Yesterday I went on the Greensboro Housing Coalition’s “Healthy Homes Bus Tour.” This was the third annual Tour, and basically we rode around Greensboro on chartered buses to see homes that either had been improved due to the Housing Coalition’s efforts or homes that still needed work. It was very encouraging to see how the Coalition really is having an effect in terms of getting slumlords to comply with basic housing codes on their buildings and to see how Habitat for Humanity is making an impact on existing homes through its Home Repair program. There were some truly awful houses that have been either knocked down (and the tenants relocated to better homes) or repaired, and they seem to be on their way to reducing substandard housing in Greensboro by 50% by the year 2008.
However, inside I was so up and down as far as urban ministry goes (granted, I was pretty close to exhausted following being out of town for a few days).
As we drove through a neighborhood not far from mine, yet in considerably more disarray, I got excited looking at the houses there, seeing them as they could be and not as they are, and I felt excitement over possibly living there.
On the other hand, as we toured the city, most of the homes that needed work or had been neglected were in parts of town where mostly black or Hispanic people lived. The dividing line of race and class was so clear, almost as though I had not seen it before, and it broke my heart. It’s like there are two worlds in Greensboro and it feels as though the divide is unbridgeable. It’s not just a black-white divide. It’s money and privilege and ignorance and crime and more.
The last house we looked at was in a nicer neighborhood near UNCG with houses that probably are worth over $200,000. As we drove those streets, my heart longed to live there, to have shady sidewalks bordered by well-kept lawns, where things are quiet and orderly and predictable, where there was aesthetic beauty all around and just a peace that comes from life being similar to how it was when I was growing up. I was so sad that this was not my home and that this was not the part of town that I was called to, and I was sad that my heart was still so drawn to that part of life, even after five years living and serving here.
Not sure what to do with all I felt or whether most of that was emotion brought on by being tired. But my heart was heavy as I got off the bus and headed home. I’m so thankful that when I came in my door here on Silver Avenue, I had such a sweet family excitedly waiting to greet me!
Friday, September 29, 2006
Friday, September 22, 2006
Run, don't walk, to Blockbuster (or your Netflix que)
It's 10:35 pm on Friday night and I have about an hour of prep left before an evangelism training at Elon University tomorrow. But instead I am blogging, because Diane and I just watched a movie that I hope everyone who reads this will see if they have not. It's called "Akeelah and the Bee", and I can't tell you how much we enjoyed it. When I saw it advertised in Starbucks, I thought it was a cartoon about a bee and some Dora-the-Explorer-like girl, and even if I had read the fine print and learned it was about a spelling bee, I might have taken a pass. But this movie is about much more than simply the story of a girl who goes to the national spelling bee, because Akeelah happens to live in the Crenshaw section of LA, attending a school where they can't afford to put doors on the bathroom stalls. Her mom is struggling to keep her family together and in line, and Akeelah is a brilliant 11-year-old struggling between the goal of fitting in and blending in at her middle school, and the desire to win a national spelling competition.
So much of this movie resonated with us just from our experiences with kids and families here in Glenwood (which is certainly not Crenshaw, but many issues are the same), and what made my heart really sing is it spoke again a hopeful message that one at a time, people and families can be transformed. The layers and layers of her family and history are so neat to see as well - on first glance, you would see single mom, gang-banger son, daughter with a baby and no dad around, and you would just discount them. But as you learn more, their story and struggle is so much more complex. And this movie portrays community as so vital to the success of its members, which really excited and inspired me.
Even if you don't live in a neighborhood like Akeelah's (or Glenwood), you will be inspired by this story and entertained as well. Check it out.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Passive resistance circa 2006
Today I went into the K-2 room of our tutoring program to find one of our little girls lying on the floor crying. "Susie, get up," I said. No answer, no movement. "Susie, get up right now or you will lose your snack." No answer, no movement. This continues for a few more rounds until I have to pick her up and carry her to a chair. Then I ask her, "Do you know why you're not getting snack today?" No answer. Repeat five times. No answer. I can't take her home because her mom is not there (which brings up the subject of two kids under the age of seven at home alone all afternoon, but that is for another post). I can't spank her or send her to the principal or flunk her. She didn't answer, didn't look at me didn't move, and I was really not sure what to do short of carrying her outside to the free time area where most of the other kids were. Finally she decided to walk out there (still not talking) after I picked her up and made her begin to walk.
Later, I thought about the sit-in movements and the passive resistance tactics of the 60's and realized why they were effective. If you don't answer, don't move, just sit, there isn't a whole lot anyone can do with you. I just wish I hadn't faced it during our after school program.
Later, I thought about the sit-in movements and the passive resistance tactics of the 60's and realized why they were effective. If you don't answer, don't move, just sit, there isn't a whole lot anyone can do with you. I just wish I hadn't faced it during our after school program.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
All you need is love
After speaking at Duke's IV meeting this Friday, one of the students came up to talk. Over the course of talking, the topic of evangelism came up, and she began sharing how she had kind of sequestered herself away from non-Christians since she had been at school. She said that she didn't know how to share her faith very well and that she tended to get defensive when talking with non-Christians. But as we continued to talk, we began to zero in more and more on what the problem really was. It wasn't a lack of apologetics knowledge or a tendency to get defensive. Ultimately she had wandered from intimacy with Jesus, replacing a loving relationship with her Father with a boring, religious list of things to do. And so evangelism for her was not an expression of the love of Jesus that she was receiving; it was something that she ought to do. She had thought that evangelism was all up to her, and the concept of depending on Jesus to love her non-Christian friends through her was so foreign.
