-08-07T21:07:00.000-05:00

I was talking with a friend a couple of years ago about God and where each of us where with Him and my friend and I both commented that we felt like we’d drifted, not so much in our behaviors, but more along the lines of the closeness of our relationships with Him. Neither of us had good reason for this, it just seemed that this was reality at the time. We had both gone a while without really praying or reading the Bible or anything like that.

Talking to my friend, knowing that he and I are both fairly good guys and we both love Jesus and all, I asked him why he thought this had happened, and you know what he said? He said that, at least for himself, he thought maybe it was just laziness. Laziness. He said he gets busy and he tells himself that he’s going to spend some time with God and then his schedule gets out of hand and it doesn’t happen. He ends up opting for other time fillers and God gets put on the back burner. He said all of this rather matter-of-factly, like he was telling me that he would have gotten some bananas but the store was out.

I told him I didn’t buy it, not for him or for me.

Here’s why: suppose you go to your doctor and your doctor tells you that you have cancer. Suppose it is a particularly nasty form of cancer and your doctor says that they can save you, but only just barely. The cancer will advance quickly and aggressively and in order to stop this process, you must, absolutely must, attend 5 sessions of chemotherapy a week. He schedules them for Monday thru Friday and asks you to come back after the first week to tell him how it’s going and you’re out the door.

One week later you go back and your doctor asks, “So, how did those sessions of chemotherapy go?”

Can you imagine looking your doctor dead in the face and answering, “Well, Monday was good and Tuesday went alright, but I missed Wednesday. I mean, I meant to go and all, but I got pretty busy with work stuff and then I had a date Thursday night, so I missed Thursday, too. I did, like, a half-session on Friday, which is better than nothing, right? Anyway, I meant to make it every time and I’ll try to do better this week. I really don’t know why I didn’t get around to it more—I guess I’m just lazy…”

In other words, if you knew your life depended on something it would be ridiculous to ignore that thing. Treating your “salvation” with such a bizarre form of casual non-interest would make you certifiably crazy. But that, I told my friend, is what we were both doing.

(My friend disagreed. He said my analogy was too cut and dry and that he didn’t feel he was making that kind of choice.)

I don’t know what time with God is like for you. I don’t think it’s the same for all of us, and for me it is sometimes mystical and intense and sometimes fairly non-eventful. Sometimes it feels like an awful lot of work on my part and sometimes it just flows. It’s different every time, really, and I think maybe it’s supposed to be that way because it is the being together part of a relationship and that isn’t something you can always predict. But whether it’s the kind of experience that leaves me with goose bumps or not, I believe that it is something like chemotherapy for the cancer patient, only considerably more powerful and considerably more necessary.

What I mean is that through my relationship with Jesus and my times of interaction with Him life is imparted to me and death is staved off. When I go for days or weeks without talking to Him, I begin to feel stale and worn thin, like the essence of life within me is leaking slowly out and I’m transforming into some kind of zombie. But when I spend my time with Jesus as I should, as I want to, I feel that life takes on a different quality and it’s not like I hear birds singing all the time or anything, but I do feel a certain meaning and purpose, a kind of power and intent behind things. In short, I end up experiencing the presence of God in my life.

So the big question, then, is this: why do I go thru those periods of ignoring God? Why did my friend and I end up being lazy or careless or whatever? I told my friend that I didn’t believe it was laziness at all, but that I thought maybe it was a problem of belief. If I only understood my need for Jesus, then it would seem I’d never miss any time with Him. That’s partly true, but not totally, because I know I need Jesus, need Him to the core, and I still find that if I’m not purposeful in talking to Him and reading about Him and interacting with Him then I don’t do it, and I think maybe that’s because my relationship with Him is a real, actual relationship, and relationships take work. Every one of them. Relationships have to be maintained and tended to and this has to happen often or friends drift apart. Think about it: surely you have friends you were once quite close to—people you haven’t spoken with in ages. Why? What happened? Likely nothing. It was what didn’t happen that ended up separating you, and it’s the same way with Jesus.

I can’t tell anyone else how often they need to talk to Him. Relating to God is not the scientific endeavor that chemotherapy is. You can’t prescribe a daily intake of 100 mgs of God, but I’ll tell you that I doubt very much there’s a single human being alive who doesn’t need at least one meaningful interaction with Jesus every day in order to be in a real relationship with Him. Jesus Christ, Himself, when here on earth spent an incredible amount of time with the Father in prayer and fasting and that tells me at least three things: one, He loved God and liked being around Him. Two, His time with God was a big part of who He was. And three, His time with God was a priority because He always made time for it to happen. If Jesus is supposed to be any kind of example for us, we ought to learn something from that.

Going back to my friend, I have to honestly tell you that I still struggle to make time every day and I ask God to help me understand this and change it. I think it’s weird that it can be hard to do something so necessary and easy to just not do it. I could talk about the idea that there are spiritual forces at work trying to interrupt my relationship with Jesus and that maybe that’s why it’s hard, but I’d rather not remove the responsibility from myself. I mean, I do think those spiritual forces make it harder, but at the end of the day I’m the one who either walked with God or didn’t on that day, and while there are more days that I do than don’t, I’d be lying if I said I did every day. Again, this is a relationship and it has a sense of ebb and flow to it. My hope and my most sacred goal is that with each passing day, I’ve moved somehow (perhaps by God’s grace) a little closer to being closer to Him, and that with these moves, small though they may be, I’m staving off death and ingesting a source of life. Not life for the sake of living, but life that leads me closer to Him, because being close to Him is really all I have or ever hope to have.

That’s what I pray for—for myself and for my friend, and even for you.

nothing but himself

2006-08-03T22:07:00.000-05:00

“Before we get too carried away with thoughts of God’s power, we should listen attentively to what St. Paul says about the ‘weakness of God’ (1 Cor. 1:25), which is a vital part of God’s self revelation. If we look at the way in which he discloses himself in Jesus Christ, we have to acknowledge that he does not come into our world with a great display of superior power; in fact, this was one of the temptations which our Lord had to resist as being contrary to his mission, contrary to his true nature. (Mt. 4:5ff). He does not come in strength but in weakness, and he chooses the foolish and weak and unimportant things of the world, things that are nothing at all, to overthrow the strength and impressiveness of the world. As we saw earlier, he is like the judo expert who uses the strength of his opponent to bring him to the ground; it is the art of self-defense proper to the weak.

“This is why, if we keep clamouring for things we want from God, we may often find ourselves disappointed, because we have forgotten the weakness of God and what we may call the poverty of God. We had thought of God as the dispenser of all good things we would possibly desire; but in a very real sense, God has nothing at all to give but himself.”

—From Prayer by Simon Tugwell

I find this quote to be both refreshing and challenging, which is rare but wonderful.

God has nothing to give but himself.

The beauty of that simple truth is that the genuine disciple wants for nothing more. What more could I ask God for than the pleasure of his company? What greater joy is there?

This truth grounds me, and I need to be grounded because the temptations of our consumer driven culture push me to the brink of trading God for my own thirty pieces of silver. Yeah, you heard me right; and yes, I live my life that close to falling. All the time.

I need to be reminded of who he is and how much I not only need him, but how much I delight in him. I need to remember that there is something so great about him that one day in his courts really would be better than thousands elsewhere. (Them ain’t just pretty words.) And I need such a reminder often. I forget often.

Today I ground myself in the knowledge that he is all I really want, even when I want for more, and he is all I’ll ever need, even when I think I’ll die without…whatever. Today I embrace the simple truth that he is offering me nothing but himself, and I accept.

Matter of fact, I think I’m getting a pretty good deal.

breathe

2006-07-25T20:25:00.000-05:00

this is how it feels when I

ignore the words You spoke to me

this is where I lose myself

when I keep running away from You

this is who I am when I

don't know myself anymore

this is what I choose when it's

all left up to me…

breathe Your life into me

—Red, “Breathe Into Me”

I’ve had something of a revelation today. It’s not a new thought or an original thought, but it’s still valid. Even profound. Here it is: it doesn’t mean much to call myself a disciple, which by definition implies submission to God, if I still pretty much live as I want to live.

Now I’m not talking about sex and drugs. I’m not talking about stealing or lying. Point of fact, I’m not talking about any of the “big sins”—neither the top ten (the ten commandments) nor the forbidden seven (the seven deadly sins). Not even any of the ones that make both lists. No, I’m just talking about submission, really.

Said another way, it makes no sense to call Jesus Lord and then live as though I call the shots.

I’m talking about decisions. I’m talking about priorities. I’m talking about the thousand things great and small that accumulate to form the sum total of my worship—how I live my life. What matters to me.

