CafeInspirado.com

I’ve been seeing something lately that’s always been there, and maybe I’ve even known it by another name, but it’s become fresh, more meaningful and more powerfully inviting.

It’s the impression of Jesus’ deep desire to enlist more people into partnership with him in the mission of freeing people, helping them, and letting them know how much they are loved by Heaven. In a hurting world desperate for answers but met only by empty religious duties and regulations, or a culture overflowing with overzealous morality, this mission is as vital now as much as ever.

It’s not about soul-winning. It’s not about Christian duty. It’s not about transforming society or even populating heaven.  It’s about tapping into divine power to meet the needs of those around us. It’s about feeding those who are hungry — in a spiritual as well as physical sense — and easing the pain and hopelessness of people who are harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd (Mt 9:36; Num 27:15-17).  We see this in Jesus’ heart-felt plea to his followers, “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into his harvest field” (Mt 9:37-38). Immediately after saying this, he sends them out into the surrounding towns and villages with instructions to drive out evil spirits, heal the sick, and proclaim that the Kingdom of Heaven had arrived. There were so many in need, the burden was too much for him to carry alone.  And he wanted his closest friends to share in the task and with the same divine authority.

Like when Peter wanted to walk on water with Jesus, Jesus responds with characteristic encouragement: “Come on, try it out.”  He is not jealous of his divine prerogatives; he isn’t stingy with his power — especially when there are so many people needing help.  He WANTS us to jump in there with him, to take up the ball and run with it.  So many are depending on us.

You can hear this invitation to partnership when Jesus is faced with a tired and hungry crowd of 5000.  They followed him around, always wanting to hear more, see more, experience more of what he had to offer. And even when he was exhausted from the constant demand on him, he still had compassion on those who were clinging so desperately.  When his protégés wanted to send them away, he replies, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat” (Mt 14:16).  Instead of ignoring the need, Jesus delegates the responsibility to them.

When I read “they do not need to go away,” I hear him saying, “just because I’m tired doesn’t mean the work stops. I’m not the only one who can help. YOU do something about the problem.” Of course, his disciple panic. “How are we going to handle this? We only have a few loaves of bread and two measly fish.”  You can almost hear Jesus sigh as he tells them “bring them here to me.”  “Really? You’re still gonna make me do this by myself. Here, let me show you how.” Then he looks up to heaven, gives thanks to God for the resources (as small as they might be), and starts dividing the bread and fish into meal-sized portions.

But here’s the key: “Then he gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people.”  Jesus enlisted their help.  He brought his protégés into the miracle, as though saying “this is what you guys should have done.”  He needed their help, wanted it, even if it meant more hand-holding.  And his disciples distributed the food to everyone. With more coaching from the boss, they we able to meet the need of all those tired and hungry people.

And the result?  “They all ate and were satisfied.”  Catch this. This is the whole point of his invitation. When we partner with Jesus, when we take up his work — as he instructed, as he so earnestly desired — people are satisfied. They move from being needy, from being harassed and helpless, from being tired, desperate and hungry, to being content and fulfilled. It’s a restoring process, the on-going work of the Kingdom. And this is the work assigned to us. No one person can do the job by himself. Your local pastor cannot carry the weight alone. He cannot answer all the phone calls, he can’t visit everyone in the hospital, he can’t do all the counseling, or respond to all the requests for prayer. The work was never meant to be handled by a select few.  It was always intended to be shared by many — by all of us who claim to be Jesus’ followers.

The situation hasn’t changed. The need is great, the harvest is plentiful, but there are always too few workers. Why? Usually because we feel unqualified. We feel like it’s not our job, or that someone else is supposed to do it.  But this is not true, regardless of how inadequate we may feel.  The disciples didn’t feel up to the task; they constantly doubted their own abilities to meet the challenge.  And notice, Jesus NEVER gets on them for trying to do too much. He never criticizes them for wanting to help or even from being presumptuous enough to think they too could tap into divine power to handle situations.  His rebuke only came when they were being lazy or when they lacked the faith.  He attacked their sense of inferiority and inadequacy.  He was trying with all his energy to equip them to take on this great task of helping the people, of freeing them from lack, from bondage, from powerlessness, from fear, from oppression, from spiritual hunger, and from blindness to their great value to the Eternal King. And he knew he could not do it all himself. His job was to train us so we could carry on the work.  And it was the deepest cry of his heart: “send more workers!”  When he saw all the hurting people, he was moved with compassion and stirred to help them. And he longed for many more to come alongside him and join the battle.

That urgent invitation was not limited to those earliest disciple alone. His instructions echo on to us as well. The need is still great. The harvest is still plentiful. People are still hurting, and there is still so much work to be done.

We need to hear the words of Jesus again, this time as a personal invitation to participate in the miraculous. The world is waiting for it. People are counting on it. “They don’t need to go away. You feed them.”

Expect it. Just accept the fact that it’s gonna happen, and don’t let the threat of it stop you.  You will always encounter storms whenever you’re trying to cross over to the other side.  Of anything.

It’s a fact of life, illustrated so graphically in the Gospels when Jesus one days tells his close group of disciples, “Let’s go over to the other side of the lake” (Mark 4:35). He and his crew had just had a long day of teaching and healing and dealing with crowds of needy people, and he wanted to move on.  Maybe he was just looking to get away to a place where they could get some peace and quiet, or maybe he recognized that he was finished where he was and it was time to continue on to a new location. In either case, they climb into a boat, he immediately crashes into a deep sleep, and out of nowhere, a furious squall hits them.

Most of us going through changes in our lives can relate. Whether it’s one messy situation we’re escaping and trying to rebuild our lives, or it may be that we’ve achieved one set of goals and it’s time to step it up and move to the next phase of life, a lot of us are on the move.  And change is messy. Change is hard.  Change makes you vulnerable. And when you’re in transition, that is the point that storms will invariably be thrown at you to knock you off your course.  We can pick up a few survival lessons from this story.

Leaving the Crowds Behind
“Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him” (Mk 4:36). When you’re moving into a new stage of life, you’ve got to leave some stuff behind. Doesn’t matter if it’s just “stuff”, or it’s old situations, former friends or former nuisances. Whatever the case may be, one of the key principles is that there’s gonna be some separation from what you were surrounded with, what you were used to. You’ve gonna have to drop some stuff and some people in the process.

Matthew’s account of this same story adds some interesting details to this point (Mt 8:18-27).  Between the time Jesus gave the order to cross over and the time they actually climb into the boat, two would-be followers drop out. One, initially so enthusiastic, says “I’ll follow you wherever you go.” But Jesus warns him he’ll have to leave his source of security behind, that there will little comfort during the journey. “Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but I have no place to lay my head.” And we hear nothing more from this guy. I guess it was too much for him. Another guy says, “Hey, I want to follow you, but I’ve got to take care of my folks first.”  A valid enough excuse, even an honorable one. But it was an excuse none-the-less to not start the journey RIGHT NOW.  Jesus’ response: “Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead.” Sounds harsh to our soft Western ears, but basically he was undercutting the guy’s excuse. “Unh unh, now is the time. Those future concerns will take care of themselves.”  Apparently, that didn’t make the guy very happy, and he vanishes from the scene.  No excuse is good enough.  The time is now. You’re supposed to move. You’ve got the order to cross over.  Stop making excuses.  The good news is that you won’t be alone. Jesus is in the boat with you. But not only that, “other boats” are making the crossing too.  The journey you’re supposed to be on isn’t meant to be traveled alone.  Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of company. But this time, company going in the same direction and with the same goal as you.

Tempest in a Teapot
“A furious squall came up, and waves broke over the boat so that it was nearly swamped.” (Mk 4:37). The Sea of Galilee is a small lake, 7 miles wide by 14 miles long. But it’s surrounded by hills, and wind can whip calm water into roaring waves quite suddenly, like swirling water in a teapot. When you’re out in the middle of that, it can be quite terrifying.  You are at your most vulnerable when you’re in the middle of transition — when you’ve left the secure, familiar ground for a new shore. Sometimes you’ll be so preoccupied with the process of change that you’ll not notice the early signs of the storm, and it will catch you totally off guard and unprotected. (Matthew adds that the storm rose up “without warning.”)  But these guys should have been prepared for this. Several of them were fishermen who’d spent most of their lives on that lake. And we need to learn this lesson: we should expect a storm when we’re out in the boat, even if we don’t see any early signs of it.  That sudden squall will make us want to turn back, quit the journey, and head back to our former safe harbor. And realistically, that’s probably its purpose. To stop you. You’ve got people and unseen forces often wanting you to fail, resisting your every bold step forward.  You may get spooked, you may panic. You may want to quit.  But don’t.

“Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” (Mk 4:38). Isn’t that our typical response? I’ve been there, I’ve done that. It’s taken a whole lot of pushing to get me moved out of my comfortable position to venture out in this new direction, and often my first reaction in the face of this unexpected resistance is to question God.  “Don’t you see? Don’t you care?!”  The unexpected surprise of it has thrown off my momentum, and like those disciples I fall back and huddle in the corner of the boat. It’s human. It’s normal. But we need to grow past that and change how we react.

Tell it to Shut Up!
“Jesus got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, ‘Quiet! Be still!’ Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples, ‘Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?’” (Mk 4:39). Come on, people. We may not be able to command the wind and the water like the Messiah (or at least not as effectively and immediately), but that wake-up call is to us as well.  We were told to get on the move. We were called up to a new place, commanded to cross over.  Resistance will come. The wind will howl, the waves will crash against us, even to the point of swamping us, overwhelming us. But with that divine command also came authority. And we need to train ourselves to use it.  We need to get aggressive. “Shut up. Stop that!”  Remember the Apostle Paul’s words, “we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against powers …”  We wrestle. It may take a little energy. When trouble comes — and if you’re on the move, it WILL come — don’t cower down. Don’t retreat or go back. Stand up, and with an assurance of the authority given to you inherent in your orders to move, resist it. Tell it to stop. And the powers of heaven will back you up. By yourself, you’re no match for the strength of those forces.  But that’s the beauty of authority. It’s not by your strength or by your power. Sometimes all you need to do is speak the word, and you’ll unleash the power of heaven to break into your situation. “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”  You’ve come this far. You can go back if you want, but you’ll forfeit so much.  Don’t lose faith, don’t get spooked by the resistance.  Deal with it.  Get tough with it.  Dispense with it quickly, then press on. Keep going.

After the storm quiets down, they arrive at the other side. They’re finally at the next stage of their journey. And more adventure awaits them.  In the Gospels, when they reach the other side, they’re met by a man possessed with an evil spirit. I’m sure they were thinking: “Crap! This is just what we need right now!”  But the situation gets handled easily, and they continue on.  And so will you.

