Embracing the Storm

I haven't posted a blog in a couple of months. This personal blogging lacuna was the result of a number of things. Strangley, though a minister's occupation evolves largely around words, sometimes its difficult to put two of them together to make a sensible thought. For some, difficult circumstances provide verbal fodder for some. For others, it tends to shut down the creative juices. I'm the latter of the two, I suppose. It's been pretty difficult around here the last few weeks. At the same time, it's been refreshing.

Storms seem to be that way. They are ominous with real, potential destructive power. Here in the Southeast, thunderstorms often erupt this time of year, producing flash floods, felling trees, leaving thousands without power. Despite these negative results, storms bring much-needed moisture to parched ground, and remind our arrogant minds of our ultimate vulnerability to powers much greater than ourselves. Without storms, life could not exist and, quite frankly, would be rather dull.

I've learned that as God begins His move in communities disruption, not peace, typically occurs at first. Let's face it. Humans generall resist change. Even the slavery of Egypt looks compelling against the risky business of following God. When God moves in a community, it can be painful. Changes do occur. Irritations arise. Ultimately, however, those who trust in the Lord mount up with wings like eagles, they run without becoming weary, and they walk without fatigue.

Perhaps you are in such a place. And, your storm is unique to you. While I don't think God is the immediate cause of everything in our lives, He is the final redeemer of it all. As Joseph, who in retrospect could see the hand of God in the extreme circumstances of his life, I look with great anticipation to understanding the mysterious, poweful, redemptive work of God beyond the storms. Give us eyes to see your sufficient grace, O Lord...and be glorified.

Be Exalted, O, Lord

If I were to be categorized religiously, I supposed I'd find myself within the broad boundaries of evangelical Christianity. Of course, within that category are many, and varied, subcategories. From this Protestant perspective then, I suppose what I'm about to say might sound strange. I've found myself drawn repeatedly to the media's coverage of Pope John Paul II's death and upcoming funeral.

Admittedly, I am intrigued by Catholicism's traditions and religious mysteries. Who is the secretly named cardinal that was held "in pectore" (in the heart) by the Pope? If there really is such a person, will the documents left by the John Paul II reveal his name? What political winds blow through the college of cardinals as they elect a new pope? And, what's the actual signicance of the white puffs of smoke sent up, signaling the election of the Church's new leader?

While there are serious theological differences between Catholics and Protestants (and serious differences between Christians in these broad categories), the death of this pope has created something glorious--the name of Jesus Christ will be heard throughout the world over the next few days. It might be said in the stoic tone of a detached reporter, or spoken with deep fervor from believers. Either way, the name of Jesus will be heard. For that, I am grateful.

May Your name, O Lord, be exalted. And, may you draw all people to Your Son through whom there is forgiveness and grace.

Why Are You Weeping?

I read an article by Steve Fry, pastor of the Belmont Church in Nashville, that spoke deeply to my heart during this special Christian season. The power of the thought emerged from the current circumstances of my life. I continue to grieve the death of my dear father-in-law. Moments of an overwhelming sense of loss continue to surprise me at unexpected moments. Normal sights and sounds remind me of his presence, and I'm struck by his absence.

When I received the article via email, it was surreal. It was as if the article was written specifically for me. After I contemplated this thought, I began to wonder how many people felt the same way. Isn't that the power of the gospel, though? One message, one savior, one God meeting each person uniquely?

Steve's article referred to Jesus' first, post-resurrection words uttered in the gospel of John. The words, strangley, took on the form, not of a command, but a question. And, the question centered not on Him, but on her--Mary Magdelene. "Why are you weeping?" Rather than a veiled criticism of an "highly emotional woman," these words speak to the priority of Jesus' heart--her hurt became His. He entered fully into the place of her pain.

Strangely, she thought Jesus was the cemetery gardener. A gardener? I've often wondered if Mary's sense of mistaken identity derived from the confusion of her grief aided by the shadows of early morning. Or, did Jesus' "ordinary" form contribute to the mistake? Wouldn't you expect the risen Lord to appear in such a glorious form that there would be no mistake of his identity? Certainly those closest to him (as was Mary) wouldn't mistake him for an ordinary gardener!

Perhaps that's part of the power of the resurrection, though. Jesus still comes, not in an unapproachable posture, but one that continues to identify with "ordinary" humans. For, rather than revealing Himself to the privileged, powerful, and politically connected, Jesus comes to a woman with a past. And, in so doing, He demonstrates to her--and us--not only the power of his resurrection, but the priority of His heart--I will meet you in your pain...now and always. "Why are you weeping?"

"Come to me all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

Maranatha

Back to "Normal"

As I indicated in my previous post, my father-in-law died last Friday. His funeral and interment were on Monday--a sad day framed in hope. I was so proud of my children and dear wife on that day. Allen spoke powerful, though tender, words about his grandfather. Amber and Zach both read with eloquence some of their Poppa's favorite Scriptures. All three of these older children of ours sang with LifeSong during the service, as did Carol, my wife, and only child of her daddy.

I watched with amazement as Carol praised God in His sancturary under such sad circumstances. Her sanctuary wasn't the place we call the auditorium. It was a quite place of inner strength where she met her God and delivered her father's soul to His loving care. With every ounce of her being, she sang songs that were dear to her father. It appeared that with each lyric, phrase, and musical note, she gained strength in the presence of her Father. What a testimony!

Miranda, our sweet 10 year old met the day with her tender faith. She had spent many hours in the lap of her Poppa, and she misses his "jiggly laugh." I was touched by the way she held her siblings, and gained strength from their aggregate faith. My mother-in-law, Rose Allen, demonstrated great strength. Not the stoic, false strength of the world, but a godly strength that allowed her to weep unashamedly as she bid her husband of nearly 50 years "so long," anxiously awaiting when she would "see him again." Faith. Hope. Love.

It is now Wednesday, two days after the funeral. Strangely, I'm having a tougher day today than I did on Monday. I suppose I was so focused on the event, and how my family would hold up that I really didn't grieve. I am now. It seems that everything should be "back to normal." And, it's not. As I walked into my office and saw my desk strewn with hand made sympathy cards from the kids at our church along with several notes from dear friends, I wept. I realized the depth of my loss. "Poopah" was not only my father-in-law, colleague in ministry, brother in Christ, father of my wife and grandfather to my children, he was my friend. No, he was more than a friend. He was my buddy. I delighted in our time together.