She said that for a couple of years she had been asking God to give her a passion for Him; I imagine that she thought that was a feeling or a zeal for the Lord. But perhaps, I told her, what she needed to ask God for was not a feeling of passion, but rather a knowing that the Lord loved her.
My heart went out to her, because I longed for her to be set free to know more deeply the love of Jesus. That is the only thing to change and transform her heart. That is the only thing that would compel her to share her faith with her non-Christian friends.
I just found it interesting to be reminded that for most of us, a lack of evangelistic zeal or effort is not primarily linked to lack of knowledge or training or even "I ought to's". But rather it is linked to our awareness of and soaking in the Love of the Father given to us through Christ.
She said that for a couple of years she had been asking God to give her a passion for Him; I imagine that she thought that was a feeling or a zeal for the Lord. But perhaps, I told her, what she needed to ask God for was not a feeling of passion, but rather a knowing that the Lord loved her.
My heart went out to her, because I longed for her to be set free to know more deeply the love of Jesus. That is the only thing to change and transform her heart. That is the only thing that would compel her to share her faith with her non-Christian friends.
I just found it interesting to be reminded that for most of us, a lack of evangelistic zeal or effort is not primarily linked to lack of knowledge or training or even "I ought to's". But rather it is linked to our awareness of and soaking in the Love of the Father given to us through Christ.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
40
So a couple posts back I had this awesome, exciting news that over 110 people had expressed interest in tutoring this year, and how I had prayed for at least 80 people to help, and how amazed I was at God answering that prayer.
As of this week we have 40 tutors TOTAL (approximately 20 each day) for the 40-plus kids that attend our program, leaving us again at a one-on-two situation.
I've been kind of running from this contrast of 40 and 80, running from the exuberance of thinking that my prayer had quickly and easily been answered. I haven't know what to do with the reality that we still don't have enough folks, even though I asked with "freedom and confidence" like it says in Ephesians 3. I haven't known what to do with the nagging thought, "Well, see, I didn't quite pray enough."
Tutoring goes on and we make the best of what we have. God has provided 40, and that is great news for us. But something in me is afraid to admit that I feel let down or that I got excited too soon, and the temptation is to default into a more cautious posture from now on when asking for needs to be met. To try and not get my hopes up. To be "realistic" (also known as cynical).
But I remember my systematic theology professor teaching us that to live cynically and hopelessly is to be lazy in our faith. Who hopes for what he already has? To live with hope is crazy, it is work, and it is our call as Christians, for we are never without it.
Where are the other 40? I don't know. But I am thankful for God's provision thus far and I live with the hope that He will continue to provide one way or the other.
As of this week we have 40 tutors TOTAL (approximately 20 each day) for the 40-plus kids that attend our program, leaving us again at a one-on-two situation.
I've been kind of running from this contrast of 40 and 80, running from the exuberance of thinking that my prayer had quickly and easily been answered. I haven't know what to do with the reality that we still don't have enough folks, even though I asked with "freedom and confidence" like it says in Ephesians 3. I haven't known what to do with the nagging thought, "Well, see, I didn't quite pray enough."
Tutoring goes on and we make the best of what we have. God has provided 40, and that is great news for us. But something in me is afraid to admit that I feel let down or that I got excited too soon, and the temptation is to default into a more cautious posture from now on when asking for needs to be met. To try and not get my hopes up. To be "realistic" (also known as cynical).
But I remember my systematic theology professor teaching us that to live cynically and hopelessly is to be lazy in our faith. Who hopes for what he already has? To live with hope is crazy, it is work, and it is our call as Christians, for we are never without it.
Where are the other 40? I don't know. But I am thankful for God's provision thus far and I live with the hope that He will continue to provide one way or the other.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Embracing my inner Ricky Bobby
I got the most awesome birthday present this weekend - a bunch of family members and friends chipped in and got me a chance to do the Richard Petty Driving Experience ! Those of you who know me well know that I actually do enjoy NASCAR and have for quite some time, and I love seeing how fast those cars go and imagining that I was driving one.
I used to mow the grass at home in Statesville and pretend I was Dale Earnhardt, Sr (there was no need to say "Sr" then because "Junior" was still just a kid) slicing my way to the front at Daytona. So the idea of first getting to ride at over 150 MPH around a speedway and then also getting to DRIVE a car that fast (I hope) around one is just awesome.
The day I got my present I was sitting outside just looking out at the street and grinning, and Diane said, "Are you thinking about driving that car?" Yes indeedy.
Maybe a NASCAR talent scout will see me and sign me to drive the Zondervan TNIV Study Bible Chevrolet, with co-sponsors Innova Golf Discs, the UNC Tar Heels basketball team, and Cheerwine. Look, momma, I'm goin' fast!
