spiritintruth

Let It Rain

2006-06-26T20:55:00.000-04:00

“Let it rain, let it rain,
Let your love rain down on me.”

Creation was cancelled today. Not the Genesis one (though some people that spend their time figuring out when that is going down say it is also imminent), but rather the big Christian festival that happens every year this time in Pennsylvania. Its been raining for the past few days like someone should be building a big ark and there is not much let up in sight so they pulled the plug on the big tent party for this year.

I have to imagine that there are a lot of disappointed people. This was going to be my first trip, but I have heard that Creation is a lot of fun. I have also heard of people getting saved or at least uplifted during the festival. The biggest let down, though, isn’t so much for the individuals, but for the people that organized large groups to go. My sister-in-law, Barb, is one such person. Over the past several months, Barb, has made a pretty significant investment of time and organizational skills to put together a large group from the Philly area to head out to the party. Even more confusing is what to do with all of the food and money that was gathered by the individuals to provide meals and supplies for the week.

I spoke to a couple other people I know in other groups and they are in the same boat. One response is to try and figure out how to equitably distribute the purchased supplies to the people that contributed to the purchase. Another more popular response, so far, seems to be for each of these groups to try to organize something else to do to get together and make use of some of the supplies. At first I thought, I should try to connect some of these groups together, rent a PA, get some other musicians together and have a smaller get together of our own. As soon as I hung up the phone on that idea, though, it hit me that there might actually be a much better party to be had with all this stuff.

Even more than a gathering, wouldn’t it be even more amazing if we instead donated everything that we possibly could that was collected to some food shelters or soup kitchens? I mean think about it for a minute. There were supposed to be close to 100,000 people going to creation this year. I can’t even imagine how much food was going to Mount Union, PA for this week, but I can begin to imagine how blessed it would be for people with next to nothing to receive that food in the name of Jesus. And wouldn’t the effort to make that happen, perhaps a couple phone calls, be not only easier but so much more Christ like than bartering over how to get stuff back to those of us who already have too much stuff?

And then I thought of Craig Borlase, the author who’s latest book, “God's Gravity: The Upside-Down Life of Selfless Faith” was just released. On his blog, Craig wrote of an idea to live on half his food budget for a week. Could you imagine if 100,000 of us did that for a week every quarter and gave the money to help alleviate the suffering of the poor? Can you imagine if 1,000,000 of us did that, or 10,000,000. And just as perplexing, can you figure out how millions of us Christians would find that idea absurd? But isnt that exactly what we are called to do?

Dear friends, do you think you'll get anywhere in this if you learn all the right words but never do anything? Does merely talking about faith indicate that a person really has it? For instance, you come upon an old friend dressed in rags and half-starved and say, "Good morning, friend! Be clothed in Christ! Be filled with the Holy Spirit!" and walk off without providing so much as a coat or a cup of soup—where does that get you? Isn't it obvious that God-talk without God-acts is outrageous nonsense? – James 2:14-17 MSG

Wouldn’t be amazing if that rain that ruined our party ended up filling empty stomachs, even if just for a few weeks? And wouldn’t it be even more amazing to see the glory that kind of selfless love would bring to our Savior? Wouldn’t it be wild if Craig’s radical but simple idea idea turned into a movement that made a major contribution to the eradication of poverty? Wouldn’t it be cool if there were hundreds of simple little changes we could all make in our lives to make a difference in the name of Jesus? And wouldn’t it be more uplifting than an annual festival to find ways to actually live out the faith we profess. Whew! I think I'm going to give it a try.

I wonder if that is what Clapton was thinking about when he wrote:

Now I know the secret;
there is nothing that I lack.
If I give my love to you,
you'll surely give it back.
Let it rain, let it rain,
Let your love rain down on me.

Who Are You

2006-06-21T09:49:00.000-04:00

“I spit out like a sewer hole
Yet still receive your kiss
How can I measure up to anyone now
After such a love as this?”

I am disgusted by self righteous, judgmental people. You know why? Because those people are me, or I am those people. I have a lot of sins, but those two are my worst. And I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how I can proclaim to follow Christ, screw that up so miserably day after day and still find a soap box big enough to stand on and preach to someone else about their sins.

That kind of behavior is what I told myself for years kept me out of the church. I used to joke that I had a terrible dilemma. My dilemma was that I didn’t want to go to hell, but that no one going to heaven would want me there. Of course I was self righteous and judgmental about that as well.

But I grew up a cynic, I suppose. I grew up in an age where belief fell apart, where the walls came tumbling down. I grew up in the aftermath of the curtain having been pulled back on the great wizard of oz, i.e. the government, the church, corporate America. I got to see all the crooked dealings exposed and yet still see the little man working the controls make the big machine say, “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”

And I gravitated to other cynics. I loved the challenge of witty repartee, of finding clever ways to criticize the government, the media, religion, politicians. And I was rewarded for my clever insights with pats on the back and inspired by other clever insights to find a way to go one step further. I don’t know how but somehow all that cleverness masked the fact that I was judgmental, that I was as naked as the king of whom I shouted, “He has no clothes”.

I still do it. Having followed the voice of Jesus that led me back to the church, I still give myself the right to inspect others hearts more than I do my own. I still pray like the Pharisee in Luke 18, 'God, I thank you that I am not like other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector.’ Even after all that Jesus taught, and more importantly did, to free me from the need to judge others, I am still self righteous. It absolutely stuns me that God could become man and die a horrible humiliating death just so I, with all my dirty deeds and wicked ways, might be able to be seen as blameless in the sight of God. It stuns me that God would do that and say that He came not to judge but to serve. And it stuns me the most that with all of that, I would still think so much of myself that, in my continuing sin, I would stand up and point to what I thought were the sins of others.

