Nate's Thoughts

Emmanuel in our pain: “Lord if you had been here...” (John 11: 1-57)

2012-01-19T07:42:00.002-05:00

This is the text of a message from 1/17 at the UGA BCM:

Karen and I went on our internship in campus ministry after our second year of marriage and second year of seminary. We moved to Mobile, Alabama where I worked as the campus ministry intern at the University of South Alabama. Karen worked at a church daycare with various ages of children. Her favorite group was the babies - especially one little boy named Micheal. For some reason Micheal and Karen bonded. She would awaken at night imagining she was rocking him in her sleep. Yep, you guessed it, we decided that it was time for her to go off birth control pills and see what might happen. However, after three moves and two years nothing had happened. She had talked with her doctor about her concerns and she even went to a specialist and had surgery. Another move, more doctors, more surgery, and still no babies. After 8 years we began to grow desperate. We borrowed money and did a mini-in vitro procedure where they take the needed, um, materials from the man and woman, do some magic in a petri dish and come up with a embryo which is then placed in the woman's womb. A month later we received a call that she was not pregnant. Our world crashed. We had already had doubts and many tearful nights. For Karen her body gave her a month to month reminder that it was broken; that she could not get pregnant. She blamed herself. She blamed God. She blamed me. She blamed the houses we lived in. She blamed God. She blamed the water. She blamed her parents. She blamed God; it always came back to God. Imagine holding your wife, who is rocked with grief, knowing there is nothing you can do to ally her pain or her fears, there is no hope you can offer, no comfort you can give other than your love and your embrace. It is heart breaking.

Martha, Mary and Lazarus were perhaps Jesus closest friends. Throughout the Gospels Jesus retreated to their home just before or after key events in his ministry.

According to Herschel Hobbs, Martha's "response was the greatest confession of faith in Jesus as the Messiah which is recorded in the gospels...." because "she made hers from the pit of despair. She had sent for Jesus in her hour of great need. Insofar as she could tell, He had failed her. Yet she still believed in Him. Hear her confession. 'Yea, Lord: I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world.' (v. 27)"

Like Mary and Martha, we should not avoid the pain that comes with grief and disappointment - even when that disappointment is with God! Read the Psalms. The writers are often not only disappointed with God, but are frustrated and often angry! We need to be honest with God and with each other when we are hurting!

Psalm 22

¹ My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? ² My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest.

Lamentations 3 the writer tells of his pain, feeling that God has abandoned him and his people:

¹ I am the man who has seen affliction
by the rod of the LORD’s wrath.
² He has driven me away and made me walk
in darkness rather than light;
³ indeed, he has turned his hand against me
again and again, all day long.

⁴ He has made my skin and my flesh grow old
and has broken my bones.
⁵ He has besieged me and surrounded me
with bitterness and hardship.
⁶ He has made me dwell in darkness
like those long dead.

⁷ He has walled me in so I cannot escape;
he has weighed me down with chains.
⁸ Even when I call out or cry for help,
he shuts out my prayer.
⁹ He has barred my way with blocks of stone;
he has made my paths crooked.

He ends in chapter 5:20 with a question that we all tend to ask in the midst of pain and suffering:

"Why have your forgotten us completely? Why have for forsaken us these many days?"

It is almost impossible to avoid asking the very real question, "Why?" However, there is no acceptable answer to that question! Just like a three year old asking his parents why, when we get an answer, we only ask again, "but why?" and it goes on and on and on and on.

Look at Jesus' response to the grief surrounding the death of his friend Lazarus in John, chapter 11. Jesus was not initially moved emotionally when talking with his disciples about Lazarus because he knew he would later raise him. He patiently told his disciples that Lazarus would not die, but was only sleeping. Of course they misunderstood him. Jesus explained that Lazarus was dead, but that they were going to Bethany so that Jesus could raise him. However, after encountering his close friends Martha and Mary and seeing their grief, Jesus too is deeply affected. Both Mary and Martha express their frustration and disappointment, each coming to Jesus saying, “Lord if you had been here...” If only....They were accusingly asking, "Jesus why weren't you here!?!"

Here we encounter the shortest verse in the bible, but perhaps one that contains the most comforting message in all of Christendom. "Jesus wept." Herschel Hobbs pointed out that this is too simplistic of a translation - this is one case where we have minimized the emotional side of Jesus. A better, more literal translation of Jesus crying here is, "Jesus sobbed."

Picture this if you will. Here, the God of the universe is so moved with compassion for his friends that he cries with them. Jesus cried with Mary and Martha because of THEIR pain. In seminary one of our required texts was a book called "The crucified God." In it the author delves deeply into the idea that God cries with us in our grief. Folks, this is a game changer. I don't know if you can truly catch the depth of this truth unless you have been racked with grief or torn in two with pain. Jesus wept because of their pain. God weeps with us because of our pain.

When Jesus was leaving his disciples he told them that he was sending along the Holy Spirit - the Greek word is Paraclete - the advocate or helper or comforter. I want to challenge you, the next time you are stricken with pain or grief, picture Jesus, through the Holy Spirit, crying with you. It is the role of the Holy Spirit to be advocate and comforter. God is on your side!

Intercession: A few years ago someone told me that when he prays for others often he does not know how he should pray. So, he began to visualize his prayers. This is what he did, he began to picture himself carrying the person who asked for prayer all the way to the throne of Jesus. Then he placed that person into God's lap and watched as God held and cried with the person. I began practicing that myself. It is incredibly comforting for me to see and know that I have placed those whom I love into the arms of God. Sometimes I listen in to the words the Jesus whispers to my friend as he cradles them in his arms, "I love you. I've got you. You are safe in my arms."

Helen Parks wrote of intercession as "holding the ropes". Her allusion was to those on the boat who throw out life-buoys to those in the rough seas. A beautiful opportunity and responsibility for those of us in the family of God is to hold the ropes for others whose faith has been shaken. Like a family, we are to be there in love and support for others while they are immobilized in their grief and pain. We need to be a safe place.

From Why to What now: As the shock of our grief subsides, we need move from asking "Why" to asking, "What now?" We need to develop an attitude of expectancy, like that of Martha - putting our faith not in the situation, but in God. "God is up to something!" Our hope needs to be in Jesus, not in a fantasy of what-could-have-been or what-could-be. We need to put our faith and hope in God and in the future that God holds. Very often that future is very different from what we could have ever asked or imagined, as Paul prays in Ephesians 3:20 & 21. St our wedding my bride surprised me with an inscription in my ring. She had Eph. 3:4-21inscribed inside the band she gave to me. Paul writes, "Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."

Let's bring this home: There are lots of hurting people all around us. Most of them hide behind a facade of make-up and a wide grin. Many hide behind anger or drugs or working too much or.....you know the excesses meant to dull pain. Instead of ignoring the pain around us, or enjoying our ignorance about other's pain, we need to begin asking God to give us his eyes to see the hurts around us. This past weekend Chad Norris challenged us to be open and attentive to the voice of the Holy Spirit, to pray for God to be so close to you that God speaks to us of other's needs. Or, as i like to say, for God to give us his eyes so that we can begin to see what God sees. To see the hurts, to see the needs in others. We need to begin to pray for God's healing spirit to come into the lives of those around us. You never know what kind of instrument of life-change you can be by allowing God to use you as a comforter to your peers.

I'm under no illusion that everything is hunky dory in the lives of everyone in this room. Many of you are in pain too. Many of you are angry at God. Many of you feel like the writer of lamentations....that God is out to get you! I want to challenge you to be honest about your pain. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with God. Be honest with each other. Often healing cannot come until we are willing to admit we can't do it on our own.

After 10 years of struggling with infertility Karen and I hit bottom. One Wednesday evening the minister of music passed out a new piece of music for our choir to sing. It was an arrangement of Psalm 86. As we started this haunting melody began to fill the sanctuary. We began to sing, "Here my voice O Lord when I cry, Here my prayer when I cry to you from the holy place...." (Here is a choir singing the piece: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXY3v7GUC44) And my wife, seated a few rows below me, began to cry. This was not your polite, lady-like weeping, but loud, audible, body shaking sobs. It was rather disruptive to the moving strains of music. Somehow we finished that verse and put the piece away. The music minister was rather taken aback, he was new at the church and did not know our story. He didn't know my wife and probably thought this was going to be a common occurrence. My wife NEVER cries. For her there is no such thing as a "good cry". I don't think we sang that piece again for almost 6 months. That Psalm became one of Karen and my favorites. Especially the last verse:

Psalm 86

⁶ Hear my prayer, LORD; listen to my cry for mercy. ⁷ When I am in distress, I call to you,

because you answer me

¹¹ Teach me your way, LORD,
that I may rely on your faithfulness;
give me an undivided heart,
that I may fear your name.
¹² I will praise you, Lord my God, with all my heart;
I will glorify your name forever.
¹³ For great is your love toward me;
you have delivered me from the depths,
from the realm of the dead.

The next few chapters: A few months later we met a couple on a cruise we had taken to get our minds off of the stresses of life. We hung out with them the entire cruse - they were lots of fun. On the last night we were watching the sunset as we left Key West, they were talking about how excited they were to get back home to their 5 children. The mom asked Karen, "I've not heard you talk about children...." Karen admitted, "I don't think we will ever have any of our own." The girl asked her, "Have you thought about adoption?" To my surprise Karen said, "We'll yes, I think that's the only way we will ever have a family." She said, "Oh my gosh, I have a niece..."

A few months later, in June, we flew to Omaha, Nebraska to pick up our baby whom we had named Blake. The next morning when we called the birth-mom she told us she had changed her mind. We were back into the pit of despair, deeper than ever this time. The plane ride home was the longest in the history of the world. I will never forget the embrace shared by Karen and her father when we reached the airport in Atlanta. They held each other and sobbed for a full five minutes. Everyone who passed by in the concourse stopped to stare.

It took us two months to return to church when we got home we were so hurt and confused. And mad. In August we pulled ourselves together, believing that God had led us down the road towards adoption months before. We thought we might as well follow through with it. We wrote a letter introducing ourselves as potential adoptive parents. I sent that letter to 100 people all over the US. We contacted a national Adoption agency in Atlanta. The next spring break, exactly one year after the cruise, Karen and I had two meetings with women who wanted to place their to-be-born children for adoption. A month later we welcomed Natalie Joy into our family. Six months later we welcomed Nicholas Aaron. Two children. We were blessed beyond what we could ask or imagine.

And the final act of God's grace was the birth of Karlie Nicole, born to us in our 20th year of marriage! Now we are speechless and exhausted! God's grace and provision is profound. He has turn our mourning into dancing.

Since then we have had countless opportunities to minister to others who are going through similar experiences. Our pain has become Gods glory and our joy, a joy we could never had imagined while we were in the throws of despair.

In the story in Chapter 11 Jesus raises Lazarus. Like ours, this story has a happy ending. Mary and Martha got what they wanted - they got their brother back, their grief was cut short. But such happy endings don't always occur in our lives. Lazarus later died again. The grief was still raw the second time around. In our lives, sometimes the boyfriend comes back, but sometimes he marries your best friend. Sometimes we get another job quickly, but sometimes we stay unemployed for months or years. Sometimes our friend is healed, but sometimes she dies. Sometimes we ace the class, but sometimes we flunk and have to change our major, abandoning our childhood dreams of becoming a doctor.

But even in the midst of our pain, if we keep our eyes on God we will gain new intimacy with God, and new insights into ourselves and our faith. We will better understand Paul's crazy talk when he said that when "he was weak he was strong." As a result of the difficult days, the Dark Nights of the Soul, as early Christians called them, we will find deeper faith, deeper comfort, and deeper peace. When we begin to emerge on the other side of our pain and grief we will discover, upon looking back, that God had been with us the whole time. The same Emmanuel, God with us, whom we sang about a month ago, is still with us in our times of grief and pain, crying with us, mingling his tears with our own.

Grace through clinched fists?

2011-11-16T09:41:00.003-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about grace lately. Not because I have been acting particularly graceful, but because I have been reading a lot about how contemporary society feels about Christians, and as a result, how many/most feel about the church and many about God. In working as a "professional Christian" in a college setting I talk with Christian students everyday, seeking to help them become better disciples of Jesus. I also talk with students who are not followers of Jesus - most who have a negative attitude towards all religions. Much of the negativity they harbor is from contact they have had or their friends have had with folks who claim the mantle of "Christian." My conversations with students and alumni has proven Dan Kimball's assessment a few years ago in the title of his book, They like Jesus but not the church. In trying to find a metaphor to capture what I have been hearing from students on our campus, many of us who are evangelistic Christians seem to be offering grace through clinched fists. We hold the grace of God out for others to see, but when we do we also offer so many rules and restrictions for the practice of faith that we make grace seem impossible to obtain. The fingers of our clinched fists prove to be prison bars, holding grace captive - making it ours to own and control and keeping it away from others who need it just as much if not more than we do. Seems to me that such a presentation of Grace is rather Pharisaical, and thus, sinful. I could quote a myriad of verses here to prove my point, but don't want to overstate the obvious: Jesus offered grace to all people. Why we feel the need to convict others and demand wholesale lifestyle changes before they can accept the loving, freely offered grace of God is beyond my comprehension. In case I misread the Bible, conviction is the work of the God.

I've just started reading two books, Sin boldly: a field guide for grace, by Cathleen Falsani and Lost in transition: the dark side of emerging adulthood, by Christian Smith. Both are disturbing my thoughts and sleep this week. As we seek to reach out to the students on campus in conversations about the saving grace of Jesus and seek to lead the students in our ministry to have spiritual conversations with their friends we face an uphill battle. Students on campus have heard too many canned evangelistic pitches that have impossible strings attached. Many are reticent to engage in serious conversations anymore. Students in our ministry are like those discussed in Lost in transition, who have become so influenced by the contemporary postmodern philosophy that they do not want to talk to their friends about faith because they do not want to impose their beliefs on anyone else.

I live and work in what has been dubbed the Bible-belt. Most students on our campuses are at least familiar with Christianity, though many have not experienced no claim faith in Jesus. Vic Doss, a local church-based college pastor realized that most students today don't share their faith because they don't know how and because they have not been shown how. He and some of his colleagues decided to begin taking students on campus to engage in purposeful conversations. They have had great success in modeling healthy evangelism. The result has been thousands of conversations over the past few years with students and faculty members. Vic noted that students are not coming to Jesus because no one is having the conversation with them.

Our students have been giving out coffee on campus on morning each week. They have discovered that most folks welcome the offers of prayer and encouragement offered with a free cup of coffee. Many conversations have been started and are ongoing because a few students care enough to spend a few hours a week between morning classes loving on their peers with offers off free coffee and prayer.

Let's ponder solutions together. Let's engage this changing culture in conversations about faith. Let's encourage honest discussions among our Christian students about their faith and about evangelism. Let's model for our students ways to have healthy, grace-filled conversations about faith by taking them with us on campus, inviting them along when we go out on campus for evangelistic events. Let's get out of our buildings and onto campus so that we can interact with students in our ministries and students who have had bad experiences with "clinched-fist grace," talking with them about grace found in Jesus.

What are your ideas?

He knows my name!

2011-10-19T09:31:00.005-05:00

Last night in our worship service at Tuesday@theB we finished a study of John chapter 6. I had intended on connecting Peter's statement at the end of the chapter with other elements in the previous chapters of John's story about Jesus. However, while I was studying I got stuck on Peter's comment, because John focuses on the conversation in a manner quite different than the other Gospel writers. After the feeding of the crowds with only a few loaves of bread and a few fish, the other writers have Peter's profound statement of faith, "You are the Christ of God" (Luke) or "You are the Messiah, the son of God" (Matthew). But in John's account, when the crowds are leaving Jesus, he turns to his 12 disciples and asks, "Are you going to leave me too?" Peter responds, "To whom shall we go? You have the words of life!"

My plan was to show how this statement traces back through the Gospel. I was going to point out where Jesus was referred to as the Word and where Peter heard Jesus say that his very words gave eternal life. As I was looking through the earlier passages I stopped on this first encounter Peter had with Jesus. It was there that Jesus called Peter by his given name, Simon, and then gave him a new name, Peter, or Rock. From the other Gospel accounts we know that Peter was no rock, put was in fact rather impetuous and loud and usually had his foot in his mouth.

Names are important in scripture. In Peter's case we know that he eventually became what Jesus named him to be, but that it took time. In fact, as we read the stories of Peter we can see when the disciple gets it right because Jesus or the writer calls him "Peter". However, when the well intentioned disciple blunders, he is called Simon or Simon Peter.

I have heard and read many interpretations and explanations of the meaning of the new name Jesus gave to Simon. But I don't think I have ever heard or seen a similar study of the name Simon. So I did what any good scholar would do; I googled it. What I found gave me even more insight into what John was telling us in the first six chapters of his narrative, especially as it relates to Peter - and to us. The name Simon means "to hear" or "to be heard". Peter had been looking for, as the song begs, "Something to believe in." When his little brother Andrew came to introduce him to Jesus, Peter came right away because he needed to hear the word of life offered by Jesus. Like many who are bold and brash, Peter was a natural leader who had no direction, and, as a result, was flailing around trying to prove himself. When he met Jesus, a man who knew his names - who the disciple was and who Jesus wanted him to become -Peter's life was given direction and purpose. He lived up to the challenge of becoming the stock that Jesus called him to be.

The lesson for us? Jesus knows our names. Jesus knows who we are now - the good and the bad. Jesus knows the names we call ourselves and those we are called by others. But Jesus also has a new name for us, a name to which he calls us to become. He guides and leads us to be all he is creating us to be. He gently whispers the new name in our ear, and if we choose to listen to his voice and follow his gentle calls we too can become more than we are. We can, one step at a time, grow into the name Jesus knows us by and calls us to become.

Do you hear him? What is the name he has given to you? What are the words of full, complete, eternal life that he offers to you in your new name? Take a step towards his voice. He doesn't expect you to become the new you immediately, but, like Peter, by taking one step at a time towards his loving, beckoning voice you will slowly grow into who you have always longed to be.

Back to School

2011-08-10T08:26:00.004-05:00

This morning I dropped our 5 year old off for her first day of Kindergarten. As she got out of the van I uttered the same blessing over her that I have offered to our children each school day for 11 years now, "God bless you at school today!" I usually add a few more lines, but Karlie was so excited that she practically jumped out of the van when the door opened. She has been ready for school for two weeks, each morning longingly asking, "is summer over yet?" She has packed and repacked her purple Little Mermaid "packpack" multiple times to make sure she has everything in it.

After I watched her skip to the smiling teacher waiting on the curb in front of her school, tears filled my eyes. My emotions were a strange mix of sadness and joy. Driving away my mind slowly shifted and I began to get excited about the busy day I have ahead. A record number of collegians are arriving in Athens over the next few days. Our leadership team just completed four days of training and is returning to Athens today to begin engaging their peers, recruiting them to join "DawgPack" groups and telling them about the new ministry model we will roll out next week at our Open House. Karlie's excitement is contagious. I am beginning to feel the buzz deep in my chest when I think about the possibilities for ministry in the next few days. The first two weeks of school are always crazy and exhausting. We have multiple activities most days this week - from early in the morning to late at night. There are still a lot of preparations yet to be done. But I'm excited!

Let's do this!

Decluttering

2011-07-14T13:20:00.004-05:00

I finally managed to find some time today to begin the process of decluttering my office. I was going to start simple - just clean off my desk - it's been quite a while since I have been able to see wood grain or the pictures under my blotter. Alas, as with all of the projects I undertake, this simple task got complicated quickly. After filing a few of the papers on top of the stacks I found a book, and another, and another. Before long I had almost 20 books stacked beside my desk. When I began to transfer them to the one of the four bookcases in my office, I noted that there was no room. In fact, I had other books on the floor in front of the bookcases and slipped in horizontally on top of the rows of properly shelved books. Thus, I began the process of culling the books on the shelves. I stacked the first cull into a nearby chair. Before long that chair was full, so I pulled another over. When it filled up I began putting books on the floor. When I could no longer walk around the room I went in search of boxes, realizing that I was going to have to part with many of these beloved treasures.

Now if you know me very well at all, you will recall that I hate to part with books, unless the parting is "loaning" a book to a student or a friend for a season. Many times I don't get those books back, but that makes room for more on my shelves! Most of the books in my collection were acquired at a specific time for a specific purpose - there are memories tied with many of them. Others were given to me from my father (or "borrowed" from his vast library) or from other ministers. Many are still hanging around from seminary days. Though I have not opened most of the books on my shelves for many years I find it almost impossible to part with them! My wife has gone from telling people that I am an avid reader to "Nathan is an avid buyer of books!" Our finances would confirm that assesment!

I have only culled my books once before, just before I moved to Athens. I gave away many of the books I used in my former job (missions coordinator). When I unpacked my books here many years ago I had lots of shelf space for trinkets and mission trip memorabilia. However, between normal book buying, gifts from friends and colleagues, and the masses of books I purchased during the past five years for my PhD work, I have many more books than my shelves can contain. Thus, this cull was needed (I know Karen, I need to cull at home too!).

I also took the time to reorganize the shelves. There used to be a system in place - a section each for counseling books, marriage prep books, missional books, emerging church books, evangelism books, discipleship books (and materials), leadership books, and general inspirational books. Then on the other side of the room, nearer to my desk, were shelves with sections for theology, commentaries, bibles, and Bible study materials. Before today divisions between types of books were virtually non-existent. It took forever to find a specific book because things were so disorganized. It is beginning to look presentable again. I know, there are stacks of books in chairs and on the floor. Some of these books are going home with me. But most of them are going on a table outside of my office with a sign that proclaims, "free books!" Others will be appearing on Amazon's site. Others will be headed to the local library for the annual book sale. It makes the pain of culling a bit better to think that many will be headed to a good home.

Here and Now

2011-07-13T10:02:00.003-05:00

Brian McLaren, in his new book Naked Spirituality, says that one of the initial (and recurring) stages of faith is recognizing that God is here and learning to tune into God's presence in all of our life. Last week when I was in the mountains of Tennessee I sought to let go of my busyness and let the clean mountain air and incredible vistas slowly penetrate into my soul, into the core of myself, into that place that tends to get buried in the act of living (and even in the act of ministering to others). For me the mountains (almost any mountains) are thin places, places where it is easier for me to feel, see, and listen to God. As I've come home, back to the business of prepping for the new year at work, working around the house, and, of course, paying bills, I am trying to keep the windows to my soul open. If you have been reading my last few posts, it is easy to see that I have allowed busyness to get the best of me.

Last night at the BCM I led a discussion of 1 John 4:1-6. We were talking about the essentials of faith. For John, those essentials are acknowledging Jesus as divine and loving others. Peter Rhea Jones deems these two "interrelated convictions" to be "a durable duet" that must exist for a healthy Christian faith (p. 159). I challenged the collegians who were present (a few first semester students all the way up to 4th years) to take their college years to determine the essentials of their faith. For me my essentials vary from time to time. Like John, I divide my essentials into beliefs and practices. One essential that spans both is the incarnational presence of Jesus in my life. This requires belief, but it also required my attention to the presence and activity of God in and around me. It requires me to invoke God's presence into my day when I awaken. It requires me to set reminders during the day to slow down, to pay attention, and usually, to simply be present to God and to others. If I remember to do that life is so much better for me. I have so much less stress, and as a result, do not get nearly as tired or frustrated.

Basically, I am trying to declutter my head so that there is a clear path between God and my soul. So far I'm doing pretty well. Now if I can just get my desk decluttered.....

