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From The Vault: Looking Back

My wife, Heather, has very few faults.  Buuuut there is this one tiny glitch...

She runs into everything.  

She won't just bump into you, she doesn't just brush up against you, she'll plow right over you.  This is her painful imperfection: my beautiful soulmate NEVER looks where she's going. 

The first time I noticed this was when we were dating - I watched her walk straight into an industrial-strength, fifteen-foot ladder.  She never saw it, and it never saw her.  And this is no one time deal, it's more like a once-a-day deal.  She rubs her head, pouts a little, and I act sympathetic while trying to suppress laughter.  

Heather's equally dangerous and hilarious flaw is irrefutably linked to her favorite walking posture: walking forward while looking back.  One last glance, one final goodbye.  Head turned back...talking to someone who's behind her...oblivious to what's upcoming.

Have you ever been caught looking back while you were walking?  It can hurt, can't it?  Bruised shins (Who put that there?!), fender benders (Why did he brake?!), and smacked foreheads. (That's going to leave a mark!) These are the accompanying symptoms of lookingoveryourshoulderitis.  

This affliction doesn't just infect the way we walk, it can also infect the way we live. 

Have you ever been caught looking back while you were living?  The side affects can be even more painful.  Missed moments (I didn't realize...), unfair comparisons (It's just not the same...), loss of purpose (I wish I could go back...).

In the Old Testament, the Bible tells us that God's people often looked back.  Even though God was in their midst, in their present, they longed for the past.  I wonder how often we do the same; we miss God now, because we want God then. 

What the Hebrew people failed to discover - and in juxtaposition, we also fail to discover - is that God is about the present.  Sure, He worked in our past.  And, yes, He has plans for our future.  But He is present in our present.  This means that right now... as you're reading this...He is here for you.

Let the past go.  Let the future wait.  Live in the present.  The alternative can be bruising.

 

(originally posted on February 8, 2008)

Code Orange Revival: Preaching Matters

Some days you stumble upon something that helps you dream again.  Today is one of those days...

Thanks, Elevation, for reminding us of the power of the local church.  

(Code Orange Revival from Elevation Church on Vimeo.)

 

Waiting For An Apology

Apologies don’t heal us.  We’d like to think that they do, but they don’t.

In fact, waiting for an apology can be dangerous.  You see, demanding contrition stalls the healing process.  It squeezes the wound, hoping the perpetrator sees that we're still bleeding.  

Would you like a bandage?  Some antiseptic?  "No thanks, I'm waiting for my apology."  

Of course, there are some exceptions - some apologies are immediate.  You step on someone’s toe:  Oops! I’m sorry.  You fail to return a text: Sorry.  Just saw this.  You butt-bump somone at church: Excuse me.  So sorry. (In my defense, it gets really crowded at our church!)

But as you well know, most apologies aren’t in the moment.  They buffer.  Some take days, others take years, and then there are those that never come at all.  Never. 

It’s these apologies – these unfulfilled promises – that are the mirages leading us farther and farther into our desert of bitterness.  Some of us have been wandering there for years.

To say,  "I’m waiting for your apology” is to say, “You owe me something.”  We can’t stand the thought of the antagonist walking away unscathed.  It goes against every fairy tale we’ve ever read.  Bad guys are supposed to pay!  The villain has to fall off of the roof, the witch has to melt, and the traitor has to hang. 

We can’t accept a story that allows our villain, witch or traitor to walk away smiling.   There must be another chapter, right?  I’m sorry will surely come before The End.

But grace takes a different position.  Grace believes the climax of the story is forgiveness rather than punishment.  Grace doesn’t need him to say I’m sorry in order for you to say I’m healing.  Grace starts working long before an apology; as a matter of fact, grace never assumes an apology is coming.

The beautiful scandal of the Bible is that God chooses not to press charges.   The Father devised a rescue plan before His people even knew they were lost; the Son forgave soldiers while they were in the very act of crucifying him; and the Spirit came to a world that still mocks Him today.  Grace, grace, grace.

Understand this: You may never get that apology. 

It would be nice; they owe it to you.  But it might not happen.  He may never admit fault, she may never change, and you may never hear I’m sorry that I hurt you. 

Can you handle that?  Can you choose to forgive knowing that you may not be asked to?  Can you give the same generous grace that you so readily received?

Some of us can’t.  Let me rephrase that: some of us won’t.  We’ll hold out for our apology.  We’ll buttress our position.  We’ll review our notes.  We’ll plead our case. 

It's an understandable and sad existence.  You’ll be right, but you’ll be miserably right.  You’ll wander in your desert, stumbling towards a cruel mirage.  Your best friend will be thirst, and your favorite word will be tomorrow.

I’m not going to fault you for living like that, but I am going to suggest that you don’t have to.  Grace can refresh you; forgiveness can free you.  