I more deeply long for the kingdom of God to come in its fullness. I more fully understand the sting of death. And, I more completely desire the resurrection when Christ will unfurl his nail pierced hands, cup our cheeks and wipe the tears away. Until then, we walk by faith, not by sight.

Maranatha.

Present With The Lord

The last few days have been some of the most difficult ones of my life. I've watched my beloved father-in-law, whom I affectionately called, Poopa, slip into the arms of God. During this process, I hurt for my dear wife, Carol. An only child, her daddy loved her deeply, and she love him with equal devotion.

I witnessed her struggle of faith--she didn't want her daddy to die, but neither did she want to deny him the joy of being present with the Lord. In these moments, faith doesn't tidy up the struggle. The pain is real. Faith does provide a perspective that transcends the immediate and sees divine realities. Carol's faith moved her to embrace the promise of God for herself and her dad. I am completely amazed at this woman of God, and am grateful to share in her life.

Tomorrow will be another difficult day. She will sing with LifeSong (along with Amber, Allen and Zach) at her father's funeral. Allen, who is named after Poopa, will share some thoughts. Amber and Allen will read some of their grandfather's favorite texts and I, only with the strength that God provides, will deliver the eulogy. In all that we attempt, we desire to glorify our God--the one in whom Poopa lived...and died. Though absent from us in the body, we are delighted that he is present with the Lord.

Waiting Room Theodicy

As Greg Miles has posted on the LifeSong Notes blog site, my father-in-law, Howard Allen has been in the hospital for three weeks. This past week, he was in ICU due to complications from a procedure that nearly took him from this life.

While in the waiting rooms of these critical areas, you see and hear a lot of things. I overheard one particular conversation in which two men were discussing their loved one's medical condition. After discussing her serious, medical status, their conversation turned to theology.

"My preacher told me that God was in control of everything and that for some reason beyond our comprehension, He's put her in this shape. I just don't know about that," the son of the woman said with eyes heavy with tears. "No, I don't agree with that," her brother interjected. He began to provide his particular understanding of theodicy--explaining suffering in light of the existence of God. Eventually I joined the conversation and enjoyed my discussion with these men of obvious faith, and deep hurt.

I really don't remember all the theological points that were argued, because they ultimately didn't matter that much. I remember making some reference to C.S. Lewis' work after cancer caused the untimely death of Joy, his wife. Prior to that emotional experience, Lewis gave rational answers to the question of suffering. And, they were biblically centered and continue to be helpful. However, Lewis expressed his own emotional dissatisfaction with his own answers while he was in the throes of grief.

What I do remember is seeing a 53 year old, distinquished gentlemen (the woman's brother) break down and unashamedly weep. At that moment, something happened. It was as if his grief and mine connected us at a deep level. Not even knowing the man's name, I walked over and embraced him. "I'm so sorry about your sister," I whispered in his ear. "I don't understand all the complexities of our world; why this is happening at this moment to your sister. This I do know--God is not unaffected by your grief. He weeps with you." "I never thought of God weeping with me," he said. "Strangely, that thought helps."

In the end, theological systems and biblical concepts are insufficient for the hurting soul. And, thank God that's not what He offers. The biblical text, rather than a sterile list of do's and don't's from a cosmic despot, is His self-disclosure to a creation He desperately loves. He enters our struggles. He both touches and is touched by us. He has become vulnerable to our rejection of Him. The world is not as God intends. At least not yet. As Paul describes in Romans 8, the entire creation is groaning, awaiting ultimate redemption--the ultimate moment when God's redemptive work is consummated. At that moment, God will cup our cheeks in His holy hands and wipe the tears away. Until then, God uses His body to embrace the hurting, and mingles His tears with theirs. Somehow in those holy moments, healing begins. Such is the nature of waiting room theodicy.

Thanks to my CrossBridge brothers and sisters who have cried with us over the past few weeks. Your tears have brought healing to our hurting hearts. They remind us that God is fully present in the midst of such struggles.

Putting Herod back into Christmas

I realize that Christmas is over. Lights are being removed from yards. Discarded trees litter the streets. People are getting back to "normal." Yet, Christmas isn't merely a day; it's a new reality. Jesus has come...and remains.

The following article, written by Joy Carrol Wallis, an Anglican Priest, was sent to me by Jan King, a good friend and reflective thinker. It's a reminder of what our culture has done to Christmas, and why Christians need to think more seriously about the gospel story. I hope it will give you pause to think about the redemptive work of Christ as we begin a new year.


How people love Christmas carols! When I was a priest back in London, carol singing around the parish really seemed to get everyone in the mood for Christmas. We always had a real accordion and an old-fashioned lantern on a pole; we were always wrapped up warmly, and we would stop and sing carols under selected streetlights. It was a scene fit for a Christmas card.... People came out in droves, mostly non-churchgoers, to listen and put money in our collecting box for the homeless. When we were finally all sung out, we would trudge back to someone's house for mulled wine and minced pies...all very English! Great memories.

But we need to beware! Our culture loves a sentimental Christmas, and the Christmas carols that we sing are a big part of that. The words often paint an idyllic picture of sanitary bliss that has very little to do with the reality of what Jesus came into this world to do. This week Jim was reading the Christmas story to our son Luke. He read of how Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem on the donkey, that there was no room in the inn. But there was a stable, and, as Jim read, "the stable was warm and clean!"

But this sanitization of the Christmas story is a relatively recent development. It's interesting that before the Victorian era, Christmas songs were much more likely to reflect the reality of Jesus' entry into our world. Carols would not hesitate to refer to the blood and sacrifice of Jesus or the story about Herod slaughtering the innocent children. As an example of the contrast, read through the words of "Away in a Manger." Jesus is the perfect baby, and "No crying he makes...." My guess is that Jesus cried a lot. We know from the gospels that the more Jesus saw of the world in which he lived, the more he mourned and wept regularly. A Jesus who doesn't weep with those who weep, a Jesus who's just a sentimental myth, may be the one that our culture prefers, but that Jesus can do nothing for us.

