I'm starting to be better able at seeing seasons in my life begin and end, which is actually pretty cool. In the past three years since I've jumped into full time ministry, I've entered and exited a season of confessions, then into a season of some of those assumptions being rewritten into a better set of questions, and now into season of learning how to lead like God has led me.
Bye bye, rewritten. Thank you God for the lessons you taught me there. I'm looking forward to what you have next.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
big stories.
I've been silent on here for a long time.
On more than a few occasions, I've visited my own blog, and was tempted to just pound something out for the sake of regular contribution. But I didn't.
But now I have something to write about.
Our stories are too small.
What do I mean by "our stories?" I mean, generally speaking, our stories about God: what he is doing in our life, in the church, in the world, etc.
What do I mean by "too small?" Perhaps it would be better to start by explaining what I do not mean. What I do not mean is: how our stories are packaged or marketed, how they are presented, how many people hear them, how many dollars are raised in light of them, or even how many conversions they produce.
What I mean by "too small" is this: for most Christians in most places in America, our stories are too small in terms of how intimate they are.
That's right: the more intimate our stories are, the bigger they are.
Let's play this game again.
What do I mean by "intimate?" I mean like God speaking to Adam, to Abraham, to Isaac, to Jacob, to Moses. I mean like God moving in the heart of David to produce Psalms. I mean like God speaking to the prophets who were then so moved to stand before kings domestic and foreign demanding their repentance in God's name.
I mean like God speaking to John the Baptist to go out into the desert and baptize people, making the way for the Messiah. I mean like God speaking to Jesus on the mountain of Transfiguration.
I mean like Jesus appearing to Saul on the road to Damascus, to John on the island of Patmos. That's what I mean by intimate.
Perhaps now it is easy to see the link between the level of intimacy of our stories and their "bigness." But it bears mention:
What do I mean by our stories being "big?"
Very simply: bigger means more awe. The bigger a story is, the more awe it inspires in the listener, and the more capable they are of seeing the Author behind the story.
Our stories are too small here in America. We need bigger stories. We need stories of God intimately speaking to and moving in the hearts of ordinary men in women in ways that inspire awe and sight.
And also: we need to stop wrapping old stories in new trappings. But I'm not writing about that right now.
Why do I say that our stories are too small? Well, for several reasons. First, my experience with people tells me this. Most of us can't hear God (at least very well, or in a way that is recognizable and familiar), and can't sense or articulate what he's up to in our lives. The evidence? Well, put simply: how many people do you know who are taking calculated, intentional, and often risky steps of faith to new depths of vulnerability, sacrificial obedience, and love in light of how they claim God is leading them? I think most of us couldn't come up with 3 names... let alone one.
Second, our stories get dwarfed by our world's stories. More present to our minds than the intimate voice of God is our economic crisis, the challenges of Darwinism and evolutionary findings, sexual orientations, the environment, pluralism in the media and culture in general, the polarization of the political parties, and so on and so forth. These are the big stories. These are the compelling stories. These are the stories people read, talk about, discuss, and orient their lives in light of. And for some reason, we think that for our stories to compete, we have to translate them into to magical prayer cloths, 7 steps to guarunteed life change, prosperity messages, or otherworldly phenomenon that more closely resemble ghost stories than God stories.
I want a story about there being enough bread to feed thousands of hungry people. I want a story about a burning bush. I want a story about an oppressive giant falling at the hands of the meek. I want a story about a man toppling the religious system of his day in favor of God's presence and mercy. I want a story about a vision that gives people hope in the midst of times that may require their very lives. And I want to hear those stories become commonplace among the people of God... so commonplace that a world cannot ignore them, caricature them, parody them, or explain them away.
And I want those stories to bring a sterile, stubborn, stiff-necked church to her knees in repentance, at the sight of the nearness of the glory of God, the risen Christ, and the present Spirit.
So we are left with the question... no make that questions, plural:
1. Does God still speak to men and women in the way that he did with the people in the Bible?
2. Was there some sort of characteristic intrinsic to those people--those "heroes of the faith"--that we just don't have anymore?
3. If the answer to #1 is "yes," and the answer to #2 is "no," then how do we hear the voice of God in intimate ways that produce big stories?
On more than a few occasions, I've visited my own blog, and was tempted to just pound something out for the sake of regular contribution. But I didn't.
But now I have something to write about.
Our stories are too small.
What do I mean by "our stories?" I mean, generally speaking, our stories about God: what he is doing in our life, in the church, in the world, etc.
