BIG LOVE

The Bottom

2012-01-22T12:09:00.002-06:00

Blood that trickles down like tears,

racing to get to the bottom of something.

Gravity’s cruel effect on humanity.

When nearness to you feels more like death than life,

your illuminating presence exposes my dark.

Your love forces its way into every corner of my house.

At the bottom of everything is a question, “Can I be loved?”

So that’s where we’ll meet then, at the bottom.

My great crash is where you’ll raise me up,

and in a moment of weakness I will let my guard down,

leaving the door just wide enough to let love in.

Spiritual Exercises: "A Loved Sinner"

2012-01-14T11:39:00.003-06:00

I've been working through some spiritual exercises that are modeled after Ignatius and what he took his followers through. Here's what I'm learning today:

102 (Loved Sinner):

I can’t understand God’s grace or love as a Holy God who would get Himself dirty to love us. It takes grace to understand grace.

It’s hard for me to admit I’m a poor sinner because I’m afraid of 1) being disarmed and unable to control what God sees when he chooses to love me and 2) being rejected for making mistakes. This is mostly why I resist God’s love.

When I resist, I’m like a prostitute who is being loved truly. I resist it, can’t believe it and reject it. I want limited, controlled, somewhat distant love. What I really want, however, is deep love for who I am, but I put my arms out to reject quite often.

God is for me, not ever against me. God is love. He started the reconciliation process between he and I. He also waits on the porch while we are away from home and then jumps off of it to come after us while we are slowly wandering on a road we hope will lead home. He embraces us with a passionate kiss, dirties his own clothes with that embrace and so confounds our understanding of how deep, far, wide and intense love is.

Geri, Meet Facebook

2011-12-05T06:59:00.008-06:00

With only four days left in Budapest, we are saying our fair share of "goodbye's." Everyday we wake up, sometimes in a panic, and think, "Ok, did we say 'bye' to 'him' or 'her'...Oh! And what about 'them'?" It's as if we have some sort of sick Christmas list where we cross off the people to whom we've bid adieu. Last Sunday my friend Geri came over to wish us well on our journey and share some French press coffee with us. Geri and I have had many conversations about many topics--politics, hiking, European culture--but I never imagined our last conversation would revolve around friendship within Facebook.

Geri and I have been practicing our respective English and Hungarian speaking skills over coffee with each other for almost a year. Since my Hungarian is about as solid as the Euro and Geri is a beginner-level English speaker, we've both needed the practice. But this Sunday, with much-needed help from caffeine, we spoke freely and with ease about what it means to be a friend in Hungary and on Facebook.

"I don't understand," Geri said while shaking his head and hands simultaneously, "I have a friend, I see him on street or at home, why this cyber world?" Hungarians and Americans define friendship differently. The analogy we often hear and use is one of a peach and a cantaloupe. Americans are like the peach: Easy to access on the outside, but once you get to the core it's much harder to break in. Hungarians are like a cantaloupe: There is a hard outer shell that's difficult to break through, but when you do it's sweet and much softer inside. So you can see why, once you're in, Hungarians take friendship seriously and don't call just anyone their "friend."

Given our fruity analogy, it's easy to see just how American Facebook really is. Everyone can be your friend, in fact you can have thousands of friends--the more, the better! You can sink your teeth into everyone's soft outer skin, "liking" their music, movie or political preferences. It's a hyper-extension of the person behind the keyboard who is constantly updating and refining their internet avatar. Just how real is the person you see on Facebook? Well, that's a question that both Hungarians, philosophers and anyone who has ever thought about dating a potential Facebook "catch" has asked.

It's not that Hungarians aren't on Facebook, because many are, it's just not for Geri. "Where is life, it's right here...You and me." Geri was making his point about the present and it's place in a friendship. Through out our Sunday morning coffee date, Geri made his case for "real friendship" versus "hyper-real friendship." It wasn't an annoying or overbearing attack on something new, like an old man would complain about a new street that brings too much traffic through his neighborhood, it was simply an appeal for life to be enjoyed right now, in the moment.

Instead of refining his circle of friends as those who are "close friends, family" or just "coworkers," Geri prefers to cultivate close friendships over coffee, attend family birthday celebrations and get to know his coworkers at work. What I love about Geri's detachment from Facebook is how genuinely real it makes him. When we're talking about how much we love the coffee we're drinking, he doesn't whip out his smartphone to tell dozens of pseudo-friends about it. Whenever Geri celebrates Christmas with his family in twenty-some-odd days, he won't leave the table to tweet about the outstanding goulash his Mama made. Geri is simply here, with his friends and family, not "out there" promoting his avatar on Facebook or Twitter.

Geri has taught me a lot about being grounded. "How many friends do you have in the US," he asked me just before he left. Because I know Geri, I didn't feel the need to impress him with some great number. "Three, maybe four close ones," I answered, constantly reevaluating in my mind the ones I can truly call friends. Geri simply nodded his head, finished the last of his coffee and smiled.

Hospitality and the "Pop-In"

2011-11-21T13:29:00.000-06:00

Hungary has taught us how to be spontaneous. The other night our friend Dáni Hamar came by to pick something up and hang out for a few minutes. As we stood in our entry way, talking about the change in weather and the boat trip we recently took together, Dáni’s brother, Dávid, called. It turned out Dávid was just down the street and Dáni wanted to know if his brother could pop in for a minute.

Now Let me pause the story here. Honesty is a quality we both admire and sometimes loathe in our Hungarian friends; it depends on the situation and what they are being honest about. But that night, as Dáni hung up the phone and waited for his brother to arrive, he made an honest inquiry about whether we could host the two Hungarian brothers for dinner. His boldness in asking us to host a meal on such short notice was both endearing and exciting!

Luckily for the brothers Hamar, Allie had already planned on whipping up some Tex-Mex for the evening. So there we were, two Americans rushing around the kitchen, eager to show our Hungarian friends that we too can be hospitable. When Dávid walked through the door, Allie was preparing chicken tacos with beans and rice, while I took the cork out of our best bottle of wine. We all stood in our kitchen, sipping wine and laughing as we told stories and waited for our impromptu supper.

The meal was a hit! Allie hit a home run, which is no surprise to anyone who knows her. Through out supper our conversation was only interrupted by, “mmmm” or “Ha! This is so good--Nagyon finom, Allie (very delicious, Allie)!”

Afterwards, we sat with our elbows on the table and reclined into more casual conversation. I kept thinking, “This moment was brought to you by ‘Spontaneity’.” And it’s true, because if we had said we were too busy or didn’t have enough food for everyone, we would have missed this moment. Nights like that one make me incredibly thankful for Hungarian spontaneity, honesty, hospitality and their appetite for life.

Cold War Kids: Mine is Yours

2011-08-18T13:10:00.008-05:00

One of the drawbacks to living overseas is IP restriction. For example, if you want to watch a late-night movie on NetFlix or listen to free music on Pandora, you will find an unnerving message awaiting you: “Due to licensing restrictions, we cannot allow you to watch/listen to this awesome site you once greatly enjoyed in the US--have a terrible day.” The first time Pandora recognized my European IP address and slammed its cyber-door, I scrambled to find alternatives for sampling new music. Thankfully, I stumbled upon Jango.com and there found the new album by the Cold War Kids, Mine is Yours.

The Cold War Kids were wedged in between Cage the Elephant and The Black Keys on Jango’s “alternative” station. Their “alternative” sound is exactly why I love CWK. Lead singer Nathan Willet’s unconventionally high voice and penetrating melodies are a perfect match for guitarist Jonnie Russell’s jagged riffs. The Kids from Long Beach, CA manage to channel Southern blues with triumphant soul searching and pulsing rhythms. Though they've not yet won awards for their creative efforts, their latest album establishes CWK as an unsuspecting talent with stories to tell.

In Mine is Yours, Willet and company get much more personal than their last two studio LP’s. Songs like “Louder Than Ever” and “Mine is Yours” portray a journey away from love and back into its arms again. Instead of detached, third-person storytelling, Willet sings about “I” and “you.” In “Louder Than Ever,” he reflects, “I was takin’ you for granted, you were holding the reigns, but I can hear you louder than ever.” The simple switch to first person opens up CWK for inspection and allows listeners to connect with Willet’s winding path.

When I listen to Mine is Yours, I hear someone who has traveled the globe, tapped into the full spectrum of human emotions and lived to sing about it. And after the last few years, it's a surprise to many that CWK is singing at all. Following the huge success of their first album (Robbers & Cowards), the Kids received scathing reviews for their sophomore album (Loyalty to Loyalty). The effort was criticized as sloppy, loose and devoid of any real substance. In an interview with RELEVANT Magazine, Willet admits to selling his own bandmates short by closing himself off and "not stepping out and saying something" in their earlier efforts.

The darkness, confusion and even criticism of their second album seems to have laid the groundwork for something more authentic. The result is a weathered, yet brighter, musical expression, one that I can respect. The song "Finally Begin" betrays the wounded heart of an artist who faces the cold, cruel world and is left with a decision. "Do I open up my arms wide and learn to trust again or keep my eyes to the floor and just look out for myself?"

It’s risky being an artist. Art asks you to put yourself “out there” for the masses to either empathize or criticize, understand or scorn and various shades in between. I appreciate CWK’s boldness in sharing their experiences, especially since they were at first hesitant to do so. It takes a lot of guts and talent to use music to tell a story, especially your own. Even so, the Cold War Kids' emotional investment on this album gives us something deeper than story, where narrative and experience intersect: real life.

Bence, meet Starbucks

2011-07-13T09:20:00.005-05:00

Two weeks ago I met my friend Bence for coffee. The last time we met, we watched the Dallas Mavericks beat the Heat in a replay of the NBA Finals. Since our prior meeting had us feeling “quite American,” we agreed to meet at a newly-built Starbucks for a cup of Joe.

Inside the Starbucks at Király Utca (“King Street”), Bence was eager with curiosity. “I’ve never had Starbucks before, so this will be a first,” he said in a barely-excited rhythm fit for 9:30am. Unbeknownst to Bence, his morning was about to get very interesting when Hungarian and American cultures would engage in an awkward head-on collision.

Bence reluctantly dished out the money for over-priced coffee and was then asked, “And what’s your name?” The question caught him off guard and in a double take he replied, “tessék (“excuse me”)? He had already given too much money for coffee that ranks about average in Budapest, but Bence wasn’t sure he wanted to give his name to Lady Starbucks as well. Asking for someone’s name is just as personal as asking, “How are you,” and it doesn’t happen here as a passing gesture. All the same, he relented and the strangely friendly barista scribbled his name on the cup.

“What was that about,” Bence turned to me and asked. Now I had some explaining to do. Because my wife was once a fully-indoctrinated Starbucks barista, I was able to draw from my well of Starbucks corporate and consumer culture.

I explained that most Americans don’t sit down for a three-hour cup of coffee (which is common in Hungary) and so asking someone’s name puts a personal touch on an otherwise impersonal transaction. Cue the blank stare. I went on to tell Bence about the “third place,” a setting that isn’t home or work but a place where “community happens.” “You see, Bence, Americans go from home, to car, to office and so they need a place where they can actually interact with one another,” I said as we made our way to an air-conditioned lounge area.

I could tell that Bence’s head was still spinning. In Hungary, community is one of the primary values of the culture. We often have people apologize to us for being able to “only” spend two hours over tea, coffee or a beer. Even when you are growing plants on your balcony, everyone in the building will have an opinion on how they should be watered and taken care of. As opposed to America, one must work hard to separate themselves from community in Budapest.

Eventually Bence settled into his comfortable chair and enjoyed his first Starbucks coffee. We had a great conversation, talked about sports, music and international politics. But the best part of our time that morning took place when we left the American coffeehouse. For the next two hours Bence led me on a walk through the city. Much like our meandering conversation, we wandered about and simply enjoyed the cool, morning air.

Bence taught me that I don’t need a building to have community. All I need is people, time and genuine interest. As a timesaving, on-the-go American, I have gained a lot from Hungarians. And if we leave Hungary next year, I hope I can take back with me Bence’s high appraisal of community. I hope I can still schedule coffee appointments with no agenda or impending meeting. I pray I can make space for people to interrupt my schedule, even if it means paying four bucks for over-roasted coffee—for community, it’s worth it.

Video: "You're Never Giving Up"

2011-07-04T12:20:00.004-05:00

This song has been wrecking my heart for months now. Ever since I've found Jonathan David Helser's music I've been in touch with someone who uses worship music to sincerely connect with the living God. As someone who is now leading worship, it's a constant challenge to put my heart out there and have it be something genuine that I am singing to God and leading other people to worship through.

Because the past year and four months has been one in which I have often questioned, "Is God really here for me; Will He leave me this time," this song has broken me with the reminder of God's unending love.

Watch the video above and let me know what you think. What spoke to you about the song? Which words touched your heart?

Listen to the King

2011-06-13T08:06:00.004-05:00

When the NBA Finals kicked off, I swore I wouldn’t be one of “those guys” who cheered for the Mavs simply to spite the Heat. Though Lebron James has done enough to make people criticize him from afar (see here and here) and the Miami fans are rumored to be the worst in the NBA (according to Charles Barkley’s trustworthy opinion), rooting against a team--or player--seems to suck the fun out of sports and replace it with bitterness. Even with all of this well-reasoned basketball moralizing, I caved in by Game Six and caught myself hoping for a Heat loss.

I turned sour towards the Heat after I saw a video with Dwayne Wade and Lebron mocking Dirk Nowitzki. I don’t watch a lot of Mavs basketball, but while we visited our family in the Dallas I was able to catch the Western Conference Finals. Dirk played incredibly and with great character, doing little, if any, trash talking. So when it was reported that Dirk played sick and with a fever against the Heat in Game Four of the Finals, I was impressed! The Heat, not so much. Apparently Wade and Lebron thought his sickness was a little feigned and that the media blew it out of proportion--hence the video linked above.