Many of us are crossing over. We’re in transition, moving on with new things in our lives — new adventures, new purpose. Resistance will come. It’s part of the same old, well-worn strategy to stop us.  But half the battle is won if we’re not caught off guard by it, if we expect it.

“Among you stands one you do not recognize…”
- John 1:26

Sometimes we think too much. There’s a phrase I’ve heard a lot (often aimed at me) that describes how many of us handle particular situations: “paralysis by analysis.” We want something, we’ve been looking forward to something, we’ve sought God and pressed the Heavens with our prayers to get something, but we actually get in the way of receiving it because we’ve already decided what it looks like. We’ve planned out how it is supposed to happen. We’ve worked out all the details, and our expectations are focused like lasers on that particular answer.

And, sometimes that’s fine. There is a place for being specific in our prayers and in exercising our faith. But if we’re not careful, we can be blinded by our own expectations. We can become so set in our perspective of how things are supposed to work out, that we miss the answer right under our noses.

Are You the One?
In John’s Gospel, that’s the scenario we see when the Jewish leaders came to John the Baptist asking if he were “the one” (John 1:19). Was he the Messiah? Was he Elijah? Was he the Prophet foretold by Moses whom they were to obey? John gives them another answer. No, he’s the messenger preparing the way, he’s the voice calling in the wilderness. And the one they’re looking for, the one their hearts are desiring after, is already among them in the crowd. They just don’t recognize him.

We have the benefit of historical perspective now — “hindsight is 20/20.” But back then, God’s people weren’t sure what the Messiah was supposed to look like. Scripture was filled with images and phrases describing him, but from so many different angles that a clear understanding just wasn’t possible. Like trying to see clearly through a multifaceted crystal, no one knew exactly how to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. Was he a mighty warrior-king along the lines of King David? Was he a priestly leader who would purify the faith and restore proper Temple worship? Was he that Suffering-Servant who took upon himself the divine punishment of the people? Wasn’t he supposed to come from the heavens with angels in his wake, and restore Israel to its rightful place among the nations? In fact, at that point in history, many believed that there would be two, perhaps even three, different messiahs, different leaders who would accomplish those different tasks. With all these images, all these details, all these preconceived ideas of what the Messiah would do, it was understandably too easy to overlook that rough, calloused carpenter from Galilee.

Don’t we do exactly the same thing when we’re seeking something from God? Don’t we block ourselves from accepting the gift he’s offering us simply because we’ve clamped down the inner openness necessary to recognize it? We’re looking, our hearts are aching from desire for that miracle only God can supply, that thing we’ve been hounding him for day after day. And it could be that we’re stumbling right over it.

Ignorance is not necessarily an obstacle. Everyone starts there. Even John the Baptist didn’t know who the Coming One was until he saw the Spirit descend on Jesus. The difference between John and those religious leaders who questioned him was in their attitudes. They already “knew” what they wanted, what they were seeking, and exactly what it was supposed to look like. John, on the other hand, remained open to let God do things HIS way. John stayed receptive to the Spirit’s role in identifying the fulfillment of the promise: “THIS is the one.” Instead of being blinded by predefined expectations, he allowed God to reveal the answer. So he saw. They didn’t.

What Do You Want?
Later in the story, John’s disciples see Jesus and start following him around (Jn 1:37). Jesus turns around and asks them the question we all need to answer for ourselves: “What do you want?” Wanting is not a bad thing. Seeking after a heart’s desire is not a sign of selfishness. Since God loves to give us the desires of our heart, it helps if we have some idea of what we actually want. Telling God how to do it, though, is another matter. And these two men demonstrate the right attitude: “Rabbi, where are you staying?” They are respectful and show their willingness to stay close. Jesus’ response is the same he offers us today when we come to him with our urgent longings: “Come, and you will see.” It’s an open invitation to relationship. “Come, spend time with me, and you’ll find that thing you’ve been looking for.” Interestingly, Jesus doesn’t answer their question. Sometimes, the timing isn’t right, sometimes we’re not ready for the answer, and sometimes he wants us to readjust our priorities. But he doesn’t turn them down, he doesn’t reject them or turn them away. The answer is always found in relationship with him.

That’s our key today. We want things. We need things. Our hearts longs for satisfaction in some area. And we can either play the role of religious people, so blinded by our own expectations that we miss the answer right under our noses. Or we can follow the example of John and his disciples who waited for God’s Spirit to reveal the answer in his own time, in his own way.

When we’re eagerly searching for that heart’s desire, looking here and there, constantly questioning “are you the one, is this it?”, we need to relax a bit and let God do his thing. He asks us, “What do you want?” He WANTS to give it to us. But we’ll only see it if we stay in touch with him. “Come with me, and you’ll see.” Without that openness, without that receptivity to the Spirit’s pointing, we can miss the very thing we’re looking for, even if it’s right under our nose.

I just finished eating a late breakfast while watching episodes of West Wing on DVD, and as I started clearing up my plates, I looked down at my feet to see which dog was hanging around.  Usually, whenever they hear any kind of activity in the kitchen, they come running.  Some snack or little bits of left-overs, even just some pre-dishwasher plate-licking is always sure to be found. And if not found, then coerced with that longing look they’ve mastered so well that pulls on my heart-strings.  There are times when, after they’ve watched me eat for a while, they come to the realization that nothing is coming their way, and they wander off, going about their own doggie-business. But sometimes one of them will linger anyway, laying quietly, staring hopefully, expectantly, perhaps honing in with their doggie-intuition that “something good is going to happen”.  Today, oddly, not one of them was around.  They’d already abandoned hope and were busy watching birds or chasing squirrels in the backyard.  Too bad.  I was actually in the mood to sneak one of them a treat.  Ah well, “Good things come to those who wait …”

And that struck me.  How true, in a spiritual sense.  And images from various scattered bible passages flooded into mind. The unjust judge giving in to the widow’s requests for justice because of her simple nagging.  The neighbor who dragged himself out of bed in the middle of the night because of the persistent pounding on his door by his friend.  That whole, “ask, seek, knock” thing, teaching us to be persistent in our prayers to God.  If even these rascally fellows give in due to persistence, wouldn’t God who delights giving good things to his children give us our requests more gladly?

But too often we act like my dogs today.  They were there while I was eating, but they disappeared just when the “giving” was ready to be dished out. And I was actually disappointed that I was deprived of the opportunity to sneak a treat to one of them.  Their lack of patience today robbed them of their earlier expectations.  How many times do we so earnestly desire a thing — a new job, a raise, a spouse, some urgently needed answer — but we don’t hang around long enough to get it? If we’d just spent a little more time hanging around God, a little more time simply waiting, or like my dogs, laying quietly at my feet, paws crossed, but with eyes following my every movement in anticipation….  Who knows how many answers, how many treats, we’ve missed because we got bored or distracted, and went about our business, chasing our squirrels or watching our elusive birds. And all the while, God was on the verge of providing us the very thing we’re seeking — even WANTING to give us that tasty morsel.

Zack, Clarice and Rascal* all came wandering back in a little later, curious to see what they might have missed. But by then, the plates were already rinsed and in the dishwasher, the stove and counters were wiped down, and the kitchen lights were out.  “Sorry, babies, not this time.”

They were so eager a few minutes ago.  But because of their impatience, their lack of persistence, we all left the kitchen disappointed this time.

——-

* Dog names have been changed to protect the innocent.

President Obama once again proclaimed June 2010 as LGBT Pride Month. Most of us should be used to this by now — Gay Pride has been celebrated for the past 40 years, though it has become much more mainstream recently than in those early days. What I found interesting in the president’s proclamation was his call to action, not just a simple labeling of another month after another good cause.   “I call upon all Americans to observe this month by fighting prejudice and discrimination in their own lives and everywhere it exists.” (Presidential Proclamation)

Prejudice and discrimination in America? Still? Yeah, of course. As long as human nature remains the same, there will be an “Us vs. Them” mentality. We’ll always find people different than us somehow unacceptable — or at least we’ll be uncomfortable around them. We may have to tolerate them in our schools and workplaces (it’s the law, right?), but we sure don’t have to allow them in our country clubs, our churches, our synagogues or mosques. As a devout Christian, I’m more sensitive to this attitude in our religious establishments, our churches. Thankfully, we’ve (mostly) moved past segregation in the pew. Hardly anyone bats an eye at blacks and whites, Asians and Latinos sitting together in church these days. In fact, it’s become a badge of honor for us: “See? Look how far we’ve come. Look at the Love of God in this place.” Those old Scripture passages that once championed separation of the races are no longer interpreted that way. The wall that divides us has been torn down by the work of Christ — well, at least we’ve finally come to recognize that much of it, anyway.

But President Obama’s proclamation brings my mind once again to the division and pain still experienced by Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender people in our Houses of Worship. Fellow believers! Unwelcome in the House of their Father. And I think of those I’ve met personally with stories of attempted suicides, driven to this extreme by the rejection they encountered by so-called believers. Saints, loved by God, who themselves want to love God and experience the fullness of relationship with him, but told by their spiritual leaders that they are unacceptable, that God hates them, and that they’re destined for hell (“see, it’s right here in black and white: 1 Cor 6:9…”). Imagine it. No, really, try. Try to put yourself in that position: kept from God, your only lifeline of hope in a confused and dangerous world, by the gatekeepers of the Kingdom. No matter your own heart’s crying out into the heavens, seeking, hungering after an encounter with your Creator, your Redeemer, but not finding anyone who will show you the way. Finding only those who point fingers and demand the impossible of you: “change or perish”.

My heart still breaks at these stories — as did Jesus’ so long ago. We, the Church of the Living God, have become the very people accused by our Lord. We have put stumbling blocks in front of people, preventing access to the only Source that can bring life and healing and love and fulfillment and purpose. With our clinging to our own “righteous” forms of legalism, we are no different than those religious figures 2000 years ago — quoting Scripture to Jesus himself, defending offensive practices which break the heart of God. Where is the echoing call of the messiah in our lives? Where is the living out of the promise, “the Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me … to proclaim freedom to the captive, to release the oppressed, and to declare the year of the Lord’s favor”?

We, the people of faith, will always wrestle with coming to peace with the sinner and his sin. In our lifetimes, we’ll probably never be able to fully come to terms with black and white Scripture which describes the behavior of sinners. Perhaps, then, we should focus more on the red and white of Scripture, the “come unto me ALL … and I will give your rest. Take MY yoke upon you…”. Let us not forget our own failures, our own shortcomings compared to the unyielding perfection of the Law. “Come now, let us reason together, says the LORD. Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool” (Is 1:18). We, with our snow-white hearts, do we close the door to others simply because we cannot see how white their hearts are as well?