Yet most of all I am stunned that Jesus still, with the utmost patience and love, seeks me. He calls to me and says, “Come here, I love you and I forgive you.” I don’t know if that is what Pete Townshend was thinking of when he wrote the words I used to open this post from the song, “Who Are You”, but boy did they hit home today.

“I spit out like a sewer hole
Yet still receive your kiss
How can I measure up to anyone now
After such a love as this?”

There is no way to measure up. All that is left is to fall down, again and again, and beg forgiveness.
“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, 'God, have mercy on me, a sinner.'”

I think the other thing for me is to learn to better measure my life by how Jesus would live were He in it, rather than by the standard of a clever cynic. I don’t mean, what would I do if I were Jesus, but what would Jesus do if He were living my life. I need to learn to stop moment by moment and ask myself, before I respond, “If Jesus were in this situation with the background and the possible future outcomes, what future would He pick and how would He move toward it?”

How would anyone know that, you ask? Well, it’s all written out in the first four chapters of the New Testament. Even if you don’t have time to read all four chapters, Jesus summed it up in two simple guidelines: “love the Lord with all your heart and soul and mind and strength and love your neighbor as yourself”. It’s really not that hard to figure out what to do. Truthfully deciding to really do it is the hard part. At least it is for me.

So let me end with my new prayer,

'God, have mercy on me, a sinner.'

Legacy

2006-05-18T08:09:00.000-04:00

To speak of missing persons
Tonight there's only one
And we all carry with us what the man's begun

As I get ready to travel to a memorial service for my Uncle Chuck, those Jackson Browne lyrics and the idea of legacy have been on my mind. When I look up legacy, the dictionary tells me a legacy is something handed down from the past. It actually refers to physical things that are left behind, but my uncle’s legacy has to be the things he left behind in the hearts of those who were graced with the privilege to have spent some time with him. I know my life is better for having spent a good bit of time with Uncle Chuck. And it wasn’t from the things he said so much, as he didn’t talk a lot. Rather it was the way he lived his life that left his mark on mine.

If you spent any time around Uncle Chuck much of it would have been spent helping somebody build something. He was a highly skilled carpenter and there was many a hot Saturday afternoon when he was leading a team of us “dummies”, which he jokingly called us unskilled laborers, as we all pitched in to put a new roof on the house of a friend or neighbor. But it was in those times that as a boy I learned, in part, what it meant to be a man of integrity. And again, it wasn’t from what Uncle Chuck said. It was the way he gently corrected an error. It was the way he jokingly chided you to learn something new. It was the fact that he didn’t quit until the job was done, including the clean up. It was through a hundred little moments of life that Uncle Chuck left a legacy to me.

And as I begin working to staff some continuing and some new ministries at my church, that idea of legacy is coming even more to the forefront. I have been in ministry for several years now, as a volunteer and as paid staff, but as I look back on those years, I think less of the things I have done and more of the people I have met. There is the young man, who now is in Special Forces training. I taught him some guitar early on and then played in a band with him. It was pretty cool that in a short visit he had at home from the service, he made the time to come to see me play at church and came back another night to hang out and jam with me. There was that group of young people in a fledgling teen band that we invited to join us on stage one time. And there was that little girl, a foster child rescued from a terrible abuse situation that I would sit with every time we played at her foster parent’s church. One day, she gave me a picture she made just because she knew I was coming.

I wonder if some of those moments, one day, will be a part of my legacy. It’s really hard to predict or even comprehend the impact you have on people, one way or the other, but I do know this for sure. Each of those people I met in ministry has left a legacy with me. That is to say whether or not I played a part in making their lives better, each one of them played a part in the betterment of mine. I still have the picture that poor abused little girl drew out of her gentle kindness. I still have memories of a thousand conversations, prayers, songs and smiles. And in reality, that is what ministry does. It creates legacies. Too often we think of ministry as doing a task to help the church, but in reality, ministry creates legacies. It leaves behind changed lives. It changes the lives we touch and it changes our lives in the process, probably ours even more than theirs.

So if someone asks you to help out with something that sounds like a ministry task, I urge you not to think solely about the task. Think instead about my Uncle Chuck and how being involved with him in a simple task made such a wonderful impact on my life. Think about how that little abused foster child looking for people to love her changed my life by loving me. And think about how Jesus loved us all, just by walking among us and by being the man and the God that He is. That is what He meant about being the salt of the earth. He meant that your life will flavor every life that you come into contact with. So if you are asked to help out at the church, don’t decide based on whether or not it is a task you will enjoy. Consider rather the lives you will be able to touch and how much more your life will be flavored by those you help, those you care for and those you care with.

Because that, I believe, is the real legacy.

Sold Out

2006-04-26T09:38:00.000-04:00

“I wanna be Your hands. I wanna be Your feet. I’ll go where You send me. Go where You send me.”

I have a serious question. How many books about religion need to be written or read this year? How many music videos have to be made by Christian artists? How many Christian magazines have to get recycled every month and how many t-shirts really need to be stamped with crosses and cute word plays? Seriously, at what point do we stop consuming Jesus and start being consumed by Jesus?

“Oh, but I am consumed by Jesus”, I tell myself. “I read the latest Brian McLaren and Erwin Raphael McManus books. I watch Christian TV for the news and only let my children watch Sky Angel. The only presets on my radio station are either Contemporary Christian music or Christian talk radio. I even went to Starbucks to try and get a coffee with a Rick Warren quote on the cup. And what’s more I go to church an average of seven Sundays out of every eight. So don’t tell me I am not sold out for Jesus.”

