For the Joy Set Before

Stewardship (Part 2): The Master's Heart

2011-11-21T13:05:00.001-08:00

What was the problem with the "wicked, lazy slave" of Matthew 25?

Well, duh. He was "wicked" and "lazy."

Ok. But . . .

What's so wicked about him? He is given fifteen years' wages to hang onto while his master is out of town--about $300,000 give or take. And he doesn't steal a penny of it! What is so lazy about him? He is entrusted with $300,00, and he doesn't lose any of it; he gives his master $300,000 upon his return. It could have been a lot worse, right?

Well, not according to the master. "Cast into outer darkness" to spend his days in "weeping and gnashing of teeth" does not sound like acceptance or even toleration of that safe deposit box servant. So what's the big deal? Is this an overreaction?

No.

Here's why: He's called a slave (NASB) or servant (ESV), but he's treated as a steward. That's the most exalted position for a servant. That gives him discretion and some degree of authority with a great deal of responsibility. It also portends a great reward if he is a "good and faithful steward."

Now notice: the first two slaves both do the exact same thing with the master's money. And they both do it "immediately." As if they don't even think about it. How is that? Well, ironically, the wicked slave offers us an explanation. He claims, "Master, I knew you . . ." to which the master replies in confirmation, "You wicked, lazy slave, you knew that I . . ." The point here is that the slaves "know" their master, and their master expects them to act according to their knowledge of him. That is, they are expected to do what he would do.

That's what makes a "good and faithful" steward.

The first two slaves act immediately because they know their master intimately; they know his heart. They do the exact same thing (although they are two different people) because they are acting according to their master's desires, not their own.The wicked slave seems to know his master only in part. He has observed his practices, but not his heart. He believes his master to be "a hard man" (although the master proves otherwise in the way he rewards his good slaves) and acts accordingly--in fear.

Unfortunately, we as the modern, American Church often read this parable and can't get past the principles of western finacial practices we see modeled by the first two slaves. We seem to think the money, the bank is the point of the parable.

Or, if we do apply it more broadly, as in using our "talents" (we always intend a pun here, too) for God's glory instead of just sitting on the couch (or the pew), we don't go deep enough. We usually throw out suggestions like singing in the choir, being willing to usher and take the offering, help your church with accounting or teach Sunday School (all good things, by the way). But is that what this parable is all about? The master's wrath poured out if we sit in the pew on Sundays instead of the choir loft?

I realize I'm oversimplifying this, but I want to jar us out of a sleepy, false view of "church" and "the Kingdom" that we've dozed into. Church is not the event we put on for a few hours every Sunday. And if we think the kingdom looks like merely a bunch of people standing around Jesus' throne all saying the same creed, we're wrong there too.

Confession of Christ with the tongue (or some kind of sign language?) is an essential part of the Gospel, and the New Testament pattern of Sunday worship celebrations gives us a joyous time together each week. But if those two items are the sum of our faith, of our vision of the Kingdom, of Church, then it may be that we don't really know our Master's heart as we should.

In Matthew 25:14-30, Jesus is teaching us what a true steward looks like. Then, in verses 31-46, our Master shows us his heart:

'Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. ³⁵For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, ³⁶ I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.' ³⁷Then the righteous will answer him, saying, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? ³⁸And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? ³⁹And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?' ⁴⁰And the King will answer them, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.'

So my question is: Knowing the Master's heart above, how are we spending the resources he's put into our hands? Are we pouring our money and time and "talents" into giving food and drink, welcoming and visiting and clothing the destitute? Or are we driven by Fear as the "wicked, lazy" servant? So driven by fear that we have poured all of our time and our money into "providing" for our family's American lifestyle that we don't have time or money "left over" to fulfill our Master's deepest desires? It is HIS money after all. It is HIS time. Your life is HIS life after all.

I guess how we want to answer that question depends on if we believe truly good stewardship, as defined by Christ, is optional or not. And I guess we have to figure out if it's optional by deciding whether we should allow "cast into outer darkness" with "weeping and gnashing of teeth" as a legitimate option.

"Don't Run with Knives!"

2011-11-16T05:36:00.001-08:00

"Don't run with knives!" Love, Mother.

"If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Love, Mother.

When it comes to satire, one of these is good advice. The other is not.

We have a little problem here. Somewhere way back in mankind's illustrious linguistic history somebody found out that the big, ugly playground bullies with their lethally aimed "sticks and stones" aren't the only pain-inflicting villains to be wary of. "Words will never hurt me!" has always been a defense mechanism. And a lie. We've learned that a quick cut from a knife blade can hurt much worse and for far longer than a couple of good whacks from a bully's stick.

A word is a knife. Or can be. Consider the word "Sarcasm." It's Greek. Means "flesh cutting." Pretty picture, yes? And most of us know the biting feel of sarcasm's blade. In literary circles it's called satire. Same thing, just people started making money off of it in the early 18th century. Alexander Pope, Jonathan Swift, Dryden, Defoe--everyone was doing it! But it didn't make people any less mad then.

Since then, we've come a long ways. We've civilized ourselves and set up walls against those cutting words. The most ostensibly moralistic one is a nice little--no, fairly good-sized two-word phrase: "politically correct." (This phrase is actually intellectual-ese for "lying through my teeth.") Because we can't say anything that might offend someone. So we just try to change people by keeping a "good Christian testimony" or something like that.

Well, recently there seems to be a rediscovering of the fact that--gasp!--Jesus said offensive things! Not just offensive, but funny too! So they cut the flesh--and made people laugh! It's not just Jesus, either. God does it in other places of Scripture to. He makes fun of idol worshipers who chop down a tree and, very economically, use one half out of which to carve their idol and the other part of the tree for firewood!

The defense of satire as a mode used in Scripture is growing. This is good. Pastors such as Mark Driscoll and Douglas Wilson offer some well thought-out and helpful looks at Biblical satire. So, we're allowed to be sarcastic again!

Here's what scares me (and you satirists can satirize me for my unease): sarcasm has always been fun. At least for the one holding the knife. (The one getting his flesh mutilated, eh, not so fun.) And now with this rediscovery of satire, it's like being given a gift (and satire requires a degree of wit that really is a gift) at Christmas--one you really like! So you run around showing it off to everyone. Or trying it out on everyone--hey, it's fun!

Not the thing to do with knives. This is not the same thing as having the gift of encouragement. While there are things you should not encourage, by and large, encouragement is pretty safe for anyone to use and to use in almost any conversation. My father-in-law is known as "the nicest person you will ever meet" because of his constantly encouraging attitude. That's ok. He hasn't ruined his kids. He knows when to put his "frowny face" on. But he can be confident in random words of encouragement--it's ok to run with that.

But with sarcasm we must be more strategic. Driscoll says, "Feed the sheep; shoot the wolves; rebuke the swine; bark at the dogs." This means that the words we choose (literarily: our mode) must be determined by our audience--not by what mood we're in, not by whether those words are fun or not. I fear we've pulled out our newly found, Biblical wittiness from its sheath and (rather unlike a deliberate surgeon) taken off at a sprint, perhaps tripping and stumbling and cutting some of the sheep where there was no need for surgery at all. This is not good. This is sad.

I'm not trying to be the Holy Spirit telling you when to be "nice" and when to be cutting. Just this: Be careful, my witty brothers and sisters; please listen to your mother: "Don't run with knives!"

Stewardship: With the Master out of town

2011-11-09T14:14:00.000-08:00

Stewardship is one of those Christianese words I've heard in church all my life. I can remember sitting bored on those fiery-orange upholstered pews (which were significantly more comfortable than the new pews with their rather non-descript, hotel curtains-esque pattern and hard wooden backs) leaning my head on the flat, sticky headrail on the back of the pew before me and staring aimlessly down to the same color of glaring orange in the carpet. Trying to stretch my toes to snag the little wooden footstool from in front of my brother, I remember words falling all around me--words like "budget" and "good steward" and "planning for the future" and "wise, careful use of money" and "financial stability." These were usually part of a sermon bearing some form of the word "Stewardship" in its title. The parable of the good stewards and bad steward was always present to some degree, affirming the stability and godliness of western banking practices, and the Proverbs were an inexhaustible source of back-up material for denegrating wasteful spending and advancing financial investing. Of course, tithing was touched on--usually with some awkwardness because the one teaching the pew-sitters to tithe was the most direct beneficiary of the tithe. Thus was formed my understanding of "good, Christian stewardship," meaning, "Don't get into debt; if you do, pay it back; do your homework to invest your money wisely; tithe and thereby show your gratitude for God's having blessed us with so much wealth."

However, also throughout my life, I've been taught a different kind of stewardship. General life choices stewardship, stemming from the verse in I Corinthians 6 about my life not being my own but having been "bought with a price" by Someone else. Therefore, of course, it was not my prerogative what to do with my life; I had to follow the will of God. He is my Master, I merely His steward.

None of this that I've related is false teaching. It's all true, but is it complete? Are these teachings, in fact, central to an essential understanding of "stewardship," whether financial or otherwise? And why do they look different? Why is the basis for wise financial stewardship the generation of wealth and the obviation of risk (i.e. stability), while the basis for stewardship in the rest of my life is the mysterious "will of God" and avoidance of worldly influences?

I am currently living in a situation that very closely parallels these New Testament teachings about a master and a steward. I live on a piece of property adjacent to my landlord's own dwelling, and I and my wife work for our rent. I do whatever Travis tells me to do. I use his tools, spend his money, and tend to his land. None of it's mine. And so whenever he gives me a project to work on, I do it. Even if I would do nothing of the sort were it my own money and property. People have asked me: Why are you cleaning out those woods? Why are you burning that stuff? Why do you mow that entire field? Sometimes I understand Travis's thinking, other times not. The bottom line is: Travis desires it; it's his money, not mine; I'm going to do it. That's stewardship. Taking care of what is not yours in the way the owner desires. So if Travis hands me $200 and tells me to buy $200 worth of bubble-blowing soap and set up a continuously-fed bubble loop in front of the industrial-size fan in his barn, even though no one will ever see the bubbles, I do it. Wasteful? I don't worry about it. I do it, and that's good stewardship on my part.

Good stewardship, you see, is not necessarily using money in a way that merits the approval of the gurus on Wall Street. Good stewardship is doing with "your" money whatever God (whose it is) tells you to do with that money--even if it looks absolutely foolish to the world at large. Of course, I do not ignore the financial principles given in the Proverbs and other passages. I have bank accounts; I budget; I work to feed my family.

But that is not all that Jesus tells us to do with money. His money. Read the New Testament looking for a theme in its treatment of money. There is one. It goes like this: Give, even to the point of hazarding your livelihood. Then, when you've found yourself in a hazardous place financially--"do not be anxious, for your Father knows what you need. Seek the Kingdom of God first and foremost, thrive on His righteousness, and everything you need will be added to you." If this were not so, Christ would have disparaged the widow who gave her last two pennies of livelihood. He would have denounced (as Judas Iscariot did) the woman that annointed him with a year's wages worth of perfume a week before his death. He would have stopped his disciples from leaving their nets. He would never have told many to sell all they have and give to the poor. And the church in Acts and II Corinthians 9-10 would not have held all things in common or given "liberally out of their extreme poverty."

Let's admit it, if some of Christ's teachings seem like poor stewardship to us, it's because we're so saturated with Wall Street's view of money. Christ's value system prizes love above money, and so money subserves to make much of love. Good stewardship doesn't have to make sense to the other stewards. It's the Master's mission anyways.

Speaking of the Master's mission . . .

Once a Blessing; Now a Curse?

2011-11-03T21:44:00.000-07:00

Over the last few weeks, Cassie and I have become acquainted with a new facial gesture. It's a sort of uncertain, consoling thing people do with their eyebrows, usually accompanied by the thought of a smile. Uncertain because they're not sure how to respond to what we've just told them. There is something in their brain that says, "Oh no! I'm sorry--" but there is something in our faces that says, "Isn't this great!"

See the thing we tell them is: "We're having a baby!"