Home

2011-07-08T08:40:00.000-05:00

It has taken most of this week, but this morning as I emerged from the bedroom in search of coffee and looked out over the mountains I felt a deep, inner sigh, a sigh of deep peace and contentment, the sigh of feeling at home, at rest. Brian McLaren, in his newest book, Naked Spirituality, deems this place the experience of "here," one of the early stages in the recurring spiral of spiritual growth, development, and experience. It is the re-realization of God's constant presence and the ensuing peace that such knowledge brings.
For me the experience of "here" is accompanied by a drive to do something. Much like the disciples of Jesus who experienced a mountaintop experience with him wanted to build an altar to commemorate the event, I want to get to work, prepping sermons or writing devotions or talking to students...but I know that what I need to do is rest in this moment, to allow God to minister to me as he did to Elijah (in the Old Testament story after the prophet had successfully battled the prophets of Baal). I need to stay in this place until the reality of God's abiding presence is firmly rooted in my conscience and until God moves me to the next place, like Elijah, with a deeper understanding of who God is and who I am in God's eyes.
And so I rest...and so I wait...and so I listen.

Ah, the mountains!

2011-07-03T19:18:00.001-05:00

We are in the mountains for a few days of family vacation. I am realizing that I have needed this trip for quite awhile. We had a week of vacation at the beach earlier in the summer. While it was fun, my soul comes alive in the mountains. Everyone has a place our two that rejuvenates them. For me, God lives in the midst of the mountains. By that I mean I feel more connected in the higher elevations, more alive, more relaxed, and more able to recognize my stresses. Like many ENFP's, I don't often notice when I am stressed until I get sick, have crazy aches and pains, lash out at someone, suffer from insomnia, or forget something important. Though I have only begun to notice, all of those have occured this week. The past few mornings my wife has told me that I had talked in my sleep and/or sat bolt upright in the middle of the night, waking her up. I don't remember any of it.
I guess I need this trip.
As I look out of the big glass windows, I feel my soul beginning to stir. The magic of the Smoky Mountains is starting to have it's expected - and needed - effect.
"Awake my soul and sing....."

Sometimes we all need a vacation

2011-05-16T20:31:00.001-05:00

Sometimes it's good to get away for awhile. I usually realize that I need a break long after the effects of exhaustion have set it, and set in deep. There two main ways I know I'm tired. The first is when I have trouble sitting still. I feel I have too much to do to pause, even for a moment, even for a good thing. I hear myself saying, "just a minute" or "let me finish this one thing," way too often. When that ramped up attitude is paired with the second sign - a hyper cynicism - I know i need to step back for awhile and regroup.

It's been a very busy semester. Today I realized just how exhausted I have become. It hit me as i was restlessly sitting in a meeting today, inwardly complaining about every minute detail, thinking, "this is such a waste of time." I was still thinking such thoughts when the director of th camp began his devotional. He rambled a bit, told a story, rambled some more, then read this scripture:

"Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, 'Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.' So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place" (Mark 6:31-32 NIV).

Then he began to say that he believed we were all tired and were in need of deep rest. He hoped that this place, this camp, could provide some restful rejuvenation or each of us. That's when it hit me. I sighed, and realized I have been sighing for months now. I have been bouncing from one ramped up state to the next with a few crashes in between. I have not really rested at all lately. Though my to-do list is not going to shrink, my attention to it can change. I can, and will, determine not to let my lists and activities control me, but that I can and will control them. Now that I have seen my need for rest I am determined to find it, relax in it, and return home in a better state to serve my family, do my job, and cover all of the items piling up on my lists.

Perhaps that's why Nora Jones' line has been so compelling; "come away with me," she pleads. That song has been stuck in my head for months. Now that I am away, I'm going to pause, reflect, pray, meditate, write, and enjoy the quiet.

Conflicted...

2011-05-03T05:22:00.003-05:00

This morning I find my muddy emotions of the past few days a bit less murky - at least I am able to see the disparate divisions of thought in my mind more clearly. The posts, tweets, and blogs of others have helped the mud settle back to the bottom. I stayed up on Sunday night waiting for the "announcement" from our President. All the while I was following Twitter and Facebook, speculating like everyone else what the news would be. After the announcement I was shocked at the unapologetic hatred and elation over Ben Ladin's death being expressed by many of my Christian friends. However, at that time I didn't have words to express my thoughts.

I am proud to be an USAmerican. I too am tired of this ten year war we have been waging against terrorism. I too feared the evil plots and schemes of Ben Ladin and the other leaders of terrorist organizations around the world. I too was horrified when the twin towers were attacked in New York and the Pentagon in Washington DC. Part of me was proud that our special forces were able to "take out" this mastermind of terror, or as our Governor deemed him, this "embodiment of evil" in a surgical strike, much like we have grown to expect from movies like Mission Impossible or like we role play in Halo or Black Opps. With Jim Wallis, I am glad this was not another bombing that might have resulted in the death of many civilians. However.....

As I watched Twitter explode with posts of rejoicing, several thoughts and quotes began swirling in my mind. Over the past few days those thoughts have grown louder, while the patriotic thoughts have quieted:

"Love your enemies; pray for those who persecute you." - Jesus

"I've been tryin' to get down to the heart of the matter, but my will gets weak, and my thoughts seem to scatter, But I think its about forgiveness, forgiveness, even if you don't love me anymore. Ah...these times are so uncertain. There's a yearning undefined and people filled with rage. We all need a little tenderness; how can love survive in such a graceless age. Ah the trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness, they're the very things we kill, I guess...." Don Henley, Heart of the Matter

"Joyfully celebrating the killing of a killer who joyfully celebrated killing carries an irony that I hope will not be lost on us. Are we learning anything, or simply spinning harder in the cycle of violence?" - Brian McLaren

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." - attributed to Martin Luther King, Jr.

Perhaps over the next few days and weeks better theologians than I will suggest a "Christian response" to this that will be easy to understand that will end my befuddlement and give me the clarity to easily explain my thoughts to others.

Perhaps mine is not the best, most thought through response. Perhaps it is not the most patriotic reaction. Perhaps it is not the most manly response. But today,

I choose life.

I choose grace.

I choose forgiveness.

I choose love.

Holy Week Reading

2011-04-25T04:49:00.003-05:00

Each year during Lent my wife puts away her usual novels and reads non-fiction Christian books. She usually chooses something I've recently added to my library and have recommended to her. This year I took a cue from her. For the past several years I have been stockpiling books that I want to read. However, because of the demands of grad school, most of my acquisitions have gone unread. Stacked not so neatly on my desk, on my bedside table, or stuffed into open spaces on my bookshelves at home or at the office, the tomes have been patiently waiting to be picked up and read. Now that my dissertation is done and done I have a bit more time. After reading "for fun" over the past few weeks I finally made it down in my bedside table stack to Anne Rice's two book Christ the Lord series. I started the first one, Out of Egypt, on Wednesday of Holy Week. I finished it on Good Friday and started The Road to Cana.

I love Rice's writing style. Several summers ago I read all of the Vampire Chronicles (When vampire books were cool the last go round). She is a great story teller. It was nice to be able to immerse my imagination into the first century world of Jesus childhood and then young adulthood as he struggled to figure out the birth stories told about him. The books became my devotional reading for the weekend. Between family activities and chores I nestled into the couch or a chair on the porch and traveled back in time to the dusty roads of Nazereth. As they say, "I laughed, I cried."

Yesterday, Easter Sunday, was a perfect day. I read before church and after we got home from dinner (at Chef Mings). I read sitting outside on the porch, feeling the cool breezes and hearing the laughter of my children as I read of Jesus walking the roads between Cana and Nazereth. As I got sleepy I moved to the couch in the den. I wandered with Jesus in the wilderness after his Baptism by his cousin John. As the afternoon turned to evening, I journeyed with Jesus and his disciples to the wedding at Cana. When I read the last lines, with tears in my eyes, I could not wait to begin the next chapter. The only question now is which version, Matthew, Mark, Luke or John?

A simple thing....

2011-04-21T06:05:00.000-05:00

When I openned Karlie's "pack-pack" after school yesterday I found a treasure. Her "best friend" had given her a letter sometime during the school day. Karlie quickly tucked the note securly into her backpack so as not to lose it or have it "collected" by the teacher for an example of her friend's writing ability. When I asked Karlie about the note, she beamed, "It's from my friend Kim! She wrote me a letter! Let me read it for you, "You are my BEST friend Karlie!"
Such a simple note. Such a tiny chore. Such a treasured gift.
I know the power that words of encouragement can play in the lives of those around us. However, most times, even if I think about how important,
special,
talented,
gifted,
loved,
someone is, it is rare that I take the brief seconds to send a text, jot a note, or write a letter. How silly of me. I hope & pray that Karlie's treasured letter will stay in my mind for a long time, urging me to take the time to do such a simple thing that might make someone's day.

Spring has sprung....

2011-03-31T08:05:00.003-05:00

Yesterday afternoon I found myself doing something I have not done in a long time. I was staring out of the window, thinking about - nothing. I had been reading one of the many books-for-pleasure that have piled up on my bedside table, my desk, or my bookshelves over the past six years of school. I paused for a few minutes because I was about to fall asleep mid-sentence. After about five minutes of staring out of the huge plate glass window at church, I noticed that I was looking past or through the most amazing dogwood blossoms. I sat for another few minutes lost in wonder of the beauty that I had not noticed. Then I began to realize that over the past six years there are a lot of things I have placed on the back burner of life in order to stay focused on the added responsibility of school. There are things at work that I have left undone or half done. There are great students that have come and gone that I never took the time to know on a deeper level. There are parts of my kids' lives that I have missed or watched from a disengaged distance. There are seasons, like this one, that I have seen come and go, but have not really noticed them.

The transition to post-graduate student is going to take awhile, but I am determined to rediscover the joys of simple things - like doing nothing. Like letting the beauty of the seasons envelope me with mindless wonder. Like playing simple, silly games with Karlie. Like listening to music with Nick (even if it is rap that I don't understand). Like taking long walks with Natalie and talking about the most recent book she is reading or new story she is writing. Like going on dates with my wife. Like taking out pencil and paper and drawing again. Like posting in this blog on a regular basis.

This is going to be fun!

It doesn't take long to spend the night in New Orleans!

2011-03-15T09:10:00.002-05:00

After a full day of work followed by a late night of meetings and worship I've realized that it doesn't take long to spend the night in New Orleans! I need much more sleep than I got last night. In other words, I'm old.
It is inspiring to work alongside these amazing collegians! Not only are we having fun, we are having great conversations as we work. The church construction teams 4 & 5 are working in is Williams Boulevard Baptist. For the past six years this congregation has hosted the State Police, the National Guard, as well as countless teams who have come to NoLa to do relief work. Many rooms have been converted to storage space. We are reclaiming the space by cleaning out, washing walls, painting and repairing, and doing some light construction (pictures are on facebook). It feels good to be doing some physical labor after sitting at the computer for months working on my dissertation.
It will be fun to see what the rest of the week holds!

Reflecting

2011-03-13T22:48:00.001-05:00

I'm sitting alone in my hotel room in New Orleans after driving all day with 5 students from UGA for a mission trip. We start work tomorrow. The team I'm on will be assisting a church to remodel after hosting the National Guard for the past 5 years. It's horrible to think that there is still so much work left to do here as we are just starting to get reports of the destruction and loss off life in Japan following the Earthquake there last week. I hope they are able to recover more quickly than NoLa; but the devastation appears much worse, if that is possible.
I feel excited about this week, yet I also am feeling a bit out of sorts, a surreal numbness after turning in my dissertation on Thursday. I won't allow myself to get too excited. I still have my defense in a week and a half. It simultaneously feels like a monkey has jumped off my back while another, unknown monkey has climbed aboard. There is excitement about getting to actually spend time with my family each evening and on weekends & hanging out with students without worrying about writing our reading. It's exciting to be able to read for fun again! I need to take some time for reflection this week, to find a mirror to try to catch a glimpse of the new critter that has taken up residence on my shoulders.
Perhaps it is that old feeling that God is up to something, that feeling of expectancy that I am both doing what I need to be doing while believing that God is at work ahead of me, preparing me for the next thing. Whatever it is, it should be an adventure!

Beauty Salon

2010-11-19T10:56:00.003-05:00

Yesterday afternoon on one of my normal "Dad's Taxi" runs I had a cross-cultural experience. Karen had an appointment to get her hair trimmed and decided that Natalie could also use some professional TLC on her blond locks. Karen asked me to bring Karen to the salon to save a bit of time. On the way Natalie and I picked Karlie up from Pre-K. When we got to Bonnie & Clyde's Salon in Watkinsville Karlie was enthralled, looking around at every detail. Karen had not arrived before Natalie was invited to have her hair shampooed. Karlie's interest was peaked as Natalie went around the corner but she was too shy to follow. She wanted to move closer after Natalie was seated in a styling chair. However, when Karen arrived and was escorted back to have her hair washed Karlie could not resist seeing what went on in the next room. She made several trips back and forth between the sinks and the styling chairs until Karen emerged.

"I want to have my hair cut too," Karlie whispered to me. "Only I still want to be able to put it up in a ponytail," she clarified. I laughed. I told her that today only Natalie and mom were getting their hair done. She would have to come back another day for her turn.

At times I felt like an interloper as Karen and the two stylists discussed hairstyles and haircare. Natalie even began to add her two cents. Karlie was a pinball between the two chairs and the one I was occupying off to the side. She was fascinated at all of the attention lavished on her sister and mom. She was learning a culture that I knew I would only observe, that I could never really understand.

Sensing the afternoon slipping away, I told Karen I needed to head home and get supper started. Karlie begged to stay with the girls. As I left the lyrical laughter of my three girls sang to me all the way to my car. That is a sound I will never forget and will treasure always.

18 degrees....

2010-01-04T07:34:00.005-05:00

Its cold this morning, really cold. Here it is 18 degrees. And according to the Today Show, it is only 20 degrees in NYC!

I woke up at 5 am. I know, right! As I rolled over in bed i tweaked my CPAP mask and pulled it apart. I had to get up & turn on a light to get it fixed. By the time I got it all back together, I was wide awake. So I got up.

It was nice to be up alonw this morning. I've been able to complet day 11 of my Bible reading plan on www.youversion.com, do my push-ups & sit-ups from www.hundredpushups.com, read a few blogs that I follow (www.fatcyclist.com), and get my head together for work this week. To be honest, I'm not ready to go back to work today for a few reasons. First, I have loved hanging with my family - especially with Karen. In the busyness of life moments alone can be hard to find. We have had several days of shopping together, eating together, working on projects together and being parents together. I'm afraid the normal grind will steal that from us - as it usually does.

Secondly, I would love to stay home or go to the library to do some writing today. I'm not as far along on my first three chapters of my dissertation as I wanted to be. I'm hoping to carve out a few hours each day to write over the next few weeks to get it done.

I am looking forward to work too. There are some cool things happening with our students. They are catching a renewed vision for leadership and are inspiring a new vision for leading BCM this year in our quest to become community and to model Christian community in all we do. The worship series for this semester has me really excited! More on that later as it develops!
This should be a great year. I hope to finish my degree - or at least get my dissertation done - graduating in December of 2010 or May of 2011.

So its off to the office I go, before others wake up and I get distracted! It's gonna be really cold out!

The light has come!

2009-12-25T09:16:00.003-05:00

Last night at the Christmas Eve service I was surprised by a wave of emotion. I’m a sap who frequently tears-up during movies and at Hallmark commercials, so waves of emotion are not new to me. But this one caught me off guard.

All day I had been looking forward to the evening’s events, to be spent sitting with my children and in-laws while my wife accompanied the hymns and carols on the organ. I had prepared a big pot of potato soup, left simmering in the Crockpot to be enjoyed on the rainy night after the service. Each year I enjoy watching my children become overwhelmed by the various events of the Christmas season. Sometimes the Christmas Eve service is an interruption into the family fun. But this year we had prepared everyone for the afternoon and evening. We traveled home from my mother’s house, cleaned up a bit before Karen’s parents arrived to go with us to the service. It was a busy, but fun afternoon.

I can’t tell time. Clocks still baffle me. They arrive at appointed hours much sooner than does my internal clock. As a result, I am always tardy or downright late. Today was no exception. My wife’s family is always annoyingly prompt. When we finally got to the church, the congregation was already singing the First Noel. Sadly, we had missed my wife’s organ prelude. The music is usually a highpoint for me. But what got me this year was a candle – a simple candle.

Each week of Advent, families come up during the morning service to read appropriate scripture, lead in a responsive reading, and then light the designated candle in the Advent wreath. The wreath was regally seated atop of a sturdy brass stand, elevated enough for everyone in the congregation to see, placed between the podium and the pews. Encircled by evergreens, each candle symbolizes one of the traditional meanings of Christmas – Hope, Love, Joy, and Peace. Each week a different candle is illuminated moving around the circle until all are lighted the Sunday before Christmas. On Christmas Eve the large white Center candle is lighted.

Last night I was having trouble following along in the order of service because Karlie absconded my bulletin to use as a doodle pad. She had systematically worked through all available paper – the envelopes and notepaper stuck into the back of the pews. When she saw the woodcut of the angel printed on the cover of my order of worship, she asked to see it. I never got it back. Thus, I was left to follow the service by reading over Karlie’s pencil as she decorated my upside-down bulletin. Every so often she would motion to one of her new drawings and look to me for a nod and smile of approval.

When the family got up to light the Advent candle I was not really paying attention. They read a few scriptures and somehow I caught a few words that grabbed my attention, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who live in a land of deep darkness – on them a light has shined.” (Isaiah 9:2). As the words echoed in the fog of my consciousness, I fumbled for the program, trying to get Karlie to let me see the responsive reading. She was not interested in sharing. I gave up just as the family was attempting to light the center candle, the Christ candle. I was seated on the isle. I looked down the corridor of pews to the wreath stand. As the tiny flicker touched the wick of the candle, I gasp.

The light had come. Emmanuel, God is with us.

Though the lights throughout the sanctuary were lit, the wreath seemed to illuminate the entire room. My eyes filled with tears as I thought, “It is complete, finished; THIS is the meaning of Christmas. The light has come. In this helpless tiny baby we find the hope of the world. Through him we find the possibility for hope, love, joy, and peace.” Justice now has a new face, the unexpected powerless, dependant visage of a newborn baby. We look to power and might – politicians and armies – to enforce peace, but this baby shows us that peace comes through humility, powerlessness, and reliance upon the Divine to accomplish the mystical reality of peace in unexpected, even impossible ways.

As people around the world pause today – Christmas Day – may many realize the pregnant truth of the moment; that the birth of Jesus, the light of the world, may give birth to hope, love, joy, peace, and justice in our lives and in our world!

Light a candle today and remember - the light has come!

Emmanuel

2009-11-29T11:38:00.000-05:00

Once again my favorite time in the Christian calendar has arrived - Advent, the prelude to Christmas. "Come oh come Emmanuel" we sing, we plead, we pray. Its not so much that we are waiting to place baby Jesus into the Nativity scenes that fill our home, but that we long for Jesus to be more real, more evident, more present in our lives each day. For me, its not so much a focus on "the second coming" or "the last days" longed for in escatological discussions, but the realization that I don't live each moment filled with the reality of Jesus presence and influence in all that I do. This season calls my attention to Jesus presence. Everywhere I look this season I am reminded of Jesus' Kingdom. I am also reminded how I often miss, or worse, ignore the presence of the Kingdom of God in my life. God's kingdom is not relegated to Advent, but it is so much easier to recognize it in the trapping of Advent: the candles, the evergreens, the lights and presents under our Christmas trees.
My hope this year is that I can carry the knowledge of Jesus presence into the new year with the same excitement and anticipation that I have looking forward to Christmas.
Last night Karlie, our three year old, was playing with one of our Nativity sets. Role playing with one of the three kings, in a high pitched voice she announced, "the kingdom is saved!" In itself that is funny, but its also incredibly profound. Advent reminds us that through Jesus life is redeemed. God's Kingdom is here and all is (still) well in light of God's presence. But, his people, those who have seen and accepted his grace & love, must recognize and claim (again) the impact that Jesus can have on our living. We can be the hands and feet of the kingdom. We are the ones who must make the Kingdom a present reality for others. We must live Kingdom community with each other. We must live grace and peace in all of our relationships, thoughts, and actions. But first, we need to be reminded that "Emmanuel, God is with us!"
This Advent, may we each allow God to remind us of the areas of our lives that need to be impacted by the coming of Jesus! May we prepare for his coming! May this Christmas be a time when we each learn to live as more complete citizens of the Kingdom of God!
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

John and Drew update

2009-11-21T21:44:00.002-05:00

For a really cool update on John and Drew go to the link above, on the panel below the mail picture, locate the small picture with "John and Drew" written on it.

The site also features letters from lots of folks who have written about the extent to which they will sacrifice all for the sake of the gospel. Read through the letters. Maybe write your own letter. Give some thought to what you would write if you knew you may never some back from a mission trip....

Lessons learned a million miles away....

2009-09-16T10:00:00.005-05:00

Last night at the UGA BCM worship Gathering we had the opportunity to hear from Drew Hooks and John Younker as they related their summer missions excursion to Lesotho in south Africa. Like many who come back from such experiences, John and Drew shared the ways that their encounter with a culture vastly different from their own impacted the way they now see the world. Perhaps the most important lesson they learned in the village where they lived was that the only way to be missional was to actually model their lives and daily activities after that of Jesus. Like Jesus, they had to be incarnational. The Gospel became more about living and less about following rules or trying to live up to someone else's ideas about holiness, oughtness or "Christian living". Each day they attempted to do the things Jesus would did with everyone they encountered. In so doing, they discovered and experienced freedom and grace in new, vibrant ways. Today both men are trying to apply what they learned thousands of miles away in their "normal" lives as students at UGA. They are finding that it really is not as different as they thought it would be.

Song of Peace

2009-07-05T14:03:00.003-05:00

This weekend I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be both a USAmerican and a Christian. My wife is the organist at a local church. Holiday weekends such as this always bring about conversations about the appropriateness of bringing songs into worship that celebrate our country and our citizenship. Often it seems that such celebrations are more about self-congratulation or nation worship than about worship of the God of the Bible who transcends our country. Don’t get me wrong – I am proud to be an American. I think we have the best functioning government anywhere and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. I do thank God for this country and for those who represent us in our nation's capital. But I often struggle with proper perspective, with keeping my citizenship in God’s Kingdom above my obligations as a US citizen. Though some would disagree, the two citizenships do not always agree in focus, scope, or purpose. I hope that my focus preferences God’s Kingdom, purposes and perspectives where the two disagree.

This weekend I was introduced to Song of Peace, a hymn that captures my current thoughts. There are many different versions of the song, a link to one is above. Listen or read the text – it is profound. What do you think?

Song of Peace

This is my song, O God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine;
this is my home, the country where my heart is;
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine:
but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country's skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine;
but other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine:
O hear my song, thou God of all the nations,
a song of peace for their land and for mine.

This is my song, O God of all the nations,
a prayer that peace transcends in every place;
and yet I pray for my beloved country --
the reassurance of continued grace:
Lord, help us find our one-ness in the Savior,
in spite of differences of age and race.

May truth and freedom come to every nation;
may peace abound where strife has raged so long;
that each may seek to love and build together,
a world united, righting every wrong;
a world united in its love for freedom,
proclaiming peace together in one song.

This is my prayer, O Lord of all earth's kingdoms,
thy kingdom come, on earth, thy will be done;
let Christ be lifted up 'til all shall serve him,
and hearts united, learn to live as one:
O hear my prayer, thou God of all the nations,
myself I give thee -- let thy will be done

As I pray this weekend - and in the coming days - I hope I may gain God's visions for our country and our world.

Give me your eyes O God: Give me your vision for this world.

a non-reactionary life

2009-06-25T10:14:00.001-05:00

This morning I’m pondering if it is possible to live a non-reactionary life. Let me explain: many, if not most, of the people I meet are driven by a particular event that occurred to them in the distant past or they live each day in reaction to external events (activities, people, ideas) instead of being internally motivated. It seems that for most people identity development is prompted by crisis moments. Some people negotiate crises in a healthy way, consciously choosing to adjust their ideology or lifestyle appropriately. Whereas others become bitter or withdraw or are driven by a manic need to somehow achieve revenge or to make up for a perceived loss that occurred as a result of the crisis. Sometimes the result can be positive, but often it is not. In talking to the many collegians and alumni who come my way it seems that some do not even realize the effects crises have on their lives. However, many others are thoughtful, taking the care and time needed to do the deep, often difficult soul-level work needed to choose to have control of who they become.