What do I mean by "too small?" Perhaps it would be better to start by explaining what I do not mean. What I do not mean is: how our stories are packaged or marketed, how they are presented, how many people hear them, how many dollars are raised in light of them, or even how many conversions they produce.
What I mean by "too small" is this: for most Christians in most places in America, our stories are too small in terms of how intimate they are.
That's right: the more intimate our stories are, the bigger they are.
Let's play this game again.
What do I mean by "intimate?" I mean like God speaking to Adam, to Abraham, to Isaac, to Jacob, to Moses. I mean like God moving in the heart of David to produce Psalms. I mean like God speaking to the prophets who were then so moved to stand before kings domestic and foreign demanding their repentance in God's name.
I mean like God speaking to John the Baptist to go out into the desert and baptize people, making the way for the Messiah. I mean like God speaking to Jesus on the mountain of Transfiguration.
I mean like Jesus appearing to Saul on the road to Damascus, to John on the island of Patmos. That's what I mean by intimate.
Perhaps now it is easy to see the link between the level of intimacy of our stories and their "bigness." But it bears mention:
What do I mean by our stories being "big?"
Very simply: bigger means more awe. The bigger a story is, the more awe it inspires in the listener, and the more capable they are of seeing the Author behind the story.
Our stories are too small here in America. We need bigger stories. We need stories of God intimately speaking to and moving in the hearts of ordinary men in women in ways that inspire awe and sight.
And also: we need to stop wrapping old stories in new trappings. But I'm not writing about that right now.
Why do I say that our stories are too small? Well, for several reasons. First, my experience with people tells me this. Most of us can't hear God (at least very well, or in a way that is recognizable and familiar), and can't sense or articulate what he's up to in our lives. The evidence? Well, put simply: how many people do you know who are taking calculated, intentional, and often risky steps of faith to new depths of vulnerability, sacrificial obedience, and love in light of how they claim God is leading them? I think most of us couldn't come up with 3 names... let alone one.
Second, our stories get dwarfed by our world's stories. More present to our minds than the intimate voice of God is our economic crisis, the challenges of Darwinism and evolutionary findings, sexual orientations, the environment, pluralism in the media and culture in general, the polarization of the political parties, and so on and so forth. These are the big stories. These are the compelling stories. These are the stories people read, talk about, discuss, and orient their lives in light of. And for some reason, we think that for our stories to compete, we have to translate them into to magical prayer cloths, 7 steps to guarunteed life change, prosperity messages, or otherworldly phenomenon that more closely resemble ghost stories than God stories.
I want a story about there being enough bread to feed thousands of hungry people. I want a story about a burning bush. I want a story about an oppressive giant falling at the hands of the meek. I want a story about a man toppling the religious system of his day in favor of God's presence and mercy. I want a story about a vision that gives people hope in the midst of times that may require their very lives. And I want to hear those stories become commonplace among the people of God... so commonplace that a world cannot ignore them, caricature them, parody them, or explain them away.
And I want those stories to bring a sterile, stubborn, stiff-necked church to her knees in repentance, at the sight of the nearness of the glory of God, the risen Christ, and the present Spirit.
So we are left with the question... no make that questions, plural:
1. Does God still speak to men and women in the way that he did with the people in the Bible?
2. Was there some sort of characteristic intrinsic to those people--those "heroes of the faith"--that we just don't have anymore?
3. If the answer to #1 is "yes," and the answer to #2 is "no," then how do we hear the voice of God in intimate ways that produce big stories?
Monday, January 19, 2009
approachable
This is another post inspired by one of our classes here at Prairie Lakes Church for which I'm writing the curriculum. This class is on loving people. The chosen text is written by one of the most influential professor's I've had, Craig Blomberg. His book that we're using is entitled Contagious Holiness: Jesus' Meals with Sinners. From this book I'm reminded of a story in the Gospels where a prostitute enters a meal Jesus was sharing with his peers--men of stature all--and the woman weeps at Jesus' feet, wiping them with her tears, drying them with her hair.
And it wasn't like Jesus preached this killer sermon or wrote this powerful song or anything. He's just sitting there.
Maybe he had talked with this woman personally at one time. Maybe she had caught something he had said while standing in the crowd. Maybe she watched him deal devastating blow after blow to the religious leaders who had for so long ruled over her with a condemning eye. Maybe she was inspired by his courage as he preached the same message, undeterred by the threats on his life, and followed up his words with his actions seamlessly.