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Quiet and Confused
It’s quiet around here – too quiet. Three nights a week I run in a nearby neighborhood (just feels a little safer) and in years past I would lament at how much quiet-er and “normal” it seemed from Glenwood. But last night I noticed that my street was equally quiet as this other place, and that was strange. Glenwood is very quiet lately – few police sirens (I don’t even see them quietly patrolling as much), fewer cars with loud bass, fewer people walking by our house yelling and cursing.
As I have seen this place change, it makes me wonder about the Benbow’s future here. I think that I have moved forward a great deal in not placing my personal identity in urban ministry (see Saying Bye to 'Urban Guy') but from a vocational standpoint, I am kind of tied to living among the poor for part of my urban job. One of the ways that GUPY students learn is from the opportunity to see and apply Biblical truths about loving the poor in the place where they live. As the poor move to other parts of the city and landlords buy up properties and rent them to more UNCG-related people, the GUPY experience begins to lose some of its relevance.
As I think about this, thoughts of moving to another poor neighborhood surface, and when they come, I just think that there is no way that I can do that again. Our first year or two here was so hard, scary, and lonely that I wonder if I could go to a new place and face those fears and discomforts all over again. But can I host something like GUPY in a place like Glenwood? Certainly there could be some creative solution, but I don’t see it.
Also as I think about moving and possibly replicating our strategy of reaching children via a tutoring program, I don’t know how that would work either. We have close to 50 kids who could potentially be coming to tutoring next week, and close to ½ of those live more than a mile outside my neighborhood (which is not far, but they are not right around the corner, either). When kids move away from Glenwood, we keep up with them, and continue to bring them to tutoring. So relocating to a new area with new kids would add to the 40-plus kids we are already serving right now.
In short, I am very confused. Diane and I have a dream of having a house near our home for college students to live in year-round, loving our neighbors with us. There is a possibility here in Glenwood, but should we pursue it? Is this neighborhood the place for that dream or is it somewhere else? If we moved somewhere else, would other members of our church go with us from the start this time so that we don’t feel so lonely and isolated for the first year?
Prayers for clarity, patience, and hearing from the Lord, along with a heart to obey despite my own fears and dreams, would be much appreciated.
As I have seen this place change, it makes me wonder about the Benbow’s future here. I think that I have moved forward a great deal in not placing my personal identity in urban ministry (see Saying Bye to 'Urban Guy') but from a vocational standpoint, I am kind of tied to living among the poor for part of my urban job. One of the ways that GUPY students learn is from the opportunity to see and apply Biblical truths about loving the poor in the place where they live. As the poor move to other parts of the city and landlords buy up properties and rent them to more UNCG-related people, the GUPY experience begins to lose some of its relevance.
As I think about this, thoughts of moving to another poor neighborhood surface, and when they come, I just think that there is no way that I can do that again. Our first year or two here was so hard, scary, and lonely that I wonder if I could go to a new place and face those fears and discomforts all over again. But can I host something like GUPY in a place like Glenwood? Certainly there could be some creative solution, but I don’t see it.
Also as I think about moving and possibly replicating our strategy of reaching children via a tutoring program, I don’t know how that would work either. We have close to 50 kids who could potentially be coming to tutoring next week, and close to ½ of those live more than a mile outside my neighborhood (which is not far, but they are not right around the corner, either). When kids move away from Glenwood, we keep up with them, and continue to bring them to tutoring. So relocating to a new area with new kids would add to the 40-plus kids we are already serving right now.
In short, I am very confused. Diane and I have a dream of having a house near our home for college students to live in year-round, loving our neighbors with us. There is a possibility here in Glenwood, but should we pursue it? Is this neighborhood the place for that dream or is it somewhere else? If we moved somewhere else, would other members of our church go with us from the start this time so that we don’t feel so lonely and isolated for the first year?
Prayers for clarity, patience, and hearing from the Lord, along with a heart to obey despite my own fears and dreams, would be much appreciated.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
80
Our church is studying Ephesians right now in our sermon times, and we just finished Ephesians 3:1-14. Verse 13 tells us that "in Him (Christ) and through faith in Him, we may approach God with freedom and confidence." When I first heard this, I was very excited that I had the freedom and confidence to ask God to help me with things in my life that need work, help, etc. This is a reasssuring truth indeed. But this morning as I was going over the text again, I realized that with freedom and confidence can come boldness and even crazy prayers that we might not normally pray. If I have FREEDOM to ask anything and CONFIDENCE that God hears and loves me, why are my prayers so small most of the time? God spoke to me and told me that I need to ask Him for what to pray, because left to myself I will stop short of asking for the things that I think are too big to be done.
After that Sripture time, I opened a Word document entitled "80" that I had typed on April 26th and then not opened again, mostly (I have to admit) because it seemed so ludicrous. In a moment of crazy boldness and freedom, I typed a prayer, asking God to send us 80 tutors for this coming year, so that each day we would have 40 tutors for the 40 kids that we hope will come. Kids need one on one help to best succeed and many times in years past we have been one on three, one on two at best.
I opened "80" this morning, because today on email I received our initial database of interested tutors, and there are 83 on the list. Some of them may decide to not help (like, say. 3?), but as I looked at that list, which more than doubled the number that we had last year, I remembered "80" and how I was afraid to look at that document or share it with others because "what if God didn't answer".
