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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.

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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.

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.

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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.
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“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.

This little adventure into “Radical Acceptance” and checking out this new church is making me think about a lot of things, and rethink a lot of others. And that’s a good thing.

I’m not generally a touchy-feely kind of guy. At least not with people I barely know, and certainly not with people I’ve just met. So if I meet you in person for the first time, you can safely expect a hardy handshake. Pastor Neill is not like me. He’s a hugger. Worse, he’s a kisser. Me? I tend to think that kissing is reserved for loved ones. It’s an act of intimacy shared with only a few — despite my years in the Middle East where public displays of affection were the norm. So that first Sunday at church as the congregants filed out the door, and the pastor normally (in my experience) shakes everybody’s hand, offering a kind word on the way out, I was caught a little off guard when Neill gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. I quickly regained a grip on my composure, smiled, made some off the cuff pleasant remark, and went on my merry way. Okay, so that’s just him; no big deal. A little odd, maybe, but no big deal.

I’ve had a few lunches with him since then, trying to get to know the guy better, to figure out what’s his deal, where he’s coming from, where he’s going, and most importantly, if I want to hitch my wagon to this train. So I’ve got questions. And with years of theological training under my belt, I’ve got a lot of them. Sure, I was knocked off balance by the audacity of his vision and approach to church, but was it really kosher enough for me to make this my new home? And the hugging/kissing issue came up during one of those lunchtime conversations. I don’t remember his precise explanation so I may be mischaracterizing him, but I was left with the impression that it all ties back to making people feel welcomed, loved, and accepted. But the truth might just be a lot simpler: that’s just the kind of guy he is and how he expresses himself.

I didn’t waste a whole lot of time analyzing it. Like I said, it might not be my style, but it’s really no big deal. But today I did start thinking about it again. Isn’t this really inappropriate? Isn’t it crossing that line of intimacy that should be reserved for loved ones?

And then it came to me. That is exactly the case. The whole mission of the Church should be to bring God’s love into this world, to show people that they are accepted and loved, and to mirror that love in real life. As a pastor, Neill is the visible representation of Jesus on the earth. We all are, of course, but as “leader” of a church, he is in a more conspicuous role. For better or for worse, people do look at spiritual leaders differently; they expect more of them and hold them to a higher standard. And in that capacity, as the representative of Jesus, shouldn’t he act like Jesus would? And doesn’t God actually (not just conceptually) love everyone? Wouldn’t he want them welcomed and embraced as intimately as he knows them? Suddenly I saw the kissing in a whole new light. Jesus knows every person who walks in those church doors, and he loves them dearly. Wouldn’t he kiss them? (I mean, I know he’d kiss me, right?) If the pastor’s goal — our goal — is to tend the flock in Jesus’ place, then what better way to show the people that they are loved than to treat them like close family? What better way in this world of hurting people to say “you are loved” — even though we’ve just met?

Okay, I’m not too likely to pick up this habit, but it does make me want to reconsider hugging. On any given day, a significant percentage of the people sitting in the pews will be hurting, will be going through some hard times. And in congregations comprised of people regularly rejected by family, society, and especially the church, that percentage will be even higher. The need to model God’s love is all the more urgent. And an innocent hug or kiss on the cheek becomes all the more significant. It might be just what they need at that moment.

So the next time the pastor gives me the holy greeting, I’ll try to restrain my initial reaction, accept it for what it is, and offer up a quiet prayer. “Thank you, Jesus, for your love.”

Just one more factor to consider in rethinking how we do church.

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“Greet one another with a holy kiss.”  (Rom 16:16; 1 Cor 16:20; 1 Thes 5:26; 1 Peter 5:14)

“Tried out a new church today. Jesus was there. It was a very nice welcome.” That was my Facebook status a few weeks ago after I’d decided to strike out on a new adventure.

When you’re restless, when you’re bored, when you’re tired of the same thing day in and day out, you start looking for something new. And that’s where I’ve been, oh, I don’t know, for the past two years or so. And with that latest revelation that my next step would either be helped or hindered by how I handled “radical acceptance”, I was keeping my eyes (and my options) open. So I decided to start by trying out a few new churches. I like to do that periodically anyway, just to keep tabs on what’s out there, but now I was doing it with an eye toward a real change, not just a temporary change of scenery.

I should first clarify that my ecclesiastical wandering eye was not the result of some turmoil or blow up at the church I’d been attending for the past five or six years. I wasn’t mad at the pastor, there were no quarrels with members of the congregation, and there was no conflict driving me out. I was simply looking to stretch myself, find new growing opportunities, and I’d become comfortable and too complacent there. It was time to shake the tree a little and see what fell out.

So after revisiting churches I’d attended years ago, and checking out a new high-energy type church a few times, I decided to try something more along the lines of “radical”. I’d seen advertisements for a congregation I instinctively knew I’d be really uncomfortable with, and I decided to go. It was a small, Bible-believing church with an emphasis on outreach to the LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender) community. Over the years, I’d been to a few gay-affirming churches, and they’d always kinda left me wondering why they bothered. Okay, that’s a bit judgmental and harsh, I know. They tended to be more liturgical, less Bible-based preaching, and generally more socially or politically activist. That’s fine, I guess, but it’s just not my style. And I fully expected this new church to fall neatly in that same box. I got there just a bit late, wanting to kind of sneak in attracting as little attention as possible, do my reconnaissance unnoticed, and escape with another undercover adventure under my belt. But it was not to be.