And Cassie and I couldn't be happier (this side of heaven, at this point in our lives)! We are expecting our first child, and I begin to identify with Mary (though not half so ambitious in the promised results of our primogenitor) at her own annunciation. It's a time of incomprehensible anticipation-- joyous anticipation!

So why? Why is it that some raise their eyebrows? Why is it that some outrightly say, "You're too young, too newly wed"? Why is it that our non-use of birth control in the first nuptial year is so out-of-the-ordinary in our society--even in our churches? It is almost as if there runs an insane line of thinking (though mainly subconscious, it is basically pervasive) which goes thusly:

Yes, children are nice once we grow bored with life being just the two of us (sanitized: once we've had a number of years to just get to know each other) and have exhausted the pleasure of complete and absolute privacy--maybe a couple of progeny would be nice then, to carry on the family name at least. Children can be cute after all--in small quantities, of course. But thank God we now have the technology to obviate that burden that used to inevitably accompany marriage! Now, we can be free--to build our careers and our bank accounts (I mean, to be responsible stewards), to get to know each other without ubiquitous interruptions (I mean, besides the never-sleeping TV, the husband's video games, etc. Now we can "control" the interruptions.).

Some even seem to think: It is YOUR responsibility to avail yourself of this newly en vogued vivial-sovereignty. After all, your marriage will suffer if you have children right away, and God MIGHT cease to meet your needs if you embrace parenthood while you're still stuck at that low standard of living in which newlyweds usually find themselves. God, after all, does not condescend to those who are foolish with the gifts he gives: God helps those who help themselves.

Now, this is not a rant against birth control. Most adamantly not. There are, I believe, some very good reasons for birth control. But, friends, we've gone too far! We make newlyweds to feel awkward and foolish, strange--as if they've got two heads (or three or four, to make it truly strange) or as if something slipped--when children come along in the first year of marriage.

When the Creator of our earth and race and the Inspirator of Scripture calls something a "blessing" and "an inheritance from the LORD" we ought to be more careful not to call that into question. I fear that we in the West have become so enamored with a certain standard of living that anything that could keep us from that life is viewed as a curse. And anyone who decides to raise a family at a significantly lower standard of living is a poor steward, maybe even "worse than an infidel" like the one condemned in I Timothy 5:8 (which, by the way, was written in a cultural context when the average person did not even have electricity, running water, indoor plumbing, more than four sets of clothes and many other things we consider just the bare essentials. Let's be careful how we apply that verse.).

It seems we've got lots of kinks in our thinks; most of those will take many other sessions to straighten out. But can we start with one thing, please? When someone tells you they're pregnant, be excited for them! I understand, it makes life more difficult, but when God calls something "a blessing," trust Him enough not to call it a curse!

"Be Jesus to them."

2010-10-10T00:54:00.000-07:00

This is a motto I've heard (and read) a lot the past three years. From Shane Claiborne or Mother Teresa or Francis Chan or Philip Yancey, it seems many Christians are trying to take a fresh look at the Jesus of the Gospels. "The Jesus I never knew," as Yancey puts it, seems to be calling out to American Christians in our generation to remember his concern for "the least of these, My brothers," and to open our eyes to the needs that lie in our cities' gutters or a forgotten ocean away. What does it mean to "take up your cross?" What does Jesus have in mind for us when he calls us Americans two thousand years removed from those first net-forsaking fishermen to also "Follow Me?" What does it mean to imitate the Son of God and "be Jesus to them?"

I came across this list of Jesus impostors with a simple Google search (the quickest way to get the facts!). While Jesus was certainly an eyebrow-raiser and a radical in the eyes of many, somehow I don't think these anomalies have quite got what it means to "be conformed to the image of [Christ]." And yet, if we are content to simply sit back and perform our religious rituals and favorite Christo-American pastimes-- attending church, talking about theology, listening to Christian music, reading Christian books by Christian authors writing about Christian things to do or think about, going to Bible study to sing and to do all the above activities with people who are just like us-- we are also missing something essential in our reflections of the Messiah who gathered to himself lepers and prostitutes. All of those rituals that I listed, those are very nourishing for a vibrant Christian life-- but there's more!

"Good things come when Jesus comes!" was the jubilant song echoing from lungs of Africans in the film I just watched. As we watched an American well-driller and an African evangelist carry good news-- clean drinking water and eternal living water-- into village after village, our friend Liz turned to Dustan and said, "The Gospel brings social reform!" And I was thinking in my mind, The Gospel brings better life! That's what real good social reform is-- better life. In many different ways, physical and spiritual.

My own first trip to Africa lent me an awareness of the physical needs of those on the poorer sides of the tracks-- or the ocean-- three years ago. Since then I've wrestled long and strenuously with my role as a bringer of "better life"-- both spiritually and physically. I have been given great gifts as an American: freedom of travel, discretionary finances, educational depth and breadth-- to name just a few. How should I use them? What quickly became the heaviest motivator on my heart was, How can I use this wealth on myself when Christ cries out to me from the teary eyes and open hands of the poor and needy all over the world-- in Greenville and in Africa? But, as I saw needs I had never noticed before exponentially multiplied before my burdened soul and as I eagerly reached into my middle-class American pockets and reached out to calloused, dirty, drug-plagued hands, I soon realized that I could easily spend all my time and resources dishing out my valued American dream into needy hands and never bring my hungry fellow man to the feast that my Father has prepared with the broken body and spilt blood of His Son. A feast to which he bids me compel the hedge and highway dwellers come!

So over the past three years my thinking has developed to the question, How can I best use these resources made available through a worldly citizenship from an unprecedentedly wealthy and free country to further a Kingdom whose King conquers through love rather than swords and bombs, by sacrifice rather than with Roman denarii or American dollars? I've had to learn that God directs the path of each member of his body uniquely, that I cannot judge my brother who drives a Mercedes anymore than he ought judge me for the color of my shirt. The wallet that opened for the purchase of the $50,000 luxury sedan is also the wallet that feeds my pastor and donates generously to my enormous school bill-- and that wallet is filled by the same Father whose love compels me to "sell everything [I] have" and follow his Son to the poor and illiterate.

But understanding that liquidating my meager assets and showing up at the rescue mission food line with a backpack full of cash to hand out with the chicken soup and stale bread is probably not what will shake the gates of Hell most, how do I sacrifice it ALL for the Kingdom of Heaven?

Live in a shed? Drive a $500 car? Shop at Goodwill, SOS, Safe Harbor, Miracle Hill? Live off Raisin Bran and charity? Type this post up on a 10-year-old Toshiba? Leave it all for China, Albania, Africa? Sure. That's for me, and I'm sure there's more to pursue, there's a heavier, more rugged, more fatal cross awaiting me. For Roland the Well-driller it is a life in Africa far, far away from his American homeland. For Dennis the Evangelist it is a headlong, do-or-die assault on the Hell-tended gates of a demon-worshiping village in West Africa. For you it could be walking to school, providing care for your aging parents or grandparents, giving your summers to the mentally impaired or the foreign mission field, walking to the fringes of downtown to find blank-eyed homeless wanderers and to be a friend-- a true friend. It could be to take that guy out to lunch-- you know, the guy that just has no clue how to hold a conversation and leaves Sunday School as fast as he can because he doesn't want to feel awkward standing around with no one to not-be-able-to talk to? It could be to sell everything you own and give the money to an orphanage. To go and live in that orphanage.

Whatever the cross, whatever the reflection of Jesus that you will be called to be, it will be your own, but you will not be alone. You will find the body of Christ more ever-pervasive than you have ever imagined. You will share in the sufferings of Christ and find out what it really means to "be Jesus to them."

Episode 3: I Once Was Blind from Dispatches From The Front on Vimeo.

When I die . . .

2010-09-26T23:56:00.000-07:00

"When I go, don't cry for me;
In my Father's arms I'll be.
Wounds this world left on my soul
Will all be healed, and I'll be whole.

It don't matter where you bury me,
'Cause I'll be home, and I'll be free.
It don't matter where I lay;
All my tears'll be washed away."

--Mary McLaughlin

Please don't spend money on a coffin I'll never actually be inside of to enjoy.
Please don't paint me as a perfect Christian at my memorial-- I'm not.
Please do celebrate at my memorial-- bubbles, good food, good memories, high hopes.
Please let Cassie "preach" at my memorial.
Please let those who need the closure see my deceased body, but please not everyone-- I won't be in it at the moment, and so it won't really be me. It's just not a good representation of me anyways-- since when did I ever lay that still?!
Please do invite everyone I know to the memorial: friends, enemies (especially enemies), co-workers past and present, random dudes off the street; go through my contacts, my emails, my facebook friends, my receipts-- the works!-- it'll be the biggest day of my life!
Please do go through my journals; there are things I've written in there that I want preached or told at my memorial-- but I'd better good and dead before you touch them!!!
Please do cry if you need to, but remember, I want you all to go on-- not just "move on" but to push ahead with a renewed vengeance, raging against the gates of Hell with a triumphant smile through your tears. Know that though Hell succeeded in bringing me to a physical death, it is a very temporal success and eventually will be robbed of even that physical death. When you see this physical body succumb to that accursed Death, please rage all the fiercer against those black and awful gates and snatch many others from Hell's grip.
Please, if I am martyred for the Gospel's sake, please forgive my enemies and love them as God loved me when I was his enemy and murdered his Son.
Please sing lots of songs celebrating my Saviour and my HOME! (Because whereever I live forever, it will be with God, and that is home.) I have a playlist on my computer (WMP) that has some good suggestions; it's called, "Created for a place I've never known."
And remember, there's a good chance I might be able to watch the proceedings, so I'll know whether or not your honor these wishes, and if I'm allowed I will come haunt you . . .

This is the happiest time in my life. I've never been happier, and I expect the coming years here in this life to bring an even deeper happiness (along with sorrows deeper than I've yet experienced). I have a great life here with many inspiring dreams and beloved people (esp. Cass) seemingly worth living for. But none of this (no, not even my bride-to-be) can compare to what awaits me when I finally leave "Jordan's stormy banks" and come to that "fair and happy land where my possessions lie." That's why I'm excited to die-- I hope it happens tonight! I mean, I feel bad for those to whom God has given a love for me, those of you that have to stay behind with my dust, but try to be happy for me! And we'll meet again . . . soon.

"It is not death to die . . . "

This goes here; that goes there.

2010-07-30T20:46:00.000-07:00

Compartmentalization. One of those rare seven-syllable words.

In my last post, I mentioned that missions gets compartmentalized. I then went on to compartmentalize it (sort of). When I say missions gets compartmentalized, what I mean is that, in relation to the rest of life, missions gets pushed into some separate sphere, some separate category. And partially, I think that's ok. Partially, I think that's tragic. To our 21st century American-Christianity mindset, there are different stations in life, each clearly distinguishable from the others. You can be a teacher, you can be an artist, you can be an accountant, you can be a marketing manager, you can be a piano teacher, you can be a pastor, you can be a missionary, you can be a church-planter. You can even be a tent-making church-planter or missionary. You can be this, or you can be that. And this goes here (or stays here, rather), and that goes there.

But answer me this: what makes a tent-making missionary in Bangladesh different from an elementary school teacher in Cary, NC? Well, the missionary goes to a foreign country-- overseas. Ok, right. True. And, to be honest, that's what I based my own compartmentalization of missions on. It makes sense: Missionary: missi: to send (Latin). Therefore, to go, like far away. The only problem is that Jesus sent all of us! GO into all the world sounds an awful lot like a missi, like a sending.

The world is not just a geographical globe. It is a very dysfunctional, disconnected community in a headlong fall. The world is a people-- all people-- that have become disconnected from God and, as a result, dysfunctional in the very thing for which we were created: love. To go into this world is simply to be where people are. When you are at the grocery store, you are in the world. You have "gone". Good! So that's half the command.