We as God's children have FREEDOM and CONFIDENCE through our perfect access in Christ Jesus. We can ask the Father anything, no matter how big (or how small), and we know that He hears and He doesn't laugh us off or ignore us. And, surprise, He even answers despite the fact that our faith is maybe 64% sure that He will. Let's be a people who are bold and ask God to do more than we can ask or imagine.
After that Sripture time, I opened a Word document entitled "80" that I had typed on April 26th and then not opened again, mostly (I have to admit) because it seemed so ludicrous. In a moment of crazy boldness and freedom, I typed a prayer, asking God to send us 80 tutors for this coming year, so that each day we would have 40 tutors for the 40 kids that we hope will come. Kids need one on one help to best succeed and many times in years past we have been one on three, one on two at best.
I opened "80" this morning, because today on email I received our initial database of interested tutors, and there are 83 on the list. Some of them may decide to not help (like, say. 3?), but as I looked at that list, which more than doubled the number that we had last year, I remembered "80" and how I was afraid to look at that document or share it with others because "what if God didn't answer".
We as God's children have FREEDOM and CONFIDENCE through our perfect access in Christ Jesus. We can ask the Father anything, no matter how big (or how small), and we know that He hears and He doesn't laugh us off or ignore us. And, surprise, He even answers despite the fact that our faith is maybe 64% sure that He will. Let's be a people who are bold and ask God to do more than we can ask or imagine.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Administering grace
Somehow over the past months (not sure how long it has been really), I have gotten out of the habit of walking my neighborhood. I blamed it on being too tired to get up early with Joe, and then in the evenings I am too busy helping Diane with the girls. But the truth is that somehow, some way, fear had crept back in and was keeping me at home. Or maybe it was apathy. Or a mix of both. I know that there is little to fear here in Glenwood, especially in recent months as the streets have been cleaned up more and more. But maybe my fear has been the fear of being bothered. The fear of being stopped and talked to. The fear of seeing more needs that I just can’t meet. The fear of a new crop of neighbors and hanger-out-ers that I don’t know very well. And so I would rather stay in my little controlled world.
In the past, enough folks came by my controlled world so as to make it easy for me to love those that we moved here for. But foot traffic patterns have changed, and those folks are elsewhere, and so opportunities to share the love of Christ have been fewer. I’ve been feeling this for a while, not able to put my finger on exactly what was demotivating me and not able to muster up a good motivation to get going again.
But this Sunday our pastor preached on Ephesians 3:1-14, and in the early verses of that chapter, Paul talks about the administration of God’s grace given to him for the sake of the Gentiles. I had always thought this meant that God had administered grace to Paul for the sake of the Gentiles (and theologically that is true). But in the Greek, that particular instance of administer means “to be a manager of.” Paul is saying that he is a manager of grace from God, given the task of passing it on and utilizing it to bless others. Our pastor exhorted us, from a position of the Good News and our identity in Christ as motivation, to be good managers of the grace God has given us. And I realized that in many ways I was squirreling away the grace and time and opportunity of being here in Glenwood.
As I walked through the park tonight, there were a number of kids there and some middle school-ers (an intimidating age group in any neighborhood), and I thought, “God has given me grace to manage here. I have grace and gifts that are meant for these kids, for their families.” And the thought carried no guilt. It carried hope and purpose, and felt as thought it were leading me on that walk.
I want to be here on purpose and with purpose, and I need prayer and encouragement to walk the streets with Joe (our boxer) again, remembering that I am a manager of God’s grace, submitting my time and my plans to God’s desires to use me in the lives of others. And I wouldn’t be surprised to see that grace gets administered back to me from those I meet along the way.
(incidental note: this is post #100)
In the past, enough folks came by my controlled world so as to make it easy for me to love those that we moved here for. But foot traffic patterns have changed, and those folks are elsewhere, and so opportunities to share the love of Christ have been fewer. I’ve been feeling this for a while, not able to put my finger on exactly what was demotivating me and not able to muster up a good motivation to get going again.
But this Sunday our pastor preached on Ephesians 3:1-14, and in the early verses of that chapter, Paul talks about the administration of God’s grace given to him for the sake of the Gentiles. I had always thought this meant that God had administered grace to Paul for the sake of the Gentiles (and theologically that is true). But in the Greek, that particular instance of administer means “to be a manager of.” Paul is saying that he is a manager of grace from God, given the task of passing it on and utilizing it to bless others. Our pastor exhorted us, from a position of the Good News and our identity in Christ as motivation, to be good managers of the grace God has given us. And I realized that in many ways I was squirreling away the grace and time and opportunity of being here in Glenwood.
As I walked through the park tonight, there were a number of kids there and some middle school-ers (an intimidating age group in any neighborhood), and I thought, “God has given me grace to manage here. I have grace and gifts that are meant for these kids, for their families.” And the thought carried no guilt. It carried hope and purpose, and felt as thought it were leading me on that walk.
I want to be here on purpose and with purpose, and I need prayer and encouragement to walk the streets with Joe (our boxer) again, remembering that I am a manager of God’s grace, submitting my time and my plans to God’s desires to use me in the lives of others. And I wouldn’t be surprised to see that grace gets administered back to me from those I meet along the way.
(incidental note: this is post #100)
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
It's a ......