I hear the powerful, liberating words of the prophet Isaiah describing the finished work of the Suffering Servant: “we turned our back on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care. Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down… He was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins. He was beaten so we could be whole; he was whipped so we could be healed. … But it was the LORD’s good plan to crush him and cause him grief. When he sees all that is accomplished by his anguish, he will be satisfied. And because of his experience, my Righteous Servant will make it possible for many to be counted righteous, for he will bear all their sins” (Is 53:2-11).

It’s already done. That work was completely finished. The doorway to the Eternal Throne has been burst off its hinges to close no more. The curtain hiding the Holy of Holies has been ripped in two, never to be resewn. Who among us who call ourselves by his name dare to try to close that door, to repair that curtain?

My heart breaks for the Church, for the heartless actions of its leaders, its shepherds, and its people. What stern look of disapproval will we receive from the One who sits on the Throne on that Great Day? But my heart aches worse for those black sheep, lambs of a different fold, rejected by the white sheep with cold hearts, complacent, too comfortable and apathetic in their secure pens. Who will go out, leave the ninety and nine, in search of them? Who will go out into the roadways and countrysides — the clubs, the parades, the picnics, rodeos and festivities of Gay Pride month — and proclaim that Year of Jubilee to them? Who will speak the words Jesus is still speaking, “Come to me … just as you are”?

The president’s words are pale in comparison to the summons of Jesus. This month, this official time of LGBT Pride, let it also be a month of reawakening in the Church and in God’s People. Remove the stumbling blocks. Replace your hearts of stone for hearts of flesh, beating with the blood of love and acceptance of Him who Gives Life. Let June 2010 be proclaimed as the Month of the Lord’s Favor. Open the doors, open your arms. Welcome back those called by your Father that you have held at arm’s length — “not in THIS church”. Hold your tongue, withhold your judgment. Bring joy to the heart of God by loving his people, and bringing in those who have been kept out. When all are welcomed home, when reconciliation has been proclaimed, that’s when the angels sing. June is an official month for a good cause in America. Let it also be a month of celebration in Heaven.

While Jesus was having dinner at Levi’s house, many tax collectors and “sinners” were eating with him and his disciples, for there were many who followed him. (Mark 2:15)

Your church’s effectiveness and how close it aligns with God’s heart and priorities can be measured by the number of sinners you’re attracting.

Jesus drew people by love, by radical acceptance. Not by judgement, or by calls for repentence and holy living. Not even by preaching profound biblical truth. People were amazed at his words of grace. They were amazed at his teaching with authority — not like the teachers they were accustomed to. And the only way one can preach with authority, with God’s power, is by being in touch with God’s heart. And the loving, longing heart of God attracts people. All kinds of people. The worst kinds of people.

You’re wondering where the power is? You’re praying for explosive church growth like in the New Testament?

Well, how may “sinners” are in your services? How many are you attracting?

Something to think about …

The other day my mom emailed me about a recent experience she had, with some simple, but profound spiritual implications. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
——

Yesterday, I had a very interesting experience. Coming back from the doctor’s office, we heard a thump, thump, thump. We had just gotten new struts in the rear, and our first thought was, “Oh, no not again!” We recognized the noise from bad struts, but this noise was a bit different. It was continuous. Finally, after playing the guessing game as to what it was, we pulled over, only to discover we had a flat tire…not just flat but slashed, shredded! We drove a few feet down the road into an empty parking lot. The store it belonged to had been vacated. After calling Triple A, I realized I needed to use the restroom. A couple of doors down was a “Gentlemen’s Adult Party House!” Hey, any port in the storm, was my thinking. So off, Joe and I went!

It was a bright sunny day, but as soon as we opened the door to that particular “establishment” we were met with total darkness. I mean it was black in there! I could not see. From somewhere to my right a voice said, “Welcome!” Whoa! I couldn’t see anyone. Perhaps Joe could, all I know is that he explained to the man, who I could not see, what my need was. He was very kind, and told me to follow him. Follow him? I couldn’t even see him! All I could see was a square of light on the floor to my left, about the size of a wrestling mat! I did not follow the man, I followed his voice which led me to a door. Upon opening it, I discovered LIGHT. Yes, indeed, there was light in there. There was one wall covered with mirrors and some unmentionables lying on the shelf, but there were also some cubicles for my use!

As I sat there, I considered where I was and who would be using this room in the future. Who were these girls? What had brought them to this place? Did their mothers know what they did for a living? Had anyone ever told them about God? Was anyone praying for them? I didn’t have the answers to most of those questions, but I could answer the last one. Me! I would pray for them, and I did. I asked the Lord by His Spirit to speak to each heart that entered there. I asked Him to convict, convince and woo each girl that came in there. I asked Him to answer any prayers that had already been prayed for these girls, and to bring them Home to Himself.

When I came out, blackness assaulted me. But there was one ray of light. Some feet beyond me, there stood Joe in the light of the doorway. That’s the only way I would have seen him! I kept my eye on him and got out safely! But you know, it did cause me to think about the spiritual darkness many people are in. Just think what one ray of light will do for them! One ray of light might be the only light they’ve ever seen. One ray of light is all that is needed to bring them on Home. Can you, can I be that ray of light to those around us?

The darkness is very dark….I mean black as ink! The voice I heard could have been anyone’s. I never could have identified the owner in a line up! And these people in spiritual darkness are not any more certain of the voices they are hearing than I was. Who are they following? They haven’t a clue, for the most part. We HAVE to be their light. It doesn’t have to be showy…it just needs to be true. As I saw Joe standing in the light of the doorway, may they see Jesus standing in the little lights that we have!

Oh, later, when I was talking to my niece about the experience, I stated that I never thought to leave a tract in that room, although I had one in my purse. I said, “I didn’t leave anything. I was just glad to get out of there!” But you know what? I realized after I said that, that I was wrong. I DID leave something. I left my prayers there. I left an invitation for the Holy Spirit there! I did leave something indeed! And I feel in my heart that what I left there will reap its rewards in eternity. It wasn’t just a prayer, it was a Spirit led prayer. It was a prayer that I felt would be answered, and perhaps was on its way to an answer even as I prayed. Who knows, perhaps some grandmother had been praying for her granddaughter who worked there! Someday, I’ll know. But until then, it’s enough to know that I was where He led me and I was not alone, I was about my Father’s business.

Be a light today!

“I have much more to say to you, more than you can bear right now.”  (John 16:12)

Ever notice how you always save the most important things you want to say until the end? Like when you’re visiting family or friends after a long absence. You’re there for a few days; you hang out, go out to eat, maybe get on each others’ nerves a bit. But it’s only when you’re about to walk out the door to catch your plane that you finally say what’s really on your heart. They’re the words you’ve wanted to say, but somehow just couldn’t squeeze them in at any other time. And now that you’re about to leave, with no other time left, you try to cram in those most important thoughts.

During this Holy Week, I’ve been thinking on that famous Last Supper scene. Jesus had been eagerly waiting for this last great event with his closest friends. And just hours away from his torture and death, knowing that his mission on earth was coming to an end, he was nearly bursting at the seams with things he wanted to tell them, so much he wanted them to know. But he had so little time left, and he recaps months worth of teaching in a matter of hours. (Nearly the entire second half of John’s gospel is dedicated to these final things.)

And here’s what he wanted them to know. Here’s what he wants us — YOU — to know.

You are greatly loved. As a point of theological discussion, it’s almost absurd to mention this — it’s so simple. But what do people facing death usually want to say to those around them before they go? It’s all about the love. “I love you SO much.” More than anything else you can say, more than anything else you can do at that moment, you want your family and friends to know how much you love them, how important they are to you. They are your final thoughts. And Jesus was no different. “Having loved his own, he now showed them the full extent of his love …” (Jn 13:1). And he tells them over and over in those next few hours that he loves them, that the Father loves them, and how they can remain in his love. It’s that important to him.

Love each other. Just as much as he loved them, they were to love each other (Jn 13:34). That would be their signature characteristic; it would be the primary way people would recognize them as his followers and as children of God. Not just some mushy feeling in their guts, but as real acts of sacrifice for each other, showing how important they are to each other. Just like before dinner when Jesus knelt on the floor before each of them and washed their feet. Real, inconvenient, messy, dirty, time-consuming, and even humiliating actions for the benefit of the other. “You need this. This will be good for you. I want to do this for you. And I expect nothing in return.” He gave them that example to follow — an image that I’m sure stayed with them the rest of their lives: their beloved Lord and master, kneeling before each of them, with towel and bowl in his hands. Because each of us is important to him, and we should treat each other that way.

I’m not leaving you alone. Still a little confused by his behavior during the Supper, the disciples were probably more than a little disturbed by the things he was telling them. He was about to leave them. The words sent shivers of fear up their spines. What would they do now, without him? Had it all been a waste of time, a joke? Was it really going to end just like this? Knowing their fears, and wanting them to know what was about to happen, he reassures them. “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust God; trust me. I’m not leaving you as orphans. I’m coming back for you so that we can be together always. But in the meantime, I’m sending you another Counselor to be with your forever, and he’ll teach you and guide you” (Jn 14:1-3, 16-18, 26-29). It’s not over. Jesus’ immanent arrest and execution would not be the end of the mission, and certainly not the end of their friendship. They were to carry on with the help of his divine companion, the Holy Spirit. And when they’d finished their part of the task, he’d come back for them. This point, too, he mentions several times during that evening. In the panic that was sure to ensue, he went to great lengths to make sure they wouldn’t forget this simple fact: they’d never be alone. And for most of us these days, those are some much needed words. In all the chaos and confusion of our own lives, it’s important to know that he has not left us alone. We have all the guidance we need, if we’ll just listen to the Counselor. And beyond that, he’ll even empower us to do what needs to be done. Our mission continues, and we haven’t been abandoned to do it alone.

Don’t be surprised by a little trouble. Anyone who’d hung around Jesus very long knew that trouble sometimes followed. He made all kinds of people mad — especially the religious types. And as his followers, they should expect the same. “Remember my words: No servant is greater than his master. If the world hates you, it hated me first. If they persecuted me, they will persecute you also.” (Jn 15:18-25). “I’m telling you this ahead of time so you won’t be surprised and stumble. They’ll kick you out of their synagogues and churches, thinking they’re serving God… In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (Jn 16:1-3,33). Believers shouldn’t expect of life full of ease and blessing, free from stress and problems, free from trouble-makers, gossips, busy-bodies, and people simply out to get them. Even in the church — or maybe, especially from people in the church. You’re gonna ruffle a few feathers, you’re going to annoy and irritate people, you’re gonna make them uncomfortable. And they won’t take it kindly. They’ll get nasty. They’ll kick you out, and even throw stones. They might even try to kill you. Don’t let this catch you off guard, don’t be surprised. And don’t let it shake your faith or cause you to go astray. Expect it. It happened to Jesus, and he wanted his followers to be prepared for it as well. No surprises.