I recently saw a study by George Barna which revealed that 5 out of 6 people don’t think that the church is a place to deepen their spirituality. I am thinking that maybe their churches need a book store and a coffee shop. Actually, I am not thinking at all. My head is just sort of spinning. You see I love the Church and I wish mine had a coffee shop and a book store. I wish there was a place in my church where I could invite people that don’t know Jesus to talk and share a coffee in an environment that didn’t feel like the same irrelevant system they left years ago. I wish my church had a place where we could sit and discuss spirituality while listening to music that at least hints of Jesus with the sounds of a Hammond B3 rather than a pipe organ.

Yet even more, I wish there was something that I could invite someone to join me in doing that would instantly make them feel that their life was worth more than the any of the things they can buy. Something where their hands could be used for more than holding five dollar cups of coffee while discussing what is relevant in a post modern culture. I wish there was something I could invite them into doing that by the very nature of the activity drew out of their hearts the compassion that God put there before they were born. I wish there was an activity that I could invite them into that led to a discussion about the Kingdom of God as a life changing, nonviolent, social revolution where the revolutionaries daily had their lives changed even more significantly than those that they were reaching out to help.

But unless you find painting an old building so that it looks nice for middle to upper class Americans a life changing adventure, unless you find it fulfilling to go to a house with a bunch of people that look and act just like you and where you carefully guard your real self without quite looking like that is what you are doing while talking about Jesus, unless you feel that learning to play a bunch of rock songs about religious topics more significant that playing a bunch of rock songs about boy-girl relationships, then I don’t have much to offer you.

And my head is still spinning. My head is spinning because between now and the time I turn on the Christian satellite television tonight, 1800 children are going to die because they didn’t have access to clean water. My head is spinning because there are approximately 4000 families living on the street in the major city closest to where my home is located. My head is spinning because nothing on that Christian satellite television is going to even mention the genocide currently underway in Darfur or the fact that over 15 million of children in Africa have been orphaned due to AIDS. My head is spinning because the American church refuses to talk about let alone commit any real effort to address these massive problems that are tearing at the heart of God.

My head is spinning because there is a delicate balance. There is both the Great Commandment and the Great Commission. By the Great Commission, we mean “Go and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19-20) and by the Great Commandment, we mean "love the Lord your God with all you heart and love your neighbor as yourself", especially in the context of “Whatever you have done for the least of these.” (Matthew 25:31-46). Sadly too many churches have abandoned both the Great Commission and the Great Commandment to become the "Grand Country Club", but even discounting that majority those of us left are so focused on working out the Great Commission with people that we might want to sit next to in church that we don’t have any time or energy left for the least of these. And even were we to have any energy left, our churches are doing so little to provide a means to become the hands and feet of Jesus that, as an individual in the church, I would have to use what little energy I have left just to figure out where to start to help.

Don’t get me wrong, the gospel of salvation is crucial and the Church truly is the hope of the world. I find both of those statements both factual and compelling. Yet somewhere along the line, salvation became the end of the line, being the Church became going to church and discipleship became expanding your knowledge of words in the Bible. But in reality, salvation as critical as it is, is only the recruiting process. Jesus wants you. He wants you for eternity but He wants you to start working for Him now. Having a place to celebrate as a group and build each other up is significant, but being church is less about going to a building than going out of your comfort zone to help those who can’t help themselves. And discipleship isn’t studying a book, albeit a Holy Book, but rather allowing God to use a Holy Book as one of the tools in His arsenal to daily change your life to be more like His. And becoming more like Him has to become much more like giving your life away to heal and change a hurting world, than setting a preset on a car radio or subscribing to a podcast on iTunes. But wait, that Audio Adrenaline song is on now, so I have to go.

“I wanna be Your hands. I wanna be Your feet. I’ll go where You send me. Go where You send me.”

It’s so much easier to sing than to do.

God, please give me the strength to do it.

I Dare You to Move

2006-03-28T21:24:00.000-05:00

"I dare you to move. I dare you to move."

I dig Switchfoot, but even by the way I confess that, you can tell I am no longer hip. Post-hip is what my friend Marty likes to say. Post-hip is when you have moved past the idea of needing to be hip, though actually it is more what you use to comfort yourself when hip has moved past needing you. But this isn’t about hip; not today. It’s about moving and needing and needing to move.

I hear an awful lot of talk these days from people about God’s purpose for their life. Everywhere I go hear about people praying that God will let them in on the little secret He has stashed away in the next best selling book - the secret that clearly lays out their next 60 or so years on the planet.

I spent 6 years on my knees praying for God to show me how He wanted to use me. Week after week, I prayed and believed that God would show me His plan for my life. And I reasoned that as I became a faithful steward of a few things He was preparing to put me in charge of many things. Did I mention that I am an ego maniac? But I don’t believe that anymore, except for the ego maniac part -- I may be a heretic, but I am honest with myself.

Those are hard words to say these days. Blame Rick Warren if you will, but these days it seems that everybody that even drives near a church believes that God has a wonderful detailed plan for their life that will magically open up one day (soon) and at that point they will cruise (on the will of God) into a beautiful sunset of success (just as soon as the mystery is revealed). And me, I am just a heretic.

The people that call me a heretic point to Jeremiah 1 for their proof. In the Message, it reads like this:

Before I shaped you in the womb, I knew all about you. Before you saw the light of day, I had holy plans for you.

But most other versions are less general about those plans. The CEV reads

The LORD said: … before you were born, I chose you to speak for me to the nations.

In most other version, it isn’t about a life that was specifically planned, but rather that Jeremiah was chosen to speak to the nations. Well, guess what? In Matthew 28, Jesus said the same thing to each and every one of us:

Therefore go and make disciples of all nations.

And in Isaiah 58, God spoke and said:

…spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed…
… then you will find your joy in the LORD,
and I will cause you to ride on the heights of the land
and to feast on the inheritance of your father Jacob."
The mouth of the LORD has spoken

It’s all right there in starlight and bible black. But maybe I should pray about it some more. Maybe I should wait for a real sign.

