Psalm 22 - the work of remembering

But in Psalm 22, David does not stay focused on his brokenness. In verse 3, we begin to train our souls to see correctly, to look through pain to see God.

PS 22:3 Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One;

you are the praise of Israel.

PS 22:4 In you our fathers put their trust;

they trusted and you delivered them.

PS 22:5 They cried to you and were saved;

in you they trusted and were not disappointed.

Out of disorientation, we are called to reorient ourselves to Who God is. Not what God is or isn't doing, but who He is. God is the King, never to be unseated. God is Holy, never to be tarnished. God has shown Himself faithful to His people. Israel has a rich history of God delivering His people from the hand of slavery, from Babylonian exile, from their own stubborn refusal to follow Him. Over and over the Old Testament recounts God's faithfulness to His people, and the people are called to do the work of remembering, the renewing of their mind to the work of God in the world and on their behalf.

This is the work of remembering, and over and over, the Scriptures call God's people to this work. The work of remembering in the face of suffering is key to the life of the Christ-follower. We are to persist in prayer, anchored in truth, trusting God to answer and bring glory to His name.

And so in the midst of a soul full of anguish, the Psalmist struggles to reorient Himself to what is truer than true. God is the Holy One, always enthroned. God is a good King who has been faithful to His people and who delivered His people when they cried to Him. Everything in the psalmist's experience says God is absent, but history says that God has always been present to His people, worthy of trust.

Psalm 22 - opening lament

Psalm 22 begins with a lament:

PS 22:1 My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from saving me,

so far from the words of my groaning?

PS 22:2 O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer,

by night, and am not silent

While we don't know what is going on in David's life, the intensity of His cry is unmistakable. Forsaken, groaning, crying. God is far, forsaking, silent. This is a picture of suffering and aloneness. But this cry is not a lack of faith, but instead a disoriented plea for God to show His face. My God, My God. The relationship is still there. But it feels broken.

The summer of 1996, before my senior year of college, felt like a God-forsaken time. I had spent the spring semester over-busy, spending very little time caring for my soul, and when I went home to work at a local newspaper, I had little in reserve to fight off the lies that began to attack me. Reminders of past sin and struggles began to bombard me, and a lie that God was going to abandon me to my struggle began to grow. I prayed and prayed, but it felt as though my cries hit the ceiling and fell to the floor. I had no real Christian friends around me, and I began to take on shame and fear. I felt like I was crying by day and God did not answer, by night and He was silent. Perhaps you have had times like that as well, wondering when God was going to answer, whether He even heard.

Psalm 22 - Introduction

Note: I preached this sermon on April 5^th at our church, and so I have broken it up and edited it for the blog

It seems that Easter sneaks up on me year after year. Not much hype, not much pomp. Sure, there's Lent, which I have not done for years, which can be helpful if done well. But even if we give up chocolate or soft drinks for 40 days, what more do we do to begin to prepare the way for the work of the cross and the miracle of the resurrection?

Well, God has given us one tool in a surprising place, the Psalms. The Psalms were the prayer book for the people of God, leading the people of Israel in regular rhythms of hymns, prayers and praise. As the people traveled to Jerusalem to worship, they would sing the songs of God, and these songs would lead them in the work of remembering. Remembering the faithfulness of God to His people, delivering them from Egypt; remembering the work of God in creating the world; remembering the richness of God's word and the fruit that comes from obedience; remembering who God is, the true King worthy of all worship.

As a good Jewish boy, Jesus Christ would have learned to pray using the Psalms. As a rabbinical student, he would have memorized the entire Psalter (as well as the Pentateuch), and as He prayed the Psalms, they would have worked their way into His heart and soul as more than just rote verses, but as a way to worship. The Psalms would have served as a Scriptural anchor for His soul.

And so when we read the account of Christ's crucifixion in Matthew, we hear Jesus praying by that soul anchor, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me," Psalm 22:1, and in John, Jesus prays, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit," Psalm 31:5. The Psalms had prepared Jesus for how to continue to seek God in the midst of brutal and lonely suffering, had made a way for Him to pray when everything in Him was struggling to see God and trust the plan of His Father. Like Christ, when we feel overwhelmed by suffering, we are to persist in prayer, anchored in truth, trusting God to answer and bring glory to His name.

Image or abiding?