I realized today what a wretched mess my life becomes with me at the helm. I don’t mean that in any kind of a trite way, either. Seriously. I make a mess of things. Fast. Like the lines from the song quoted above, this is me when I try to live on my own…

Of course there is always Christian speak coming out of my mouth. I always sound and look like a nice guy. Almost always. I’m not talking about those appearances. I’m talking about being me. I’m talking about the condition of my heart. I’m talking about pealing away the façade I hide behind all too often and venturing to see if the man underneath can honestly call Jesus “Master”.

I’m talking about what to do if he can’t.

I want to level with you—a lot of the time I do things my way. Sometimes I pray about what I’m doing, sometimes I just do it. I typically have a “righteous” justification for my actions, especially the harsh ones, but that doesn’t really make anything righteous. I’ve come to realize that I need to submit more. I need to call Him Master more. I need to seek His will, His way, more. After all, I don’t really know what I’m doing.

So I guess,

this is me when I
confess I can’t do it on my own…

May His grace be manifest in me. God knows I need it.

qwerty

2006-07-12T22:26:00.000-05:00

Okay kids, so I’ve been away for a while. I’m sure you’ve been worried. Probably called the hospitals and asked around to see if anyone’s heard anything. That or you lazily checked the blog once last week, yawned when you saw I haven’t been posting and haven’t thought about it since. Whatever. The point, dear readers, is that you shouldn’t worry about me—I’m fine.

Where have I been? Answer: long story. My chiropractor tells me that I have an inflammation in my back due to poor posture. He tells me this is because I look at the keyboard when typing rather than the screen. That's because I never learned to type. I asked my chiropractor about this because I was feeling a stabbing pain in my left shoulder and pain is rarely fun. Especially when it's stabbing pain.

Stabbing.

To fix the problem, I have to learn to type, which sucks. It’s slow and annoying and I find myself wanting to avoid doing things that require me to type (like posting to my blog) because I lack the patience to do it the right way.

Typing as I always have (cheating), I can whip out about 85 words a minute. Not bad. I’ve been working on this post since last Thursday.

But no more excuses. Even if it kills me, I will learn to type…and I will continue to post. Though the posts may be less wordy for a while. You know, just a month or two. And then back to my verbose, wordy, overly-expressed self.

You can hardly wait.

tension

2006-06-22T21:27:00.000-05:00

“God will know how to draw glory even from our faults. Not to be downcast after a fault is one of the marks of true sanctity.”

—Dom Augustin Guillerand

I believe the above quote is both true and very difficult to live up to. This is hard because there is a tension in understanding the severity of sin and reveling in the freedom of forgiveness at the same time.

To dwell too much on the problem of sin is to become overcome with your own fallen nature. It’s depressing, frankly. We are weak, hard-hearted, selfish creatures of habit and impulse. And what’s more, our sin has separated us from the one true reason for our existence—relationship with God.

Conversely, to rejoice too quickly in the truth of grace is to take for granted what God has done for us. God has forgiven us—he has wiped the slate clean. And he keeps wiping the slate clean every time we fall, every time we wander away, every time we betray him.

Do you see the dilemma?

How do you live your live with a true understanding of the tragedy of sin (which you commit daily) without letting that understanding steal your joy? And how do you maintain joy at the thought of your salvation without forgetting that you are fallen and in constant need of God’s grace?

I always think of David when I think about this balancing act. David knew how to sin. He was really good at it—we have more than one story to prove it. But David was also quick to repent when confronted with his sin and when the repenting was done, it was done. He accepted God’s forgiveness and went on.

No pity parties. No self loathing. No haunting regret. He understood how awful his behavior had been, but he also understood God’s capacity for love. And he trusted that he was loved.

I love that about David.

Truthfully, I envy that about David because, while I share in David’s talent for screwing up, I’m not nearly as good at getting over it. I start off half the prayers I pray with “I’m sorry…” I think this is because it’s hard for me to believe, I mean really believe, that God’s going to just forgive and forget, you know? Oh, I believe it in theory. In practice, matching my sin up against his forgiveness, I get nervous.

I’m not saying I should. I’m just saying I do.

And I worry about erring too much on the other side. I know people who are always talking about the fact that they are forgiven and never really thinking about what it is they’ve been forgiven of. People who don’t take sin seriously. I used to do that. It’s dangerous. It’s a good way to get yourself in big trouble.

All of this brings me back to something I’ve thought a lot about over the last few years: relationship. Maintaining this balance between God’s unending love and my sinful nature is more about relating to God than it is about theory. And the balance is found, I think, in that relationship. It’s hard to take him for granted if I really know him and really understand all that he does for me and how much he loves me. And it’s hard to take sin lightly when I understand how much it hurts him and how great an obstacle sin is to my intimacy with him.

In short, there’s just no getting around the fact that being a disciple is all about being in relationship with God in an acutely personal way.

True to form, I’ve muddy the nice, clear waters with my pesky theological questions and now I’m going to sign off after having given you only half an answer. Sorry. That’s as much of an answer as I have.

But I'd love to hear your thoughts...

free speech

2006-06-19T21:25:00.000-05:00

A good friend has asked me to remove the comment moderator from my blog. He writes:

“Would you please take off your comment moderation. I'm not sure why it bothers me so much but it really does. I understand if you chose not to.”

It bothers me, too, Randy. It bothers me that I found it necessary to use the comment moderator in the first place. But, low and behold, there are people out there who found my blog to be a convenient medium for their strong opinions about me. Which would have been just fine if those strong opinions had been positive.

They were, however, about as positive as bacterial pneumonia is fun. Which is to say not at all.

But whatever it was I felt I had to lose when I turned the comment moderator on I don’t feel as insecure about now. I mean, I know some of these folks, the folks who don’t like me, still read my blog. (Hi guys! Isn’t it cool that you can track web traffic through the modern miracle of technology! I am so glad to see that some of you are regular, even daily, readers!) But I am no longer intimidated by the opinions of others. So, Randy, you get your wish. The comment moderator is set to “off.”

If you’re reading and you think my opinions are crap, you can now feel free to say so. If you think I’m brilliant, insane, ungodly, silly, stupid or (more likely) cleverly witty with a satisfying hint of genius, I invite you to click on the comment button and speak your mind. Why not? Tell me what you think of God, what you think of my writing style, my morals, what you think of the musical artistry that is Pearl Jam or what you think of church.

Your opinions are welcome here at disciple 13!

I mean, I can always turn the comment moderator back on, right?

service, part three

2006-06-15T06:06:00.000-05:00

parts one & two

More questions on service:

Does service have to be feeding the hungry or clothing the poor to be service? Is it service if I volunteer for or work for a ministry program aimed at, say, education?

This is a question I’m struggling with right now. I’m in the process of launching a ministry website and I would very much like to believe that my time spent developing that site and it’s contents is service. And I think that it is.

However, it’s not hands-on service. I don’t get face-to-face contact with anyone. So there’s a definite element missing. But there’s another element missing, too. I believe that it’s also important for me to be coming into contact with folks who are in genuine need. This is scared ground, serving someone who is in no position to return the favor. Some of the most poignant spiritual experiences of my life have been in these very situations. Often God is uniquely manifest in the one being served—which is quite scriptural given that Jesus says we’re really serving him when we serve someone in need, (Matthew 25:40).

Is it service if I’m just nice to people?

Yes, and at the same time, resoundingly no.

I believe that it makes little sense to invest time, money and effort into feeding the hungry only to treat the people you come in contact with day-to-day poorly. Certainly it could be said that a “servant heart” would have to include the compulsion to be kind to others, even those you aren’t serving at a soup kitchen.

True as this is, being nice to others simply does not fully encompass the concept of service. I’m absolutely sick of the mentality within the church these days that suggests being a disciple really isn’t all that costly. Of course it’s costly. To paraphrase Dietrich Bonhoeffer, salvation cost God the life of his Son—why wouldn’t it cost us something? If Jesus’ service meant washing his disciples’ filthy feet, shouldn’t our service require us to get dirty, too? (And no, holding a door open for someone is not “getting dirty.”)

Service is ultimately about love. If I love Jesus, I should feel compelled to love others. This compulsion should stir within me every time I see or hear about someone who isn’t eating because they don’t have food or is living on the street because they don’t have a home. I’m not naïve. I know there are people out there taking advantage of those who would attempt to live as servants. But I read no passage in the Bible that calls me to meticulously evaluate the genuine need of a stranger who asks me for help while I read several passages instructing me to give the shirt off my back.

And it is love that should compel me to do this.

I have to confess, I don’t have it down. I pass up opportunities to serve and I need to find a program or shelter or soup kitchen or something to volunteer at. Not because it meets the rigorous requirements of God’s law, but because I hate the idea that Jesus is out there, manifest somehow in the form of the needy, and I am comfortably removed from him, denying him help by my inaction. I care about him—I want to help him.