Please overlook my facetiousness and please don’t misunderstand me in respect to prayer. Prayer is the well from which I draw all my strength, but as much power as can be found when you are on your knees, there is much more momentum when you are on your feet.

For me it finally became evident that the answer was clear. I needed to do something. I needed to move. I think Jonathan felt this way in I Samuel 14. The Philistines were waiting to battle the people of God and God clearly wanted them to destroy the Philistine army. But the Israelite king and his army were waiting, possibly sleeping. But not the king’s son. Jonathan couldn’t wait anymore. He heard God clearly and God was saying “I dare you to move.” So he moved. Jonathan had no idea of any specific plan, beyond moving into the will of God.

Come, let's go over to the outpost of those uncircumcised fellows. Perhaps the LORD will act in our behalf. Nothing can hinder the LORD from saving, whether by many or by few.

Jonathan didn’t wait for a specific plan. He knew the basics: beat the Philistines. He didn’t pray long about how or when. He just moved in the direction of the will of God. Maybe most bravely, he did it only for the will of God and not for his sure success. “Perhaps the LORD will act in our behalf.” is how Jonathan encouraged his armor bearer. And then they moved and then they won. And Israel won a great battle that day. Not because of the strength of Jonathan. You see, when Jonathan started to move, God showed up.

So I am saying to you, today, I dare you to move. And just like Jonathan’s armor bearer, let me add, "Do all that you have in mind, I am with you heart and soul."

The Revolution Will Not Be Podcast

2006-03-23T16:14:00.000-05:00

“Look out Mama, there’s a white boat coming up the river.
With a big red beacon, and a flag, and a man on the rail.”

I love that song, Powderfinger, by Neal Young. I used to have a music buddy named Steve who sang that song. Steve was a big burly fisherman who spent his summers working the docks in Alaska and traveling around the country in the winter, usually stopping in to see us and to grace us with his music contribution. One of the crazy things about Steve was, despite his dockworker vocation, his thick beard and big burly frame, he sang with a beautiful high voice and could pull off any Neal Young song. We always played Powderfinger when he was in town and it always awakened a thirst for Neal songs that lay dormant the rest of the year.

Today, though, that song takes on a different meaning for me. It speaks through thinly veiled metaphor of something confrontational coming into my life, into my spiritual life. When this whole thing blows wide open, I will have Reggie McNeal to blame; Reggie, Erwin Raphael McManus and maybe, somehow, even Steve.

I have been reading a lot lately and as winter is beginning to pack its bags and head north, making way for spring, I can feel a revolution growing in my heart. It is a revolution about my life in the Church. Warning: the books “Chasing Daylight” and “The Present Future” should not be read back to back unless you are ready to either start or join a revolution. If, however, you have this dormant feeling that there must be something more to this whole Jesus thing than cool music, multimedia and volunteering to park cars on Sunday, then they must be read. And they must be read now, because something is getting ready to happen and if you need something to happen in your life, then your time is coming.

Rick Warren is hailing in the second reformation, but I don’t know if even he is ready for what it is going to look like. It is going to destroy most people’s concept of church and reinstate Jesus’ concept of church. It is going to leave a lot of people behind, but sweep a lot of other people into its glorious wake. It’s not going to be a reformation, it’s going to be a revolution. And no church building will be able to hold it, nor will there be a seminary capable of controlling it.

In 1970, Gil Scott-Heron made an album containing the song, “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised”. Grasping the deeper meaning of poetry is not my strong suit, but to me, it was about refusing to allow culture to numb you to the realities of what needed to be done. This next revolution will inject life back into the numbness of American church culture. And in semi-tribute to Gil Scott-Heron, here is my remix.

The revolution will not be podcast.
The revolution will not be simulcast.
The revolution will not be streamed.

The revolution will not be downloaded, uploaded or ftp’d.
The revolution will not have a web site.
The revolution will not be on TBN.
The revolution will not be on CBS, CNN or Daystar.
The revolution will not be on Christian radio, on Christian records or in Christian bookstores.
The revolution will not have an association, a workshop or an awards show.

The revolution will not have a theme song.
The revolution will not have a facelift or a wig.
The revolution will not have an ATM in its lobby.
The revolution will not even have a lobby.
The revolution will not have a lobbyist.
The revolution will not have a Political Action Committee.
The revolution will not have an inactive committee or an inactive members list.

The revolution will not require a class, a curriculum or a certification.
The revolution will not take place in a church.
The revolution will blow the doors and windows off the church.
The revolution will take place in the streets.

The revolution will not be in a sermon.
The revolution will not have a preacher.
The revolution will be about Jesus.
The revolution will be about God.
The revolution will not ask for you to make time for it in your life.
The revolution will become your life.

The revolution will not be about content. It will be about contact.
The revolution will not be about belief. It will be about behavior.
The revolution will not be about your head. It will be about your hands and feet; about you becoming the hands and feet of Jesus for the revolution.

The revolution will not have a start date, an end date, an agenda or a plan.
The revolution was beginning before the beginning and will be the only thing spinning at the ending.
The revolution will not be about a church. The revolution is the Church.
The revolution is the heartbeat of a billion brothers and sisters giving their lives to turn this world into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Become the revolution.

Lost in the Supermarket

2005-07-21T13:44:00.000-04:00

"I'm all lost in the supermarket
I can no longer shop happily
I came in here for that special offer
A guaranteed personality"

I don’t know what hole in my brain that Clash song fell out of last night, but its still rattling around up there somewhere. Catchy tune. Lots of memories. If you’ve never heard it, the Clash’s, London Calling album was something else, especially, in the very beginning of the 80’s. I read one review of the album that said, if you don’t like this album, you probably don’t like rock and roll.