I meet weekly with two friends who are also pastors, and recently one if them mentioned that he struggled with whether he was "worthy" to be called a pastor. He still struggles with how to best love his daughter (a high school senior), wrestling between trying to give good direction in her life and feeling like he is being controlling. He knows that he still has sin in his life. And aren't we pastors called to something greater than the "average" Christian, since we are professionals and all?

My first response was yes, by all means we are called to a different standard. James 3:1 came to mind, which says that Christians should not presume to be teachers (desire to be teachers), because those of us who teach will be judged more strictly. I also remembered the qualifications for elders and deacons in Titus. But I stopped in mid-sentence. I was beginning to encourage my friends (and myself) to aim at a standard, rather than to depend on Christ. In a sense I was saying that we needed to be seen as being above reproach. We had to do all the right things because people were watching and we have a responsibility to them to be impeccable. And in doing so, the goal becomes our appearance, how we are seen and perceived. We begin to overwork because a "good pastor" always helps all people all the time. We begin to treat people kindly not because we love them but because it is what we are supposed to do. And slowly we begin to live by a list of do's and don'ts, and then we begin to call others to live the same way in their walk with Christ.

But we pastors, like all Christians, are called to live by the Spirit, to abide in Christ. Even though our "list" may say to help, the Spirit may say, "Don't bail this person out now, even if they think it's your Christian duty." The Spirit may say, "Take this hour to pray with me, and don't let the urgent need at the door interrupt." If I am abiding in Christ, I will love my wife and family as Titus 1:6-9 instructs. I will be self-controlled, upright, holy, and disciplined because Christ in me is all of these things. And I will not be able to take the credit, because it is Christ in me who is and does these things.

It's tempting for my friends and I to make a list and then meet each week and hold each other accountable to how we're doing in keeping it; in fact that would be easier in some ways. But Christ has freed us from that way of living. As we live by His Spirit, we will lead those under our care not to ourselves or our own example, but to the life that is truly Life, Jesus Christ.

Wrestling with John 15

In re-reading John 15 the other day, I noticed that the New King James Version had an alternate translation of verse 2. In most translations, this verse reads, "He cuts off (removes, takes away) any branch in me that does not bear fruit, while any branch that does bear fruit He prunes so that it will be even more fruitful." The New King James, in a footnote, says, "also He lifts up" instead of removes or cuts off.

As I read and thought, I began to wonder why "lifts up" is not more widely used. Is "cut off" used because of the word given in verse 6? If lifting up a branch perhaps produces more fruit on the vine, wouldn't it make sense that the Gardener, who is most interested in seeing more fruit, would lift up the branch rather than remove it? Jesus says in verse 8, "This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples." In verse 2 He says that the Gardener (the Father) prunes branches so that "they will bear even more fruit." God's desire is to see fruit, not to have firewood.

Also, in verse 2, Christ says, "Any branch in me," which leads me to think that Christ isn't interested in cutting those branches off. The New Testament talks time and time again about our being "in Christ," much more so than Christ being in us, actually. It is troubling to me to think that my standing in Christ can be based on my fruit or lack thereof; who in the Body of Christ could remain in Him if our "in-ness" was based on us? Who in the Body abides in Him perfectly moment by moment? Our salvation is by grace, as is our abiding. Verse 2 translated "cuts off" would seem to make my position in Him more tenuous than it is, considering I am sealed with the Holy Spirit, a deposit guaranteeing my inheritance (Ephesians 1:13-14).

In the ESV study Bible, mention is made of the "lifts up" possibility, but it discounts it because in verse 6, the unfruitful in Christ are thrown away and burned, symbolizing judgment and hell. But the NIV translates verse 6 to say, "If anyone does not remain in me (doesn't say "anyone in me") he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned." It seems that the problem for this branch is that it is not in Christ, and therefore has no life. It withers and is only good for one thing – firewood.

I vaguely remembered that Bruce Wilkinson had written a book along the "lifts up" angle, though I never read it. So I did a google search for "Bruce Wilkinson, vine, lifted up" and the first link I found was this one.
I also found this article online.
And this one. (For contrasting views see here, and here. )

To me, lift up makes sense and seems consistent with what I believe is the point of John 15, which is that we learn the secret of bearing fruit. It's not that I don't think there will be judgment, it's just that I think that Christ was talking more about fruit than judgment in this passage. What do you all think?