When I arrived, I was stopped on the stoop by several of the congregants, and engaged in some light banter. That in itself was remarkable. I’m usually one of those guys who barely tolerates the dreaded “everyone, turn to your neighbor and greet them in the love of the Lord” moments, screwing a smile on my face, and counting the seconds till I can sit back down in my seat and be left alone. But these people were genuinely friendly, and we actually had real conversations, not just idle words to fill in the gaps before service began. That was nice; it was refreshing. Hey, real human interaction. Who would have thought? Then came the music part of the service. An electric piano, drums, and three or four worship leaders led with a mixed list of songs, hymns, and choruses. And as we were singing, the atmosphere suddenly got warm, heavy and peaceful. And there it was, thick as a blanket covering all of us: the tangible presence of God. People behind me began weeping, I was in communion with my God, and the pastor and leaders up front recognized the presence and honored it. They didn’t rush on with their program. The didn’t fiddle with their microphones uncomfortably, they didn’t tell us to sit down to start the announcements or take up the offering. They simply began to sing some of the same songs over again, lingering in the honey air, not wanting to break their attention off the love that was flowing from us to God and so evidently from God back to us.

Knowing that the church was a haven for the gay community, I’d expected to be put off by people fitting the wide range of stereotypes. Obviously, it’s not because I disapprove of homosexuality, or even find it theologically problematic. I’ve done the Bible study, and God has spoken to me specifically about it, so I’ve long since made my peace with this controversial topic in the Body of Christ. But I’ll admit that I am uncomfortable around some of the more … shall we say, flamboyant … aspects associated with it. I’m blinded by the outward appearance, disturbed by some of the unconventional behavior, and find it difficult to connect with the real people underneath. And this is what I’d come to confront. “Radical acceptance”, remember? Could I step into this situation and see people as Jesus did? Could I overcome my own superficial prejudices and let the love of God do its thing?

There I was, surrounded by all kinds of people: gay and straight couples, friends and families, mothers and children. And yes, there were those blatantly fitting the stereotypes that made me uncomfortable. And the presence of God was there, placing his divine seal of approval on them all. These were his beloved children, people whose hearts cried out to him, who raised their voices in praise and worship of him, men and women who loved him because of his grace to them — grace denied them in other churches. And I felt comfortable there in the house of God. Jesus was there in a very real way, how could I not?

Later, I had lunch with the pastor and several of the church members, and as we talked I grew more convinced that God was actively at work. This was real. This wasn’t just a religious performance or going through motions. The pastor spoke about a few of his plans that shocked me, disturbed me, stretching my perspective in very unsettling ways. Yet, picking my jaw up off the floor, I found myself continually smiling. These were just the kinds of things Jesus would do. Yes, they were unconventional, even questionable, challenging my views of the Church, but they were motivated at the core by a love for people, for a desire to bring them to Jesus. Maybe I’ll risk offending some of my readers and write about them later, but I was excited by the vision, by its radicalness. By the heart of Jesus.

I’ve still got my boatload of issues to work through. That experience didn’t knock all my roadblocks down in a single day. But I recognized the stretching. I felt my heart being expanded, my narrow vision being broadened — and God’s fingerprints on the entire experience. The truth is, if you want to be of real service to God, you’ve got to love his people, and you cannot shy away from controversy. Fear of shaking things up or stirring up a little attention will only hold you back. And that means overcoming your hang-ups, and learning to love people unconditionally. It means embracing radical acceptance.

I’d wanted to shake up the tree a little, and I did. This was a step in that direction. And I knew I’d be back for more. Because when it comes to God’s Number One priority — people — a little “radical” is not something to avoid. It’s a God thing, and it’s good.

Like a lot of people I know, I’m not satisfied. Not satisfied with my life as it stands now, not content with the thing that consumes most of my productive hours (work), and I feel like there is so much more in life yet to do. And I’ve been pressing God. “What’s up? What’s next? What else should I be doing, or not doing? How do I get from where I am to where I think you ultimately want me?” You know, the typical probing and questioning, seeking “next things”.

And occasionally, after some concentrated time in prayer, I’ll walk away, get on with my day, and suddenly out of nowhere, a spark of insight will flare up, a quiet voice will whisper a clue into my ear. It’s almost as though I have to first stir up the pot, or plow up some hard ground before the delicate words can filter through the cacophony of thoughts in my head. The latest came several weeks back. “Radical Acceptance.” And the fuller explanation trailed along immediately: if you want walk in the love of God and if you want the power of God to flow in your life without obstacle or interference, you have to practice radical acceptance. Just like Jesus did.

I’m seeking “more” — you know, that whole “what else” thing we all get when searching for true fulfillment in life. And I know I’ve got things in my life that are holding me back. Wrong thinking, bad attitudes, warped or narrow perspective, habits or lack of habits. And when I get serious with God about them, sometimes he points them out. This time, that was it. The idea is akin to the concept of “unconditional love”. We’ve all heard it preached at us. Some of us even try to walk in it, but it’s really, really hard. And for me, well, I’ve got a train load of baggage that slows me down. If I’m not careful, I tend to be critical, I tend to prejudge people — and usually all based on superficial stuff. I decide whether I like a person or not, or if I want to associate with them, or I’ll just make comments in my head, sizing people up based on outward appearance or behavior. And these snap judgments limit me. I’ve pegged a person, mentally put them in a box. I’ve bagged and tagged them. As a result, genuine personal interaction may never occur. I may never get to know that person for who he or she really is on the inside, simply because I’ve already dispensed with them in my head. And it’s not necessarily out of a superior attitude; it’s not always because I think I’m better than them or that they don’t fit comfortably in the world I’ve constructed for myself. Sometimes it’s the reverse. They’re too good, too perfect or good-looking, too holy or too successful — too intimidating to me. So my world stays small. Not only am I limiting my options for helping others, for stepping outside my box and genuinely interacting with them from a place of authenticity and integrity, but I’ve also limited my ability to be blessed by them.