The good news: I’m leaving you my Peace and Joy. He was going away, and they’d be scattered like sheep without a shepherd for a little while, they’d be confused and frightened. But, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you … Don’t let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid” (Jn 14:27). You won’t be in this messed up state very long. The Counselor will take up residence with you, he’ll be with you constantly through it all, and when you calm down a bit, you’ll be able to rest peacefully. And not only that, by keeping the command to love each other, you’ll stay in my love, my joy will fill you — your joy will be complete (Jn 15: 9-10). Even though Jesus wouldn’t be there physically with them any longer, because the Spirit would come in his place, that sense of security and joy they’d become accustomed to in his presence would continue. They could trust in that; they could relax — despite all the trouble. Nothing in their relationship would change. And when we’re going through some dark valleys ourselves, we can have that same confidence, that same peace, and that same joy. The pleasure of his continued company is guaranteed to us.

He was rushed. He was full of nervous energy, knowing what was just hours ahead. And he had so much he wanted to tell them, so much he wanted to reassure them. His last thoughts, those most important priorities, were focused on them. And after dinner, when he and his friends went out to the Garden — he, to wait for his arrest, and they, thinking it was an after-dinner walk to get some fresh air — Jesus’ final prayer was filled with them. “I pray for them… I will remain in the world no longer, but they are still in the world. Holy Father, protect them so that they may be one as we are one. My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one. As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world” (Jn 17: 9-18).

The mission was being turned over to those first disciples — and to us who follow. And just as we go through some of the same hardships they went through, his final words are for us as well. They’re our lifeline in troubled times, those moments when we feel the world crashing in around us, when we feel crushed and alone. Of all the theology we could study, of all the Scripture we could read, and of all the liturgy we could recite and experience in these Holy Days, these are the words he wanted us to hear. These are his last, most important thoughts for us –

You are loved. Love each other. You’re never alone, and I’m coming back for you. Don’t be surprised by the trouble going on around you. And take heart, I’m leaving you my Comforter, my peace, and my joy.

I’m angry. And I’m angry because I’m frustrated. As I write this, certain friends, members of my family, and people I know from church are in desperate need of medical care and they can’t get it. They can’t afford it themselves, and they have no insurance. They can’t afford insurance, and their employers (for the ones who have jobs) keep them in perpetual part-time or temporary status because the companies can’t afford to provide it. So these people are stuck in wait-mode. For months and years at a time. Sometimes in severe discomfort and pain, sometimes left in states of semi-disability, sometimes in life-threatening conditions, and the rest of the time left in just lingering fear that they might get sick or be in an accident.

Also as I write this, Washington DC is in the middle of a so-called Health Care Summit between the White House and leaders of Congress, and frankly, I think it’s little more than theater. The government seems to be hopelessly grid-locked in ineffectiveness. Whether you’re a Republican or a Democrat or remain unaffiliated, as Christians what should our goal be? What should we do for those suffering among us? And what would our Lord do?

It’s hardly even necessary to ask “What would Jesus do?”. We all know it well enough. Jesus never preached about balanced budgets, or even lower taxes. He never mentioned market-based capitalism or the right to make a fair profit. What he did say was “I was hungry, and you did — or did not — feed me. I was sick, and you visited me — or not” — along with the appropriate blessing or curse: “Come, you blessed of my Father, and inherit the Kingdom prepared for you,” or “Depart from me, you cursed people, into everlasting fire” (Mat 25:31-46). That’s some scary stuff.

I’ve heard conservative religious people say that it is not the government’s responsibility to care for the sick, the poor and the elderly among us. They say that’s the Church’s job. Sure. But so far I’ve seen too little church involvement in dealing with this in real life — aside, perhaps, from preaching about how congregants should vote in the next election. Maybe as individuals we should pool our money, our tithes and offerings, to care for those who need help in our communities. Maybe in our churches we should create benevolence funds to help pay for prescriptions and food for those who worship with us. Too often we look the other way even when it involves people who may sit in the pew next to us, let alone people in our community who don’t go to our church. We — each of us, all of us — need to do something.

But even if we do pool our excess resources, most of us are living paycheck to paycheck ourselves. We can barely afford our own bills (well, aside from our Blackberry or iPhone plans and our morning Starbuck’s fix). Large scale help just ain’t happening that way. And since most of us pay taxes, it DOES then fall to the government to “promote the general welfare” (as our Constitution states). We get a voice and a vote, if even a small one, in how our money is spent. Sorry, but in my opinion, this is one area where the interests of the church and state SHOULD mix.

I’m an American. I’m even a capitalist. I believe in the “American dream” and in every one’s opportunity (and responsibility) to live it. But I am first and foremost a Christian. I give my time and my money where I can. But I can’t personally afford to pay for my friend’s needed MRI scan. I cannot foot the bill for that chemo treatment, or that back surgery. And my local church’s budget would be spent in a day to cover a neighbor’s hospital stay. But it seems no matter how little money I may have, my government has no problem taking its pound of flesh from me. I can’t escape the automatic tax deductions from my paycheck. So that gives me the right to demand that my government use my money in a way consistent with my values. My voice and my protest may gain little; my elected officials may ignore my wishes (and they often do). But if nothing else, I can insist that my representatives do SOMETHING to help those crying for help.

This means YOU, Congresswoman Mary Fallon. This means YOU, Senator Tom Coburn and Senator Jim Inhoffe. You all claim to be Christian — especially as you call for school prayer, banning gay marriage, and protecting my right to own a gun. Stand up now for your faith, and put our treasury to work for the desperate needs in our community. Do something good in the name of your faith, now if never again. Break the grid-lock, stop the stalling and stone-walling. Instead, break the chains of oppression, proclaim deliverance to the captives, and set at liberty them that are bruised.

I’m not a fire-and-brimstone kind of prophet, but the cries of hurting people reach the Throne of God. And you and I — as individuals, as the Church, and as Americans — will be judged for what we do next.

Weird situation at church yesterday. A group of us were sitting around talking, waiting for our weekly men’s group to begin, and there was this plastic bucket sitting on the table in front of me, filled with condoms. All kinds of condoms. Colored, textured, lubricated, plain. Not your father’s typical church supplies. As part of our outreach (to use a little Christianese), we’ve opened our building as a site for free HIV testing twice a week, and despite the adamant message of the abstinence-only crowd, a condom is the best defense against HIV. But in MY church?! ¹

Yeah, I get bent out of shape easily sometimes. And I threw one of my “you can’t be serious” looks at the pastor. But he was dead serious. And since I knew I was on a journey of “radical acceptance” and opening myself up to allow God to use his Church in ways he wants (even if it raises some eyebrows), I was eager for the theological justification. Too bad I didn’t get it. The pastor’s position was simple. While as believers, we maintain a Biblical standard for purity in intimate relations — marriage and fidelity — we still need to love people enough to help them stay safe even if they don’t live up to our standards. Nutshell theology. Good for the soul, but not really satisfying to my analytical mind. So as I picked through the bucket, marveling at the assortment of glow-in-the-dark colors, I started wrestling with the arguments and implications. Another mind-stretching experience.

Would Jesus be handing out condoms at the Oklahoma Gay Rodeo Association? According to my pastor, of course he would. But I could already hear the protests of my conservative evangelical friends and colleagues, rolling in disgust in their pews. Isn’t this tantamount to condoning sin? I don’t know. But what does Jesus think?

Did Jesus ever overlook a moral shortcoming in order to save a life? Images of scenes from ancient Middle East started flooding my mind. Isn’t this the same argument about working on the Sabbath? Isn’t it better to allow people to rub grains of wheat in their hands in order to satisfy their hunger, even though Sabbath laws forbid it? Or, could pulling your ox out of a pit in sheer mercy and compassion justify overriding the Sabbath restriction against it? And David, before he became king, entering the tabernacle and stealing the holy bread there to feed his hungry men — doing what was unlawful. Jesus justified him, applauded him. Here was a man who understood the heart (and priorities) of God. (Lk 6:1-5; Lk 14:5)

Didn’t a tablecloth containing all kinds of forbidden meat lower from heaven to Peter in a vision, with a command to eat and call nothing unclean that God has made clean?  Because it’s about people, not rules.  (Acts 10:10-15)

That scene of the Samaritan woman at the well also presses itself into my mind. She’d been married five times, and was currently living with a man not her husband. Yet because Jesus spends time talking with her (a scandalous action back then), God’s salvation was brought to her entire village (John 4). And he never once rebuffed her for her disreputable lifestyle. That other woman caught in adultery and about to be stoned by the righteous people of the day … Jesus steps in and saves her life. In this case, he does correct her: “go and sin no more.” But he doesn’t look at her offense. He focuses on saving her life. The correction comes later, when she was in a more receptive position (John 8:3-12).

And that famous parable of the Good Samaritan who takes care of the man, beaten, robbed and left on the side of the road to die by the holy people of his day. Are we, the Church, not the Priest and the Levite who walked by, not wanting to dirty ourselves even to save a life? We’d rather preach to him, tell him God loves him, all the while pointing out his faults in an effort to change him. But we won’t kneel down in the dirt with him to offer him the help he actually needs at that moment. Who ultimately was the good neighbor? Jesus’ words: the one who showed mercy. “Go and do likewise” (Lk 10:30-37).

Condoms, oddly enough, are never mentioned in the Bible. I can’t find any single passage in Scripture that specifically states that doing something which might appear to condone sin is acceptable if done out of love. But there are plenty of examples where Jesus himself does this. Love overrides Law. It is the “Ox on the Sabbath” principle.

Am I completely comfortable with this? Not yet. It may be a little while longer before you see me at the Rodeo passing out condoms, telling people Jesus loves them. It’s still a little too far from my traditional, conservative upbringing to adjust so quickly. But I am completely convinced that this is the kind of attitude and thinking we need to embrace if we’re going to be a light in the 21st century. It’s what Jesus would do. The world seems to be falling apart, people are dying. They need God, and we the Church have failed to deliver. This is the kind of out-of-the-box action that demonstrates who we really are. This is the message people need to hear. God loves you. We love you. Our greatest desire is for you to have an intimate relationship with God. In the meantime, be safe. Here’s a condom.

———————-
¹ Just to clarify, the condoms were not in the sanctuary and are put away during services. They were in the fellowship area of the church where the HIV testing was going on, and HIV testing sites are required by law to have condoms available.