The gift of not being able

The past few weeks have been a stretch for my body and soul to say the least. As our women's shelter at Grace came to a close, the urgency to find housing for our women became greater, and it weighed tremendously on my heart and mind. Late nights at the shelter seemed to be followed by early morning meetings. At the same time, it seemed that the situations in and around our church became more desperate. In addition, I had the chance to preach at our church, which was so much fun, yet exhausting as well. And, on a lighter note, March Madness robbed precious hours of sleep as my Tar Heels moved through the field.

And so I found myself at work last Thursday just D-O-N-E. I took Diane out to dinner that night, but I had very little to offer her in our conversation. The next day was my day off, and after I took Psalter to pre-school I came home and went back to bed for two hours. That night I was in bed again by 9:30. I wondered a bit if I was depressed, but ultimately I didn't think that was it, because I didn't feel down, just tired. So I continued to be disciplined in going to bed early, and on Sunday I also took a 2 hour nap (I only nap if I am completely wiped out). And this morning, after my fourth consecutive night of 8-hours of sleep, plus two naps, I began to feel something that I had not felt in weeks – energy. I felt excited to be awake and excited to go about my day, and I felt like a different person all day long.

I really wish that I could do more, be more productive, help more people, be a better friend. I wish I was one of those people who could get by on 4 or 5 hours of sleep, that I could just go and go and go. But God has, in His wisdom, given me the gift of not being able. There is a certain point where I am unable to do much at all – whether that is relate to people (or the Lord), work, think, be productive because I am just too tired and life is too out of focus. And this forces me to stop. To sleep. To leave my laptop at work and leave messages unanswered.

The end result is that I remember that I am not what I do, I am not what I can accomplish. I am limited in my ability to put my identity in my performance. I am what He is in me, and I am loved.

Day of retreat

Today was the first moment that I've been still in a long, long time. No people, no pressure. No phone or iPod or Bible. Nothing but me and God and the beauty of His creation. It took me quite some time to get still – I rambled through the woods, jumped over the creek, walked in a freshly-plowed field. I paused here and there, but I couldn't quite enter into silence. But I finally a sat down on a bridge over the small creek, listening to it gurgle below. I listened to the water on the rocks and thought about what a lovely sound God had made for us, so simple and so soothing for my soul. Then thoughts from the world beyond crept in and I found myself saying, "Shhhh" aloud. Not an angry "Shush!" but a soothing "Shhh," like I might say to my children when they got upset. As I called my mind and soul to be still, I began to cry. Not weep or sob, just tears rolling down. I wasn't sad – I was simply tired and entering into a rest that I've needed for months. I wasn't trying to learn something from God or pray or do anything except rest with Him, in His presence. To simply sit and enjoy what He had made, the sound of the water and the sight of the current rippling in different courses downstream. When the sun would shine out from the clouds, the ripples became more distinct, speckled and dancing. The wind blew in my face, and I was at rest. I can't remember the last time I had been unreachable by phone or text or email, the last time I hadn't had a person or a responsibility simply an arm's length or phone call away. I need that more often. As I listened to the stream, I realized that the sound came as the water went over the rock. The rock was still and the water moved. In the same way, I am to be still, letting the Lord wash over me, and trusting that He will speak in the midst of His life flowing over and around and into mine.

Shutting My Eyes

Today I don't want to see. I don't want to see the homeless men gathered on the corner in my city, jobless and ignorant of their purpose. I don't want to see the lines for free lunch at the shelter. I don't want to see the storage unit filled with bags and bags of clothes, the only possessions of a homeless woman who hoards useless things and panhandles to pay her storage rent. I don't want to see the family with no food and two weeks to go until the food stamps get renewed. I don't want to see the man who is trying to get a bus ticket home and feels like he has to make up a story to get it. I don't want to see the two men I helped with bus tickets last week, in case their stories weren't legit. I don't want to see the man painfully shuffling to the shelter for his free lunch, taking over an hour to walk a mile and a half up, an hour to walk a mile and a half back. I don't want to see the cold rain soaking the coats of those who cannot even afford bus passes, much less cars, as I pass by, dry and warm. I don't want to see the women in our shelter who will have no home in 5 days. I don't want to see the struggle, the inequality, the lack. The needs overwhelm my soul to point of tears and despair. Today I don't want to see.