That, I believe, is the heart of service.

why I listen

2006-06-13T06:42:00.000-05:00

I listen to Pearl Jam because the pain represented in Vedder’s early lyrics reverberates within me while the healing represented by his more recent work inspires me.

I listen to Johnny Cash because the raw honesty of his music mixed with an undeniably dark outlook on life leaves me feeling like I’m conversing with a treasured friend, even when the story told is foreign to me.

I listen to Audio Slave because Chris Cornell screams questions aimed at the discovery of truth and he is unafraid to scream those questions even toward God himself.

I listen to the Old 97’s because they are wildly fun and delightfully irreverent.

I listen to U2 because Bono is a musician-turned-world-leader who actually cares about the poor and hurting. His music, while not always pointed at world issues, often reveals the depth of true love in its various forms.

I listen to Derek Webb because he is one of a very few Christians artists unapologetically calling the church to be what she has been called to be.

What do you listen to and why?

service, part two

2006-06-08T20:33:00.000-05:00

I’ve gotten some positive feedback about the post on service (part one) and that has prompted me to think more about the topic.

Here are some questions:

Does the modern church’s approach to service work?

Most churches have ministry programs in place to address service needs. In some cases these require no more than a monetary commitment from members. Sometimes members donate time or other resources.

Let me say first that I think these programs accomplish good things. My question is meant to address the average church-goer’s concept of service as a result of those programs. Have we developed a mentality that limits our concept of service to a weekly check given or a few hours of volunteer time? Is it possible that these sort of programs have inadvertently encouraged us to justify a lack of service in our everyday routines because our “service quota” has already been met through a church program or a financial gift?

Do you have to be physically feeding the poor to be serving?

I struggle with this seemingly simple question. On one hand, no, certainly not. The individual who works tirelessly in various ministry efforts that indirectly provide needed services to the poor, the hungry, the needy and the abandoned is doing service. And yet, there’s no relational component to a hands-off form of service, and isn’t that the most important component?

In other words, if my ministry efforts result in 1,000 hungry people receiving food, that’s good. But if I never meet one of those hungry people, never talk to them or get to know them, never invest time in relationship with them, never show them love in a personal way, while it’s still good that I’ve helped to feed them, how is my effort any different from a government relief program? What makes my effort “Christian”? What connects it to Christ?

I feel strongly that the relational component of service is vitally important. I do believe we should be giving money to programs (both Christian and secular) that help people (locally and abroad), but I also think we should each be finding ways to interact with those we serve in a personal, relational, ongoing way. A single trip to the children’s hospital you’re giving money to does not constitute “relationship”.

Why do we make this a one-or-the-other situation? You rarely hear about the person who gives both money and time generously. But maybe that’s what we should be doing.

More to come…

nothing that has not died

2006-06-06T23:45:00.000-05:00

“The structural position in the church which the humblest Christian occupies is eternal and even cosmic. The church will outlive the universe; in it the individual person will outlive the universe. Everything that is joined to the immortal Head will share his immortality. We hear little of this from the Christian pulpit today. What has come of our silence may be judged from the fact that recently addressing the Forces on this subject, I found that one of my audience regarded this doctrine as ‘theosophical.’ If we do not believe it let us be honest and regulate the Christian faith to museums. If we do, let us give up the pretense that it makes no difference. For this it the real answer to every excessive claim made by the collective. It is moral; we shall live forever. There will come a time when every culture, every institution, every nation, the human race, all biological life, is extinct, and every one of us is still alive. Immortality is promised to us, not to these generalities. It was not for societies or states that Christ died, but for men. In that sense Christianity must seem to secular collectivists to involve an almost frantic assertion of individuality. But then it is not the individual as such who will share Christ’s victory over death. We shall share the victory by being the Victor. A rejection, or in Scripture’s strong language, a crucifixion of the natural self is the passport to everlasting life. Nothing that has not died will be resurrected.”

—From The Weight of Glory by CS Lewis

service

2006-06-02T07:17:00.000-05:00

"When he finally arrives, blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, the Son of Man will take his place on his glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him and he will sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting sheep to his right and goats to his left.

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why:

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.'

"Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.'

"Then he will turn to the 'goats,' the ones on his left, and say, 'Get out, worthless goats! You're good for nothing but the fires of hell. And why? Because—

I was hungry and you gave me no meal,
I was thirsty and you gave me no drink,
I was homeless and you gave me no bed,
I was shivering and you gave me no clothes,
Sick and in prison, and you never visited.'

"Then those 'goats' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or homeless or shivering or sick or in prison and didn't help?'

"He will answer them, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.'

"Then those 'goats' will be herded to their eternal doom, but the 'sheep' to their eternal reward."

—Matthew 25:31-46

I believe Jesus’ message in this passage to be a simple one: serve others. Help the helpless. Take care of the ones who cannot take care of themselves.

I do not interpret this message as a call to our government or even as a call to the church. I believe Jesus is calling the individual to serve. After all, he plans to hold individuals accountable. The parable clearly states that he will separate individuals based on their individual actions. In other words, attending a service-minded church or dutifully paying your taxes (and thereby funding welfare programs) is not enough. You have to be nice to people, too. You have to care and serve and give, especially to those who are in real need of help.

This passage has been on my heart for a while now, kind of haunting me. I think about Jesus separating people based on their service and I ask myself how many I’ve clothed or fed. Not many. Not enough.

And here’s the thing—I don’t think Jesus spoke this parable because he wanted a clever writer to come along 2000 years later and role out a church model that advocates a balanced approach to dealing with hunger, homelessness, neediness, sickness and imprisonment. I don’t think the story is about a checklist. I think the story is about a heart condition rooted in an understanding that people are, well, people, and that we should care about them.

When I pass a homeless person, for example, it should break my heart. I should think about how they are someone’s son, someone’s brother and I should imagine how I would feel if it were my brother out there on the street and what I would do to help him. I should feel genuine compassion and that compassion should prompt action. And, yeah, that action could be a prayer. But if “you come upon an old friend dressed in rags and half-starved and say, ‘Good morning, friend! Be clothed in Christ! Be filled with the Holy Spirit!’ and walk off without providing so much as a coat or a cup of soup—where does that get you? Isn't it obvious that God-talk without God-acts is outrageous nonsense?” (James 2:16-17).

I’m tired of saying I care and acting like I don’t—and yet, the very expression of that thought provokes fear in me. To say such a thing obligates me to action, and action scares me. I mean, what does it look like to drive past a homeless person and actually care? Am I going to have to start talking to these people? Giving them food? Eating with them? Imagine the time commitment if I respond every time I see someone in need.

And then I consider what Jesus has said. To refuse help to anyone in need is to refuse help to him. Could I drive past Jesus without a thought? And if I cared about Jesus standing there, needing my help, would my caring prompt action?

You can dodge the reality all you want—God knows I’ve avoided it for a long time—but my willingness to serve others is a clear indication of my love for Jesus. I can say I love him but it is my heart, proven by my actions, that speaks the truth.

wow

2006-05-31T23:21:00.000-05:00

I just spent three hours trying (in vain) to set-up a website using a popular hosting company's online web-building tool. I was planning to post to my blog tonight, but at the moment I crave sleep.

Maybe tomorrow, kids.

a dream

2006-05-26T07:07:00.000-05:00

Last night I dreamt I had a conversation with Satan.

He told me that I have no real answers, only questions. I challenged him by referencing things I know about God, about the universe, about life. But he showed me that these answers, these proofs, only lead to more questions.

And he was right.

It was a strange dream, the evil one and I talking calmly. I did not feel threatened by him. I engaged him in debate and he squarely won. And even as his arguments outmatched mine, I saw the flaw in his thinking—only one with no faith needs an answer to everything.

Life is full of questions and what little bit we understand only raises more questions. This is absolutely true. “God's voice thunders in marvelous ways; he does great things beyond our understanding,” (Job 37:5).

Faith, hope and love—these concepts extend past provable fact, beyond reason into a place where questions abound. But we don’t have to fear our lack of answers because God is in this place, too, and his presence is the very light of life.

question

2006-05-23T06:59:00.000-05:00

Can we agree that there are more pressing spiritual matters in need of attention than the latest Hanks/Howard film?

It genuinely pains me to see so much concern given to such an incidental issue. Without stating any opinion whatsoever on “The Da Vinci Code” itself, I will say this: I don’t want to stand before God someday and answer for why I spent tremendous amounts of time, energy and effort debating for or against a cultural flash-in-the-pan. There are just too many other worthwhile things I’d rather be doing.

confession

2006-05-19T07:38:00.000-05:00

The Lord Almighty says to the priests: "A son honors his father, and a servant respects his master. I am your father and master, but where are the honor and respect I deserve? You have despised my name!

"But you ask, 'How have we ever despised your name?'