Despite all my efforts, I am not the master of the universe. And, in fact, although I can certainly influence the direction of my life, I’m not even master over my own destiny.

That’s kinda tough news for a guy. I was at a men’s bible study last night, and of the nine of us there, most of us had come to this sad conclusion also. Well, perhaps not so sad. For most of us there, it was actually a liberating revelation. (Although I admit, I’m still working to reach that state of contentment.) For the most part, we all tended to be controllers, decision-makers, problem-solvers, fixers. We wanted to impose our order on the situations around us, and make things “right” (at least “right” as we saw it). And maybe that’s a basic human characteristic, not just a guy-thing.

Speaking solely for myself here, I can tell you that trying to be master of your own destiny is exhausting work. And it’s frustrating when reality refuses to conform to your wishes. Most of us at the meeting had come to the conclusion that, contrary to what we tended to think, our way was not always the best way — and certainly not the only way — of doing things. And we don’t have to be in charge all the time. The liberation occurs when we realize that God is actually the grand orchestrator of our lives, and that the best place to be in life is in surrender and cooperation with his plans. If we could do that, we could (almost) sit back a bit and try to enjoy the ride.

This is not an attitude of complete passivity, of course. That’ll get you nowhere. We all have to put some muscle into it, to throw our efforts and energies toward the direction we feel God would lead us. But ultimately the final destination, the final results, are not up to us. Sometimes, if we spend enough time soul-searching and pressing God, we’ll get a glimmer of what our final destination looks like, but it is almost never reached by the way we anticipate or plan. Like that old saying, “a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”, all we can do it take that next step that is right in front of us, pursue it whole-heartedly, and wait for the next step after that to reveal itself.

I remember one time, a long time ago when I was working for a theological journal in Israel, a woman wrote in asking us to pray that God would show her his will for her life. My first reactive thought was “yeah, you and me both, sister.” But then as I sat quietly for a moment staring at her letter, words in a quiet whisper broke clearly in my mind: “look where you’re at right now. That’s where it begins.”

We can become so lost trying to see through the fog of the future, trying to see the road all the way from where we are to the end the journey. But we’re never shown the entire path. And perhaps that’s an act of mercy on God’s part. If we knew in advance everything we would encounter, we might get overwhelmed, lose heart, and never even want to venture out. And perhaps it’s because that is the nature of our quest: we’re supposed to live in the present, in the here and now, and trust God as we go. Will we trust God — will we have the guts — to take that next step, not knowing exactly what we’re stepping into or what might happen there or where it will lead us to next?

It is a futile effort to try to map out the trip from beginning to end. (And where would the fun be in that?) Our single responsibility is take that next step, whatever it is revealed to be. Our only concern should be to say “yes” and then to dedicate ourselves to that task at hand — not trying to figure it all out. The path will be stretched out before us, but we can only take it — and only see it — one step at a time.

Guys hate asking for directions. We like to know the way and every leg of it. But if we want to finally end up where we’re supposed to be, if we want to have a successful and exciting journey, we have to begin by first throwing out our maps.

Book Review: Primal: A Quest for the Lost Soul of Christianity, by Mark Batterson  (Multnomah Books, 2009)  Hardcover, 192 pages. $17.99

Sometimes I hate reading Christian books. Often it’s because they are full of fluff and flash, trendy impulses in religious society, pop psychology or even business principles coated with the lipstick of Scripture to make them seem spiritually insightful. This wasn’t the case with Primal. Other times, these types of books are full of insights and truths that demand to be eaten slowly and digested. Not that they’re full of heavy theological concepts you have to dig through with a pickax and shovel, but because they lay bare the core of our souls with the sheer power of the simplicity of truth. This was what made wading through Mark Batterson’s latest book a time consumer. I had to wrestle with it a bit, chew on it, jot down notes for myself — and the result is a book with something underlined on almost every page, with post-it notes sticking out the sides signaling thoughts I’ll want to come back to later.

Inspired by an experience descending a long flight of stairs inside a Roman cathedral into the ancient catacombs where early believers hid from persecutors 2000 years ago, Batterson was struck by the parallel of how layer by layer, the true heart of the Faith has become obscured by centuries of accumulated traditions and institutions. “I couldn’t help but wonder if we have accepted a form of Christianity that is more educated but less powerful, more civilized but less compassionate, more acceptable but less authentic than that which our spiritual ancestors practiced.” His goal: to cut through all the superficialities, and reach back to the primal core beneath. His conclusion: we need to get back to the Great Commandment, “to love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your mind, and with all your soul, and with all your strength” (Mk 12:30). Simplicity itself.

He then uses this verse as an outline to expand and explore ways we can express this primal love for God. The “heart” of Christianity he equates with primal compassion. The “soul” of Christianity is primal wonder; the “mind” of Christianity is primal curiosity; and the “strength” of Christianity is primal energy or work. Get the recurring theme here? At points it seemed like he was hammering “primal” to the point of meaninglessness, when he was really just trying to emphasize “basic” or “core” or “simple” truths, but we’ll cut the guy some slack and allow him a bit of literary license to tie everything together neatly.

I should confess that this emphasis on the word “primal” did mislead me. I was looking for ancient beliefs, uncovering primitive truths, perhaps a creed, something that unified those early believers around the basic tenets of faith — the kerygma, as we used to call it in seminary days. And when Batterson would begin to talk about “holy curiosity” or “wonder” as a vital component of the Faith, the academician in me began shaking my head over and over. “Where does it say that in the Bible?” Curiosity is what empowered those first-century disciples to spread the Gospel to all the known world? Unh-uh. But slowly, as I wrestled with his premises, it suddenly dawned on me that I was reading with entirely the wrong perspective. I needed to take off the theological spectacles, and put on the reading glasses of devotion. He was talking about basic human nature, how we’re designed, how we function, how we express ourselves, and how we experience God through interacting with the world around us — His creation. To ask questions, to let our minds become filled with wonder at the universe God created — those are acts of worship. And in that sense, they are basic to our Faith.

He speaks of these four aspects — compassion, wonder, curiosity, and energy — as a type of spiritual love language. Some of us are more comfortable with one or two of them than we are with others. He admits that he is more naturally inclined toward wonder and curiosity. And I’ll admit that those were the sections that spoke the least to me. My primary languages are apparently compassion and work. These are how the image and love of God are reflected most in me. In every chapter, but especially in those sections, I had to stop every few pages and just let the message seep into my mind. I had to get up, walk around, turn the words over and over in my head, sometimes deeply moved by what he was saying. I found myself muttering repeatedly, “wow — that’s IT!” or “Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve been struggling to put into words all these months.” I discovered new ways of expressing my own personal “love language” to God, new goals for myself, other outlets, new ways of showing compassion, or seeing the importance of working up a sweat for the Kingdom.

When he writes, for example, “if you are in Christ and Christ is in you, you cannot be okay with suffering or injustice or starvation. Why? Because His heart is in you. And His heart beats for the suffering, the victim, the poor, and the needy,” my response is “Of course! That’s why it bugs me so much when I see or hear this ….” Or when he states that “the blessings of God are never ends in themselves. And if we use a blessing selfishly, the blessing actually turns into a curse. The blessings of God are always a means to an end. And the end is blessing others” … I’m nodding my head in agreement, seeing this as the key component missing in the trendy “prosperity gospel” message. And when he talks about Jacob, how he went to sleep in Luz but woke up in Bethel, all because his angelic vision changed his perspective, my appreciation increased for wonder and how a new vision can allow you to see more clearly God at work in your life. I especially liked his perspective on divine synergy, that partnership between us and God that makes the impossible possible. Using Albert Einstein’s famous formula, E=MC2, he illustrates the principle of real effectiveness: Energy (results, doing the impossible) comes from matter (our puny human efforts) multiplied by the speed of light squared (God’s power: God is light!). “Our human effort plus His divine power equals supernatural synergy.” The book is full of examples from science, business, and history to highlight the points Batterson is making. That’s his forte. And page after page offered up nuggets of truth, new and old insights described in a way that make them fresh and relevant on a personal level.

Not every chapter spoke as personally to me as others, but once I got on the same wavelength with the author, ideas and images leapt off the pages, sometimes planting seeds of new concepts I wasn’t yet ready for, and other times resonating with truths that I’ve discovered in my own life, reinforcing them. This book didn’t uncover an ancient creed of Christianity — at least not in the formal sense. But stripping off the layers of our intellectual sophistication and tapping again into the simplicity of what it means to be a human in relationship with the Creator of the universe, the book does in a real sense get us back to the “primal” focus of our Faith. Though it may be expressed in multiple ways, the lost soul of Christianity is simply loving God with all that makes us who we are. And Mark Batterson draws our attention back to the original simplicity in how it can be done.

_____________

Mark Batterson is lead pastor of National Community Church in Washington, DC, which focuses on reaching emerging generations and meets in movie theaters at metro stops throughout the D.C. area.  He is the author of In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day (2006) and Wild Goose Chase (2008).  He’s also an avid blogger and tweater. You can follow him on Facebook or his blog, evotional.com.

This review is part of the “Primal Blog Tour”, a promotional effort where several hundred writers were given a copy of the book and asked to publish a review on their blogs as a way of spreading the word about its new release.  Primal may be purchased from your local bookstore, or by ordering directly from Random House.

End of the year hub-bub. Last minute Christmas shopping. Projects piling up, demanding to be finished by year’s end. Commitments. Social invitations and requests. Church events. Year-end giving solicitations streaming non-stop in the mail and email. And stress over the mounting credit card usage over the holidays. “Was that really a wise purchase?”

I woke up this morning a little stressed. Not the panicky kind; just the feeling of being a little over-stretched. Praying for God’s mercy and help in covering my already-dangerously extended finances. Yeah, nothing new there for most of us, right? And in the middle of my wildly rambling thoughts, even before my first cup of coffee, a word popped into my head. “Relax.” May have been God or maybe not. Maybe it was just me, reminding myself of truths I should already know so well. And I immediately caught an image of Jesus standing in a boat surrounded by rushing winds and tossing waves: “Peace. Be still.”

It’s possible Jesus used the word so often uttered by frenzied Hebrew parents to their children: “shekket!” Be quiet — or as we’d probably say in America, “shut up!”