There’s this verse in the Bible that pops into my head from time to time. It’s in Paul’s prayer for the church in Ephesus, that they may know “the riches of God’s glorious inheritance in the saints” (Eph 1:18). I love that whole passage, a recipe for growing in spiritual depth and maturity. But that part of it is loaded with hidden treasure. People are the wealth of God. We bless others, and they bless us just by being who they are — as they are. And if we limit our interaction, our fellowship, for whatever reason, we limit that blessing, we cut ourselves off from some of those “glorious riches”.

And we don’t have to look far in the Bible to find other examples of this. There’s that famous scene when the prophet Samuel is looking to anoint the next king of Israel. He has Jesse’s sons paraded in front of him, and he is impressed with their physical attributes: strong, tall, powerful, etc. Yet God rejects each one of them: “no, not this one.” Finally Jesse has to send for his youngest son, David, who’s out tending the sheep. And David is the chosen one. Why? “The LORD said to Samuel, ‘Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature… for God sees not as man sees. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart’” (1 Samuel 16:7). Outward appearance is always misleading, and it is never a good basis for determining someone’s true qualities.

And in Jesus’ life, he chose some very questionable people to hang around with. Corrupt officials, hated extortionists, zealots and radical political activists, despised and outcast Samaritans, women of bad moral character. Of course there were others too, like a few of his disciples who were hard-working fisherman. But I’m struck by his handling of the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4). His disciples went ahead of him into the town to find some food, while he hung back. And this woman had been married five times and was currently living with a man she wasn’t married to. And the obvious: she was Samaritan. They were people of twisted theology, a distorted view of the truth, they were a threat to orthodoxy and religious purity. Yet when Jesus’ disciples come back and are shocked to find him talking with her, he tells them “I have food you know nothing about. My food is to do the will of him who sent me.” Jesus got personal fulfillment and satisfaction from talking with this “unclean” woman. That little bit of hanging out with her WAS the work of God. Had he followed socially acceptable protocol, he would never even have looked at her much less engaged her in a conversation that brought her into true relationship with the living God.

I’m looking for more. I’m looking to do more, to BE more. And God has been whispering recently in my ear, “if you want to overcome the next roadblock in your journey to a more fulfilling spiritual life, then you’ve got to deal with this pre-judging stuff. You’ve got to stop looking on the outward appearance, and see people like I see them: from their hearts.” Radical acceptance.

Okay, the acceptance part of that seems pretty straight forward. But radical? I’m not really the radical type. So I think this is more an adverb than an adjective: it’s how I’m to accept people. Like when a cancer has threatened a vital organ in the body, sometimes a surgeon will perform a radical procedure to cut it out. My habitual sizing people up has become pretty automatic; it happens without me even thinking about it. And for these automatic behaviors, sometimes the only way to correct them is with radical, deliberate counter-behavior. Whenever I catch myself making these quick critiques, I have to stop myself, and consciously try to see the person as God sees them. Those people whose lifestyles or behaviors would normally put me off, I have to treat as Jesus would.

It’s a simple truth. The real power of God works through his love. And real love is easily blocked by our quick assessments, by our pre-judgments (prejudices!), our sizing-up of others based on surface inspection. We limit ourselves by these petty attitudes. And whether they’re based on our own insecurities, past experiences, or an unjustified feeling of superiority, they will prevent us from walking in the fullness of what God has for us. Because, in essence, we are limiting God’s ability to work through us.

Since this little nugget was dropped in my head a few weeks back, I’ve tried to open myself up to people and situations I’ve cut myself off from in the past. And the results have been truly surprising.

This is my third attempt at writing this little note, and it has become long enough. There’s so much more to consider about this. And needless to say, there’s also the other side of the balance that needs to be maintained as well. Radical acceptance does not mean to simply embrace everyone under the sun with one of those mushy “I’m okay, you’re okay, we’re all children of God” mentalities. There is a place for true discernment and separation when necessary. I’ll write more on some of these new and disturbing adventures in the days ahead. But for now I leave you with this thought in a nutshell:

If you want to the love of God to flow freely in your life, if you want to unleash the power of God, then you have to practice Radical Acceptance. Just like Jesus did.

In the Kingdom of God, everything is possible.

No big revelation there, right?  Most people of faith have no difficulty believing this.  In the next life, we think, there will be no sickness, no financial struggles, no relationship problems, and no personal insecurities. We will be whole, complete, and have everything we need.  Sure. That’s in the next world. 

In this world, we know from the Gospels that Jesus performed all kinds of miracles: he brought the power of God out of the unreachable world of heaven into our earthly existence.  He healed people who were sick. He raised the dead. He experienced God’s presence in a physical, tangible way.  Angels appeared to him, voices from Heaven spoke.  He saw visions, he could read people’s hearts and thoughts, he saw the future and the past.  He spoke with the authority of God.  He met financial need miraculously (remember that coin Peter found in the fish’s mouth, or the huge catches of fish Jesus led his disciples to?). He reconciled squabbling friends. And he spoke encouragement into people’s lives, telling them what they could be, who they are in God’s sight, and the mighty things they could accomplish.  He was the walking embodiment of the Kingdom of God.

That was then, that was him.  But what about here and now, what about us?