"You have despised my name by offering defiled sacrifices on my altar.

"Then you ask, 'How have we defiled the sacrifices?'

"You defile them by saying the altar of the Lord deserves no respect. When you give blind animals as sacrifices, isn't that wrong? And isn't it wrong to offer animals that are crippled and diseased? Try giving gifts like that to your governor, and see how pleased he is!" says the Lord Almighty.

"Go ahead, beg God to be merciful to you! But when you bring that kind of offering, why should he show you any favor at all?" asks the Lord Almighty.

"I wish that someone among you would shut the Temple doors so that these worthless sacrifices could not be offered! I am not at all pleased with you," says the Lord Almighty, "and I will not accept your offerings. But my name is honored by people of other nations from morning till night. All around the world they offer sweet incense and pure offerings in honor of my name. For my name is great among the nations," says the Lord Almighty. "But you dishonor my name with your actions. By bringing contemptible food, you are saying it's all right to defile the Lord's table. You say, 'It's too hard to serve the Lord,' and you turn up your noses at his commands," says the Lord Almighty. "Think of it! Animals that are stolen and mutilated, crippled and sick—presented as offerings! Should I accept from you such offerings as these?" asks the Lord. "Cursed is the cheat who promises to give a fine ram from his flock but then sacrifices a defective one to the Lord. For I am a great king," says the Lord Almighty, "and my name is feared among the nations!"

—Malachi 1:6-14

In this conversation from the book of Malachi, God tells his people that they are offering him “unworthy sacrifices.” Rather than picking the best of their flocks, they find their weakest, least desirable lamb and that’s the one they give as a gift to God. After having pledged to give their best.

God gets lip service and leftovers.

I can’t read a passage like this without wondering if God gets much better today. My inclination is to look to the church, but a quiet voice within prompts me to look first at myself. Introspection reveals that, yes, Malachi’s word still stands and I am implicated. I don’t consistently give God my best. Sometimes what he gets from me amounts to little more than promises I don’t deliver on.

What would a life fully devoted look like? What would my life look like if God consistently got the best I have to offer? The best of my time? My effort? My devotion?

It sure seems that this is what he’s asking for. And it’s a fair request—I mean, he made me and he has already given me his best. The only imbalance in asking for my best is that my best doesn’t even come close to matching his best. He has every right to demand all from me.

Yet, my life is an awkward collage: the beauty of devotion mixed with the ugliness of vanity. A single, clear theme doesn’t always permeate the forefront.

God asks for a single, clear theme—an anthem of devotion. Not to the church or to this nation, but to him. A song of deep dedication sung with clear voice. A song that’s always on my lips. A new song.

I can do little more than beg grace for yesterday and I can't give tomorrow anything but a promise, but today I resolve to sing that song. Today I will be a disciple.

the call to prosper

2006-05-13T16:09:00.000-05:00

There is a profound interest lately in the idea that God has in mind to “prosper” his people. I’ve encountered this idea myself in a number of books I’ve read and (more often) skimmed. Walk into any Christian bookstore and you’ll be confronted with a number of popular writers expounding on all the reasons and all the ways in which God wants to “enlarge your territory” or “increase your influence” or “enrich your life” with blessings.

Few of these authors will pointedly say that God wants to make you rich or attractive or popular, but it’s hard to read such material and not walk away with the impression that this is just what they’re saying—between the lines.

This troubles me, not because God doesn’t promise to prosper his people, but because I suspect he means something very different by “prosper” than we take him to mean. God’s idea of victory or success or even strength does not match man’s. Consider what God told Samuel when he was about anoint David as king: “The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart,” (1 Samuel 16:7). God said this as David’s stronger, older, more qualified brothers paraded before Samuel. But God’s idea of strength and character does not match ours.

When God promises to prosper us, how are we to know that experiences of suffering, loss, pain, perseverance, trial and persecution are not the very means by which God intends to bless? As countless victims of persecution have attested throughout the centuries, such experiences tend to draw us closer to God. Wealth, popularity, beauty and fame, on the other hand, tend to create a barrier between man and God. It would seem, oddly, that the harder life is the more blessed one.

But that doesn’t match our American picture of success. We want to be able to point to a new car, a nice home, a successful career, an attractive spouse, a hefty bank account or a wide circle of admirers and offer these as clear signs of God’s approval. They are not.

I’m not saying that a person who’s life is marked by one or more of these comforts isn’t favored by God. I’m just saying that God’s twin promises to provide and bless may not look like our picture of provision or blessing.

If that’s true, maybe our time and effort would be better spent chasing God instead of chasing the supposed “signs of his favor”. Maybe true blessing is found in finding him. And maybe all that other stuff matters less and less the more of him you find.

Just a thought.

whispers

2006-05-10T21:30:00.000-05:00

I have a question: what is it that God is doing when one of his own is seeking him, but cannot seem to find him? Why is he sometimes silent?

I asked this question to a friend recently and the response I got frustrated me. It was the standard church response, textbook to the core. He told me that perhaps I was not seeking God the right way. Maybe my devotion wasn’t true enough. Maybe I haven’t waited long enough. Maybe I’m not giving enough money. (Yep, he actually said that.) Maybe there’s sin in my life blinding me to God’s response.

While I will grant you that there are many things I could do or fail to do that would get in the way of my communication with God, ultimately, between the two of us, my relationship with God is far more dependant on his action than on mine. What I mean is this: if I seek God to the best of my feeble ability, sincerely, genuinely searching him out in my brokenness, I may or may not find him immediately. Whether or not I find him depends chiefly on whether or not he reveals himself to me.

I’ll say again, yes, there are a great many things I can do to position myself to hear God and it is essential that I seek him; however, I’ll only find him when he shows himself to me.

For reasons I don’t understand, sometimes God chooses to remain hidden. Sometimes he allows mystery to persist. Sometimes I desperately want to feel his arms around me, holding me, hugging me, reminding me that he’s here and that he loves me and all I get is the still small whisper that Elijah heard. And honestly, it sounds like the breeze. In fact, it might be the breeze, but my faith prompts me to believe that it’s not the breeze, not some incidental coincidence, but instead the still small voice of God. And I believe that it is.

Much like Elijah, though, I feel like I’m hiding out, like the queen’s forces are stalking me and trying to kill me. I feel like I’m on the run, but I don’t know where to run to. Like Elijah, I feel like whining to God about my faithfulness and the unfairness of my current situation. And, like Elijah, God reveals himself to me, not in spectacular displays of his power (which just so happen to change my situation in wonderful, marvelous ways), but in quiet whispers, whispers I barely hear though I’m straining to discern any message from him.

This is, mysteriously, God’s way. The one true divine voice, the voice that spoke the universe into being, would rather whisper than shout. Even when I’m shouting, demanding to hear something from him.

the question is stronger than the answer

2006-05-05T21:43:00.000-05:00

“You are…a follower of a God who demands independence, the exercise of free will, and the exercise of intellect.

“You are supposed to question—to question everything, even the existence of the gods and the purpose of being alive. If you would follow blindly from ritual to ritual, you would be no better than the cattle and sheep that dot the fields…

“[Your God] does not want that. He is a [God] for artists and poets, free-thinkers all, else their work would be no more than replicas of what others have deemed ideal. The question…is stronger than the answer. It is what accomplishes growth—growth toward [God].”

—From Night Masks by RA Salvatore

derek webb speaks

2006-05-02T22:29:00.000-05:00

Read what the former Caedmon's Call member said in a recent interview with Relevant Magazine.

system error

2006-05-01T22:45:00.000-05:00

A couple of years ago I was working what I would describe as “a crappy sales job”—that’s the industry term—and my boss, a former nightclub bouncer, had a simple approach to sales motivation: yell at your people and if that doesn’t work, yell some more.

Surprisingly, I was not inspired by this approach.

Neither was a good friend of mine who also worked for the bouncer-turned-salesman. We both hated the job and left as soon as we could. Recently, my friend ran into our former boss. He was telling me about the encounter and as we talked about it my friend commented that he didn’t think the guy was so bad. “It’s the system,” he said. “Remove him from that system and he’s really not such a jerk. He could be a lot of fun.”

I’ve been thinking about what my friend said—about the roles we play in the systems we are a part of. The more I think about it, the less I agree with my friend.

A system (group of people) is very much the sum of its parts. Granted, the “corporate culture” of my old company is a mess and my former boss is not to be blamed for that reality. But neither is he to be excused for his contribution to it. He may not have been solely responsible for every flaw, but he chose to stay within that system and to become a part of it. In that sense, his character is a reflection of the system.

When a person finds him/herself submerged in a dysfunctional system, he/she has three choices:

1. Leave the system. My friend and I chose this option.

2. Attempt to change the system from within. This is much harder than it sounds.

3. Join the system. This is, far and away, the easiest option because a lack of action (failure to aggressively pursue options 1 or 2) will automatically lead you to option 3.