The waves in our lives don’t always respond immediately like they did for him. This morning, that word applied more to me, to the raging winds inside my own head, more than to the external circumstances I was considering. And maybe that’s how it is most of the time. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.” Doesn’t mean problems and stressors suddenly vanish. It doesn’t mean we’re suddenly transported to fields of daisies, with sparkling streams and deer leaping in the distance. We know that. In fact we’re told from the outset, “in this world you will have trouble” — but we’re also encouraged, “don’t worry about tomorrow”, “be anxious for nothing”, “cast all your cares upon him.” It’s not about having a life of smooth sailing. It’s not about being organized and well-controlled, having all our ducks in a row, all the details worked out, or having our business properly taken care of. It’s about knowing that DESPITE all those things, we can relax. We’re not alone in all the mess, and these things can’t touch us deep inside unless we let them.

Some of those pressing issues in our lives will work themselves out with a little effort on our part. Like sudden storms, they eventually subside, and things return to normal. Some things won’t. Not everything works out the way we’d like, and some things get broken beyond repair. But that’s okay. If we can somehow manage to lift our eyes off the waves crashing around us, if we can focus on the bigger picture — Jesus in the boat with us, and his unshakeable, eternal love buried deep inside us — maybe those waves wouldn’t torment us as much. Is that truth gonna pay my bills, or sort out the priorities on my task list? Probably not. But it does mean that I don’t have to freak out over them. I can keep my peace. I can keep a grip on my sanity, calm my nerves, take a deep breath, and shake the tendrils of those worries off my soul. I can choose to relax.

Hey, it’s not the most supernatural, earth-shattering revelation one can have. But this morning, even before my first cup of coffee, I can get a grip on my day before it gets a grip on me. I can tap into that divine source of stability and speak “shekket” over myself. And isn’t that part of the whole Christmas message? “On earth, PEACE.”

Jesus called this morning. He says he isn’t in your boat for nothing. He wants you to relax.

———
John 16:33; Mt 6:31-34; Phil 4:6; 1 Pet 5:7

A few minutes ago, as I was reading a note from my mom about the “joy unspeakable and full of glory” that is the heart of Christmas, I was struck by an image of the excitement in heaven over the birth of Jesus some 2000 years ago.  God himself, I suddenly realized, had looked forward to that day.  Set before the creation of the universe, he planned to come down and walk among humans again — this time in a form even more intimate than he had with Adam in the Garden. 
 
Several years ago, in a moment of quiet gratitude to God for sacrificing his Son for our benefit, I was given a quick glimpse of insight into God’s perspective.  I thanked him not just for his suffering and death, but knowing that he’d wear a body (even if glorified) for eternity because once he took on humanity, he was stuck with it forever.  And as I expressed my gratitude for him taking such great measures to bring us back, he answered very simply, “It was my pleasure.”  With those four short words, I understood in a flash that it was his great joy to walk with us again.  It was so much his desire to be with us and for us to be with him that it was a sheer joy for him to come down and be with us in the flesh.  But I didn’t realize until just now, that God had eagerly looked forward to that day from the dawn of eternity.  Like the expression Jesus used speaking to his disciples about how he had looked forward to that last Passover with them, “with desire, I have desired to eat this with you,” it was with that same great intensity of desire and anticipation that God himself waited for the day when he could take on humanity himself, and walk with us — just to BE with us, and for us to experience him in a tangible way.  He felt such great joy at the prospect of the manger, of that great cataclysmic eruption of the divine personhood into this mundane reality.  It was his great pleasure, and all heaven exploded in celebration at that moment.  “EMMANUEL ! — With us, God!”  So powerful was the explosion that angelic hosts appeared visibly in the night sky.  The fabric of space and time was torn, the dimensions collided.  It was like a star exploding, a super nova.  The only precedent to the immensity of this event was the very first moment of Creation when God spoke the Word and an explosion of light filled the universe, and the very substance of everything that is in our world, our reality, came into existence.  This time, God himself, piercing through the barrier separating heaven from earth, took on flesh, to walk, talk, and touch his beloved — us.  He’d been waiting eons for that moment, and savored it with such pleasure.
 
The Cross, as essential as it is for our redemption and restoration, was a small price to pay in his eyes for the sheer joy of reuniting with us, and having us be able to spend eternity with him — as he’d originally intended.  Like birth pains in reverse.  Those hours of pain and agony at the Crucifixion he would gladly suffer for the joy set before him.  And that joy was US.

That was my brief Christmas revelation, and I wanted to share it with you all.  As we celebrate the birth of Christ, the redeemer of mankind, let’s also remember the heart of Our Father that motivated this occasion. He did it for us — for the joy of YOUR company.  The message of Christmas he earnestly wants you to hear: You are greatly loved.

Merry Christmas, indeed!

A friend and I were having lunch yesterday when he announced that he was creating a list of thought-provoking questions to challenge Christians to rethink some of their conventional and comfortable positions. The topics ranged from “who can be a Christian” to “must a Christian tithe” to social and political agendas in the church. This morning, I read an article about a group of conservative ministers who went to Washington DC to protest against the recent expansion of hate-crimes legislation to include crimes committed against people based on their personal sexual preferences. The ministers actually WANTED to get arrested, to prove that Christianity was under attack and that Christians were being persecuted and prevented from exercising their faith.  The article left a foul taste in my mouth. I am an American, and more importantly, I am child of God, touched by His grace and filled with His Spirit. And nothing in their behavior represented me, my faith, or (from my perspective) my Lord.

As Americans, everyone has the right to voice his or her opinion about social issues and to try to influence legislation. I understand that conservatives may feel that their traditional values are being eroded in 21st Century America. And I can understand how some pastors may feel the compulsion to protect their flocks by taking action against what they perceive to be immoral forces at work in the world — I understand the pastoral instinct to protect. But I do not understand the motivation, the anger, the hostility, the provocation in stirring up political dissent.

In American history, great social movements have been lead by church leaders: the Quaker abolitionists fighting against slavery in the 1800s, hard-line Protestant preachers calling for Prohibition to combat the evils of alcoholism, leaders on both sides of the issue shouting over the rights of women to vote, or protesting for and against segregation of whites and blacks. Even in our own romanticized American Revolution, preachers played a significant role in urging the people to action (again, both for and against). But does that make it right? The fact that in each of these cases men of faith and integrity arduously fought on opposite sides of the cause, quoting Scripture and the divine will of God as their defense, ought to make us question the legitimacy of mixing faith and politics. As the Apostle Paul said, “we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against … spiritual forces”. And Jesus himself stated at the very birth of Christianity, before his death, that his Kingdom was not of this world, that if it was, his followers would fight — and indeed the angels themselves could be enjoined to battle for the cause. But this is not who we are. This is not what we are to be about.

Did Jesus speak out against the decadent Roman culture? Did Peter or James or John or Paul stir up the flock for political action, or call for change in the social order?

“I must be about my Father’s business.”
“My food is to do the will of Him who sent me, and to finish his work.”
“This is my commandment: Love one another.”
“Jesus of Nazareth went about doing good, and healing all who were oppressed by the devil.”
“Go into all the world and make disciples, teaching them to observe everything I have commanded you.”
“These signs will be the mark of those who believe: in my name, they will cast out devils, they will speak with new tongues … they will lay hands on the sick for healing.”

This is our job, this is our mission. To make disciples. To love. To heal. To set captives free from the bondage of sin and death. To proclaim the FAVOR of God. To call for repentance, that all people should return to God, and then announce that holy reconciliation has occurred: Mankind brought back into full fellowship with God by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Anything else for a minister is a distraction. A waste of time. A hindrance to the purposes of God. And if I may speak boldly, it is prostitution. Men and women of God are called to higher purposes: the salvation of humanity, and the maturity of the saints.

As citizens of a great republic, we have the right — even the civic duty — to voice our convictions and to vote according to our consciences. But we must never dare to drag the name of our Exalted Lord into this worldly effort. He never authorized us to act for him in this arena. Not once. His instructions are clear. And they are already more than we can handle, already more than enough for us to do. Let congregations — even pastors — march on Washington. But don’t wave the banner of the Cross in your crusade. It is not a holy fight. And, as shepherds of His flock, commissioned with a sacred trust, if that’s where your energies and efforts are devoted, then you have lost your first love. You have gone AWOL from your duty, and abandoned your calling. We walk in two worlds, and we must never confuse the two.

Is there such a thing as Christian politics? Not according to my reading of Scripture.

To get good at anything always means risking being bad at it at first. And one of the biggest things that separates the two stages is overcoming our fear of failing.

A while back I wrote about that famous scene in the Gospels where Jesus comes walking on the water in the midst of a storm to his disciples huddled terrified in a boat, and Peter tried his hand at water-walking too (Walking on Water). I noticed 3 things in Peter’s successful adventure: his chutzpah, the divine go-ahead, and his reckless obedience. Most of us will probably never actually get to stroll across a lake without the help of some floatation device, but we’ve all got our own version of tempestuous seas to deal with. And our biggest hurdle in becoming good at water-walking is almost always taking that initial step out of the boat. It’s the first — and maybe the biggest — test of who succeeds and who doesn’t: who’s got the guts to try? And the invisible ropes that keep people tied to the safety and comfort of the boat are their fears: fear of looking foolish, and fear of failing. Fear is natural. Everybody has it; everybody has to deal with it. But if we want to be like Peter, we can’t let our fears stop us. We’ve got to overcome them or remain permanently stuck where we are.

A few weeks ago, my pastor asked me to do something. Actually, after he casually mentioned one day a new program he wanted to implement, I grabbed the initiative and asked if I could help with it. I have to admit that thoughts of looking presumptuous crossed my mind. We hadn’t known each other very long, and it wasn’t like he was asking for help; it was just a plan for the future. And how do you tell someone you think that job has your name written all over it without sounding a bit boastful or with an ego that could stand some readjusting? But sensing that this project was something related to my particular gifts and calling, I summoned my chutzpah and made the offer. A few days later, after I assume some prayerful consideration, he told he felt I was the right man for the job.

Okay, great. Now I’m stuck; no backing out now. I was excited about the prospect: a new door, a new opportunity, room for growth, and a bold step in the direction I’m looking to take my life. But I was (and am) also terrified. It’s going to take a lot of work on my part; it’s going to take a lot of time, and it’s going to be inconvenient. And it could bomb. I could fail miserably. Then, not only would I look a little foolish, but it could also throw open the door for a lot of confusion and self-doubt about my abilities, my gifts, my calling, and my dreams for the future. In reality, it may be no big deal, but from my perspective here and now, at the very beginning of this journey, it has the intimidating look and feel of my own personal little stormy sea. Do I step out of the boat and risk putting my weight on that one foot dangling in the water, or do I jerk back, withdraw my offer, and pretend like it all never happened?