When Jesus first began his public ministry, he began with the message of calling people back to God and telling them that the great era of unleashing God’s presence and power into this world had commenced.  “Repent, for the Kingdom of God is at hand.”  It has arrived, and we are to change our thinking and our actions to adjust to this new reality.  And he informed everyone that the Kingdom of God was in their very midst, it was in them and among them at that moment.  And they could be participants in it. Later when he sent out his disciples, he gave them that exact same message to declare.

This is the crucial point, the very foundation of Jesus’ message: the Kingdom of God is here and now.

Our mistake too often is in thinking that the Kingdom is some future time or some other heavenly place. It is not a place, it is not a time.  It is a state of existence.  The Kingdom is where the rule of God exists: “thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.”  Wherever God’s will is done, wherever his power is active, THAT is the Kingdom of God.  And by submitting yourself to God, by joining his family and declaring your allegiance to Jesus, you are actually turning your life into sovereign territory. You become an agent and ambassador of God’s Kingdom, a plenipotentiary. Your home, your work place, becomes an embassy.  His laws apply. And everything you touch — and everything that touches you — becomes subject to that law.

Those credit card bills you have: subject to God’s sovereign rule.  Because they contractually bound themselves to you, they now fall under Kingdom jurisdiction.  Diabetes? Blood pressure? Cancer? HIV/AIDS? Situations at work?  Obnoxious people?  Strained family relationships?  Friendships?  Guess what?  If they touch you, they automatically become subject to God’s will, God’s rule, and God’s power. 

YOU are the Kingdom — if you are a child of God, and if you have declared Jesus your Lord.

Wrap your mind around this fact. Change your thinking. Change your behavior and your actions to fall in line with this truth.  Inside this Kingdom, in this jurisdiction, all things are possible because all things are possible to God.  Hold your credit card bills in hand, and pronounce Kingdom rule over them. They just got “nationalized”.  Touch your frail body, and declare it subject to God’s jurisdiction, subject to his power and his supernatural laws of life.  Walk into your office, stand in your doorway, and announce that the Ambassador has arrived and he carries the full weight of God’s authority.  When toxic people enter your space and start spewing poisonous gossip, smile, and reclaim the air around you for the Kingdom.  Assert its domain. (And don’t compromise that eminent domain by participating in things illegal under Kingdom rule.)  Stop seeing all these difficult situations and stressors in your life as unbearable burdens, or hopeless situations.  Nothing is out of the realm of possibility to you now.

You are a Royal Ambassador.  You carry clout and awesome authority. You embody the Kingdom of God. Everything is possible. So act like it.

Jesus called.  He said he wants you to man up!  Or as they often say here in Oklahoma, “Cowboy up!”

We all go through periods of dependence and reliance on others.  It’s part of life, part of the maturing process.  When we’re kids, we rely on our parents and family to take care of us.  They shelter us, protect us from the harsh world, and give us a safe environment during that stage of our vulnerability.  Slowly, as we grow, we learn the ropes and develop the skills needed to survive on our own. But even after that, sometimes life throws us a curve ball, the world we’ve constructed for ourselves collapses, and we again need help. We may go through another period of relying on others, borrowing their strength while we cope with our crisis.  We can end up staying on friends’ couches for a few months. We may need to borrow money or bum rides from people because we lost our own wheels.  But then comes the time when we’ve re-established our own structure, we’ve picked up the pieces and reassembled them. We can move back out of our friends’ apartments, off their couches, and get our own wheels again — and usually just in time.  Friends and family can only stand the strain of carrying the extra weight for so long, and their patience runs thin. But this is natural. This is the cycle of life, and life isn’t easy.

But becoming self-reliant is only the first stage of growing up.  We then learn to help carry others in times of their need and dependence.  For most of us, this means a family of our own.  We move past just taking care of ourselves, and take on the responsibility of providing and caring for them.  And this is where “Man Up” comes to play.

The phrase basically means to “act like a man.”  It means, when things get tough or when we’re confronted with difficult situations, we face them and tackle them head on.  We go from the weak and wimpy position of “I can’t handle this” to a stronger, more positive “can do” attitude.  The expression “Cowboy up” goes farther, bringing in the characteristics of being tough, hard-working, self-reliant and uncomplaining. It means when you get bucked off your horse, you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get back on.  You push through.  You “shut up, quit your bitchin’, and take it like a man.”  As one example I read recently neatly put it: “What would John Wayne say if he heard you complaining over a little hard work? Cowboy up, man!”

What does this mean in real life?

If you’re single, it means standing on your own two feet, taking care of yourself, cutting the apron strings or slapping that impression of your friend’s sofa off your butt.  What good are you to anyone if you can’t even help yourself? If you’re married, it means taking care of your spouse, making sure his or her needs are met — materially, financially, emotionally and sexually.  If you’ve got family, it means you put their needs above yours.  You put a roof over their heads and food on the table. If money is tight, they eat before you do.  They get the new clothes before you do.  They get to demand your time before you can settle in to a quiet night in front of the TV or go out with the boys for your own recreation time.  Your focus moves off yourself and on to them.  And for everyone, it means being more dedicated at work, taking greater responsibility for your own actions, and doing it all as an expected part of being an adult, not as though you’re doing anyone else a favor by showing up and doing what you get paid to do.

If we are to live healthy and productive lives, we need grow out of our own self-absorption.  If we are perpetually complaining about how hard our life is, or about what a raw deal we got, then we are not only not moving forward in our own destinies, but we’re also of no use to others. We’re really just taking up space on this planet.  And God have mercy on us in the next life.