Whatever their reason for poking fun at Dirk, the whole incident was arrogant and, in Dirk’s own words, “childish.” So I decided from that moment on to cheer against the Heat (oh yeah, and for the Mavs). What was I looking for in a Mavs win? For Wade and Lebron to be put in their place, to learn their lesson and recognize the higher road of integrity. In two words: too much.

I became like so many sports fans who put entirely too much stock in a game. In wanting “justice” for Dirk and heaping contempt on Wade and Lebron, I was acting no better than the European soccer hooligans I hear so much about, who fight and maim “football” players--on the home or visiting team--for winning or losing. All of the negative energy is tied to an unmerciful and unforgiving attitude. So I cannot help but wonder, what does my so-called defense-of-Dirk say about me?

When the Heat finally lost Game Six, Lebron was asked if it bothered him that so many people were hoping he would fail? He answered,

“Absolutely not, because at the end of the day, all the people that were rooting on me to fail, at the end of the day, they have to wake up tomorrow and have the same life that they had before they woke up today...They have the same personal problems they had today.” (Brian Mahoney, AP)

I believe I’ve just been told. The uncrowned king has a point. All of us sports fans who hang our entire hopes and hate, cheers and boo’s or dreams and despair on professional sports need to get a life: our own. Lebron exercised outstanding wisdom by sending the hate he so often received back to its rightful owner. My hatred for Lebron, any athlete or team says a lot more about what’s inside of me than it does about someone’s sports performance.

Another King once said, “[O]ut of the overflow of [the] heart [the] mouth speaks.” And, “[H]e who has been forgiven little loves little.” I must admit that I’ve had a tough week and Lebron James made for a perfect whipping boy. On him I could hang my condemnation because it felt good to hurt other people when I was hurting. The times when I am most harsh on my favorite or most hated sports icons are usually those very times when I myself feel hated or condemned.

Lebron is right. I still have this aching heart and imperfect life, even after a Mavs victory. Sports is great for entertainment, but in terms of therapy it can only indicate which problems we have in life; not solve them. Jesus is also right. My reactions to these sports events are a telling barometer for where my heart lies. In the meantime I will continue to watch and enjoy sports. More importantly, I will continue to be thankful for the King who was and is willing to take my scorn, abuse, blows. For the One who through life and death revealed my hatred and then was gracious enough to begin healing it.

Why all the blood?

2011-04-22T03:56:00.014-05:00

This morning I opened my laptop and began surfing around the internet, searching for something interesting to start my day. Every morning I look for an exciting and revelatory news headline or an encouraging sports score. "Wow, Syria is protesting...the Astros won, just six more games to .500!" What I didn't expect this morning, largely because I forgot what day it is, was a gruesome picture of Jesus staring at me from the cross.

The shot-in-the-arm I was looking for in my dawn, internet surf session was more like a shot in the gut. "Well, that's kind of a downer," I thought. And then it hit me, "What's the cross all about anyway; What's the point in Jesus being betrayed, tortured and dying; Isn't this 'Good Friday' thing a little over-the-top?"

The thing that bothers me most about the cross of Jesus is all the blood. I hate blood. I can't be around it, I don't like talking about it and I certainly don't like seeing my own. I once convinced a professor to turn off an in-class video of a woman giving birth because I had turned white and put my head between my legs--the blood and flowing liquids were just too much for me.

Even though I'm a Christian, I confess that sometimes it's hard for me to understand why Jesus had to shed his blood--and so much of it. Why did he go through the scourging and have his flesh torn from his body? Why did he willingly receive a barbed crown of thorns on his head (Everyone knows head wounds bleed easily)? And why did the Son of God, "God with us," go through a merciless Roman crucifixion? Jesus' blood would have been smeared all over Jerusalem. His divine DNA trail would have been easily followed to the place of his death outside the holy city.

A week ago I was walking to church when I had to step over a large, fresh pool of blood on the sidewalk. I have no idea how it got there, but its owner was long gone and the blood was slowly moving down a slope into the street. Throughout my entire week I had to walk down that same sidewalk. Each day I watched as the red blood made a path, turned brown and stained the concrete. I kept wondering, "What happened to this person last Saturday night?" If Jesus was looking to make a lasting impression with his death, there's no question that he chose the perfect means to his end.

So, like I asked at the beginning, why? In my clean, sterile, controlled little world, the shedding of blood interrupts everything. Suddenly I'm uncomfortable and can't keep from asking "why?" Inherent in my question is a desperate plea for sanity, for justice, for things to be cleaned up. Part of me simply hates the sight of blood, but a deeper part of me hates why it was violently forced from someone's body. To understand the "why" behind violence, we must learn to see it in ourselves.

It's too easy to remove myself from headlines about a violent "Ivory Coast Civil War" or the deaths of "800 Egyptian protestors." Most days it's hard to see how such tragic events relate to me. It's easier for me to scoff at "barbaric" acts of violence and separate myself from "those monsters." But when I face up to the innocent blood I shed daily, my perspective changes.

I am in traffic, my blood begins pumping and I fire a murderous gesture or comment at anyone who dares to interfere. I am at work, and I cut the throat of anyone who stands in my upward path to the top. I am on the bus, the doors fling open and I thrust my shoulder into the people who won't let me get off before they try to get on. The truth is, I do everything I can to protect myself and my world--even if it means using violent force.

Jesus knew we needed to see the physical manifestation of all our violent acts. He knew we needed to see the shed blood in order to understand the severity of our crimes. He understood that not everyone would understand, and some people would reject the cross outright. But if it weren't for the most innocent, beautiful and miraculous of men suffering at the hands of sinners and holy people alike, we might have gone on thinking everything was alright. If it weren't for the bloody crucifixion of Jesus, we might have stayed in our plastic-wrapped worlds, content to ignore our pain and the pain around us. Jesus' spilled blood made quite a mess, but it's the only way we can come clean.

I Messed Up the Macaroni

2011-03-07T07:35:00.011-06:00

My pregnant wife is on bed rest so I've been trying to help out a bit more around the flat. My hands are dried and cracked from daily dish duty and I'm developing expert timing when it comes to simultaneously washing and hang drying clothes. Allie likes to laugh and call me a "lady" when I talk about "all the laundry I have to do today." I've told her over and over again how sexist her jokes are, but some women just don't get it.

So far, my favorite inherited task is cooking dinner. Whereas I use to play video games to let my mind rest in nothing space, preparing dinner has been a restful end to my day. And fellas, if you want to surprise your lady and make a meal, the internet has never made it easier! The other night I browsed the Food Network's website for Friday-night Mac 'n Cheese. All I had to do was follow the simple steps and "one, two, three," Mr. Mom made another wonderful meal.

Internet recipes are foolproof, unless you get greedy and try to double the recipe. After two hours of chopping, pouring, preheating, grating and making an impromptu grocery run, I was ready to hear, "You're the best husband in the world!" Instead, I left out about half of the cheese needed and heard, "Does it taste cold to you?" The reason it tasted cold was for lack of cheese and excess milk, which cooled the meal almost instantly after it left the oven. Now I was the one feeling cold, and bitter, because my heroic cooking effort failed.

At this point some of you might have thrown up your hands and ordered a pizza--not me. I stormed back into the kitchen and pitched the cooling casserole dish into the oven with a "crash!" While I waited and hoped the oven would fix my miscalculation, I melted down faster than a half-serving of Euro cheese. I've never been more pissed off about Mac 'n Cheese and more confused as to why I was so angry.

Being the sympathetic and proven cooking veteran she is, Allie graciously told me it would be ok and asked me to sit down. Then she fired a question: "Do you think this Mac 'n Cheese represents your life right now? It's messy and imperfect. And the harder you try, the worse things get?" The oven light suddenly turned on inside and I grew quiet.

Lately I've had a lot of trouble allowing myself to be human. I take the wrong bus and whip myself for it. I say the wrong Hungarian phrase in a café and then cower in embarrassment. The Mac 'n Cheese incident was the capstone of a week when I felt painfully human. For some reason I have this expectation that I should be a better husband, cook and even Christian.

In preparing to teach from Genesis this week, I've noticed just how imperfect people in the Old Testament can be. People sleep around, lease out their wives to avoid trouble, kill each other and still God is gracious. The Patriarchs--Abraham, Isaac and Jacob--continually disobey God and put their entire family at risk. And yet God reiterates his promises to bless them, multiply them into a "great nation" and take them into the promised land. No matter how hard they try, the Patriarchs' humanness doesn't get in the way of God's purposes.

This is the kind of God I need. This kind of God allows humans to be human, so long as they are willing to let God take His place. It's when I think that I can control everything, rely solely on myself and live without flaws that I stop being fully human. It's then that I step into the role of demigod, not quite divine and unwilling to simply be human. I have found a sweet grace, however, in releasing my claim to divinity and embracing my humanity. When I make that surrender, suddenly I feel lighter and more peaceful about my changing circumstances.

I'm sick of playing God; I'm ready to be more human. I want to order another cappuccino, even if it means I'll be awake until 2am. I want to take the wrong bus and enjoy the view on my way to an unknown destination. I want to burn dinner and laugh about it over pepperoni pizza. I want to take risks and not be afraid of fear. I want to trust in the God who is love and is powerful enough to overcome me and my mistakes.

Lessons from a Year

2011-02-21T11:25:00.003-06:00

Today we celebrate our one-year anniversary of living in Budapest. It’s frigid and overcast outside, which means it is still winter in Central Europe. While I am thankful for the snow I can’t help but hope for sunshine, and soon. We are both feeling a little depressed today. We miss home and wonder what the next year holds. In this melancholy state, I hit my knees desperately searching for hope and answers when I came across Matthew 28:16-20.

This passage is commonly referred to as “The Great Commission.” As missionaries, we have read this passage a thousand times before we left and re-read a couple more thousand since we’ve been here. Today, however, I am floored by a few things that either I haven’t paid much attention to or have never noticed at all.

The eleven disciples, who have been through the emotional ringer and even lost one of their own, gather at a mountain where Jesus instructed them to meet. When they see the resurrected, crucified Lord, “they worshipped him, but some doubted” (v.17). Then Jesus makes yet another dramatic statement, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me” (v.18). Apparently being nailed to a Roman cross didn’t soften Jesus’ flare for the controversial.

The first thing to observe is the power of Jesus and frailty of His followers. Verses 17 and 18 remind me that Jesus is still God-in-the-flesh and the disciples are still human. After laying eyes on the risen Jesus, some of the disciples break out in triumphant worship and still others have the audacity to doubt him! I can’t help but wonder which crowd I would have joined. Despite seeing God work miracles before my eyes and within my own heart, I still have trouble trusting Him. God only knows why He would call me to go overseas in the midst of the darkest season of spiritual doubt I have ever experienced.

Even so, Jesus does not rebuke the doubters or call them foolish for being skeptical of what they see. Instead He affirms his authority over all things (an incredible statement) and charges the half-believing riffraff with a worldwide rescue mission:

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (v.19-20).

The second observation I have so often missed deals with how one makes disciples, by “baptizing” and “teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” I can say with certainty that I haven’t always taken seriously everything Jesus taught and commanded. After all, Jesus did and commanded a lot of crazy things: The casting out of demons, healing the sick, healing the lame, multiplying food resources and even raising the dead. He can’t be asking His followers today to “observe” or obey those things?

While living in Europe, I have seen God heal people on more than one occasion. The first time it happened I thought my brain would short-circuit. I didn’t have a category for “modern-day miracles.” It made me feel uncomfortable, out of control and humbled, like watching lightning strike a building and shut down all of its power. I am seeing just how important it is for God to display His power in a place like Europe, where God is by-and-large a subject to be discussed in Philosophy courses. Despite yours or my system of theology, Jesus is still empowering His followers to heal people, cast out demons and even raise the dead.

The final words of Jesus, as recorded by Matthew, are the most intimate of His commission. The promise to be “with you always, to the end of the age” is one I have clutched dearly over the past year. When my ugliness and selfishness seems too potent to have divinity anywhere near me, God is here. Regardless of my doubtful thoughts, overwhelming feelings or hateful actions, I can’t stop Jesus from being the great “I AM.” Jesus simply won’t leave me alone, and I am thankful.

Jesus’ persistence in loving us and breaking out of our boxes reminds me of a quote from CS Lewis in Surprised by Joy, so I’ll close with it.

In describing his hatred for authority, Lewis explains how he tried desperately to be a rebellious individual, to hide himself even from God...

“But Christianity placed at the center what then seemed to me a transcendental Interferer...There was no region even in the innermost depth of one’s soul (nay, there least of all) which one could surround with a barbed wire fence and guard with a notice No Admittance.”

Riding Along

2011-02-11T14:03:00.001-06:00

On my way home tonight I sat next to a homeless man riding the metro line around Budapest. Sometimes homeless people will ride the metro from the beginning of the line to the end because it’s warm and provides a comfortable place to sit. I watched as this man used the window next to him for a pillow and gazed into nowhere. I can’t stop thinking about that guy’s life. He’s not really going anywhere, but he still rides and the tram will take him somewhere.

Tonight I feel like the homeless and aimless metro passenger. It’s been nearly one year since we moved to Hungary and it still doesn’t feel like home. And when it comes to our service here, I’m moving forward but I don’t know where to. I’ve tried my hand in many different areas (I believe working with youth is my best option), but what impact can I really have in two years? I have lots of questions, but that doesn’t seem to slow this tram down.

I use to think my life’s calling was to be a teacher of the Bible. “If only I could teach at a church,” I daydreamed, “then I would be truly content and happy.” After all, I am creative, can tell a funny story, am an effective communicator and I love the Bible. Lately, however, I’ve realized that a few witty jokes, a couple of catchy phrases in a sermon and an enjoyable stage presence isn’t enough. It’s not enough for me or the world I live in.

So what do I do? I can’t help but feel like my well-crafted Bible talks aren’t going to change the world. These little blog posts will, at the most, render a barely-audible, “hmmm, interesting thought.” I also can’t help but wonder if the most important part of my week is spent playing Wii Tennis with a sophomore in high school. I wonder about those seemingly small interactions with students that slowly build a friendship. Isn’t this what it’s about? Sacrificing a little time, and sometimes glory, to waste my life on a high school student who just wants to know he’s loved?