As a minister and often counselor I have found that many people are resistant to asking questions. Most just want answers without living in and with the tough questions of life. Many times the quick or easy answers are not the most helpful. Even when our faith gives us guidance some inner wrestling needs to take place before we truly understand, appreciate and are able to appropriate the answers gleaned in those rich religious traditions. Most theology did not come about through intellectual study, but through deep soul searching, prayer and wrestling with God. In this vein, Jacob is my hero. For the rest of his life, his night long wrestling match with God left its mark on him. This next year my challenge is to help my students learn to wrestle through the tough issues and not only accept the easy answers others have gained through their own dark nights of the soul!

God of the City (and everything)

2009-04-08T05:40:00.003-05:00

This YouTube interview of the lead singer of Bluetree (click on the title above) about the inspiration of his song, "God of the City", captures a spirit of action and service that I want to embody in my own faith practice and that I want to teach to my students and children. If those of us who claim the mantle, "Christian", would begin living and serving out of our love for Jesus instead of criticizing those whose morality or perspective is not our own, we could truly make a difference! We would also be taken more seriously by those who are currently criticizing us as hypocrites!

Encounter with Jesus

2009-04-03T09:17:00.002-05:00

The jaunt to Samford U with a group of UGA students to see Shane Claiborne was a profound experience. Much of what Shane said can be found in his books & videos. However hearing him weave the stories together on stage while sitting in a chapel filled with excited students provided a spirit-filled milieu to hear the stories anew.

I've copied some of the most inspiring or disturbing thoughts and quotes below. Though these emerge from his experiences, they were all inspired by Shane's life-changing reading of scripture and encounter with Jesus. In his word's meeting Jesus didn't make his screwed up life perfect and whole. Encountering Jesus messed his normal, Christian life up; "I'm still recovering from my conversion experience".

Here are some of the nuggets that i'm struggling through:

Faith is a way of living, not just a way of believing

Each American consumes the equivalent of 500 Ethiopeans per year

Jesus took what was thought to be unclean (dirt and spit) and provided healing (wiped them in someone's blind eyes)! He radically transformed perspectives and worldviews

Mother Theresa said that in the poor and lame, in the least of these, "we see Jesus in his most distressing disguises"

"The best things to do with the best things in life is to give them away"

Ask yourself, "what if Jesus meant the things that he said?" So much of what he said collide with the way we live, with our approach to life. "We need a new imagination of the way to live in the world" do not conform, be transformed, most imprisonments (1 in 8 African Americans) are related to economics

Christians are not normal, are not of the status quo, they "seek to bring about the world that God dreams of"

Jesus sends us into the world as "radical nonconformists representing God's heart"

Jesus loves evil-doers do much that he died for them

There are a lot of things worth dying for, but there is nothing worth killing for"

The question is not what job are you going to have "when you grow up" but "what kind of ____ are you going to be" - we are called to allow Jesus to transform what we are called and created to be/do into his likeness

I struggle through some of these issues I'll try to blog about them.

Heroes

2009-01-08T21:00:00.003-05:00

A few years ago I wrote about one of the saddest days in our family. In the world it may have been a minor event, but for my son the death of Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, was his most tearful yet. I will never forget sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, Nick cradled in my lap, as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, his tears soaking my shirt and mine his hair.
The question that kept running through my mind then and now is what should a dad do when his child's hero and dreams die?
Tonight I have been sitting on the sofa with my son, now a year and a half older, watching him watch his new hero. He has been waiting for this night for over a month - the BCS national championship. As we were watching the pregame show the network did an excellent feature on Tim Tebow. Yes, my son, living in Athens, GA is a fan of the Florida Gators. But more than the Gators, he adores Tim Tebow, known among the faithful UF fans as "Superman". But even though I am a fan of the UGA Bulldogs, it is really hard for me to complain.
In the feature they told of Tebow's humanitarian work - which anyone who has read much about him knows is based on his Christian faith. Tebow uses his fame as a platform to encourage others every chance he gets. But most of all he uses it as a chance to tell of his faith in Jesus Christ. From prisons, to hospitals, to mission trips in third world countries, Tebow gives freely of his time to share what is most important to him, what gives his life meaning.
So I may cringe a bit when I walk by Nick's room and see the blue and orange blaring at me, or when I see his wall of fame of UF memorabilia, or when I go to kiss him goodnight and have to sit on his Gator-head sheets. Kids have to have heroes. Kids will have heroes. As a dad I know that I can't choose his heroes for him. I can try. I can introduce him to good morals, to our families value system. I can make sure he is at church and surrounded by the things that I love and value. I can teach him about everything that is important to me. I can tell him how much I love God and how my faith in Jesus has changed my life. But I can't make him choose the heroes I would choose for him.
Steve Irwin was a fun hero. Our whole family enjoyed watching his various shows on TV - still do. We enjoy visiting zoos and playing with Nick's Sinoloan Milk snake. We all mourned with Nick with Irwin's passing. Tonight as I watched Nick watch Tebow I smiled. The glow of pride on his face as he watched Tebow preach and tell of how he loved touching others and using his fame as a platform to make a difference is a memory I will treasure.
My eyes again filled with tears as I watched him tonight, remembering that tragic day almost two years ago. But these tears are not for a hero lost, but a hero gained. And you know, I think I like this one better than the last. Its a great thing when you can take pride in your kid for making a wise choice on his own!
And I have to say it (for my son)....Go Gators!
Go Tebow!

Its a process

2008-11-19T08:45:00.002-05:00

Some have asked about the conversation I had with Franklin that he quoted in Gathering last night. Here is what I said:

Need leads to Hope

Hope leads to Faith

Faith leads to Love

Love leads to Grace

Grace leads to Peace

We are all in process. Sometimes we are stuck between two points, leaving us feeling confused, out of sorts and without direction. While we fear we are stagnating, we are actually in a very necessary place of growth. We must have those times of discontent before we can move to the solid footing of a new perspective with new insights into ourselves, our experiences, and to see others in a new light. It's a process.

Wow....just when I thought I had done enough....

2008-11-19T08:39:00.001-05:00

Who would have thought that God would use Bono to speak to me? Ok, you're right; anyone who knows me well!

Last fall several students and I crafted a series of worship services around the theme of Justice. Our goal was to bring attention to issues of justice by using the words of scripture to irritate everyone (yes, everyone) so that all would re-examine their own long held perspectives and actions in light of God's word. It was fun. Until it hit home for me.

The sign in front of our building simply says, "Baptist Center". It does not announce that we are solely a ministry to and for college students. Every so often we have folks who have just gotten off of the bus at the station a few blocks away wander in seeking help from a church. At times homeless or the down and out call or drop by as well. I'm not sure when I first met Ken (not his real name). I'm not sure what brought him in. But sometime near the end of our series last fall he came by again.

Whenever folks come by we listen and try to help as we can. We have no funds in our budget for indigent care - all of our monies were donated for and are designated to collegiate ministry. We could get into big trouble using those funds for other things. I believe it's called "misappropriation of funds," or some other legal term. In the past if the story is really convincing I will toss a few bucks to the person, say a prayer with them and walk them out of the building. We have had people notice when our crew comes and goes, and realize that these students are caring and giving. We have had people take advantage of our folks by waiting in the parking lot after each of our events, asking for handouts, rides, or food. Our students usually comply. After calls from local pastors or parents we have had to put a stop such tactics for safety reasons. We have had folks come in asking students for money or using our building as a place to sleep. Again, for safety reasons we have had to quell such behavior.

For some reason Ken seemed different. Or maybe I was at a point where I needed Ken to help me to realize that these justice issues we were raising were for me too. When Ken came by he asked for money for a specific thing. I pulled the few dollars out of my pocket and passed them on. I also gave him a jacket that had been in our lost and found for over a year. I passed along a t-shirt. After we had said goodbye he came back. Leaving he had seen a birthday cake downstairs on a table where we had day old bread an elderly gentleman had brought by from local grocery stores (his ministry was to collect bread and take it to local ministries that could use it to help hungry folks). That morning a decorated birthday cake had come in with the bread. Ken was excited. He told me his daughter's birthday was that day, and he didn't have a gift for her. The cake would make her day. I chuckled. In the past we usually tossed the cakes because our students never took them. They loved the bread, but didn't quite know what to do with a cake! Of course Ken took the cake.

A few weeks later I saw Ken again. He had another need - $8 or so to complete what he had saved for his mom's rent. A week or so later he needed $3.50 for bus fare. I began to get skeptical. I began to feel I had my own special project, or he had found his patsy that would always give.

Some days later Ken was back, a hacking cough that doubled him over when he tried to stand - pneumonia, the doctor said. He had a prescription in hand. He needed antibiotics. I drove him to CVS, paid for the drugs and took him home. A week or so later he was back.

God and I had a talk that day after I had helped with the need du jour. God and I talked that night..and the next morning driving to work. I had a revelation. I don't carry much cash. Like many in our society, I use cards to pay for just about everything. But what I heard God say to me that day was only give him what you have in your pocket. So that's what I do. And the next time he was in I told him that I would help out if I could, but that I wasn't going to the bank for him. If I had the cash in hand I would help out.

Late this spring Ken stopped coming by. He had talked about moving to Atlanta to get a job. I forgot about him...

...Until he walked back in a month or so ago. His mom got sick, was in the hospital, couldn't work, Ken had to help, quit his job in Atlanta, moved in with her to one of the many subsidized housing complexes in town, and came to see me. The weekly or biweekly visits continued. Rent was due, he was a few dollars short. Child support was due in an hour, he had collected what he could, but needed $23.25.

One day he came by and I wasn't there. He saw the picture of my daughter posted on my door. The pic was two and a half years old - the first shot we took in the hospital that I proudly posted on my door for all to see. I had even forgotten it was there. But as a dad of a little girl that he hardly ever gets to see, Ken saw it. He pulled it down, asked our administration assistant for some paper and a pencil, and began to draw. When I arrived a bit later he hid what he was doing, thought better of it and asked if he could take the photo and finish the drawing he had started; "I'll bring it back," he explained. A few days later I arrived to find an expertly drawn picture of my baby girl hanging on my door where the photo had been. The photo was there too, as if for comparison of the skill he had brought to the task.

"Where'd you learn to draw so well?" I asked the next time he came by, not for money, but to make sure I got the picture.

"School," he muttered, shrugging. "I've always been good with art stuff."

A month or so later I took the drawing home. Everyone was in bed so I left it on the counter. A few days later my wife found it as she was culling through one of my many piles of papers around the house. Ken had signed the drawing, so she knew no one in our family had done it. So I told her the story. She had an idea.

"Hey, why don't you find some pictures of all of our kids and see if he will put them into a collage that we can get framed and put on the wall somewhere in the house? And you can pay him to do it..." she explained. I took him some school pictures of all three children yesterday. He called back to see if I could buy some really nice paper or a canvas to do them on. "I want this to be really nice," he urged.

I'll pick the finish product up soon. I can't wait to see it.

But the nagging skepticism is back. It was whispering, but yesterday afternoon was yelling, "quit giving him money! maybe now you can find ways he can work for what you give!" He has been calling weekly, sometimes daily asking for this or that. It's always only a few dollars; "I need to wash my clothes so I can go to my new job tomorrow," "My daughter's birthday is coming on the 20th. I can't afford a gift," etc.

Then last night at worship Franklin talked about the results of worship: "worship that is real results in life change." Very true, I thought; Great sermon!

Then this morning I was trying to clean off the table in the family room, it's covered with books and papers for my research, and I picked up a book I had been glancing through last week. I opened it to read a passage to my son. I've been trying to find away to get him to read some devotional material. Nothing has worked so far, so I thought maybe a rock star would grab his attention. The book is on the move, Bono's message at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, DC in 2006. There are some great lines in the message. My son is a radical little cuss and he prides himself for talking about Democratic social issues at school. I thought this book would give him some fodder for the day.

I quit cleaning and took the book to the sofa, muted the morning news that had been holding my son in a catatonic state as he tried to wake up this morning.

"Hey Nick, listen to what Bono said to Bush at the National Prayer Breakfast a few years ago," I urged as I began reading passages aloud. He shifted but didn't say anything. I think he may have glanced my way a few times. Then I read,

"God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house. God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives. God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war. God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives, and God is with us if we are with them. 'If you remove the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger and speaking wickedness, and if you give yourself to the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then your light will rise in darkness and your gloom will become like midday and the Lord will continually guide you and satisfy your desire in scorched places' [Isaiah 58:9-11)".

He would have to include scripture! Ouch. My rising skepticism fell bruised to the floor of my mind, stunned by the very words that had shocked me last fall.

I flipped a few pages. My eyes caught Bono's words, "It's not a coincidence that in the Scriptures, poverty is mentioned more than 2,100 times. It's not an accident. That's a lot of airtime, 2,100 mentions."

I flipped a few more pages, realizing that my intent of inspiring my son had backfired. I had inspired myself.

"Thus see the the Lord: 'Bring the homeless poor into the house, when you see the naked, cover him, then your light will break out like the dawn and your recovery will speedily spring forth, then your lord will be your rear guard.' The Jewish Scripture says that. Isaiah 58 again."

So I got up, grabbed my Bible, and read all of Isaiah 58. Ouch. I began to think about Ken. What type of life must one live to be forced to beg for money? the other day when he called he told me that work at the car wash had been slow, one maybe two cars a day. He explained, "me and the other guy, we only get $3.50 each when we wash a car. I, I, a man just can't live on that!"

So I will give. If I have money in my pocket I will help when Ken calls. And I will do more. I'm going to get to know Ken. I'm going to see if I can help him find a way he can use his talents to make some money. I'm going to find out what he needs. I'm going to find out if I can help him finish his education. I'm going to offer to teach him some things myself. He has sought me out. I'm going to return the favor. I don't know why Ken found me. I don't know if God brought him my way or if Ken just found a sappy old guy who would empty his pockets for a good story. Who knows. But Ken is before me. And sometimes he is hungry. Sometimes he needs to wash his clothes. Sometimes he needs help paying for housing. Sometimes he is cold. Sometimes he needs to be a better dad. And I can help with those things. And I will. Any way I can. It's the least I can do....

God & The Machine

2008-11-13T10:41:00.001-05:00

Have you noticed that God has been reduced to a marketing tool and many of us ignorantly clamor behind the erroneous rhetoric presented to us as if Jesus himself was producing the advertisements? This past election cycle served as an uncomfortable wake up call for me. I heard many politicians and even more presumed followers of Christ speaking as if there was a clear and obvious slate of candidates that God had chosen, called, and ordained to lead America and the world into the next century! Some even topped off their proclamations by quoting verses from the Biblical letter to the church in Roman (chapter 13). That states that authority is given by God. Ironically, these same prophets now declare that our future as a nation is dire because God's candidates were not elected. How can it be both ways? Perhaps these self-proclaimed prophets were wrong. Its obvious that on at least one of these points they were mistaken: either they supported the wrong candidates or God does not give authority to governmental leaders.
Perhaps the conundrum lies in a loss of perspective as followers of God. Maybe we failed to get to know the candidates sufficiently and allowed The Machine to tell us about them. Perhaps God is concerned about more than one or two issues? Perhaps there could be more than one valid Christian answer or approach to the ills of society?
In the aftermath of the election the pundits have not paused to re-examine there diatribes, but continue with even more rancor and determination. A line from Billy Joel's song, "Only the Good Die Young" keeps playing in my mind: "Your mother never cared for me, but did she ever say a prayer for me?" I wonder if a better, more Christian response could be for ALL Christians to begin to pray for OUR new governmental leaders-elect who are currently making plans and decisions that will affect the future of our country and the future of the world. Many of those elected profess to follow Jesus too. Instead of questioning their allegiances why don't we pray that the decisions they make will be guided by God? Why don't we encourage and support them as they seek to lead from their consciences and out of their convictions? Why can't we show a bit of humility and admit that we may have seen things wrong, that we may not have had the whole picture, that we may have been duped by The Machine?
I know I am going to be proactive. I am praying for unity in our country - among those who follow Jesus and those who don't. I am also praying for our current and future leaders, that their decisions and actions will be guided by wisdom informed by their Christian faith and the Holy Spirit more than by their political advisors or indebtedness to supporters or financiers.
May God bless the USA and the world, and may the USA bless God!
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

What's grace got to do with it?

2008-09-25T12:17:00.001-05:00

I guess I have always examined grace from God’s perspective, kind of intellectually and theologically, and haven’t spent too much time thinking about how I should be a mirror of God’s grace. When making decisions with groups or individuals I have often said, “If I err I always want to err on the side of grace”. Though that is true, I’m not sure I have really thought through what such a sentiment really means in everyday living. Student’s joke with me that I love asking questions, that I don’t give straight answers to anything. I don’t just practice the art of asking annoying questions to students – I also ask them of myself. The current question that nags my consciousness in most situations is, “What does grace have to do with this?” Related, but more personal for me is, “How can I be grace” in a given situation, for a given person, or relationship? I find that asking these questions causes me to be less judgmental, putting other’s needs above my own concerns.

A full life

2008-08-07T19:44:00.003-05:00

Before yesterday I could not have imagined a time when I would attend a student's funeral or memorial service and not shed a tear. Yesterday I did exactly that. No, I don't think my dry eyes were due to me growing old and callous. Nor was it that I was numb from the shock of her death. The reason was simple - Miley Elizabeth Duvall lived all 23 years of her short life "full throttle". Her parents and friends wanted the service to represent Miley, not sappy, tearful thoughts of regret. Almost 40 people participated in the "Celebration of Life" (yes, all from the platform. Yes, the service was long). There was lots of laughter during our time gathered in the new Rabun County High School gymnasium. It was unlike any other service of remembrance of which I have been a part or attended. Actually, it was rather fun - which was just as miley would have wanted it!

Miley lived her life for Jesus. She tried any and everything. She took risks. She traveled. She has friends all over the world. She laughed loud and often. She played hard, both on the court (or track or field), and off. She was goofy, but didn't care. She was gorgeous, but hated prissy. She was laid back, but vivacious. She wrote notes of encouragement to everyone, and got people to try and do things they would have never done otherwise. You knew Smiley Miley liked you if you were hug-tackled in public or grabbed from behind, picked up and spun around until you were dizzy. Miley prayed to "Big Daddy" and lived a life to serve God in so many ways it would be impossible to list them all.

Miley showed all of us who claim to follow Jesus what living a life of joy should look like.

Yesterday I heard so many people, young and old, describe this vivacious 23 year old as their "hero". Until yesterday I only knew part of who Miley Duvall was. Now that I have the full picture I add my name to that list - Miley is my hero too!

Check out the facebook group for some stories about Miley (facebook group)

Summer Missionaries in Peru need prayers

2008-07-08T08:15:00.000-05:00

Lydia Shivar, a UGA BCM student, is in Peru this summer serving on a mission team. This past Saturday she was in an auto accident with her team members and one did not survive the crash. Prayerfully read her account of the accident and request for prayer

surreal moment

2008-06-25T15:18:00.001-05:00

Last week I found myself tossing and turning in bed, wracked with crazy dreams. Perhaps it was the strange place I was staying, the unfamiliar bed, or the fact that I was on alert as one of the chaperones responsible for 7 10 and 11 year old boys. It could have been any or all of those things. Or perhaps it was something a bit stranger, a bit more surreal. The dorm where we were lodged happened to be the same one in which my father lived over 60 years ago when he was a student at Mercer University in Macon. In fact, the room I was in was just next to my father’s old dorm room! In fact, the wall against which my bed rested was also the wall to his old room. I wonder if the walls have memories they were trying to pass along. I wonder if my breath felt oddly familiar to those old corridors, or if my name, being the same as my father’s, invoked smiles from the walls as it echoed through the corridors. My father was famous for his pranks, often invoking the ire of his dorm mates. Was it dad who was disturbing my slumber as he haunted the halls of his alma mater, or was only that were awakened by the irony of a chance housing assignment for a week of children’s camp that kept me tossing all night?

Oh My....

2008-04-23T06:57:00.004-05:00

Most folks know of my admiration for Bono, the frontman for U2, and the way that his Christian faith affects his life. Each time I get the icebreaker question, "Name the person with whom you would like to eat dinner", my answer is immediate - Bono. I ran across the above video and was floored by Bono's direct appeal to justice. I have added this to the front of my, "you gotta see this" list. Take a few minutes and be challenged and inspired to change the world! Click on the title above (Oh My....) to watch my hero.... let me know what you think and, moreover, what you will do about it!

The heart of the matter...

2008-03-12T18:49:00.004-05:00

Home. That word has new meaning for me after our experience on "The Justice Tour" this past weekend. Last night I was back at home with my family. As we were finishing our supper of Gordon's fish fillets and fresh veggies, I noticed our two year olds' top lip was swollen to three times it's normal size. Fearing a life threatening, allergic reaction, I scooped her up, rushed to the van, and drove (our minivan) like a Nascar driver (I can dream, can't I?) to the nearest hospital. Since we were already in the hospital's computer system, we were processed quickly. Our valid insurance meant that I didn't have to worry about the treatment options or diagnosis; we were covered. Throughout the ordeal I was treated with the respect a white, middle class, well-spoken, middle aged, adult male is given. I didn't have to worry about understanding the medical personnel or them understanding me. I didn't have to worry about blatant or implied racism. As i wandered the halls of the emergency area to keep my daughter entertained, no one told me to go back to the exam room. It was all rather pleasant. I didn't even have to cover my co-pay, "we'll just bill you if anything is due," I was told with a smile. We were back home within four hours of leaving for the hospital, returning to our 5 bedroom, 5.5 bath home without having to worry about having light or heat inside, as all of our utility bills are paid.

Home has a new meaning for me. As I drifted off to sleep in my bed, the green light on our home alarm system let me know that we were safe from intruders and fire. Home - my children and wife were all tucked into bed, nightlights keeping the boogie man away (as well as those who buy and sell children the age of my three to be used as sex objects). Home - where we thank God for our food and a good night's sleep and our wonderful family that includes a mom and a dad. As I drifted into a restful slumber I didn't venture a thought for those who were sleeping in shelters, or in the cold, dark night, or in the terrifying homes of their "owners" (who use their tiny bodies as toys or sell them to other men, hungry with perverted desire).

As I woke up this morning I knew I could call into work and tell them I'd be taking the day off to spend with my daughter without fear of losing that job. I take so much for granted in my comfortable life! As the day has gone on I have tried to process my experiences in Atlanta and Athens this past weekend in the attempt to make them "learning experiences" instead of just experiences devoid of any changes in my life. Driving to church tonight I was talking with my son about how most of the world does not have the same concept of "normal" that we have. I told him that for most people in the world our home would be viewed as a mansion and our possessions as luxuries. We talked a bit about how unfair it was that US Americans consume so much of the world's goods and resources, leaving many people in the world without enough to survive. I then asked him what he thought we should do about it as a family. He said,

"What do you mean, Dad? I don't want to do anything if it would mean that I'd have to change what I have. I like my life just like it is!"

And that is the heart of the matter, isn't it? That statement sums up what most of us in the United States think and feel. "from the mouths of babes" - he nailed it - maybe we should print that on our mission trip t-shirts or those we wear down to our volunteer one day a month at the homeless shelter. Oh, we'll give a dollar here and there. We'll buy gifts for an "angel child" at Christmas or stuff a shoe box with trinkets that we drop off at a church to be loaded onto a ship and taken half way around the world. We'll marvel at the pictures when we see them on publicity flyers the following year. But then we are done; we are satisfied. We then return to our homes, to our comfortable lives without a second thought for those who are home-less, comfort-less. And as I write this tonight I'm tempted to return to ignorance. It sure is easier. But now I not only have disturbing pictures in my head, I have names that go with those images. Not only do I have names to go with the images, I have the stories of the some of those I have met. Images, names, and stories that represent people whose "normal" is very different than my own.