Now the rest is to make disciples of all peoples. Yeah, that's the hard part. No, it's impossible. What we as mere men and women can do, what is possible to us, is to make disciples for ourselves. We can get people to follow us. But to make someone a disciple of Jesus, they have to meet Jesus. There's a popular phrase I've read and heard, and I like it. It's the idea of Being Jesus to people you meet. That means, chiefly, to love them, to do good to them. For some people that's buying them a meal. For some that's adopting them as your child. For many it's simple taking an interest in their lives. That's love. That's what love does, of course (I Corinth. 13), and Jesus is most typified by love. It's as simple as asking the clerk at the grocery store how late she has to work that night and offering some sympathy. Finding out if he is in college or if she has kids and how old. When you start getting people talking about what they really love or really hate, you start to get into who they really are. And what they are is created to be God's people, His children, His love. I don't mean to make it sound easy. It's not. I'm terrible at it, mostly because I'm more compelled by fear than love.

Disciple-making is hard and nervous and scary. But it's what we're here for. It's what we were "sent" into the "world" for. In that sense we have wrongly compartmentalized missions. In that sense we are missionaries everytime we walk into that grocery store or Starbucks or assembly floor or office or school building or into the same room as your undiscipled child.

Have we forgotten this? Have I forgotten this here in America as I am training to "go?"

It's something I've been thinking about a lot lately. It's not something I am a good example of. It's not (I am sad to admit) something that I do often. But I want to.

Jesus, you've given me what seems like an impossible command to follow. I mean, at least the second half seems impossible. I get scared when I think of initiating conversations with people I don't know. Please drive out this fear by giving me a love for You that spills over to people, to these people that you have sent me to. These whom you have died for. Let me be YOU to them. Let me love them. Compel me to love them!

Remind us that America is not our home. This is not where we "stay"-- this is where we have gone, where you have sent us. Remind us that we will stay with You one day, but now as we love you, we are to seek to do your will, which is to go into the world and introduce them to you, to show them who they must follow as disciples!

Here am I, Lord, BUT . . .

2010-07-30T01:00:00.000-07:00

Missions. Missions has perhaps become too compartmentalized in our western perspective on Christianity. No, I'm certain it has become too compartmentalized. But missions is what I want to do. It's what God has given me a burden for. When I speak of missions I'm referring to traveling to a culture that is foreign to me specifically for the purpose of proclaiming the Gospel "in the uttermost parts of the earth." This is a passion for me. I live in a land that is bursting at the seams it's so full of churches. When you look at the spiritual grid of the earth, America should stand out like a full moon, for we have in this nation the most numerous (except for China) and the most visible collection of Christians that the world has ever known.

My desire is to see other places in the world that are currently pitch black spots on that world lighting map become white hot lights of worship of the God who created all people everywhere. I want to be part of that. I want to go and be there where the world is darkest-- where no one else wants to go.Why there? Why those particular places? I don't know. It's hard to explain, and I hope it's not simply a maverick sort of attitude that's driving me. What I believe to be in my heart is the compelling urgency the springs from the Apostle Paul's own voice in his words from Romans 10: How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!”

It's that, "Who else?!" question that got me in the first place. I think I was in 9th grade. The summer before ninth grade, I think. There was an evangelist preaching a week of services at our church, during which we actually met in the National Guard Armory's gym because our church was under renovation. I remember sitting in those uncomfortable metal chairs in that sweltering humid heat and that evangelist listing off city after city of millions of people but with few enough churches to be counted on one hand. He talked about how for every ten missionaries that leave the field only one is going out to replace him-- and yet the world's population is growing?! I left that service thinking, "Wow. Something needs to be done! Someone needs to go!" But it had not yet occurred to me that I could go. That came later.

God and I had this conversation that I can still remember today. Now, you may think, Naw, God doesn't talk to people like that anymore! Not like He talked to Moses. And I would say, First, how do you know? And, second, no, it wasn't quite like that. It was more like a conversation I have with myself. Only instead of myself being the other thought-voice in my head, it was God the Spirit. I'm pretty sure of this. It went something like this, I was just boredly sitting on my bed thinking, thinking about all those people in those big cities in Asia and other places and how every two seconds or something, someone dies and how many of them go to hell, when God said--"said"--

"Well, what about you?"

To which I quickly and matter-of-factly replied, "Who-- me? Nah, I'm just . . . me. Just Seth. I'm not a missionary. No one in my family has ever--"

I think God kind of interrupted me there, but it was OK because I really had nowhere else to go; He said,"Why not? What does it really take to be a missionary?"

I was dumbfounded (you never win even a single point in a debate with God): "Huh . . ."

And He kept on coming, "If not you, then who? Who else?"

I think I changed the subject at that point, because there was no decision yet. It was something more organic than that. God changed my thinking with that conversation. It was more organic than some flash of light at midnight, called by a vision thing. Almost reflexively, I started to take an interest in missions, in traveling, in foreign cultures. I made a public commitment at my church the next year or maybe just a couple of months later, but that wasn't really the big deal. That's not what's kept me going towards the coasts, towards the airport terminals. I know some people say you have to have this "missionary call" or whatever, but that's bologne. How do you know what God designed you to be? I don't know. It's different for everyone. Love God and follow your dreams, pursue what you're passionate about.

I don't tell you about my "conversation" with God in order to give you a template of some mystical "missionary call." My point is don't rule yourself out, just because you don't think you're anyone special like a-- oooh!-- a missionary! Just think about it. Pray about. Ask yourself: why not?

So back to dark and forsaken places. Why? Well, I guess, I figure that if I'm going to be a missionary because we desperately need reinforcements, I'm going to go where those reinforcements are needed most: the darkest places. Of course, that's pretty general, and I may start out in a less dark place (like China) just to get my bearings and some experience until a more specific burden takes shape.

All in His image.

2009-12-16T15:30:00.000-08:00

at the Bookstore. 28 April, 2009.

The first lady pours her heart out to me. She's old and the doctor gives her no hope. Another doctor seeks to make her life better. He's a good physician. She's read a lot and thought a lot. She's lived a good life. She wears a cross from a necklace. Not afraid to share what she believes. Even to her class. But that was back when she was a high school English teacher. The world is different now. She's scared for her grandkids. "You have no idea what life used to be like in the world I grew up in . . . and that's too bad." She doesn't like our new President. Thinks he's doing a log of damage to our country. She's not afraid to say what she believes. "he stands on foreign soil and tells people that America is not a Christian nation anymore." And there is hurt and frustration apparent in her eyes, in her voice, "Now, tell me, why is that man our President?!" But she just saw her doctor today and just needed someone to talk to about it-- and life. So she thanks me for listening, and I thank her for sharing. She's inspired me tonight-- in some different way-- by her tenacity towards doing what she believes to be right and making a difference. For God. She's a Godsend. Another thank you and "have a good night!"

The second lady is with her husband. He's leaving, but she comes back to the counter. Gotta have that Tommy Tenney Journal. "I have observed something about you: you are a good listener." Ironically, I'm speechless. She elaborates. I thank her and try to praise God's grace. "Good night."

And I am alone again. No one to listen to. Only thoughts. But there's a little boy out in the mall. And he's helping his dad push his baby sister in the stroller. And there's the lady with her husband. Somewhere. And somewhere there's a lady dying with her diabetes. Somewhere there is a boy growing up with his baby sister. And she just wants someone to talk to. He just wants to be a grown-up big brother. She just wants to live. And we're all so different. Somewhere out there are a lot of different people. All made in HIS image.

The Hated.

2009-12-13T18:53:00.000-08:00

Am I ready to be hated?

It's a question I've had to ask myself a lot the past year or so. I keep asking it to myself, because I can't seem to get a straight answer out of me. Oh, I'm sure I'm ready to die, even to be tortured by people of another religion and culture who probably barely speak English and view me as this dangerous criminal against communism or Islam or some tribe's voodoo-- something dramatic like that. But am I ready to be hated by my friends at work?

Am I ready to be hated by those I love? "hated"-- in a way-- or just not understood, scoffed at, not supported, disrespected. Am I ready to stand firm when other well-meaning believers try to convince me I'm being unwise, "not a good steward," or just plain too radical? Am I willing to love that recklessly?

Am I ready to be hated?

I don't really have anything to add to Jesus' words; just not sure i'm ready . . .

Mat 5:10-12 "Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you."
Luk 6:22-23 "Blessed are you when people hate you and when they exclude you and revile you and spurn your name as evil, on account of the Son of Man! Rejoice in that day, and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven; for so their fathers did to the prophets.”

Mat 5:44 "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

Mat 10:16-25 "Behold, I am sending you out as sheep in the midst of wolves, so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. Beware of men, for they will deliver you over to courts and flog you in their synagogues, and you will be dragged before governors and kings for my sake, to bear witness before them and the Gentiles. . . . Brother will deliver brother over to death, and the father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death, and you will be hated by all for my name's sake. But the one who endures to the end will be saved . . . A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master. It is enough for the disciple to be like his teacher, and the servant like his master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household.

Joh 15:17-20 “These things I command you, so that you will love one another. If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you. If you were of the world, the world would love you as its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you. Remember the word that I said to you: 'A servant is not greater than his master.' If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you.”

Rom 12:14 “Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them.”

2Tim 3:12 “Those who try to live a godly life because they believe in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.”

Hungry? What are you waiting for?

2009-11-15T19:04:00.000-08:00

I know. The Snickers commercial says, "Hungry? Why wait?" not "What are you waiting for?" But that's just it. If you're just hungry for a chocolate bar, then really, "Why wait?" A chocolate bar. That's a desire easily enough satisfied. So why wait? But my question for you, for me, for all of us is "What are you waiting for?" Or, to put it in a way that's been on my heart a lot lately, "What are you hungry for?" I'll admit it. Food is a weakness of mine. I'm thankful that God has given me an Energizer metabolism so I can kinda get away with it, but I love to eat. Too much. I love to satisfy cravings of my taste buds even when I am full. My belly is so often my god. It's because my focus is so small, so earthly. C. S. Lewis' familiar words sum me up so well: "Our passions are not too strong, they are too weak. We are far too easily pleased." What am I hungry for? A Snickers bar? Is that it? A bowl of ice cream or cereal? An entertaining novel? A movie? A moment of mere sexual pleasure? Is that really all I want?
My flesh answers, "Sure--why not? What else is there?" There's a lot more! There is more to be desired always while we wander on this earth. The ice cream and sex and thrilling views in pictures and sunsets are merely tastes of a much bigger reward. They are not the end, but the means. Just glimpses--like movie trailers. They're not the feature presentation, the main event. But they do point us to the Main Event. That's why we don't just renounce earthly pleasures altogether. We seek to use them for their proper purposes; after all, they are means. See, we can indulge ourselves to the deepest in these pleasures that we find all around us, but like Solomon discovered, we'll find them to be "futile," unfulfilling. They'll only leave us wanting more and yet sick from the gross mass that we've already gluttonously injested. We'll always be wanting more.

"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy," Lewis again reminds us, "the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." Or to put it like the Apostle Paul in Colossians 2, I was made for another Person: Jesus Christ, my God. In many places in Scripture the Lord's people are referred to as a wife or a bride. When Jesus was asked why His disciples did not fast, His response was to assure the questioner that they would fast "when the bridegroom is taken away from them."

Think about this: there are few days in a person's life so longed-for as his or her wedding day. I've heard many different stories of creative ways guys will work to save enough money for an engagement ring. And they'll work hard! Harder than for anything else. And when the engagement takes place, the couple begins counting down the days. Literally. You can ask almost any engaged couple, "Are you excited?" And they'll respond with a number of days. Suddenly these kids who can't make change without a computer on a cash register become genius calculators! And since when is a quantity of twenty-four hour spans a measurement for excitement? Since a bride-to-be sets her eyes on the happiest day of her life.

Being preoccupied with a day like your wedding day will change your life and make you do some very different things. But we are the Lord's bride to be! Are we preoccupied with this? Does it drive us to do crazy things like go without food so that we can tell Him how much we need Him and how desperately we long for Him to return? So often we live preoccupied with this dying, passing world and it's temporary pleasures. So often I forget that "I'm a refugee; this world is not my home." Or as another poet puts it, I am "created for a place I've never known."

So next time you think you might be hungry ask yourself, "What am I waiting for?" A Snickers bar? Or the happiest day of my life . . .