But rock and roll isn’t the point today. The point is that I got lost for a few weeks. I’m still not back, just sticking this message in a bottle (another 80’s reference?) to let anyone who might be interested know that I am still out here.

The funny thing is I got lost in the simplest thing: everyday life. In reality, nothing major really happened. Nothing catastrophic, not even anything that out of the ordinary, but all the sudden I woke up and felt like I had been in a dream wandering around aisle 7b looking for lentil soup and seeing nothing but coffee, coffee filters and tea. I was in the wrong place and didn’t even know how I got here. I guess that is how Lost in the Supermarket shook loose from an old brain cell and floated into my consciousness.

The most surprising thing, though is the lesson it taught me – or better yet is teaching me. One that has been bearing down for a while.

Somehow, somewhere I thought that taking on a new life in Christ meant that I wouldn’t get lost again. That somehow this new life in Jesus meant that whatever went on around me, people would look at me and see a Christian living like he should. I didn’t think I was to that point, yet, but I was beginning to think I could see it out on the horizon. Maybe going to a Methodist church with the talk of Christian perfection distorted something in my psyche (just kidding, and sorry Dennis, if you are reading).

But here I was lost in the supermarket and that guaranteed personality that I thought was the special offer for signing up with Jesus was no where to be found. And it only seemed fair to me that if I was going to carry my cross everyday (okay try to carry my corss every day), I should get a little help with putting down my baggage.

But as it turned out the baggage was just as heavy sometimes and that guaranteed personality, well, that was just something a misinformed salesman had mentioned without permission from the boss. And here I was in the same old stuff. The worst part was I was scheduled to get up in front of a church and talk about some topic from the bible and with all my baggage, I couldn’t even get my heart clear enough to decide what to talk about.

I desperately wanted to bail. Not that I mind speaking in front of a crowd (kind of like it actually… okay, I am a complete ham), but I had no business being there. How could someone so lost in the supermarket, so distracted by his everyday life have anything worth saying to “real” Christians? Then came the still small voice,

“my power is made perfect in your weakness” 2^nd Corinthians 12:9.

And then it started becoming clear. There is no guaranteed personality. There is no promise of an easy life. In the words of Erwin Raphael McMannus (The Barbarian Way) Jesus’ purpose was not to save us from pain and suffering, but from a life without meaning (paraphrased). The only promise Jesus made was grace. Not faultlessness, but forgiveness. And grace only pervades your life when you need it. And to be honest, without grace Christianity is pretty close to being just a social club. It gets so tempting as we do our bible study, do good works and get so busy in church stuff, that we begin to think that somehow we are a little bit above the ones that don’t do as much and far above the ones that don’t even believe. But in reality, unless we recognize our need for grace, learn to thankfully accept grace, freely give grace and humbly live in grace, pretty much all the rest is for naught.

Because as Jesus pointed out about His mission on earth,

“I have come to call sinners, not those who think they are already good enough.” Mark 2:17

And that is the gospel of grace. A gospel that becomes a message of extreme comfort for someone still lost in the supermarket.

Well, I guess I ought to pick up some toothpaste while I am here. Wonder what aisle that is in.

See you next week.

The Way for Us to Get Along

2005-06-16T00:47:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I wish I didn’t know the right thing to do. Even just typing that, it sounds crazy, but it’s true. Let me explain. Sometimes, you know the right thing to do and you know it is going to be hard or you know some folks aren’t going to understand. Other times, you know the right thing to do, but the wrong thing just seems to be so much easier, or more fun. Somehow, it seems that it would almost be better not to know the right thing. At least then you would have an excuse.

Too many times, I wish I didn’t know the right thing to do.

And sometimes, I just wish people around me would listen to me when I know the right thing for them to do. And when they don’t and it ends up badly, sometimes I wish I had the class not to say I told you so. Sometime I do, sometimes I don’t. You know, like those times when you tell your kids not to stand up on that thing, because it wont hold them. But they stand on it anyway and fall and get a bump and cry. And as much as you want to hold them and comfort them, you just feel this parental responsibility to make them understand that you actually knew better and that next time, if they listened to you, life would go so much better.

I get like that with adults I know, too. I see what is going to happen if they don’t take my advice, and when they don’t and it happens, I wish I was better at fighting off that parental urge, then, too. That would be my right thing to do.

And I do it even to myself. Don’t even go there, I say. Don’t even start thinking that way. But then, when I am sitting in a pile of broken glass with a baseball bat in my hand, my ball in the neighbor’s living room (or the grown up version of the same basic thing) I can hear myself saying, I told you so. I even parent myself, sometimes.

When I look for reprieve, I remember Paul said,

What I don't understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise. – Romans 7:15

He was making a different kind of point, but nonetheless, even Paul fell short at times. Small comfort, though, when the dad voice inside my head -- knowing full well what I was thinking says, “What could you possibly have been thinking?”

Of course the only proper answer to that question is “Uh, I dunno.”

Do you ever put that dad voice in God’s mouth? I do that, too. I think it is an age old tendency. I think from the beginning of God’s revelation of Himself to man, man has superimposed far too many earthly father traits onto the Heavenly Father. Even Jesus must have thought it too prevalent to not address it.

Remember the story of the prodigal son? The whole story is in Luke 15:11-31, but the gist is that the young son took his inheritance early and squandered it. Starving and destitute, he came crawling back to the father with his tail between his legs, planning to beg for a morsel of mercy. The father who had been daily looking in hope that his lost son would return, instead ran out to hug him and love him and rather than a crumb, showered his son with buckets of grace.

"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.” Luke 15:20

"But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.’” Luke 15:22

The son had come home, expecting to beg to be taken in as a lowly servant. The father, though, at the instant of his son’s return restored him to his old role in the family, complete with the family ring, the best robe and a feast of celebration that his lost son had come back to be part of the family.