I use to long for a cushy preacher job that provided me a book deal with Zondervan and a popular podcast. I know it’s important to reach a wide audience, especially if one has the gift of communicating God’s love well, but it’s not the end of the line. If I never write a popular Christian book, it doesn’t mean I haven’t “arrived.” We’re all riding this tram and all of us have to exit eventually. I still don’t know exactly where I’m heading, or at which stop I will have to get off, but at least I’m awake and growing aware of the people around me.

The King's Father

2011-02-10T05:09:00.009-06:00

It sometimes takes a while for movies to make their way to Budapest. So when The King's Speech hit our theaters we were eager to see what all the buzz was about. Last night I was a part of a giddy group of missionaries who had heard about the movie from friends "back home" and were finally able to see it. The hyped-up Best Picture favorite did not disappoint.

In case you live overseas like me, or just have something against popular movies with great reviews, the plot goes like this. Britain's reigning King George V is dying; two brothers stand in line for the throne. The elder brother, Edward VIII (or David), is conflicted between the crown and a consuming love interest. The younger brother, George VI (or Bertie), wants not to usurp his brother, but more seriously is held captive by fear in the form of a stammer.

When David willfully steps away from the inherited throne, Bertie begrudgingly enlists the help of an unorthodox speech therapist--Lionel Logue. With Lionel's persistent help and friendship, Bertie is transformed into a more confident King George VI and rallies Great Britain at the start of World War II.

Though the story focuses primarily on George VI overcoming an embarrassingly painful speech impediment, I want to highlight the relationship between him and his father. King George V knows Bertie is fit for the throne, yet he too is frustrated by his son's inability to speak clearly and "Get it out!" All the frustrated father can think to do is shout and order modifications to his son's posture and pronunciation. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't work.

Unbeknownst to both father and son is the disastrous effect a father's disapproval can have on a boy-turned-man. Only Lionel sees the deeper core issue that Bertie is facing when he stammers: Fear. Bertie fears he cannot be a worthy King almost entirely because he fears that he has been a disappointment to his royal father. The stammer is merely a symptom of a soul desperate for approval.

Bertie's elder brother David also struggles with Papa's approval. Our first glimpse of David might be deceptive, though. He doesn't appear insecure of his father's love. He first appears in the movie confidently piloting and landing a plane. We then hear of David gallivanting with various women, some of whom are currently married. David lives the life of a King-to-be, doing what he pleases with whomever he pleases.

As the story progresses, however, we see that David too lives in fear. Only, David fears that he may never be truly loved. David speaks harshly of his dying father because he knows the King doesn't approve of his "immoral" relationships, or of his son's life in general. In the last hours of his father's existence, it's all David can do to not call his lover once more and hear that someone cares for him. There is a deep fissure between Papa and David. Ultimately David refuses the crown because being in the arms of one who says, "I love you" feels more secure than even the throne of England.

Men who don't receive affirming love from their fathers are missing what Patrick Means calls, "The Father Blessing." Such a blessing is a sign of approval from Dad that he is proud of his son, no matter what. Without the Father Blessing, men search for signs of affirmation in their jobs, accomplishments, relationships with women and even in sports teams. David and Bertie were lacking their father's blessing and it drove both of them into acts of insecurity: The elder into the arms of many women and the younger into an agonizing stammer.

Instead of medicating ourselves and minimizing the pain of feeling unloved, it's vital that we receive the Father Blessing. Like Bertie, our fathers may pass away before we can communicate to them our need, or they may refuse to talk about such an emotionally-charged subject. If it's impossible for a man to receive such a critical blessing, all is not lost.

God has revealed Himself to us a Father to the fatherless; as One who stands on the front porch waiting for His lost son to return home. There is no need for long speeches, excuses or explanations. The Father simply takes us into his estate, tired, afraid, stammering and needing the security of His love. That kind of love feels like home. That kind of love can transform fearful boys into assured sons of the King.

Change

2010-10-15T06:07:00.015-05:00

Probably one of my favorite scenes in all of modern film is in the Coen brothers movie No Country For Old Men. If you have seen the Oscar-winning flick, you know it has enough action and suspense to require a mild Xanax prescription with its viewing. The scene I am thinking of, however, is not impressive in terms of action, camera work or special effects but, as is often the case with the Coens, strictly in terms of dialogue.

Two Texas sheriffs, separated by hundreds of miles and united by a violent crime, sit down for coffee before one of the sheriffs (Tommy Lee Jones) takes the long drive home. As they process the crime, its twisted and horrific chain of effects, neither of them can make sense of where this world is heading or what all this violence is "leading to?" Aside from the serious discussion about the existence of evil and the trajectory of history, the scene is really funny! I hear my grandfather talking when the other sheriff complains about how 20 years ago people didn't have "green hair and bones in their nose" and that "the dismal tide" is turning. The entire scene lasts only a couple of minutes but it betrays a great deal about evil, humanity, time and the question, "Are things getting better or worse?"

When I first saw No Country I felt an arrogant sense of pity for the two sheriffs. How could they not see that humanity has always had the potential for evil? Don't they see that the world is just changing? Surely their own grandfathers probably had identical discussions in their latter days? Now that I am a little older and have probably allowed myself to be more shocked by human violence and tragedy, I can understand the characters' bewilderment.

I am in the process of finishing a book about the Bosnian-Serbian war. More than several times I have had to put it down because the stories of torture, rape, murder and ethnic cleansing are flat-out nauseating. Whats more, the author continually makes the appalling observation that all of this happened in Europe, in the same century that Nazis tried to exterminate the Jews! Has nothing changed? We were told to never forget Auschwitz, Birkenau and Dachau so how could humanity's memory not last into the early '90s?

If I am completely honest, it's hard for me to look at history and say things are getting better. Even though each generation of arm-chair philosophers posits the downfall of man in their own time, I find it nearly irresistible to avoid the same conclusions. I do wonder, though, if human suffering and violence is simply more amplified now because of our interconnectedness? After all, in one ten-minute session online I can read about dozens of bankruptcies, betrayals, murders, lies and infidelities. To a far-less-serious extent, and oftentimes more annoying, I can also hear the cries of thousands of friends who complain about everything from Democrats to Babies-R-Us on Facebook. "It's the dismal tide."

So, is history really plummeting to its dreadful conclusion or can we now just see more of what we once could not? I'm not sure if I can answer my own question. It's impossible for me to ignore the amazing amount of good being accomplished in the midst of our planet's constant turmoil. I will say that I don't want to sit in a corner with duct tape, bottled water and a taser that's primed to fend off apocalyptic cannibals. The potential for fear and fear mongering is unceasing. I would rather find ways I can change so my own world and the one around me will get better. Jesus, in fact, calls for that same sense of responsibility in the gospels.

To the often gloomy Pharisees, so concerned with how the dregs of society were polluting their towns and cities, Jesus spoke his harshest words of personal accountability. "Now you Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and of the dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness...Woe to you! For you are like unmarked graves, and people walk over them without knowing it" (Luke 11:39, 41). The point Jesus makes is what singer/songwriter Jon Foreman observes: "A mirror is harder to hold." Jesus understands that in order for the world to change, we must stop regarding wickedness as something we see in the outside world and start recognizing it in ourselves.

So, I suppose I am in the process of recognizing myself as painfully human. Maybe the whole world is going to pot, but I am not responsible for the whole world. My prayer is for the recognition of and responsibility for violence, greed and emptiness in my own heart. When I understand that I can't fix myself and that I need outside help, I am less prone to fix everyone else's problems before seeking help for my own. I find that I am much more helpful to people with problems when I look in the mirror and see one of "those people."

I'm back...

2010-05-26T03:02:00.003-05:00

Well the last time I wrote I was in the US. After several months of trying to get my feet on the ground and figuring out why in the world I am in Hungary (still haven't figured that one out just yet), I am back in the blogosphere.

So much has been happening in my life and in my heart that I just cannot put it all into words right now. I plan on blogging about daily life at our website but also writing about more personal things--insights, cultural commentary, the gospel--right here. Thank you for your patience and for following this blog, with all of its abrupt pauses and so on.

Here is a video a friend of mine posted on his FB page. It's something to get the ball rolling again on this blog. John Mark McMillan is probably my favorite songwriter right now and this video reveals his great, big bleeding heart. The video gives the background for one of his most popular songs and lets you peek inside of his inspiration for writing music:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NXWE6AC8ao

Bundle up for nuclear winter!

2010-01-22T10:31:00.000-06:00

Question: How do you make French models look even more malnourished and sad than they already do?

Answer: Put them in the setting of the Apocalypse!

For those of you who saw any number of the apocalyptic films that have been released in the past five years (I Am Legend, 2012, The Book of Eli, or The Road) and wondered, "Why can't I rock the trench coat like Denzel?" Or, "Will I ever look as good as a nearly-disintegrated Viggo Mortensen?" Now you can! American designer Rick Owens displayed his latest, darkest creation in Paris this week: Apocalypse-wear. Personally, I think Rick should take a line from Jay-Z's fashion creation (Rocawear) and call his work "Apocawear!" See pics below:

It seems the apocalyptic craze has finally reached the most important form of culture (also read here for my post on movies, the apocalypse, and why it's a hot topic).

Bundle up for nuclear winter, because it's about to get frigid with a 90% chance of sexy!

Up and eternal life

2010-01-02T22:12:00.000-06:00

I know it's a bit late, but I finally had the chance to see Up tonight. Lately I have been doing my best to play "catch up" with some of 2009's best movies. Since Up is on just about everyone's top ten list, I finally pulled the trigger and watched the film "On Demand."

Up is essentially about life. A young boy (Carl) dreams of adventure and meets a daring young playmate (Ellie) who ends up giving him a lifetime of thrills. Before you can say "Walt Disney" three times fast, a well-aged Carl loses his life-long playmate to an unnamed illness. Death, as it does in real life, surprises and even angers most Up viewers. I had several people warn me about the "adult" themes in the film and my own step-mom yelled, "Terrible!" when Ellie died not 15 minutes into the movie. But hey, that is life.

The rest of the movie is spent following Carl as he seeks to make good on what he believes to be Ellie's last wishes. The couple's childhood dream had been to travel to Paradise Falls in South America. Carl devises a plan to take the house he and Ellie lived in and fly it across the equator. An annoying Junior Wilderness Explorer (the equivalent of a boy scout) named Russell tags along with a crotchety Carl and the adventure begins.

I will go ahead and fast forward a bit on the plot so I can relay some correlations I saw to the gospel. Carl, Russell, and a dog friend have to battle off an embittered antagonist to protect a wild bird they cross paths with. Carl sacrifices his coveted dream to fight against evil and protect the bird, saving the day with the help of his friends. Hooray! Good guys win and bad guys lose (always a good formula for a movie).

Even though Up seems to basically engender adventure, it also speaks to life eternal. What this movie teaches us about life is that it should be lived. Instead of hiding inside of our secure fortresses with curtains closed and doors locked, we should cut loose our burdens and fly! Through out this flick, what's really killing Carl is that he is letting death win. He keeps all of Ellie's old things, preserves his house in anachronistic order, and fights to keep things the way they were. All the while life marches on and he stays behind with death. One of the most telling scenes in this movie is when the camera angle zooms out and Carl is dragging his helium-held house behind him like a ball and chain. The burden is clearly too much to bear.

When Carl realizes that he has the opportunity to live, not for himself or even for Ellie, his burden is transformed into a vehicle of adventure. For most of the movie Carl is entirely self-centered. Life and death revolve around him and he is simply too selfish to engage the world. When all seems to be lost and all of his control is finally futile, he receives second life. Carl steps up at just the right time, dies to himself, and becomes the hero of the film.

Every hero learns something on the path to glory. For Carl, the lesson is about life-to-the-fullest (life eternal). Life is greater than death; life continues on, long after death is but a faint thunderstorm passing beyond the horizon. Adventure, laughter, and love are all a part of life. However, you must live in order to find said experiences. Carl learns there is life beyond death and the viewers of Up get a taste of the gospel. The resurrection of a life once-considered dead is inspiring enough to give me hope on this second day of the new year.

Wild Things

2009-11-24T18:14:00.000-06:00

I was FINALLY able to see Where the Wild Things Are this week and I was not disappointed. I have been looking forward to this movie for a long time. When I found out that Spike Jonze was writing and directing the on-screen adaptation of my favorite boyhood book, I was as giddy as a school girl! I have been following Jonze since the 90's and the glory days of MTV (a la Weezer, Beastie Boys, and Fatboy Slim). I use to sit in front of my Mom's TV for hours, knowing exactly when a Spike Jonze video was on and studying its every layer. Believe it or not, MTV once housed and supported creative artists. How the dismal tide has turned!

Nevertheless, this movie was surprising. From viewing the trailers and sampling the soundtrack, I sort of guessed in advance that it would be more adult than expected and it certainly is. Wild Things traverses themes of fear, anger, love, hope, divorce, and despair. It forces introspection and causes anyone who has lived through a divorce to face the painful past. Even with all of the heaviness (my wife Allie described it as unexpectedly sad), I still walked away with faith, hope, and love in my heart.

The main character, Max, is an angry boy. The opening scene finds Max chasing his dog with a fork and you sincerely wonder whether the family pet has met its end at the hands of a child monster. As the movie progresses, however, it is clear that Max is simply "acting out." His father is absent (due to an assumed divorce), his mom is busy with work and a new love interest, and his sister largely ignores her annoying little brother. One night, when Max has reached his wits end, he runs away to a nearby forest, finds a conveniently-placed sail boat, and then catches the nearest trade wind to a far-off island.

By this point in the movie I had already shed more than a few tears. I cannot tell you how badly I wanted to run away from my world as an angry, young boy. My parents' divorce put what often seemed to be unbearable strain on my soul. I remember screaming, yelling, crying, and even carving hateful slogans into the wooden base of my race car track, all because I was hurting. I hated the hate and I was angry about the anger. In short, I understand Max.