But most of all what changes everything for me is that I've been hearing slight echoes coming from the recesses of my mind. The sounds are growing stronger all the time. I can make out words, distant calls in a language I used to know. My soul seems drawn to the words, though my consciousness tries to ignore them. In my waking hours I try to push the words down, attempting to quiet the building cacophony that is flooding the back of my mind. It’s getting harder to ignore, harder to mute, harder to silence. The words join with the images, with the names, with the stories, making a living, breathing, screaming, crying, photo gallery that disturbs my conscience, invades my habits, and irritates my normal, comfortable life.

As I turn my attention toward the sounds, the squelch dims. Beneath the din, I hear clearly a voice that is at once disturbing, yet comforting. I hear a voice crying beneath, around, through, and on behalf of the images, names, and stories. I hear a call I cannot deny; I cannot ignore it any longer:

It calls for justice.

It pleads for mercy.

It cries for me to help those who cannot help themselves.

It begs for me to do what I can do.

But that’s not all – the voice demands that I join the chorus, that I too join the din, that I lend my weak meager utterances to the choir. And maybe then one more person will not be able to push aside the noise, the images, that names, the stories. Can you hear the voice? It's growing louder, its screaming now:

The LORD works righteousness and justice for all the oppressed (Ps 103:6).

The righteous care about justice for the poor, but the wicked have no such concern (Pr 29:7).

Surely the arm of the LORD is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear. But your iniquities have separated you from your God; your sins have hidden his face from you, so that he will not hear. For your hands are stained with blood, your fingers with guilt. Your lips have spoken lies, and your tongue mutters wicked things. No one calls for justice; no one pleads his case with integrity. They rely on empty arguments and speak lies; they conceive trouble and give birth to evil. The way of peace they do not know; there is no justice in their paths. They have turned them into crooked roads; no one who walks in them will know peace. So justice is far from us, and righteousness does not reach us. We look for light, but all is darkness; for brightness, but we walk in deep shadows (Is 59:1-4; 8-9).

O house of David, this is what the LORD says: "Administer justice every morning; rescue from the hand of his oppressor the one who has been robbed, or my wrath will break out and burn like fire because of the evil you have done— burn with no one to quench it” (Jer 21:12).

The people of the land practice extortion and commit robbery; they oppress the poor and needy and mistreat the alien, denying them justice (Ez 22:29).

They trample on the heads of the poor as upon the dust of the ground and deny justice to the oppressed. Father and son use the same girl and so profane my holy name (Amos 2:7).

“So I will come near to you for judgment. I will be quick to testify against sorcerers, adulterers and perjurers, against those who defraud laborers of their wages, who oppress the widows and the fatherless, and deprive aliens of justice, but do not fear me,” says the LORD Almighty (Mal 3:5)!

Woe to you Pharisees, because you give God a tenth of your mint, rue and all other kinds of garden herbs, but you neglect justice and the love of God. You should have practiced the latter without leaving the former undone (Luke 11:42).

Oh God, keep the images-names-stories and Your words ever before me, locked in my vision, to remind me of those “others” who have needs. God, help me to see the “stuff” I don't need, so I can make life-changes in order to alleviate some suffering, pain, and injustice in my world. Let me join the chorus; let me shout with you:

But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream! (Amos 5:24)

Yes, Lord, Home has new meaning for me - I can't plead ignorance anymore; I now understand that MY inaction, MY inattention, and MY normal-American greed, results in others (all who have images, names, and stories) not having what they need to survive. Yes, Lord, I am depriving men, women and children - some of whom I have met - of homes, of food, of clothing, of...life. My actions and inactions are also keeping some of these same men, women and children, from knowing and loving you. If it is possible, forgive me Lord. If it is possible, forgive US Lord. Annoy us with your words, with your cries, with your pleads to care for those who cannot care for themselves because of our action and inaction!

Face to face with shocking reality

2008-03-10T22:07:00.003-05:00

"Do you know any homeless people?, Jonathan asked, taking a break from holding my hands and running up my legs, stomach, and chest before kicking his feet over his head, flipping backwards, landing solidly back on his feet. "Why, yes I do! I just talked to them yesterday!"

This week I have been reminded of the simple, yet profound truth that when we meet someone and share our life with theirs, we change: our perspectives change, our stereotypes change, and our ideas about truth and reality change! People want to be known. People want to be needed. The combination of those two ideas creates a perfect relationship - we can give of ourselves in time and resources to help those who need to be loved and touched.

Before this week I could not have said that I know a homeless person, yet I have stepped over or around so many of them. No, I'm not perfect. Yesterday, I still felt those same feelings of fear when I had the opportunity to meet someone in at Olympic Park whom I assumed was homeless. However, when we turned the corner I saw two guys we had met the day before. We had spent time with these guys, heard their stories, and connected on some mystical level. It was really a joy to see then and to hear the progress they had made that day in their quests towards getting "out of the system," out of the shelters, and back on their feet. Several in our group went to see these two guys this morning after we learned where they were going to be. Lives touching lives through the love of Jesus - that is the best answer I have found to most of the justice problems we saw this weekend.

"Everyone has a name: everyone has a story", remarked one of our students after a day of getting to know guests at one of the social agencies with which we worked. That says it all. For our group they are not "homeless" anymore - they are Samuel, John, Horis, Carlos, and many others - men, women and children - all who have names and stories!

For what do I pray?

2008-03-09T22:22:00.001-05:00

Our last study of the day, part 4 in "Get Uncomfortable", a Threads study by Todd Phillips, raises an interesting question about the focus and purpose of our faith as evidenced in our prayers. Phillips writes that we should pray specific, larger-than-life prayers that call on God to be God and do the impossible. "You hate injustice and oppression and the abuse of power. So these are my prayers: I ask You-because I believe in who You are and what You can do-save everyone. Stop the suffering. Lead us out to do the things that You have prepared for us to do. God, here I am, send me. Change the world through me and others like me" (p. 67). He goes on to ask, "Are we praying God-sized prayers, or are we just asking God to fix the things in our lives that make us uncomfortable? Have we lost that sense of wonder and certainty about God that a 4-year-old might have? Are we praying for big things that only God can do" (p. 67)?

We are learning to recapture this sense of wonder in what God can do - even through our small efforts God can use our tiny offerings to do amazing things FOR others and IN us! It is so fun to watch these students learn the ways God wants to work and will work through and in us if we but take a tiny, prayerful step towards justice and social action.

Spring Break '08

2008-03-09T20:51:00.005-05:00

I knew almost nothing about the problems of human trafficking - until I watched the movie,"Trade" with a rag tag group of students and interested community folk; now I'm horrified, angered, and want justice
I was numbed by the horrors of children forced or coerced into prostitution in Atlanta - until I learned many were the age of my pre-teen daughter, now my emotions are raw with anger and deep sadness
I was overwhelmed by the problems of the "homeless" in Atlanta and Athens - until I met John, David, and so many others, who I discovered are very much like me, save they have to fight to live each day
I knew Atlanta was undergoing economic expansion by rejuvenating many downtown areas - now I know that many of the changes are systematically drive out those who suffer under conditions of poverty, creating many more people who must now live on the streets
I was angered by the many inner city children who commit crimes - now I understand they are "created" by the cycle of poverty into which they were born
I thought poverty was created by "others" - now I know that I too am to blame by my actions and inactions
I thought that all efforts to alleviate poverty and injustice were the same - now I know that some ministries put a band aid on symptoms while hurting the spirits of those that need to be treated humanely
I was taught that the Bible was primarily "God's love letter to me - now I know that the Bible cries out for justice for the "least of these" more than 2200 times, yet this is the subject taught, written about and spoken of the least in most circles of Christians
I came to Atlanta with a small band of students who love God - I'm leaving Atlanta with a small group of students who love God and are passionate about justice

Where is the justice....

2008-03-08T00:04:00.003-05:00

I am in Atlanta for a few days with a group of students. UGA is out next week for Spring Break. Many students headed to the beach, to New York, home, or some other spot to relax, work, or chill from school. We came to Atlanta seeking to see and understand some of the injustice in the world. Tonight we joined a group of fellow seekers to view the movie "Trade." I don't even know how to describe the movie. As we were told by an off duty police officer who was guarding the parking lot while we watched the movie: "that's a serious movie - not a popcorn movie - it's really heavy!" Here's the synopsis from Rotten Tomatoes (http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/trade/#synopsis):

At once soft-hearted and hard-edged, TRADE provides a compassionate look at an ugly world. In Mexico City, men kidnap13-year-old Adriana (Paulina Gaitan) with the intent of selling her virginity to the highest bidder. Young Polish beauty Veronica (Alicja Bachleda) is held captive by the same men, and they threaten her young son across the ocean. As the criminals mistreat their victims, Veronica is Adriana's only solace as she is taken farther and farther away from home. Meanwhile, Adriana's older brother, Jorge (Cesar Ramos), begins to track his sister across the Mexican border into Texas and through the United States. On his mission, he runs into a Texas cop named Ray (Kevin Kline) who agrees to help him without ever really saying why. TRADE isn't escapist fare: it's a socially conscious film that doesn't flinch from the most painful of details about the sex trade. There's rape, pedophilia, and suicide, and the film doesn't look away or glance over the horrors. This is German director Marco Kreuzpainter's first film on these shores, but he works like an assured veteran. After working for decades in the film industry, Kline is often most highly praised for his work in comedies such as DAVE and A FISH CALLED WANDA, but he's quite adept in this serious drama. Young actors Ramos and Gaitan are making their major feature debut with TRADE, but they both communicate the fear and frustration of their characters with remarkable skill.

The movie was truly disturbing. At times I could not even watch.... Our goal and prayer this weekend is that we will be disturbed - disturbed out of our middle class, Christian-bubble of comfort to actually see the issues and people facing injustice all around us. As one of our students said tonight as we talked after the film, "it's much too easy for us to put in our ear buds, turn on our iPod to the latest worship music, and walk to our next class without ever noticing the people on the way." I'd add to that; often we, as Christians, become so busy with "good" activities in our churches and small groups that we don't have time to notice those around us that are facing issues of injustice - some in our very neighborhoods and schools. Child abuse is rampant - among "good Christian people" too. The sex trade is supported by people just like our neighbors. And we don't see any of it. We are blinded by our own needs, our own lives, our own Churches, out own children, our own worries.

"God, disturb me this week. Show me the injustice in my small piece of the world. Help me to see with your eyes.... I pray you will be disturbed this week too. It's only when our feathers are ruffled that we will notice there are millions who spend their lives in discomfort as they live with the injustices we ignore through our busyness".

Do nothing but nothing

2008-02-15T06:31:00.000-05:00

Maybe I’m a heretic, maybe I stray too far from home, maybe my actions and inactions betray a deep lack of faith – or maybe not….

I’m learning – slowly – to read between the lines, to understand and appreciate the empty spaces. I’m learning to allow my faith to be organic; listening to my inner voice, my breath, my heartbeat and hearing God through, beyond, beneath, and in my very core. Often I demand too much of myself. Forcing habits and disciplines that are not my own, that only serve to stymie my growth, make my steps stumble and pause from the path that I am walking. Sure, there are times when I need to try new disciplines, to force myself to read, pray, meditate, to practice the “habits of the heart.” But as I look back, it is in the times of no discipline, the moments of “laziness”, the times when I just can’t open the Bible and read, the times when prayers seem so far from my lips, that I find I have grown the most. I’m just coming out of such a time. I feel closer to God – and self – than I ever have. I also feel more alive, more attune to everything and everyone around me. I feel that I breathe the very breath of God and that all of my activity and inactivity is exactly what I should be doing.

I wonder if maybe this is really Sabbath? The forced Sunday moments of doing nothing usually only make me bored (unless I really need a nap). However, when I do need Sabbath I am starting to recognize it and welcome it. I am beginning to allow myself moments, days, weeks, months to take it.

Heretical? I don’t think so. I need these periods of inactivity so that what I “know” can become a part of me, soak into my every fiber, merging with my DNA, living in me.

Wandering too far away from home? Perhaps. But growth for me usually only happens when I am willing to be stretched, pushed, pulled, dragged, or when I get hopelessly lost from where I think I need to be. It is only then that I discover I am exactly where I am supposed to be! Maybe I was lost when I thought I knew exactly where I was and where I was going?

I wonder if most of Christendom is not suffering from a similar lost-ness. I wonder if sometimes our confidence and busyness keep us from going where God wants to take us. I wonder of our disciplines have become bad habits that keep us trapped in an unhealthy spiritual place, rooting us in who we are, not letting us become who God wants us to be?

Lack of faith? Absolutely not. Perhaps my lack of confidence in myself only serves to force me to trust God in the moments when I have no clue. Yes, it is uncomfortable not knowing what is going on in my “spiritual life”, my “walk with God”. It may be cliché, but, I am slowly coming to realize that I don’t need to know where I am going as long as I know who is taking me there. As Americans we want to know the answers, we want to know the time, we want to know the destination, we want to know the facts; we just want to know! I fear that is the same for Americans who are Christians. However, often we don’t know, can’t know, and shouldn’t know – and that should be OK. Why do we have to have – or make up – answers for things that only God can know? Why can’t we be comfortable in mystery? Why can’t we allow ourselves and others to marinate in what God is doing in our lives without filling it with more, more, more, more? Sometimes I think we know too much to be able to use what we have learned.

My son was diagnosed with Mono last week. This week he is reluctantly resting. The problem is, he doesn’t feel bad. After a nap, or an extended stay on the sofa he is ready to get up and do something. But he can’t. We make him rest. He asked the doctor what he could do to get well. He wanted to know what pill he could take that would make him better. She told him he could do nothing to get well. She said, “Just rest. Rest when you feel you need it. Rest when you feel like you could play. For a whole month do nothing but nothing.”

Wow.

There are times that my busyness, my work for God, my involvement in “good things”, makes me spiritually sick. There are times when I need to “do nothing but nothing” and allow God to “do” in me – to heal me, to teach me, to work in me, to “become” in my very soul, to take me where God knows I should be going, to change my direction, to move me in quantum leaps beyond where my busyness has kept me.

So don’t be surprised if I tell you to “quit” sometime soon. It’s good advice. Quit! Stop! Do “nothing but nothing”! Allow God to do the work in you while you wait as long as it takes. Through the “nothing”, you may find what you were really looking for all along!

OMG, that's me!

2008-01-08T21:42:00.001-05:00

Today was one of the toughest I've had as a father. Our baby daughter, almost 2, underwent some minor dental surgery this morning. I gladly accepted the parental role of taking her to the dentist and caring for her afterwards. It was wonderful holding her before and after the procedure. However, I didn't quite understand what the doctor meant by "she will be a bit emotional for a little while this afternoon as the medicines work out of her system". At one point my precious little baby was thrashing around as I calmly, but firmly tried to restrain her. Despite my best efforts she managed to break open the cauterized site under her lip, filling her mouth with blood. She was so violent that I couldn't even blot her lips, cheeks, hands, shirt, or the spots on my clothing or the couch. karlie is the calmest, most good natured kid I've ever been around! And she was acting like an out of control demon!
Karlie is her daddies little girl. There has been a special attachment between us since I carried her from the delivery room to the nursery when she was born. Between the measurements and procedures that followed Karlie would begin to get unsettled. But I was able to calm her down by holding one of her tiny hands in mine and whispering sweet words in her dainty ear. She responded almost immediately, quieting her cries and relaxing her body. The same practice has worked, without fail, ever since. But not today. Today nothing worked. Gentleness? Didn't work. Holding her tight so she couldn't thrash about? Nope, she became livid, actually shaking with fury! Letting her go, so she had freedom and independence to calm herself? That was the worse choice of all! As I scooped her up to try again I had to admit that I could not do this. I prayed for her (and myself) again, this time out of desperation. And as I regained control of myself, I had a humbling thought. Nate, this is you and God right now. You are fighting God as God tries to hold you and guide you, keeping you from hurting yourself. But karlie is on drugs, but what's my excuse? My answer is humbling, I'm pretty rebellious. No, I'm not running around living a sketchy double life behind everyone's back. But I do push against the boundaries just a bit. I do find myself putting my foot down with God, saying, "No, I am doing it my way!"
So I snuggled my baby girl a bit more gently, and sang soft, sweet tunes in her ear for as long as it took for the meds to wear off, hoping God is doing the same with me - holding me close while I attempt to push away, until my strength is exhausted and I fall gently, safely back into God's arms, into God's will.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Questioning my lifestyle

2007-07-02T13:27:00.001-05:00

I’ve been doing lot’s of thinking lately. Reading Shane Claiborne’s book, The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical, has made me rather uncomfortable with my status quo, American-Christian, lifestyle. If you like your life and are comfortable pursuing the American dream, don’t read this book! It will screw you up, give you sleepless nights, and make you wish for less, instead of more!

Each month when I pay bills I am amazed at both how much is coming into our bank account and how much is going out. As I crank my van each morning – a necessity considering the proximity of our home to work – I wonder if the choice to buy it on credit was the proper use of our God-given money. Yes, we both work hard for what we receive, but could we do with less in order to give more to others? And then I run across websites like this one - http://junkycarclub.com/ - and my mind takes the train of thought even further down the tracks. We are just finishing a huge (and expensive) addition/renovation project at home. Was this a wise choice? Could we not have downsized instead of super-sized our living space? To do so would have given us less to worry about caring for and paying for. We would have had more time together due to the smaller space, and less space to spread out and hide from one another. We would have had more money to help others. But then I argue with myself, saying that now we have more space to entertain, to invite friends and neighbors into our home and lives. Why, we could even start a house church in our great room! Maybe so, but will we do that?

I’m sure I will be thinking about these things for quite a while now. I hope you will join me in considering how much is too much for Christians to consume, own, and pursue. I hope we will find the courage to change our lifestyles and practices to better reflect the faith we say we practice!

One Year

2007-02-23T08:46:00.000-05:00

It's hard to believe that Karlie entered the world one year ago. The past two years have been a blur - of course I credit much of that to the exponential annual increases in the speed in which time passes for me. Each year time seems to speed up. I can not imagine things going any faster than they have passed this year. Karlie is thriving - but is rather spoiled. Between my in-laws, the perfect stereotypical good grandparents to Karlie, and me and Karen, almost the age of normal grandparents, the baby is rather spoiled. She is not walking yet, nor is she trying to stand by herself. Whenever she wants something somebody gets it for her or takes her to where the item is within her reach. No one wants to hear her cry. Now we are having to backtrack to try to teach her patience. Fun Days are sure to be [full speed] ahead!

Viva en Espana!

2006-09-21T08:46:00.000-05:00

One of my students is studying abroad in Spain this semester. You can follow Mallory's adventures here: Viva en Espana!.

When dreams and heroes die....

2006-09-08T18:35:00.000-05:00

Monday was a shocking day for our family. The whole house was awakened from our holiday sleep when my wife turned on the news and saw the leading story on the Today Show - The Croc Hunter, Steve Irwin had died. Her initial reaction was to shout, "Oh No! Nick, Nick! Oh No!" As I struggled to consciousness, my only thought was, "something must have happened to Steve."

Irwin has been more to our family than just one of the crazys on the discovery channel that causes audiences to gasp at his antics; he has been a member of our household. For our eight year old son Nick, Steve is much more than a hero. Like most boys, his room is covered with evidence of his passions. In this case it's posters of snakes, empty turtle shells, books about anything science stacked in every corner, and his two prized possessions - a Sinoloan Milk Snake and a Leopard Gecko. Since he was 4 Nick's dream (and educational plan) has been to travel with me to Australia with the sole purpose of going to the Australia Zoo, meeting Irwin and asking him, "will you teach me how to catch venomous snakes?" Nick had to ask his kindergarten teacher how to spell "Herpetologist" when drawing a self portrait and biographical poster to share with the class. He was mortified when she didn't even know what a herpetologist was, much less how to spell it. Nick longed for the day when he could work at the Australia Zoo and maybe date and marry Bindi, Irwin's 8 year old daughter. Nick wanted to be just like Steve. Not for the same reason most kids liked the animal activist, but because he loves animals, especially reptiles.

As I joined he and Karen in front of the television Monday morning, Nick looked over at me and muttered in monotone, "I always thought I'd get to shake his hand." I cried.

Later that morning my mom sent an email to my blackberry expressing her concern for Nick's feelings. I let him read it. When he handed the phone back to me he reached for a hug. I sat down on the kitchen floor with him cradled in my lap. We both sobbed for a long time. I managed to whisper, "it's hard when dreams and heroes die, isn't it?" He nodded and sobbed a bit louder.

Throughout the week Nick's dreams have held fast. He still wants to travel with me to Australia. He still wants to visit the zoo. He still wants to Intern there and learn how to catch venomous snakes - but now he wants to be taught by Wes (Steve's best mate), Robert Irwin (Steve's Dad), and pall around with Bindi (Steve's daughter). He wants to make sure that Steve's dreams become realities - whatever it takes.

For Nick, and for my family, Steve lives! He lives in my son who proudly dons his official Crocodile Hunter khaki shirt (straight from the Australia Zoo via the magic of Internet online ordering!) grabs a rubber snake or stuffed gator, and becomes Irwin, reenacting one of the programs he has seen on the Discovery Channel or Animal Planet or exploring the "wild outback" behind our suburban home.

When I told Nick a memorial service was to be held in Australia in the next few days he asked if we had time to buy plane tickets. I better start planning and saving for a trip in a few years. I don't think Nick will let me forget about it.

humility is a hard lesson to learn....

2006-08-27T16:32:00.000-05:00

I’ve decided that you can teach old dogs new tricks, but it sure does take a lot longer! This summer I did a lot of reading about leadership. One of my projects was to compare leadership writings in the secular world with that written from a Christian perspective. For the most part there were no distinct differences, but some of the authors pointed out significant differences in the motivation and practice of leadership for those who follow Jesus. In all of the reading, the most surprising concept discussed with humility. As I worked through the various leadership models and descriptions (from Collin’s Good to Great to Julian’s God is my CEO) I became convinced that I need to learn to practice humility in some new ways and to new depths. I began to pray about it as well as seek ways that I could put other’s needs ahead of my own, not insist on my way of doing things, and learn to be a better follower in order to become a better leader. Toward the end of the summer I thought I had the concept down pretty well. Until I did the second most stupid thing I’ve ever done – I drove my van, with my carbon fiber bike securely affixed on top, under a fast food drive through. I know. One should remember that one has a very expensive bike atop of one’s car! After beating my self up about it for a week or so, I felt it had been a heard lesson to learn – yes, even I can be forgetful, get distracted and cause major, unintentional damage to stuff in my care. Ironically just the night before my son and I had been having that exact discussion as we were cleaning his room and tossing broken toys into the trash can. Humility, yes, I now had it.

Or so I thought. Exactly 10 days after my thoughtless drive under, I picked the bike up from the shop, paid the $250.00 repair bill, and confidently and proudly put the bike atop of my van for my careful drive home. I still had a few stops to make before I returned to the house. All the way I kept looking ahead for low branches across the road or overhanging wires – anything that may be an obstacle! While driving to pick up my daughter from daycare I dreamed of the rides I would take over the weekend – where I would go, which fun hills I would ride and who I would recruit to go with me. When I pulled into the parking lot of the daycare center I was in a hurry to pick up my daughter so I could get in an afternoon/early evening ride. Imagine my surprise when I heard a loud boom as I pulled under the overhang covering the front doors of the center. It took a second to realize what I had done. I took even longer for the realization to sink in…. As I walked back to my bike, suspended by the seat that pierced the stucco, swinging back and forth, back and forth, my only thought was, “YOU IDIOT!” For two days that thought bounced around in my head. It was a week before I could bring myself to tell my friends at the bike shop.