Maybe these are the things you’ve been waiting for all along.  

Pictures That I Love

A couple of pics from the weekend...

 

 

Things My Pastor Said | 01-23-12

I’ve been a pastor.  I’ve studied pastors.  My friends are pastors.  But I haven’t actually had a pastor in a long time.  I have one now.  Here are some things he said last weekend:

Pastor Robert Morris | Gateway Church

Series: In Jesus' Name | Sermon: The Joy of Intercession | Text: Romans 8

• "Prayer is the transference of a burden.  If you go into a prayer closet and come out with the same burden that you went in with, you didn't pray; you just griped."

• "Jesus calls us sheep.  Sheep are not burden bearing animals."

• Pastor Robert taught us about the definition of intercession.  He said that intercession means "to bring together."  That's the picture of Jesus in Romans 8:34 where Paul says that Jesus is at the right hand of the Father making intercession for us.  Paul isn't saying that Jesus is praying.  Paul is telling us that Jesus is bringing two things together - "Jesus lives to reconnect a holy God with fallen man."

• "When we couldn't reach to God, He reached to us."  (Isaiah 59:16)

• "The Holy Spirit is also interceding."  (Romans 8:26, 27)  "We don't always know how to pray, but the Holy Spirit does.  He helps us."

• "We should be interceding, too."  (I Timothy 2:1)

• "The reason we can intercede is because Jesus first interceded for us."

These aren't complete notes, just a few quotes I jotted down.  

Pastor Robert showed us in Scripture the beauty of intercession.  It's a form of prayer that many of us are intimidated by but we don't have to be.  Intercession isn't lofty or even lengthy, it's simply bringing two things together.  When you pray for someone, you're bringing that person/request to the Lord.  

I'm learning a lot from my pastor.  I'm thankful I have one.

Will Smith and Tom Hanks Preach About Community

Will Smith is a fantastic preacher.  As a matter of fact, so is Tom Hanks.  These two guys must have sat in on the same creative meeting, because they preached congruent sermons in their respective movies: I Am Legend and Castaway. 

These blockbusters gave us more than zombie survival tips and an appreciation for volleyballs; they preached a sermon to us, a sermon we all needed to hear.  These movies reminded us, You Weren’t Created To Live Alone.

It’s a message that needs to be preached because isolation is our daily temptation.  It is so tantalizingly easy.  To be alone requires nothing.  You can live in your pajamas, sink into your sofa, and never miss an episode of The Bachelor.  Tempting, right?

Loneliness doesn’t just happen to us.  We choose it.  It is a calculated cost-cutting measure.  You don’t have to invest in inconveniences like soap or deodorant, and a tank of gas can last forever when you’re going nowhere.   

Many of us are going nowhere, and we’re going nowhere alone.

But you weren’t built to be alone.  You’re a piece of the broader puzzle.  You were made to fit with others.  There’s power in that truth.

Even though the Apostle Paul gave us deep spiritual doctrine in his epistles, one of the biggest things I appreciate every time I read his letters is an embarrassingly simple observation: Paul had friends.  The revered apostle who wrote 2/3 of the New Testament lived in community.  He always greeted people by name, and he always wrote about past and future visits.   

Paul loved people.  Paul refused to live alone.  Paul valued community.

The great beauty of the church is community.  There are people here who want to love you.  There are people here who want to share their lives with you.  There are people here worth getting off of your couch to meet. 

Community isn’t flashy.  It doesn’t get many accolades.  Best sellers aren’t written about it.  But it’s more than cute, and it’s greater than important.  Living with others is necessary for survival.  Just ask Will Smith and Tom Hanks; they’ll tell you.

The Answer is Always No

Always, always no...

Wanna watch Glee?

Would you like a salad with your entrée?

Do you give up?

Sir, do you know how fast you were driving?

Team Edward or Team Jacob?

Daddy, may we skip reading time tonight?

Are we lost?

Are we staying home from church this weekend?

Daddy, do I have to eat all of this?

Do these jeans make me look fat?

No, no.  A thousand times no.

The Kiss That Was Different

I’ve heard distinct and varied metaphors used to describe church planting.  Some people say it’s a marathon, others say it’s like giving birth. 

For us, it was a war. 

Let me be clear, real war is physical and bloody and hellish.  Church planting is not that.  Building a church is a different kind of war.  The objectives are spiritual, the attacks are emotional, and the victories are often quiet and unreported.

Our church planting experience was a fight from day one.  It was a fight that we instigated and relished, but it was a fight, nonetheless. 

There were epic spiritual battles that we engaged in for years in order to reach the lost, define our vision and protect unity; and there were minor skirmishes we fought periodically over things like budgets and offended members and faulty equipment. 