Once he reaches the island, Max meets a number of wild beasts. Suddenly an incredible tension enters the film. I spent much of the film wondering what these monsters might do to the little sojourner. However, Max befriends the wild things and the adventure really begins.

It seems the monsters represent much of what is going on inside of Max. In fact, the monster to which Max best relates is one with an anger issue (Carol). The other wild things have different personalities, all of which could be allegorically linked to the world from which he came. In order to save himself, Max tries to become king over the wild things. The creatures respond with glee because, after all, they long to be held in check.

Max does everything to help his new friends. He dances, makes great claims about his kingly power, and even tries to encourage playtime so they can blow off some steam. Even so, the reign of Max the Great does not last for long. The monsters find out that their king is "just one of them" (an interesting observation) and even more tension fills the film. Max cannot control the monsters. Consequently, the wild things all but abandon Max and return to a familiar sense of despair.

What happens next changes the nature of Max's interactions with the wild things. Max starts to come clean about his true identity. He begins to see the damage his feigned reign has caused and starts listening to more of what the monsters are saying. Max begins to realize just how similar the monsters are to himself. Despite his attempts to mend, however, Max ultimately decides it would be better to leave the island. When he does, the monsters are actually sad to see him go.

The best thing that happened to Max, and to the wild things for that matter, was honesty. As an outsider on the island, Max had two options: (1) Reshape himself to be whatever he wanted or (2) face the reality of his world and the wild things'. When Max finally embraced the latter, love was born. No longer could he or the wild things hide, instead they had to accept one another exactly as they were. In fact, Max gave the divisive and distraught creatures with more love than they had ever known. And when migrant Max returns to his homeland, he hurries home to embrace the family he left in hate. Love wins.

What can children of divorce learn from Wild Things? Simply put, I cannot reign over the monster(s) inside of me. Try as I might to put on a show, do my best impression of powerful governing, or recreate myself, I am still me. I know that sounds a bit cliché, but sooner or later we all must face the mean ugliness inside. Once we can admit our despair, the question then becomes: "Am I willing to allow love that is waiting on the outside to come in?"

For a very long time I believed I was allowing true love into my world. I sought love in the club/bar scene, in relationships, and even in the dark world of pornography. The love I found, or I thought I had found anyhow, only pacified my anger and hid my hurt. Furthermore, it all depended upon my efforts to receive love. "If only I can look good enough, be funny enough, or spend more time online, then I will know the love and intimacy I crave." The love I was pursuing was completely conditional and it had nothing to do with the real me.

True love requires honesty, exposure, and unconditional acceptance. This, my patient readers, is the gospel of Jesus. The second I start performing to receive love or painting my face to become appear more pleasing, I am outside of the gospel's radical love. Jesus allows us to be exposed in the light so we can live and love in freedom. He is not safe because he speaks the truth, but he is good because his love is divine. My prayer for you is that you would remain comfortably exposed in the person of Jesus, daily seeking to rest in his love. Join me in the struggle to believe that Jesus loves us and the wild things within.

Up from the ashes

2009-11-24T17:38:00.000-06:00

Today has been an incredibly tough day. My idols were screaming out to me all day, swelling to a size that seemed much larger than God himself. I had to break away, go outside, and listen to some music to simply drown out the noise in my soul. I found that as loud as my idols may shout at me, they are not louder than he who calls me by name. I hope the lyrics to this song bless you as they have blessed me and reminded me of the gospel.

You and I meet
On the shores of the broken
You swallow the ocean
I Swallow my pride
Only to see
The way that I need you
Is more than I knew
I ever could

In between the ashes and the flames
Is a cry an awkward silence
Could never contain
And the falling of my hammers
And the writhing of my pain
Is just not as real as the way
That your calling my name

I cant help thinking
That the way that you want me
And the ghost that haunts me
Are one and the same
Cause you stand at my window
At night wile I'm sleeping
There's not a promise I'm keeping
That could ever repay you

In between the ashes and the flames
There's a song that burns brighter
Than Radio waves
Bout the remnants of my Idols
And the shadow of my shame
About how they scatter like the rain and I can't stop crying
Cause you wont stop calling my name

Calling my name up from the ashes

A cure for the Terminally ill

2009-10-14T21:22:00.000-05:00

When Tom Hanks isn't rockin' the mullet and chasing down the Pope's evil henchmen, he is actually a fantastic actor. Tonight we watched "The Terminal" (Directed by Spielberg) and I was reminded why I so respect Hanks as an artist committed to his craft. In this post-9/11 romantic comedy, the airport is not simply a traveler's purgatory. Victor Navorski (Hanks) is unable to leave JFK for complicated reasons and somehow finds a wandering Amelia (Catherine Zeta-Jones). Love fills the stale, airport air. Soon the entire airport, staff included, begins to feel the love.

Every subtle move, every twitch, slip, fall, wink, and laugh from Victor convinces you that he is indeed a friend. Amelia's character, however, leaves much to be desired. We couldn't tell if it was her character or just Jones' acting, but Amelia is downright annoying. Then again, maybe that's the point.

"The Terminal" is a love story, a movie about love's life-altering effects. It's also a movie about humanity. Amelia is a flawed flight attendant who cannot keep herself from the arms of married, middle-aged men. Victor is a fun-loving, easygoing foreigner whose social and verbal faux pas are simply cute. You find yourself almost hating Amelia for her, how do I put this, flakiness. She constantly runs from Victor and he constantly pursues her. Is that stupidity or love, or both?

Victor is unmistakably Christ-like. Everyone who comes into contact with Victor can't help but melt in his presence. Even the hardened Homeland Security chief learns compassion from the pesky outsider. Despite the heavy hand of the law and countless setbacks, Victor is on a mission. His entire purpose for coming to the US is to fulfill his father's will and obtain one final autograph for a Jazz collection. The journey away from home is a labor of love.

Even though he is stuck in an airport terminal for some time, Victor does not lose sight of his mission and loves along the way. He helps to arrange a marriage, he befriends his Indian enemy, and he even sacrifices himself for his friends at the end of the movie. Furthermore, Victor pursues Amelia in all of her imperfections. He woos Amelia, but she can only run. He builds her a fountain and offers her new life, she receives Victor and then runs some more. Amelia tells Victor to "stay away" because she is poisonous. Victor does only what he knows to do: love and pursue.

Towards the end of the movie, even while Amelia is in the arms of another, Victor sacrifices himself for his friends. His friends, following his example of love, reciprocate and it seems the entire world takes notice. As Victor passes from the somewhat torturous airport setting, Amelia passes him on her way to yet another flight. The look they give each other is one of, "We'll meet again." Amelia is not in Victor's arms by the movie's end, but love still wins. Although she is still a wanton women painfully moving through life, her encounter with Victor clearly changes her.

When you think about it, it is quite a gutsy move to make such a film only three years after the Twin Towers fell. In 2004, people still stopped and looked up when an airplane flew over and the airport was still a place of great anxiety. This movie, however, was filmed at a time when our country needed hope. We were involved in a gruesome war overseas and, despite our government's best efforts, our homeland did not feel so secure. The idea of an outsider revealing his love and irrupting into our world with compassion, not hate, gives us peace.

I worshipped tonight while watching this movie because I am Amelia. I have the hope that love wins out over all of my mistakes. I believe that an outsider can teach me more about my world than one thousand insiders. I hope you can watch this movie soon and find the person of Jesus in Victor Navorski.

Christian Celebrity (Part 1)

2009-09-09T18:04:00.000-05:00

I feel an immense amount of pressure to become a Christian celebrity. Ever since I chose to enter full-time ministry (or ever since it chose me), I have struggled with how I should define success in ministry. I know that Jesus says, "Anyone who wishes to find his life will lose it, but whoever seeks to lose his life for my sake will save it," but does that really apply to the Western world? Aren't the truly successful pastors in the US those who have the most podcast listeners, who are invited to the most conferences, and who have published several books with Zondervan? It doesn't seem like the truly successful pastors are exactly disappearing into obscurity in an effort to lose their lives for Jesus' sake.

I don't mean to knock today's pop-pastors because many--and certainly not all--are outsanding men of integrity. The great irony in all of this is simply that my favorite speakers, writers, thinkers, and theologians did not choose to be celebrities, but their popularity is somewhat indicative of their effectiveness. In fact, it would be nearly absurd for someone like Mark Driscoll or Rob Bell to simply give up their place as a public leader to pursue a life of private service. Can you imagine the difficulties their churches would face if they just up and left one day because they were tired of being celebrities? What about all their hard work and tears shed over their congregation and their city? Isn't that worth something?

I feel that my generation is facing an unprecedented challenge in the allure of Christian celebrity. Sure, there were Televangelists in the 70's and 80's who made megabucks off of millions of viewers, but my generation is different. The Christian subculture is growing rapidly and is effectively creating a potent cultural atmosphere within the surrounding culture. Relevant Magazine, Christian radio, Christian publishing, and Christian podcasting has helped fashion the Christian subculture as a planet in its own orbit. It is, therefore, incredibly difficult to ignore the potential for publicized success in the world of Christian ministry.

Lately I have had minor panic attacks when I realize that I may never have podcast listeners or write an article in Relevant. I am 26 years old and I already feel like somewhat of a failure. I have not yet planted a church in a major city that can grow into a mega-gathering of hipster Christians who write down my words in their journals on Sunday mornings. If I'm going to attain celebrity status, I need to get started early and so far I am moving at a snail's pace.

In fact, my upcoming trip overseas for two years seems like a step down the ladder. I always assumed that I would start speaking at youth camps after grad. school, gaining a cult-like following and making a reputation for myself. Then, at a moment's notice, I would get the call. "There's a church that needs to be planted in the heart of a major city and you are just the guy for the job!" Soon thereafter I would write a tell-all book about my harrowing experience and how God moved in my city. Of course, none of the stuff I've just mentioned is inherently wrong! The only evil in all of this is my desire to accomplish it.

Instead of wanting to enter ministry to see lives changed by Jesus, I want a wireless mic and an interview on Larry King Live. Rather than a small community of faithful servants, I wanted a burgeoning metropolis of tattooed and talented twentysomethings. These are the thoughts that bombard me. I know that I can teach and I love Jesus, but somehow my definition of success is terribly intertwined with that of the kosmos (see 1 Jn.). Instead of saying, "less of me and more of Jesus," I'm saying, "Let's see how big Jesus can really make me." So far, these are simply confessions and there are plenty more to come...

A long post...a beautiful-though hard-revelation

2009-08-24T09:54:00.000-05:00

The past couple of days have been frustrating. I have found myself becoming very anxious and worked up about many things. In particular, I cannot seem to shake my doubts. God has created me to be a person who asks lots of questions. As such, I often work myself into a tizzy with queries, hypotheticals, and scenarios related to God and his scriptures that are very unsatisfying. Secondly, it seems I am constantly reminded of my inadequacy. I constantly compare myself to other people's spiritual life, education, and achievements. All of my comparison is exhausting, eventually leaving me feeling very down.

This morning Allison and I spent some time in the scriptures, reading a passage from the OT about Elisha and Naaman, King of Syria (2 Kings 5). Naaman had leprosy and heard of a prophet in Israel who could heal him. When Naaman goes to Elisha for healing, he does not like what Elisha tells him to do. "Go and wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored, and you shall be clean" (v.10). Naaman desires to meet the prophet and become healed on his own terms, not on God's. Nonetheless, Naaman reluctantly obeys Elisha's instructions and is mercifully healed by YHWH, the God of Israel.

After reading the story and swapping observations with Allison, I still felt very inadequate. "Man," I thought, "I wish I could see the scriptures the way Allie does." I also identified with Naaman in his frustration. I often want God on my terms, not on his (which I think is indicative of Modern man's problem). Furthermore, I was doubting the accuracy of these miraculous OT stories and couldn't concentrate on what God may have been trying to communicate. Feeling even more discouraged than before, I asked Allison if I could be alone with God for some time.

I walked out to a swing and sat down with my bible for a while. I looked around for almost 30 minutes, just taking in my surroundings and searching within myself to see what was going on. After finding nothing but more frustration I decided to read from the NT to see if Jesus could shed any light on my situation. Just to give all of you a tip for your own spiritual life: reading Jesus doesn't always produce peace in a difficult situation.

I turned to John 6 and following a quick reading of the chapter I felt as if I had been punched in the face. If you pick up Jn. 6 at v. 22, you find Jesus addressing the crowds and many of his disciples (there were more than just 12 at this point). The crowds who had just been miraculously fed by Jesus (Jn. 6:1-15) seek out Jesus once more. "Rabbi, when did you come here," they ask him in a manner that seems to imply, "We weren't through with you, why did you leave us?" Jesus then tells them that they are seeking him because they are still hungry for bread, not because they are hungry for the Son of God. Jesus then moves into a powerful--yet difficult to understand--discourse about eternal life, the bread of life, and what it means to believe in Jesus.

Jesus compares himself to the bread that Moses gave to the Israelites in the dessert when they were starving for sustenance. Jesus explains that such bread fades in the stomach, but his bread--his own body--offers eternal life. The crowd and some of the disciples are confused and frustrated. Just when you think Jesus would clear things up and aid the crowds in their understanding, he says this: "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you" (v. 53). The response to this by many of the disciples is that "this is a hard saying; who can listen to it" (v. 60)? Only the twelve disciples stick around and Jesus continues to call out his followers by informing them that "one of [them] is a devil" (v. 70).

Now, come back to how I was feeling before I read this passage. I expected Jesus to squelch my doubts, fears, anxieties, and feelings of inadequacy. Instead, I see him confusing crowds and calling out his disciples. At this point, I was incredibly aggravated because I knew that I identified more with the frustrated crowds than with the twelve disciples who stuck it out with the Messiah. The next 30 minutes I cried out to God in sheer anger, pulling on my hair while I was praying and grinding my teeth. I just couldn't figure out why I wasn't experiencing the eternal life I had just read about.