Prayer: For something Divine

2009-05-19T07:25:00.000-07:00

"Well done, My good and faithful servant! . . . . When I was hungry you fed Me, when thirsty you gave Me to drink, when naked you clothed Me, when a stranger you welcomed Me, when in prison you visited Me . . ."

O Father, my God, my Savior, Redeemer, my Master, I long to hear these words from Your mouth! Beyond any man's approval, more than that of my best friend or Pastor or Mom and Dad or brother or any other man, I long to feel YOUR approval on a life well-lived for Christ!
But God, I fear that all of these things I do to befriend people who have few friends or no friends or to help out homeless and poor people will be burned up as NOTHING-- I fear that I myself will be nothing! Because all of my best deeds are ruined by my despicable pride! All of my most holy and loving desires are overwhelmed and inhibited by my fear!
Ah, God, save me from myself! Save the rest of this world-- my neighbors, my enemies, my friends-- from the ugly, destructive, lustful, prideful, fearful nature that rages inside of me! Save them from Seth Martin.
Love them, Jesus Christ! Kill me, and use this body, heart and mind as Your chosen instrument of grace and love! I beg You, humbled and needy! Do this in my heart-- I cannot do this myself. You've got to do this! . . .

and humble me still more . . .

A Pointless Birthday?

2008-12-25T17:44:00.000-08:00

"Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing . . ."
-------------------------------------------------

So what does Christmas mean to us? I mean, what's the point of it all? "That's easy: Jesus' Birth. Everyone knows, 'Jesus is the Reason for the season!' " Ok. But what does Jesus' birth mean for us? Why is it such a big deal that we have basically a whole month of shopping and decorating and playing special carols leading up to one day on the calendar? Why is this birth so worthy of hanging wreaths and red bows, decorating trees and making cookies, licking candy canes and giving gifts and having an international holiday?

It's not enough to just say, "Yay! Jesus was born!" Think about it, the Jews knew Jesus was born, and Herod tried to kill him; thirty years later the religious elite did the same thing. Problem is, the Jews missed it. They were looking for a political hero, a warrior messiah who would overthrow the Roman government and give the Jews political freedom from their slavish oppressors. But they were dreaming too small.

See, Jesus' kingdom is not of this world-- it's bigger (and better) than that. Jesus' kingdom can't be boxed up with easily manageable terms like political freedom and capitalsim and democracy. Jesus didn't come to overthrow tyrannical governments or to set up national democracies or to promise His followers political freedom-- otherwise His disciples would have taken up the sword against the godless and oppressive Roman Empire. No, Jesus came offering a freedom far greater and more glorious than any star-spangled banner or democratic republic or aircraft carrier could ever afford. Freedom from Adam's curse.

As angel choirs sang in the Second Adam's humble birth in Bethlehem, a bell tolled throughout the earth, the death-knell of sin and death itself. The curse would be reversed. Jesus' birth, 33-year life, and death and resurrection on our fallen sod was only the beginning. But it was the beginning. Not just a shadow of things to come, the coming of the Messiah was the actual Kingdom come . . . and still coming. It's a progressive regeneration and the Church is still being built and the Kingdom is still spreading like yeast through bread dough, like the invasive mustard tree-- a tiny, insignificant, despised seed irresistibly taking over a whole neighborhood, region, world. This is what the birth of Christ signaled. The death of death, good news for the poor, comfort for the mourning, the healing of broken hearts, the quenching of thirst, the sating of hunger, sight for the blind, dances for the crippled and lame, freedom for the captives and oppressed, love for enemies-- the forgiveness of sins and justification through grace-- LIFE for the dead, "that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified!" (Is. 61:3)This is why we celebrate Christmas. So if we really believe what we spend so much time saying we believe, let us celebrate "the year of the LORD's favor" with all our hearts!

"Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of GREAT JOY that will be for all the people . . ."

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom He is pleased!"
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Check out Isaiah 61:1-3 (cf. Luke 4:16-19). Jesus is reversing the curse. He tears out the roots of Adam's curse as He takes on the curse on the cross, and puts an end to death a few days later when we walks out of His grave-- death's sting-remover.

To Own a Kingdom

2008-12-22T06:26:00.000-08:00

"Blessed are you poor for yours is the kingdom of God . . . But woe to you who are rich, for you are receiving your comfort in full." -- Jesus

How can the possession, ownership, rights to the kingdom of God be compared to or contrasted with receiving comfort in full? We know that rich people can enter into the kingdom, so what does it mean for the kingdom of God to be "yours?"

I think sometimes we think of the kingdom in too concrete or "boxed-in" terms. Jesus compared the kingdom to many very different things, events, actions, people and said that it is here, coming, in us and among us. How do you box that up? All this cannot be packaged into something so cut and dry as eternal salvation or "heaven." Yes, the kingdom is, in part, heaven, and it is salvation, but it is also so much more. Ushered in by grace and love and received by given faith, the Kingdom is a lifestyle of love, of faith, of good deeds, of striving to be perfectly holy like our Lord and Father--a radical new value system.

The kingdom of Heaven, of God, is here, now. It is today, this generation; the redeemed lifestyle of the redeemed, we live now with hope, and we LIVE! We live by faith with confident hope toward a future and perfect life that knows no death. The kingdom of God is a preview taste today of a beautiful life to be lived in full tomorrow. We all intuitively know that there is something better--heaven, a kingdom--in another life to come, but Jesus tells us, "Yeah, that's coming and it's gonna be great, but, I'm telling you, the Kingdom's already here! Don't wait to start living that life--I'm here with you now!" The true children of the kingdom--the sons and daughters of God, the royal priesthood--are to be the incarnation of that kingdom and its Savior LORD. One writer says, "Believers are a dime-a-dozen nowadays. What the world needs is people who believe so much in another world that they cannot help but begin enacting it now."

An integral part of that present kingdom living is poverty. The freedom to be poor even if you have the means to great wealth. God calls some Christians to high incomes. Is that wrong? No. But He calls all kingdom children to use their income (whether high or low) to give freely to those in need. It is the means to spread the kingdom further and deeper. When we cling to our worldly wealth or use it for our own self-absorbed enjoyment and pleasure we are "receiving [our] comfort in full." (remember what Jesus said?) Woe to us! Complete ownership or possession of this fluid, conceptual, yet real Kingdom is only fully realized by embracing what would be considered poverty by the world. The freedom to be poor allows us to grasp (or own) fully the power, the pleasure, the joy and the beauty of, the betterness of this Kingdom. Only when we have relinquished our grip on this world's mammon and passing pleasures, on our own pride and self-righteousness and embraced the richness of Christ's holiness and pro-active love, the freedom of poverty can we really own the kingdom. When we are the poor (in so many physical and spiritual ways) then the kingdom of God will be ours!

With ALL . . . (part 2)

2008-11-27T22:12:00.000-08:00

"You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment."
--Jesus

[All means all, but how to live out such a radical command in a world that seems to demand that we "have" certain things in our lives?]

This will always be a struggle. This is something that I've struggled with and still do. It's too easy to sugar-coat and dilute and over-contextualize what Jesus clearly states in His teachings til we can say that this doesn't apply to me or that it meant something else or it's just . . . just . . . but Jesus WAS radical. We know how popular He was with great multitudes following Him everywhere, but there were also many more who like the Rich Young Ruler turned away from following Him, turned away from eternal life because He was a little too radical. Because He said stuff that went contrary to common sense and made demands that can only be made by a Master to His slaves as a King to His people. But the people that turned away weren't hung up on nuances and hyperbole and wondering if Jesus really meant everything He said. They understood Him. And they would not renounce all that they had. Intellectually. Materially. Familially. They turned away from Jesus. And crucified Him.

And it's a struggle for us. It's not a single battle, but a war with campaigns and many battles. But the glorious power of Jesus' grace promises that as we put on the armor and wade into battle day after day, fighting our hearts-- fears, lusts, idols, hate, and pride-- we will be more than conquerors THROUGH HIM! Like Cassie said (in our facebook discussion), we can't do this on our own. If we sound like a broken record, that's ok, because it's essential that the record break and repeat this part of the song . . . over and over and over, every day for the rest of our lives. Because this IS our life-- HE is our life! John 15:5-- "For without Me, you can do nothing."And that's the basis for living free from materialism and love for people and things and ideas that exists outside of a love for God. Because Christ is our life! Colossians 1:16 tells me that I have no reason for existing other than for Christ. And so if there is anything in my life that has a reason for existing outside of Christ then that thing must be "counted as loss."

We need to critically examine each thing in our lives. And where Christ is not pre-eminently dominating, where we cannot say "Christ is our LIFE," there must be radical change, surgical and revolutionary. I guess a good question to ask of everything and everyone in your life is, "Does this world or my heart demand that I have this in my life or has God sovereignly placed this in my life?" and then if it has been put into your hands by your God, ask, "Do I love and enjoy this person or thing apart from Christ? or in Him, through Him, because of Him, and FOR Him?"

Sometimes we'll have to get tough, sometimes we'll have to be creative. Often we'll need both. But through the pain (and there WILL be pain) we'll find in our Husband Christ a joy fulfilled and unspeakable. And can the passing pain compare to the indestructible joy? No, I promise you it cannot.

Happy is . . .?

2008-11-27T21:15:00.000-08:00

"Happy Thanksgiving!"

I think five or six of my friends texted me throughout the day just to say that today. Made me feel special that people were thinking of me even on their vacations. "Happy Thanksgiving." And it was, I guess. I enjoyed a lot of (too much) good food. Played football with my family. Laughed at the antics of my nieces and nephews, and just relaxed. Isn't that happy? Yeah, sure, but fulfilling? Satisfying?

Funny (actually sad): I gorged myself on a lavish lunch with turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, all the dessert I couldn't fit into my stomach . . . but I continued to snack on those chocolate covered raisins all day. Even though I wasn't hungry! Why? Because, though my stomach was full, I wasn't satisfied. Happy Thanksgiving--sure, but there was something terrifyingly missing. Adriana got it right. She sent me this verse:
"Come into His presence with singing and into His courts with praise. Be thankful unto him and bless His name, for His mercy and love are everlasting, and His truth endures forever!"

Doesn't say anything about turkey or family or football. Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for food, family, and fun, but as I experienced today, that thankfulness is pretty superficial, surface stuff. I can fill up my belly and score touchdowns on my older brother and say, "Thanks, God!" for all of that but if that's it . . . ? It's like standing on a mountain peak in Colorado at night with an indescribable, celestial quilt of stars and planets and moons filling a vast and trackless sky above my head, while I stare down at my little flashlight bulb for hours--thanking God for lightbulbs. Lightbulbs are pretty cool, but seriously . . . I gaze at the gift and miss the GLORY.

Adri sent me this verse at lunch time but I was too distracted and still missed it. Til now. What was the Psalmist thankful for? For mercy and love and truth that never ends, never runs out, and can never be outlived. For these beautiful, life-giving glories of God. These are the things that satisfy. Mercy, Love, and Truth, forever and ever--this is the GLORY of God.
I'm thankful for my family. But one day I'll leave them all to go to a land across the sea--for this God of mercy, love and truth is so much better than my family. I'm thankful for food. But one day I'll be glad to leave America, where I would never have to worry about my next meal, to go to a land where people die of starvation--every day--and God's provision will truly be a constant miracle of mercy. I'm thankful for football (and other sports). But I will gladly give up such frivolities for a life of hardship that is envigorated and empassioned by the joy of seeing the Kingdom of God wage unstoppable war against the kingdom of Satan in dark places using the weapons of mercy, love, and truth.

Yeah, it was a "Happy Thanksgiving." And I'm thankful for the things that brought that happiness. But, God, I beg You: give me the heart of this Psalmist; for he was not merely happy--he was satisfied!

With all . . .