I think that story was preserved for a good reason. First, Jesus, Son of God, wanted to let us know that God the Father isn't looking for a chance to say, “I told you so.” He isn’t looking to scold and to deride us into a more dutiful son role. God is instead daily searching across the fields looking for His lost children to come home to receive His love and to be restored to His family in full stead.

And there is another reason, too, I believe, though it isn’t in the gospel. Actually that reason came out of a Rolling Stone cover of an old blues tune, Prodigal Son, that has been running through my head tonite. In that song, the same story is told, but the last line says it all. After recounting the need to celebrate the brother’s turning back from his life of sin, the father’s last line is a stunning explanation for his unlimited grace:
"Cause that’s the way for us to get along."

I guess in the end, grace, like all of God’s gifts is given in part that we might share it with each other.

I pray that the next time I have every right to tell someone, "I told you so.", that instead I remember that song and instead give my brother (or sister) my best robe and the family ring.

Because that definitely is a better way for us to get along.

Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is Calling.

2005-06-10T12:16:00.000-04:00

Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is Calling. I am working on an arrangement of that song for a class I am taking from Berklee’s online School of Music. I like arranging music. It’s a lot of fun. I especially like to take old hymns that I grew up with, those beautiful melodies and stunning lyrics, and update them to a more modern setting so that a new group of young church goers can experience the theology and the beauty of those old hymns.

I think, most young people today are turned off by big organ sounds on old style hymns. “Boooorrrrrrinnnng”, I can picture them saying with a perfectly timed eye roll. They are probably right. And we need to accept that and deal with it. Unless we want them to leave and find something that feels more relevant. And leave they will. I left. I walked away from the church for a long time. The cracks in the system started in late high school and church became less and less relevant to me, until when I graduated from college and moved out on my own, I finally had a whole bunch of other things to do that were fun and interesting (though not all together good for me) and I only went to church when I was home – and couldn’t get out of it – and on Christmas Eve (because it got me in the mood for what had become a mostly secular experience).

I’m not going to lie to you (after all this is supposed to be spirit in truth). I had a lot of fun. I had some hard times and paid for some of that fun, but a lifestyle of: single, young, independent, with a sense of adventure and a lack of rules (besides the ones I decided to adopt because they fit me) seemed to work pretty well a lot of the time.

I studied eastern religions (Taoism, Zen, Hinduism). I partied. I traveled almost every weekend to go have fun somewhere with someone. I moved what seemed like twice a year. I was free, free falling. Not like last week’s free falling, the letting go of false pretenses and artificial constructs that hold us apart from God, but free falling like spinning wildly and without purpose.

I was free, but I was falling. I didn’t know it. I really only noticed the free part. But somewhere inside was a small emptiness that wouldn’t go away. A longing. A small, but gnawing hunger. Somewhere inside of me there was a feeling that I needed something more. So I searched and I tried. I experimented. I partied. But the searching and the hunger never really went away. I went down some good roads and some bad ones. On some of the roads, at times, it would feel like I was on a path to filling the emptiness. But always, eventually, the road would narrow to a small path and then dead end and the hunger would be all the more apparent. All the while, though, I knew there was something more -- somewhere. I just couldn’t find it.

I am on the right path, now, but I am still traveling, still on the journey. This path narrows and climbs. Sometimes it dips and rolls, but I can see where it is going. I realize more and more that to get to the end, I have to keep shedding more of me: more preconceptions, more disconnections, more opinions. The road is too steep to carry much with you, especially the baggage of what I am and what I think of other people. But it feels like the road home. Yea, sometimes I have to sit down and rest. Sometimes I veer off the path, but up ahead there is a sound, a voice that guides me gently back.

Some places there are others walking with me, some places I am alone, but moving always, I am. There are also tricky bends in the road, where people with good intentions but bad advice try to pull me off onto another path that looks like it is headed to the same place. But it’s not. Those are bad roads. It’s getting easier to recognize them, though. They usually start with words like: “You can’t.”, “You’re not.”, “We don’t.” and there isn’t much joy in the eyes or in the voices that call you off on to those paths.

But whatever comes my way, despite what gets in my way (especially my own selfishness and pride) there is a sound like a beacon off in the distance. And today, I think I know what it is.

Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling. Calling for you and for me. Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling. Ye who are weary, come home.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” Matthew 11:8-29

Free Falling

2005-06-01T10:32:00.000-04:00

Winged samaras. That’s the technical name for the maple seeds that spin like helicopters as they leave the tree. Most people call them whirlybirds.

The winged samaras grow holding on to the maple tree and then about this time of year, in the North East, they let go. They let go and fall freely, spinning wildly with beautiful abandon, landing softly on the ground. There the lucky ones sprout roots that dig down into the soil and turn into maple trees.

I want to be a winged samaras. I’m tired of holding on.

I wonder what its like to be a winged samaras. When it comes time to let go is it scary? What is that spinning ride to the ground like? Is it a dizzying flight of spinning terror into the unknown or an exhilarating carnival ride into its God given purpose?

I just want to let go. I want to let go of all the facades and all of the pretenses. I want to stop trying, stop reaching, stop striving and just let go and spin wildly into the air, carried by the wind.

Tom Petty wrote a song that could have been about the winged samaras.

“Gonna free fall out into nothin'. Gonna leave this world for a while.”

Then the anthem like chorus sings a repeated refrain with an air of triumph and joy, “Now I’m Free! Free Fallin’”. I wonder if that’s what it feels like to be a winged samaras, like a triumphant anthem. “Now I’m Free! Free Fallin’”.

Somehow I think that is the key to the Kingdom. Being able to let go. Letting go of all the facades, all of the pretenses. Letting go of all of it and spinning wildly out of control, out of the control of worldly cares and desires, disowning all the stuff the world, and the tv, and the advertising culture, and the people that are afraid to let go have put on us. Letting go and free falling.