Or maybe she had only heard rumors about this man, and they were enough for the Holy Spirit to crack open her heart to the kindness of a God who was about to sacrifice his Son on her behalf.
And I think:
Am I like Jesus in that way?
So I pray:
God, make me like that. Make me more effective in the lives of those who are living as your enemies than those who claim allegiance to your kingdom. Let the love that I live by inspire repentance in those who have yet to repent. Give me the courage to stand against the attacks of the enemy that come in the form of "religious" conviction. Let me garner my testimony and stake my reputation on the stories from profane lips rather than praise from a sterilized tongue.
Even if it costs me my life.
Even if it costs me my life.
And it wasn't like Jesus preached this killer sermon or wrote this powerful song or anything. He's just sitting there.
Maybe he had talked with this woman personally at one time. Maybe she had caught something he had said while standing in the crowd. Maybe she watched him deal devastating blow after blow to the religious leaders who had for so long ruled over her with a condemning eye. Maybe she was inspired by his courage as he preached the same message, undeterred by the threats on his life, and followed up his words with his actions seamlessly.
Or maybe she had only heard rumors about this man, and they were enough for the Holy Spirit to crack open her heart to the kindness of a God who was about to sacrifice his Son on her behalf.
And I think:
Am I like Jesus in that way?
So I pray:
God, make me like that. Make me more effective in the lives of those who are living as your enemies than those who claim allegiance to your kingdom. Let the love that I live by inspire repentance in those who have yet to repent. Give me the courage to stand against the attacks of the enemy that come in the form of "religious" conviction. Let me garner my testimony and stake my reputation on the stories from profane lips rather than praise from a sterilized tongue.
Even if it costs me my life.
Even if it costs me my life.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
needles and babies
I've been meaning to write about this for sometime now, because it struck me when I heard it. But, the holidays being what they are as a local church employee, I have had to wait for time again to write.
I'm in a small group that's made up of married couples at a similar life stage to Erin and me. And, as it turns out, people in our life stage crank out kids like they're going out of style. So, about every month or so, we cancel small group in lieu of heading to the hospital to welcome a newborn into the world. It's pretty great.
One newborn in our group has been around now for about 8 weeks or so. She now is a regular fixture at our group meetings, as her parents bring her along. During one of our final meetings before Christmas, she came in with two bandages on her legs; one on each of her thighs. She had gotten some vaccines earlier in the day.
Of course, her parents told the story of being in the room and having to help hold her down as the nurse gave her the shots. As I was listening I began visualize myself in that situation someday--having to hold my infant to the table as the nurse pokes needles into his or her legs. That stuff doesn't make me uneasy; in fact, I think I would face something like that pretty well. After all, it's just another part of life.
And that struck me. It's a part of life.
Welcome to the world, little infant, where you are completely vulnerable. Welcome to this world, little one, where pain is a reality, woven into the very fabric of life. Welcome to a place where you need to be protected from disease, or you will most certainly die. Welcome to a life where you won't always understand the pain you experience, even when you are an adult.
Welcome to a life where you will always need someone to save you from something.
There are evidences of God everywhere, aren't there? Even in pain.
I'm in a small group that's made up of married couples at a similar life stage to Erin and me. And, as it turns out, people in our life stage crank out kids like they're going out of style. So, about every month or so, we cancel small group in lieu of heading to the hospital to welcome a newborn into the world. It's pretty great.
One newborn in our group has been around now for about 8 weeks or so. She now is a regular fixture at our group meetings, as her parents bring her along. During one of our final meetings before Christmas, she came in with two bandages on her legs; one on each of her thighs. She had gotten some vaccines earlier in the day.
Of course, her parents told the story of being in the room and having to help hold her down as the nurse gave her the shots. As I was listening I began visualize myself in that situation someday--having to hold my infant to the table as the nurse pokes needles into his or her legs. That stuff doesn't make me uneasy; in fact, I think I would face something like that pretty well. After all, it's just another part of life.
And that struck me. It's a part of life.
Welcome to the world, little infant, where you are completely vulnerable. Welcome to this world, little one, where pain is a reality, woven into the very fabric of life. Welcome to a place where you need to be protected from disease, or you will most certainly die. Welcome to a life where you won't always understand the pain you experience, even when you are an adult.
Welcome to a life where you will always need someone to save you from something.
There are evidences of God everywhere, aren't there? Even in pain.
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