Humility, wow, what a hard lesson to learn – I have realized that this is not something to quickly read about and then apply to my life. Having a humble attitude and approach to life is based in the understanding that “I can’t do it by myself” and “I’m not really self-sufficient.” It is accompanied by the awareness that at any moment I can screw things up royally, and remembering when I have done so!

I’m still learning humility. My friends at the bike shop have offered to sell me a new bike at their cost. I’m learning that humility works both ways. It’s hard to accept such pure grace when I certainly don’t deserve it.

It’s good to know I can still learn – even though I feel like an old dog some days…. This will be a lesson I keep on learning all the days of my life.

She....

2006-05-09T12:07:00.000-05:00

"She doesn't smile like that for anyone else," my wife said as we sat together looking down at our 2+ month old last night. Karlie was looking at me with an open-mouthed smile. Today each time I glance in her direction, the grin appears - almost a laugh. She moves from boredom or tears to a bright, full-faced smile instantly.

Our older daughter Natalie (in the picture with one of my students), now nine, went shopping with her mom last night to buy her first bras. Ouch. It seems only yesterday that she was laying in my lap, grinning at me each time I looked down into her ice blue eyes. Now those eyes are set in the face of an emerging woman. Where did the time go? Was I faithful to teach her the things she needs to know entering the scary world of adolescence? Am I talking to her enough? Am I giving enough of my time to her? I know my grip and influence on her is waning, and that of her friends is growing stronger.

My wife, still the most beautiful woman in the world, is in her early 40's. She still amazes and wows me. I pray that both Natalie and Karlie are seeking to emulate her, to be the kind of confident, secure woman their mom has become!

During this week leading to Mother's Day I pray we will all seek to put smiles on the faces of the women in our lives - because we can. We each can give them the gifts of our selves, of our admiration. No one else can offer what we can give. I pray I will always be cognizant of speaking my emotions to all of the women in my life. I've gotta run call my mom....

Influencing grace...

2006-04-27T09:58:00.000-05:00

Luke 5:17-26 has always been one of my favorite stories. It has also always been rather disturbing to me, because of it challenges my neatly packed theological understandings. Joe Graham says these guys must have been college students because there actions here are just plain nuts. You remember the story...Four friends grab their paralyzed bud, fight through the gatherd throngs, tear through someone's roof, and lower the guy to Jesus! That's nuts-plain and simple. And because of the friend's faith, Jesus heals the man. That too is nuts. The friend didn't ask for grace & neither did the friends. Jesus knew what was wanted and needed-and he have it feely, much to the dismay of the theological scholars in the house (and those in our day as well).
This story brings up some questions for me today as I work with students who are just as nuts as these friends were nuts. Who do you know that needs to meet Jesus? They may be sick, lonely, depressed, crazy, "lost" or any other number of categories. I know of a bunch where I am located. I wish I could so motivate groups of students to be friends like these! Most in my realm seem to be afraid of their peers with needs. I don't know if it makes them feel mortal to have friends like this or if it challenges their faith. All I know is that most friends don't surround the needy in their midst with love, care, determination and, most of all, Jesus! 3 pray they catch this vision!
I pray they will are the obstacles in the way and not let those keep them from the task at hand, but will be nuts and see the obstacles as a challenge that faith can help them overcome!
The problem I have with this passage is theological- how can my faith assist God's grace! I don't know. It flies in the faith of all I think I know about the way God works! This breaks my rules! Such behavior on Gods part is inexplicable. But God's graces how God wants, when God wants, and for the reasons God wants. And that's OK with me, because God is God and grace is God's to do with as God will. Thankfully it is not up to me. My only role-your only role-is surrounding my friends and bringing them to Jesus! Who knows when we become the body of Christ? Who knows the effect that we, as the body of Christ will affect those around us? Only God knows.
So let's go nuts! Let's bring our friends to Jesus!
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

My father’s shoes….

2006-02-25T19:47:00.000-05:00

It’s really odd, the things we remember. As I get older, it seems I remember more and more random things!

It was a normal Saturday evening: Our family was nestled together in our small den to watch television. Dad entered the room carrying his shoeshine kit and big, black leather wingtips. We were all too engrossed in the magic of black and white images that danced on the screen before our eyes to notice what he was doing. Before long the whole room was filled with that wonderful smell of shoe wax, as dad carefully and expertly applied the paste, rubbed it into the well-worn leather, and buffed it to a glassy sheen. When he finished his labor he placed the shoes beside his chair and reclined.

During the next commercial break our family scattered – some to one bathroom or another, some to the kitchen for snacks, some to stretch their legs. One by one we returned to our claimed spots – some on the sofa, a few others on the floor on pillows, the side chair held mom, and dad was still in his recliner. As I walked by his chair I couldn’t resist – I slipped my small, narrow feet into those big, freshly polished shoes. Before long, my siblings’ chuckles became guffaws as I tried my best to walk around the furniture and reclining bodies. Of course, I stumbled and tripped attempting to place one over-laden foot in front of the other. The more my brother and sisters laughed the more determined I became. It wasn’t long before I became frustrated, realizing that I couldn’t do it – I couldn’t walk in dad’s shoes. Ready to give up in discouragement I glanced back at dad. I’ll never forget what I saw. Dad was smiling. Not only his mouth, but his whole face was smiling – even his eyes. Dad had fun filled, laughing eyes – “full of mischief,” my mom used to say.

I knew the expression on his face was not the result of amusement, but of pride. For some odd reason he was proud of me for trying to walk in his huge shoes, an impossible task for such small feet in such large shoes.

Later that week I asked my dad to teach me how to shine my shoes. It took a few months before I could polish them into a shine. Until then dad would “help me” finish the job, deftly fixing my smudges and dull spots with a quick buff with a brush or cloth. He made it look so easy and effortless. Sometimes he would tell me stories of how his dad taught him to shine shoes. He would tell of the many different ways friends of his used to get just the right type of shine.

I don’t remember my age at the time, but I do remember the feeling I got when dad asked me to polish his shoes for him. I couldn’t believe my ears. He even said he would give me a quarter each week I did the job well! What an incredible complement. I knew the pride he took in his shoes being shined just so for church each Sunday morning. And now he was letting me shine his shoes for him. It was a right of passage for me. It was the passing of a baton. I had reached a huge point of growth.

Shoes were for dad a symbol. Until his later years when he got too sick to talk much, he would repeat the story in my hearing – always in my hearing – about the time he looked down as I was headed out the door for church – and he saw his shoes walking out the door on my feet. Why? Why was that story so important to tell? What did it represent for him? They were just shoes, leather and string, die and wax, expertly formed into quality black, size 9.5, wingtips.

I think, in some odd way, that those shoes made him feel he had succeeded with me. Not only had I grown into a semi-responsible teenager, I still wanted to wear my old man’s shoes. And he was proud.

Tonight I felt similar pride. I took my son with me to our statewide collegiate spring retreat. I was asked to take care of the audio/video for the weekend. Because our newest family member was just born 9 days ago, I only planned to spend one night away from home. The event was to be held at our north Georgia conference center, in the foothills of the Smokies. Nick loves the mountains. So I asked him to come with me – “maybe we can do some hiking,” I told him.

The day had been a long one, going from music store to music store in the attempt to rent the growing list of equipment the event required. By the time we finally left Athens – 3 hours late, Nick was frustrated. He knew we would not get in an afternoon hike. After entertaining himself for several hours while we unloaded and set-up equipment and performed numerous sound checks, he was fairly worn out and hungry. After grabbing some supper, he opted for childcare instead of staying with me in the opening worship service. After the main service was over, I picked him up and took him back to the auditorium with me for the late night praise extravaganza that our praise band was leading. Nick loves music. He loves to sing. Most evenings after supper he disappears to his room, turns on his radio (loud!) and sings along to Christian pop.

As the band began to play and the crowd joined in song I glanced down at Nick – he was on his feet just like the students. He was following the words projected overhead on the huge screens. And he was singing (loud!). Every few minutes I glanced his direction. Each time he was lost in song. Before long, his hands went up as he sang, “to you we lift our hands.” I smiled. Not only my mouth, but my whole face was smiling – even my eyes. I’ve been told that I have eyes like my dad; fun filled, laughing eyes – “full of mischief,” my mom used to say. The expression on my face was not the result of amusement, but pride.

Seeing my son freely praising God in song – hands lifted high, voice loudly singing, face lifted toward the heavens – is one of the most satisfying, experiences I’ve had as a dad. Somehow in that moment I felt a kinship with my dad. Nick was walking in my shoes – and he looked better than me in them. Raise in traditional Southern Baptist churches, I’ve always felt a bit self conscious about raising my hands when I sing. Oh I’ll sing, and loud. But expressing my faith and my praise with my body is something that is foreign and forced for me. It just doesn’t feel nature. I wish I could do it. I’ve tried. It just isn’t me. I feel I’m doing it more for show than for worship. So I’ve decided that until I can raise my hands in praise of God – and only in praise of God – I won’t do it.

But it seems to me that Nick has learned to praise God better than I do, better than I can. It seems he wears my shoes better than I do, better than I can.

And so I smile. And I remember. It’s really odd the things we remember….

“Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord: (5) and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength. (6) And these words, which I command you today, shall be in your heart: (7) And you shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise up.” Deuteronomy 6:4-7

Surreal

2006-02-19T22:30:00.000-05:00

Surreal, it was absolutely surreal. Looking back, I see only flashes; fleeting moments that I cannot completely comprehend, much less fully recall.

Arriving at St. Mary’s Hospital before six a.m. with only decaf coffee and Pop Tarts in my body was not the best way start the day. Though we didn’t talk about it, both Karen and I were rather nervous about the pending ordeal. I pulled our Maxima around the circle toward the main entrance. “Thanks, this is nice,” she said.

Feeling like a sixteen-year-old driver on his first date, I tried to explain, “What did you expect? It’s the least I could do. You are having the baby, after all.”.

After parking the car, I met her in the vast, polished lobby of the hospital. She had found a seat between two older folks who looked as if they had spent the night in the comfy leather chairs. As we made our way toward the elevators, the couple wished us well. “Good luck,” they sang.

When we got to the third floor we were greeted by a friendly face, “Karen Byrd?” she asked, glancing at the printer orders she held in her right hand, as her left hand absentmindedly punched the stainless steel square on the wall above the desk.

“Ah, they’re expecting us! Imagine that.” I muttered in a failed attempt at humor. It was too early for such a sad grasp for laughs – not even friendly-face laughed.

The double fire doors to the left slowly began to open, granting us entrance into the protected corridors beyond. As we rounded the wood and glass encl osed nursing station, the friendly faced nurse met us. She led us down the short hallway. “That,” she gestured and explained as we passed glowing, clouded glass doors on our right, “is the surgery center, just a short walk from your room.”

As we arrived at room 3122, another smiling, friendly face joined us – this one seemed only twelve years old – maybe. Karen sat on the bed. I wandered around the room. It did not take me long to spy my abode for the next few nights – a bed, not so cleverly designed to impersonate a sofa. Though it was folded like a luxurious futon, experience told me not to expect anything near comfort. I did spy a 21-inch flat panel TV tucked into a nook near my “bed”. I almost grew excited – maybe I would be able to catch some Olympic coverage in HD!

While the friendly faced smiling nurses quickly instructed Karen about what to put on and where to wait, I found a place to sit. I managed to catch a few words of the conversation, enough to figure out that this would be our room until we checked out three or four days from now. “Sweet!” I thought, “Nice room.”

Flash – the doors open and I walk into the icy air, headed out to unload the car. I figured there was no sense just sitting around, letting my anxiety take control (and maybe be noticed by someone else).

As I exited the soaring atrium back through the main entrance, I saw a lone figure bobbing towards me in the darkness between streetlights. A voice broke the chill, “Hey Nathan.”

I was taken aback, not expecting anyone to meet us this early. I knew Karen’s folks would be heading up just before 8:00 after seeing our kids safely onto the school bus. I attempted to scan my mental database of voices, body types, and folks who know our schedule, but drew a blank. I knew I recognized the voice, but no face came to mind. “Dang decaf!” wandered across my mind like a scrolling marquee on a bank sign.

Then, out of the darkness a light dawned, Karol!

Karol, my wife’s best friend that we hardly ever get to see now that we have left metro Atlanta, had driven over an hour in predawn traffic to be with us. Man, I was relieved to have the company! Karol backtracked with me to the lower parking lot where I grabbed Karen’s suitcase and my laptop.

Flash – Doctor Elder came in… exchanged quips with Karen. He said something that I thought I needed to remember…, I have no idea what it was, nor how long he stayed….the rotund anesthesiologist with the game show announcer’s voice seemed to float into the room. I think we all laughed at something. Though I have pictures of me clad in scrubs, standing beside Karen as she lay in the bed in the room, I have no remembrance of getting dressed or posing! Next thing I know Karen is walking out with the friendly faced nurses with me I trailing behind. I do remember sitting on the lone bench, the surgery bullpen, outside of those milky white, glowing glass doors, while Karen’s parents and Karol mocked me. Not really, they took pictures of the new dad-to-be all decked out in green from head to tow. I even had on a mask.

I don’t know how long I waited – seems like it was an eternity that passed in a second or two. Lots of folks went through those milky white glowing doors before me, seems like it all passed in triple time as if someone fast forwarded a video tape – caps, masks and booties flew out of the wardrobe adjacent to my bench. Nurses and aids talked in high-pitched gibberish as they readied for surgery. Friendly faces were covered with green cloth, leaving only smiling eyes peeking through.

The milky white parted revealing an icy-cold brightness into which I was drawn by a beckoning, now scrub-clad, friendly nurse.

Flash – I am sitting on a cold stool in a freezing room whispering into Karen’s ear, kissing her hair, as she shivered and chattered ensconced in green drapes, wires, needles, and tubes. We were behind a drape with the anesthesiologist and all his devices of pain-retarding torture. On the other side was a flurry of activity. Bright lights shimmered between the threads of green, 80’s rock danced in echoes from wall to wall and the cadre of scrub-clad attendants prepared for their debuts in the grand performance that had just begun. “Here we go” the doctor’s voice floated through the fabric.

Karen shuddered. I held her ice-cold hands. “I’m freezing! She explained, “They tried to warm me up with all these blankets,” indicating the piles of oddly placed coverings on her splayed arms.

Before I had only seen her head, but now I noticed that she was lying cruciform – her arms stretched wide from her body on extensions of the table on which she lay. I suppose I thought all of the fabric was a part of the elaborate drape system that had been erected to keep her from seeing the action around the lower half of her torso.

“Make sure you do everything you need to do before you close me up!” Karen reiterated to the unseen doctor several times throughout the procedure. She didn’t want to risk another “miracle baby.”

“It would take divine intervention for you to get pregnant after this,” he countered.

Karen shot back, “that’s what this one was. You better do better than that.”

“Make it God-proof?” he queried.

Months earlier, in response to an inquiry for a tubal ligation during the requested c-section, Dr. Elder cautioned, “You know these things are not 100% guarantees. A very small percentage of women get pregnant after such procedures.”

Karen, always ready with sarcasm, respond, “Oh, you better make sure it’s 100%! Do whatever you have to do. Take stuff out, I don’t care! I don’t plan to use any of it ever again.”

It was not long before the anesthesiologist encouraged, “Dad, you may want to stand up. Something exciting is about to happen.”

It was only then that I left my bride’s head to look over the wall of green. The lights were so bright it took a few minutes to adjust to what I was seeing. It was surreal. Her abdomen had been covered with yellow-brown Betadine, followed by a clear film, and then surrounded by more green fabric. Just as realization came, bloody water gushed across the film, then the fabric. Doctor Elder’s gloved hands were buried in Karen’s tummy and his assistant tugged on a large stainless steal bar hooked around what looked like yellow rubber. At some point, it dawned on me that this was Karen’s incision. Doc was widening the opening for his searching figures. I could not believe how much effort was given by the attendant as she pulled, and the doctor, as he finally found what he was seeking and then stained to pull a white mass out of the opening. At first, I didn’t realize what he held. Confused, I thought that there must have been some wad of fat or covering that had to be removed; and then I saw it – tiny hips and buttocks slowly wriggling out of Karen’s womb – then legs, and feet, and a back. One expert hand gently reached in again, searching, finding, and then twisting and supporting a tiny head, guiding it cleanly into the blinding lights. I was shocked by how ghastly white the tiny body was. My pulse quickened. I feared something was wrong. Then a cry; a clear, soft cry could be heard even before her mouth emerged.

Flash – I dropped back onto the stool, my face returning to my wife’s. I choked out a whisper, “You do good work! She’s perfectly beautiful.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I repeated until, around the corner of the curtain, the doctor held up our blood and goop covered daughter for Karen to see for the first time. I nudged her to look. Once her head was turned, she said in monotone, “I only like them once they have been cleaned up.” She turned back to me and the amused doctor passed our daughter to the next team. They immediately got to work cleaning, prodding, warming, suctioning, and drying the tiny writhing, crying, infant girl.

There was a moment when all seemed to stop, a moment frozen in time where all sound muted, all movement ceased, and my eyes locked into the glassy stare of Karen’s deep brown gaze. The fear was gone, the shivering calmed, and we were one again, lost in the wonder of life.

The anesthesiologists voice broke our gaze, starting the sound and action in the room again; “Dad, you can take some pictures.”

I think I snapped a few shots and asked a few silly questions of the scrubbed friendly faces feverishly working around the odd wheeled table that held our pink, screaming child.

Flash – I was handed our tiny swaddled daughter and bent to introduce her to my bride; “here’s Karlie.” We both choked with emotion, my eyes again filling with tears.

One set of smiling eyes gently tore me away from my wife’s side to carry the tiny bundle to the next station. I obediently followed, tear-filled eyes locked onto the miniscule features on the round face peaking through the blankets. “I know that face,” I thought. My wife’s complexion, cleft chin, dark hair and upper lip were molded there.

As we entered the nursery, I looked at the large windows in the distance. Karen’s dad and Karol saw me and rushed to the glass to see the bundle in my arms. Karen’s mom came into view, cell phone pressed against her ear, already announcing the birth.

Flash – fast-forward, events blur in my memory as they pass – tears, laughter, and joy as Karlie was measured, prodded, twisted, and examined some more. The nurse was incredible and lots of fun; not just another friendly face, but also a comforting mom who had done this many times before.

A wall phone connected me to the folks outside of the nursery allowing me to pass along vital information – weight, length, time of birth, hair color, as well as the condition Karen.

Flash – Doctor Elder suddenly appeared, expertly assuring me that all went well – 20 more minutes and I could go see my bride.

More measuring, poking, bathing, crying, and snapping of pictures before I was able to hold my little girl again. As I bent to her, my fingers remembered, gently applying her first diaper and calming her cries with soft caresses on the back of her head and across her tiny, slender fingers.

Flash – a realization – we made this life together. She is a part of Karen and me. And we are a part of her. We did good work. Together.

Flash – a tidal wave of emotion – I miss my dad. He would love this moment. Then a realization – he is watching. And smiling – his blessing surrounds us, breathing in Karlie. I can imagine this bitty girl, cradled against his soft tummy – we used to call it our pillow – safe in his experienced, loving Papa-arms.

Flash – back in room 3122, returning once again to my wife’s side. A few tears trail unnoticed down my check as I look at her with a sudden depth of love I have not known in our 20 years of marriage. She is cold, freezing cold. Piled with six inches of white blankets, Karen shivers beneath the covers though the heat is dialed to 85°.

The room quickly fills with excited family, friends, and many bustling friendly faces. I retrieve our daughter from the nursery in a rolling bassinette. Everyone ogles and “coos”…it is surreal – she is finally here.

Flash – I am back. It’s 2:00 a.m., the second day –memories flash through my fingers onto the laptop screen, casting preternatural light throughout the dark room.

Karen silently sleeps beside me in her hospital bed. It is finished. We are done. Yet we are beginning anew.

As the memories flash, I am blown away. Love is amazing – it engulfs me, and I swim deep within it’s waves. Sobs rack my body as I remember – surreal experiences – my father’s death, the shock of an unplanned miracle pregnancy, a rollercoaster ride of my wife’s emotions, the joy brought by our two eight year-olds at home, and now Karlie Nicole.

She is incomprehensible. And I am in love again with another perfect little girl.

And most amazing of all – it is real.

A new year....

2006-01-08T16:30:00.000-05:00

The break is over. Tommorrow we begin our routine again - I'll drop the kids at school on my way into the office. They are excited about seeing their friends again. This morning at church they were thrilled to relive Christmas morning with friends they have not seen for almost a month. We have been trying to get them back into a routine of "early to bed, early to rise" over the past week. It has been rather difficult to rediscipline them. Actually, I'm looking forward to the normalcy the school schedule will bring. I find it difficult to be very productive when there is nothing to keep me on task. It has been wonderful to be able to wake up late, read some great novels, spend hours pondering the meaning of the universe, and play games with my family while still in our pjs! But now that I'm rested I'm ready to dive back into the world. This past week I had to work. My children accompanied me to the office, reading, playing games, and entertaining themselves while I sought to organize my desk for the weeks ahead. I've found that the rest cleared my mind and gave me some new creative energy for the days ahead. I'm looking forward to working with my students to bring about some of the changes my inspiration will bring.

This morning I was alone at home for a while after my family headed off to church and before I head to leave for services at the little church down the road. It was an incredible time for me. As I thought through this past year I was filled with a sense of awe at God's work in my family. Both of my children made professions of faith this year, my wife is "great with child" and we will be adding another family member in just a few weeks, and I began work towards a PhD - a dream I've had for many years. Some of the changes have been rather stressful for our family, but we have all adjusted quite well. This week we have been struggling over names for the baby. We have been calling her "peanut" (after the first ultrasound), but figure that she'll need a more normal name on her birth certificate. I think we have finally arrived at a great name - but we aren't revealing it until she makes her appearance next month.

Being middle aged has brought some new insights - I've begun to look at life as a big picture, not as individual minutes. It's a neat perspective. I hope I can carry the perspective over into each aspect of life, not just this new year moment. I can see how viewing life this way will give me more day to day patience, more optimism, and more strength to work with those who are hard to love. It's in revelatory moments like this that in my mind's eye I see God smiling a knowing smile.

Response to Media influence

2005-12-15T10:28:00.000-05:00

I love questions, not so much for the answer, but for the dialogue that questions promote. Often questions annoy us. I like annoying people - not to be irritating so much as to make people think. I've become more of a thinker myself in the past few years. Annoying questions seem to stick in the minds of those who are confronted. I often pose challenging questions to my students when they seem absolutely sure of their point-of-view. Rethinking their stance is helpful, especially in light of a seeming controdictory stance.

When dealing with the worldview the media promotes, I have begun to ask questions. I ask my students questions about where there opinions and understandings or worldviews were developed. Very often they will admit they were instructed by the media, not by any experienced or thoughtful truth. I try to force them into the Bible as their source of knowledge and opinion, not to cultural norms informed by media messages. Yes, culture needs to be considered, but only against the backdrop of Biblical truth.

I even ask my kids quesitons when we are watching TV or when they are reading magazines or newspapers. We talk about what the advertisements tell us about the product being promoted and about other images and subliminal messages imbeded there. I have found that my kids are not as nieve about what the media is trying to teach us about the world. They have become savvy shoppers and readers! I think we all can do this. If we make ourselves consious that the media is trying to do more than just make us aware of products for our benefit, we will be much better off as consumers and Christians! We need to realize that all advertising and all media is profit driven! Sometimes we are the products that are being sold to adverstisers so that they can in turn try to sell us something! That's a sobering thought - we are products!

I'm scared....