Our old boss is living out option 3. He’s right there, immersed in a culture of greed, lies and scream-motivation, not because the company is screwed up and has corrupted him, but because he lacks the character to take a stand or leave. I don’t think that makes him a good guy. I think that makes him weak and cowardly.

And this brings me to myself. I cannot pass such harsh judgment on another without considering myself. What affect do I have on the environment around me? Do I pay enough attention to notice dysfunction in my own world? In my company? In my friendships? In my marriage? In my family? And when I find dysfunction, do I bow to it, court it, appease it, surrender to it? Or do I take a stand, holding true to the character I aspire to, even if it’s harder to do so?

All too often I go along to get along, and that just won’t do. I don’t want to end up like the bouncer-turned-salesman. I don’t want to find people saying one day that I’m probably a good guy underneath all the lies and the screaming. I want people to know my character because they know me. And I don’t want to blame the system I live in for my flaws. I want to change the system I live in for the better, in spite of my flaws.

Lofty goals, I know, but you gotta dream...

writing is tough

2006-04-27T22:26:00.000-05:00

Writing is more work than you would think.

Take this post, for example. I’m writing it because I’ve only posted once this week and I really need to be posting more often than that. This blog serves a double function for me. It is, first and foremost, a place for me to speak frankly about faith. But it is also a venue for me to get in some writing practice. (Yep, you’re always reading a first draft here at disciple 13. Lucky you. This one, incidentally, is a doozie.)

See, I’m an aspiring writer. I hear, or read, rather, that aspiring writers have to write. That’s what Anne Lamont says, and she’s written books and stuff (stuff being articles and other stuff), so she seems to know what she’s talking about. Or writing about as the case may be. Anyway, she says that you have to write and you have to write often, whether or not you feel like it. So at the moment I’m writing because I think I should be, not so much because I have a soapbox or an agenda or even a point.

Not encouraging to you, the reader, I know, but you've come this far and it's a short post. You're pot-committed now. Might as well see it through.

Basically, this post is about writing when you don’t feel like writing because that’s how I feel now. I know—doesn’t make much sense. On top of that, this probably isn’t even “good writing”, but it is writing and I sat down not wanting to write but determined to write anyway. And here you are reading, so you can’t argue that I did not write something. Clearly I did. In that sense, this post is a raving success.

Unfortunately, not much of a point is being made here, so in that sense, this post is pretty worthless. To you, anyway. To me it is a post of victorious dedication, having risen above my own laziness and complacency and having found the inner fortitude to pound away 400 words or so, even though I’d just as soon log off and go to bed.

In summation: this post took work, though you’d never know it. It’s not worth much to you, but worth something to me. Unfortunately, the value can’t really be shared by you as it is valuable only to me because I'm the author. You might find slight value or inspiration in it if you’re a writer yourself, but only limited value as this isn’t a terribly inspirational piece, due largely to the fact that this is a perfect example of mediocre writing.

But it is writing. And writing is tough.

the waiting

2006-04-25T07:29:00.000-05:00

“Waiting to understand the heart’s desire, one is waiting to become heart-free and heart-whole. One is waiting to be purified of desperation and despair. The waiting itself is already the beginning…”

—From The Reasons of the Heart by John S Dunne

And yet, the waiting seems to me the hardest part.

Here I sit, wanting God to move, waiting for God to move, fighting my own impatience and trying to believe, trying to understand that this period of waiting, this is God in action. I am being molded by this. I am being changed even now, purified, transformed, shaped.

Of course, that does little to quiet my soul when I think of all the ways God could be improving my situation. Sometimes I think of how easy it would be for him to just move and change things—and I wonder why he doesn’t. Given his power, why not just fix certain elements of my life?

But Dunne says “the waiting is the beginning.” God is already at work, just not in the manner I would choose. Boy, that’s becoming a familiar feeling!

my prayer too

2006-04-22T03:37:00.000-05:00

“O Lord, who else or what else can I desire but you? You are my Lord, Lord of my heart, mind and soul. You know me through and through. In and through you all that is finds its origin and goal. You embrace all that exists and care for it with divine love and compassion. Why, then, do I keep expecting happiness and satisfaction outside of you? Why do I keep relating to you as one of my many relationships, instead of my only relationship, in which all other ones are grounded? Why do I keep looking for popularity, respect from others, success, acclaim, and sensual pleasures? Why, Lord, is it so hard for me to make you the only one? Why do I keep hesitating to surrender myself totally to you?

“Help me, O Lord, to let my old self die, to let die the thousand big and small ways in which I am still building up my false self and trying to cling to my false desires. Let me be reborn in you and see through you the world in the right way, so that all my actions, words and thoughts can become a hymn of praise to you.

“I need your loving grace to travel this hard road that leads to the death of my old self and to a new life in and for you. I know and trust that this is the road to freedom.

“Lord, dispel my mistrust and help me become a trusting friend. Amen.”

—From A Cry for Mercy by Henri JM Nouwen

complex faith

2006-04-19T07:39:00.000-05:00

God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam

and the mountains quake with their surging.

—Psalm 46:1-3

I hate too-simple statements of faith. God is good and trustworthy, yes, and we can go forward into life believing that he will take care of us because he will, but the manner in which he cares for his people is not all sunshine and smiley faces and roses.

What I like about those three verses from Psalm 46 (above) is that they embrace the reality that we will experience times of trouble. There is no promise in this passage that God will remove trouble from us or that a faithful person will experience no difficulty. Instead, God’s promise is to be with us in the storm, even the storms that threaten to rip our world apart.

It is this promise, the promise of his presence, that I find myself clinging to. It does not solve all of my problems or even make my problems less severe. (Sometimes, rather, hoping in him seems to raise more questions than it answers). But that is the way of it—and that is the only way to seek him.

Simple faith is undone easily. Relationship with God is no simple thing. Complex faith will make your head spin and leave you, at times, crying or screaming even as you insist that you do believe. This is the faith of prophets. This is the faith Jesus had. This is the faith God calls us to. A faith that is complex and includes (rather than “solves”) the problem of suffering.

don't lose hope

2006-04-18T07:01:00.000-05:00

Don’t lose hope, my friend told me.

But I don’t even know what to hope for anymore!

That's the hardest time to hope, he replied, when you don’t know what to hope for. But that’s also when you’re forced to place greater faith in God because you have to hope in him instead of a preferred outcome. Don’t lose hope—put your hope in God.

thoughts on suffering

2006-04-11T07:36:00.000-05:00

Lately I’ve been thinking about suffering, wondering what role it plays in faith. Suffering is such a subjective word. I have said, more than once in the last six months, that I was suffering because some things were happening that I did not care for. People were hateful toward me, saying things about me that were not true and even confronting me face-to-face and informing me that I am not a good person. Is that suffering?

Dictionary.com defines the verb “suffer” in the following way: “(1) To feel pain or distress; sustain loss, injury, harm, or punishment. (2) To tolerate or endure evil, injury, pain, or death.”

My experience checks out with the above definition of suffering, though I will say again that suffering is an incredibly subjective thing. I could honestly say that I have suffered and I could also say that Jesus suffered on the cross; however, I cannot honestly say that I have suffered as Jesus suffered on the cross. Yes, people said mean things to him, too, but he was dying at the time. I just had to move and find another job. Not really comparable.

What intrigues me about all of this is: first, the fact that suffering is subjective. It can mean so many different things to different people in different contexts. Second, the fact that God uses suffering. (I’m not going to delve into a theological defense of this statement, though I believe a solid argument could definitely be made. Just go with me on this one.) And last, I am amazed at what is accomplished through suffering.

The last few months have been, for me and my wife, difficult. But this difficulty has kept me coming back to God again and again. I have prayed and praised, I have looked for him in his word and started blogging about him again. I have felt acutely the need for him, and this is largely because I am confused right now and feel in need of something bigger than I can grasp.

Pain has drawn me to him who is peace. Injury has prompted me to seek out the healer. My own feelings of hopelessness have lead to toward the source of all hope.

Funny how things work.

consecration

2006-04-05T07:44:00.000-05:00

I attended a church this past weekend that a friend of mine regularly attends. My friend has experienced a profound change in his life since hooking up with this church, so I am convinced that there are good things happening there. However, I am also confused by the content of the sermon we heard.

The minister, who I’ve heard before and been impressed with in the past, was talking about living a “consecrated life.” By this he meant a life set apart, a life devoted to God. He explained his meaning, focusing on a passage from Joshua in which the Israelite people consecrate themselves, and then went on to answer the all important question: why? Why consecrate yourself to God?

His answer disturbs me.