I decided to read through the passage again because something was just drawing me to do so. All of a sudden, like a giant Acme anvil hitting a cartoon character with unapologetic force, God hit me with some truth. The first time I read Jn. 6, it felt like I had been hit in the face and it hurt. This time it felt like I had been hit in the face and it quieted my soul. I realized that I identify with the crowds in Jn. 6 and Naaman in 2 Ki. 5 because that's exactly how I see my interactions with God. I want a therapeutic, consumer-friendly God who will make me feel better all of the time. No suffering or hardship for me, just give me the pill that will make it all better!

Look at Jn. 6 again. Jesus calls out the crowds because they simply want more bread to fill their stomachs. Jesus is trying to show them that he is the Son of God-the revealed Messiah-and all they are concerned about is another meal. When Jesus explains to them about eternal life through himself, the bread of life, they quickly say, "give us this bread always" (v. 34). They aren't even concerned with what Jesus is saying about himself or the fact that God is in the midst of them; they just want the benefits of eternal life. No wonder Jesus comes down so hard on them. The language of eating Jesus' flesh and blood refers to the sacrifice one faces when following Jesus and the hunger one must have to pursue Jesus. The crowds wanted neither, they just wanted full stomachs. In other words, they wanted the end without the means to get there. It is also no wonder that they say, "this is a hard saying." The people up to this point have had it easy with how Jesus has provided for them and shared great love. When sacrifice enters the picture, however, hard sayings are just too much. This, my patient readers, is me.

I am an American who consumes. I consume to fill my stomach. I sometimes forget to chew because I just want to become full. I am a product of my American environment. Just listen to what most commercials about food will tell you (especially fast food). "No other product will fill you up like ours!" In fact, the other day I heard a Domino's pizza ad. that told me I could order 3lbs. of food to eat in one sitting. All of this to say, I am a consumer of goods to the point of excess. The reason I have been so frustrated with Jesus lately is because he does not allow me to simply consume him for the feeling of being full. Jesus does not want you or me to simply eat of his bread to become full, instead he desires we eat of his bread because it is from him.

From my reading of Jn. 6, all Jesus wants from his followers is devotion to him--the incarnate God of Israel. Such devotion requires sacrifice. For so long I have associated Jesus with good, fuzzy feelings and comfort. I have food on my table and so I thank God, but do I even care about God? Is God a Father or a vending machine (see Derek Webb's "The Spirit v. the kick drum")? When doubts plague me and I become frustrated, I just lash out and expect to have the faith of the disciples. What I often fail to realize is that the disciples struggled and suffered to become who they were in the end. Ultimately, I realized that Jesus wants me to want him and not just his benefits.

Is the pursuit of Jesus and the sacrifice that comes with it (taking on the cross that tore his flesh and spilled his blood) worth it? The answer to this question comes from the mouth of Peter at the end of Jn. 6. After the crowds and some of the disciples leave Jesus, he turns to the twelve and asks if they are going to follow the dissenters? Peter answers, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life" (v. 68). Walking and abiding with Jesus will eventually lead all of us to a point where we ask if it is worth the cost? At such a point, we must turn again to Jesus himself and observe God in the flesh. Yes, it is experiencing doubt, frustration, anxiety, fear, and even death to follow Jesus because he has the words of eternal life. He is the great "I am" and is constantly saving us from being comfortable creatures who would sell our souls for a meal. He moves us beyond the faint desires of our flesh and into true life, eternal life (or "the life of the ages"). I am reminded of the Robbie Seay song, "Rescued Ones," where he sings, "Oh our mouths are full, but our souls are starved for you!"

Jesus is worth following because of Jesus himself and no other reason at all. The love, hope, joy, suffering, hard sayings, and discomforts that come with Jesus give us true life. In summary, I am trying to follow Jesus anew, as a follower of him and not just his benefits.

I'm losing faith in coincidence

2009-08-22T13:32:00.000-05:00

Allie and I have been preparing to go overseas for the next two years. Part of our preparation has included packing up all of our belongings, moving stuff into storage, and deciding what we will keep and what we can sell.

This morning we had a garage sale and it was better than we could have hoped for. We earned almost $90 for stuff we had little or no regard for. We did, however, have two couches that we didn't know what to do with. Eventually I looked up and jokingly said, "Father God, would you please find someone who can take these couches." We didn't want to haul them off and we both knew they could find a good home. I figured, "God answers his children's prayers, even if they are silly, so why not?"

As the garage sale was winding down, Allie and I decided to throw some signs up that read, "Free Couches." We were tired of waiting and quickly lost interest in trying to earn a profit off of the old couches. It wasn't long after the signs went up that we had a visitor.

I walked outside to meet the person looking at our couches. "Hi, are you interested in the couches," I asked the woman dressed in a business suit. "Oh yes, my husband and I could use them for our home," she answered and then followed by asking, "why are you giving them away?" I told her that Allie and I were going overseas to tell people about Jesus and the woman's face lit up. "I'm a born-again Christian too!" She went on to tell me that she is originally from Kenya and that she helps with a church down the road. After we talked for a while and shared some much-needed air conditioning, our Kenyan sister said that she and her husband had been praying for couches! "We just moved here and we don't have much at all." Allie and I were delighted to help her and were moved by God's provision for both of his children.

As we made arrangements to get the couches to our new friend's house, I couldn't help but wonder, "Is this coincidence or is God really working to provide for us?" It seems like the entire situation is pretty incredible. Allie and I were a few minutes away from hauling the couches off to the dump and all of a sudden this Kenyan sister in Christ shows up, telling us that she has been praying for couches. I could chalk up this experience to coincidence but it happens to us ALL THE TIME! At this point in my life it takes waaaay more faith to always believe in coincidence, rather than a God who provides for those he loves. It's not that coincidence cannot exist, it's just that God has revealed himself over and over again as one who interrupts daily life with grace, provision, and love.

I hope you can believe in a big God who answers seemingly insignificant prayers. Amen.

Birthday Post

2009-08-15T12:18:00.000-05:00

Birthdays are great for a lot of reasons. For one thing, I will most likely overdose on sugar and butter this evening while celebrating with my family. Secondly, I will have people post on my facebook wall that I haven't heard from in forever. I love hearing from friends, both old and new. And of course, people will give me gifts. As much as I try not to be consumed by clothes, books, and shiny things (see previous posting), I still enjoy receiving gifts. Call me human.

On the other hand, birthdays are also great for perspective. I woke up this morning to find an email informing me that a longtime friend of the family has pancreatic cancer. This friend of my Dad's has a wonderful family and much to live for. On a day when I am celebrating the joys of life, I am at once confounded by my own. Why am I not the one with cancer? I know that my life has not been entirely easygoing, but why am I healthy and so many others are hurting? The "why's" and "what if's" are endless.

However, if I were to obsess over these thoughts then I would miss my own life and give death the spotlight. Today I have the opportunity to see good friends, break bread with family, and breath again. Furthermore, I am more alive now than I ever have been because I know my God and he knows me. Even though the heartache, darkness, and injustices of the world are more apparent to me now then ever before, God's redemption of all this is all-the-more real. Four or five years ago I would not be able to tell you that God is bigger than our unbelief or that he has never seen a righteous man go hungry (Prov. 10:3). I would not have been able to tell you that God breathes life into broken relationships and protects the marriage of his children. Even two years ago I would not have been able to tell you that I was perfectly loved by a real, living God who is constantly irrupting into our world. There is so much I have learned from being in pain and I can tell you that it does not have to end there.

I'm not sure what else to say because that about sums it up. I hope all of you give meaning to your days and learn to trust in the God who does not let death have the final word.

Grumpy dispatches from a domesticated American

2009-08-12T08:54:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling a little overwhelmed and awfully grumpy today. Allison and I moved to Dallas recently, waiting for our overseas training to begin in September. My anxiety has little to do with raising funds for our trip, making a big move to DFW, or even leaving behind my friends and family for at least 3 months. Now that I am out of my normal element--my hometown of Houston--I am seeing things much differently. I am becoming more aware of my surroundings and the many influences on my behavior. I have come to conclude that I am thoroughly domesticated.

While we have been in Dallas, Allie and I have been watching a lot more TV. I say "a lot" because even one hour of TV today is way more than we are use to. Nevertheless, the more TV we watch the more advertisements we see. Whereas I studied commercial marketing ad nauseam (pun intended) and am use to my grandfather muting commercials, Allie's family tries to enjoy them. In many ways commercials are as much a part of the TV experience as the featured show itself.

Maybe its because I am in a different social setting or because I am not use to watching so much TV, but I have noticed one strong theme in TV ads: Buy this and you will be happy! Everything from car commercials to ads about Trident gum to bargain deals at Kohls promise to make us shinier, happier people (see REM). This narrative is repeated over and over again and we have all bought into it.

Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann once delivered 19 theses at an Emergent Conversation conference in 2004. His first thesis was that "Everyone lives by a script." His fourth thesis statement summarizes one through three and goes as follows: That script (technological, therapeutic, consumer militarism) enacted through advertising and propaganda and ideology, especially on the liturgies of television, promises to make us safe and to make us happy.

It's not as if I have been blind to this sweeping script. I do think, however, I am just now realizing its effects on me. Here I am, grumpy and frustrated about the consumerism that so plagues me and my countrymen and the only thing I can think about is going to Barnes and Noble. Why? Because I am upset and I would feel better if I could buy a new book, something glossy and new for my bookshelf. Something that people could look at when they enter my home and think, "Wow, he must read a lot" or "what a lovely collection of books." This, my friends, is simply idolatry via consumeristic ideology. I can manipulate the system of consumerism to get people to worship me and then I will be satisfied. Consumerism=therapy.

I don't have much else to add because I am still working through this garbage. But let me at least thank God for the Holy Spirit because I would lose my mind without some sort of guidance in all of this. I pray that you are also discerning your surroundings and looking beyond that which controls and enslaves. May we worship the one, true God and leave our idols behind.

Suffering, in full color

2009-04-13T11:45:00.000-05:00

I use to wait tables during the Summer. Actually, I started off as a busboy and food runner, eventually working my way up to waiting tables. Being a busboy was much easier than waiting tables because you never had to interact with the customers--or people really.

When I started waiting tables I began to learn how I responded to adversity. When you are "in the weeds," you can either freak out and start yelling at the Kitchen staff (not a good way to get your food out faster) or you can focus and work fast. You also learn how to take the good with the bad. You are going to drop a plate or a glass, your manager is going to get on to you about something and you are going to have great customers along with really awful customers.

My best and worst story from waiting tables is when I received an $.86 tip--there's a decimal point in front of that 86--on a $76 tab. I remember grabbing their cash and "tip" after they had left, entering it into our computer system and then cursing out loud once I found out what they had done. First of all, I was amazed at how quickly curse words come to my lips in a frustrating situation. Secondly, I was overwhelmed by how much I let one bad customer affect me. The entire night following the "tip," I was a jerk to everyone around me. It didn't matter how many outstanding patrons came into the restaurant that night, one inconsiderate couple had effectively ruined the evening.

In retrospect, things didn't have to go down the way they did. I could have asked God to give me the strength to love my newfound "enemies" and treat those around me with the grace I had not received from Mr. and Mrs. Moneybags. I could have just let it go and let my ego die a little, but instead my soured sense-of-entitlement ruled the day. I'm not writing because I have always wanted to "get back" at that couple via blog bash. I am writing because I am just now noticing how much I let evil and negativity crowd out goodness and love.

Have you ever been in a really difficult place and thought to yourself, "Why are things always so bad?" I wasn't always this way and certainly have not viewed the world in such a dark light my entire life, yet as I grow older I am seeing how easy it is for me to drift into that mindset. Lately I have been blaming God for almost any and every bad circumstance or happening that intrudes my safe, little world. As it was when I waited tables, I have been choosing to let negativity and evil color my world grey. It's become much harder for me to see the goodness of my God and the love he has shown towards me as I advance in age.

At issue here is not the quality of my life. I have a roof over my head, shoes on my feet, food in the cupboard, a car to drive, an education, a wonderful wife, clean water and so on and so on. In light of the world's greater--and at the same time poorer--population, what the hell am I complaining about? Simply put, what has been tainting me and turning me cold is an ungrateful, unthankful mindset that refuses to see the world in full color.

Chuck Swindoll, a well-aged and wise pastor, is quoted as saying, "I'm convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I respond to it." I can either play the part of the wounded victim or respond in love and faith because I know the character of God to be good. I am not calling for dishonest responses to crummy situations. In fact, we should be entirely honest with how bad our day might be going depending on whatever might be happening in our world. We should, however, be honest enough to look outside of ourselves and recognize the beauty, love and truth that is manifested on our big, blue planet. A well-shaped worldview stares empathetically into the teary eyes of injustice and laughs along with a side-splitting joke, "weep[ing] with those who weep" and "rejoic[ing] with those who rejoice." Life isn't all black, all white, or even all grey--it's full color.

The gospel according to blinds

2009-03-19T10:20:00.000-05:00

They’re called blinds. Righty tighty, lefty loosey. We grab tightly and turn to the right, so the string that holds them together pulls so tightly that no light can come in. Yet, that’s not exactly how it happens is it? Even the cracks between them cannot hold the light that begs, even demands, to enter. When the dust has gathered long enough and the cool air accompanied by darkness has chilled us to the bone, we are moved to action.

We grab hold of the instrument that once kept the light out and turn in the opposite direction. Righty tighty, lefty loosey. The strings once pulled taught by our objection to the sun’s brilliance are now loosened in sweet release. The blinds lighten up and so does the inside. The dust once at rest is tossed into the air like flour in a bakery. We have changed our minds and thus rerouted the destination of the light’s warm glow.

Now, a name change is in order. What were once called blinds would now be more aptly described as tiny windows, for they allow us to see clearly into the world. The temperature begins to rise within and so our senses also rise to the occasion. The once gray world of an indoor domain is blasted by the illumination of full Technicolor. Blues are bluer and greens are greener. Though we may choose to dim the light by adjusting them again, things will never be the same. We have seen too much.