In Britain there's a very popular musician called Cliff Richard. About 10 years ago he released a Christmas song that reached the top 10 in the charts. The lyrics of "Saviour's Day" reflected his Christian faith and included lines such as, "Life can be yours on Saviour's Day, don't look back or turn away...." I picked up a teenage pop magazine where there was an article reviewing the season's Christmas songs. When it came to "Saviour's Day," the writer said, "This song is OK, but there's no holly, no mistletoe and wine, no presents around the tree, no snow, no Santa, in fact this song hasn't got anything to do with Christmas at all!" A radio DJ in this country once said, "What Christmas is all about is the celebration of living in a great nation like this." It's not a celebration of this "great" nation; it's about Jesus Christ. It's so easy to let the world reduce our spirituality to nostalgia and sentiment. As Evangelical Covenant Reverend Dr. Michael Van Horn said, "We must be careful not to lose the connection to the truth of the story because it is that story that shapes our identity as the people of God."

Another danger of sentimentality is that we tend to lose interest in the parts of the story that are not so comfortable. We smile at the warm cozy nativity scene, but have you ever spent a night in a barn? Or given birth in a barn? The reality is very different. Most scholars suggest that in Luke's account it's not just that the inns were full but that Mary and Joseph were forced to take the barn because their family had rejected them. Joseph has relatives or friends of relatives in Bethlehem. So rather than being received hospitably by family or friends, Joseph and Mary have been shunned. Family and neighbors are declaring their moral outrage at the fact that Joseph would show up on their doorsteps with his pregnant girlfriend.

No sooner have the wise men left the stable then King Herod plots to kill Jesus. He is so determined that he is willing to sacrifice many innocent lives in order to get to this one baby. Herod recognizes something about Jesus that in our sentiment we fail to see: that the birth of this child is a threat to his kingdom, a threat to that kind of domination and rule. Jesus challenges the very power structures of this evil age. Herod has all the male infants in Bethlehem murdered. Not so cozy. This is the Jesus who entered the bloody history of Israel, and the human race.

But we don't want to think about Herod. Van Horn calls him the "Ebenezer Scrooge without the conversion, the Grinch without a change of heart." We Christians like to talk about putting Christ back into Christmas, but let's not forget to put Herod back into Christmas.
Herod represents the dark side of the gospel. He reminds us that Jesus didn't enter a world of sparkly Christmas cards or a world of warm spiritual sentiment. Jesus enters a world of real pain, of serious dysfunction, a world of brokenness and political oppression. Jesus was born an outcast, a homeless person, a refugee, and finally he becomes a victim to the powers that be. Jesus is the perfect savior for outcasts, refugees, and nobodies. That's how the church is described in scripture time and time again - not as the best and the brightest - but those who in their weakness become a sign for the world of the wisdom and power of God.

It's Been A While

I haven't posted a blog in a month. This is due in part to the busyness associated with the Christmas season, but primarily because I simply didn't have much to say. "Blogger's Block," I suppose. Before Christmas, however, I wanted to share some things about the implications of the incarnation.

Last evening, we held our annual candlelight service, which is always moving for me. There's something about a darkened room being illuminated by small flickers of light that fittingly represents the coming of the Light of the World. As usual, and under Greg Miles' exceptional leadership, LifeSong did a superb job in capturing the essence of what this means. I don't say it enough, but LifeSong is such a blessing to CrossBridge. And, Greg Miles is the force behind it.

At our candleight service, I shared the following:

In his introduction to The Message, a popular translation of the New Testament, Eugene Peterson made the following observation.

The arrival of Jesus signaled the beginning of a new era. God entered history in a personal way, and made it unmistakably clear that he is on our side, doing everything possible to save us. It was all presented and worked out in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. It was, and is, hard to believe—seemingly too good to be true.

But one by one, men and women did believe it, believed Jesus was God alive among them and for them. Soon they would realize that he also lived in them. To their great surprise they found themselves living in a world where God called all the shots—had the first word on everything; had the last word on everything. That meant that everything, quite literally every thing, had to be re-centered, re-imagined, and re-thought.

As we enter into the Christmas season, these words by Peterson are extremely relevant and worthy of sustained reflection. We must resist allowing the consumerist frenzy associated with this season to eclipse the astonishing events that Christmas represents for the Christian. It signals that God did “enter history in a personal way,” demonstrating that God truly is “on our side.” Yet is also reminds us that God’s continued presence means things have changed and that everything must be “re-centered, re-imagined and re-thought.”

As we enter the holiday season let’s take some time to intentionally reflect on what it means personally to us that God has entered, not only history, but our hearts. What needs to be re-centered or re-thought in our lives? Anything need to be re-imagined? God came to rule in the hearts of women and men—the very domain of His kingdom. May Christmas be a time when we acknowledge His lordship and re-centered our lives around Him. In so doing, we embrace the true gift of Christmas, and re-enter the beginning of a new era for our lives.

My prayer is that all will come to know the One Who knows us intimately and is forever for us. May Christmas signal the beginning of a new era for you.

Coming Together

This past Sunday (November 21), CrossBridge participated in a community-wide Thanksgiving Service. Several different churches came together to express our thanksgiving to God for His unspeakable gift.

The New Hope Church (A Cumberland Presbyterian fellowship), under the leadership of Donny Acton, hosted the event. Along with the praise band at New Hope, Donny and his wife led us in some powerful praise and worship, centering on the grace that is ours in Christ Jesus. Clark Skelton, pastor of Indian Springs Baptist Church, guided the assembly in a period of testimonials. Church leaders from other churches read scripture, led in prayer, and spoke words of blessing. I was given the honor, and responsibility, of speaking on this occasion. Whether the message was any good, other, more objective folks will need to judge, but I sensed a sweet, accepting atmosphere in that place.

After the service, the New Hope church provided refreshments. I talked to so many people from different Christian churches that I've forgotten all the "flavors" I was able to sample. One thing, however, stood out. There was a sincere love for God and one another in that room. For the first time, I really sensed what God is doing throughout His kingdom. Barriers are being broken down. Jesus is being exalted. And, God's people are coming together.