2005-12-12T08:24:00.000-05:00

I have a few moments this morning before I have to leave for a meeting out of town for a few days. I'm trying to wrap up my final paper for my class at UGA this semester. It has been a fascinating investigation of the media as a system of adult education. As a part of the class we have read material from a variety of sources that criticize the media industry worldwide - some say the media is too liberal while others proclaim it a tool of the political right. The major message that I can't get out of my mind is the way advertising influences the world's value systems and determines the self esteem of our children and youth. As a dad of an 8 year old daughter, with another daughter to be born in February, I'm really frightened for their futures. It is virtually impossible for a girl to grow up in this country with a healthy self image! We cut out television for our kids a few years ago (with the exception of an occasional movie or nature show). Despite this drastic move, the influence of the media is so pervasive that my daughter still says things that shock me about her body or her idea of normal body styles. A few years ago she told me she was getting fat (I've not seen many young girls as slender as she is). She discribes her friends that are normal size as heavy or big. Luckily, she has not fallen victum to the "prissy" image. She critiques many of the girls in her class as only interested in how they look. She's more interested in getting messay playing tackle or chase with the boys and tomboys during recess than standing around with the prissy girls talking about hair, make-up and clothes. However, I've read the statistics: the vast majority of girls hit puberty and develop low senses of self esteem. As I read magizines, stories in books, and watch movies, the messages of what is pretty and what is considered normative behavor is frightening. If one believes the messeages promoted in advertisements girls are supposed to look like supermodels, be dumb as dirt (or at least keep their opinions to themselves), dress like a ho, flirt without shame, be submissive to their husbands/boyfriends sexually, be professional, make lots of money, spend lots of money, do all of the housework, solely care for the children, have low expectations of their husbands, never look over 25, always be concerned about their looks above all else, do whatever it takes to make their man happy, do whatever it takes to look young and sexy, etc. Frankly, the prospect is mind numbing!

I pray every day that I will have the wisdom and the unnatural skill to be able to teach my daughter how God views her - as an amazing, unique, gifted, intellegent, creative individual who knows who she is and is not concerned what others think about her. I want her to, if she chooses to date or marry, find someone who treats her with respect and honor, who values who she is as a person, who tries to make her better in all respects, who submits to her needs and desires, and who wants her to be all that God is creating her to be.

I pray we as a Christian community will find a way to counter the negative and harmful media messages that are blown into our minds each day on TV, on billboards, in magazines, on the Internet, and the radio at every turn so that we can give our children and friends correct messages about who they are and who they should be! May God help us in this impossible quest!

Identifying our Passion

2005-12-06T08:38:00.000-05:00

In reading Erwin McManus' The Barbarian Way this morning I was reminded about all of the times I've tried to civilize my faith-walk and, worse, the faith-journeys' of others. McManus reminds me that I need to encourage extreme dreams, outlandish behavior, and radical stances that counter the culture that surrounds and imprisions us from experiencing the abundant life Jesus described. The question that is bouncing around in my head this morning is "how can I nurture radical dreams and actions for God on this campus and in this community?" What do you think? How is God dreaming of a new world in your life?

Advent around the dinner table....

2005-11-29T08:19:00.000-05:00

Last night, sitting around the dinner table, brought an experience and made a memory that I hope I never forget. It was one of those perfect moments where the world seemed to stop and my family was all that mattered. It was an incredible time. We all had things we needed to be doing. My son had masses of make-up work from missing a few days of school last week before the Thanksgiveg break in addition to one of those "creative" book report projects that parents hate, but teachers seem to love assigning. My daughter needed to work on some homework as well and catch up on some reading she has been putting off. My wife and I needed to be doing things around the house, since it is on the market. You've been there, the list of things that need to be done to make the house "appear" perfect, not cluttered and sellable never seems to end! I also had a major paper due for the class I'm taking at the university - one third of my grade - in addition to a sermon that I have to deliver tonight. We all had too many things to do, but some how, in the midst of the stress of life and the extensive to-do lists, we managed one of those magical moments when nothing matters but each other. The kids were having a great time, eating and cutting up at the same time. Things that usually bother Karen and I didn't seem so annoying - who cares if Natalie eats most of her meal standing beside her chair instead of seated in it? Who cares if the kids talk with food bulging from their way-to-full mouths? Who cares if the normal bath-time has already passed? Nothing seemed to matter but enjoying each other.

I wish I new how to make those magical moments come every meal time. I wish I could swish a wand or snap my fingers and adjust everyone's attitudes (including my own) to be just as they were last night. I wish I could consistantly push aside all of the things in my mind to make room for family like we managed to do.

I guess that is what Advent is really all about: taking a moment, a season, to look beyond ourselves and our silly little lives or even our major, catastrophic issues and see the Holy family and new friends surrounding the tiny baby, lying in a feed trough, doing what babies do. He could have been easily un-noticed, easily bypassed, but for the choir of angels, and the shepards trudging through town in search of him. He was bypassed by many, just as we often bypass those moments, those precious times with which God has gifted us each day.

Take a break - experience the many joys, the many gifts of life and love that God has placed before you today. Learn to soak up life; for Jesus promised, "I have come that you may have life."

Prayer - a simple conversation?

2005-11-02T06:26:00.000-05:00

Why is it that we make things so difficult? My job places me as the sounding board for lots of students who are, or who want to be in relationships. I could almost script most of the conversations in advance - "what is he really thinking" or "what did she mean by that" or "do you think he likes me; I mean, really likes me?" The games we tend to play in our interactions with each other seem to carry over into our relationship with God. It's not that God plays communication games with us - "heh, heh - I'll be she'll never figure our what I'm doing now!" or "I think I'll play hard to get now" or "Let's through a pox his way and see how he responds!" But we often relate to God as if God is playing games with us! As a result we won't just talk to God. I don't mean give a list of our wants (like a grocery or Christmas list), but really converse with God waiting for God to answer before we go seeking advice from friends who were never a part of the conversation in the first place! Why don't we just relax, grab a sandwich and head out to the lake with God for a casual afternoon chat? Why don't we just hang out with God like we do with those we love? Why don't we take God fishing? Biking? Running? Studying? To the Coffee Shop we frequent (some of us way too much)? To the concert? To the movies? To, well, you fill in the blank? Basically, we need to realize that we don't take God anywhere - God is already everywhere! I love the concept (very Biblical, by the way) expressed in the old-school praise song, "This is the air I breathe, your holy presence, living in me." The concept of God as spirit, air, wind, and breathe comes from the Hebrew word that can be translated as any of these words - "RUAH." Prayer should be as simple as breathing, as simple as casual conversation with a very close friend. The God who breathed life into Adam (Genesis 2) is the same God that, in Jesus, breathed his spirit into the disciples in the upper room after his resurrection (John), and who was the mighty wind of the Holy Spirit falling upon the church in Acts, and who fills our lungs each day with Life, Grace, Peace and HOPE! It is the God who lives; the God who breathes, the God who wants us to know him through conversation each day, all day, as we go about the live God has blessed us with living. Take time to chat today with your constant companion, your breath of life, your God!

I'm a fan...

2005-10-06T19:48:00.000-05:00

Today I attended my first Catalyst conference at the Gwinnett Arena - I'm a fan. Looking towards the end of the year with conference money budgeted (that I would lose if it was not spent), I took the advice of some friends and registered for Catalyst after briefly scanning the website. I had planned to stay near the arena, however, childcare issues emerged their ugly head. We determined it would be better if I dropped the kids at school and then made a mad dash toward Duluth - normally a 45 minute to 1 hour drive from home. I awoke this morning to a refreshing rain, something we have been without for about 3 weeks. Usually I would be thrilled, but for those of you not used to driving in Atlanta, rain turns normal traffic headaches into migraines! I dropped the kids off at school at 7:25 and started my trek. I should have been early under normal circumstances. Listening to NPR en route, I didn't notice how slow the going was until I turned off of Hwy 316 in Lawrenceville and began to creep towards Duluth. I arrived 30 minutes late to the conference. I had no idea what to expect. Some of my students were jealous that I was attending this year, while they had to stay in Athens for class.
I was treated to some great worship music and then hearing Andy Stanley kick off the event. After a break of wandering the booths, and navigating (in awe) the crowd of 10,000 folks who streamed into the passages of the Arena at the close of the first session, Louie Giglio took the stage as the speaker for the second session. The speakers were good that morning, but the highlight was participating in setting a world record for the most folks to simultaneously sit on whoopee cushions! Yes, I'll be in the next Guinness Book of World Records. Alas, though they have my name as a participant (we all had to sign a little form to prove the numbers), I doubt very seriously that my name will actually appear - but hey, my butt will be represented under that curious heading!
The morning was so powerful I decided not to eat lunch with friends, but to grab some grub alone so I could think and process. I ate at Moe's Chinese cousin's place, Mama Fu's (at least they have the same designer). It was great. I got the feeling I needed some ice cream to top it off. I searched around the area but could find none. But, when I got back to the Arena I remembered Brusters! I had a huge cone of Butter Pecan Ice Cream while wandering (again) around the booths and displays.
The afternoon session was kicked off by more great worship music and Blue Like Jazz author Donald Miller. He is a great speaker - he is just as I imagined he would be after reading his book, witty, rambling, but with a punch.
I can't wait to go back tomorrow for the second half. Erwin McManus starts the day!
I know this is devoid of any spiritual specifics - I need to do some more processing and soul searching before I make any deep pronouncements or proclamations. However, once again it seems God is up to something big in my life. I'm glad - been kinda dry over the past few months. Or maybe I've just been in shock after discovering we are going to have a baby in a few months. Our two kids came along the easy route - we adopted. OK, it was not easy - it was 12 years of turmoil and stress of infertility then failed adoption attempts before they arrived with us 5.5 months apart. We didn't think there would be anymore kiddos. However, sometime just before our 20th wedding anniversary conception happened in my wife's once "barren" womb. I just laughed out of shock.
More later....

Prayer fascinates and baffles me

2005-09-27T07:17:00.000-05:00

Prayer - my connection with God, my soul's lifeblood, my river of peace. Prayer fascinates and, yet, baffles me. How does it work? Why does it work? What does prayer actually do? When do answers come? How does one differentiate between the results of prayer from basic coincidence?
My response to these questions - whether others have asked them of me or I asked them of myself - has most often been, "I don't know, but by faith and experience, I know it works." I still come back to that response, even in the midst of deepest doubt or questions. Remembering when God has miraculously intervened in my life and the lives of those around me gives hope and deepens my faith.
Several books have been helpful in forming my current thoughts: The Prayer of Jesus, by Ken Hemphill; Prayer: Finding the Heart's True Home, by Richard Foster; and Quiet Talks on Prayer, by S. D. Gordon. I have been practicing prayer in many different ways over the past few weeks and have become convinced that there is not just one way to pray. Often we are told that praying during a daily "quiet time," in our "prayer closet," while "on our knees" is the most appropriate (and essential) method for all growing Christians. To say that there is one model or method to pray negates the very different personalities with which God has endowed humans. Studying personality theory (particularly Myers/Briggs) and the applications of that theory on spirituality has shown me that there are many different methods to pray, some of which are more comfortable or natural for certain personalities than for others. There are extroverted prayers and introverted prayers. There are prayers that are more appropriate for people who are logical and systematic and others for those who are more emotional and laid back. And that is a good thing! In most churches, when we have taught children to pray we teach one way (bow your head, close your eyes, fold your hands in front of you....). How tragic! People who are not comfortable praying like that often grow up feeling unspiritual. Those of us who are spontaneous and who like change grow up feeling we are not disciplined spiritually because we don't have a specific time each day when we pray for a specific amount of time. We don't have a prayer journal that traces our prayer for the many years since we have called ourselves Christians. Does that make us any less Christian, any less spiritual than those who find such prayer practices natural?
This morning I found a message in my inbox from the Bruderhof community (http://www.bruderhof.com/articles/jca/Painting.htm?source=DailyDig) that speaks to this issue. It was rather refreshing! Foster's book on prayer teaches several different methods of prayer discipline and practice. There are some great resources written by those who have worked with the Myers/Briggs Personality Inventory from a spiritual perspective. These are very helpful and enlightening to the students I work with. It is very freeing to discover that our natural tendencies are not weird or radical, but are normal outcomes of who God has created us to be.
Instead of locking ourselves and others into a tightly defined definition of prayer, lets pray with freedom and playfulness, learning to communicate with God in ways similar to the way we communicate with others. Lets help others discover ways they can find freedom in Christ through prayer!

God is at the Beach....

2005-06-08T08:43:00.000-05:00

Once again I've become convinced that God can be easily found at the beach - any beach, especially early in the morning and just before the sun goes down at night. At other times God is definitely here, but, ah, there are too many distractions! We are at our annual Hilton Head family vacation this first week of June 2005. The whole family is here. Though we thought this year may be a bit sad because of the obvious absence of my father after his death at the end of June last summer, it has been an amazingly calm emotional time. Dad has been mentioned, but only with fond memories and without tears or sadness. It was dad who decided that our family needed to have a rallying point each year for a get together. As a result he bought a timeshare with Marriott here at Hilton Head. This is our ninth year of coming to the beach this first week of June. Since that first crowded year - 22 people trying to fit into a 2 bedroom condo. We vied for days we could be here, each of us wanting the most possible time with the most people possible. Dad bought another unit the next year. Last year mom purchased yet another one. Now we have 3 two bedroom units all in the same week. It's much more comfortable now!
As we gather each year we enjoy each other and the ocean. Each family cooks one night of the week - and tries to out-do each other with what we prepare and serve. We eat very well while here! Stuffing our faces each evening is balanced with time exercising, playing, and relaxing.
It seems that not only is God found in the waves, the surf, the sand, and the old growth oaks that canopy the roads and bike paths, but God is also found in family, in community. Combine the two elements and utopia is present!
My soul is being refreshed this week. My my mom, my brother, his wife and I are all reading great books about God and the church. Mom just finished Blue Like Jazz. Paul and Terri are reading A Generous Orthodoxy, and I am reading a few books by Capon - one of which is on the parables. All have sparked great conversations that seem very appropriate in this setting. It seems that while here, surrounded by the presence of God in nature, we are all able to see God in new light and explore communal expressions of God's presence in new ways - ecclesia - church. It's been fun. I pray that we will continue to grow in grace, truth, and soul satisfaction this week!

Unfinished....

2005-06-01T07:27:00.000-05:00

I suppose McLaren is not the first to end his book A Generous Orthodoxy with the word "and," but it is the first one I have read that ended that way. In doing so he apply illustrates that our "becoming" as people of God and our knowledge of God is never finished, we are always in process. I have been looking forward to reading this book for quite awhile. I plucked it off of the floor of my office out of the line of books waiting to be read. Since shelf space is full, books fresh from Amazon.com are unpacked, embossed with my book seal, and are placed in line at my feet. The collection currently forms two lines on the floor near my desk. This summer I hope to move some little referenced titles to my home shelves, getting these treasures off of the floor. I also hope to read most of them, adding them to the read and marked titles on my shelves.
In A Generous Orthodoxy I have found words for much of my thinking over the past few years. However, McLaren often takes my thoughts to the next level, pushing me toward a more complete understanding and application of grace in this post-modern and emerging society of which we find ourselves apart. My wife keeps cautioning me not to use the word "postmodern" because of the negative press it has received in my tribe - southern Baptists. In part I understand the fear that my colleagues have when hearing the word - it implies a loss of all that has been held dear, that has been found to be true, and that has been fought for, defended and won over the past few years. For some it implies sleeping with the enemy. For others it implies a return to the fast flowing liberal rivers of uncontrollable thought and progress that our American society seems to be advocating. I understand their fear.
An avid road cyclist, I have recently begun mountain biking in order to ride with my 7 year old son. Road biking is comfortable for me. Yes, passing cars and trucks can be scary. But I understand it. I can see the potential hazards ahead. I know the challenges. I know the process. But riding in the woods and on trails of rocks and roots is not so simple or comfortable. Traveling at 20 miles per hour is a normal pace on a paved road, but in the woods, over rocks, down hills and into streams that same speed is terrifying! I finished my first ride on the local Heritage Park trail with forearms cramped with pain from griping my handle bars and breaks. I was petrified for most of the ride. It only makes since logically that when bouncing along a rough road with unseen turns, drops, bumps and other obstacles one should maintain a tight grip on ones ride. I am learning, however, that the opposite is true. To successfully navigate a trail, one must ride relaxed, maintaining balance over the bike, but loosening one's grip on the bars, rising slightly in the saddle (seat), and letting the bike do the work. It's a scary proposition, but it works. Riding like this allows the bike to shimmy and bounce all over the trail. But the shocks and the tires take the beating, while balance is maintained, and the trill and exhilaration of the ride can be experienced. I've fallen much less and enjoyed the rides much more practicing this seemingly contradictory way of biking and of "faithing." For I've found that practicing faith in this postmodern world is similar to riding the trails. I have a firm grasp on the bible and on my faith. I've read and digested several systematic theologies. I understand the practice of Christian Ethics. But I have found that in this changing word approaching the practice of my faith as one who has all of the answers, who knows all of the right ways of doing things, who holds the secrets to the heart of God is only going to give me cramping muscles and a sore body from falling quite often. I need to allow my faith to do the work while I navigate this newly emerging world I live in. If I approach it with my head instead of my heart I'm going to be constantly frustrated. Faith is a process.... Acknowledging that I don't have all of the answers to the changing questions of this era is a good thing, an essential thing. Walking through life alongside both believers and nonbelievers of the Gospel is essential for my faith and to give us all a chance to grow and learn and become the folks God wants us to be. I cannot grow while remaining tightly bound by my little box of faith. I must release it from it's container and let God grow it in dialogue with others, with continued reading of the Bible, and with constant practice in all areas of life. To do so is the become comfortable with a lives we all live that end as McLaren's book with a never complete, never final, and....

It's happened again...

2005-05-31T06:50:00.000-05:00

I hate to admit it, but it has happened again: I have fallen victum to the consumerism that purvades our day. At times I am able to sink my life in my faith and family, forgetting all of the superfilious "stuff" that is hawked on t.v., magazines, websites and in stores as essentials for happiness and even comfort. However, gradually, almost unperceptably at first my eyes begin to wander, my wants begin to grow and before long I'm caught up in a cyclone of lust for stuff. The crazy part is that the only way I usually realize my state is when my credit card bill arrives. Cardiac arrest almost ensues. I look at the balance due and gulp, assured that there must be some grave mistake, some over charge, some double billing going on. As I scan the list of expenses, $14.76 for basics at Kroger, $52.49 for gifts and household items at Walmart, $7.22 for lunch at Ben's Barbeque Bistro, $2046.00 for the two bikes at Sunshine (but he gave me such a deal!), and the list goes on and on and on. I can rationalize all of the "expenses" - we have to eat, my kids have to attend birthday parties, i have to have deoderant, I was at lunch with a student, I have been planning on buying a new bike for years.... But when the bill comes, if I allow myself a moment of sanity I realize that I have been thoughtless and out of control. The thrill of the search and purchase doesn't compare to the reality of owning the "much needed" product. When sitting in the piles of stuff in my house or office that item that looked so appealing on the internet doesn't have quite the charm it once did. Some months I shake my head in dismay - "I did it again." Some months I just pay the balance, file the bill and move on without a thought. But then there are months like this one, months when a confuence of events seem to push me towards a more healthy place. I realize that it's not all about the stuff. The bill arrived in the midst of the business of last week. I didn't have time to think about much execpt packing my suitcase or backpack for my trips. This morning, however, I was sobered once again by Brian McLaren. In A Generous Orthodoxy I read, "The fact is, all religions are under threat... from the McDonalization and Wal-Martization of the world, from global consumerism, from forces that emanate... from New York and Hollywood - forces that make all religions equally superfluous, trivial compared to the lust for a new car or a new pair of jeans" (p. 254).

It's in moments like this that I find I have been quenching my thirst for God by stuffing my soul with lust for stuff. Upon close inspection I feel like a burrito from Moe's Southwest Grill that has been too stuffed and bursts when wrapped. I think I just need another wrapper, one more substantial, or maybe a more skilled burrito maker. But the reality is that I need to remove some of the filling - in fact, most of it needs to be cast aside. How much stuff does one person need? What values am I teaching my kids? Where does it end? How can I be so nieve?!? I think it's time for a period of fasting and a re-evaluation....

Memories....

2005-05-13T06:06:00.000-05:00

Dance with My Father... Some memories will last a lifetime: this is one for me! When I take my family to weddings or other events where dancing is offered, Natalie alway asks, "Daddy, will you dance with me?" How can one refuse such a request? A student snapped this one on her camera phone while we were doing the "shag" at the recent BSU Formal.

It's not about me...

2005-05-03T03:46:00.000-05:00

It is so easy to fall into thinking that the world revolves around me. We are the center of our own experiences. We are our points of view. Why not make the short jump to imagining that we are actually the center of the universe? Oh admit it! You do it too!

This morning as sip my cup a Joe (a bit too much sugar added) reading from the Psalms, I was unexpectedly knocked off of my high horse of self-centeredness. Let me set the scene. In Psalm 75 the people are gathered for worship. They utter the well-worn phrase in hum drum fashion, "We give thanks to you, O God; [perhaps with yawn?] we give thanks; your name is near [I wonder what's for lunch]. People tell of your wondrous deeds." And then God has the nerve to speak up! He was in this worship service, though the people didn't really care, or maybe didn't even believe he showed up anymore. God says, "...When the Earth totters, with all its inhabitants, it is I who keep its pillars steady. I say to the boastful, 'do not boast,' and to the wicked, 'do not lift up your horn; do not lift up your horn on high, or speak with insolent neck.'" (verses 3-5).

"Oops," I mutter. I guess God takes this perspective thing pretty seriously! Perhaps I should remind myself each day which way is up and who is really King of the Mountain! "OK Nate, write 10,000 times 'God is in charge, I am not.'"

I guess I get the picture. We all need reminders occasionally that it's not about me!

Awesome Wonder

2005-05-01T06:59:00.000-05:00

Amazement, wonder, doubt, and faith - essential parts of my whole experience with God, came rushing back this morning as I was reading Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller. It is so very easy to explain everything. I often joke with my students when asked if I can answer a question, "Sure, if I don't know the answer, I can make something up that sounds profound." Sadly, that is sometimes what I find myself doing.

This has been another of "those weeks" - not the kind that one never wants to repeat, but one that was very full and very satisfying. I've felt like I mattered. I've felt that things I've been working toward for 8 years are finally coming together. Both of my children are talking about Jesus. My son will probably "walk the aisle" this morning at church. After her birthday party my daughter and I lay in her bed last night talking about Jesus until almost 11:30 last night. She's (finally) asking questions about what baptism means and why she needs to do it. At work 5 years of dreaming and visioning is coming together. The students are catching on without me trying to manipulate them - it's cool to see. And, on a selfish note, I got the 2 bikes I've been dreaming of for many years, a new road bike and a mountain bike (which I've never had). It's been a good, though tiring time.

I've realized (again) that even though things are going well for me, there is much more beyond myself and my own little world. Oh I would love to take credit for everything happening in my children's and my student's lives. And yes, I've had a part in that. But ultimately this is all God's work. I am just a bit player on a stage I cannot even comprehend. I look outside and wonder where the leaves came from all of a sudden. They were not there a week ago. I had nothing to do with it. In fact, with the little care I give to my yard it's a miracle there is anything alive out there!

Oh Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder, Consider all the worlds Thy Hands have made;
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, Thy power throughout the universe displayed.

In Blue Like Jazz, Miller writes, "At the end of the day, when I am lying in bed and I know the chances of any of our theology being exactly right are a million to one, I need to know that God has things figured out, that if my math is wrong we are still going to be okay. And wonder is that feeling we get when we let go our our silly answers, our mapped out rules that we want God to follow. I don't think there is any better worship than wonder" (p. 206). If only I could remember that all the time. It's too easy to forget, too easy to return myself to the center of the court, too easy to accept all of the (imagined) applause, too easy to forget about the divine mystery in the midst of everyday life! But in those seconds of remembering, the awe washes over me like a flood. My heart chills, my mind goes numb, and I find myself having collapsed to my knees before God - filled with a mixture of terror, exuberation, praise and speechlessness all rolled into one emotion -

Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art.
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art!