So, each day we arise and choose to let sunlight shine or darkness depress. The clouds may cloak the sun and we may not always feel the warmth, but the fire continues to burn. Will we keep the blinds open on days of rain or twist tightly in darkness, refusing to acknowledge what we cannot see? Will we hope for what’s beyond our vision or let our memories slip into the dull pattern of forgetfulness? Rise, turn, shine and believe.

Simply Jesus

2008-12-08T11:06:00.000-06:00

I've always admired the "good news" of Jesus for its simplicity. I once heard a story about a Buddhist healer who was engaged in deep conversation with a friend over the differences between his beliefs and those of Christianity. The Buddhist healer remarked, "The path of Buddhism is a very, very difficult path; the journey towards enlightenment is very difficult, and even those who struggle rarely obtain enlightenment," then he moved to Jesus, "Christianity is like cheating: You give your life to Jesus and He instantly takes you to enlightenment." The "good news" of Jesus is simply that every person on this harsh planet has a shot at hope and true life. The CEO working on the top floor of his building, the philosopher who lectures at Stanford, and the bum on the street corner who can hardly remember his name; they all have a chance to be enlightened.

I myself was enlightened by the "light of the world" when I was 15 years old. A friend of mine invited me to a small, unassuming church in the middle of our town. The preacher, his father, was not eloquent in his speech or presentation of the gospel message. "Preacher," as his congregation called him, was a short man who sometimes forgot what he wanted to say and told jokes that were most likely passed along via email forward. Nevertheless, what Preacher lacked in elegance he made up for with substance. He had a simple story to tell, one that included God, man, and a rescue mission. Preacher himself had been rescued from a life of alcohol abuse and selfishness. His message was laced with his failures so he could emphasize God's victory in brining a dying man to new life.

I cannot begin to tell you how many lives Preacher touched with the simple message of Jesus. His congregation was small, but it boasted lives that had been wrecked and rebuilt, and then sometimes wrecked again. Divorcees, widowers, blue-collar workers, and single moms were easy to find in the Friendswood Baptist Church. The respect Preacher had amongst society's outsiders was clearest when Preacher became sick with cancer and the congregation was invited to pray over him. As Preacher kneeled in the center of his church and the hands of those who had been touched by his message were now touching him, a young boy with Down's Syndrome hit his knees to hug Preacher. The child had a bold love for his Preacher, who probably preached more than once about the Kingdom of Heaven belonging to those who are sick and weak. The Kingdom of Heaven was on display that morning as Preacher was hugged and touched by those whom this world had refused to embrace.

Preacher passed on from this life yesterday afternoon, around 1:30pm. I don't have enough words and you don't have enough time to communicate and understand how powerfully God was displayed in this man's life. Even yesterday, when I went over to McCauley's house to grieve the loss of his father, Preacher's wife was quick to give glory to God. I told her that I wouldn't be the man I am today if it weren't for Preacher. Preacher's wife, Faith, grabbed my arm and said, "That was the Lord." God has been made real to me through the life of a Preacher who carried a simple message of hope. My prayer for you who read this is that you would simply look to Jesus for true life, hope, and peace.

Apocalypse Now

2008-08-21T08:59:00.001-05:00

I am easily affected by seasonal change. When fall's first cold front brushes across the Texas landscape, its cool kiss invigorates me and I experience a sudden rush of energy. The overcast clouds of winter create a ceiling over my head and instantly I become more contemplative, wondering, "What's beyond?" By the time blue skies stretch themselves out in the spring and summer, I am ready to stop wondering and start wandering. I suppose if I didn't live in Texas I would be more able to appreciate the seasons. Here, seasons are like an annoying relative who never shows up on time and then overstays his welcome.

As I get older the seasons begin to run together in a fluid freshet of time. I can now look back and catalogue years of my life into particular seasons. For example, my four years in college stand as a season of great maturity and spiritual searching. In short, seasons seem much broader in my mind than simply fall, winter, spring, and summer. As a student of culture, I've been observing the western world and picking up on an obvious seasonal trend.

The 90's stood as a time of great enthusiasm and optimism. In America, the economy boomed early on and it seemed like there was no limit to what we could create or innovate. The internet was birthed, cell phones made it into the hands of every person alive, and the dot-com industry erupted. The Dow Jones industrial average soared, NAFTA was created and trade increased, and abroad the EU was formed. In science, String Theory was developed, a sheep was cloned, and the Hubble space telescope allowed us to see beyond the stars. I could go on but you get the picture. Art imitates reality and movies are no exception, as big budget films originated in the 90's. Additionally, movies like Schindler's List, Forrest Gump, Saving Private Ryan, and Shawshank Redemption promised the public we had learned from our past mistakes and were hopeful for the future; or so it seemed.

When the year turned 2000, a seasonal shift occurred and nobody knew quite how to react. Enron filed for bankruptcy, 9/11 shocked the western world (and our economy), the war in Iraq divided our country, and an energy crisis was acknowledged. All of a sudden our bright future looked grim and art, staying true to form, began to imitate reality. Movies became increasingly dark and apocalyptic; books and music carried the same themes. I Am Legend, 28 Days Later, No Country for Old Men, and Donnie Darko all express a disgust with modern-day humanity and a sense of things coming to an end. Even the pop-happy band Matchbox 20 changed its tune. The group released a song called, How far we've come, in which Rob Thomas prophecies, "I believe the world is burning to the ground," and "I believe the world is coming to an end, oh well, I guess we're gonna pretend." What are those who create culture intending to communicate to us and to the world?

I've been reading Cormac McCarthy's newest book The Road, a post-apocalyptic story about a boy and his father traveling through a burned and ravaged America. The book won a Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 2007 and is being made into a major motion picture. Even in this depressing book where humanity has destroyed itself and continues to do so, hope abides. The young boy reminds his father at one point "we're the good guys" and "we carry the fire." Much like the scarred countryside in The Road, my culture is a ruined landscape that offered fruit and vegetables but yielded weeds and thorns. No matter how much success the 90's brought us, it never succeeded in insulating us from evil. Humanity seemed to sit on top of the world and somehow we were surprised when it abused its power. So what hope is there for humanity if humanity can't even save itself?

Matters of hope, justice, redemption, and even the restoration for a weeping mother earth provide the frame for the gospel message. "Gospel" means "good news," and the good news for our broken culture is that we don't have to depend upon ourselves for hope. When ethnic cleansing represents the most vile, selfish, and abusive act man can commit, we look to the One whose selflessness can change the heart of a brutal dictator. When child prostitution becomes a country's national pastime, we look to the One who said, "to these [children] belong the Kingdom of heaven." Jesus is the hope of nations because He can change hearts and will one day rule in true justice and love. The Kingdom of Heaven is the only hope for a world that is dreadfully tired of man's progress being spoiled by none other than man himself. It's no wonder why Jesus didn't respond to the passers by who jeered him to "come down from the cross" and "save yourself." It seems He knew that man had already worn out that option and would continue to do so. What we needed was something beyond ourselves to reach in and pull our hands out of the mess we made. Praise God for a Savior.

Constructing Kingdoms

2008-07-17T11:45:00.000-05:00

Many churches seem to prioritize their time, efforts, and money around building campaigns. I once met a man who had faithfully attended his church in South Houston for over 20 years, since its inception. I asked him how he felt about his church home and why he stayed there for so long? He proceeded to tell me about the numerous building campaigns they had successfully planned and accomplished. His face was beaming with pride on behalf of his church and their new, multi-million dollar facility. They were clearly a growing success.

However, in my conversation with this suburban family man, there was no mention of the relationships he had undoubtedly formed over the years. Not once did he cite an example of his church’s involvement in the surrounding community. Instead of commending his church’s ability to serve, he praised their ability to spend. All across the western world, this is the pattern of pride I have witnessed in the evangelical community. Bigger means better while success goes hand-in-hand with excess.

It’s almost as if we are trying to keep up with the quickly constructing cities we live in. After all, the buildings that receive the most attention are in the highest places, owned by the largest and wealthiest companies. Their towers dominate our skylines, exerting influence over all who sit in its shadows. From their top-floor, corner offices, CEO’s map out the landscape so as to divide and conquer as far as the eye can see. Who wouldn’t want that sort of supremacy or clout in their community? Couldn’t the church gain that kind of influence and use it for good?

While having lunch with a friend who once attended a megachurch, I asked him how some of these churches could reconcile spending more money on an air conditioning bill than on the poor and broken in their own communities? He told me straight-faced, “The bigger they build, the more people they believe will be attracted to hear the gospel.” I certainly understood the logic, but I’m afraid the means do not justify the end. I think we have confused Kingdom ethics with those found in the business world.

Much of American Christianity has failed to live counterculturally by giving into the American business model. The Tao of the business world is build big or go home. Unless your company is building, spending, and growing, success will be as fleeting as yesterday’s stock scores. Amongst countless passages about the Kingdom of God advancing as a covert movement, I am reminded of Matthew 20:20-28. The mother of James and John approaches Jesus on his way to Jerusalem and asks that he grant her sons seats of power in the Kingdom. Knowing that he is on his way to die, Jesus questions whether James and John are ready for such a position of humility. To make his point clear, Jesus compares those who rule “the nations” with those who rule in his kingdom. Exertion, pressure, numbers, and strength mark one kingdom, while the other is best seen in the heart of a servant or slave. This is what Jesus means when he later says, “my Kingdom is not of this world” (Jn. 18:36).

So what should be the next move for the American church? Should we tear down the large buildings and go underground? Please don’t misunderstand me, I am not knocking all large, wealthy churches. I am simply asking for motives to be checked and philosophies of ministry to be reexamined. In my city of Houston, two churches are forking over a ridiculous amount of cash in order to construct enormous white crosses and consequently “mark our city for Christ.” Is this the way Jesus and his original disciples sought to impact their world? Are we fighting for positions of power in our culture by using the tools of the culture or the tools of Jesus’ humble Kingdom? To quote Philip Yancey, “history shows that when the church uses the tools of the world’s kingdom, it becomes as ineffectual, or as tyrannical, as any other power structure.” Only time will tell if the American church will follow this fate.

Modern Babel

2008-06-23T14:32:00.000-05:00

The Old Testament scares me. Weird names, fantastic stories, and a God who frequently frightens me. For these reasons and so many more, my wife and I have been casually walking through the OT at the beginning and end of each day. Personally, I think it's silly to run away from something you either don't understand or are afraid of; so we press on. Reading through the OT chapter-by-chapter has its adventures and doldrums. Some days we read genealogies and others we ponder in silence the magnificence of the Hebrew text. Most days we end our reading with more questions than answers.

This morning we were in Genesis 11, which oddly enough contains a story and a genealogy...we were in the double-bonus round. The chapter begins with a story about all of humanity speaking a unified language and working together for a common goal. Nothing strange there, just themes that could be found in an Obama address. The story goes south when God sees the "children of man" building a tower into the heavens. What follows is a confusing statement from Yahweh that left me rereading the passage several times over:

"And the LORD said, 'If as one people all sharing a common language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be beyond them. Come, let’s go down and confuse their language so they won’t be able to understand each other.'" (Gen. 11:6-7)

Why would God do such a thing? His behavior seems comparable to the bully at school who sees you dominating a healthy game of Jenga, and then knocks over the carefully stacked blocks for a few laughs! Was God afraid of modern progress and an impending industrial revolution? Is Yahweh a spiteful God who likes to watch his creation scramble like ants under a magnifying glass? I am no Hebrew scholar and my OT is weak at best, but I think I understand God's motives and it fits well with the entire scope of the OT.

Early on in the OT, Adam was charged with a guilty verdict and it wasn't because he enjoyed fruit from a naked chick. It's pretty-well understood that Adam and Eve wanted to be like God, so they took the apple and ate. The apple itself wasn't evil, it was the motive for eating the apple that plunged humanity into ruin. All of humanity, from generation to generation, cannot help but replace God with themselves or deficient deities. It's no wonder Yahweh establishes the first commandment to be "You shall have no other gods before me." We cannot resist the temptation to be all-powerful and all-knowing.

When Friedrich Nietzsche penned the prophetic words, "God is dead...," he was responding to modernity's influence on the world and the church's inability to create or offer values in such a movement. In summary, Nietzsche developed the concept of the Übermensch (Superman) and made it the goal to which humanity should ultimately strive. Humanity was to progress past silly ideas like God and create its own values, replacing God in a creation role and thus rendering Yahweh (and other deities) useless. Man replaces God and becomes the Superman.

In Gen. 11, God is trying to prevent history from repeating itself when he destroys the Tower of Babel. Adam and Eve couldn't resist the opportunity to become all-knowing and consequently all-powerful. The same temptation is present in the unified building of the tower. Remember God's words, "If as one people all sharing a common language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be beyond them." God wasn't afraid of building projects or construction sites, He knew if they could create a tower into the heavens they would believe themselves to be the supermen of their day. There would be no need to search for a creator God because they had become that God. It would be anachronistic for me to blame Babel's fall on modernity, but modernity is certainly the culprit in God's modern-day demise.

I'm not afraid of modernity, or any cultural phenomenon, and neither is God. I live with a scientist, so I love science. I have lived with a philosopher and I love philosophy. I'm not so naive, however, as to think I can use modernity's disciplines to build my way into the heavens. I will always discuss the mystery of God and search out answers while on this planet, but eternity is beyond me and modernity. The so-called definitive evidence of modernity is less-than conclusive and satisfies a man-made burden of proof. Babel fell because humanity is prideful. Humanity continues to fall because we refuse to admit our limitations and conceive of a being more knowledgeable, powerful, and loving than our minds can imagine. Think freely and do not be afraid...