Boy!
We had the ultra-sound this morning. For a long time I had really wanted a son, but in some ways had believed a lie that God wouldn't give me a son because maybe I wasn't cut out for it. He has been addressing that, teaching me about my security in Him, and the other week I was able to say, "Lord, I really would like to have a son, you know that, but if you give us a girl, I will receive her and rejoice at your gift to us." So while I was certainly anxious to see if we were having a boy or a girl, I was at peace with the Lord's plan for us. Diane and I do rejoice with this news, and are thankful that my office (soon to be our son's room) is already painted blue.
We had the ultra-sound this morning. For a long time I had really wanted a son, but in some ways had believed a lie that God wouldn't give me a son because maybe I wasn't cut out for it. He has been addressing that, teaching me about my security in Him, and the other week I was able to say, "Lord, I really would like to have a son, you know that, but if you give us a girl, I will receive her and rejoice at your gift to us." So while I was certainly anxious to see if we were having a boy or a girl, I was at peace with the Lord's plan for us. Diane and I do rejoice with this news, and are thankful that my office (soon to be our son's room) is already painted blue.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Reconciliation: it ain't just for preachin' anymore
For years now I have loved leading students and staff in learning the Biblical basis for racial reconciliation. Passages like Ephesians 2:11-22 really spell out that the work of the cross was not just a vertical reconciliation *man to God* but also a horizontal reconciliation *man to man*. (For an excellent sermon on this passage, you can listen to Solving the Biggest Problem in the World [the July 16th sermon on that page].)
I love watching people’s faces as they realize that the work of reconciliation is not something that we have to accomplish but rather a reality for us to live out. Jesus HAS DESTROYED the dividing wall and HAS MADE the two one, putting to death their hostility. The study is so applicable to the divide between races in America, especially black and white in the South, and I am encouraged to pray big prayers and believe big truths when looking at the power of the cross to reconcile any and all people across all lines.
But I have to admit that sometimes it is safer to relegate that finished work of reconciliation to racial issues. For me it’s easy to believe that the cross has truly canceled the dividing wall between black and white; it’s easy to hope that one day people of all colors will walk in the reality of unity that Jesus has won. But when it comes to applying that to my own sin, my own brokenness and how that affects my family and friends, well, I am reluctant to trust the fullness of the cross. In effect I say, “Well, sure Jesus paid for racial sins, and we can be reconciled, but I am not sure if the cross is big enough to handle my _____ (insert gross sin here).”
I know that good theology (and a great hymn) says that my sin, not in part but the whole, is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more. But I am also tempted to believe that the resulting relational brokenness between me and those that I hurt is too great. One day it will be fixed, in heaven, but for now it is best to just look the other way and try not to bring it up.
And so the Evil One divides me from people, shaming me into hiding my sin and just dealing with it on a me-and-Jesus basis. He tells me that to bring it fully into the light would be too hurtful. It would create too much pain, too much shame, too much brokenness and the best thing to do is just hide. Confession should be left to popular sins like pride or materialism or generic words like “lust” or “envy.”
Believing that lie had been costing me intimacy with my wife, intimacy with the Father, and intimacy with friends. I chose to embrace my shame and own it as my own, and not lean into the fullness of the cross, the truth that Jesus had, indeed, paid for all my sin and had, indeed, reconciled me to all those I had hurt.
But praise God for His tender, unrelenting Spirit, which continued to work on my heart, calling me into the light, and calling me to really test and see if the cross was as big and as good as I said it was. I teach students all the time about how completely free they are in Christ, but until this spring, I was not willing to lean into that freedom and see if it would indeed catch me as I fell.
Now it is true that the initial process of confession was not easy. It hurt, and it seemed produced more brokenness than healing at the outset. And the Evil One said, “See. Look at how awful you are. You should be ashamed. Better hide this from everyone else.”
But the Spirit had other plans. He said, “Your name is no longer Shame . It is Chosen. And because it is Chosen, you can lean into my love, my complete forgiveness, and you can pursue the reconciliation that you preach.”
And so I confessed again, bringing full disclosure to all that I had sinned against, and I shrank back, waiting for the hammer to fall. What fell was grace. Forgiveness. Love. I was received with open arms, looked in the eye and restored, loved with tenderness and commitment.
As the Spirit has led and light has been shed, chains have come off. Strongholds have been broken. And I am experiencing freedom and intimacy with Lord, my wife, and others that I have not had for years.
Don’t believe the lie that there are sins too big for the Cross. Don’t believe the lie that your name is Shame. The Lord has paid in full and is in the business of reconciliation. Yes across racial and cultural lines. But also across lines of brokenness for ordinary, regular lives like yours and mine. The Evil One would love to see us bound, divided and shamed. Confession and light make that darkness flee.
I love watching people’s faces as they realize that the work of reconciliation is not something that we have to accomplish but rather a reality for us to live out. Jesus HAS DESTROYED the dividing wall and HAS MADE the two one, putting to death their hostility. The study is so applicable to the divide between races in America, especially black and white in the South, and I am encouraged to pray big prayers and believe big truths when looking at the power of the cross to reconcile any and all people across all lines.