He said we consecrate ourselves to God because in doing so, we make ourselves available to all of God’s rich blessings. If we don’t devote ourselves we will miss out on so much that God has to offer. A full and rewarding life is waiting. Jesus has already suffered the pain, he said. We just have to answer his call.

In other words, he said that we devote our lives to God because we get something out of it—“blessings”. He spoke several times about a full life and about the “wealth” God wants to lead us into, but didn’t once mention the fact that devotion to God produces a deep relationship with him.

See, I think that’s the reason we devote ourselves. I think it’s all about relationship. And frankly, that’s good, because a lot of people who are devoted to God don’t live “rich” lives otherwise. They don’t seem to be inheriting the literal earth. But to come into a real and meaningful relationship with the God of the universe, now that’s something valuable. That’s something worth consecrating yourself for.

That’s also an explanation of consecration that places the value primarily on God, himself, rather than on what God can give you. For reasons I don’t know or understand, God “blesses” some with a lot and denies others. But he makes himself available to all—at least, that’s my meager understanding of him. This means that what truly matters, the real riches that are to be found in exploring the depths of relationship with him, this is well within the grasp of everyone and well worth consecrating yourself for. Worth living for. Worth dying for.

I haven’t told my friend I feel this way, though, because I fear he will take offense. He’s really into this church and it’s doing him a lot of good right now, in as much as I can tell, so I’m trying to not be critical. It’s not a church that I feel drawn to, but that’s okay. And I have confidence, not in his church, but in God, that he will continue to interact with my friend and guide him in the right way.

That’s what I hope for—for him and for me.

don't turn away

2006-03-28T17:26:00.000-06:00

I saw a billboard for Don't Turn Away.org on the way home from work today. This is an issue I feel strongly about, due in no small part to personal experience. (No, I have never been abused, but I've seen abuse and it is a horrible injustice committed by the cowardly.)

Check it out...and report child abuse or neglect if you witness it.

a lament

2006-03-23T17:07:00.002-06:00

We don’t really embrace lament these days. It’s rare to even hear anyone talk about lament, but I feel like lamenting this afternoon.

I just got off the phone with a minister friend of mine, someone I once worked with, and hearing about his congregation and how the work there is going made me sad. I miss working as a minister. It was hard work, but fulfilling.

So I’m sad right now. I miss what was and I wonder what will be.

chaos

2006-03-23T07:35:00.001-06:00

I am reading a story right now that involves an interesting element: the “Chaos Curse.” I have to admit, when I first read about it and its alleged effects I was unimpressed. The Chaos Curse simply exaggerates the true desires of one’s heart. Whatever is already there is highlighted. If you have a passion for, say, food, under the effects of the Chaos Curse you would be able to think of little else. You might forget to go to work, forget to manage any of your other responsibilities. You would be lost in preparing food and eating food, and eventually your passion for consumption would become so great that you might not even bother preparing food before stuffing it down your throat. You could easily eat yourself to death, very literally.

The Chaos Curse is passion unchecked.

Reading this story and imagining the effects of such a curse on various people quickly convinced me that the Chaos Curse would be a devastating thing. Can you image? People lost in their secret desires, bending and shaping their whole lives to accommodate what they want, even ignoring what they need in pursuit of their greed for whatever.

I think about what my life would be like under such circumstances. I think about what my passions are for. The truth is, I’m afraid I would degenerate to a pretty sad state.

Really, this is the way of the world. We do, in fact, live in the midst of the Chaos Curse. No, there’s no “old magic” to blame for it, no menacing wizard behind some scheme to dominate the world—just the cosmic forces of good and evil battling for our hearts. And in this battle, people do sacrifice everything, everything in pursuit of that which matters most to them. That is the world we live in.

In my life this bears itself out as true. I will push, pull, lie, cheat, steal, work, scheme, hurt for, sacrifice for, even die for that which I am passionate about. And you will, too. The question then, I suppose, is this: What are you passionate about? Your passions will drive you. They will direct the course of your life. They will determine how you live and what you live for. Your passions are the barometer of your heart.

I realize that I’m diving pretty deep for what is, in the end, a fictional device used to further a story. But this idea of Chaos, the way people are affected when their passions rule, it compels me to self-evaluate. If my passions are of the right stuff then allowing them to rule would not be so bad. Allowing them to rule! They do rule!

My part in the whole mess is to choose. I guess that’s what I’m getting at—choose your passions carefully. If you are passionate about something that’s not such a great thing to be passionate about, consider the fact that your passions rule you and consider changing your passions.

I know I have some passions that need to be changed. I don't think my heart is quite ready for the litmus test of true Chaos, and I don't mind confessing that. That's where I am on the journey.

One last thing—the book I’m reading, if anyone is interested, is entitled Canticle by R.A. Salavator. It's worth checking out.

the hard part

2006-03-21T22:07:00.000-06:00

I once heard a minister say that the hardest part of being a minister is being a Christian. I think he meant to convey that faith is hard work, and I buy that because it rings true to my own experience.

It’s funny because we talk about faith in God using terms like “surrender” and that seems to imply a lack of action. When I think of surrender, I think of a white flag waived sheepishly over the head of someone who believes that throwing in the towel is his only choice, his last hope.

That’s not what it means to surrender to God.

Surrendering to God is not the absence of action so much as it is the applied and intentional taming of your own will. When I find myself surrendering to God that usually means I’m doing something he wants me to be doing that I don’t care for. It usually means I’m acting, not giving up. It usually requires bravery and tenacity on my part. I am typically at my best when I’m surrendering, not my worst.

I don’t surrender all the time, though. There are a fair number of times when I take the easy way out, doing what I want to do and ignoring whatever the call of God might be leading me toward. Sometimes, as though my actions are no more complicated that a simple circuit, I just follow the path of least resistance. Those tend to be my low moments.

I think the hardest thing about being a Christian is being a Christian. There doesn’t seem to be much that’s easy about that. It is, if you’re really doing it, an all-or-nothing kind of thing. In my book, that’s hard work.

re-calibrating

2006-03-15T21:29:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I find myself in a place, like in a dream. I feel like I’m looking at myself from the outside, wondering where I am and what I’m doing. It’s like watching a movie but this movie is about me. It’s filled with suspense and intrigue. Like any good suspenseful film, I watch the main character—me—and I often worry that something is about to go wrong. There seems to be an ever present danger and it lurks just around the next corner, just out of sight. That’s fine, I suppose, because the real question is not whether or not this danger exists but what I will do when I happen upon it.

Do you ever feel like that?

In the first four chapters of John there are two characters I marvel at. First, there’s Nicodemus—religiously leader and general good guy, so far as I can tell, but a bit of a coward as he’s coming to Jesus in the middle of the night. When no one will see him. He doesn’t seem to catch on to metaphor too easily, either. Jesus has to explain the idea of re-birth to this guy several times and he still maynot be getting it. At the conclusion of their conversation he hardly seems any further along. But he means well, and Jesus receives him. Jesus encourages him. Jesus throws on a jacket and stumbles out into the night to meet him, and I feel like that says a lot about Jesus.

Then there’s the woman at the well, the Samaritan woman, and I feel like I know her. Sometimes I feel like I am her. Rejected and sinful, hesitant to believe much of anything. I get the impression that she, unlike Nicodemus, follows Jesus’ analogies about living water but chooses, when Jesus challenges her about the condition of her life, to side-step any kind of real interchange and instead asks a question about worship style. A question not nearly as invasive. A safe question. Isn’t that just like me?

Nicodemus won’t allow himself to really hear Jesus and this woman at the well, upon hearing Him, promptly changes the subject.

Jesus tries to speak with me often. Daily even. I can sometimes hear clearly the call of His voice and sometimes it is nothing but the sound of the fan blowing in my room while I fall asleep at night. But He’s there. Sometimes I insist on seeing this world, His world, my way. Sometimes I insist on a literal interpretation of everything and I miss the wonderful metaphor of life. Life is, after all, really a giant metaphor. Nothing matters but His love for us.

Other times I dare to sit with Him, sheepishly, of course, babbling about things that don’t matter until He stares me down and challenges me with the raw truth of who He is and how much I need Him. Then I find myself praying about the weather or selling some stupid deal instead of meditating on His nature, His Spirit. Sometimes I just lack the courage.

And this is what I mean when I say there is a danger lurking out there for me, a test coming. How can I live in His light if I lack the courage to step into it? How can I really grow closer to Him if I keep avoiding Him or changing the subject when He and I talk? This just won’t do. No, something in my life needs to be re-calibrated. Something needs to be changed. Something I feel quite certain He will have to change within me—it’s beyond the scope of my ability to change.

What strikes me most about those two people in John and their encounters with Jesus is that my inclination is to compare myself to both of them and try to learn something new about me. My first reaction is an attempt at greater self-awareness. My first response is basically selfish. The real deal in those stories is not how Nicodemus or this woman reacts, but what Jesus does and how He treats them. The real issue is who He is.