I doubt it

2008-06-02T07:45:00.000-05:00

I struggle with doubt. I sometimes feel I understand Rene Descartes when he began to doubt everything until he came to his infamous conclusion, "Cogito Ergo Sum" (I think therefore I am). Call it the curse of overthinking because I just can't leave some things alone. When a pastor preaches on Adam and Eve I can't help but spuriously ask whether or not they were real or just characters in a play? If a string of coincidences favor my way and clearly display God's handiwork in my life, I will question the coincidence. I am convinced that if God came to me and revealed his very form I would even then find a way to cast doubt on the experience as time passed. What is faith if I cannot stop doubting?

I recently read a debate between up-and-coming atheist Sam Harris and the pop-pastor Rick Warren. They exchange blows to each other's beliefs and, at one poignant point, Harris questions whether beliefs are really unbeliefs? When addressing Islam, Harris points out to Warren that, on the issue of Islam as a religion, they both stand "in a relationship of atheism." The Californian pastor fires back, "We both stand in a relationship of faith. You have faith that there is no God." They have certainly centered on the real question, "Is atheism a lack of faith in God or belief that there is no God?" I have been wrestling with this very question, not in relation to atheism but to my own doubt. When I doubt am I expressing a lack of faith or am I believing something different about God than what I had beforehand?

If you read the entire Harris v. Warren debate, you will find that Harris emphatically expresses belief at various points in the discussion. Both men are trying to interpret the world around them through evidence, experience, and bias. After reading the article in its entirety, I have concluded that atheism is a set of beliefs and unbeliefs. Similarly, when my doubt peeks its head, I am interacting with beliefs about God and his character as well as unbeliefs about what I have known him to be. It is at this crucial pivot point where my experience is ushered to center stage.

My friend John Wilson once told me the greatest encouragement to his faith was the experience of his conversion. "The reason I continue to believe," he would tell me with great intensity, "is that I was once a certain way, living a certain way, and not wanting to change, then God interrupted my life with love and now I am heading in the other direction." Truth be told, John was a rebellious jailbird when he met Jesus and now he is an incredible family man and soon-to-be scholar. He would invariably follow his story with John 9:25, "though I was blind, now I see;" a quote from a blind man Jesus healed.

We frequently turn faith into this magic feeling we must always maintain or else face the terrible judgment of God. More often faith is presented as an act of remembrance in the life of a believer. In Psalm 103:2-3, David writes, "Bless Yahweh, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit..." David goes on to declare the wonderful things God has done to interrupt his world with love and mercy. He further reminds man how small he truly is in view of eternity (vv. 15-16). Faith as an act of remembrance is what Robert Robinson had in mind when he wrote in "Come thou fount," "Here I raise mine ebeneezer, hither by thy help I come." An "ebeneezer" is a stone of remembrance whereby the Israelites would remember God's help.

My friend John proudly carries his ebeneezer stone of remembrance. When my faith is in peril, as it has been for the past five months, I need only return to "mine ebeneezer" to remember the God who rescued me from darkness. Beyond my conversion, I can bear witness to countless blessings and times when God has intervened to show me his unending love and affection towards me. What is your ebeneezer and when is the last time you sat before it? Gal. 2:20.

Song of the Week

2008-05-08T10:42:00.001-05:00

This song makes me believe again and again in the love stronger than all of our doubts...

how long you have traveled in darkness weeping
no rest in language, no words to speak
but there in the wreckage beneath bricks and bindings
love has come, love has come for you

against the night sky of your waiting
your face is like starlight when he walks in
everything worth keeping comes through dying
love has come, love has come for you

so lift up your heart now, to this unfolding
all that has been broken will be restored
here runs deep waters for all who are thirsty
love has come, love has come for you

ten thousand angels will light your pathway
until the day breaks fully in the East
they will surround you and make your way straight
love has come, love has come for you
love has come, love has come for you

-"Ten thousand angels," Cademon's Call

See More Clearly

2008-04-25T10:57:00.000-05:00

I love going to the gym because it is a spectacle of humanity. We are all in there putting our bodies through torture so we can appear less tortuous to other people's eyes. One of my favorite things in the world is to catch the guys in the gym, and we all do this, looking in the mirror at their newly defined muscles. I will often look around to make sure I won't get caught and then, in a flash of brilliance, I lift my sleeve to reveal my own work of fitness art. "Vanity of vanities!"

Today I was washing my hands and caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror. Only this time I felt pride well up inside of me concerning how my reflection looked. I quickly turned away, not wanting to give my pride the fleeting joy it so greedily desires. The Scripture passage in 1 Cor. 13 quickly came to mind; it reads--

"For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known" (v. 12).

In the day of Paul, mirrors were hard to come by. They would often use a piece of polished metal to observe their own reflection; the best mirrors would be owned by the very wealthy. Paul probably caught a glimpse of himself in the water on occasion, but I doubt he knew his appearance well enough to associate it with his identity. As he put it, "I have been fully known;" what else did he need than to be known by his good Father?

My culture places the highest premium on outward appearance, ignoring the realities of what makes up a person. When you look in the mirror, what you see is not "you"! "You" are made up by your personality, character, sense of humor, and a million other non-physical traits. Our culture refuses to believe in God because they cannot see him, but we cannot see one another (see J.P. Moreland)! You don't see me when I pass you by, you see my shell. "I" am a whole host of traits passed down from my family and developed through years of interaction with others.

We as believers in the heavenly Father need only look to him for identity (I realize this is much easier said than done). We have been called sons and daughters, heirs, friends, and beloved. I am constantly fighting to remember who I am. I want to avoid being like Narcissus, the son of a god in Greek mythology who obsessed over his reflection and met his demise. Like Narcissus, I am a son of deity; the one true Deity. I only pray I can, like Paul, "look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal" (2 Cor. 4:18).

Will return soon...

2008-04-07T07:58:00.001-05:00

Faithful readers,

As you have probably noticed in the past two months, I have not been very active in the blogosphere. I have a lot to write about but I have been spending some time refining my motives for writing and being refined. The last thing I ever want to do, even on a small stage like this blog, is to write for the sake of impressing others or appearing as wise. I have been convicted and am seeking my good Father's face through this season. Please stay tuned because I plan on writing again soon. Much love!

John

Where am I?

2008-02-17T21:07:00.000-06:00

I'm normally not a sucker for reality TV. I stick mainly to the news at 5:30, the Office, and the occasional, classic Simpsons episode. Nevertheless, being a husband has changed my perspective on life and has opened my world up to new possibilities. For example, I did not know that curtains made a room feel "warm." Nor did I really know how a room could feel worm aside from turning the thermostat up to a higher temperature. When it comes TV, my wife does not watch very much, but she does enjoy Extreme Makeover Home Edition.

Maybe its because I don't like weeping in front of other people, but I normally stand clear of EMHE because it sucks you in like an emotional shop vacuum! They always have a family that is in serious distress and by the end of it you are blowing your nose and writing letters to ABC, thanking them for their inspirational programming. ABC does not need my accolades! Tonight, however, I was pulled in for the last 15 minutes of an episode that strategically caused me to cry and become nauseated; a volatile mix.

A blind, wheelchair-ridden man and his family were in a bad way because the disabled man, Patrick I believe, needed a lot of attention. Apparently the home they had lived in limited his family's ability to meet his needs and EMHE was able to provide. They built an apartment for Patrick that sat next to their parent's brand new house. I won't go into details about all the cool stuff Patrick received because that was NOT the best part of the show. At the end of the episode, Patrick starts playing the piano and singing a song that repeats the phrase "I believe." Not a dry eye was in the house as Patrick lifted his voice to declare the things of this present age did not concern him because he saw through it. I was truly inspired and a little embarrassed when my wife handed me the tissue she had been using to dry her eyes so I could dry my own.

One-by-one, each cast member for EMHE came in front of the camera to describe how they had only met Patrick once but now they were forever changed. One man who works as a regular on the show could not stop from crying as he mentioned Patrick's joy despite his circumstance. If you listened closely to the words of the song he sang, it was more than obvious that Patrick was a follower of Christ; a citizen of God's Kingdom. God was using Patrick and his family to display unconditional love and what it's like in the Kingdom of God when the meek are blessed and the blind see (Matt. 5 & John 9).

I certainly have been rejoicing in Patrick's story, but I have also been lamenting my own inaction. I'm going to make a guess and suggest the cast of EMHE is not entirely Christian. Yet, here they are making an enormous impact on the lives of families week-in and week-out. Where am I? Why am I not being provoked to action? I am reminded of a friend who once read that Jack Johnson (the recording artist) passed through a town while on a surf trip, saw there was a need, and set up a fund for the impoverished children he interacted with. How many followers of Christ do you know do the same in their own hometown where poverty is 15 minutes down the street? Please make no mistake, my finger is pointed directly at me in this moment because I am ashamed of my inaction. I want to be a part of a movement of believers who act when they see a need and jump when they see an opportunity to advance God's Kingdom. Have mercy on me, Oh God.

Life well wasted

2008-01-22T18:40:00.000-06:00

Today was suppose to be a great day. I woke up next to my wife in our new, and cozy, 800 square-foot home. Lately my home state of Texas has been doing its best impression of Seattle,but the sun was shining today and the warmth was welcomed. Allison and I spent an inordinate amount of money at Target, the lower-middle class mecca, buying more stuff for our humble home. Life was good in suburban America...until I turned on the 5:30 world news.

Wedged uncomfortably in between news about our failing economy and violence on the Gaza strip was a sobering story. "One more story on our broadcast tonight," Brian Williams mentioned in passing, "Australian actor Heath Ledger was found dead in his New York apartment of an apparent drug overdose." Allison and I looked at each other in shock and in sadness. I know that I am a Christian and that Heath Ledger appeared in Brokeback Mountain, so somehow I am pigeonholed as his arch nemesis. Regardless of the evangelical earful he was given for playing a gay man who had a gay lover, the story of the man's real life is terribly sad.

The next 20 minutes Allison and I discussed which movies of his we liked the most and the uncertain future of his two-year old daughter.

I am finally at an age where I no longer feel bulletproof. I have had a couple of friends die, I am paying for insurance on all sorts of things in case of a terrible accident, and I am feeling more aches in my body now than I ever did before. I am a 24 year old man with a wife, an American dream, and a heavy heart. I don't have any particular affinity for Ledger over another actor in my age bracket, like Topher Grace, but I am still in mourning over my generation. You would think after John Belushi, Chris Farley, River Phoenix, and now Heath Ledger, the youth of America would take notice of the emptiness found in the pursuit of wealth. I understand that these men seem to be the exception and not the rule, but how many rehab scandals inside of US weekly do we need to read before we realize "the love of money is the root of all sorts of evil"?

So I sit here, in my bathroom with my laptop, thousands of miles away from Hollywood and I am still surrounded by my own poverty. Why do I need shop at Target in order to have a good day? Why do I complain about not having central heat and AC when God has given me everything, including His own Son's blood? I'm not sure where this blog is going but I am not content. I do not want to pursue a two-car garage, 3.5 kids, and a fat nest egg because it should be the end goal of my "pursuit of happiness." I look to Heath Ledger and see a life poisoned by luxury. He had everything and yet he still met his demise in despair. I am content with my house, I enjoy Target, and I like having a car, but at what point do these good things become god things? 2 Cor. 4:18.

Hi, I'm John, I'm an alcoholic....sort of

2007-11-29T20:10:00.000-06:00

"I came here because I didn't want to die, but now I'm here because I want to live a better life." A middle-aged man slouched in his chair and tried desperately to avoid eye contact with anyone in the room as he shared with us, his weekly AA group. After he had finished speaking a woman spoke up and told us plainly, "I tried to kill this body but I guess it just wouldn't give!" One-by-one each person in the room shared their progress in combating alcoholism, trying to speak over the air conditioner that sounded like an airplane taking off when it clicked on.

For the past couple of weeks I have been attending AA meetings in order to understand and love those with addictions. I knew the weekly meetings would humble me but I did not expect to learn so much about my own problems. AA is wholeheartedly committed to exposing everyone's faults. The intrusive philosophy of exposure creates a weird vibe for those who are not familiar with it. Even though I am not an alcoholic, when I first walked into the large room a couple of weeks ago I couldn't help but feel somewhat violated. Once I darkened the doorway of my first AA meeting it was as if everyone understood I had problems. I couldn't make an announcement and say, "Listen up everyone, I'm only here to learn from your mistakes but please understand that I am not one of you." After one hour of only listening I soon learned that I was one of them.

Every person in there talked about starting their day over at any point in time and what power that gave them. "I know that if I am really struggling to stay away from a six pack, I can start over at any time and begin taking the first step." The steps in AA are integral to the program and to defeating alcoholism. They aren't a list of legalistic duties one must attain, but instead guidelines that include being selfless, submitting to God, and admitting responsibility. It was both humbling and enlightening to sit at the feet of the AA veterans who shared their accumulated wisdom from, in some cases, forty years of sobriety. The veterans, more than anyone else, knew their battle would continue daily and that they could not win on their own. If you have not seen the powerful sense of community depicted here then I suggest you start reading this blog over again.

The sin of alcoholism cuts across all sorts of demographic boundaries, as does sin in general. I see people every week that I would not have thought to be alcoholics (including many school teachers). I use to think of alcoholics as bearded men who wear ratty overcoats and sing old 70's songs; therein lies the problem. We so often view sins like alcoholism only in the context of poverty or people who can't control themselves. Truthfully, we are those poverty-stricken individuals who cannot control themselves. The people in AA are teaching me to confront my addictions (or sins) and lean into God for grace, mercy, and second chances. I am learning to wear my sin on my sleeve for the sake of letting others know they are not alone in this struggle. Thanks be to Jesus for the chance to start over at any point in the day. As Robbie Seay sings, "When you think it's over, you can start it over."

The Potential Poverty of Affluence

2007-11-14T11:02:00.000-06:00

I walked into my local bank the other day to make a deposit when I caught a conversation taking place across from me. As I tried to calculate how much my net deposit was going to be, a man who worked as a home builder began encouraging a bank employee to buy one of his homes. "Those homes y'all are making are beautiful," said the bank employee on the way to his office. The homebuilder looked up and responded confidently, "We've got one for you...I'm telling you, your kids will grow up smarter, straighter, and better." The bank employee laughed, and so did I, but the homebuilder had a sense of solemnity about him. It was as if he had pitched that line to so many potential buyers that he actually began to believe it.