Then He (Jesus) said, “God's kingdom is like seed thrown on a field by a man who then goes to bed and forgets about it. The seed sprouts and grows--he has no idea how it happens. The earth does it all without his help: first a green stem of grass, then a bud, then the ripened grain.” (Mark 4:26-28).

There is no striving there, no trying to be something. Just falling to the ground and growing, growing into what God has already placed inside of us, because inside of us all lies the Kingdom.

"The kingdom of God doesn't come by counting the days on the calendar. Nor when someone says, "Look here!' or, "There it is!' And why? Because God's kingdom is already among you." (Luke 17:20-21)

Jesus said that it’s already there. It was planted inside of us. Just like as little seed at the heavy end of the winged samaras was already packed with everything it needed to grow into a maple tree. It just couldn’t realize its purpose until it was ready to let go of the safety of the limb and let go; to let go and free fall, out into nothing.

There is a funny thing about the winged samaras, too, that just struck me. They don’t all let go at once. I wonder if one day, one of them says, “That’s it. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m letting go.” And then, trusting in God, it lets go and free falls safely to its God given purpose. Then out of all the winged samaras that watched a few more start to think, “Me too. I’m letting go.” And one by one, sometimes alone, sometimes in small groups, they let go and spin wildly into their purpose.

In the church we would call that a revival. In the solitude of a heart that’s tired of holding on to the suffocating unreality of this world’s culture, its called free falling.

That’s it. I talked myself into it. I've seen others do it and blossom down on the ground below me. So that's it, I’m letting go. See you on the ground, my friend.

“Now I’m Free!!! Free Falling!!!”

Billy Died Saturday Afternoon

2005-05-27T11:32:00.000-04:00

“Billy died Saturday afternoon. They disconnected life-support.”

That is how the prayer chain email started.

Billy was 17 when he went into a car and came out in a coma. Three weeks later he responded to the music played by a brother that I have yet to meet and hope abounded. But the next day, his brain stopped showing any activity on one of those machines that man uses to try and measure God, so the men that try to be god, unplugged the life-support. And Billy died.

I didn’t know Billy, except through the prayer chain. I don’t know Billy’s mother or father. But I am a father and I am the son of a mother. And the reality of hope flickering and dying in a cold gray hospital room hit me hard tonight. In a moment I am going to go into a quiet room. I am going to go into a quiet room to pray and to cry.

And for a moment it will be clear that all the worship band practices, all the church picnics, all the downloaded bible studies in the world don’t mean anything in the face of a humanity that real. All the fancy arrangements and well crafted harmonies won’t come close to filling the emptiness that Billy is leaving in the lives he is leaving behind.

But that to which we sing; the one to whom we pray and cry from the depths of our frail humanity opens His arms and says, “Come to me. Come and let me hold you.“ He opens His arms and says, “No you don’t understand. Don’t try. From the place where you look out, it doesn’t make sense.”

It doesn’t make sense that an image of God so full of life would stop becoming full of one to become more fully the other. It doesn’t make sense that hope would flicker and then go out leaving shadows disappearing against hospital gray walls.

But in some realm of our existence -- beyond the realm of our knowing; the place from which comes a peace that passes all understanding -- somehow it doesn’t have to make sense in these jars of clay.

Unspoken in the questions, “Why?” is the question “Where?” Where is God to be found in all of this?

“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” (I John 4:12)

Where is God to be found in all this? God lives in our love and His love is made complete in us. If Billy’s dying sparked a bit of love in the life of someone that knew him only as a name on a prayer chain, then Billy’s living gave that one man a precious moment to complete God’s love.

So still we sing. We sing of a love we don’t understand. We sing of a love that let Billy die for a purpose beyond our reason. We sing of a love that sent a Son to die beyond our reason that we might be loved beyond our deserving. That we might live and love. That we might live in love.

Because in the end, love is all that matters. And God so loved the world.

Praise God in all things and tonight may God bless Billy.

Thank you, Billy.

Thank you, God.

Unforced Rhythms of Grace

2005-05-19T11:04:00.000-04:00

It started out simply enough. I had loved poetry since early in college and was going through an acoustic music phase in my life. And out of curiosity, I picked up Steal Your Face, a live Grateful Dead album in a record store. It wasn’t acoustic but the lyrics: songs like Stella Blue, Black Throated Wind, It Must Have Been the Roses were poetry. They told stories of vague adventures and hinted at feelings deeper than the words could quite carry. I was hooked. Next thing I knew (actually a few years later), I was a Dead Head. That is the name we give to someone who listens almost exclusively to the Dead and who spends all their vacation time going to “shows” (concerts).

I was originally drawn by the lyrics, then the music, but what really sucked me in was the community, a sense of belonging. In my life, I had never fit in. Largely by a choice of not wanting to be part of the “establishment” of not wanting to be typical, I spent most of my life alone and wondering why there weren’t other people like me. Other people who were different, but who could accept me as who I was.

In that community of Dead Heads, that is exactly what I found. I found people that were willing to let me be who I was and who were welcoming of me “Just as I am” so to speak. I once read a Bobby Weir (the Dead's rhythm guitarist) quote that said to the effect that the Dead and Dead Heads were a rollicking group of misfits that somehow fit together. We were a rollicking group of the strangest strangers. But a group where you could always find a smiling face, a helping hand, someone willing to share a drink, a meal, an orange or a song. And we were all focused, at least at times on the same thing, the wondrous show.

I’m not a dead head any more, so now I don’t fit in anywhere. And once again I am looking for that mystical community where I can be different, even failed and broken, but still accepted. As I type these words, I am forced to rethink my conception of the first apostles. Here was a rag tag bunch of ruffians, if ever there was one. I sometimes think that if Jesus came today, he would go first to dead shows and biker bars to call His followers, rather than the fishing towns. And I doubt very seriously He would take His first recruits from the places I go on Sundays.