He is One who speaks truth, even if I avoid hearing it. He is One who knows me better than I know myself, even if I try to change the subject when that comes up. He is One who will meet with me in the middle of the night down some back alley or in the heat of the day out by a well—wherever, whenever—just so long as we meet. And He is One who does not seem to judge the success of such meetings as I would. His intent seems to be a genuine meeting. His agenda is just that something real happen.

It’s infinitely easier for me to sit here and type about that than to drop to my knees and try to do it. Much easier to critique Nick or this woman for their shortcomings in the face of Christ than to face off with Him, myself. The truth is it’s scary. The truth is scary, and He won’t spare me that. He will speak it, the truth, outright to my face and He will bath me in it if I let Him. He will immerse me in it—baptize me with it—allowing me to be consumed by it because only them will I really know Him. Granted, the pay off—knowing God—is well worth it, but getting there is terrifying.

That’s why Nick and the woman both balked. That’s why I often balk, myself. But Jesus doesn’t balk or flinch or walk away. He’s steady and steadfast and He’s ever waiting. My goal today, meager though it is, is simply to stand firm in His truth and to seek Him. Really, I don’t think I can do any better than that. I don’t think He asks for much more than that. And I hope that when the lurking danger finds me, it finds me ready, firmly grounded in God’s truth, living my life wholly in the light and ready for whatever challenges I must face.

quote

2006-03-11T21:36:00.000-06:00

"Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them to be, since you cannot make yourself as you wish to be."

- The Imitation of Christ

good things

2006-03-09T20:46:00.000-06:00

Two weekends ago my wife and I spent the weekend in San Antonio visiting her parents. On Saturday morning her father and I had the chance to visit for a while. I have recently made a considerable career change, moving from a people-helping industry back to sales. I have found the transition difficult at times.

I enjoy helping people. When it was my job to help people, I felt very satisfied, not only as an employed, salary-earning, financially-self-sufficient individual, but also as a human being. I felt like I was fulfilling a call.

Sales does not stir my soul in quite the same way.

Katie’s father also works in sales and he shared his philosophy with me. He said he tries to function primarily as a problem solver. He visits with clients about this and that and when he hears about a way they solved a particular problem, he takes note. Then, when visiting with future clients, even if he’s not in a position to make a sale he has something to offer them. He is a sort of self-proclaimed consultant. He considers it his job to help the folks he interacts with, and he likes his job. He feels fulfilled in it.

He told me to approach my job the same way, to recognize that you can help people through just about any job. He said it was all about my attitude and my approach and that my intent was what mattered. He said God could even bless people through sales.

I smiled, even though I didn’t really buy it.

But I thought about what he said. See, my wife’s dad is a wise man, a good man, and though his advice seemed trite to me I decided I better dwell on it some and consider it. I prayed about it and mulled it over and a few days later I decided that maybe he was right. I resolved to change my approach to my job.

I made two commitments:

1. To help people. I decided that I would not sell, not to anyone, unless I was sure that selling to that person was to their advantage.

2. To be completely honest. I know you will find this shocking, but there are people in sales who will mislead you just to get you to buy something. I decided not to even think about being that kind of sales person. Not to deceive my clients. Not to deceive my boss. Not to deceive my co-workers. Full disclosure.

That was Tuesday of last week. Starting Wednesday, my sales have been, well, good. As of today, the 9th, I am at 140% of my quota. For the month. We have three full weeks left. I have sold something every business day in March. I go to work, I talk to people and I help them. If I can’t help them, I wish them well. If I can help them, I explain everything, answer all their questions and they seem to be buying.

Now, I’m not saying I made some kind of deal with God. Far from it. My theology isn’t that thin. God isn’t giving me deals (which result in money for me) because I did something good. There’s no direct cause-effect here, or not a simple one anyway.

I made a commitment, a good commitment, I think, and God, for whatever reason, is blessing me. It’s not because of my commitment, per se, but it is a blessing nevertheless.

Earlier this week I began to want to give the credit for all this to God. I mean, I’m a competent person and all, but all these deals, all this success, it’s God at work, not me. I’m just trying to stay true to my commitment, and I’ll stay true to it even if the sales dry out. (Though, to be honest, I'm not really worried about that. I think people like buying from someone who's committed to helping them.) The point is, God is doing good things.

James says that “every good and perfect gift is from above.” Indeed.

Certainly the good things in my life are from Him. My wife. My friends. My family, including my new relationships with Katie's family. My success. All of it.

And I just want to go on the record with that.

relating

2006-03-08T07:09:00.000-06:00

The hard part of faith for me is this: I believe it's all about relationship, and relationships are hard.

If it were just about "doing right", well, that I can do sometimes, but not all the time. If it were just about "doing right" and God giving me grace when I screw it up, well, that would be relatively easy. But if it's about knowing God and being known by God, if it's about a living, active relationship with an eternal being, it it's about seeking more than His commandments and actually seeking Him, well, that's hard.

It's hard because it's mystical. It's hard because it can't easily be defined. It's hard because there's no book out there with some secret formula for doing it in five easy steps. (At least none that are worth the paper they're printed on.) It's hard because it's real.

But I think that's what God wants from me and honestly, that's what I want from Him. Something real. Real just costs so much. It takes so much work. It truly is hard.

choosing forgiveness

2006-03-06T22:16:00.000-06:00

“For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins,” (Matthew 6:14-15).

Simple equation. You forgive, you get forgiven. You refuse to forgive, you don’t. Said another way, the degree of forgiveness you offer will be proportionate to the degree of forgiveness you will be offered.

Sounds fine and good, even fair. It sounds like karma. It’s as if there is some kind of cosmic balance maintained, as if, like matter, there is only so much forgiveness in the universe and if you horde the forgiveness you ought to be giving, there will be none out there in the cosmos to come back to you when you need it. But as easy and balanced as it is, it’s scary, too.

The thing is you aren’t in a position to forgive until someone has wronged you in some way. That means at the very moment when you are hurt, attacked, mistreated and even abused you are under obligation then, in that moment, to somehow offer mercy and grace to the offending party. You can’t attack back and then claim to offer forgiveness later without expecting God to respond to you in the same way. Yeah, pretty scary stuff.

I’m particularly challenged by this reality because I’ve recently endured what I consider to be horribly unkind behavior and I find myself wanting to pass judgment on those who have been hateful toward me, wanting to go Old Testament on them using all kinds of prophetic ancient texts to remind them of God’s contempt for the wicked…

…and then I remember that I am wicked, too. I too have committed horrible sins. In the situation in question there are certainly things I could have done better. In the rest of my life, I have sinned with such resolved endurance that if it were an Olympic sport, I’d be in the running for the gold. I can’t condemn unless I am comfortable with being condemned.

No condemnation for me, thanks. I’ll pass.

Often these days I am reminded of the treatment I have endured and anger begins to creep into my mind. In those moments the only thing I can think to do is pray. I know how trite that sounds, but honestly, that’s all I can do to keep from soaking in my anger, marinating in rage.

At first when such moments arrived I prayed for myself, that God will allow me to release my anger. But that didn’t work as well as the prayer I now pray. I pray for them, for the people who could not forgive me. I pray, not that God will strike them down and not that God will reveal the wickedness of their hearts to them, but that God will make the same mercy available to them that I so desperately need for myself.

I pray that God won’t hold their wrongs against them.

That, too, sounds trite, I’m afraid, as it so obviously echoes Jesus’ prayer for His killers from the cross. I’m in no way comparable to Jesus in my capacity for mercy, so please do not read an “I’m like Jesus” message into what I’m writing here. I sink into despair and anger as often as I rise above it and I am far from fully forgiving.

But I’m trying. Trying to be what Jesus has asked me to be. Trying to forgive because I want to be forgiven. Trying to love because I want to be loved. I don’t know what else there is to do, really.

I realize I’ve thrown a lot out there, some of it obviously of the fresh-wound variety and I hope my indistinct references don’t confuse you too much. But this is where my heart has been for the last few weeks, so maybe something in all that, something in the mess, will encourage or enlighten you.

The point is a simple one: you have the choice to forgive or hate. I would encourage you to choose forgiveness.

stereotyping, part 2

2006-03-04T11:34:00.000-06:00

Okay…eight hours of sleep later and I’m still thinking about the idea of stereotypes and the church and Christianity.

Here’s something to chew on. Jesus warns against being “ashamed of Him,” (Mark 8:38), but no such warning is ever given about being ashamed of the church. Apparently, if I say I’m embarrassed by being associated with Jesus that’s one thing; if I say I’m embarrassed by being associated with Christians, that’s another.