More than just action, though, “man up” is an attitude.  You embrace the self-reliant spirit.  You accept responsibility for your actions, for your life, and then from that position of strength, you can take on the extra burden of helping others.  This is the spirit God put in us.  Not of weaklings and whiners, but of overcomers and helpers.  Then you can look at your life and take pride in your accomplishments.  You won’t need to feel deficient or ashamed when compared to the achievements of others, because you had your own mountain to conquer and you did it.  Only when you’ve scaled your own mountain can you effectively play sherpa to others struggling with their ascent.

But this is an era when we’ve prolonged adolescence to drag out our carefree days as long as possible, when companies have gone under due to self-serving greed and corruption, when jobs have been lost due to laziness and lack of accountability and personal responsibility, when nearly half of all marriages end because of lack of personal strength and moral conviction, and when more and more children lead broken lives because of their broken families.  In this time, now more than ever, we need men and women willing to make greater demands of themselves.  We need people who will bite the bullet and do the hard work — for their own sake and for the sake of others they touch.  This is a time for men and women of fiber, of guts, of internal strength.  This is a time when we need to look closely at our every action and weed out destructive selfishness, and a “what’s in it for me” mentality.  The world around us is crashing, people are hurting, and we are too preoccupied with ourselves, our own ambitions, desires, and the search for the easy road.  It’s time to wake up and snap out of it.  Whether you like it or not, people are counting on you.

Jesus called this morning.  And he wants you to man up.

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Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. … But let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another. For every man shall bear his own burden.  (Gal 6:2-5)

I’m a big NCIS fan — the TV show, not necessarily the real Naval Criminal Investigative Service. The cult hero of show is Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and Gibbs has a whole set of life rules he’s developed over the years which he drills into the heads of his junior agents. And if they forget them or otherwise mess up on the job, they get a smack on the back of the head — a Gibbs slap.

Gibbs Rule #38 says, “If it’s your case, you’re in charge” (or simply, “your case, your lead”). You do what it takes to get the job done, even if it means stepping on some toes; and you don’t need to seek special permission from those who assigned you the case.

I particularly like this rule, and it probably rings a bell with a lot of people who have been given a task at work, but not the power to actually accomplish it. And, being known around the office as a bit of a hardhead and stubborn about my job, I can relate to Gibbs (in this way, at least). I take my job seriously. I take “ownership” of it, as they say in popular office-speak. I’m open to suggestions for implementation, but if I don’t think someone’s input is helpful (even from my bosses), I am known to selectively ignore it. And I don’t always follow protocol. I tend to play by my own rules. But the job gets done (usually correctly), and my bosses are generally pleased enough with my work to cut me the slack my personality requires. My thoughts: if you want me to get the job done, then let me do it.

I wondered why this particular Gibbs Rule rang so many bells with me lately — beyond just its applicability at the work place — and then I realized it was also a spiritual principle. We all have done our fair share of wrestling with angels and even God himself, to discern what God specifically wants of us. We’ve all done the probing and soul-searching and praying to find the path designed for us to walk. And many of us have put in extra time inventorying our personalities to uncover the special gifts and callings each of us has been given. But what happens next? What happens once we figure it out? How do we proceed?  And how often do we get stymied by obstacles in our path, and end up just stalling out, mission unaccomplished?

There’s this passage in John’s Gospel that has been haunting me for months now that I think parallels Gibbs Rule. “No one takes my life from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again. This command I received from my Father” (John 10:18). Those words, “I have authority … this command I received” are so powerfully linked. There is an intrinsic connection between being commanded and having the appropriate authority to execute that command. Jesus said it. Even a Roman centurion recognized that basic principle: “For I also am a man under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to this one, ‘Go!’ and he goes, and to another, ‘Come!’ and he comes” (Mt 8:9). Perhaps it’s a concept every military person recognizes intuitively. But for me, never having served in uniform, I had to work harder to grasp this basic truth.

If you have been issued a command by God, you have the authority to do it. You can make it happen. You can kick in doors where necessary. You can speak up and have your words taken seriously. You can even demand cooperation — provided you are operating under properly issued authority yourself. You’ve been put in charge to make it happen. Things may not always work out the way you want, you may not get the exact help or cooperation you expect. And I can guarantee that it will hardly ever come easily. But by your pressing through, the job will get done.

Nice theory, but does it actually work? I’m working through the implications for one or two items on plate right now, but I’ve had some success in this area in the past. It’s the same principle of shared responsibility and divine partnership I’ve mentioned in previous posts. God is responsible for the results, but you are responsible for the effort. You can’t do God’s part, and he won’t do yours. He’ll bless the fruit of your labor, and whatever your hands find to do will be blessed — but you’ve got to actually do the labor. Your hands have actually got to be busy doing something in order to be blessed. In real life, I’ve had the benefit of my mother’s wisdom, hearing her instruct a relative who was having difficulty finding housing for him and his wife. Nothing was working out, he just couldn’t find an apartment. She suggested he stand before God in the position he’d been given by God, that is, as head of the house, responsible for providing and caring for his family. And when he approached God, wearing that uniform, and made his bold request in that capacity, results finally began to happen. Within days, they were able to lease a house.

In my own life, I’ve had walls thrown up, blocking my way, which would have prevented me from going to grad school. But I knew I’d been instructed to go. And when things got tough, when administrative barriers were placed in my way or when finances were not immediately forthcoming, I assumed the attitude of a commissioned officer. And I issued the command. I spoke the words — sometimes even quietly under my breath — and then acted accordingly. I pressed. I pushed. I insisted. And those barriers caved in. And I won. In other situations in the workplace, I needed promotion or salary increase to fulfill my God-assigned obligations. I put in the effort. I did my best work. With consistency. And after praying and waiting for the divine “go” signal, I pressed my bosses. On three separate occasions, in two different companies, I pressed. And I prevailed. Not merely because of my own merits. We all know that life is not fair. We don’t always get what we deserve. But I made sure my part was done; I made sure the “merit” was deserved, and then I pushed with the authority of one who had been given a command.