2008-11-26T22:09:00.000-08:00

"He loves Thee too little who loves anything with Thee which he loves not for Thy sake."
--St. Augustine

This prayer by Augustine makes practical the first and greatest command, the essential mission of our lives: "Love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all you strength." All necessitates an exhaustive fullness, a complete and focused singularity to our love for the LORD. All leaves no room for any other outside passions. No rivals. Does this sound extreme? Over-applicative? Too "radical?" But as a friend reminded me, can anything be too "radical" in love for the One who gives us physical life-- a beating heart and aspirating lungs-- and then, at the cost of the life of His only Son, gives us a new spiritual life-- the only thing that makes our physical lives worth living? No, there can be nothing radical at all about anything I might seek to do and to give my LORD out of love for Him. This is illustrated over and over again in the New Testament. Indeed, Jesus tells us that our love for our own families should be like hate compared with our love for Christ; He tells us that our love for HIM should utterly destroy our love for our possessions to the point that we give everything away to the poor in our passion for following Christ; and as if that doesn't quite cover it all, Christ declares that anyone who seeks and holds onto life to any extent above death outside of a love that follows Christ will forfeit his soul and the true life (that which comes by dying to this dead life).

But, I mean, surely the basic survival and satisfaction instincts are, at least in part, outisde of the demands of this spiritual life and exclusive love for God? no. ALL means ALL. Augustine had it right: "anything . . . which he loves not for Thy sake." This applies poignantly and constantly to my relations to food, to friends, to any clothing, books, car, job, hopes, goals and plans. It applies to my thought and to my writing. To my guitar and my time, my sleep. To my cell phone, my grades, my degree from the University. Applies to my computer, my music, and my movies. It applies to and must dominate every aspect of my life no matter how small, narrow, and seemingly insignificant. All means all.

My Lord, You shall have no rivals in my heart life. "Grant what Thou commandest, and command what Thou wilt." I am Yours alone.

Superman is dead. Who's the hero now?

2008-06-20T08:23:00.000-07:00

What is a hero? Is he a strong, brave "superman" who saves many lives with his strength and courage? Yes. But if there were no more, then few of us would ever know a hero. The heroes we grew up with in the movies and comic books and cartoons saved the day by performing feats of physical ability and unmatched bravery when no one else could. But take away their superhuman strength, throw a little kryptonite into their lives and they become just like the rest of us. Just like the rest of us nothings.

No, a hero is usually much simpler than that. A hero is not necessarily someone who does things that no one else can-- a hero is someone who loves when no one else will. A hero makes you smile when everthing seems against you, and there is no reason to smile. A hero doesn't just save lives or "save the day"-- a hero saves the moment. Even if it is just for one person. Even if no one else ever knows about it. You see, in real life, heroes don't run and jump around in tights and flashy underwear, so sometimes it's hard to tell who the real heroes are. Most of us are so self-sufficient and independent that we rarely see a hero, but make no mistake, we all have a hero in our lives somewhere.

Heroes are not perfect. We all have our own form of kryptonite to battle, and most of us are not very heroic most of the time. Heroics demand only one powerfully energizing ideal: love. Love will drive us to deeds that are extraordinary in one way or another. Love is when we forget about ourselves and look around for someone in need. Love looks outward. It's not typical. It's not common. It's stronger than any other force-- hate, fear, mistrust. Love is above the average. It is a rare thing, and that's why heroes are all too rare these days. Because most of us have forgotten that love is stronger even than death, and we choose to live life fueled by greed or pride or some other form of death and ignore love. The heroes are dying.

But they're not dead yet.

Life in the Rearview Mirror (from life journal)

2008-06-15T20:57:00.000-07:00

1 July 2003
"As I drove the family van down to Chambersburg today, I looked into the rearview mirrors, and saw my little sisters just sitting in the backseat reading, with not a care in the world. It seemed to me it wasn't too long ago that was me in the backseat with lil' bro Chris. How time flies by. Years, with 365 or 366 days in each of them seem to be simply a background now. A hopeless, meaningless jumble of numbers. My true and meaningful past is made up of a patchwork of memories that now seem more real than the numbers-- 1991, '92, '93, '97, '00, etc. Some memories make me laugh. Others make me grimace. Still others make me cry. How is it that I took life so carelessly for granted? I thought life was free. My biggest concerns used to be does "pretty Dana" really like me? Why do I have to clean my room? Am I the fastest in my class? How long can I hang out in the restroom at school before the teacher comes in to yell at me? Now it's all different. Well, not so different as more serious."

14 June 2003
"Growing up. Why? And why is it so hard to do? To deny my foolish puerile tendencies and pleasures, realizing that they are nothing more than left-over adolescent emotions-- the last remnants of a simple child-hood empty of worries or concerns. I now find that I must stay and "face the music." Turn and deal with my problems bluntly, realistically, and many times on my own. The fear of parents has translated from accidents like breaking a light-bulb into denting my brother's truck pulling out of the gas station. The cold, biting reality that nothing is free comes raining down on me in a hail of stinging costs and expenses. Time, which only a year ago I seemed to have such an over-abundance of, now is fed continuously into the depths of ravenous creatures like work and sleep. Friends become closer and more real in my life and yet create more conflicts emotionally. Freedom increases, and yet with freedom comes more bondage-- the bondage of responsibility, work, and money.

Many scars have been left on my heart, but there are two healers from the beginning of time that have worked better than any tonic or potion ever prescribed. These two healers are time and love."

Excuse me, sir, where's the church?

2008-05-31T02:09:00.000-07:00

I've been dreaming of a church. A church where the members are not each islands to themselves, but where each member is a part of each other's lives. Not just on Sunday, but always an integral part of life. Kind of like a body. One body. You don't just need your arm or your eye on Sunday. Why do we only need each other on Sunday? For that matter, pretty much all the churches I've been to around here don't even need each other on Sunday. We just show up, exchange a couple of greetings, file into our usual pews, scan the audience for visitors and make note of where they're sitting so we can avoid them afterwards, shake hands with five people around us after the second verse of the second song (thus fulfilling our duty of fellowship), enjoy the message--even take notes, feel a little conviction, then scurry quickly back to the safe insulation of our own private homes and wolf down whatever we're having for lunch . . . by ourselves.

I've been dreaming of a church that spends its money on the body and not the building. I've been dreaming of a church where walking through the doors means walking into open arms of brotherhood. I've been dreaming of a church where the people make me feel like I'm home instead of sitting back at a safe distance and saying, "Oh, look--a visitor. Good. I hope he likes our church and starts coming regularly, and our numbers grow, and we get bigger offerings." I've been dreaming of a church where the singing is led by the congregation, by its burning love for its Saviour and Head. I've been dreaming of a church where the members assemble out of a passionate desire to worship and learn of their Lord, where everyone is together because they WANT be there--not because they ought to be. I've been dreaming of a church that is free and knows it. I've been dreaming of a church where there truly is no Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, rich nor poor. I've been dreaming of a church where we're all one. One.

Christ, I know I'm part of your Body, but why do I feel so amputated? And where can I find the rest of Your body? Jesus, where's the Church?

Death: Staring into the Mirror

2008-05-10T21:41:00.000-07:00

A helicoptor is flying over the house. At 12:30 AM. It's almost certainly a life flight. Someone's dying right now. Someone's hurting. Someone's crying, someone's praying, begging, pleading with a God they've never talked to before.

So often we reduce death to heaven and hell. And heaven and hell are certainly the most important places in regards to death; they are ultimate . . . for the deceased. But for someone, death is only a mirror and a door to life forever changed. A door through which the living are forced without any answers to life's most bitter questions, nor any guidebook for that which lies beyond. Death changes lives. It's a mirror into which every loving friend, brother or sister, father or mother, even the mere thinking observer must gaze and reflect and respond or react.

There is a certain finality to death which somehow arouses the strongest emotions within every beating heart. My soul, numbed and cooled by books and reactions and conflicts over the preceding months of school, was seared to life last fall by the death of a dear African brother. When I was with Providence in Cameroon, something was dying inside of me--something I knew nothing about. Providence was one of the most passionate people I have ever met. I don't think I ever saw Providence but that he was wearing either a face-covering grin or a solemn scowl of deep thought. He would have nothing to do with the ordinary life. As he walked me down to the square the morning I said goodbye to the town of Sabga at the end of July, it was with sobering sadness but an even fiercer hope that he pledged his love and prayers to me along with his conviction that I would be back. And that morning, the ability to be content and passionate with an ordinary life died inside of me.
When I went back to the states, I could feel that death inside of me as I integrated myself back into ordinary life. My heart would not waste its passions on an ordinary life. The end of summer brought school. My fourth year of college and more of the same ordinary academic pursuits: literature, psychology, language. Nothing thrilled me, nothing broke my heart, nothing infuriated me. I lived a half-smile. I wished upon a heavy heart with eyes bereft of tears. Until Providence died. He was twenty-eight, and I cried for the first time in months. All the other squabbles and conflicts in my ordinary life seemed so small and acidic and I hated it all the more. Providence had been living an extraordinary life, walking everywhere with his smile, his Bible, and his backpack full of tracts. Why take him and leave me? Average, ordinary me, contributing nothing to eternity. I held my face in my hands for a long time, crawled into bed and wished the world would disappear. But I had to go back out and face my excruciatingly ordinary life . . . it was still there and demanding my attention.
I remembered when Providence took me along with him to visit all the sick people at Mbingo hospital. We spent the afternoon in the trama and surgical ward with people who had just lost eyes or limbs and still didn't know if they'd keep their lives. I talked to some of them and saw so much grief and hopelessness. I saw bodies ravaged by accidents and disease. They asked me questions I could not answer and when I'd seen all I could handle I went out and sat on a wall. But Providence was still in there. Still bending over some dying lady's bed and praying. Still talking with families of those in such pitiful conditions. Fervent, compassionate, never-tiring. Driven by love. He came outside and asked me to come in and pray with him for a boy. I went with him, but, humbled and embarassed speechless, could only stand by and let him pray. I begged God to instill in me such a passionate, selfless love as I witnessed in Providence.

And then he was gone. My heart ached. Felt like it was fastened to a wall, but someone was pulling hard and tearing it. I sat with my face buried in my hands looking into that mirror called death. Why should I go on with this ordinary life? I could quit school. Go back to Africa. Live like Providence did, traveling as far as he could, talking to everyone he could. But too many things in this ordinary life tied me down. I looked on, reading emails as I and my other brothers and sisters in Africa grieved Providence's passing. But I could do nothing.

Providence was welcomed into heaven last fall, the place for which he was created, but my heart broke, and I'll never be able to escape the vision of a dark gap left in the hedge. The hole where once an extraordinary life poured passion and energy and everything he could into everyone he could. And his prayer calling me back to Africa.

"The clocks have all stopped, the story's been told
This is your life, so how will it show?

No, you can't pretend that forever
Will never come knocking at your door.

Run through the flames,
Never look back.
What did you think that you came here for?"
--the Afters (One Moment Away)

Impossible

2008-05-03T01:00:00.000-07:00

Do I believe in the impossible? Do you? Why not? And why do I assume that you do not? Is it because that's the way we live, talk, act, think? Or rather, have conditioned ourselves to think.

Do we really not believe in the impossible? Then what is it inside of ourselves that draws us to the impossible when others reveal it, speak of it, only to reject it when it becomes too close to real, yet too inexplicable to our well-trained conventions? Could it be the truth?

What is impossible? To some it is very truth itself. What they have not seen, touched, or heard cannot be real. No, in fact, even if they have sensed it, if they cannot explain it, then it cannot be real. It was the senses playing tricks, some bad left-over gruel as Dickens' Scrooge might say.

And so to these people, they would not believe the impossible if they saw it with their very eyes.

Impossible is, in fact then, a state of mind. Fear often controls us more than any other emotion or conviction. We fear the pain, the unpleasantness, the awkwardness. We fear anger and failure and loss. We fear each other, our enemies, and even those we love most. But most of all, we fear the unknown. This is where impossible is born. In the fear of the unknown. We've never seen it, we don't know about it, it doesn't fit into any of our boxes or systems, so naturally we fear. The fear of the unknown is perhaps the strongest of all, because we have no way to fight it. And so we respond the same way my older brothers used to respond to me when I was being obnoxious and annoying: "ignore it and it will go away." So we ignore it. We deny its existence. We deny even its possibility; we label it-- it's impossible. Not reality.