After I left the bank, I couldn't help but laugh aloud at the homebuilder's statement. "That is not true at all," I said in the privacy of my car, wishing I had voiced my opinion four minutes earlier. Now, I recognize the guy was probably only half-serious, but a half-truth is still half-false. In my experience, having grown up in a wealthy, white suburban paradise, money can cause more problems than it can solve. Given the right, or wrong, mindset and the right, or wrong, amount of money, lives can be destroyed by excessive affluence. Need I quote Notorious B.I.G. in saying, "Mo' money, mo' problems"?

As I write, my heart is heavy for a friend of mine about whom I just found out is deep into narcotics. This guy has all the right ingredients for an American dream: his own car, a degree from a prestigious university, and money. However, his growing up in a rich neighborhood with parents who gave him everything didn't prove to make him "smarter, straighter, or better." Sadly, he is not alone in the world of wasted, wealthy lives (see Laguna Beach on MTV). What is truly confounding, I must admit, is that I have friends who have grown up in a similarly affluent environment and have made much of themselves. What is the difference? Is it their parents? Is it a devoted life to Jesus? I'm not sure there is a hard and fast rule for how and why a kid turns out the way he/she does.

What I can say, from my experience and with confidence, is that "the love of money is a root of all sorts of evil" (1 Tim. 6:10). As it has been pointed out for me, Paul rails against the LOVE of money, not simply money. There is nothing inherently evil about money, but there is something inherently evil in all of us: discontentment. Being discontent with how much money we have, or the car we drive, or the ipod we own leads us into "temptation and a snare and many foolish and harmful desires which plunge men into ruin and destruction" (v. 9). I have observed discontentment breed depression because nothing is ever enough and we soon realize how unsatisfying "money" and "things" can be. So what's the solution? Sell off everything we own? I don't think so.

Paul encourages us to "learn contentment" (Phil. 4:11) in everything so that we might find joy. This journey to joy must begin by being discontent with the world around us, thus causing us to seek what is beyond ourselves. Jesus teaches us to be discontent with this "present, evil age" so that we might find contentment in Him! Thus, we can preach the good news of a Kingdom that is not poisoned by the poverty of affluence (or poverty in general) but is rich in the poverty of a crucified King. Our liberation from the chains of physical and emotional poverty comes from embracing our own spiritual poverty so that "by [Jesus'] poverty [we] might become rich" (2 Cor. 8:9).

Worth waiting for (til kingdom come)

2007-11-07T22:24:00.000-06:00

I can recall with great clarity listening to sermons about the second coming of Christ in high school, frequently shifting my position in an uncomfortable church pew. Equally as uncomfortable was the thought of how many generations have waited for the return of Jesus, our liberating King, but did not live to see His second arrival. I use to think to myself, "What if this is all a sham and He never comes, then where will we be?"

Musicians and poets create some of the most beautifully eager compositions about "kingdom come." Everyone from Johnny Cash to U2 to Coldplay has put into song and lyric the hope and expectation of something better to come. In our everyday speech we live for better days when we say, "Maybe tomorrow will be better" or "tomorrow's a new day." Phony news magazines make a killing off of bored stay-at-home moms who desire to know about "the end of the world," as predicted by Nostradamus. What is our anxious fascination with how it will all end?

I'm in a unique position because I, myself, am waiting to be married. I have this eager, yet sometimes pensive, emotion inside of me that wants the time to fly by! I am eager because I want to know her more deeply. I am pensive because she will know me more deeply (all of me). However, I am in love so I can hardly wait until I see my love again, even prior to the wedding. This fascination I have over Jesus certainly drives my expectation for the consummation, but I believe there is more to this eagerness.

Garth Brooks has an old song, yes I listen to country, called, "If tomorrow never comes." It's your typical sad, country song but its sentiment is valuable. When Jesus was here, very few people were really hip to His program. Mostly everyone took Him for granted and then suddenly He was being executed. His conquering of death gives us hope for new life even after we or someone we love has died. I am reminded of what it means to consider the cost of Christ's sacrificial life and death, followed by new life. I do look forward to the return of Jesus because I am in love. I also look forward to "kingdom come" because this planet groans and knows what it is missing while the King is away. I am eager for the fullness of time when, as Johnny Cash put it, "The father hen will call his chickens home."

Advent Conspiracy

2007-11-01T16:31:00.000-05:00

This isn't so much a posting of my thoughts or ideas as it is telling you what I am excited about! Ecclesia Clear Lake, along with many other churches around the country, is joining the advent conspiracy this Christmas season. AC (www.adventconspiracy.org) is not an organization or even a particular group of people; it's a movement of change. AC aims to worship more, spend less, give more and love all this Christmas season through various avenues. For instance, instead of losing two-month's wages on buying Christmas gifts for my family, I am going to make gifts instead. The money that I would use for those gifts is going towards Living Water, a campaign that seeks to put wells in places that don't have clean water and then give them living water: Jesus.

See the video in the upper right-hand corner to get an idea of where ECL's money will be going. It's places like Chacocente, Nicaragua that will be affected by our sacrifice. The video shows a place where people literally live in a giant trash heap. At Chacocente it's not uncommon for a child to step on a needle or for disease to decimate an entire family. This is worlds away from you and me. AC will also sponsor wells in Africa and other places in need.

I encourage you to think about doing something in this similar vein during the Christmas season. Last year, AC was able to raise hundreds of thousands of dollars by participating with other churches. This isn't a call to arms, just a shout out to let you know what makes my heart beat and my eyes tear up. Please watch the whole video when you have time (7-8 minutes) because it will touch you. Blessings.

Blessed are the...

2007-10-10T21:56:00.001-05:00

For the past few months I have not been able to shake the urge to notice people. I try not to stare but my curiosity gets the best of me at the strangest of times. For example, I was at Whataburger the other night with some friends and I couldn't help but observe the guy at the cash register as he slowly worked the clock down. This guy was just another spoke on the wheel, an employee we all ignore from time-to-time as we gaze above his head to decide on the #1 or #3 combo meal. Once the order is made we fork over the cash and wait for our Whata-meal. But I cannot stop thinking about that guy!

Who is he? What is his family history? Why does he have that job? Is he happy? Does he get embarrassed when people his own age come in to order food? So in an effort to actually connect, and not ignore, I asked how his night was going. "What," he jerked his head back towards me as if I were speaking another language. In truth I was speaking a different language. Instead of barking orders or asking for more ketchup I simply asked how he was doing. When he finally responded, he cracked a smile and said "tired." The entire discourse only took about one minute but I could tell he appreciated it and so did I.

Do you think people know when they are blessed? I mean to say, when Jesus tells us "blessed are the poor in spirit...blessed are those who mourn," do you think the poor and mourning ones know they are blessed? I would guess not for most cases because they don't feel that way. However it is precisely these people Jesus sought after because they were overlooked and seemingly useless. For those of us who seek to live out the principles of the Kingdom of God, we see people like my Whata-friend and an opportunity to love arises. It's not just an opportunity for us to seize so we can prove that we love others, rather it's a chance to let that person know he/she is blessed. Ours' is a ministry of blessing others and not just waiting to receive blessings. I wonder, who are the people in your little world that are waiting to hear the good news of being blessed?

Missing my Love

2007-10-01T09:42:00.001-05:00

As a music connoisseur I, by proxy, must enjoy all varieties of music; this includes love songs. Perhaps my favorite modern love song is by the rock band Incubus. Their song "I miss you" tells of the lead singer's heartache over missing his love, even though she "has only been gone ten days." It seems he is left to wander around the house, searching for signs of his love. Eventually he describes his longing by saying, "I see your face, I smell your skin on the empty pillow next to mine." Even the smell of his love arouses the deepest, simplest need for her presence.

Yesterday my love, Allison, returned home after a weekend visit to get away from school and be with me. For three days she graced the space inside of my home, leaving her sweet aroma in every room she visited. When she finally left and I came home, I could only wander around my house to search for signs of her. The bed where she slept was unmade, the towel she used laid drying in my bathroom and her Bobby pins rested on my chest of drawers. These traces allowed me to track where my love had been.

On the same day I was missing my love, I experienced a deeper need for the presence of my biggest love: My God. I went to the places where I had met Him before: church, the quietness of my room and holy scripture. I stumbled around aimlessly searching for a sign of God. For a long time now I have been doing a lot of things for God, trying to know about God and serve Him at the same time. However, these pursuits have become tiresome as I truly miss His presence. I miss laying at His feet and being changed by His presence. I can learn about Him, talk about Him, read about Him and still not know Him or be known by Him.

I never understood why, in scripture, Paul sometimes called God "his God" (see Phil. 1:3). It's not as if Paul made God or kept God as some controllable possession, so why would he call God "his God?" Paul describes relationship with God as "being known by God" and "being found in Him" (Gal. 4:9, Phil. 3:9). As my fiancee Allison has pointed out to me, Paul's reality of God was so powerful and so earth-moving that he had no other choice than to believe. It was Paul's combined past, present and future interactions with God that made God his God. In the same way we would describe someone we love as ours' because we know them, Paul described God because he knew Him and was known by Him.

Search out the love letters He has left for you in scripture. Find the fragrant aroma of the Christ in your daily living. Please join me in being discontented with a cursory look at God. Let's stare deeply into His faith so that we may be changed into what He has made us to be (2 Cor. 3:18).

A Tale of Two Kingdoms

2007-09-27T10:06:00.001-05:00

This is a benediction I shared at Ecclesia Clear Lake this past Sunday, enjoy!

Where two kingdoms stand war is at hand.

Whereas one makes a killing breaking dreams and hearts,

the other forgives all debts and gives freely new starts.

The will of the one is to progress only its purpose;

the will of the other is to lead humbly as a servant.

An economy of grace and pursuit of the poor

stand strictly at odds with closed fists and shut doors.

Let Him cast off your fetters in the kingdom of "me"

to come serve freely in the Kingdom of "He."

Breaking the law!

2007-09-21T08:16:00.000-05:00

My neighborhood has far too many stop signs. It's almost as if every concerned parent petitioned the city council to put up a new stop sign at each mail box. As you probably know from experience, when dozens of big, red signs tell you to stop each day you are bound to roll through one or two of them. Call it defiance, but I would prefer to call it the "big, red button effect."

Looney Tunes use to air cartoons with characters who were strictly instructed not to press the big, red button in front of them. After moments of solitude the character would usually peak around every corner, wipe the sweat from his brow and then press the button! What usually followed was an explosion created by our old cartoon friend TNT. Yesterday I was casually taking corners in my car when I approached one of the big, red buttons. After peering around the corner, I defiantly pressed down my accelerator only to be met with an unexpected explosion.

Now at this point you may be thinking, "Is this guy going to use his blog to whine about the laws of the land, what a waste of public domain?!" Rest easy because the story only gets better. As I did my best impression of Lindsey Lohan rolling through stop signs on Hollywood blvd., I failed to see the giant SUV careening towards the left side of my car. I quickly accelerated to avoid being hit but soon realized, with great relief, I had plenty of time to get out the way. As I moved parallel to the SUV, an angry Mom behind the wheel of a suburban tank took a swipe at me with her car. I probably should have kept driving but I was curious as to why she was so upset; so I rolled down my window to ask what was the matter? My decision was about as wise as deciding to explore the second floor of a dark house in a horror movie.

Before I could utter word one, the young Mother starting use all sorts of seven-letter words to describe me and my driving skills. I was threatened, called several creative names and then she finally drove away as my mouth hung wide open. Immediately my mind starting racing with multiple comments I could have shot back at her to defend my cause, but what was the use? The incident was over and I felt like crap. When I waited tables I would get trampled on some nights, but I don't recall ever being called an a--hole. Even for an ex-waiter with relatively thick skin I was unnerved by the whole incident.

Why do we immediately grow defensive when we have been busted for wrongs committed? I kept trying to tell myself not to get angry with the woman because I would only be "answering a fool according to [her] folly" (Prov. 26:4). However, another question continued to plague me: Why are we surprised when people break the law? When it comes to driving we are always upset when people don't obey the rules of the road. Some of us will consequently slam on our breaks if we are being "tailed," cut people off because they had done the same to us and employ countless other tactics in order to play police. Are we really shocked when transgressions of the law increase wherever the law is found (Ro. 5:20)?

What I felt yesterday was death. I had been slaughtered by the malicious name calling of another and I wanted to respond back with the same. How do we break this cycle? When someone crosses you during your day how do you avoid wrongly reciprocating? For those who have trusted in the redemptive work of Jesus, we have the Spirit of Him who fulfilled the law to help us. Colossians 2:14 tells us that Jesus made us alive, "having canceled out the certificate of debt consisting of decrees against us, which was hostile to us; and He has taken it out of the way, having nailed it to the cross..." The law, albeit it good and holy, is too much for us to bear. Try as we may to enforce it or even live by it, we don't add up and it can only breed death as we defy daily.

Everything in us, what Paul calls our flesh, cries to defy. The Spirit with which we are baptized when we receive the free gift of grace sets us free from the law (Gal. 5:18). We then have the opportunity to break the cycle of frustration and death in our daily living when we submit to the Spirit's conviction and leading. The fruit, or production, of the Spirit is something which is free from the law's condemnation (Gal. 5:23). So when we ask to be filled with the Spirit (Eph. 5:17-18) of God, we are asking to be filled with life and freedom from dragging around the burden of our blunders.

Allow other people to fail you today and allow yourself to fail. Don't seek sin so that forgiveness and grace may abound (Ro. 6:1), but seek forgiveness instead. Attempting to "be good" all of the time or live up to everyone's standards will result in slavery to others and to the law you are trying to meet. "It was for freedom that Christ set us free; therefore keep standing firm and do not be subject again to a yoke of slavery" (Gal. 5:1).