But I have to admit that sometimes it is safer to relegate that finished work of reconciliation to racial issues. For me it’s easy to believe that the cross has truly canceled the dividing wall between black and white; it’s easy to hope that one day people of all colors will walk in the reality of unity that Jesus has won. But when it comes to applying that to my own sin, my own brokenness and how that affects my family and friends, well, I am reluctant to trust the fullness of the cross. In effect I say, “Well, sure Jesus paid for racial sins, and we can be reconciled, but I am not sure if the cross is big enough to handle my _____ (insert gross sin here).”
I know that good theology (and a great hymn) says that my sin, not in part but the whole, is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more. But I am also tempted to believe that the resulting relational brokenness between me and those that I hurt is too great. One day it will be fixed, in heaven, but for now it is best to just look the other way and try not to bring it up.
And so the Evil One divides me from people, shaming me into hiding my sin and just dealing with it on a me-and-Jesus basis. He tells me that to bring it fully into the light would be too hurtful. It would create too much pain, too much shame, too much brokenness and the best thing to do is just hide. Confession should be left to popular sins like pride or materialism or generic words like “lust” or “envy.”
Believing that lie had been costing me intimacy with my wife, intimacy with the Father, and intimacy with friends. I chose to embrace my shame and own it as my own, and not lean into the fullness of the cross, the truth that Jesus had, indeed, paid for all my sin and had, indeed, reconciled me to all those I had hurt.
But praise God for His tender, unrelenting Spirit, which continued to work on my heart, calling me into the light, and calling me to really test and see if the cross was as big and as good as I said it was. I teach students all the time about how completely free they are in Christ, but until this spring, I was not willing to lean into that freedom and see if it would indeed catch me as I fell.
Now it is true that the initial process of confession was not easy. It hurt, and it seemed produced more brokenness than healing at the outset. And the Evil One said, “See. Look at how awful you are. You should be ashamed. Better hide this from everyone else.”
But the Spirit had other plans. He said, “Your name is no longer Shame . It is Chosen. And because it is Chosen, you can lean into my love, my complete forgiveness, and you can pursue the reconciliation that you preach.”
And so I confessed again, bringing full disclosure to all that I had sinned against, and I shrank back, waiting for the hammer to fall. What fell was grace. Forgiveness. Love. I was received with open arms, looked in the eye and restored, loved with tenderness and commitment.
As the Spirit has led and light has been shed, chains have come off. Strongholds have been broken. And I am experiencing freedom and intimacy with Lord, my wife, and others that I have not had for years.
Don’t believe the lie that there are sins too big for the Cross. Don’t believe the lie that your name is Shame. The Lord has paid in full and is in the business of reconciliation. Yes across racial and cultural lines. But also across lines of brokenness for ordinary, regular lives like yours and mine. The Evil One would love to see us bound, divided and shamed. Confession and light make that darkness flee.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Learning to Receive
A few months ago I listened to a sermon called “The Principle of Reception” by Jack Taylor. The perspective he took was that when “life happens”, we can either reject the circumstances that are frustrating us or receive them as a part of God’s conforming us more to the image of Christ. Taylor’s example was husbands or wives who would say something like, “I wish my spouse didn’t talk all the time,” and then reject them, instead of receiving that spouse as God’s gift, perhaps to teach them how to listen. Surrendering our lives to God means that we receive the circumstances of each day, good and bad, trusting that these are what God has for us. John Piper has an excellent post on his web site after he was diagnosed with cancer which illustrates this concept of receiving.
In the Dominican, we felt pretty useless, and the temptation arose to wonder why we were there and if we had missed hearing God. We were tempted to think that if we weren’t producing, surely it was our fault, not God’s design. And so we could choose – reject feeling useless, rage against our lack of productivity, or receive this trip as God had planned it, entrusting ourselves to His sovereign care and working in our lives. Receiving this type of mission trip meant we had to receive a lot of other things, too. Like translation help during church services. Or translation help during small groups. Or translation help to talk with kids. Or being served our meals and not being able to help with much of anything. Or the gift of feeling useless.
In one of our last devotionals with the kids, the topic was serving others, and the question was, “Which is easier, to give or to receive?” The theme of the lesson was that it is easier for us to receive and harder to serve, but for me it is often the opposite. It’s much easier to give and serve than to be served and receive (ironic that I make my living based on others giving towards my support). As I talked with our group leader afterwards, he told me that God was teaching me on this trip how to receive, which will make me more able to lead and to give later.
This lesson was hammered home near the end of our time. One of the YWAM leaders had on a leather bracelet that some of my team members noticed, wondering where they might get one. Later, another YWAM leader came up and he had a similar bracelet on, which I pointed out to my friends. He noticed that I pointed, and immediately began to take it off, asking me if I liked it. Everything in me wanted to explain that, actually, I was just pointing it out to my friends, and I didn’t really want it (interestingly I had said earlier that I didn’t think I would right wearing one of those). But God reminded me, “You are here to receive. Take the bracelet.” And so I did, humbled by my friend’s selfless gift, and now I wear it as a reminder to receive.
God has many things planned for me in this life. Some of them are wonderful and easy. Some are hard and not very fun. I can reject the hard and humbling ones, tell the Lord I know better than He does how life should go. Or, while still acknowledging my emotions, I can choose to surrender and to receive. As Job said, “Shall we accept good from God and not trouble?”