The Anchor of Praise

I recently spoke at UNC-CH's InterVarsity chapter, and I was feeling really heavy inside. I wasn't sure how to pull my mind from its funk and sadness in order to be present to the students there and to be able to give the message God had laid on my heart. A good friend prayed for me, and in his prayer he asked God to help me remember that it wasn't my job to fix any of the people I was broken over and it wasn't my job to make the world right. As God would have it, that theme repeated itself throughout the night as the student leadership reminded us during worship and during prayer and during testimonies that our role as Christ-followers is not to fix people but to love them. Now, certainly loving people doesn't mean always agreeing with them, rubber-stamping all that they do. But it does mean accepting them, receiving them as they are, and longing for God to be the transforming center of their lives. There's great freedom in realizing I don't have to be in charge.

As I prayed in back on my own, I tried to find the words of Psalm 93 in my Bible, but I had it in my head that they were from Psalm 103. Turns out, that was a fortuitous mistake - what a joy to read this Psalm in The Message translation and to rest not only in God's power as King, but in His intimate goodness as my shepherd and savior. Whether anyone else knows it or not, my God is a wonderfully good God. He offers healing and pardon, redemption and freedom. He is a God of justice, working for the good of those who are down. He is compassionate and gracious to me – He doesn't treat me as a slave who sins but as a son that He loves. In fact, He doesn't define me by my sins (nor does He remember them) but instead defines me by His love and His work on the cross. God knows the weariness of my soul, the fleeting nature of life here on earth, and He has compassion on me in all my frailty. God offers such blessing and life to those who will receive not only His love but also His leadership, and He leads us to do what we were created to do – give Him praise and glory.

As we worshipped that night, I couldn't help but think, "Why would anyone walk away from this love? Why would anyone choose a life unsubmitted to this loving Father? Even if you didn't believe in a god at all, wouldn't there be a part of you that wished He were true and real, if He were really this wonderful?"

And I go back to the opening lines of Psalm 103 – Praise the Lord, o my soul; al my inmost being praise His holy name. Praise the Lord, o my soul and forget not all His benefits. In all things, at all times, praise the Lord and do not forget His goodness.

Learning to Enjoy the Madness

After Wake Forest lost their first round game to Cleveland State, I was thinking about the way those guys must feel and how they could easily be tempted to see their season as a disappointment. I hoped that they would remember that at one time they were ranked number one in the nation, and that they would remember the feeling that they had when they beat UNC and Duke at home – I'm guessing that there'd been nothing like that in their young lives. I hoped that they had enjoyed the journey and enjoyed all that they'd experienced this season.

Well, that got me thinking about my own enjoyment of the season as a Carolina fan. Many of us in Tar Heel nation measure most seasons' success by whether or not we cut down the nets in early April, and more often than not, our team (like most) comes up short. Many times our teams have as much talent as any in the country, and we sort of demand that the talent produce winning game in and game out, and there are years like 2005 where our talent leads to a title. But interestingly, I think that my favorite Carolina team will forever be the 2005-06 team, which was Tyler Hansbrough's freshman season. That team certainly didn't cut down the nets – I'm not sure they made the Sweet Sixteen. But they played hard every game, they won games they shouldn't have (such as beating Duke on JJ Reddick's Senior Night), and they played together as a team. I loved that team for who they were, not what they ultimately did on the court.

Last season while watching Carolina play a nail biter at Clemson, which we ultimately won at the buzzer, I was taken aback by my anger during the game, and something in me broke. It was, after all, just a game, and much of my joy at watching had been consumed by frustration at the possibility of losing. That lesson stuck, and I have not let the Heels dictate my moods as much this season. But here at tournament time, I find the joy again being eaten away by fear of losing. This team, if any team, can win it all. Yet talent alone doesn't win games, and there may be a game soon where the bounce doesn't go our way.

And the question becomes, am I going to let that rob me of enjoying Tar Heels basketball, easily one of my favorite things in the world? I've had the chance to see the Heels play live seven times this season, several of those from lower level seats. That means 5 times of going to the Dean Dome and hearing the same familiar songs by the pep band and screaming my lungs out, and one time going to the ACC Tournament. I've seen one of the greatest players in ACC history (Hansbrough), the ACC Player of the Year (Tywon Lawson), and one of the most improved players in the country (Wayne Ellington). I've celebrated wins with friends, I've took one of the Glenwood kids to the Kentucky game, and I got to go to the Clemson game with my wife. I've had a Tar Heel game to look forward to almost every week since November, and out of 34 games, I've celebrated a win 30 times. Carolina basketball and March Madness are too much fun to get lost in whether or not we win the big prize. I want to enjoy the madness, and who knows, maybe there will be a title to celebrate as well.