There are two areas in my life right now where I need to apply this principle again. Sometimes when we’re so caught up in the pressures of making it through life in these difficult days, it’s so easy to forget the basic lessons learned in past years. But Gibbs Rule rang a bell with me recently for a reason. It’s a wake-up call in my drowsiness, in the lethargy of my daily routine. And I’m paying attention. This bell tolls for me.

“This authority I have, because this command I have received.” It may be time to kick a little butt and press for what we know we’ve been assigned to do. “If it’s your case, you’re in charge.” Does that ring any bells for anyone else? Or do you need another Gibbs-slap?

My dog, Zack*, and I are a lot alike.

I was going about my regular routine this morning, getting ready for work, and Zack jumps up on the bed to get cozy while he watches me. Somewhere in the middle of what I was doing, I stop and look at him, so devotedly following me with his eyes. I sit down next to him to pet him, and he rolls over onto his back so I can rub his belly.

Some dogs will just plop down, roll over onto their backs, and wiggle around enthusiastically, reveling in the pleasure. My colleague Jerry tells me about his dogs, golden retrievers, who roll over so excitedly just when he approaches them, that sometimes they’ll lose control and even wet themselves. And he can’t even get them to sit up; they just go limp like rag dolls. They’ve completely given in to the joy of it. But not Zack. He has his head cocked so he can watch me. And I can see in his eyes that he is being cautious, a bit reluctant, not totally comfortable, as if he doesn’t entirely trust me. We’ve had Zack since he was a puppy, and he’s never been abused, never had his trust violated. I don’t even rough-house with him too much since he’s such a sensitive soul (with me, anyway). Of course with two other dogs in the house, he always has to be a little wary. Clarice will bulldoze him around; she’s a klutz and often temperamental. Rascal is always wanting to play, and is not above just pouncing on him for sport. And when they’re tired or hungry, they can get on each others’ nerves and snip at each other. So perhaps Zack’s wariness is justified. But with him being a little uptight, I could tell he wasn’t enjoying the experience as much as he could be.

As I pet his stomach, I was struck by the inconsistency in his behavior: partly open, partly vulnerable, partly submissive, wanting affection — but only partly. Never fully surrendering to it totally. And as I look in his eyes, I can almost catch a glimmer of his thoughts: he’s worried over appearing undignified.

“Isn’t this exactly how I behave with God?” The question popped into my mind. We’re supposed to come boldly before his throne, we’re supposed to bare our hearts to him, to come spiritually naked, open and vulnerable, expecting only a warm welcome, trusting in his loving embrace. But instead, we — I — often come to him still wearing armor, surrendering to his powerful presence only partially, still holding back, perhaps anticipating some hostility or unexpected roughness. And is there a hint of pride, too? Somewhere in the back of my head, do I feel that joyfully bounding into his throne room like a beloved child is a bit undignified? Will I look or feel foolish?

Worse, though, how is my guardedness preventing me from just enjoying God’s presence? How is it hindering me walking away feeling refreshed or receiving the answers I need for the day? I know many times I end my quiet time with God feeling just as frustrated or cranky as when I began it.

Zack loves me. He derives a great deal of security from being around me, and I really enjoy having him around. And despite any minor misgivings he might have, he’s safe with me, and I’ll always be receptive to his wants and needs. Is God any less devoted to me than I am to my dog? Has he ever rebuffed me or rebuked me harshly to warrant my cautious approach? Or am I still carrying defensive shields from the friction of coarse treatment inflicted by other people who intersect my life?

I need to change my behavior, my attitude. I need to deliberately lower my guard when I greet God in the morning and invite him into my day. And not just because that’s what trusting children (and dogs) do. But because I NEED the benefit of his presence. I NEED to have my mind and heart restored by his peace, re-energized by his joy. I NEED to walk away from my time in prayer with the strength and confidence to face the chaos that awaits me today. And, if I ever expect to grow, I need to uncover every corner of my heart before him, so he’ll have free access to change the things he wants changed. I just can’t afford to have my connection with God hindered in any way.

So when I approach God tomorrow to spend some uninterrupted, quality time with him, I gonna try to deliberately throw down my guard, and recklessly throw myself into his presence, stripped of any caution, reluctance, or concern for dignity. I want to let go of my uptightness, silence those ungrounded fears and worries in my head, and expose my vulnerability to God’s loving hands. I think only then will I be in a position to receive his affection unimpeded and to fully derive a sense of security from his love. Only then will I fully enjoy the experience.  I just need to shut up and roll over.  And who knows how that will affect the rest of my day?

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* Dogs’ names have been changed to protect the innocent.

On June 1st, President Barack Obama officially declared June 2009 as Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month. Of course, June has been “Gay Pride” month since the Stonewall Riots in June 1969, and there are parades and festivities occurring this month all around the world, from Omaha to London to Tel Aviv to Shanghai. Cities around the world have cordoned off streets and beaches for the concerts and parties. The parades have become the public arena for corporate floats, aspiring politicians, community activists, churches, and everyday citizens demonstrating for civil rights and social acceptance, as well as those out just for a good time.

And then there’s the other side. The drunkenness, the public display of nudity and sexuality, the flaunting of common decency in the name of shock value “because we can”. Many of the events are family-friendly, but many should never have come out of the seedy, dark underground where practices unsuited for prime time are now being aired defiantly. It’s Mardi Gras with a rainbow flag.