"I pray that they all may be one, as you, Father, are in me, and I in you; that they also may be one in us, that the world may believe that you sent me." May we all work to answer this prayer of God!

Love: Beyond Language

As I wrote in an earlier blog, my son, Zach, and I hiked from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon to the Colorado River and back in one day. We did this along with my sister, brother-in-law, and my dad. There were so many memorable sights, experiences, and conversations that I'm still processing them all. As I was meditating this morning, while looking at a picture of Zach against the stunning backdrop of the Grand Canyon, I was reminded of one story that came from our trip together.

We started our descent into the Canyon just before 6:00 a.m. Since one of our group was having a pretty difficult time (I won't give my brother-in-law's name), we dragged ourselves out of the Canyon at 7:30 that evening. Zach and I were the first to emerge from the Bright Angel trail. As we came out, there was a very concerned-looking, older lady standing at the trail head. When I passed, she asked, in broken English with a very thick German accent, if I had seen her husband. Once again in broken English, she described him as a tall gentlemen with gray hair (at least, that's what I interpreted her words to mean). I told her that I thought I saw someone of that description farther down the trail, but couldn't be positive.

After this brief exchange, I walked over to a bench, dropped my backpacks (I had to carry not only mine but two others of our group as well), and headed for the portable toilets. As I was making my way back to the bench, I saw this tall, older gentlemen who obviously was looking for someone. "Could this be the woman's husband?" I thought to myself.

I must confess that, at first, I just started walking back to the bench. I was entirely too tired to get involved, thinking that they'd eventually discover each other anyway. I even walked passed him several steps then, as if an invisible hand stopped me, I turned back. "Sir, Sir. Are you looking for your wife?" I said. "No sprechen sie Englisch," he said (or something like that). Since I took only two semisters of Theological German for reading purposes, needless to say my conversational German was woefully deficient for such a conversation. So, whether I've written correctly what the gentelman said or not, I knew what he was saying--he did not speak English. I responded, "No sprechen sie Deutsche," trying to let him know that I didn't speak his language either.

I tried to communicate anyway. "Are you looking for your wife?" I said slowly and loudly. (Isn't it strange how we think speaking slowly and loudly miraculously transcends language barriers?) He looked confused. I showed him my wedding ring and made a gesture with my hands in the shape of an hour glass, thinking that was the universal symbol for woman. (I know it was kind of sexist on my part, but I was desperate!). Strangley, he even looked more confused. I pointed to his ring and said "Wife, Wife" and made my (sexist) gesture again. Something clicked. "Fief, Fief?" Not sure of the exact German dialect, that sounded close enough to wife for me. Forgetting what language we were speaking, I said "Ci, Ci," then laughed. "I mean, Ja, Ja."

Now I was in a quandry. What if the woman I saw wasn't even his wife? I might be starting something that God would hold against me in the judgment! I just had a hunch, though, that these two belonged together. I tried to tell him to stay where he was and I would go get the woman I thought was is "fief" (sp?). I went to where I initially saw the woman and she was gone. Zach said she'd walked down the path to the road, so off I went to find her. Since it was now pitch dark, I was looking for her with a flashlight. Nowhere to be found. There was a row of parallel-parked cars near the walkway, so I began shining my light into the windows. I knew this really looked suspicious, but I kept shining anyway.

Eventually I spotted a woman sitting in her car. I shined the light on her and tapped on her window. I don't know what she thought. Here she was in a foreign country, her husband is lost, and now she's about to be abducted. As I shined the light on her, I sensed the confused fear in her eyes. Hoping to calm her, I shined the light on my own face and said "husband, husband." In retrospect, I wondered what I was actually conveying to her...and I really don't want to know.

Luckily, she recognized me, got out of her car and walked with me. I kept thinking, what if these two don't even belong together? Despite my doubts, we trudged ahead. When we got to the place where I told the German guy to remain, he was gone. I asked Zach if he saw where he went. "He walked down that way," Zach said, pointing down a paved walkway. I told the woman, whose English was slightly better than her alleged husband's to stay put. I took off down the trail and found the guy searching for someone. I don't know why, except that it was apparently the only word we seemed to understand between us, but I called out "Hey, fief, fief." He looked in my direction and I motioned for him to follow me, which he did.

The woman was walking down the path toward us (German folk just don't stay put when you asked them to, or is it worried folk don't stay put?). I was praying, O, Lord, please let these two belong to one another. Before I said amen to this very brief, but eanest prayer, they spotted each other. Immediately, by the German "hoops and hollers" I knew they belonged together.

They embraced. They kissed. They spoked in relieved and joyful tones to one another. They both looked at me and said repeatedly "Danke, Danke, O, Danke." The man gave me a knowing look with a smile on his face and said "fief," and made a gesture of an hour glass with his hands. We nearly fell out laughing. We couldn't communicate by words, but the hugs, the laughter, and the eyes spoke clearly enough. It felt as if we knew each other, as if something spiritual had taken place between us all. As they walked away arm in arm, I said, remembering a smattering of German, "Gute Nacht, und Gesundheit," Good night, and health.

In that moment, I realized that love transcends language. There is a human longing for connection at an intimate level, something God has placed within us all. Despite our differences, despite our inabilities to articulate our positions, despite barriers that exist between us, love transcends them all, binding human hearts together. Perhaps that's why Paul would say, "And over all these virtures put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity" (Col. 3:14). In the emerging culture, we have trouble speaking each other's language. Love, however, can do what even the best-crafted, most articulate sentence never can accomplish--communicate to our hearts, bridge the cultural divide, and forge lasting relationships.

"I Owe You An Apology"

At some level, and in some fashion, all of us have felt the sting of negativity. It might be a "teeth bared" diatribe or the more insidious compliment followed by a "but..." Regardless of its expression, negativity takes its toll on our spirits.