An Anchor for My Soul

I've recently been overwhelmed by the world. It seems to me that everywhere I look is brokenness, that there is no moral compass. I see the choices that people are making and the destruction of lives and souls that comes from them, and I want to scream, "Can't you see that doing things our own way doesn't work?" And yet in today's culture, to tell anyone that their choices are wrong is unacceptable (unless they are hungry to truly do the right thing and have given you permission to speak freely). I feel like an old fogey longing for the good ol' days; the standards that I feel are right and honoring to God (and best for us) seem so old-fashioned. But I know the joy and the feeling of wholeness that God has brought as I have known His grace and walked in closer obedience to Him, and I think that 'old-fashioned" might just bring the life that I see our world craving.

When I look at the world and see only brokenness, my soul is burdened and weary. In some moments, this feeling leads me to compose angry blog posts in my mind, an "open letter" to the world around me, demanding change. In other moments, it leads me to despair and to begin to wonder where is this God that I worship?

But as always, the Lord sends me back to my old friend, The Psalms. Psalm 93 is only 5 verses long, but it speaks directly to my soul in times of chaos. The Lord reigns. Despite all around me that says God is not in control, the Lord reigns as King over all. Even though we all long to be king, to be the one in charge, God is on His throne and will not be removed. That is an anchor for my soul, a truth on which to stand my ground. But verses 3 and 4 describe how I feel – the seas are raging; the oceans are thundering. The image here is clear – chaos, powerlessness, fear in the face of something bigger than you. We all know that being seaside during a hurricane is not the ideal.

But God….But God is mightier than the chaos of the seas, mightier than the noise of their breakers, mightier than their crashing. The Lord on High is mighty. God is not moved by the chaos of sin, by the destruction of our choices. He is not made impotent by our stubborn resolve to do things our way. His ways are not corrupted by our unwillingness to follow. God remains the holy, good, and perfect King.

This is the truth that leads me to trust and hope. God is good. God is in charge. God is.

All Turtles Aside, a Great Weekend of Baskeball

This weekend I had the amazing fortune to be given an entire book of tickets to the ACC Men’s Basketball Tournament. I’ve never been to all the rounds of the tournament before and I wondered if that much basketball would be overkill. Not a chance! Watching four games in one day on Friday was so much fun (especially since the Heels survived their opening round game), and then two more on Saturday were just right (except that the Heels lost).

Our seats were in the lower level, about 30 rows from the court, and the only bad thing about them was that they were in the Maryland section. An idea of how bad Maryland fans are – I almost pulled for Dook in their semifinal matchup this weekend. The last time I pulled for Dook was 1991, and I doubt I ever will again. But I came close.

Here are some reasons why: During their game, a fan in their section stood up to cheer for their team. An older man behind him yelled at him to sit down, even though the man’s view was not impeded. The younger guy cussed back at the old man. Other Terps around them cussed the young guy and told him to sit down. This happened several times during their opening game. I’m no nature expert but I began to wonder if turtles in the wild eat their young. There seems to be a Maryland fixation on not standing during games, because we heard a few more comments (though less vociferous) during the Carolina game when we would stand to cheer or to simply see over the rest of the crowd who had also stood in excitement. When the wine and cheese crowd from UNC is too into the game for you, there’s got to be a problem.
Then, when the Heels lost, the woman behind me sounded as though she were going to cry with joy, exclaiming, “I can’t believe they did it! It proves that anything is possible!” Over and over. And over.
Those who know me well know it takes more than a couple minutes or a “it’s just swell to be here” reminder to get over a Heels loss; give me 30 minutes or so and I’ll be fine.
Unfortunately, the Maryland fans don’t know me well. Just after the loss, as I am sitting quietly and replaying some of the game’s last plays and wishing the Heels weren’t out, the Maryland fan beside me asks if I would like to sell my ticket to the final on Sunday, and then I was offered a “Fear the Turtle” sign to hold, which I politely declined (if a glare can be polite).

All that aside, it’s great to be around so many ACC fans. Even when their teams are out, the fans stay for the whole weekend because ACC fans like basketball, not just their team. I even bonded with a Dook fan who had on a hilarious shrt from The Office. To get to see some of the top teams in the nation go at it for three days in a row has been a really great experience, not to mention the chance to be on the road with three other guys, away from the responsibilities of home, and just talking a about the Heels, basketball, and the Lord (yes, probably in that order) and laughing a lot - what a gift!