Heather and I were always right in the thick of the fight.  We were the medics, recruiters, supply officers and frontline soldiers all at once.  Faces painted; boots strapped; bandages and guns in tow.  

Make no mistake about it, a new church isn’t a baby, it’s a battleground.  And on every battleground, there are losses.  The church planter suffers them all.

One of the things Heather and I lost on the battleground was the ability to speak to one another.  I’m not talking about giving orders or calling in artillery, we were great at that; I’m talking about real and intimate conversation. 

There was down time, but it was different then.  Sex was R&R, vacation was leave - there was always a battle to get back to.  You can’t breathe in war; you can only try to breathe.  It seemed like we were always trying to breathe.

Our time was overrun by talk of growth projections and fundraising goals.  There were no longer questions about dreams and desires.  In the trenches, you don’t make yourself vulnerable, you ask for ammo.  For three years, I asked my wife for ammo.

But last weekend Heather kissed me in a way that told me all of that is over now.

We went out for our first official post-war dinner date.  It was noteworthy because we talked like regular people.  We didn’t converse about battle plans or strategic thinking.  We spoke about simple things.  Beautiful things. 

We talked about prayer and hope and the future.  Our conversation was spontaneous and playful like a cool stream on a warm day. We sipped each other’s drinks and smiled a lot because that's what happy people do.  When she spoke, I admired her, and when I spoke, I think she admired me, too. 

It was a night like the ones we used to have…a long time ago. 

After dinner, we walked a little too slowly to the car.  Secretly, I was afraid that if we left we might not ever get back.  When I held her car door open in homage to a bygone era, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known took that opportunity to kiss me.   

She said as much in that kiss as she had all night. 

Her kiss was deep and warm.  It was the kind of kiss that is generous and vulnerable; it gave and took at the same time.  She lingered, and I hoped the moment would never end. 

Heather spoke to me in that kiss.  She told me that she was no longer weary from holding a weapon and fighting our war.  She told me that she was no longer afraid that I had forgotten her.  She told me that she was happy and healing. 

I think she was glad that I was back.  I think she was glad that I was funny again.  I think she was glad that we are finding each other, and I think she was glad that I had opened that door for her.

I don’t know if I said the same things to her as I kissed her back.  I tried.  I wanted her to know what I was feeling.  I wanted her to hear all of the things I didn’t know how to say.  But most importantly, I wanted her to know that I’ll never fight as hard as when I’m fighting for her.

Heather and I are different now.  We’re braver.  We’re stronger.  We’re closer.  We’re different in so many ways.  I know that because of the way she kissed me. 

The Answer is Always Yes

Always, always yes...

Would you like an extra shot of espresso?

Are you tired?

Did you vote?

Was Denzel good in [insert title of ANY Denzel Washington movie EVER made here]?

Ya'll ready for this?

Would you like to super-size that? (don't judge me)

Are we going to church this weekend?

Sir, would you like your receipt?

Should college football have a playoff?

Daddy, do you want to snuggle?

Yes, yes.  A thousand times yes.

Show Me Your Scars

I have often heard it said that hurt people hurt people.  I believe that this is sometimes true, but I don’t believe that it is always true. 

I submit that hurt people inspire people.

We see this evidenced in artistic expression.  Pain is important to art.   Great art often comes from deep wounds.  It seems that the fresher the trauma, the purer the expression.  Look at Van Gogh or Hemingway or Adele - pain wrote, produced and directed their offerings.  (Yes, I just put Adele and Van Gogh in the same sentence.  I really like Adele.) 

Many of us try to dispose of our pain.  We buy shovels and coffins and set about the task of digging by moonlight.  We burrow like mole rats until our hands are raw and our backs are sore from the clandestine exercise. 

But we were designed to create not bury.  I wonder when we forgot that.  

Somewhere along the way we began digging with panicked vigor because buried pain - like covered scars – perpetuates the illusion that we are perfect.  We have never been damaged, we are not in pain, we are still lovely.  What an exhausting illusion.

The artist is different.  The artist owns no shovels. 

He uses his pain.  He recites it and revels in it.  He shamelessly exposes it.  Scars are his inspiration.  Trauma is his muse. 

And because the artist never thinks to backpedal from pain, we are the beneficiaries.  We show up en masse, pointing and marveling and admiring.  The beautiful scars of others comfort us - even as we hide our own.

I think we could all learn a lesson from the pained creator: your scars are only ugly to you.  To everyone else, they simply remind us that we have some, too. 

Your scars soothe us.  Your illness inspires us.  Your hurts heal us.

It’s long past time to bury shame instead of pain.  Today is a good day to come out of hiding and allow yourself to be loved.  What was meant for harm can be turned to good.  Embrace your wound.  Feel your pain.  Manipulate your trauma. 

We want to see every part of you.  Even your scars.