- and quietly, slowly, imperceptivity, I hear my soul humming, then singing then shouting the words -

When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation, And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart.
Then I shall bow, in humble adoration, And then proclaim: "My God, how great Thou art!"

- and I realize, all at once that I am surrounded by the universe, not just one or two other folks like at church, but the whole universe - all people, every rock and tree, every planet, all created things - is also singing, praising God, each of us in our own unique way! And I think, "how could I not have seen this? How can I miss it? How can I become so self absorbed that I don't know my purpose is to live my life in such a way that all that I do, all that I say, all that I am is singing songs of praise to God?!?

And then I don't feel the need to answer all of the questions anymore. It's OK not to know. It's OK to allow children and students to wonder....

The Congo and me....

2005-04-25T04:34:00.000-05:00

I'm reading Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller. It has been sitting on my floor for months, just waiting to be read (yes, the floor. I'm out of shelf space in my office). I was hoping to get a jump on my well-read students, to read something they had not seen yet. This past week several have walked in and asked, "have you read that yet? Wow! What a great book." So I decided I better start reading.
Blue is a different sort of book about living the Christian faith. It has themes similar to many I have read (and that's a lot of books), but the way Miller tells his story of search for and struggling with faith is quite different than most. He is honest about it all. I mean, he tells his struggles, his doubts, his continious wrestling with matters of faith and truth and belief and practice.
A few passages have grabbed my attention and won't let me go. One is at the end of the second chapter.

"I know now, from experience, that the path to joy winds through this dark valley. I think every well-adjusted human being has dealt squarely with his or her own depravity. I realize this sounds very Christian, very fundamentalist and browbeating, but I want to tell you this part of what the Christians are saying is true. I think Jesus feels strongly about communicating the idea of our brokenness, and I think it is worth reflection. Nothing is going to change in the Congo until you and I figure out what is wrong with the person in the mirror." (p. 23, italics mine)

Wow. After reading those lines I had to put the book down for a few minutes and pray for forgiveness. No, the thought is nothing new. But in the context of Miller's personal struggle with honest faith it forced me to realize that it is all connected. My actions, thoughts and non-actions do make a difference across the world. There is a ripple effect to sin. Somehow, even my secret sin infects the world like a virus. The answer is not a hefty dose of antibiotics but a reality check by Jesus. Is my life reflecting the life of Jesus? Am I honestly seeking to engage the world, not just those like me, but everyone I come across, with the love of Christ that is supposed to be living in and flowing from me? Miller doesn't call himself a follower of Christianity, but of Christian spirituality. It sounds like a minor difference, but it is not. To him Christianity has become a dirty word that is tossed around by politicians and those who seek to impress. It has been used to justify terrible things in the name of Christ - the crusades and worse. Miller suggests we need a new, honest name. I think I agree.

Through the fog of Easter morn...an interruption!

2005-03-27T08:32:00.000-05:00

I awoke this rainy, contemplative Easter morn to find my son's grinning face about two inches from mine. He had a look of expectancy and excitement most often reserved for Christmas morning. Even my morning breath didn't trouble the smile in his eyes. "When can we go down stairs," he asked? I grunted and pulled him into bed beside me, hoping snuggling would send him back to dreamland - not a chance! I dozed every few minutes, only to be awakened again by his question, "Dad, when can we go downstairs?" As my wife and I slowly emerged into the world of the living, chasing the fog out from between our ears, longing for a hot cup of java, we told him to go see if his sister was awake.

By 7:20 we were all headed down the steps. I went first to turn on the coffee pot and to get the camera out and ready for that "perfect shot." I wanted to capture the looks on their faces when they found the stash left by the Easter Bunny (or, in the words of my wise-before-her-years 7 year old daughter, the "balding bunny that looks a lot like dad!"). After pictures were taken, chocolate bunny's ears eaten, toys unpacked, paper grass strewn all over the kitchen, and my wife had gone up for a shower, I was left alone at the table pondering the significance of this day. In many ways there is no difference between today and any other lazy Sunday morning. And that's the beauty of it! That's the amazing thing about God. This morning, this Easter morning, God has burst forth into our world once again, interrupting the normal, offering a difference from the status quo, and offering to make a difference in our lives. It is ours to choose to accept the difference that Christ offers or to turn our backs on his gift to return to the normal, mundane existence this so-called life offers. God is not going to force us to make a change we do not freely choose to make.

Unlike my children who arose this Easter morning expecting something new, the women who headed to the tomb early that first Easter morning didn't give up or give in (unlike the male followers of Jesus). They held on to their love for Jesus, risking everything to do one last bit of service for their master, cleaning his battered body and annointing it for a proper burial. They went to the tomb expecting death, not a surprise. They went out of love and duty. They expected to have to negotiate with the soldiers there guarding the tomb to roll the stone away so they could cover Jesus' bruised and scarred body with spices and oils, chasing away the stench of death that was sure to come in the hot climate of Jerusalem. What they found, however, offered to change everything for all of history.

On that normal Sunday morning they discovered an interruption. The day was the same as any other - the sun was up, the streets were beginning to bustle with people, the path to the tomb was still rocky, the morning fog was just lifting, the loads of spices the women were carrying were still heavy, the brambles along the way still snagged clothing and scratched skin. The difference was found when the women reached their destination. Collapsing to their knees in amazement, grief and unbelief they found the stone gone, the guards gone and the body of their beloved master gone. Their grief was compounded. The fog of confusion filled their minds, numbing their senses. Tears of pain filled their eyes, blinding them even to each other. Questions of "what," "Why?" and "how?" were all that they could vocalize. Their sobs filled the air. Into this scene two angels appear and then a gardener. More confusion. Nothing seems right. The women, assuming the gardener was there to start his day, to till the soil, pull some weeds, tend the olive trees and nurture the spring flowers, asked him what had happened. They assumed that either he knew something or had himself done something with Jesus' body.

"Mary" - the word breaks through the confusion. In an instant the fog is blown away. Clarity comes. Hope shatters grief. Life is made new. Everything has changed. In an instant, reality is seen. The rules determining "the way the world works" no longer exist. Jesus has made things new. God has again intervened into life. Once again, the curse of sin lifted, God is walking in the garden with his last creation, the one who by her choice brought sin into existence and a curse on all of humanity. Eden was reborn that morning - a day like any other, yet so different.

This morning I was greeted by the daily dig from bruderhof.com. The final paragraphs are a propro:

"Again and again Christ arises anew. In what we know of the risen Christ, God wants to renew all things. His will is for the earth as much as it is for the heavens. Otherwise we would never know his reality. We could never conceive of anything becoming different. We would think that his resurrected life was some spiritual thing that we human beings could not understand. Thats not what it is. No. The power of his resurrection is something that is within our reach.

New possibilities can dawn on us, and the more we sense these new possibilities, either in our bodies or in our souls, the more we can ask for, the more we can look for higher and greater things here on earth. Actually, there are no limits. And for this reason we can bring hope into everything, into our daily life, into everything at which we work and into anything that we touch. The power that comes from God is ready to be brought into our human situation, and in such a way as to transform it.

Therefore, we must not turn our attention to the darkness, the evils, and the imperfections of the earth, nor are we to try to figure out how this or that matter is going to turn out. All that has nothing to do with us. We are simply to ask Jesus to give us more and more of his resurrection, until it runs over, until the extraordinary powers from on high that are within our reach can get down to work on all that we do."

The amazing thing I noticed this morning is that each day we are like those women who travel down the path to the tomb. Each morning as we struggle to wake up, it is like we are emerging from the fog to discover emptiness in the tomb of existence we call "life". However, the reality we think we see is only an illusion. Each morning, Jesus presents us with an interruption - the opportunity to begin again, to see life anew from God's perspective, and to be surprised by grace. We then have a choice; do we walk in light of this new life or do we return to the point-of-view of the night - that there is no hope, that our savior is gone, that they only thing that matters is protecting our skin and learning from our gullibility in having faith in something more? Which do we choose? I return to Joshua - "I choose life" in Christ today and everyday. Each day I choose to allow Jesus to make me a new creation - to remake me, a bit more at a time, into his image. I choose to live a life of anticipation, knowing all the while that along the way I will be surprised by Jesus' presence in ways and in places I never imagined. I choose to become he who God is creating me to be! Join the adventure along with me! Choose the interruption!

Do you want to be healed?

2005-03-23T09:27:00.000-05:00

"Do you want to be healed?," Jesus asked the crippled man at the pool of Bethzatha (John 5:6). For many of us we seem to enjoy our infirmities. When our faith presents us with the option for healing we shudder and shake our heads, "ah, no; not just yet." We have not only become comfortable with our security blankets of sin, neurosis or illness that we would be lost without them. Deep down we must admit that our very identities have become emeshed with our quirks and abnormalities. We all want to be individuals. Often the very things that are keeping us from being all that God is creating us to be are the very things we hold on to with a death grip. We can't seem to see that all we have to do is let go....
In John 5 we miss the internal turmoil that must have gone on within the mind of the sick man that Jesus approached. Was his failure to be well really due to his inability to get to the water? Or, over the years, had he become accustomed to hanging out with his buddies beside the beautiful fountain at the Sheep Gate? Oh, once upon a time he may have tried unsuccessfully to get into the water. Those faster and younger nudged ahead of him. Eventually he came to enjoy his place, his well-worn spot there beside the pool. He had all of his needs met there. He could hang out with friends, collect a bit of money from passersby on their way to the temple, have his family bring him food and take him home in the evening - it was a decent life, and he didn't even have to go to work! Being healed would change everything!
Yet, here Jesus dared to ask him the question, "Do you want to be healed?" And though our sick friend didn't answer a hearty, "yes," he didn't say "no" either! Jesus took his timid, whiny excuse as a "yes" and told him to get up and walk. A new man was born on that porch early that Sabbath morning, choosing to act, choosing life, choosing healing instead of comfort.
Each of us this Easter week are presented with the same choice as we sit, comfortable in our sin, our sickness, our neuroses, our half-baked excuses for partial faith; "Do you want to be healed?" And here too Jesus doesn't wait for us to give him a yes! As we begin our oft repeated and well rehearsed litany of excuses, Jesus tells us to get up, take our mat and begin the journey toward wholeness. The next step is ours. We discover in this moment of decision that faith is action! Belief really doesn't matter until it is acted upon.
So, what will we do this day? "Do you want to be healed" Jesus asks?

Dad had a saying...

2005-03-04T10:59:00.000-05:00

Just got the following email from my mom:
Papa used to say, "There is one Month of the year which has a command," Today is that day of that Month " MARCH FOURTH" That came to mind yesterday as I was looking at the calendar. He observed that command every day of his life. What ever he was going to do, he went at it with determination and dogged stubborness. Not to be deterred by anything. God Bless you each one as you go today. March Forth with confidence and committment. I love you.
Mama

It is cool to hear of things those important to us have said. I don't remember dad giving this particular advice. However, it is now locked away in my memory - I will use it mysef from now on! There are many things on my to be done list that I need to give some attention to today. It's way too easy for me to procrastinate, doing the fun things I'd rather do. Funny how when one needs prompting it often comes from the most unlikely sources!

The hokey pokey or love?

2005-03-03T22:21:00.000-05:00

Just thinking a bit tonight.... Remember the song, "the hokey pokey"? Remember the line, "that's what its all about"? What if that is what it's all about, just putting your left foot in, taking your left foot out? Sure would be a bit easier to do this thing called life, wouldn't it?
I've been leading a few Bible studies around our place, trying to get back to the basics. Recently we studied first, second and third John. Doing so kinda drove me back to the gospel by the same guy - you know, the book of John. The three letters are all rather simple, each progressively shorter than the one before it. But all deal with one subject - love. Quite simply, John understood that the core of what followers of Jesus should believe and live is love. That love is shown in love for God (following the commandments) and love for each other. For the apostle you can't have one without the other. When I went back to the Gospel I discovered something quite amazing - I had assumed that John wrote the 3 letters as an old, wiser man. As he matured his understandings simplified to a core issue. However, when reading the gospel there is the same, simple message from beginning to middle to end - love. In fact, the very center of the book contains this "a new commandment I give you, that you love one another" - wha.... A new commandment? Yep, that's Jesus speaking.
For John, the beLOVEd disciple, the central issue, and the only issue that really mattered is love. Somehow we have missed that. Somehow we have made it all about doctrine and worship and things we must do and must not do and on and on and on. Oh that we would really get it. Oh that we would return to such a simple understanding of the gospel - love for God and love for others! That is my prayer. That is my goal.
Oh, and I'll keep doing the hokey pokey too - it's rather fun, even if it's not really what life's all about.

Chris won!

2005-03-01T22:02:00.000-05:00

My buddy Chris Conley won the Bryan's Meats lymeric contest! Thanks for all who voted! Here is the winning entry:

Lou Holtz was a world famous worrier,

Poor-mouthin' to scribes at the Courier,

But I'm sorry to say,

That he's had to make way,

For another Old Ball Coach named Spurrier.

Baby it's cold outside....

2005-01-30T11:25:00.000-05:00

I’m sitting at my kitchen table this cold Sunday morning – missing the warmth of the Sanctuary of my church. The ice storm crept into the area Friday evening, a mild mist of crystals slowing drifting across the landscape, covering absolutely everything. When we awoke on Saturday morning, the widows cast a hazy glow into our home. Looking outside the milky white light seemed to engulf everything in sight. It was a while before I ventured out to get the newspaper. Crunching and sliding slowly across the yard I carefully bent to pick up the plastic wrapped bundle. However, it too was frozen in place, coated by a shimmering layer of ice. I had to kick it free.
Walking back to the house I noticed the children’s faces grinning at me from the satellite windows on either side of the front door. I quickly made ice balls to toss in their direction. They were overcome with glee. Of course, I had to make an extra ball of ice to carry inside for their inspection.
All day we huddled together inside the warmth of our home, locked away from the cold just outside. Games were played, television – usually off in our home – was tuned to the weather reports, all the while the icy rain continued to slowly fall outside. It was midnight when we lost power. An eerie silence enveloped our house. Usually there is constant noise from my son’s air purifier, the heat cycling off and on, and the deep breathing of the sleeping family. But in the wee hours of the morning all that could be heard was the occasional pop and crash from branches breaking and falling to the frozen earth and, from the basement an intermittent chirp from the cordless phone.
My son waked up a few times, crying in the deep darkness of his room. A bit of snuggling and he was back to a peaceful sleep in the cold blackness.
The morning light came quickly. I was jolted into consciousness by the children jostling to the windows to see the icy white and the broken trees outside. My wife was warning them to put on their robes – it was only 60 degrees in the house. I stumbled downstairs, longing for a hot cup of coffee - alas, no power, no coffee. After waking a bit, I decided my new and yet unused Esbit camping stove could heat water with minimal effort! I could then use our French press to make some decent coffee on this cold morning. However, by the time I found the stove in the basement closet (with the help of a flashlight), brought it upstairs, the power flickered a few times, and then stayed on. Cést la vie! My wife chucked as she turned on the coffee pot.
We still had not received a call from anyone at church letting us know if services had been canceled for today. I was scheduled to teach adult bible study. Since the power was back on I was able to check websites of television stations. However, our church was not listed on any of them. After scanning the news for closings, we did get a phone call letting us know that indeed services were cancelled for today.
Now late morning, the ice seems to have melted from the driveway. Though the rain and ice has stopped falling from the sky, droplets of melting ice are falling from the trees. There continues to be an eerie stillness outside, as families remain huddled in their homes away from the cold. As I reflect, it seems to me that often our lives are much like this storm. The cold creeps in, slowly covering everything with an icy film. Fascinating and beautiful at first, before long we are immobilized by the cold, frozen within our beliefs, doubts, prejudices, views, narrow understandings, or even our laziness. Often we do not realize our condition until it is too late. The damage has been done. We find we have become prisoners within our own souls, our own homes, our own families. The world looks to be a scary place. And it’s cold. The cold runs so deep that it creeps into our own safe little world we have built. It comes into the walls, overcoming us until we have become the very thing we fear. The very thing that once fascinated us with its mystery has now captured us in its icy, deadly grasp. Soon we find ourselves to be buried beneath it all and we cannot find a way out. So we wait. We wait for someone to save us. We wait for the ice to melt away. We long for what used to be. We wish “we didn’t know now what we didn’t know then,” to quote REM.
In moments of clarity, we realize that we cannot escape our icy world on our own. We need others to help us. We need different perspectives. We need reality. We need to surround ourselves with those people, places and things we most fear. When we do, the ice will begin to melt. Our souls will begin to thaw. And in the warmth of community we can slowly be made new again.
But it takes time. And the damage of the storm takes a while to heal. And often what was broken cannot be mended – scars remain.
If we don’t keep a diverse community surrounding us and our souls bound to Jesus we are in danger of the frost slowly creeping in again, filling us with that dreaded fog, immobilizing us with that think coating of icy indifference that seems to cover the world these days – even the church seems to be frozen these days. The prophetic voices of peace have gotten lost. When voices do cry out it seems the criers are but caricatures of prophets of yore – MLK, JFK, and JC. I wonder why. I know there are those crying out for justice and peace. Is it that they are not heard because those who tell the stories don’t want their message to get out? Or is it that we as a society don’t want to hear what these prophets have to say? Perhaps we are living in an ice age, where all are frozen and the truth cannot get through the think layer of ice covering society and our souls. I’m praying for a warm spring and a quick thaw – at least within my own soul. Perhaps then, the warmth within me can warm those around me with the gospel of truth. Eventually the world will begin to thaw, community will grow and the kingdom of God will come to pass “on earth as it is in heaven.” That is my prayer this chilly morn….

Help a friend win!

2005-01-14T17:09:00.000-05:00

Help my friend Chris win some big bucks! Vote for his Holtz/Spurrier limerick on http://www.butcherfresh.com/BRYANBUTCHERLIMERICKS.html!

Another Year...

2005-01-01T00:15:00.000-05:00

the big ball in NY City just dropped. My family has been asleep for at least half an hour. My wife fell asleep watching TV. My son went to bed angry and disappointed - the Gators lost to U of Miami. Nick stayed awake (and mostly alert) until the bitter end. He had been looking forward to this game for over a month.
As I watch the celebration on TV I can't help but think of those on the other side of the world tonight who are just trying to survive another day. I can't imagine their misery. During the day our TV has been tuned to CNN. I spend my time trying to comprehend the magnitude of what I see on the screen - sound bites and attempts at joyous stories from complete devastation and hopelessness. Survivors are paraded before the camera; stunned by their experiences they try to put on a "game face" for the audience at home. The families shown express joy at having their lost children home. Those who have returned from the dead zone seem in a fog. I wonder - how survival will affect them?
Here I sit in my comfortable den, laptop aglow, new 36 inch television keeping me company and providing background noise, fish tank bubbling away just over my shoulder, dishwasher churning away in the kitchen, thinking, "I could use something to drink. What should I get - milk, tea, powerade, water, diet coke, lemonade?" And then I compare my overly comfortable life with the horrors that flickered on the screen all morning, lodging in my memory. I hear big corporations and rock stars proudly proclaiming that they have contributed money - when they give the amount I laugh. Yes, for me the sums would be huge. But for corporations that each day carry profits of millions $10,000.00 is a pittance. For Rock stars that flaunt cars worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, the same donation is an insult. I get the feeling most are only out for publicity - me? Cynical?
So I pray. and I feel guilty. and I hurt. and I cry. and I feel helpless. and I see them again - in my mind, on the screen. they are everywhere. and I can do nothing more - but live.

Lessons from the Children....

2004-12-26T09:09:00.000-05:00

There have been some special moments this season involving our nativities. Karen reminded me to jot them down so we won’t forget about them. A few weeks ago Karen and the kids were setting up our collection of Nativity scenes all over the house. Both children are rather creative and used the occasion to add their personality to the task. After Nicholas (our self proclaimed herpetologist) put one of his plastic Cobras alongside the porcelain crèche in the den – the most prominent one in the house – Karen commented, “Nicholas! A cobra doesn’t go in a nativity scene!” Nick countered, “I thought Jesus was for everyone.” I guess he has gotten the true meaning of the season after all!

Natalie also had something to teach us about advent. Karen found her switching the baby Jesus from one Nativity to another. The result was rather odd; the slender hand carved olive wood baby was lying at the feet of the holy family and visitors represented by snow men! And the snow man baby Jesus was dwarfing the olive wood scene. Everything looked out of place. Again, how appropriate. We’ve heard the Christmas story so often that it no longer seems odd or out of place for a baby to be born in a barn! Natalie, however, in her own creative way has shown us that the juxtaposition of Divinity with humanity, of royalty with humility, of Emmanuel – God Incarnate – is what the season is really about.

The meaning of the season....

2004-12-23T08:57:00.000-05:00

Our “act of kindness,” taking a meal to some of the homeless in Atlanta gathered at Northwoods Baptist Church was an incredible experience of humility, grace and service. Our children had a good time as well. We joined the effort at the invitation of Karol Vellines, the children’s minister at Peachtree Baptist Church. As the adults gathered in the kitchen of Peachtree Baptist Church to carve the smoked Turkey’s and make the casseroles, the children clumped around one of the tables in the fellowship hall to cut-up fresh fruit for a salad. Once at Northwoods Baptist our children joined the other kids already playing among the toys in one of the Sunday school rooms. I took a break from setting up the buffet line to check on the children. Despite the language barriers (all of the other children were Latino) each group of playing children contained both Americans and Latinos.
Once all the food was gone (every scrap was eaten on the spot or wrapped in plastic and foil to later consumption), the kitchen and dining room cleaned and everyone packed into vehicles some interesting conversations ensued about the evening. Nicholas wondered, “Why were some of those kids mean?” After hearing of the “mean play” we responded, “they weren’t mean, they just play differently than you do.” When we informed them that all of the children with whom they were playing were actually homeless too they were aghast. In that moment the reality of their actions and their kindness emerged. We explained again that the true meaning of Christmas is acting with love like Jesus did. We read them stories out of the Gospels where Jesus tells his followers to feed those who are hungry, cloth those who are naked and visit those in prison. Natalie and Nick wanted us to read the stories over and over again. We explained that when we go through their plethora of toys piled high in the corners of their room gathering the one’s they don’t use we give them to children just like those they played with the night before.
We’ll keep reminding them about the events of Tuesday evening. We will also seek out similar opportunities for us to get involved here at home. There are several homeless ministries in Athens that accept volunteers. It should be easy to find someplace to work.
Oscar Romero has expressed wonderful thoughts about the subject of poverty in light of the advent season (Copied from - http://www.bruderhof.com/articles/martyrs-voice.htm?source=DailyDig):
No one can celebrate a genuine Christmas without being truly poor. The self-sufficient, the proud, those who, because they have everything, look down on others, those who have no need even of God – for them there will be no Christmas. Only the poor, the hungry, those who need someone to come on their behalf, will have that someone. That someone is God, Emmanuel, God-with-us. Without poverty of spirit there can be no abundance of God. (December 24, 1978)
When the poor have nowhere to rest their bodies, and their children fleeing from the cold find only hammocks strung up in the fields and coffee groves, we must recall that the Savior’s good news is for all. The happiness of the Lord who created us to fulfill his salvation is everyone’s. (December 24, 1978)
Christ built his classroom of redemption among the poor – not because money is evil, but because money often makes slaves of those who worship the things of earth and forget about God. (December 25, 1978)

I pray that his words and our experiences of this week will stick in my mind and affect our hearts this season and throughout the year.

What is Christmas really all about?