It’s Never As Simple As You’d Hope

Our church has hosted an emergency women's shelter since December 15^th, giving up to 20 women a place to stay each night from 7 pm until 7 am. It has been a joy and a blessing for our church and for our volunteers. I think that for the core women who have been there from the start, our church's multi-purpose space has really become a home. And yet there have been challenges that have really been discouraging. We have had women who were simply unwilling to follow the simple rules of the shelter; women who have accused us of racism and favoritism or questioned whether we really were Christian because we enforced the rules; women who have been asked to leave for a few days, allowed back, and then asked to leave again. And it's just confusing as to what is the best way in each situation.

We are an emergency shelter, trying to keep women from being cold and in danger, but we also desire that they feel like they have a home and a community to come to each night. In order to have a home and a community, there need to be rules and expectations of how we treat one another and consequences for when that doesn't happen; it works the same way in my own house. Yet the desire to provide shelter and the desire to see transformation (which is aided by the power of consistency and community) often seem in tension. I ask myself, "How can we turn anyone away from our shelter if we have space for them, just because they are unruly or refuse to cooperate?" Then I see the effects of the uncooperative on the women who really have taken ownership of our space and do consider it a home, and I realize that there is a bigger picture, a community that is affected and needs to be protected.

I also see a mom and a daughter have to leave our shelter because the mom refused to comply with our rules, and now I know that they are just bouncing around from house to house, and my heart breaks for the little girl. We found out this week that one of our residents that we asked to leave (because she was medically unstable, beyond our ability to safely help, and because she was abusing heavy narcotics) died of an overdose at a rehab facility. And in six weeks, our shelter will close, and I don't know that all of our women will have a place to go. I stand by my opening statement that this shelter has been a wonderful experience, and I think that our city and our church are different because of it, but it's not as simple as that. There has been a cost and the road has not been smooth, and I am certain we have made mistakes in this process. But our hope is in Christ, and our job is to be faithful and trust Him with the results. And I believe that beneath the surface, the Kingdom of God is advancing one small step at a time.

Psalter’s Catching On

The other day in Sunday School, Psalter's class was studying about Abraham and Isaac, and at the point where Abraham was about to kill Isaac, the teacher asked, "Kids, what is that in the bushes?' Psalter and another little boy in her class immediately said, "Ramses!" Duke and State fans need not call child protective services.

Christ in You, the Hope of Glory

Many who know me know that one of the most important and transformational parts of my walk with Christ has been an understanding that Christ didn't just die to pay for our sins, but that He also died to give us His life. Christ doesn't expect us to live our lives for Him, but rather He asks us to let Him express His life through us, truly being vessels for Him to live and move by His Spirit. The reason that this has been so freeing is that it takes the pressure off of me and my ability to be obedient, faithful, good, loving. On my own, my tendency is to be none of those things, or it is to do those things because I hope to get something in return (most likely I hope that you will like me and approve of me). For me, living apart from Christ in my own resources (even doing good things) is an exhausting treadmill that never stops. I have often lived in fear of disappointing my friends, wondering if my next mistake would be the one that would lead them to just be done with me for good.

I feel like Christianity so quickly morphs into a life of trying to be like Jesus, and we take on the burden of trying to be holy and nice and loving. That burden was never meant for us. There is only One who is holy, only one who is Good. There was only one who "lived the Christian life", and there is only one "Christian life" – Christ's. And now He offers to live that life in and through us, if we would simply receive it.

Many times I do a poor job of explaining this concept to others, and I think that sometimes I end up sounding like I believe that what we do doesn't matter, and that obedience and active love are inconsequential. I guess in the very truest understanding of the Gospel, what we do doesn't matter, in that we can't earn or deserve Christ's salvation and love. But at the same time, in the truest understanding of the Gospel, what we do goes hand in hand with what we have been given. As The Message says in James 2:24, "Is it not evident that a person is made right with God not by a barren faith but by faith fruitful in works?" What we believe eventually manifests itself in how we act.