Last Sunday, I approached a sweet lady who I knew used our building for a birthday party the day before. After our usual embrace and greetings, I asked about the party. "It was absolutely wonderful, except for the building." "What do you mean?" I asked. "When we got there," she continued, "the building was a mess. We had to take several loads of trash out to the dumpster. The stench was horrible." "I am so sorry," I responded with sincere regret. "Our cleaning crew comes in on Saturday evenings due to the high level of activities we have in our facilities. I do hope, however, that the party went well." She assured me that, not only did the party go well, but she and her family were so grateful for the use of our facilities.

Admittedly, I was a little down, but shook it off pretty quickly. You learn to do that when you're a minister. After all, I had a sermon to preach and many other people to greet. By the end of service, I had completely forgotten about the conversation. Afterward, this dear sister came up to me and, with tears in her eyes, said she needed to talk with me. Not really sure what was wrong, I gave her my attention. She began; "I owe you an apology, brother." "For what," I replied. "When you asked me about the birthday party, it was sinful of me to be negative. Jesus taught us about careless words and that's exactly what they were. I'm so sorry. I should be building you up, rather than tearing you down. Please forgive me."

I told her that she had done nothing to forgive. With stern, but caring eyes, she said, "No, brother, I need your forgiveness. Would you please forgive me?" Tears now welled up in my eyes. "Yes, dear sister, I forgive you." "And," I added, "thanks for demonstrating to me what a real godly heart is like."

I wonder what our world--no our churches--would look like if we adopted this attitude? We just might start resembling the "body of Christ."

Back from the Pit

No, this isn't a blog about a recent spiritual struggle from which God rescued me in psalmist fashion. Last weekend Zach, my 13 year old son, and I traveled to the Grand Canyon for what appears to be becoming an annual pilgrimage for the Brantleys. We met up with my mom and dad, and sister and brother-in-law at this historic site. Everyone but my mom (she has the brains in the family) set out to hike down the South Kaibab trail to the river and out via the Bright Angel trail in, once again, one day (yes, there are reasons why signs warn folks from attempting this).

We started down the South Kaibab trail at 5:55 a.m. and dragged ourselves out of the canyon at 7:30 p.m.--it was a pretty long day, but well worth it.

Last year, we went down to the Colorado river and back via exclusively the Bright Angel trail. While it provides some great views of the Canyon, it doesn't compare to the South Kaibab trail in this regard. Unlike the Bright Angel trail which follows a fault line down into the canyon, the South Kaibab follows a ridge line, offering spectacular views.

Zach and I had a great time together. Standing on a precipice with him, looking into this magnificent wonder of nature, you sense a bond of mutual experience that is inexplicable. You know that you are in the presence of something large, mysterious, powerful. I'm glad that my son and I could share this experience together. We have stories that we forever will tell.

I'm attempting to upload some pictures taken of our trip. I hope I'm successful. If not, it's great to be back from the pit...though priorities become much clearer when your at the bottom with those whom you love. I think I'll blog about that in the future.

Blue Like Jazz

Last weekend, I had the privilege to experience once again the ZOE worship conference. Greg Miles wrote his typically articulate thoughts about this great event. The theme Desperate captured in many ways the status of our postmodern culture. It appears that many worship leaders, as evinced by the Worship Leaders' track, are acknowledging this desperation, not only in our culture but in churches as well. This is good. Too often we've attempted to press hurting hearts into a thanksgiving worship mold.

Don't get me wrong. Sometimes, just as the psalmists, the turn toward thanksgiving in the midst of alientation, hurt, and suffering, is a necessary step toward healing. At the same time, the hurt must first fully be embraced, and expressed to our God. Hence, the imprecatory psalms (those that actually pray for the defeat or death of the psalmist's enemies, e.g. 109), throb with human emotions of vengeance. Only until these adequately are expressed, is there a move toward trust in the God who holds sole governance over the province of vengeance. So, language of lament, brokenness, alienation is legitimate in our worship.

Since I wrote a doctoral dissertation largely dealing with postmodernity's impact on the modern foundations of evangelical Christianity in general and Churches of Christ in particular, Brian McLaren's thoughts were especially of interest to me. I applaud the ZOE group and Woodmont Hills for including in these events those who emerge from divergent Christian tribes. As Brian said on several occasions, each denomination holds certain treasures that need to be shared with the larger body. Amen. Unfortunately, church history has not been one of sharing our portion of heavenly treasures, but of arrogantly assuming no other treasures exist beyond our own denominational troves. Thanks to Brian for sharing his treasures with us.

Typically, when I leave the ZOE conference, I'm on a "high" from the weekend. Not this time. I really couldn't put my finger on it either. (By the way, I've grown beyond thinking if I didn't get this nebulous "high" feeling after a worship event that, somehow, the event was deficient. The Church has entirely too much of this self-absorption, and I still struggle with it, though.) No, God worked mightily on me during this event, and still is.

I began identifying what I was feeling (or thinking or experiencing) when, after the conference, I read through Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz. This is a book on Christian Spirituality, very much postmodern in approach. It's not a "how to" or "self help" book so typical of many Christian books (many of which are excellent). The feel of this book is messy, authentic, raw. Real struggles with real people attempting to come to grips with Jesus. I highly recommend this book--it gives a depiction of the culture to which we have been called to minister.

Miller states his dislike of institutions, but also admits his personal benefit from their existence (like a Starbucks on nearly every corner). Miller struggles with how one lives consistently in a messy world. Answer? Despite one's best efforts complete consistency is an elusive goal.

In our weekly staff meeting (more like conversations), I referred to this aspect of Miller's book. It seems that we're always (and legitimately) struggling with how to reach each emerging generation. It appears to me that, among other things, the emerging culture is much like Donald Miller's description in Blue Like Jazz. They're not easily impressed. Can spot a fake a mile away. Neither do they care much for institutions. They're not so much interested in being entertained, as they are participating in something larger than themselves. Yet, this generation suffers from the same infection of self-absorption as those before it.

So, how do we respond? CrossBridge, and other emerging churches, have taken a more "contemporary" (what does that really mean?) direction. For this, I'm personally thankful. It's so refreshing as a minister to be able to share God's word without forever having to parse words to keep them within the prescribed parameters of "orthodoxy." Further, worship, under the capable direction of Greg Miles, is a meaningful experience in which God truly is encountered.