But is it? Really?

"You can't see gravity, but it still exists." A poor example often used to try to prove the existence of God. Trying prove the possibility of a thing commonly thought impossible is different. Still the principle applies. Conventional wisdom tells us that certain things are impossible: a stairway to heaven; a tunnel to China; a true disappearing act; a one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people-eater. But what are these labels of impossible based upon? An argument from silence. The fact that we've never seen one. So seriously, what else is called impossible and accepted as such? Suppose it's only because we haven't yet opened the right door?

Now, lest we get carried away and start jumping off buildings in attempts to fly, let me say that I'm not trying to prove the existence or the possibility of anything. I'm just traveling a road of thought.

Let's remember that impossible is actually a reality confirmed by God Himself (Mk 10:27). Jesus' disciples were confused-- worse-- they were filled with consternation and, without doubt, fear itself. "Who can avoid death, if even the richest, most law-abiding, moral man is condemned?" And, yes, Jesus confirms their fears, "With people it is impossible to avoid death." And so there are certain things that are impossible-- under certain conditions. "With people . . . " There is the reality that most of us live in. We all know (in our right minds) that there are many things that are impossible with people. If left only up to people. But that's an if that doesn't have to be reality. You see, in the same sentence Jesus says "but not with God; for all things are possible with God." All things . . . do you believe that? All things. A camel can pass through the eye of a needle. A rich man can enter into the kingdom of God (why doesn't that shock us Americans?). Blind men can see. Cripples can dance. The deaf can hear the mute sing, and dead men can get up and live again. Here. Now. All things. Reality. Do you believe it? Do you live in it? What is impossible to you?

Many people today claim to have witnessed or even experienced miracles. Some people say the age of miracles passed into history with the death of the last New Testament apostle. Some say there never was any miracle. They've never experienced one, but if they did, they would doubt their senses or state of mind instead of recognizing the hand of God. Would you?

What is impossible? What reality do you live in? The reality of all possible? Jesus has something to say about this reality. Mark records a powerful statement just before Jesus casts a demon out of a boy. The disciples tried and failed. The father of the boy was struggling with unbelief. His plea for help was disclaimed with "if you can do anything . . ." "If you can? All things are possible to him who believes." There was authority in those words. Authority from heaven. Authority that changed this man's plea from "if you can do anything" to "I believe! Help my unbelief!" Authority that changed reality. You know the end. A demon who was overpowering to every other human attempt was subdued by the impossibility-destroying power of God. Impossible? Depends. Do you believe?

Not so many things are impossible when you're living in the reality of Divine Power.

Write.

2008-04-29T22:05:00.000-07:00

So you want to be a writer? Well, then write.

That's it?

Makes sense, doesn't it? You want to be a swimmer, you swim. You want to be a singer, you sing. You want to be fighter, you fight. Want to be a builder, you build. You want to be a writer, write. Simple.
But not.

What do I write about? Can I just sit down and write? No inspiration pushing me, driving me, compelling me to write? Who wants to read scribbles and babble? Do I not need a reason to write? A mission? A point, a goal?

What is your goal? To be a writer. Then write.

But that's not it-- is it?

No, you don't want to be a writer. You love to write. But more than that, you love to change. To change yourself, to be changed, to feel yourself and see yourself changed. But just as much, you love to change others. You love to, you desire so badly for others to join you in change. To live the change you've felt in your heart. That's your heart-- your passion. Have I got it?

No. You got part of it. It's deeper. Much deeper. For I see within myself no change. And that's what drives my desire to write. Notice: I say within myself. Yeah, I've changed much on the outside. Hair. Clothes. Music. Other things maybe. That's change you can put a finger on. Only a finger. But the heart . . .

Scars. And spreading like a leprous scab is a scar that gathers its covering across my heart to prevent change, to retard passion, to suffocate love. And all my radical, sincere, passionate outward change is discovered to be merely an emotional wave that washes over my face leaving a new piece of the facade with each new inundation.

So where does that leave me? Desiring to change? Of course. But isn't everyone? How strongly do I desire to change? Or should I ask, How deeply do I love the warm, calming shallow water? And somehow it helps to know I'm not alone. For as Mark Hall confesses, we are both

“Fearless warriors in a picket fence,
reckless abandon wrapped in common sense,
deep water faith in the shallow end.”

And though our eyes are “wide open to the differences” we are trapped in the strongest web of all-- our desires . . . for the picket fence; for the natural, instinctual common sense; for that easy and calm shallow end.

That's why I want to write. To change. To tell you not to be like them-- or me. To lift up my shirt, reveal my scabby, scarred heart. To remind myself of the passion I once was. To try once again to convince myself . . . to change.

That's it.

What If Jesus Meant Everything He Said?

2008-04-29T21:24:00.000-07:00

You’ve heard from your mother, your father, your professor, the teenager at work, all the best wisdom man can give you. And it makes sense—if there is no life after this one. However, I am a disciple of Christ. I look for a city not built by the wisdom of man. Sometimes in that search Christ leads me to things that don’t make sense. So then is that to be rejected? Because it’s not logical, because it doesn’t make sense? What Christ said about self-denial, giving up everything to the poor, hating your family, not worry about the basic needs of life . . . was that really hyperbole? My question is, What if Jesus meant everything He said?

Thinking. Always thinking.
But ever getting closer?
I wonder.
Though I feel the loser,
I wonder
if it is not simply a difference
in values and what is
valuable. Make sense?

My life: nothing but His.
All this world’s gloss
I’m counting it loss,
Losing the dross,
Seeking the kingdom first,
Seeking for better or worse
That fount to quench all thirst.

And I wonder,
Did Jesus really mean
everything He said?

The riches, pleasures, and comforts of this earth are something to be laughed at, not clung to.

If our great God (with Whom nothing is impossible) leads a husband to a "comfortable", established life in a civilized culture where the family can rely on his job or church support and the local health facilities and where they'll have a set routine everyday where the husband won't have to travel much either alone or with the family . . . then he’d be reasonable. Then you could understand. Then that man would be “responsible.”

But if He leads a husband to a ministry where from day to day, year to year he is completely trusting God for his financial income, where there is no hospital or even clinic just down the road, where you have to boil your drinking water, shake out your shoes every morning and bleach your eating dishes (such as they might be). Where the family might move to a new home every three years, where the persecution is vicious and your enemies are everywhere. Where each day you awake and place the protection and provision of your family completely in your God's hands-- and you know that you have no other choice because there's too much against you for you to take care of them in your own power. Where you believe in and see miracles as God's normal working . . . then, that’s hyper-radical, unreasonable, irresponsible, because there's no way to raise a family in a lifestyle like that.

He should have, of course, done the Apostle Paul thing. Only single males can follow Jesus like that. I mean Jesus couldn’t really have meant for the principles and outright commands He gave in Luke 9:23, 24, 57-62; 12:4-7, 22-34; 14:26-33; 18:18-30; 21:1-4 to be applied to ALL Christians-- even wives and children!

But that quiet, firm voice will not leave us alone: What if Jesus really meant everything He said?

Matthew 5:38-48-- “You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you. You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

Matthew 16:24-27-- “Then Jesus told his disciples, 'If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his life? Or what shall a man give in return for his life? For the Son of Man is going to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then He will repay each person according to what he has done.' "

Luke 14:25-33-- "Now great crowds accompanied him, and he turned and said to them,
'If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, saying, "This man began to build and was not able to finish." Or what king, going out to encounter another king in war, will not sit down first and deliberate whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand? And if not, while the other is yet a great way off, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace. So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.' "

-----------------------------------------

In private silence now sit I and think
and in oceans of questions softly sink.
To find some peace, a quiet search
and thus my heart ever yearns.

Head held in hands
to listen to the distant lands
cry out for hope, a desperate cry.
And I-- where am I?

Clinging, ever clinging
to this sinking
earth and treasures held in Fine land's bosom.
But what will I give to the King of heaven?
Shall I give all?
Yes, I must give all
and gladly, for my life is not my own
but his and ever shall be so.

So what future then awaits me
as in darkness now I strain to see
the path so far ahead?
It is not mine to know-- I must be led
and that by One more wise
more loving than my mind's
imaginations can surmise.

And can I fear when led by
such a kind and faithful Eye?
Though fulfilled be darkest fears
of life alone and lonely tears,
though I be despised
and seen as fool in man's full eyes
of earthly wisdom,
though life be lived in
separation, lived alone and my heart wrenched
away from a human love, unfulfilled yet unquenched,
still I will love Him,
still I will praise Him,
still I will seek His kingdom first
with a desperate hunger, unquenchable thirst.

And when my life is at an end,
my head once more held in my hand
my thoughts will wander back across
the years of joy through painful loss.

And then I'll lift my hands
and praise the great I AM
and rush to meet my Husband Christ
who made worthwhile a dying life.

He'll bid me enter to His rest,
"Fear not, for naught but gain is found in death."
----------------
And yet, I am the worse, for I am a hypocrite living a life which bears no semblance to the message I preach. Jesus, save me from myself.

Think Happier?

2008-04-29T21:20:00.001-07:00

Tired hands cradle a tired head. A cracking heart sinks deeper into his chest cavity as the bubble of misery rises higher and higher in his throat. Tears tease his flickering eyelids with the threat of a flood, but they find no release and the emotions building up within the prison of his chest stubbornly press on his lungs. Ragged sighs try to grow into sobs, but a strangling anger chokes them back, and he breathes with a sort of growling groan, short, sharp and bitter.

--------------------------------

When you read that description of emotional pain, how does it make you feel? Depressed? Angry? Frustrated? Why? It's not because of the hardship of this man or boy or whoever he is. You don't even know why he is miserable, and it really doesn't matter. Because you're not sad for him. You're sad for yourself. You're thinking about all the things that have made or could make you feel that way. That painfully depressed. Yet it's only your depressing thoughts. It's not your life circumstances.

So, someone says, Think happier. Does that make a difference? I mean really, could that possibly even work? Sure it could. Our emotions are greatly influenced by the thoughts we let pass through our minds. You think what you read. The more colorful the words, the more vivid the thoughts. Think about what you read. When we consume our time feasting on the difficulties and struggles of life and all the things that seem to us unfair, we will certainly find ourselves to be unhappy and reveling in self-pity.

So think happier.

One Bad Day (from Sketches of Life)

2008-04-29T20:55:00.000-07:00

I shuffle down the sidewalk quiet and alone. Quite oddly alone, for there are hundreds passing me on my left. I avoid their obtrusive stares by turning my own upon the fountain and pool to my right. The railing occupies my right hand and side-- a buffer and a welcome distraction. The morning's rain has left rows of droplets clinging to the underside of the railing and hiding from the coming sun. I find some strange sympathy for these pathetic little water particles. I'd like to be hiding too. So I don't mind that they leave my fingers wet as my hand slides along the railing. It is not my practice to ignore my mankind brothers and sisters, but this day I must, for I find no happy thought within my heart to share abroad.

The sun stealthily curls its golden paint around a towering cloud, and the gilded edges threaten to make me smile. But I resist. A smile would be wasted upon such a ruined day. And besides, the sun is inanimate-- he won't care. Just like everyone else.

I begin to step out to cross the road looking up just in time to see the car. I stumble and step back trying to regain my balance. Forget my composure. Ruddy color flushes my cheeks and I seethe through my clenched teeth.

I toy with a regret that I didn't keep walking, head down, right out in front of that car. I know I shouldn't be thinking this way, but no one else feels bad, so I continue the self-pity party in my own little world. It's an addiction of sorts.

Staring straight ahead I stalk past the library, behind the Alumni building, and wind my way around the tables and chairs outside of the coffee shop. Those who notice me and offer their “Heyhowyadoin” receive my manufactured “Goodyou” with all the insincerity I can muster.

Down the long sidewalk to the back door of Graves, I stagger, almost there. I hope no one comes busting out of the door and runs me over. But it figures. I'd be surprised if no one did.