But I’ve been asking God for bigger things, for a life that is more impactful, more helpful, and more fulfilling. How ever this thing may ultimately turn out, I’m committed to doing it. And if I fail, I fail. But I will fail spectacularly and aggressively. And if I succeed, well, I’ll have taken that long sought after “next step” into my future, others will be better trained and equipped to deal with their own gifts and callings, even more people will be touched in turn by them, and God’s presence and power will penetrate more aggressively on this planet.

“The Kingdom of Heaven is forcefully advancing, and forceful people lay hold of it” (Mt 11:12) — but only if we overcome our fear of failing and take that first tenuous step out of the boat.

( Originally written for Whosoever Magazine, this recaps and updates my continuing journey into “Radical Acceptance” )

There’s something so appealing about the story in the Gospels of the poor widow throwing her two copper coins into the temple treasury, in contrast to the larger sums donated by wealthy patrons. It’s such a simple concept, anyone can understand it. Who can’t see the powerful message about how sacrifice — personal and real, not quantitative — is so meaningful to God? And Jesus, in his usual pithy style, summarizes it neatly for us: “Truly, this poor widow put in more than all of them” (Luke 21:3). Sometimes less really is more.

Most of us have probably put this into practice at some point in our spiritual journeys: giving some portion of our paycheck already stretched too tightly, knowing (or at least hoping) that God notices how much of a sacrifice our pittance really is to us. And of course this principle applies in other areas of life as well; like, staying on the phone when we’re really pressed for time, trying to listen compassionately while the person on the other end explains in endless, tedious detail the latest drama they’re going through. Or interrupting our too-busy schedule to help a friend in need, or giving up the last portion of our reserve energy at the end of a long day to chip in with some worthy project. Sometimes the degree of sacrifice is greater than at other times. But I’m learning another side of this “giving a little” principle.

Recently I’ve discovered that contributing less of myself, of my highly (self-)esteemed talents and skills and intellect, can actually lead me to be of greater value and service to God’s Kingdom. Sometimes putting ourselves on hold for a while, and just being available and cooperative gives God an opportunity to use us in greater ways than our own abilities ever would have allowed — when giving our “all” actually interferes with our effectiveness, and our efforts get in the way of real results. Typical of many Kingdom dynamics, the application of this spiritual principle is the exact reverse of how things work in the natural realm.

A few months ago, in an effort to be of greater use to God, and (to be perfectly honest) to find a more personally fulfilling function in life, I stepped outside my immediate comfort zone and deliberately began attending a different church, one I was confident I’d have difficulty adapting to. I knew I was becoming complacent — practically, even if not deliberately. Like those rich temple donors of Jesus’ time, I was giving (participating) at a level that was not much of a sacrifice. I was comfortable, but I was also minimally productive for the Kingdom. And during prayer one day, I realized that I’d need stretching a bit if I was ever going to move beyond my current position of mediocrity. In my case, the area God showed me was the personal limits and barriers I’d erected around myself. I’d been bench-warming in a predominantly white, middle-class, evangelical, straight congregation for a number of years. Not much challenging going on there. And there was a young church I’d seen advertised in the “Pride” issue of the local metro magazine a month or so earlier that stuck in my mind: “go there; check them out.” I was reluctant. It was obviously a progressive church with a gay-affirming theology, and while “gay” and “Christian” were by no means antithetical in my mind, I was a little intimidated by the prospect of people dressing and behaving in ways entirely different than I was used to. Admittedly, this was a bias based on sweeping stereotypes, but I’d visited a few “gay churches” in years past and never felt like they were places I’d want to hang my hat.

After visiting a few times, I quickly came to the end of my own efforts at tolerance. I was exhausted. Oh, not that there was anything traumatizing or even very taxing to me going on at the church. It really wasn’t all that different from what I was used to. I was just trying too hard to be accepting, to not cringe when someone said or did something that wouldn’t have fit comfortably in my previous church. I was analyzing the sermons for signs of unorthodoxy. I was looking twice at church events to see if they would pass the “conformity” test. I inspected and challenged my reactions to certain individuals. And, although it was hard to admit to myself, I worried a little about what colleagues would think if they discovered I was associated with this church. All a part of my personality — for better and for worse. I was drawn to this place, I knew the Spirit was working inside me, but the stress of change was wearing me out. Driving to morning service on my fourth Sunday, I could feel the walls beginning to go up again. I was bracing myself for the experience. And suddenly, almost instinctively, I just checked myself:  No, I’m leaving the walls down. “Lord, let me love people as YOU love people; let me accept them as you accept them. Let my words and actions be your words, your actions.” I just let all the effort go. Less of me; more of God.

Without fully realizing it, I began cooperating with the change instead of resisting it, and part of that cooperation was learning to just relax and enjoy the ride. More than an active effort of trying to rise to the occasion and practice unconditional acceptance, I did the opposite. I didn’t “try” anything. I just let the walls down, and allowed whatever would happen to happen. And that Sunday turned out great. There was no pressure to “be good” or “not be judgmental”; there was just a relaxed attitude of taking things and people “as is”. And it’s amazing how much easier things are when you’re not the one trying to make everything right. I was more at ease with my new acquaintances; I readily hugged them, I was more conversant and caring. It was as if the love of God was flowing through me without being impeded by my own personality. And I thoroughly enjoyed the service.

That Sunday was the turning point for me. It was the day I finally fully connected with the church, the pastor, and the people. I knew that’s where I belonged — and where I’d be the most useful. I’m more plugged-in now, more involved, more giving, and more bold to seize the initiative and pray with those who need it. And I have a deeper love for the people. When I pray with them, I can feel God’s heart reaching out to them — to His people, his flock — and I’m so happy to be a part of that. Not only that, but in contrast to what I’d originally expected, I’ve met some incredible people, saints with a genuine desire to serve God, whose hearts are hungry for him and whose vision is not narrowed by years sequestered in traditional circles. More than that, God’s seal of approval is so evident by the strong presence of his Holy Spirit each Sunday. The place has become my home, and I am discovering what the Apostle Paul meant when he prayed that we might know “the riches of God’s glorious inheritance in the saints” (Eph 1:18). The people I was at first concerned about have become sources of blessing to me.  My life is richer now because I brought less of me.

This experience began by simply making myself available to God. I put myself “out there.” And I gradually reached the stage of bringing less of myself into the picture — less of my fears, my biases, my preconceptions, my inhibitions and insecurities, even my gifts — and allowed more of God to operate in me and through me.

And that is another facet to our tiny offering actually being more meaningful — and more productive — to God. When we stretch beyond our limits, we increase our possibilities. By simply placing ourselves outside our comfort zones, when we force ourselves out of our areas of complacency, and let our guards down, that’s where the real power of God can begin to flow. That’s what unleashes the greater blessing — to ourselves as well as those around us. By bringing less of ourselves into the picture, more of God can shine through us. And when that happens, less really is more.

We are the “Faith” generation. Many of us who surfed the wave of “Word-Faith” teaching that swept explosively through the Church in the 1980s and ’90s have since found our balance point in life. As with any fresh movement of the Spirit, there were excesses, misunderstandings, and actions out of spiritual immaturity unchecked by the wisdom and experience of older saints. But millions of believers around the world found a new vitality with God that had been absent so long in their traditional church upbringing. I was one of them.

Life teaches you — if you let it. If you have “eyes to see and ears to hear”. We grow; we learn. Part of my journey was learning a comfortable “fit” for faith in my life. I discovered over time that I couldn’t simply express a desire to God, flip the switch of faith on in my heart, speak the word, claim the promise, and watch the results roll in. It didn’t always work for me. And for someone who takes the Bible very seriously, that was a problem. What do you do when you stand on a verse that reads “if you ask anything in my name, I will do it”, or “whatever you desire when you pray, believe that you have received it and you will have it” — and then it doesn’t occur? Any wise saint will tell you that you can’t pull verses out of context at will and make them work for you. Every verse has its place in the entirety of Scripture, and unless you’re reading it in that whole spectrum of light, you’re bound to go astray. Jesus said “if you abide in me and my words abide in you, ask what you will …” (John 15:7). And that about sums it up. Your prayers, your wishes, have to come from a position of being one with Jesus. They have to line up with his will. Isn’t that what “in Jesus’ name” really means? You can’t ask for something in his name if it’s not something he wants or approves of. Like when Peter healed the paralytic who had been bedridden for 8 years: “Jesus Christ heals you. Now, get up and make your bed” (Act 9:34). As a believer, you are entitled to use his name, but it’s Jesus’ power, his authority, so you gotta have his permission first.

With that nugget of truth in hand, it is difficult for me to ask for a specific thing in faith unless I know specifically that it is God’s will for me at that moment. Even with things I know in general are his will. I know, for example, that it is God’s will that we be well, healed, strong and healthy. I can cite you a handful of Scripture passages to back up that assertion. But how many times on his way into the temple had Jesus passed by and not healed the same crippled man later healed by Peter and John in his name (Acts 3)? How many times have I prayed for healing (for myself and for others) and the healing did not manifest? There is a right time and place, a right state of heart and position in life, even for those things that line up with God’s general will. So, in my experience, I learned that simply “claiming a promise” was not always sufficient. I needed a direct word from God on the matter before that claim carried any weight.

Otherwise, expectation can get you in trouble sometimes. That was the problem with my faith. I could define what I wanted — you know, go to God with a specific request for a specific outcome. Like going through that period of my life when I switched career paths and had to reinvent myself. I’d apply for jobs I wanted, and because I was confident of God’s blessing, I expected to get them. But many of them fell through, and I was left to deal with the bitter disappointment and the shaking of my faith. Too specific an expectation without a direct leading can really mess you up. But when I stopped trying to force specific outcomes, when I did the leg work but left the results in God’s hands, that allowed God to move me in directions he wanted me to go, and I would be excited and surprised by the unexpected places he took me. That slight difference in perspective made all the difference. When I did not have a definite word from Heaven, I switched from expectation to anticipation.

We used to sing this little ditty in church years ago, and I love it to this day. “I anticipate the inevitable, supernatural intervention of God, I expect a miracle. I expect a miracle. I expect a mir-a-cle.” (Yeah, it comes across better with music. ) It always summons up images for me of the Israelites as they’re leaving Egypt, chased by the Egyptian army, and blocked by the Red Sea. They didn’t know what God was going to do; they didn’t know how he was going to save them. In fact, most of them were sure they were going to die. But a handful of brave souls had faith in the promises of God. They did not have faith for a specific result, but they waited eagerly (sweating profusely, I’m sure), anticipating SOMETHING supernatural. And that’s the key. Without a definite leading from God, we shouldn’t “expect” definite things — but we SHOULD “anticipate” his inevitable intervention. We may not know what it is, but we know he’ll do something. “Holy Anticipation” is putting your faith in GOD, trusting in his love and faithfulness — not trying to dictate a desired outcome.