I think that ultimately where I am finding freedom is that the root of my actions and my response to God is not from a desire to be pleasing to Him or to get it right. Rather the root is that Christ lives in me, and that all that I need for faithfulness, obedience, and life is found in Christ. And so in every situation, I can be at rest knowing that my performance has no bearing on my standing with Christ. I am free to love, to listen for His voice, and to know that it is not up to me at all. My job is to be available to Christ and to trust His work in me. So for example, there is a person in my life that I really struggle to love sometimes, and there was a root of bitterness growing in me. My first response to them was frustration and eye-rolling, and the harder I tried to do otherwise, the more that response grew. But recently before spending some time with them, the Lord gently reminded me to let Him be my life. He reminded me that Christ in me loved this person; Christ in me understood their heart correctly and could help me see them in His eyes; Christ in me had the life and patience that I did not have on my own, if I would simply rest in Him. And so I asked Christ to live His life through me, and the difference was night and day. I enjoyed being around this person, I did not resent them at all, and God really blessed that time.

Christ in you, the hope of glory, is not simply a nice verse in Colossians. For a Christians, Christ truly lives in us, and He alone is our hope in every situation, every moment. He is my faithfulness in my marriage, my kindness to my children, my wisdom in confusing situations, my peace in frustration, my ability to honor God with my life. And in that, there is deep rest for my soul. Matthew 11:28-30 in The Message says, "Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me – learned the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." Amen.

Bookends for a God-centered day

Lately I have been captured by Psalm 92:2, which says, "[we] proclaim your love in the morning and your faithfulness at night." That is how I want to live my days.

Proclaiming God's love in the morning sets my heart and mind on the most important thing about me – I am loved by God. Anything that I do, anywhere I go, I am one who is loved. I don't always feel that when I wake up. My day seems to come at me fast, and it often looks to be more than I can bear. And so I must proclaim God's love, declare it, to remind myself that love leads the way into all that I face, and maybe, just maybe, I will remember that declaration throughout the day.

Then before bed, it's good to look back and see how God showed up, how He proved Himself good and faithful during the day. That's not always easy to do. Proclaiming God's faithfulness at night does not mean that I have had a good day, or that I feel fulfilled and excited for the next morning. Rather it is, again, a proclamation of truth that God has been faithful, training my eyes of faith to see God's faithfulness when my experience and heart don't. And it teaches me to look for God's faithfulness in the midst of the next day.

Training my soul to be led by love in the day and to rest in faithfulness at night is part of the work of remembering and believing, trusting the love and life of Christ.

Thankful for a dad who was there

Last week I went to watch two Glenwood middle school-ers wrestle, and I had such a great time watching them compete and watching them with their teammates. But as I looked around the gym, I was saddened by the lack of parents in attendance, particularly the dads. When I was growing up, I took for granted that my dad came to all of my basketball games, track meets, baseball games, tennis matches, and cross-country races (even as I sat the bench or played #3 doubles). I just thought that was what dads did (many of my friends had dads who did the same). Turns out, not all dads are there for their kids. Turns out not all kids are lucky enough to have dads in their lives. I left saddened for the boys out on that mat who didn't have dads who could be t here or who wanted to be there. And I left thankful for my father and his investment in me by showing up.

Community

As I talk with members of the Glenwood Community who go to Grace, two words continue to stick out in our conversations – discouraged and alone. There are at least four households from Grace who have moved to Glenwood for the purpose of being salt and light in the neighborhood. Diane and I moved in back in 2001, and for a couple of years, we shared our home with the Lewkowicz family before they moved to a house about a mile away in Glenwood. That was the closest we have come to having community in the midst of ministry here.
All of us who live here "on purpose" really desire to make a difference in our neighbors' lives. We have offered food and shelter to the stranger, befriended families, and even started programs that are making the difference in the lives of children. We know that there are others here "on purpose", and we even work on some things together. Yet we still feel alone and discouraged.
The model for ministry here has been "act first, involve others later." When Diane and I moved in, we asked other couples to come with us, but none felt called and so instead of waiting, we went ahead. I think that has subtly set a tone for ministry in Glenwood. Community has seemed like a nice thing, but it has never seemed as important as doing good things. We sort of hoped that community would form as we did good things together, but to take time to care for one another seemed to take away from doing the really important work of helping other people.
I recently skimmed the book of Matthew, and I noticed that Jesus didn't start many programs. He rarely appeared busy or harried. He seemed to eat a lot of meals with people, to talk with them and listen to them, and to love people in practical ways. He never seemed driven by immediacy or urgency, and he made time to invest in His relationship with His friends, who were also His ministry partners. The church in Acts didn't seem focused on running programs. They ate meals together, shared with those in need, opened their homes and seemed to sincerely enjoy one another. And it was contagious – people were amazed at their love for one another and wanted to know the source of that love. Community created hunger for Jesus just as much as good deeds.
God is stirring in us, helping us to see that we need each other. Not just to help do more good things. We need each other to speak life and truth and to pray for one another. We need each other to laugh together, to share life and meals. We need to operate as a team together and to make room to be together without "doing" anything at all. I am beginning to believe that I need to practice what I preach – community is key for life. Community brings life that can then be given away to others.