2004-12-21T07:04:00.000-05:00

I’ve been pondering again what this Christmas idea is all about. Last week I heard a devotional where a commentary by John Boykin was read. The reader had heard the essay on NPR’s All Things Considered and thought it appropriate to share with a group of collegiate ministers this season. In the essay, Boykin, a Christian, calls for fellow followers of Christ to admit the obvious, that the marketing world that has succeeded taking over Christmas as a spending holiday. He suggests, “I'm not fighting the commercialization of Christmas; that fight was lost ages ago. What I'm after is more radical: Disentangling Jesus entirely from this blight on his good name. I'm out to change the bumper sticker from `Keep Christ in Christmas' to `Free Christ from Christmas.’” He goes on to propose that we make Easter our day and take it back from the bit of commercialization in which it has become shrouded (You can hear the whole essay on NPR’s Website: http://www.npr.org/dmg/dmg.php?prgCode=ATC&showDate=02-Dec-2004&segNum=10&NPRMediaPref=WM&getAd=1).

Boykin continues, ”Christmas, by contrast, has no time for what the adult Jesus said and did. Christmas keeps him safely shut up as a baby in the manger, where he can't make his usual noise about people repenting and living a godly life.
So does his birth matter at all? Well, it matters to his followers today as one way of backing up his claim to be the son of God. But that's not the way Jesus, himself, backed up his claim. He pointed not to his birth, but to his Resurrection. So I'll trade a month of Christmases for one meaningful Easter.”

I don’t know if his solution is the one we should follow, but he does bring up some fascinating points to ponder. I think Jesus’ birthday celebration is important. However, it is difficult for most middle and upper class Americans (and others who want to among the world’s richest) to grasp the significance of a tiny baby born into poverty roughly 2000 years ago. But for many in our world who don’t have our wealth Jesus’ birth must be remembered and honored, for in this simple act, God turned the human idea of upper class upside down!

My wife and I were going over our Christmas list the other day. Again we’ve spent way too much on our children. It happens every year. I wonder what message we are sending. I know that our actions communicate so much more than what we say. So…this year we have teamed up with some good friends to prepare a meal for some homeless folks in Atlanta. I’m up early this morning (5:30 a.m.) smoking two turkeys – almost 40 pounds of poultry. They should be ready in time to head to Atlanta at 3:00 this afternoon to finish pulling the meal together. Our children will be involved in the whole process. They went to the grocery store with us last night to buy the food. They will help prepare the desserts today (Mississippi Mud cake!). This afternoon we will all gathering the church kitchen to finish the meal and then we will all serve it.

An article caught my eye this morning. Dorothy Soelle wrote an essay about her experience of finally understanding Christmas after years of frustration with the commercialization of the holiday (http://www.bruderhof.com/articles/soelle-xmas-gospel.htm?source=DailyDig). While studying the text from a historical and theological viewpoint, Soelle discovered the hopelessness of those who were watching the sheep (and probably most in Bethlehem) whose lives where subject to the economic desires of the ruling class in Rome. Historically what we call Pax Romana was anything but peaceful for most of the citizens of the empire. It was known as a time of peace, but at what cost to the lives of those not in power?

As we are in the Christmas season, I wonder how much of the story we can really understand from our perspective? This economic holiday requires that we buy, buy, buy or our whole economy will crash. Even those who can’t afford basics of living put huge debts on credit cards, further deepens their dependence on others. This season should be about freedom. We have chosen to be slaves to the marketing ploys of the economic emperors in our attempt to make meaning in our lives. We want to see the joyous faces (or is it just fleeting happiness or surprise) of our children on Christmas morning. We want to feel we are giving this season.

I’m hoping that this seasons highlight for my family won’t be Saturday morning when the packages are all opened. I’m hoping what matters most, and what matters most to them will be found today in our simple act of service. I’m also hoping that we can carry this out into 2005, helping folks all year long while reflecting back on this event as “why.” For I concur with Soelle, “Without the perspective of the poor, we see nothing, not even an angel. When we approach the poor, our values and goals change. The child appears in many other children. Mary also seeks sanctuary among us. Because the angels sing, the shepherds rise, leave their fears behind, and set out for Bethlehem, wherever it is situated these days.”

This season, may we truly get it, understanding, perhaps for the first time, that the reason so many in churches are not the rich and famous but those we often look down upon is that folks who appear on the bottom are those who are ready to admit that they need something or someone in whom to hope. I pray I will not forget this simple truth, I need Jesus.

No Room? Where? In me? In the World?

2004-12-17T06:44:00.000-05:00

In The Shaping of Things to Come, Frost and Hirsch suggest that as Christians we need to switch to a missional worldview where we go into the world as missionaries not an attractional mindset in which we put up a sign on our churches and expect folks who need God to come to us. They continue that those of us who seek God within the walls of church, within the sanctuary should head into the world, get comfortable living our faith there, and meet God where God is already at work. We often assume that God is absent from “the world” and we must take him there. That could not be further from the truth. The authors suggest we must look for God at work in all things, in all places and at all times!
As I’ve been interacting with the book (I write all in and over books I read – print is truly interactive media for me) I’ve had a few thoughts along these lines. Why is it when encountering the world, brushing up against its edges, we become like it while giggling inwardly (or outwardly). There is a buzz of excitement within us, as if we are doing something we should not be doing. It is like we feel a since of danger when we meet the world. Is it that we are so uncomfortable because we have become separated from that which Jesus came to redeem? We need to firmly grab hold of Jesus hand, hold onto each other for support, encouragement, accountability, and dive into the world. Our faith must remain pure. Our holiness must be apparent. We must learn to relate without compromising into in, so that God can use us as conduits for the message he is already in the process of delivering. God is there. Why do we not find him? We see only sin when we look at the world. Perhaps we are more attuned to sin than to God. Is our attempt to avoid sin so strong that sin is all we think about? Talk about missing the point of the Gospel and of Paul’s writings! We are now free from the bondages of sin – even our minds should be freed to think about Jesus and redemption, yet we continue to focus on that very thing from which God has freed us! Perhaps we need to focus less on sin and more on God! We should be freed to get out into the world with the Gospel – doing whatever we want to do, doing whatever we need to do to reach the world for Christ!
I remember at seminary a Canadian student was sharing in our “world missions” class how he had begun an informal ministry at the local tavern. Each day he’d go down to the bar, sit on a stool and order a beer. Each day before he left for home, he had the opportunity to share his faith and often lead someone to Jesus. This student was chastised for his choice of ministry venues by almost everyone in the class! How tragic. We haven’t become like Jesus, we have become like the Pharisees!
This morning, “My Daily Dig” appeared in my inbox (http://www.bruderhof.com/articles/TimeOfNoRoom.htm?source=DailyDig). Following the link I was taken to an essay by Thomas Merton about the gospel line regarding “no room in the inn.” It seems to tell a similar tale of longing to go to those who are “in the world:”
Into this world, this demented inn, in which there is absolutely no room for him at all, Christ has come uninvited. But because he cannot be at home in it - because he is out of place in it, and yet must be in it - his place is with those others who do not belong, who are rejected because they are regarded as weak; and with those who are discredited, who are denied the status of persons, and are tortured, exterminated. With those for whom there is no room, Christ is present in this world. He is mysteriously present in those for whom there seems to be nothing but the world at its worst. For them, there is no escape even in imagination. They cannot identify with the power structure of a crowded humanity which seeks to project itself outward, anywhere, in a centrifugal flight into the void, to get out there where there is no God, no man, no name, no identity, no weight, no self, nothing but the bright, self-directed, perfectly obedient and infinitely expensive machine.
For those who are stubborn enough, devoted enough to power, there remains this last apocalyptic myth of machinery propagating its own kind in the eschatological wilderness of space - while on earth the bombs make room!
But the others: they remain imprisoned in other hopes, and in more pedestrian despairs, despairs and hopes which are held down to earth, down to street level, and to the pavement only: desire to be at least half-human, to taste a little human joy, to do a fairly decent job of productive work, to come home to the family...desires for which there is no room. It is in these that He hides himself, for whom there is no room.
I hope this season I’ll take some time to reflect on how to get back into the world Jesus dove into as a tiny, helpless babe. I pray God will give me Godly eyes to enable to see Jesus at work all around me. I hope I’ll throw off the shackles of Phariseism with which I’ve voluntarily bound myself and find the freedom to be a missionary to the world in which I live. I pray my faith is up to the task, and has not just become a shadow of the mountain moving faith Jesus talked about to his band so long ago. I hope I can bring the kingdom I have hidden within into the light of the world so others may see it and meet Jesus! I hope….

The (Absolute) Best Christmas Pageant Ever!

2004-12-12T22:50:00.000-05:00

Tonight we witnessed The Best Christmas pageant Ever.... Or at least the latest attempt to produce that hysterical play based on the book of the same title (written by Barbara Robinson, Harper and Row, 1972). What made the play so special? Why, my two children, of course! They were the most perfect angels in the angel choir - Natalie with garland halo 'a bouncing upon her head (her constant nodding to keep it moving helped a bit), and Nick with his wings protruding just about his shoulders, his halo placed just so, held tightly in place by the headband at his temples, cushioned by the not-so-delicately wrapped pieces of facial tissue (giving the appearance of white flowers tucked behind his ears!). Joy, joy! The story always gets me - the Herdmans, the town bullies and misfits, show up at church just in time to join the annual production of the Christmas play. To everyone's surprise instead of ruining the production, their wide-eyed wonder and improvisations give the play a raw reality and bring the real meaning of Christmas home to the community. My favorite scenes include a tired, bedraggled, dirty and unkept Mary crying rocking and nuzzling baby Jesus as the Angel Choir softly sings carols behind her and the Angel of the Lord shouting to the shepherds, "Hey, Unto You a Child is Born!" I think we often get so caught up the stuff of this season that we miss out on the baby snuggling next to his tender, but tired and probably a bit confused mom. I think I often need someone to get my attention by shouting in my face, "Hey, Unto You a Child is Born." Maybe then I'll go find a newborn babe to stare at for a while, just to soak in the innocence there; just to find the recent incarnation of spirit freshly bestowed in human life.

Wow! God really trusts us....

2004-12-08T08:17:00.000-05:00

Last night at our Christmas worship service my colleague, Franklin Scott, talked about the familier Christmas story with a cool object lesson - he had an alumni bring in her 3 month old baby. As Franklin held the tiny, angelic child he talked about the miracle of God-incarnate. The most profound aspect of his sermon was when he pointed at the baby and said, "see how much God trusts us? He sent his son, his most loved posession to us in the form of a helpless baby." Franklin went on to discribe the helplessness of a newborn, and the care, love and attention they require for survival.
I don't think I had ever considered God's trust of us. What a wonderful picture of the grace and mercy of God for those he loves - he trusted us with Jesus. And he still does. As Jesus is incarnate in each of our lives God trusts us to live that same grace and mercy as we go about our daily activities. We are to literally be the hands, feet, voice, eyes, bodies and minds of Jesus in all we do. We are to allow God to indwell us, and as a result, indwell the world and touch the lives of those we meet each day.
Wow!

What if....

2004-12-05T18:59:00.000-05:00

I've been reading The Shaping of Things to Come: Innovation and Mission for the 21st-Century Church, by Michael Frost and Alan Hirsch. I find that I have to stop every few lines and underline a profound comment or thought and pause every page or so to let their common sense application of scripture to our contemporary society and practice of church. My reading has prompted me to re-examine the way I practice my faith and teach Christianity to those in my circle of influence. I have begun asking "what if?" a great deal!
What if we didn't spend so much time focusing on ourselves as practitioners of faith and focused more on other's needs - especially those of those who don't yet profess our faith?
What if instead of assigning folks within our memberships to committees and teams to keep our church machine going, we equiped them and commissioned them to minister where they already live and work?
What if instead of holing up inside of our church walls (seeking sanctuary from the influences "out there") we made "out there" a sanctuary where we worship God with our whole lives (Romans 12)?
What if, instead of spending millions on new church facilities, we used that money to care for the poor, broken hearted, and jailed, making sure everyone had the "cup of water" Jesus told us about?
What if, instead of going once a week as a group to the nursing home to cheer the residents with a song or a testimony we had each person in our group adopt a resident for personal ministry over the whole year?
What if, instead of going once a week to play with kids in the trailer park or the Hispanic community we assigned each student a family to minister to from their first year in college through their senior year? What difference could that student make in their lives as a tutor, mentor, "Mr." or "Ms. Fix-it," and family friend?
What if we took seriously the idea that we should be "in the world" and made every where we go our mission field instead of seeing missions and ministry as something we do only in the summer or on special trips or as some other reserved portion of our lives?

A time to listen...

2004-12-01T09:48:00.000-05:00

I've subscribed to several thought provoking e-newsletters recently. One arrived in my box this morning and served as a pleasant reminder to not only stop and remember what this season is all about, but also to shut up, stop and remember what this season is all about! This e-newsletter was Dorothy Day's essay, "A Time of Waiting" ( http://www.bruderhof.com/articles/dorothy-day-advent-waiting.htm ). I highly encourage reading her thoughts on the season! I usually view advent as a time of waiting. With small children at home waiting has become an active time - a time of diversion, a time to entertain, a time to be avoided if at all possible! Day's understanding of advent as silence is not only a message we need to hear, it's essential! I've often found with those in my ministry care too much time is spent with God telling, and not enough time listening. I suppose that is also true for me. These words have sparked in me a longing for Day's "Long Loneliness" - a desire to rekindle the God connection within my soul, a desire for silence of speach, of work, of ministry, of life for a bit, so that I can hear and truly experience the coming of God once again into my life and the world.

The Shoeshine Kit

2004-11-29T01:05:00.000-05:00

I called Natalie and Nick to the floor of my bedroom: it was time for their first shoeshine lesson. In one hand, I held an old sheet of newspaper; in the other , the well-worn shoeshine kit. As I laid everything out on the floor and carefully opened the box, I could sense their excitement – this was something new and almost holy. I think they also felt my awe in teaching them something so menial and yet, somehow so spiritual. The smell of shoe wax wafted from the opened cedar box – a breeze of days long past and almost forgotten.

I sent Natalie to my closet for my black dress shoes. When she returned I began placing the contents of the kit on the newspaper – the large brush came first followed by the two smaller ones, one with soft bristles stained brown the other black. “Can I try?” they both asked, each picking up a brush and gently rubbing it against their soft skin. Memories shimmered in my mind and I paused to savor each one.

The well-stained buffing cloths came out next; each one bearing earth tone smudges of shoes shined to mirror brightness. Natalie picked up an old stained toothbrush, a question unspoken on her lips. I answered her quizzical look with an explanation and a demonstration. Closing the box and latching the lock, I asked her to place and hold a shoe on the stand affixed atop of the lid. I opened the newly purchased canister of shoe polish, gently brushed the surface of the paste, leaving swirled scars in the shiny black surface. “That smells good,” one of them said. I applied the paste to the scuffed black dress shoe in small circles, dulling the shine. I want to try, Natalie said, reaching for the brush. I held the shoe in place for her and guided her hands, teaching the swirling motion – gentle, soft swirls all along the surface of the shoe.

When we finished, Nick wanted to try a buffing brush. I asked him to choose the softest brush. Using the larger brush, I demonstrated the proper technique and quickly brought the dull surface to a shimmering brightness. “Now it’s your turn,” I said, passing the shoe to him. Half of his arm was swallowed by the large shoe as he tried to hold it just as I had done. He carefully, though clumsily, tried to imitate my quick strokes across the shoe surface. After a few misses and a few collisions, he finally got the smooth motion down. He buffed the shine even brighter.

The shoes were finished way too soon. “Let’s do some more,” Natalie exclaimed while skipping back to my closet. “I don’t have any brown polish Nat,” I called after her. “I’ll have to buy some this week.” The old cans in the bottom of the box were dry, hard and useless. Nick picked up a few cans to check the rattle inside.

I tried to explain to them the significance that my childhood experience of shining shoes with my dad now meant to me. I do not think they caught the depth of meaning it had for me – in fact I really hadn’t noticed it before until the smell of polish wafted through the room.

The day after Thanksgiving as we were carrying the last bits of luggage and “stuff” to the van mom called, “Nathan, do you want your dad’s shoeshine kit?” “Sure,” I replied, without really thinking about it. She met me in the kitchen, “here it is.” When my hand closed around the worn wooden handle the memories came flooding back bringing with them a sudden wave of grief. I turned and winced, tucking another load of “stuff” under my arms while quickly walking back towards the car, seeking to hide my filling eyes from others in the room.

I knew mom had cleaned out dad’s closet and given away most of his clothes in recent months as she sought to deal with her grief as well as clean up some of the clutter that he had collected over 47 years of marriage. She had even tried to give me some of his newer shirts a month or so back. I didn’t think long about it, “no thanks.” They would have just hung in my closet unworn this season until I eventually gave them to Goodwill or the Potter’s House.

The switch from “going to Macon to see my folks,” to “going to Macon to see mom” has not been so hard to make. Yes, I still tear up at times when looking at his picture in my office – he too was a campus minister. The shot I have is of him at his desk, deep in conversation with someone unseen. I miss him most when I want to share a new discovery or success in ministry. I want to give him a call when I have a problem and I need a wise, sympathetic ear. My grief has come in small ripples. It has not yet – if it ever will – flooded over me, drowning me in sorrow or immobilizing pain.

Nevertheless, the shoeshine kit affected me with a warm grief, a good grief – not the cold, lonely kind. The box not only holds the tools to make scuffed shoes look great, but memories of a joyous childhood, sitting on the floor with dad on Saturday evenings, shining our shoes for church the next day.

Over the past 5 months, I have thought about dad a great deal. I’ve tried to recall both good times and bad. I have tried to remember the lessons he taught me as his oldest son, lessons I never want to forget. In these months, I have also tried to remember his words and actions that as a dad I do not want to repeat with my children. Many of those words I only remember as they come out of my mouth!

I hope to make memories with my kids that are lasting. I hope that many of the experiences we share, great and small, will be indelibly marked in their minds by something as simple and yet profound as the smell of shoe polish. I hope they will learn lessons from me that I learned from dad – no matter how scuffed up life makes us, we can always be polished and made fresh again. Moreover, often the scars, though painful at the time are the very things that give us character and strength. It is often not what happens to us that matters most, but what we do with what happens to us that really matters. I want to learn from dad’s life. I want to remember.

I think I will be polishing my shoes a bit more now – whether or not they need shining!

It worked!

2004-11-21T17:46:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning, just as I was posting the last entry my wife got a call from the Bible Study leader at our church asking her to lead "tomorrow's" lesson. My wife wasn't available, so I readily agreed to lead the time. I saw it as a chance to try out my "epiphany."
It worked! I got some really funny looks when explaining to the gathered university professors, vets and teachers my thoughts about the way we have been doing Bible Study. However, they were willing to try (I think they were just glad to have someone lead the group - it let them off of the hook!). We began with the Old Testament lesson that would soon be read in corporate worship. I asked my wife to read the long passage through and then for someone else with another translation to read the same passage as soon as the first was finished. There was an odd pause at the conclusion of the readings. I didn't want to have to ask for comments or to give any further instructions, but this being the first time we had tried this approach I thought it best to ask, "does this passage resonnate with anyone's experiences, life, plans or....." I was hoping for a short period of silence - something we Baptist are not used to or fond of in worship or our discussions. However, one of the members quickly jumped in with a very practical experience from the day before. We had some lively discussion as folks were connecting with the rather odd passage about bringing our first fruits to the priest to be given to God. After 10 or so minutes of discussion we jumped to the New Testament reading. We read it in a similar manner. The disscussion picked up on the similar themes in both readings. Soon we were sharing about our lives and how, especially at Thanksgiving we should be reflective of how our lives are lived out gifts brought to God daily, giving God the best of all we are and do, not just from our checkbooks. I said some things to wrap up and offered a prayer of thanksgiving and we headed into worship.
I hope that the others in the class made the same connections to the scriptures as they were read during the corporate worship time. The hour had new meaning as we sang, prayed and read those same passages. When we came the sharing of communion I was able to see my life as a gift brought to God not alone, but as a dad, a member of the body of Christ and as one who is a result of whole Bible story, from my ancient grandparents Abraham and Sarah through to my brothers and sisters in Christ who play out the Gospel narrative.

aah, Saturday Morning....

2004-11-20T09:27:00.000-05:00

it's a wonderful, rainy, lazy Saturday morning. My family was slow getting out of bed and coming down for our usual morning around the table chatting and reading the paper together. We finished off the time with heaping plates of blueberry pancakes - yum! Of course I was up early. I suppose that's the result of getting older and having too much spinning in my head at any one time. After heading the wrong direction after leaving the Omni Hotel in Atlanta last night, I ended up in who-knows-where on the southwest side of Atlanta. I still don't know how I got where I was. Anyway, instead of getting home at 10:30 it was closer to 11:30. I had lots on my mind as a result of the conference I had attended over the last two days. Not that the conference was that informative, but my thoughts and reading did stretch me.
These days I've been thinking about being a follower of Jesus outside of the normal church experience. It seems we have confused our religious pursuits - church - from being a Christian. While hiding in the sanctuary or refuge of our church buildings (we have become like Quasimodo running from the soldiers in The Hunchback of Notre Dame crying "Sanctuary! Sanctuary!") we are missing the changing world outside of our doors. I wonder if we'll be able to reconnect with those that aren't within the walls with us? I wonder if anyone really wants to?
I've been reading some great books that have really challenged my traditional thinking about how to do church and be a minister to church members and to those who don't do church. I don't know that I can make the switch from being a desk jocky with my faith to someone who is out of the box, seeking God in all of life and trying to make God-connections for folks where ever I go. I'd like to - but I sometimes find that I don't know what to say to folks that don't do the church thing, that don't know churchspeak. I've so cloistered myself for so many years that I wonder if I have anything in common with anyone not in my church club? It's all rather frightening, actually. I've got to find some ways hang out with folks not in my world - just to stay sane. Now that I've noticed the dichotomy I must do something to change before it's too late. What - that's the question that woke me up this morning. It's OK to read about making the switch - but actually stepping out and doing some things to change my point of view? That's a bit tougher....

...an epiphany of sorts

2004-11-19T06:28:00.000-05:00

I’ve just had a revelation or an epiphany – everything about the Bible is now different for me. The Bible was never intended to be studied by individuals, but to be read and applied by the gathered community of God. The Bible is God’s revelation of Godself to the Church, the gathered community of believers! His word to us, not to me! It can only be properly understood, digested and applied in community. Looking back on the way the canon came into being and the way the early documents and letters that now make up the Bible were disseminated, it was mostly in communal settings, churches, families, folks getting together to read a fragment here and a letter there. It is only since the invention of the printing press and the resulting spread and availability of books that individuals own Bibles for personal (only) use. I think this is a mistake of modernity of the highest degree. We dissect God's word instead of letting it dissect us! We have become the ones who control the Bible (and thus God's work in our lives) instead of allowing God to control and change us from within the community.

I’m intrigued by the Quakers. I think they’ve got it right on many matters, especially on worship and the speaking of the Holy Spirit to the gathered community of believers. I think I’m going to adapt some of their methods in my Bible Studies for the rest of this year to see what happens.

Starting next week I’m not going to teach my Bible studies (one with a group of guys working through Mark and the other with our senior students in First John). We are going to try a new approach – read a section or chunk, mediate on it and see what God says in response to us as individuals and as a group to apply it to our lives, community, group, etc: No critiquing the work; No analysis; Just our response to God’s word in our lives and community. We’ll see how it works. It’s a very postmodern approach. We’ll teach each other. The focus is not to glean information, but to do spiritual formation – to become more like Christ in all aspects of our lives.

2004-11-19T06:23:00.000-05:00

I journal - every once in a while - so I can look back and figure out where I've been on this journey of life and so my kids may be able to one day avoid some of the silly miss-steps I've made along the way. I've read other's blogs over the years. Now I've decided to do more than just make comments on their sites and give a go at my own. Join me for the trip!

5th annual UGA BSU Ride for Christ!

2004-11-04T15:13:00.000-05:00

267 Miles in 3 days!