At the same time, we must be careful that we're not just exchanging one form for another. I think this was where I've been struggling. It kind of reminds me of the current Hardy's commercials (that's a fast-food chain in this part of the country). Understanding the suspicious nature of the emerging generation, their current marketing strategy is self-deprecating. They admit that Hardy's is not the place most people think of when they want a great burger--and they're right. Seems pretty authentic. And, there's the rub. Authenticity is now a great marketing strategy. When will one's (or a church's) authenticity become just another empty strategy to hook folk?

A paragraph in Don Miller's book nudged me down this path, and helped clarify my recent struggle:

A friend of mine, a young pastor who recently started a church, talks to me from time to time about the new face of church in America--about the postmodern church. He says the new church will be different from the old one, that we will be relevant to culture and the human struggle. I don't think any church has ever been relevant to culture, to the human struggle, unless it believed in Jesus and the power of His gospel. If the supposed new church believes in trendy music and cool Web pages, then it is not relevant to culture either. It is just another tool of Satan to get people to be passionate about nothing (p. 111).

Believe me, neither Miller nor I am suggesting the removal of cool Web pages or trendy music. They have their place. If, however, the church once again supplants the power of God's gospel for another human strategy, what real good have we done? And, unless we fully embody this good news, few folks will take notice. Perhaps the first place to start, before we break out the latest music, and create the coolest Web site, is for all Christians to repent of our self-absorption and fully enthrone Jesus in our hearts as Lord. I suspect that this action would put the church in a the best position to love our world, even as God does. When this happens, the world will know we are Jesus' disciples. And, then, we actually can be relevant to our culture and real human struggles.

Tenacity of Faith

Someone has described a pessimist as “a person who’s seasick for the whole voyage of life.” With such an attitudinal posture, mole hills become mountains and every obstacle is insurmountable. I must admit, walking by faith, not by sight, is extremely difficult to do. I feel much more confident in God when I can see the apparent victorious end in sight. The difficulty for me is to continue to walk in confidence when, not only is there no end in sight, but when we see apparent defeat looming in the distance. Contrary to this timid spirit, the pages of sacred history are dotted with divinely-empowered optimists.

Take Caleb, for example. You might recall that he was one of the 12 spies sent to survey the Promised Land (Numbers 13-14). Upon their return, 10 of the spies saw no possible way for their unskilled army to conquer the “walled cities” inhabited by “giants” (13:28,33). Quite frankly, they had good a good point. Israel was not equipped militarily to accomplish this feat. After all, their immediate history was one of forced servitude, not military exploits. By contrast, the minority report of Caleb (and Joshua) throbbed with faith, “Let us go up at once and take possession, for we are well able to overcome it” (13:30). Don't you just hate those idealistic believers? They just don't get it...or do they?

What made the difference? All spies described the same land, and recognized the obstacles. The 10 were consumed by their own inadequacies while Caleb and Joshua concentrated on God’s ability. In short, the real difference was their relationship to God (14:8-9).

The “grasshopper mentality” of the 10 resulted from looking at the opposition rather than the Lord. That’s always how its it when we diminish the power of God. The obstacles loom beyond reason. By contrast, Caleb viewed the difficulties as opportunities to display the awesome power of the Lord.

The optimism of Caleb was not rooted in the insufficient power of a “positive mental attitude“, or in the inadequacies of “believing in himself.” Rather, in humility, Caleb saw himself linked to God in sacred partnership. “If the Lord delights in us,” he reasoned, “we’ll succeed” (cf. 14:8). The “if” in this phrase did not suggest a gnawing doubt in Caleb of God’s presence. On the contrary, it was Caleb’s way of saying, “because God has told us to take the land, we will succeed!”

How is it with you? Are you facing a Kadesh-Barnea that could change the course of your life? It may be a circumstance to accept, a work to be undertaken, or a burden to be borne. Make no mistake, we do face real obstacles that are not to be denied. On the other hand, there is a real God Whose power and grace equally should not be denied! The spirit of Caleb looks beyond the insurmountable walls to the unparalleled God. Caleb won the battles of life because he first won the battle of faith, obedience, and full commitment.

Scripture does not paint a rose-colored picture even for those who walk in faith. Peter's first book describes a circumstance in which believers would face fiery trials...because of their faith! Yet, there is a tenacity associated with Jesus' followers. Let’s not be overwhelmed by circumstances or awed by difficulties. They don’t really matter. It’s our attitude toward the Lord—His glory and His will—that really counts, and often goes unaddressed.

The Fluffy Bunny

This past weekend I had the distinct privilege of going with our youth group on a rafting trip down the Ocoee, a beautiful river in East Tennesse known for its rapids. The first time (of only two times in my life) I rafted down this river was pretty uneventful. No one in my raft fell out, and we navigated all the rapids with relative ease.

Remembering that first experience, I was pretty confident going into this thing. I even volunteered to sit in the front of the raft with my 13 year old son, Zach. According to our guide, we were responsible for setting the pace for our boat. We both were up to the challenge.

Before we set "sail for our three hour tour" (yes, I watched too many episodes of Gilligan's Island growing up), our guide asked us to decide if we wanted a relatively smooth ride or, in his words, and "pretty gnarly" one. I immediately spoke for our whole boat (without their input); "We want a gnarly one!" Famous last words of a fool.

Gnarly indeed. I met my Waterlou (pun intended) on the first rapid, a class five. Giving us exactly what I unilaterally asked for, we hit the rapid sideways and with such force that your's truly was tossed out. My first experience in white water without a raft made me rethink this gnarly ride I requested. Except for a few gallons of water in the old lungs and a small cut on the knee, I wasn't any worse for the wear. So, I figured the worst had to be over.

All things went pretty well after that until our guide told us of one final maneuver we needed to perform after the last rapid. He called it the "fluffly bunny maneuver." Since all these rapids had strange names, I didn't think much of it. In retrospect, however, I should have known something was up.

In a serious tone, he explained what we needed to do. After we hit this last rapid, I'll need for you to give me two hard, forward strokes with your paddles, then those on the right side of the raft need to jump in unison onto the left side. Thinking that we were going to provide a counterbalance to something (who knew what), we dutifully prepared for the fluffy bunny move.