New Year’s Eve

I saw him cross the street and could tell that he was heading towards our restaurant. I thought I knew him from our church's Wednesday night dinners for the homeless, but I wasn't certain until he came in. Flannel coat, toboggan, scraggly beard, he was out of place in the posh downtown Thai restaurant, and I'm sure he knew it. At first I thought that he was coming in to panhandle, and I realized that I knew him not only by face but by name. Diane and I got up and went to greet him, and he smiled when he saw me and heard his name. He explained that he wasn't panhandling but rather had a cup of instant noodles and just needed some hot water to make his dinner. I could tell that the hostess also relaxed a bit, as she was not sure what to do with this new guest. I was able to ask her for the hot water, which she went to get, and as she was in the back, my friend began to wipe tears from his eyes, thanking us over and over for coming to speak to him. He continued to weep as she put the water in his noodles, and with a small hug, he was out the door and on his way to a shelter for the night.

I can only imagine what it would be like to need something as simple as hot water to make your dinner, and how humbling and even frightening it would be to risk and go into a restaurant to ask for help. Knowing you would be stared at by patrons, misunderstood by management, and in most instances unwelcome and uncomfortable. I'm so thankful that Diane and I were in that restaurant that night. The Lord didn't need us to offer him money or food, but simply friendship, relationship, and the right to be in the restaurant.

That same night another homeless man I knew by face (but not by name) came into the restaurant. He was asking for money, and he was clearly drunk and not wanting to leave. He wasn't angry at being asked to leave, just sad and confused and looking for anyone to help him. The hostess again didn't know what to do and was getting ready to call the police, so I got up again and walked outside with the man. He said he didn't mean any harm – he just wanted some coffee. As we were talking the manager came out and fussed at him some more and told him not to come back. I could understand where she was coming from, but it wasn't necessary. As we talked more, he said that he wanted coffee from McDonalds, and since there was not a McDonalds within three miles, I understood that he didn't want coffee, he wanted money to go and buy the coffee (or something else). I offered to buy him food at the Jimmy John's across the street, but he just turned and walked off.

Two simple interactions with people that I would not have known had it not been for our involvement with the homeless through Grace. The Lord has us on adventure of relationship with people from all walks of life, rich and poor, broken and put together, and life is richer for it.

What’s under my tree

This morning I spent time with an old friend, who reminded me of all that I am receiving this Christmas. It's a little embarrassing, really, to actually put it all into print, because it seems like so much for just one person. But I thought that blogging about it might help me to come to terms with all that's waiting on me, so, without further ado, here's what I'm going to be unwrapping on Christmas morning (I hate to brag, but I just have to share): Grace. Mercy. Kindness from God. Sonship. An inheritance that never spoils. A glimpse into the heart of God's will and purpose. Every spiritual blessing. Hope. The opportunity to bring glory to God simply by believing in Him. Significance. The knowledge that I was created exactly as I should be. Freedom. Intimacy with God. Holiness. Blamelessness. Purpose. Life.

I almost feel like I need to go and do something to actually deserve all these things, but my friend reminded me that my best response right now is to simply receive and let the blessing settle into my soul. That's the way of this grace I have received after all, that there is nothing I can do except to receive it. Grace and mercy, freely given, are not earned or paid back. To move too quickly into action, for me, is to give in to my discomfort at receiving so much. There is a time and place to give away what we have received, but I think that if I give it too quickly, I will not be giving the gifts I have received but rather my best impersonation of those gifts. There is a time to be like Mary and to simply ponder and treasure these things in my heart, and offer to God the times and places that these gifts are extended to others, saying, "May it be done in and through me as you have said." When that is my posture, these gifts are renewed to overflowing.

Christ has come, born to die, the gift that truly keeps on giving. My old friend Ephesians 1:3-14 calls me to remember. The work that God requires is to believe in the one that He has sent (John 6:29), remembering all I have been given, unable to earn single thing from His hand. Oh that I would take time to unwrap these gifts each day.