However, Paul repeated uses the analogy of the church as the body of Christ. Using this analogy, Jesus is the head and His people, the church, are necessarily and inseparably connected with Him. This kind of makes Jesus and the church a box set, a combo that cannot separated. I can no more say that I love Jesus but not His church than I can say I love my wife’s head but none of the rest of her. John makes the same argument: “If someone says, ‘I love God,’ but hates a Christian brother or sister, that person is a liar,” (1 John 4:20).

On a side note, I’m not advocating hating anyone, even people calling themselves Christians who display nothing of the character of Christ. That’s pretty offensive to me, going around using Jesus name and making Him look bad and all, but I think Jesus would want me to love those people, too. I’m talking about be embarrassed by such people and being vocal about the fact that I’m not like them and I don’t really want to be associated with them.

But is being embarrassed by the church, even the Christian posers, while different from being embarrassed by Jesus, wrong?

To make the matter more complicated, there are several warnings in the New Testament directed at the church stating that many who claim association with Jesus are really claiming a lie, (Matthew 25:31-46 is my favorite). In other words, the body of Christ (made up of those who have true connection with Him) and the establishment of the church as a political, structural entity are not necessarily the same thing.

I suppose, then, that my initial conclusion holds. It’s perfectly acceptable, at least in as much as I can understand, to say that there are a lot of so-called Christians and a lot of so-called churches that I claim no association with whatsoever. Jesus' criteria for association with Him (in Mathew 25:31-46) is simple: if you serve others and love all (both those who believe what you believe and those who don’t), then you know Him. If you don’t, you don’t.

So any person or church out there who loves all and serves everyone they encounter, I’m cool with. Those who judge, criticize, condemn and love only on the condition that you agree with them, I’m not.

Make sense?

stereotyping

2006-03-04T02:44:00.000-06:00

You know what sucks about being a Christian? The stereotype that comes with it.

Last night (Thursday night--it's late Friady night right now) I was cruising blogs and more than once came across one I wanted to post a comment to. But I hesitated. I hesitated because I thought about those people, those other bloggers coming to my blog and seeing that it belongs to a Christian and immediately drawing certain conclusions about me. Conclusions I’d rather people not draw.

Without getting into a church bashing session let me just say this: if you’re reading my blog and kind of checking things out, don’t immediately assume you know what I mean by “discipleship”. I don’t really care too much about organized religion, the politics of church or even “Christianity” as an entity. I do, however, care a great deal about Jesus. My endeavors in spirituality are entirely wrapped up in growing closer to Him. You can keep the rest of it, frankly.

(In the interest of giving credit where credit is due, I stole that last thought straight from Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller—a really cool book about non-churchy faith—though I may have made the point more aggressively than Don would.)

My point is just that I worry sometimes what people will think of me when they hear that I’m a Christian, or worse yet, when they hear that I’ve worked as a minister. I wonder if words like “close-minded”, “judgmental” and “self-righteous” immediately cross their minds. I fear they do.

I try not to get too cynical about it, but as this post attests, that’s a struggle for me. Nothing whatsoever is accomplished by my ripping to shreds the establishment of the church or the ideology of American main-stream Christianity, and yet I’m tempted to do just that in an effort to prove to the rest of humanity (or at least to the three people who read my blog) that I’m not one of those Christians. It’s a tough line to walk.

But I won’t give in. I’m not going to blast Christianity at large, but neither will I defend it. I’m pro-Jesus, all about Jesus, and Him I’ll defend (again, stealing from Miller), but the church is going to have to fight those battles on her own.

What point was I trying to make? Oh yeah, the stereotypical Christian. I’m not one. Give a guy a chance. We on the same page? You picking up what I’m laying down? Good. Great.

Love and peace all around. Happy blogging.

feeling the walk

2006-03-02T19:30:00.000-06:00

Some days I don’t feel like much of a disciple.

On those days my prayers usually begin with: “Lord, help me to do Your will…” This is not a noble aspiration as much as it is a concession that on some days I lack even the desire to follow God. I’m asking Him to give me the want to seek Him because I’d rather be doing what I’d rather be doing and, while I know this is wrong, I don’t particularly care. Except enough to ask Him to overcome my selfishness.

In the end, on those days, He does all the work. He inspires me if I’m inspired at all, and if I’m not inspired, if I wallow in selfishness from dusk ‘til dawn, it is His grace that restores me. Because He doesn’t lose all patience with me I have the opportunity to try again tomorrow.

This is the walk. This is the walking. Sometimes wanting to take the next step, sometimes thinking about how much more pleasant it would be to sit down and sometimes just lying down, your whole body flat against the path you should be hiking, a blatant, obstinate, full-body protest to the call.

This is the walk. And some days I don’t feel like I’m even moving. The funny thing is there’s no rhyme or reason to it. I can feel devoted and deeply engaging in pursuing Jesus one day and I can feel complacent and lazy the next. I end up deciding that the task at hand is just to trudge on through. You get somewhere when you’re walking because you keep taking steps, big steps, little steps, sometimes steps with considerable breaks between them, but you keep taking steps. You keep moving forward.

It’s not rocket science, walking, and it’s not particularly fast. I just try to keep moving.

Because of all this, because it's slow and hard and sometimes I'd rather just be selfish, some days I don’t feel like much of a disciple. Today is one of those days.

bono speaks

2006-03-01T21:14:00.000-06:00

Read what he said at the National Day of Prayer Breakfast here.

treasure hunt

2006-03-01T20:47:00.000-06:00

I few days ago I read the following verse from Luke: “…where your treasure is, there your heart will be also,” (12:34). I’ve been thinking about that.

All my life up to this point I’ve read that verse and thought of it in very financial terms. Like heaven is a bank or something. Transactions are made in the form of good and bad actions on my part. When I do good things, I’m making a sort of deposit in the Jesus account and when I screw something up, I make a withdraw. Makes sense, right? By that rational, Jesus is saying, “Do good things because ultimately there’s something in it for you.”

Very Dr. Phil.

But since reading this verse a few days ago I’ve been thinking about it more like a pirate might. I’ve been thinking about my treasure as something out there, something hidden or buried, something I have to find. I’ve been thinking that maybe God isn’t talking about some mutual fund in the sky but something else. Something with a little more adventure to it. Something risky.

Okay, so back to the pirates. Pirates hunt for treasure, right? (Go with me on this one for a bit.) That’s the typical pirate thing. There’s treasure out there and they have some kind of a map and it’s mostly clear, but not totally clear, so there’s some guess work to it, too, and they look for treasure. It’s usually buried and sometimes not in the most obvious spot. Frequently the hunt is dangerous and only the pirate willing to risk life and limb, willing to sail around the world, willing to do whatever it takes to find that treasure or dying trying, only that pirate will succeed.

The Seven Habit of Highly Successful Pirates, The Abridged Version.

Point is, they take chances and they pay a cost and finding the treasure is work, but it’s worth it. In a sense, because they risk so much and because they are so passionate in their pursuit, their hearts are tied to that treasure. It’s an obsession to them. It’s what they want, even need.

What if relationship with God is more like that? What if the point is to be engaged in a hunt, a seeking for Him that involves risk and chance, work and pain and, ultimately, reward, but not the reward of mansions in the sky and streets of gold but the reward of Him? Being with Him, knowing Him, being known by Him? What if that’s what it’s all about?

If that’s what Jesus is saying, then the point changes. It’s more like, “Seek God passionately, with all your heart, because He is the treasure and your heart should be tied to Him.” I’ve got nothing against banks, but I think I like that interpretation better.

why i write

2006-02-25T22:31:00.000-06:00

Someone asked me today why I write.

I write because I have to. Writing keeps me sane, clears my mind of all the muck that threatens to crowd out peace and helps me to see the world better through my own eyes. When I write I find something that no amount of looking ever seems to reveal to me. Writing is an escape, a vehicle, my medicine, even a form of therapy.

I write because I have to. Not that writing is a chore or a sentence. It's not burdensome in the traditional sense, though I do find that if I don't make time for it, it doesn't happen. It is work, but it's a joyful kind of work, an adventure, an exploration into myself and out of myself at the same time. Writing happens on the frontier of my mind.

I write because I have to. Like Jeremiah, there is a fire in my bones, an itching inside of me that I cannot scratch. Something wants out and the pen and paper (or, in this case, keyboard and world wide web) serve as the means of exorcism. The need to write is a beautiful curse, a cumbersome blessing.

I write because I cannot imagine not writing.

Like so many writers, yeah, I hope to be published some day. I hope that my writing will positively impact the people who read it. I write thinking in the back of my mind that it would be cool to write for a living. But I don't write for you or for money or fame or even for the noble endeavor of making the world a better place. I write because I have to.

And I'll be honest with you: for me, that's the only real reason to write.

2006-02-25T22:14:00.000-06:00