We hit the rapid. Our guide barked out the command to paddle. He then yelled, "jump now." In perfect unison, those of us on the right side of the rafted plunged onto the left side. In an instant, everyone of us were in the water with our raft upside down on top of us.

Thinking we failed in the fluffy bunny maneuver (surely that wasn't supposed to happen), our guide was elated. "That's the first time I've ever been able to get the raft to flip like that. Great job guys!" We all looked at each other in stunned silence, wondering why this guy was so happy--and I'm still not quite sure! Further, I still don't have a clue why that maneuver is called the "fluffy bunny." Maybe some of you veteran rafters can help me out.

I had a great time with my youngest son Zach. What a great son! God is good.

Extreme Makeovers

You’ve probably seen some of those “before” and “after” pictures of people who, through the magic of modern cosmetology, are transformed from antiquated “plain Joe’s” to GQ potential. To boost self-esteem or to create a new persona for themselves, literally millions are spent on makeovers annually. While some attempt a physical renovation through the latest cosmetological techniques, others attempt a more profound—though equally self-induced—reconstruction.

In his book, Reaching for the Invisible God, Philip Yancey confesses his own self-deconstruction and subsequent reconstruction whose outcome was ultimately unsatisfying. Embarrassed by TV programs like the “Beverly Hillbillies” and “HeeHaw,” Yancey attempted to disassociate himself from his Southern heritage. Vowel by vowel he worked to change his accent, succeeding so well that people react with surprise when they learn of his Deep South roots. Having read great books to remove all provincial blinders, Yancey felt that he had finally addressed—and conquered—his previous self, creating a “new man.”

Through more spiritually mature lenses, Yancey began to realize the limits to a self-constructed personality. Yancey writes: “In most ways important to God, I had failed miserably. I was selfish, joyless, and lacked compassion. With the notable exception of self-control, I lacked all nine of the fruits of the Spirit listed in Galatians 5.”

Yancey not only recognized the limits to a self-directed makeover, he ultimately came to understand that his entire project of reconstructing his personality had been misguided. “God did not want to work with a wholly different personality. God chose me.”

The strong urge to be someone other than who we are actually opposes God’s purposes for our lives. Often these feelings arise from a legitimate dislike of our sinful natures. It is precisely here, however, that the gospel offers good news. God, through the working of His Spirit, is not turning us into a wholly different person. On the contrary, through the redemptive work of Christ within us, God liberates—not destroys—our true selves! In this regard, Yancey concludes; “The Holy Sprit coaxes each of us to be ourselves, flawed personalities in whom God himself has chosen to dwell. With infinite resources, God can assist every willing person on earth in that custom process. It begins with trust in God’s best for me, a confidence that God will liberate my true self, not bind it.” Create room in your heart for God, and let God show you who you truly are!

Handing Over the Reins

With his keen ability to find humor in the most unexpected things, Gary Larson made us laugh, caused us to blush and, perhaps more often than we’d like to admit, left us puzzled over the esoteric meaning of his satirical Far Side cartoons. Whether or not Larson intended them, I have on occasions found profound spiritual meaning from the Far Side. Consider this one, for example.

The picture is of the western “badlands.” The sun is high in a cloudless sky. The scorched landscape consists of bare, rugged cliffs and barren, sandy hills. The only plant life in the picture is a lone Sequoia cactus standing tall in the foreground. Somehow avoiding the immense open space, a bumbling cowboy has managed to guide his horse head first into the cactus. Expressing the thoughts of the irritated horse, the caption reads, “That does it...I’m gonna steer.”

Have you ever felt like this horse when it comes to your spiritual journey? Have you ever wondered where God is taking you? Have you ever thought that perhaps you could do a better job of directing your own steps rather than giving the reins of your life to God? I certainly have.

In our limited thinking, it seems that God occasionally runs us smack into painful cactuses, tempting us to snatch the reins from His omniscient hands. Job changes. Financial loss. Sickness. Death. During such trying times, it’s human nature to think, “Surely God could have guided us around these painful obstacles.” If you are facing such difficulties hear God’s Word before you attempt to retake control of your life, “Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way” (James 1:2-4; The Message).

Have you run into any cactuses of life lately? Before you direct yourself into the obviously-open countryside, maybe you should think seriously before you act. It just might be that God actually has brought you to the only source of available water to moisten your parched faith. Be still...and let God do His marvelous, faith-building work.

"Shut Up And Hit Somebody"

Depending on one's perspective, this past Saturday was either one of the best or worst days of the year. The college football season kicked off (pun intended). Brian and Jessica Balentine, a wonderful couple at CrossBridge, invited us over to watch the Alabama vs. Utah State game on pay per view. Since we've resisted even having cable all these years (did I hear a collective moan), I was in hog heaven. They even had one of those "tevo" deals where you can rewind the action...unbelievable. We had a great time.

One thing that caught my eye on Saturday was in a different game, however. The University of South Carolina took on Vanderbilt. While I was able only to catch a glimpse here or there of this game, I happened to be in the room when a reporter was talking about Lou Holts' (head coach for South Carolina) latest motivational stragedy. Each player wore a t-shirt underneath his uniform emblazened with these words: "Shut Up And Hit Somebody." I chuckled when I heard that. It made such an impression on me, I just had to mention it in my sermon on Sunday.

The point is obvious: stop talking about what you're gonna do, and just do it. Football is know for its trash talk, what one player boasts that he will do to another. Enough. Holts called his team simply to aggressively accomplish what they were taught to do.

Perhaps we ought to distribute similar t-shirts to church folk, one that everyone can wear under his or her Sunday outfits (though for CrossBridge, t-shirts often are the clothes of choice). The Bible has similar statements. "Love not in word, but in deed and in truth." "Faith without works is dead" (too bad legalsim has abused this truth). "If you say you love God and hate your brother, you are a liar." To these can be added a plethora of similar biblical passages that call to action, not merely talk.

South Carolina apparently took Holts' challenge to heart. I think they won pretty handily over Vanderbilt. Perhaps it's time for the church to take to heart the biblical call to action, not to legalistic justification, but to actively expressing to our broken world the love of Jesus. Perhaps its time to just "shut up and love somebody." Maybe we'll start seeing a change...most likely in us.