This principle of receiving has been such a blessing in my life, because I am realizing that God’s biggest goal for me is not an easy life. It’s not prosperity. It’s not fulfilling the dreams I have for myself. His goal is that I would be more and more dependent on Him as my life, that He might live through me and reveal His life in me more and more.
In the Dominican, we felt pretty useless, and the temptation arose to wonder why we were there and if we had missed hearing God. We were tempted to think that if we weren’t producing, surely it was our fault, not God’s design. And so we could choose – reject feeling useless, rage against our lack of productivity, or receive this trip as God had planned it, entrusting ourselves to His sovereign care and working in our lives. Receiving this type of mission trip meant we had to receive a lot of other things, too. Like translation help during church services. Or translation help during small groups. Or translation help to talk with kids. Or being served our meals and not being able to help with much of anything. Or the gift of feeling useless.
In one of our last devotionals with the kids, the topic was serving others, and the question was, “Which is easier, to give or to receive?” The theme of the lesson was that it is easier for us to receive and harder to serve, but for me it is often the opposite. It’s much easier to give and serve than to be served and receive (ironic that I make my living based on others giving towards my support). As I talked with our group leader afterwards, he told me that God was teaching me on this trip how to receive, which will make me more able to lead and to give later.
This lesson was hammered home near the end of our time. One of the YWAM leaders had on a leather bracelet that some of my team members noticed, wondering where they might get one. Later, another YWAM leader came up and he had a similar bracelet on, which I pointed out to my friends. He noticed that I pointed, and immediately began to take it off, asking me if I liked it. Everything in me wanted to explain that, actually, I was just pointing it out to my friends, and I didn’t really want it (interestingly I had said earlier that I didn’t think I would right wearing one of those). But God reminded me, “You are here to receive. Take the bracelet.” And so I did, humbled by my friend’s selfless gift, and now I wear it as a reminder to receive.
God has many things planned for me in this life. Some of them are wonderful and easy. Some are hard and not very fun. I can reject the hard and humbling ones, tell the Lord I know better than He does how life should go. Or, while still acknowledging my emotions, I can choose to surrender and to receive. As Job said, “Shall we accept good from God and not trouble?”
This principle of receiving has been such a blessing in my life, because I am realizing that God’s biggest goal for me is not an easy life. It’s not prosperity. It’s not fulfilling the dreams I have for myself. His goal is that I would be more and more dependent on Him as my life, that He might live through me and reveal His life in me more and more.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
A Contagious Rhythm
One of the things I enjoyed the most in the DR was their exuberant worship. We went to church one Sunday evening with the Kings Kids, and worship was in full swing when we arrived. It must have been 90+ degrees in there, and there was dancing and celebration and laughter. It was apparent that the people there loved to celebrate Christ. In that particular service, the pastor preached on how we as Christians have a contagious rhythm (thankfully they provided a translator for us, which was a very gracious thing to do, since it extended his sermon). He said that people who are around us will hear that rhythm and eventually they will begin to dance, to move in time with the love of God.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
The Gift of Feeling Useless
NOTE: This is the first post in a series about our trip to the
We got out of the bus and unloaded our stuff, and there was very little greeting or fanfare, and mostly the kid just looked at us and kept on with what they were doing. We were shown to our living quarters, which were very Spartan, and then we all wandered back to the main meeting area.
And we tried to say, “Hola.”
And we smiled.
And we began to wonder why in the world we were even there.
What were we to DO? What was our PURPOSE? What could we give?
This gift of feeling useless humbled us and led us to do the only work available to us, the work of prayer. I am so glad that we didn’t come in with plans and programs, because we would have been tempted to operate in competence instead of humility, and in the DR, with spiritual warfare rampant, the work of prayer is not to be taken lightly or forgotten.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Glenwood Camp Reflections
I think that it surprised me how hard the Glenwood Camp was on me. I have known most of these kids for years and felt like I understood them to a degree, having lived in their neighborhood and led them in tutoring (and even some of them in Sunday School). And yet being with them all day every day for 10 days revealed a new level of cultural dissonance and differences that I had not experienced. That made me sad in some ways, that it has taken me 5 years in the neighborhood to get to that level of immersion, and I was surprised at how out of place I felt. I had posted on my blog about the kids speaking a different language when it came to words of kindness and love, but there is just a different language altogether when it comes to understanding the world. The way that my world works is very orderly, controlled, managed. It makes sense to me. There are rules to follow, and the rules are there to be obeyed, not one of many options to consider. Their world system is chaotic, parents loving them inconsistently and in ways far different than I would ever love my kids. For them, rules are an enticement to disobedience, boundaries are meant to be tested and pushed. Order is confining in some ways and is not trusted. Authority is not a safe thing. And so placing a controlled (controlling) person with a managed life governed by rules and systems in a position of authority (not trusted) over a group of kids used to chaos and disobedience was really an interesting mix. I found myself spending more time policing than I did enjoying the kids, more time governing than just showing them the love and life of Jesus.