A “Facebook friend” of mine who pastors a large church in Washington, DC wrote today that the theaters they’ve been holding services in for 13 years now are being closed down. He wrote of his mixed emotions as one chapter of the church’s life closes and another is about to begin, not knowing yet what God is up to. He says, “Despite the sadness and craziness, I have a holy anticipation about what’s next. I’m [only] sure of two things. I’ll grow as a leader through this — and I embrace that challenge. And we’ll grow as a congregation. It’s not the way I would have written the script, but it’s good for us. We’re gonna follow the cloud and the cloud is moving!” As much as my limited spiritual experience tells me, he’s on the right track. He isn’t projecting the next step. He isn’t claiming a specific new site for his church — at least not yet. All he knows right now is that God is doing something — the cloud is moving — and he is anticipating a miracle.

Our faith can be expressed in both these ways. Expectation is appropriate when God has instructed us what his intentions are for us in a situation. But when we don’t know, when we are in a bind and just looking to God for a solution — like the Israelites, trapped between the Egyptian army and the Red Sea — that’s the time for faithful anticipation.

For most of us, those are the moments we most often live in: uncertainty about the specifics yet. But those are perhaps the moments of our greatest faith, and we need to just hang in there, waiting with excitement and open eyes, so we can see the amazing thing God is about to do!

Everybody likes getting an award.  We all like a little recognition now and then, holding the spotlight for our “15 minutes of fame.”  President Obama got another taste of that yesterday when he was unexpectedly awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.  Instantly, Democrats and Republicans, conservatives and liberals, pundits and the man on the street all began lining up, debating whether the president deserved it, taking pot shots at him and at each other.  And there’s the president, in the center of the fire pit, dancing on the hot coals, trying to figure out how to handle this inconvenient honor.  With all the uproar, it really makes you think: maybe there are some honors not worth having.

As I sat in front of the TV watching the talking-heads on the various news channels argue endlessly about this latest sensation, a few observations became evident.

1. Praise and recognition from others is ultimately empty and worthless.  Yeah, we all like the spotlight once in a while, the pat on the back; it can be good for our egos.  But the most frequent argument heard after the Nobel Committee’s announcement was that President Obama hadn’t done anything to deserve the Prize — at least not yet.  And for many conservatives, it made the Committee look ridiculous, and the Prize itself meaningless.  As one-sided as that perspective may be, it does accurately represent a core truth: praise from other people is essentially valueless.  People are fickle. They can withdraw their respect just as quickly as they gave it. Depending on how we effect them at any given moment, people can love us or hate us, and they can move from one extreme to the other with remarkable agility.  I think of holy week in the New Testament as a perfect case in point.  Jesus enters Jerusalem on a donkey, the streets lined with people shouting “Hosanna” and throwing down their coats and palm branches before him in adoration and expectation.  Five days later, they’re screaming “Crucify him!” at the tops of their voices, and lining the streets once again to watch him — this time on his way to Golgotha, carrying a cross on his back.  All those palm fronds were pretty meaningless at that moment.  As an old seminary friend used to say all too often, “They’ll praise you on Palm Sunday and crucify you on Good Friday.”  Striving for short-lived esteem and honor in other people’s eyes is just not worth the effort.  Those “15 minutes” end all too quickly, and when they’re over we’re usually no better off than before — and sometimes we’re worse.

2. Prizes can put you in the uncomfortable position of having to live up to other people’s expectations.  President Obama, for better or for worse, now has the burden of having to live up to this high honor bestowed on him.  He’s got to perform.  He’s got to achieve great things or risk future condemnation for being a great disappointment and failure.  And this can have the unanticipated effect of causing him to adjust his coarse or change his existing agenda to accommodate those expectations.  This could be true for any of us.  Suddenly we’ll find our priorities shifting, our objectives being modified ever so slightly to fall in line with our new honored status.  Unconsciously, we can begin acting in ways we think would justify the prize, to prove that we deserved it.  Worse, it can throw us into self-doubt, causing us to question our own motives.  Are we doing something because we want to, because it’s in line with our goals and purpose, or are we now doing it to garner further attention?  And Lord help us if the award was given out of manipulation in a deliberate effort to cause us to act differently.  As the president already recognized, the Nobel Peace Prize has sometimes been given “as a means to give momentum to a set of causes … as a call to action,” as encouragement and incentive to behave in a certain way.  Images of puppeteers and marionettes come to mind.

3. Prizes can incite jealousy and active competitiveness in others who may try to sabotage us.  Unfortunately, we’ve already seen this in our political arenas.  Some Republicans are doing anything they can to make Obama fail — in every area, at any cost.  While some may be driven by ideological differences, much of the resistance is motivated by sheer spite and animosity.  They’ve become obstructionists, going to extreme efforts to hinder any progress or success.  As Florida Congressman Alan Grayson recently complained, if Obama cured world hunger, Republicans would blame him for over-population; if Obama were able to bring about world peace, Republicans would blame him for destroying the defense industry. Nothing brings out competitiveness and resistance in petty people like a little recognition. And although it may be true that if they’re shooting at you, you must be doing the right thing, no one needs any extra unnecessary obstacles to achieving their goals.

All this tells me that winning prizes can be a dangerous thing, and doing anything for the sake of — or as the result of — public recognition and award can be very destructive. Does this mean we should shun honors at any cost?  Of course not. But it highlights the necessity of not letting those honors go to your head or influence you in any way.  It’s the old “you cannot serve two masters” situation. You cannot follow your higher calling or fulfill your life’s real purpose and pursue fame and glory at the same time.  Public recognition may come as a result of your great work, but it is a trap, and we need to carry that trophy with caution.

Instead of temporary glory, we ought to pursue a life of true significance, to make a positive difference in the world around us. We should focus on what’s really important, not what’s popular. And that’s as simple as loving God and helping others.  Then our reward will be a deep sense of personal fulfillment and satisfaction, a feeling of purpose, contentment and well-being that lasts well beyond a measly 15 minutes. Those kinds of pursuits genuinely benefit us and those around us — and carry forward into the life to come.  And I’ll take that over a Nobel any day.
———–
“No servant can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.” Now the Pharisees, who were lovers of money, were listening to all these things and were scoffing at Him.  And He said to them, “You are those who justify yourselves in the sight of men, but God knows your hearts; for what is highly esteemed among men is detestable in the sight of God.” (Luke 16:13-15)

I’m tired. Not physically, but mentally, maybe a bit emotionally. And I know why. I’ve deliberately put myself in a place requiring a change in my attitudes, in my perspective, in my limited world-view. It’s part of the “Radical Acceptance” journey. But I’ll tell you what: change is tiring. It can be exhausting. And part of me really just wants to back out, withdraw to my former comfort zone, and find some peace.

Peace is good. But it’s a state of mind, not a goal. I mean, if we seek to always “find” peace, we’ll never put ourselves in any kind of stressful situation — situations that cause us to grow. Instead, we’re supposed to stretch ourselves, step outside our immediate and little lives, and wrestle with life. It’s in the struggles that we discover our true character, and it’s only after a great struggle that we can really appreciate our victory. And somehow, by holding God’s hand through the struggle, through the unsettling changes, there we find peace and security. He is there with us in it all, and we can always fall back on his love and support even when everything around us is being shaken up. We find peace in him, not necessarily in our circumstances.

So, I can’t back out. I can’t go back to my familiar church, to comfy environments, and non-threatening people. I’ve whined too often in the past (at least in my prayers) about wanting change, wanting something new, to see God’s love for real and to experience his power and his presence outside just my prayer closet. People who work with the poor and oppressed, the Mother Teresa types, often talk about finding Jesus in the faces of those they serve. I’m not in their league. I haven’t put myself out that far. I’m just stretching a LITTLE right now. And I’ve met some truly wonderful people, people with genuine hearts of gold, people who care, and who desire to serve God and their fellow human beings. Along with them, I’ve met some who are a little rough around the edges, and I often seem to slice my fingers a little on those edges. But hey, I’m no well-polished saint by any means either, and I know some them have grimaced at some of my comments, been abrased by my rough edges. Guess we’re in a mutual blood bath right now. Eventually, I expect, calluses will form on both sides, and we’ll get used to each other. But for now, I just have to gut it out. Hey, if they can put up with me, I can certainly learn to accommodate some of them. Who knows? When I can truly walk in that “radical acceptance”, when I can genuinely love people without wanting to trim off the edges that grate me the wrong way, or recast them in my own image, I may actually become of some use or make some kind of real contribution.

My mom sent an email today, commenting on Oswald Chamber’s remark that “No amount of enthusiasm (worked up zeal) will ever stand up to the strain that Jesus Christ will put upon His servant.”  She said that a desire to serve God is not enough to keep us going, nor will our lives demonstrate a real love of God. Our desire alone will not be able “to stand the strain” that Christ puts upon His disciples. We need a revelation of Him, who He is, and what He has done for the sin problem in our lives. We need the Holy Spirit moving and working within us, motivating us. In other words, we can’t do it in our own strength.

And I guess that’s where I’m at right now. I was motivated by my desire to see a change in my life, to actually make a difference in this world and in the lives of people around me. I wanted to be an agent for the Kingdom, a useful tool in God’s hands to help his people. And prompted by a little revelation that I needed to learn how to love people as they are (not as how I’d like them to be), I’ve stepped out a little, and moved into a circle where I see God at work, where I know his heart is. But God’s work can be ugly sometimes — at least to us. It’s definitely got its challenges. And I’ve gone as far as my own “desire” can take me. I need to experience the master’s hand recrafting my heart, touching my mind, opening my eyes. I need the Holy Spirit working within me before he can effectively work through me. I’m gonna need his strength to get me through to where he wants me, to where he can use me. Because I’m tired. Change is hard, and sometimes I just don’t want to exert the energy.

But nothing worth anything ever comes easily. Change takes guts. Success, achievement, and a fulfilling life don’t come to those who sit comfortably on the sidelines. If you want to make a real difference, you gotta stop resisting the stretching, and cooperate with the change. Even when you’re tired. Reminds me of what the Apostle Paul said when he was worn out: “when I am weak, then am I strong.”  I’m on a new road now, changing lanes from ones that point to familiarity, comfort and security, to ones that lead to new horizons, increased usefulness, and greater personal fulfillment.  I’m taking the exit out of familiar territory.  And yeah, it’s a little taxing.  A little more demanding.  But the “same ole, same ole” just isn’t working for me anymore.  And I’m really curious to see where this road takes me.  I’m gonna need more of God’s strength to see me through some of the turns ahead, but I guess that’s not a bad road to be on after all.