Inadequate for the Task

Most of us--if not all--have at times felt completely inadequate for the tasks we are called to accomplish. It matters not what our profession, or vocation, might be. There are occasions when we simply are not up to the challenge of life's demands. Deadlines. Bills. Teenagers. Sickness. Relational tensions. Monotony of life. Whatever the demand, our human resources fall woefully short to meet it.

This week has been one of those uncertain ones for me. Partly because I've been struggling with a nasty cold, and partly because this week brought several extremely difficult ministerial situations, I feel completely empty, struggling for words to speak on Sunday. And, it's already Friday.

During these times, I remind myself of the feeding miracle in Mark. Confronted with 10,000 hungry eyes, the disciples simply did not have the resources to feed them. They suggested that Jesus send them away so they can buy bread. Amazingly, Jesus said: "You give them something to eat." They were astonished. How could this small band of brothers meet this demand. In frustration, they basically said: "There's no way! We don't have enough." Undaunted, Jesus looked at them and said: "What do you have? Go and see."

Ah. Jesus won't let us off the hook so easily, will He? He's not interested in what we don't have; He's interested in what we have. Often I find myself thinking of the abilities I don't have, comparing myself with others. If I only had....then I would..... Far too often that is the mantra by which humanity tends to live. So, we simply don't try.

Against this human tendency, Jesus says, "What do you have? Go and see." The disciples found a smattering of food, five loaves and two fish. Bringing this obviously-inadequate provision to Jesus, they seemed to say: "See. This is all we have. It's not enough, now send them to get something to eat." Jesus would have none of this. He took the bread, blessed it, gave it to the disciples to distribute to the people. Mark concludes: "They all ate and were satisfied." Beyond that, 12 basketfuls of fragements were collected.

I have always wondered just how this happened. Modernistic theologians who attempted in Bultmannian fashion to "demystify" such texts have provided naturalistic explanations. They have suggested that, once the disciples starting sharing this food, others were prompted to share what little they had as well. Once everyone shared the little they had, everyone eventually was fed. Needless to say, this theory does not explain the abundance of leftovers.

Mark isn't concerned about how this miracle happened anyway. He focuses on the divinely produced results: "They all ate and were satisfied." And, in God's economy, there is more than enough!

Such miracles remind me, not of how powerful Jesus was, but how powerful Jesus is. It also reminds me that true ministry is humanly impossible. As humans, we simply do not have what it takes to accomplish the divinely-described tasks before us. God does not leave us powerless, however. He asks us simply to allow Him to touch our feeble efforts. Then, and only then, can miraculous results occur.

I'm thinking right now: "Lord, I don't have what it takes for the task before me." "What do you have," He replies. "All I can find are some saltine crackers and sardines in my pantry of ideas, talents, and abilities. Maybe you should send the people away to be fed elsewhere." His reply remains the same, however. "Give it to me...they all will eat and be satisfied." Only by His power.

Casting Our Crowns

The Olympics gave us plenty of drama. Close races, scoring controversies, doping scandals. For the most part, however, the Olympics went off without a hitch. Praise God that no act of terror disrupted this international display of peaceful atheletic competition.

One story that continues to unfold surrounds Paul Hamm, an American gymnist who won the gold medal in the all around men's gymnastic competition...at least he thought he did. I watched when he faltered and fell on his vault attempt, plumetting him from one of the leaders into 12th place. It appeared that any possiblity of his winning any medal was completely lost. Then, the drama of atheletic competition kicked in.

Hamm's parallel bar exercise was a near flawless display of grace and strength. Strangely, the leaders had several glaring mistakes, dropping their scores considerably. It appeared that Hamm had a remote chance of scraping out a bronze medal at best, but he'd need help from his competitors. And, help they gave him.

The leading guys continued uncharacteristically to falter. Hamm had a remote chance of actually winning the gold medal, if he performed brilliantly during his final exercise. He "stuck" a perfect landing, placing an emphatic exclamation mark at the end of a superior performance. His score catapulted him onto the gold medal stand with only a mere .012 points (I think) separating him from the silver medalists. What a competition!

Then the controversy began. Apparently, the judges made a calculation error on the South Korean gymnast's parallel bar routine. All said and done, without this error, the South Korean, not Hamm, would have won the gold. Appeals were made. Meetings were held. The IOC ruled that it would not reverse the decision, but finally made an appeal to Hamm to give back his medal.

All of this is sad. What should have been a time of living a dream for Hamm, has become a nightmare. I'll be interested on how all of this eventually will turn out.

This controversy, however, reminded me of a scene in the book of Revelation chapter 4. John was ushered into the throne room of God. Twenty-four other thones, surrounded God's throne. On these thrones sat twenty-four elders, dressed in white and were wearing crowns of gold. Immediately around God's throne were four living creatures, covered with eyes in front and in back. In appearance as a lion, ox, man, and eagle, these creatures continually cried: "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come." As these creatures incessantly gave glory, honor and thanks to God, the twenty-four elders would fall down before him and worship the one who lives forever. At this point, the Apocalypse provides an interesting element to this scene, one which, I think, is fraught with meaning. "Whenever the living creatures give glory, honor and thanks to him who sits on the throne...[the twenty-four elders] lay their crowns before the throne ... (4:10).

Several questions emerge from this description. Why did these elders have crowns? From whom did they receive them? What did they signify? What's the import of their casting them before the throne?

Commentators will give a variety of possible answers to these--and other--questions. Whatever the specific meaning attached to these crowns, one thing is clear: these elders relinquish all their honors in recognition of the One to Whom all honor is due. Before Him, we have no room to boast for a couple of reasons. First, every good thing we have, or accomplish, ultimately proceeds from Him. Second, the very best we have to offer is nothing compared to His glory.

I don't know what Paul Hamm should do with his gold medal in the context of this fallen world. I would say, however, not only to him but to all of us who sport "medals" of achievement of any kind that, before God, we cast them at His feet. Only there do they have any significance anyway. And, isn't this what it means to worship God "in spirit and in truth?"