Like a lot of things in our world today, Christians even remotely interested in such events are faced with a dilemma. Do I go? Do I participate? Or is this something that should be completely avoided? I asked a few of my Christian friends for their opinions, and as expected, received answers ranging all along the spectrum, from adamantly opposed, to strongly supportive, and even apathy and uncertainty in between. Regardless of the value or lack of value in supporting the cause of civil rights, is it appropriate for Christians to associate with these kinds of events and these kinds of people? As one friend quoted the Bible to me, “what partnership have righteousness and lawlessness, or what fellowship has light with darkness?” But as another countered, “how else is the light to shine except in darkness? The light shines, and darkness has not overcome it.”

Everyone will have to answer that question for themselves, according to their own motivations and conscience, but I thought it would be helpful to ask that popular question, “What would Jesus do?”

I think everyone will agree that Gay Pride celebrations are generally not for the timid or faint of heart. There are strongly motivated people out there — those advocating their liberty, those voicing opposition, and those just plain ole acting up. And it goes without saying that followers of Christ should not be involved in lewdness and debauchery. But these types of celebrations — especially this one — are filled with hurting and hungry people. And that to me is the key to solving the dilemma.

Jesus went wherever people needed him. “It is not the healthy who need a physician, but the sick. I have not come for the righteous, but to call sinners to repentance” (Lk 5:30-32). “I have come that they may have life, and have it in abundance” (Jn 10:10). This motivation drove Jesus to some very questionable places and caused him to associate with certain types of people that the more religious would never even talk to much less hang out with. His behavior and choice of companions so outraged the religious that they called him a drunk and a glutton (Mt 11:19). They accused him of being demon possessed. Why? Because he loved people. And let’s be clear about one thing here: while Jesus would not have been condoning wild revelry, he was no stranger to parties and enjoying himself. Remember his first miracle? It was at a wedding reception, where celebrating people were busy getting drunk. And what does he do? Give them more wine to celebrate. (John 2). And he was frequently seen at banquets and dinner parties, hanging around tax collectors, corrupt officials, prostitutes. The Pharisees of his day called him on it: how can you associate with such unclean people? He saw something, he knew something, that they did not. He understood the heart of God.

Would Jesus go to a Gay Pride parade? You bet he would. I doubt very much he’d be marching in it (he tended to avoid political activism since that wasn’t his purpose), but he’d certainly have a booth out on the fair grounds with big signs telling people that God loved them. He’d be shouting into the crowds (in a very undignified way), “Come unto me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” He’d say, “Come to me, all who are hungry, and let me give you what you’re seeking. Come to me, all of you who are thirsty, and I will give you water to drink that will fill your souls and overflow out of you to water others.” (Mt 11:28; Lk 1:53; Lk 6:21; Jn 7:38)

Especially at Gay Pride celebrations, where so many Gay and Lesbian and Bisexual and Transgender people have been rejected by our religious organizations, our churches, hurt by family, told they are hated by God, told they are going to hell. Is there any other group of people more needing of the love and acceptance of Jesus? Would he be among the conservative church goers there, holding up protest signs that say “Fags go to Hell”, or hurling insults at those dressed in feather boas or sexually-explicit costumes? Would he be among those throwing stones? Did he EVER do that in the Gospels? No. Today, at any Gay Pride parade or picnic he went to, he’d walk up to such scandalous people, wrap his arms around them, kiss them on the cheek, and say “You are SO loved by the Father.” Some people would reject him, now just as they did 2000 years ago. But those who hunger for a relationship with God would hug him back, and follow him to some grassy picnic area where he’d tell them stories about how the Kingdom of God is made up of people such as themselves. And from such people, he would raise up followers who would know the grace of God and see a face of God that those who grew up in the church have never seen and will never experience.

Not everybody at Gay Pride celebrations is hurt or damaged, of course. And only a small percentage of those gathered at these events will be acting in outrageous ways. Many people will be there just for the festivities and entertainment. Many of these will be fellow believers — gay and straight. And Jesus would be sitting at their table, sharing hamburgers with them, blessing them, listening to their stories and encouraging them. He’d laugh with them, cry with them, and remind them that he’s always with them and will never abandon them.

Should a Christian, gay or straight, attend Gay Pride events? That, of course, depends on your motive for being there. But when I think about Jesus, any question whether it’s appropriate or right melts away. All we need to ask ourselves — all we should be imitating in our own lives — is What would Jesus do?

I’ve never heard the audible voice of God. I’ve met people who have, and I’ve always kinda envied that. Of course, part of me is cautious about being eager for the experience. Seems like there’s a much greater responsibility and accountability when God goes out of his way to get our attention. I mean, he might send us to India, right?

That’s certainly one way God can get his point across to us. And most of us remember that lesson from Sunday School about Elijah on the mountain seeking God. A great wind began shredding the mountain top, but God was not in the wind. Then an earthquake, and then a fire — the original “Earth, Wind and Fire”. And God wasn’t in any of them. Finally, it was in the still, small voice that God spoke to him. (1 Kings 19) We learn from this that God most often speaks to us quietly, usually from deep inside us, and we can easily miss it if we’re caught up in other things.

But that’s the tricky part, isn’t it? We usually are too busy, too distracted by the whirlwind of life going on around us, or too messed up with conflicting ideas and desires, to hear that quiet whisper. Good thing God is persistent.