But isn’t a mystical community of misfits just what He was starting when He said to Peter, “… and on this rock I will build my church.” (Mat 16:18). Wasn’t He looking to create a place of safety and acceptance; a place of people helping each other to live and to learn?

When He said “My Church”, did Jesus really envision our modern church? Did He dream of a place with so many rules that no one could really follow them yet where everyone had to pretend that they were following them at the risk of being ostracized from the group? A place where leaders tell us who to be, what to think and even how to vote? A place where we either get in line or get out? A place where the lost, broken, dirty and hungry are to intimidated to enter in?

Or did He maybe envision something more like a Dead show? A place where people struggling in their brokenness, as different from each other as night and day could somehow blend together like dusk. Did He, just maybe, envision a place of sharing, giving and helping. A place of acceptance where, who ever you were, you were welcomed and all you had to do was be open to the possibility of directing your focus on that one thing – not the wondrous show, but rather the wondrous Cross.

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me--watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."

That is The Message translation of Matthew 11:28-30.

But when was the last time that church felt like an unforced rhythm of grace. Where was the last church where someone didn’t try to lay something heavy or ill-fitting on you? Maybe we need to rethink what we are doing in His name. What we created and are perpetuating. Maybe its time to knock down the walls in our lives and the barriers we put up to keep the others out and just love each other.

“I am giving you a new command. You must love each other, just as I have loved you.” (John 13:34).

Because if God is love and we were created in His image, then what else do we really need to do... except love each other and dance... to the unforced rhythms of grace?

I used to be a runner

2005-05-12T10:35:00.000-04:00

I used to be a runner. I wasn’t really good, maybe in the upper end of mediocre, but I loved it. I loved to run.

Of all the thousands of times I ran, though, I remember one special time, one magical summer run with Dave Murphy. Murphy’s dead now, a long time, but I still remember that run. He was a little better runner than I was. A little faster, a little more endurance, but every runner hits tough spots during a run.

I suppose it’s the true champions that can run hard even through the tough spots, but not me or Murph. And when Murphy would hit a tough spot, if I wasn’t hurting, too, I could pull ahead and I could push him for a while, until he got his wind and his legs back.

It was fun. At times we felt like we were flying; down the hills, especially. But other times, oh it hurt. Your heart pounded, your lungs burned, your legs felt all at once like rubber bands and humongous wooden logs – that somehow morphed into these things you had to drag up the hill with you.

But I kept up. Close anyway. I pushed it and I knew, up the road, before too long, there was going to be a cool spot, I was going recover, or there would be a dip in the road. And for a while I would run right with Murphy. And it would feel like I was flying.

I might be the only person in the world like this, but to me, that is what it feels like to follow Christ. It feels like a hard run. I hear people talk about walking with Christ, but not me. Maybe I’m not that good, yet, because for me, it’s a hard run. And I can’t quite keep up. But I am trying. Sometimes it’s easier than others. Sometimes it feels like I’m flying. It feels like it did when I would catch up with Murphy and he would look over at me and say with his eyes, “I knew you could do it. Isn’t this fun?”

But then there is, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” from Matthew 5:48. Man, when I hit that one, the hill seems to shoot straight up. At exactly the same time, my legs start to go. I stumble and I slow down. But Jesus just keeps running, and running. And so do I. But it’s hard and I struggle and I fall behind. Sometimes, it even crosses my mind to give up. But I keep running.

Because now, trying to keep up is all I know. And even that knowing is a gift from God. It’s called grace. To me, grace is an invitation, an invitation to run with Him.

Sometimes, I feel bad about myself, because I can’t keep up. I feel like I should be able to do better. Well, I should. And I will; for a while. For a short stretch I will be right off His shoulder. How strange that a moment later, I lose Him for a while as He rounds a turn, too far ahead of me to be seen.

I still don’t know if He slows down so I can catch up, or if I get stronger at times, but more and more I am coming to grips with the fact that this isn’t a walk.

But even Paul felt that way; the same Paul who sang hymns with Silas, in chains - after being beaten; the same Paul who was blinded and called to service out loud by the Lord. There is even a story that Paul was so righteous, when they cut off his head, it bounced three times and made a pool of pure, sweet spring water every time it touched the ground. But even Paul in Philippians (chapter 3) says,

12”I don't mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection! But I keep working toward that day when I will finally be all that Christ Jesus saved me for and wants me to be.”

Even Paul hit the wall, sometimes.

I guess in the end, there was only one perfect person. He’s that One up front. The one we are all running behind, striving to keep up.

¹³Friends, don't get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I've got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward--to Jesus. ¹⁴I'm off and running. And I'm not turning back.

Even Paul hit the wall sometimes. So it’s okay. Hitting the wall is not the goal, but you are going to do it. You and are going to hit the wall more than once. What it all comes down to is who you are focused on, who you are following, and that you never give up

¹⁵So let's keep focused on that goal, those of us who want everything God has for us.

As long as I am running with Jesus, as long as He lets me run with Him that is, I will be okay -- eventually. I pray often, that He never runs completely away from me. I know He could. He could decide that I am not worth the wait. He could just kick it into Olympic gear and go. And I would be lost. I was lost before and I don’t want to be again. So I pray often that He never leaves me.

Sometimes it almost feels like He has. I say almost, because by faith I know He is just around the turn. By faith, I know that as soon as I get around that clump of trees that blocks my view, I will see Him again. I’ll have to really kick into gear to catch up (and He will have to slow down a little bit), but then I will at least know He is there. And I will remember why I am running. Because sometimes, it almost feels like you are flying.