I’ve also been feeling much more “white” after camp than I did before. I felt the difference between me and the kids, the struggles I had with relating to them sometimes, and I am just feeling much more aware of my race than before. And I find my self drifting back into fear and shame again – fear of being rejected or hurt because of my skin color, shame over how much that I have. Last night we did a Bible study on God’s renaming of Jacob, and I am in need again of God’s reminder to me of my new name. He has called me Chosen , not Shame, not Fearful. If I am Chosen, then I can walk my streets as one sent, confident in my Father’s hand on my life. If I am Chosen, I can walk without fear – God has Chosen me, picked me, and He will be with me to accomplish His purposes.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
More Glenwood Camp Reflections
I think that it surprised me how hard the Glenwood Camp was on me. I have known most of these kids for years and felt like I understood them to a degree, having lived in their neighborhood and led them in tutoring (and even some of them in Sunday School). And yet being with them all day every day for 10 days revealed a new level of cultural dissonance and differences that I had not experienced. That made me sad in some ways, that it has taken me 5 years in the neighborhood to get to that level of immersion, and I was surprised at how out of place I felt. I had posted on my blog about the kids speaking a different language when it came to words of kindness and love, but there is just a different language altogether when it comes to understanding the world. The way that my world works is very orderly, controlled, managed. It makes sense to me. There are rules to follow, and the rules are there to be obeyed, not one of many options to consider. Their world system is chaotic, parents loving them inconsistently and in ways far different than I would ever love my kids. For them, rules are an enticement to disobedience, boundaries are meant to be tested and pushed. Order is confining in some ways and is not trusted. Authority is not a safe thing. And so placing a controlled (controlling) person with a managed life governed by rules and systems in a position of authority (not trusted) over a group of kids used to chaos and disobedience was really an interesting mix. I found myself spending more time policing than I did enjoying the kids, more time governing than just showing them the love and life of Jesus.
I’ve also been feeling much more “white” after camp than I did before. I felt the difference between me and the kids, the struggles I had with relating to them sometimes, and I am just feeling much more aware of my race than before. And I find my self drifting back into fear and shame again – fear of being rejected or hurt because of my skin color, shame over how much that I have. Last night we did a Bible study on God’s renaming of Jacob, and I am in need again of God’s reminder to me of my new name. He has called me Chosen , not Shame, not Fearful. If I am Chosen, then I can walk my streets as one sent, confident in my Father’s hand on my life. If I am Chosen, I can walk without fear – God has Chosen me, picked me, and He will be with me to accomplish His purposes.
Monday, July 17, 2006
More GUPY Blogs to check out
In lieu of a plethora of posts from me, check out two more GUPY blogs - these students are really taking in a lot and being changed. It is amazing - God shows up and works His ways every year on this thing, despite my worries that He might now.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Check Out a GUPY's Blog
A few of the GUPY's have blogs, and one of them posts fairly regularly. THis week during our Bible study on racial reconciliation, she had an "ah-ha" moment, which she blogged about on this link: http://knlgupy.blogspot.com/2006/07/light-bulb-is-not-only-lit-up-but-on.html
Her blog site for future reference is http://knlgupy.blogspot.com As I get the blog addresses of the other GUPY's, I will post them.
We head to the beach with the Glenwood Campers in about 8 hours - please pray for our time there!
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Kids Getting to Be Kids
We took the Glenwood Campers to Stone Mountain, NC for a one-night camping trip last weekend, and we had a really great time. My brother-in-law had given me and Diane a 10-person tent, which easily housed all of the boys, and the girls had several tents for their campsite. After setting up camp, we hiked down to the waterfall (think really big rock with water sliding down it rather than cascading over it), and for an hour it was a joy to watch the campers get to just be kids for a while. They smiled and laughed. They found crayfish and snails in the water. They splashed in the water, climbed from rock to rock, explored downstream. They had their pictures made standing in the water, swimming in the water, posing on the rocks. The cares of their families seemed to melt away, and even the hardest kids began to soften. I think that for many of them, carefree moments are rare, chances to just do the things that kids do, things that I had the chance to do hundreds of times growing up. Who knows how the Lord was able to heal broken places in their hearts by revealing His love for them in the beauty of that place?
My favorite time was taking a trail downstream with two of the guys who wanted to just explore, and to see them delight in the creek, the rocks, the water and the dense trees. I love the mountains and walking beside streams, and to share that with them and see them captured by that beauty was such a great connection. It makes me want to create more spaces for them to shrug off the burdens of growing up fast and just be kids.
One of my pastors says that a huge gap between our Glenwood kids and other kids is the gap of experiences – they’ve not been to college campuses for a football game or to a musical at the theatre. They’ve not camped in the mountains or spent weeks at the beach. Teaching them academics is important, but it’s just as important to broaden their experiences in the world.
My favorite time was taking a trail downstream with two of the guys who wanted to just explore, and to see them delight in the creek, the rocks, the water and the dense trees. I love the mountains and walking beside streams, and to share that with them and see them captured by that beauty was such a great connection. It makes me want to create more spaces for them to shrug off the burdens of growing up fast and just be kids.
One of my pastors says that a huge gap between our Glenwood kids and other kids is the gap of experiences – they’ve not been to college campuses for a football game or to a musical at the theatre. They’ve not camped in the mountains or spent weeks at the beach. Teaching them academics is important, but it’s just as important to broaden their experiences in the world.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)