I’ve recently re-learned the value of God’s alternative method: other people in our lives. If we’re looking for some real direction from God, if we need a specific piece of advice or guidance, and we’ve put our time in on our knees seeking that wisdom from heaven, it is then up to us to put our earphones on. We need to be expecting God to reach us somehow — remember that other famous verse, “God is a rewarder of those who diligently seek him”? Sure, some of our friends may be blessed with the gift of prophesy who can give us the “thus saith the Lord” over dessert at the Olive Garden. But we can hear God speak to us just as clearly through the words of others if we stay attentive. Of course those words need to line up with our own inner sense of truth — we’ve all been given bad advice by well-meaning people before. But when those words from the mouths of friends echo that little nagging feeling we’ve been carrying around, that’s the confirmation we’re been looking for.

In my own quest, I’ve been pressing God for that “next step”, the “what’s next?” question that’s been churning inside me for months now. My friend Michael gave me his impression of “thus saith the Lord” several months ago, but it wasn’t finding fertile ground in my heart. I wasn’t ready yet, not ripe enough for it to produce fruit. (Seems he’s always WAY ahead of the curve when it comes to insight. Either that or I’m always way behind.) But in the past few weeks that relentless soul searching kicked up a notch. And making a deliberate effort to put the question to God every morning until I get my answer, I’ve been more deliberately listening for clues — on the inside and from others. This past week, after two independent events refocused my attention on a particular area I’d been ignoring, I discovered I was finally receptive enough for that idea given months back. Then came the note from a friend I greatly respect. And she hit the same theme, but this time with a little more directness: “do this now!”

Okay, okay. I surrender. After months of hounding God with my inquiries, I’ve stopped the perpetual second-guessing (“could it be this…?”) and toying with other options (“maybe it’s this”). I’ve embraced the seminal idea that’s been in front of me all this time, now spelled out clearly to me by the insightful wisdom of my friends.

What that particular direction is, isn’t really the point here. It’s gonna be different for each of us. What is important is that when we feel that inner churning, sensing a change ahead, like a new chapter is about to begin, we need to be sensitive to the subtle promptings coming from deep inside us. Log them, take note of them. And if we’re too wound up to hear absolutely clearly from God ourselves, confirmation can come from those we surround ourselves with.

When our ears are plugged with the peanut butter of daily concerns, and there are no hurricane winds, earthquakes or fiery blazes pointing out the divine path before us, sometimes the Voice of God will come through the words of our friends.

Seems like I always wake up in the mornings with a million things racing through my mind. As soon as my eyes open, thoughts and images of things that need to be done today fill my head. I’ll get up, pour my first cup of coffee, and begin my morning stroll around the house, slowly trying to impose some order on my chaotic thoughts. And like many people these days, much of those thoughts relate to financial pressures. And I have to make the conscious effort to stop the worry. God knows all about it.

There are some things we can do about all that’s on our minds — and we should do them. But some things are completely outside our control. We can turn the rudder of our boat and have some influence over the direction of our lives, but we are mostly subject to the winds and waves of the world around us. Being in control is mostly an illusion.

As people of faith, we bring God into the mix. We don’t try to handle everything ourselves, and we don’t believe the outcome of every situation is completely up to us. On the other hand, neither should be just throw up our hands in total surrender, and just say with heavy sigh, “Oh well, God’s will be done.” No. We must do our part, what is in our hand to do, and rely upon God’s strength to do it. Then we can trust God to work things out to suit his plan. God is responsible for the results, but not the effort.

With all the stressful thoughts on my mind when I woke up, I did the mental checklist. Yes, I’ve done as much as I can or know how to do. I’ve done my part. Now I can get a little peace. I can put the burden of responsibility for the outcome in God’s hands. And those powerful words from the Lord’s Prayer rushed across my mind and out of my mouth: Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done!

Those are not words of surrender to the world. They are not passive. They are not whiney or wimpy. They are an assertion, full of power. They are a command, an issuance of authority, invoking God’s presense, his power, his will, and his rule over our situations.

Those words taught by Jesus are not words of weakness or surrender. In the Greek texts, they are in the imperative: “Come, Kindgom! Be done, thy Will!” And the original Hebrew words which Jesus most likely spoke would have carried the same sense. Not a begging “may your kingdome come; may your will be done, if it please you.” They were — and are — words of affirmation that we declare and impose God’s authority over the situation. We assert his rule, his reign, in our lives. And not as a sort of “once for all” event. In Hebrew, the words indicate continuing action. And because they are spoken in daily prayer, they are an on-going assertion. Like the other words in the Lord’s Prayer where we ask for our daily bread, or for forgiveness as we are forgiving others, we assert God’s authority in our lives daily. And we proclaim our roles as agents in that kingdom; we are continually actively involved.

We don’t always know how things will work out. And we certainly can’t always control the results. But when we have done our part, we can relax, knowing that the outcome is in the hands of the supreme God of the universe who voluntarily granted us his royal bloodline and calls us his sons and daughters. He made himself our Father, and he took on that loving, caring role. He already knows how it all plays out, and his hand is already involved. So, even when we don’t know what or how to pray, we can make that simple assertion Jesus taught us. They are words that cover any situation, words that allow us to continue participating in the circumstances, even after we’ve done everything in the natural we know how to do. And they are words which actively invite his participation and invoke his powerful involvement.

As believers, we never quit. Far from giving up, or lamely using God as a crutch for our own laziness, we continue to live, to be involved. With our hand on the sometimes ineffective rudder, we can still shout at the wind and the waves, commanding them to submit to God’s plan. But we don’t have to stress about it. We don’t need to worry, even when we don’t know what that ultimate plan may be. There should be peace even in the storm. We do what we can, and then invoke God’s rule and reign over the results. Speak those words — “Kingdom, come! God’s will, be done! Here, now!” — and rest.