Brett's sitting in the lobby. I hope he doesn't notice me. I don't really feel like stopping or taking the time at all. Brett's always in a good mood and, what's worse, I know he'll actually care about my puny, selfish troubles. He'll ruin my pity party, so I sneak past him and trudge up the stairs to the second floor East. Leaning on the handle to room 223 I fall into the dim light and close the door behind me. Two steps and my bookbag hits the floor by my desk. One more and I'm at the air conditioner. Andrew has it set to “Freezeyourappendagesoff” as usual. But at least he's not in the room right now. As the polar wind ceases under my controlling hand I sigh half in relief, half in resignation. But I miss the numbing sound of the air. The silence screams my pathetic loneliness. Music. Flipping open my computer, my hands rise to the tie still squeezing my neck and my head totters twice before lolling over loosely to the left. Too tired to hold my head up is too tired. Draping the now-removed noose over the back of my chair I slide into my bed six inches off the floor. Forget the music. Sleep welcomes me home. The first open arms I've found all day.

Painting the Picture

2008-04-29T20:36:00.001-07:00

I've always wanted to be a writer. Ever since I was eleven or twelve, at least. And ever since I started writing papers for English classes in high school, people have been telling me that I have a natural gift for writing and that I should develop that gift. But it's not just that I have a natural aptitude for words-- I truly do love to write. It's not just words on a page. It's not just the shortest distance between A and B. It's an art form. It's creating, painting, building, drawing word by word, sentence by sentence, chapter by chapter, a picture, a form, a concept that, in the mind, can be seen, heard, touched and examined from all angles.
There is a picture that begins in my mind with no words. The picture grows, develops, becomes more and more beautiful, and, as I behold it, I am compelled deep from within to share that picture with others. I must transfer that picture, that form, that concept from my own mind to the minds of others by some means. And the more precisely, the more vividly, the more effectually I paint that picture in the minds of my readers, the more perfectly they will understand what has been in my mind. That is the message. The message is the transfer, but the transfer needs a more concrete vehicle. That is writing.

Life Worth Living

2008-04-07T10:51:00.001-07:00

She's sitting in that chair again. It's 7:00 this evening and she's already in her nightgown. Watching “Wheel of Fortune.” Again. By herself again. It takes a strong woman to keep on living after her husband of fifty years leaves her all alone with his death. It's been five years now and it makes you wonder what life is all about. And with this question a lot of people come up empty.

How do you keep living? Half of yourself is torn away never to be touched or held or loved again until the forevermore reunites old friends. You are left in the fading dusk of your years and the greatest portion of your life is locked away in either the past or the grave. Your friends and family are all firmly entrenched in the lives they've been living for years, and their sincere condolences somehow never translated into renewed life for you. You are bereft of the energy and the drive to just get up and go. To go do something-- anything. To explore. To discover. To create. How do you find that passion? When it's gone . . . how do you go on living?

Yet, the question is not simply for those who find themselves at the end of their lives. No, millions will ask it all around the world today. In Africa a teenage boy longingly gazes at his calendar picture of New York City-- his dream for as long as he can remember-- and, realizing he will never in his life have enough money to go there, he resigns, drops the the picture into the fire and asks the question hopelessly. An upscale apartment door in London is slowly closed as a young man watches the wife he once loved more than anything, including his precious job and portfolio, walk out of his life. And he wonders why or how he should face tomorrow and the next day and the next. There is the mother in China who looks sadly on as her two children sit eating the same rice they've eaten at every meal, and she prepares to go to work in the same factory making the same towels for the rich Americans and is there anything more to life? Is there anything worth it?

And it's the twenty year-old at a college she disagrees with about everything. And she's rolling up debt as she lives a dorm lifestyle so foreign to real life that she wonders what it's really like. The B's and C's she receives, far from consoling, are never good enough and she doesn't really even know what she wants to do with her life. So as she unpacks her bags into her dorm room after another Christmas Break, she collapses onto her bed and, staring blankly through the wall, questions why she is there-- why she is even living. And as duty binds her to her circumstances, how does she go on?

When duty is not enough, how do you find that passion that makes life worth the consciousness. How do you go on? It doesn't come with the big city or with the wife of your youth or with a job or an American lifestyle. So what is it that makes life at the top, in the middle or at the bottom worth living? What is it that brings a smile to the face of the African man sitting on a dirt floor. What satisfies the Thai fisherman who sleeps tonight on his bamboo bed with nothing but a spear and a net?

What is it that we're all really looking for? Is it love? Is it security? Is it freedom? What is it that will bring the smile of peace to our lips? What is it that we're living this life for? There is nothing wrong with asking these questions. The problem arises when the only answer we can come up is “nothing.” And if there is nothing more to this life than that which we can see and hear and grasp with our physical bodies, than there really is nothing. Because we all know this physical body will one day once again become nothing. If there is a reality, it cannot be physical. Or if it is, then this is the best it gets. Pain, death, misery, failure, hopelessness, nothing. The best it gets?
I don't believe that. I believe that there is more to this life than that which we can see and hear and grasp physically, both now and forevermore. I cannot prove it, because I cannot see it, but that's faith. My faith is built on the evidence that lies within and all around. There is more, and the best is yet to come. I believe Him. And that is enough to go on.

The Libray (from Sketches of Life)

2008-04-07T10:33:00.000-07:00

The library is a pleasant place to study. Sometimes. And depending where you go. There are those hairy monstrosities serving as study booths. Their shag carpet skin is quite a detestable sight, and one dares not think too deeply about what these furs have seen in the million years of service they've paid to the University. I opt for a table-- all my own. Less privacy but more space and no worries about what may come crawling forth from that nasty yellow rug that covers each cubicle.

I can spread out on my table. I can see all my missions and analytically choose which ones to ignore the longest. There are six chairs all around my table, but I needn't worry about any late party crashers dropping in to help me study. I'm upstairs, tucked away in the 800s. Chinatown they call it. That's because of all the Korean academy students immigrated to these tables and booths. But I like the Koreans. They mind their own business and are quite happy with me minding mine. And they don't tell me how to do it.

This is kind of like an old western town. It's a mixing pot of different lives. You shouldn't be surprised by who you meet here, but you know you will be. Here you'll find those who have a different value system about their lives and work and simply don't want to worry about everyone else's value systems and certainly find no use in talking with another human. Maybe you'll find those who simply don't have anyone to spend time with and are pushed away from those who do. Or maybe you'll find someone like me-- someone who's hiding. On the run you might say. Just needing some time to think in a place where nobody's watching, where nobody's trying to figure out what you're thinking about.

But I'm not alone, and I know it. As I slide my chair back and stretch, I look around. Gliding in between tables and chairs and booths in search of the drinking fountain, I am all too aware of the peripheral glances and the would-be covert, over-the-top-edge-of-the-booth, appraising stares. And it affects me. I am dressed well tonight and feel that people see me as well put together-- cool, even. It's merely an appearance, not a status I can actually live out, but I milk it with a swagger and an aloof boredom in my eyes. I like feeling confident and powerful; it's a feeling I don't often get to enjoy, so I revel in it-- never mind the hypocrisy. Besides, everyone's playing the part of something they are not. At least, everyone who gets noticed. And even when I'm on the run and in hiding, I still like to have respecting glances cast my way, I still want to be noticed-- just so long as they don't try to talk to me.

It's 10 o'clock now and I catch a glimpse of that library girl who's really nice but looks weird. She's bouncing from table to table as she moves towards the back of the second floor, towards the 800s. She stops quietly at each table or booth and I know what she's going to say to my quiet little study table. “The library's closing. Start heading out.” Begrudgingly I stand and shove books into my bag. I know that the library doesn't close until 10:15, but I don't mention it to the library girl. Instead I'll just mutter about it to myself. I'm only shallowly miffed and that because I piddled too much of my time away and only worked productively for about an hour. Deeper inside I'm glad they're kicking me out of the library. Gives me an excuse to close the books and forget about ancient British literature and how the adolescent mind develops its cognitive learning chemicals. Or whatever that psycho dude was saying. I have thirty minutes to find something more worthwhile to do, like goof off in the hallway of my dorm with normal people.

"We had each other an' that was enough"

2008-02-23T11:36:00.000-08:00

Whatever happened to love in our society? I'm not talking about lustful passion that makes people do things in a moment which they will regret for a lifetime. I'm talking about a deeper passion that drives one to give up everything, to turn life all upside down and inside out for the capture of something far more worth it. A passion that drives a conscious sacrifice but never leaves its focus upon the sacrifice but always upon the object of the love. Whatever happened to hearing an older and wiser man chuckle with the twinkle in his eye, “We were young and perhaps foolish, but we loved each other, so we got married. An' we didn't have much at all, an' it was hard those days, but we had each other an' that was enough.” That was always enough.

But not anymore. “Each other” is simply not enough. Finances is the number one cause of divorce statistically. But not realistically. In America, almost everyone has more money than they need-- but no one has enough. It's not that they need more money; no, money is not the root of the problem at all. It's the love of money that is the “root of all evil.” The root of all these tragic divorces is love. A love for something you can never have all of and, therefore, never enough of.

Do you know why “each other” used to be enough? It was because they had all of the thing they truly loved most. They had all of each other and, therefore, always enough. If you could have all of the thing you love. If you could derive a lasting joy and pleasure from that object of your affection, you'd be satisfied. Unfortunately, we all-too-often set our love on things we can never fully possess, and in so doing, we never fully give ourselves over to the one who loves us, to the one who wants to be wholly ours. It's not the money that's the problem-- it's our love. What do you want? What's most precious? What do you love more than anything?

The Millennials

2008-02-22T21:16:00.000-08:00

I am part of a generation of potential. We are different from any other generation before us. We embrace causes and faith. We are relationship-oriented and stick together. We are driven and passionate. Unafraid of change, we rather anticipate it eagerly and with welcoming arms. Yes, we are locked and loaded, poised and ready to take over the world.

And I am scared to death. Because with all of our potential, we face far greater threats toward internal destruction than any previous generation. While we accept faith and gaze upon it with our open and admiring eye, very few of us actually find ourselves living by it. No, we are, in fact, as much our own god as the generation before us was theirs. And much talk of faith neither begs nor receives much from God.

Our relationships, though they provide a strength in unity, also present a proneness to the herd mentallity, being controlled by peer pressure rather than principle. While we are driven and passionate, much of that passion is wasted on the frivolity of movies and weekend parties.

What are our goals? What plans? Though we do have dreams-- big ones-- we see little need for goals and plans; we are seekers and explorers-- not settlers. We are living in a world of rapidly increasing opportunities in areas of travel and communication and the millennials are not a generation to sit still.

Our generation at its worst is unstable and faced with vicious and constant moral temptations. At its best it is dynamic, driven, well-equipped, and less self-focused than the generation before it. Many uncertainties remain for now, but with eyes open and arms extended to embrace monumental changes in everything from technology to politics to economics, this generation could change this downward-spiraling world it is about to take over. For the good.

Computerless.

2008-02-22T21:15:00.000-08:00

Without a computer now, I am borrowing my brother's at night and think this blog will be the best way to store my thoughts.

Those Who Hunger and Thirst . . .

2007-07-27T08:06:00.000-07:00

27 July 2007

Cameroon is not just a spiritually starved and parched land-- it is hungry and thirsty land. As I have said before, the fields are white already to harvest. The government is very open to missionaries and the people are open to the message. And God is ready to harvest, and, in fact, is already harvesting many souls in Cameroon. Ndop was another breath-taking view of God's outpoured grace. Sam, Abby, brother Providence, and I were down in the main market in Bamunka in the region of Ndop (more properly Ngokutunja) for a few hours witnessing and saw at least 7 people make confessions of faith in the Lord Jesus. Ndop is a region hungry for the Truth!

Sunday afternoon, Providence and Chrysanthus will lead a Bible study there in the main market. My prayers will be with that. I have written about several other villages like Bamunka, where we have seen God's spirit outpoured. Even in Ndop, there are 13 villages, just bereft of the light of the Gospel. PRAY, beseech, BEG the Lord of the harvest for laborers! And these millions of hungry, thirsty souls for whom Christ died will be blessed . . . "for they shall be filled."

Wum: White Already to Harvest

2007-07-23T13:08:00.001-07:00

23 July 2007

On Saturday, July 21st, Pastor and Mrs. Needham, Daniel Needham, Sam and Abby Sanderlin, Pastor Julius, and I all crammed into the Needhams' Isuzu Trooper for a day trip out to the large village of Wum. Stopping briefly in the main square of the town, we had multiple witnessing opportunities within a matter of ten or fifteen minutes. One young boy asked me for a handful of tracts so he could take them back to his people. As we drove on down the road we were welcomed with great honor at the "palaces" of two fons (tribal chiefs). They eagerly reaffirmed their desire to cooperate with Pastor Tom's plans to put in an airstrip near the village. As we were leaving the palace of the second fon, a great crowd met our vehicle all clamoring for tracts. They were not simply fascinated by our white skin, they were hungry to hear what message we might have to give them. This large village has no church, no missionary, no Christians at all that we know of. And the field is white and open for harvest. Oh, please pray to the Lord of the harvest to compel laborers to go! There are thousands of villages just like Wum. Thousands are dying in the darkness everyday. It's not because they will not hear; it's more often because there is no one to preach to them.

the Hills

2007-07-18T18:46:00.000-07:00

I headed up into the hills east of Sabga to stay in a Fulani house with a fellow believer. Joda was saved in 1992 at the age of 24 through the witness of Pastor Tom Needham. He has been serving the Lord faithfully in many ways since then and now lives in Bamenda traveling around to different villages as a counselor for the youth in this part of Cameroon. Joda and I stayed at his mother’s compound for one night helping tend the cattle and witnessing to the herdsman who is working for Joda’s mother. The hike and stay up in those beautiful Fulani hills was refreshing for my spirit. There is such natural beauty and majesty in the endless green views of that quiet place.

Independence Day in "the Uttermost"

2007-07-06T06:43:00.000-07:00

written on July 4

Only once in the past three years have I been in the USA for the Fourth of July. I miss it, yet, let nothing stand between me and the Christ I follow. Celebrating Independence Day abroad is just part of being a missionary. Part of taking the Gospel to the uttermost. Can I say I do not have a desire to spend this day with my family in the beautiful countryside of my beloved homeland? To deny that would be to deny that I have natural human desires and loves. Yet, I find my fulfilling joy, my ultimate delight, the end of my pleasure only in my Christ! "Rejoice in the LORD!" May it be first and foremost in my own heart that I am a citizen of heaven and a stranger and an alien on this earth. Yes, I love the USA and I'm proud to be an American, but far stronger is the driving force in my heart of my heavenly citizenship.

Strangers in an Unworthy World

2007-07-03T05:45:00.000-07:00

So what does it mean to be a stranger on this earth? What does it mean for this world not to be worthy of those heroes of faith from Hebrews 11? What does it mean to forsake all for Christ? I do not think I even know. I am a very rich man in this world-- compared to most; compared to Christ. So how can I know what it means to follow Christ, when, according to worldly "goods", I live so far above the level at which Christ Himself lived on this earth? How tightly am I holding on to the things of this world? With an open hand, but will my fingers spring shut if God begins to remove something precious from my hand?

Sunday night at church we watched "Flame in the Wind." I don't know how many times I've seen it, but this summer, my heart has been moved, rebuked, blessed everytime I watch those men face the Inquisition, suffer, stand, and die for Something they held more precious than anything in this world. They faced the flames with no fear, no grasping of anything or anyone in this world, only clinging tightly to Jesus Christ. To them, the world was not worthy of their lives. The world was death. Christ was life. And Christ alone was worthy of their affections and their life! So that's what it means-- "of whom the world was not worthy."

Menka

2007-06-28T08:36:00.001-07:00

A village of 14,000 people tucked away in the hills of western Cameroon. A quiet village of farming families. A very lost village. For four days last week Katie, Rosemary, Gideon, and I traveled to all four quarters of this village carrying the Good News. Hundreds heard and several that we know of received the Son of God as their own Savior. Several men joined us at church Sunday morning as new disciples of Christ. Praise the Lord for the work He will do in that place! This summer I am truly learning the joy in Christ that surpasses all other earthly joys.

". . . Who Have No Hope . . ."

2007-06-16T05:48:00.000-07:00

Two days ago, the Lamido (Muslim tribal leader) of Sabga passed into eternity. I attended the burial and watched as men prayed for the eternally damned soul of a man who had been sincerely religious in his own way. But sincerely wrong. He did what was right in his own eyes but rejected the truth in God's word. Many here have heard the truth, but rejected for various reasons-- fear, unbelief, the offense of the cross. And yet, many still have never heard the good news of the Gospel.

Elizabeth was witnessing to a girl after the burial, and, after hearing the truth, the girl noted, "Then that means the Lamido is in hell." Yes, despite all of the prayers for Allah to be merciful even now to this man's soul, those who sorrow must do so "as those who have no hope." Alas, this girl could not accept Christ for herself for fear of her Muslim parents.

Mountains, Valleys, Mangoes, and Fulani

2007-06-13T14:42:00.000-07:00

This was written May 23. They are coming in all together. -Mom-

The light of the Gospel is slowly spreading across Cameroon, bit by bit. Today, Pastor Tom and I trekked over mountain and valleys for miles, visiting the Fulani compounds in the area. I cannot speak the language (Fulfulde) yet, but Pastor Tom had several really exciting opportunities to share the Gospel with these friendly Muslim people. They are in darkness now, but I know that the Lord will be faithful in bringing salvation to the Fulani. As Jesus Christ told Peter, “I will build my church . . .”

He is doing just that in this very area. Sustained by a couple of mangoes pulled from a tree along the trail, we hiked all day down to Camp Joy—taking the scenic route across the mountains and cliffs—arriving there around three in the afternoon. What a blessing to see what the Lord has done in that ministry: raising up Godly men to lead and building facilities to make the summer camps a possibility. Yes, Jesus Christ is indeed still working, building His church, and not even the gates of hell can stop His work!

Futbol Evangelism

2007-06-13T14:36:00.000-07:00

This was written May 18 so it is slightly out of order. -Mom-

High in the hills of Sabga, the Lord is proving Himself faithful in so many ways everyday. Everything is going great here, or “fine” as they like to answer the question, “how are you?” rather than well or good. The language most speak here is Pidgin which has a good portion of familiar vocabulary, but enough difference that it is a completely different language and impossible for me to understand an extended conversation without an interpreter. But that is one language I will learn this summer. The other I will attempt is Fulfulde. That is the language spoken by the Fulani (Muslim) people here.

I have played a lot of futbol (soccer) in my first four days here. I play with some junior high boys at their school. They are Muslim and speak only a little English, and, of course, I speak no Fulfulde as of yet. I am praying that the Lord will give me opportunities this summer to use this as an inroad to lead some to the one true GOD through His holy Son Jesus Christ. “So that at the name of Jesus, every knee will bow . . . and that every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

"I Will Build My Church"

2007-05-28T15:01:00.000-07:00

Yesterday (Sunday), Pastor Tom and I rode the motorcycle down to
Babongki (sp?). He preached the morning message. The church there looked to be about thirty Christians including children (LOTS of children) just started in the last year or so. Pastor had not even seen it until yesterday. It's a completely indigenous work planted by one of the national pastors trained here at the little Sabga Bible Institute. Praise the Lord for how He has built His church here in Cameroon and still is moving, spreading the light of His Gospel across this dark nation.

Many thousands just in this area still have never heard. There are Fulani compounds scattered remotely all across the land. The only way to these places is to trek (walk, hike) in through the bush and over some pretty rugged terrain. Pray with me that the hearts and minds of these precious people with be opened and that they may see through the strong lies of Islam to the true light of the Gospel.

2007-05-23T13:16:00.001-07:00

I miss you all TONS!! But the Lord is really blessing here, and I love it here! I love the food, the mountains and ridges, and the people! God is at work here.

Needs Satisfied.

2007-04-10T19:09:00.000-07:00

"But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:19)

I wonder how many thousands of Christians in their most dire straights have claimed that verse and found the answer to it in the faithful provision of our immutable God. I know for myself it has been many, many times already. And I wonder how many hundreds, yes, even thousands of times more I will claim that promise in prayer. I know one thing. That however many times I claim the promise, it will be kept as often and more. What a faithful God! How far above our own unfaithfulness He is!

In the past couple of weeks, God has provided nearly all of my needed support for my trip to Cameroon. There are a few more odds and ends I need requiring a few more funds. But my trip is about 98% paid! God is so good! Thank you to everyone who has played a part in God's providing for this trip. There is more yet to be contributed. Much more. In prayer.

"He satisfies the longing soul, and the hungry soul he fills with good things." (Psalm 107:9)

Underneath Are the Everlasting Arms

2007-03-16T19:35:00.000-07:00

As I rushed to the Post Office on campus to send out my Visa Application yesterday, I was feeling pretty good about things. My Visa application was perhaps the last really big step in this process that I'll have to worry about for a while. Then reality hit again. I'm at college. I'm taking twenty credit hours. I have my Oral and Practical examinations (8-10 hours of grueling examinations and projects) for my airframe mechanic's license in two weeks.

Well, that's the earthly reality.But there is a heavenly reality. A reality which says, "The eternal God is a dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms." (Deut. 33:27) So, as I fight panic at times, frustration at other times in my own human weakness, I find my comfort and peace in the sufficient grace of the Cross and my strength in the "everlasting Arms."

the joy set before

2007-03-03T19:25:00.000-08:00

This past week I got my pictures taken for my visa and began filling out my visa application. It's a lot easier than I expected, but it's another step in the process. The money for the trip is steadily coming in from God's hand through His servants-- my family and friends. I now have approximately 20% of my support. God is so GOOD!!!It is hard to explain the excitement that fills me with each new day as I look forward to this trip. I can only truly share this joy with friends who are like me preparing to enter the mission field carrying in their arms the amazing Gospel of Christ to a world desperate for life! We as Christians here in America become bored with the Gospel because we have heard it from the time we were children, or because we instinctively feel we don't need it in our comfortable American lives. But imagine the joy, the release that fills the heart and mind of soul whose eyes are finally opened to the freeing power of the Gospel for the first time in his life after living a many years in bondage to works, to evil spirits, to a priest, or simply to his own sin! That joy that comes from seeing a life rescued and changed by Christ alone is "the joy that was set before Him."

before all the nations

2007-02-10T07:26:00.000-08:00

On Feb 9th I got my shots at the Greenville County Health Department. Polio, Hepatitis A, Typhoid, Yellow Fever, and Menengitis-- five total. My arms are sore, but it's nothing compared to the excitement that grows more and more each day.

I talked to a friend who is also planning to enter the mission field when he finishes his education. He reminded me that there is no greater joy than sharing the Gospel of Christ with someone who has never heard and who WANTS to hear!

The Lord has given Isaiah 61 to me to really explore and hold close to my heart this semester. Verse 11:
"For as the earth brings forth its sprouts,
And as a garden causes the things sown in it to spring up,
So the Lord GOD will cause righteousness and praise
To spring up before ALL THE NATIONS."

What a joy to be used of God as a sower and then to sit back watch in awe and wonder as my God causes righteousness and praise to spring up like a gloriously beautiful garden across the entire earth!

First of Many . . . I Hope

2007-01-05T09:41:00.000-08:00

I've never done a blog before and it remains to be seen if I can keep up with this one as I would like to. It seems akin to a journal. This one I created for those who want to keep up to date on my missions internship this coming summer, but I have a feeling that if it lasts through the summer, it will continue on indefinitely into the future keeping people up to date on many other pursuits and endeavors yet to be imagined.

I'm in the planning stage of planning for my internship to Sadga, Cameroon in West Africa. I'm figuring out expenses, sending out prayer letters, getting my visa, taking care of shots and the seemingly myriad other tasks that accompany this trip.

Stay tuned for pictures and more commentaries as I get the hang of this blog thing.