Theology on a Napkin

I’ve been dialoging with another blogger lately on the issue of joy. His thoughts have led me to reflect more on my story and the faith that was handed to me. I was raised riding through the spiritual life on the Fact/Faith/Feeling train. For those of you unfamiliar with this illustration, it basically says that Facts are the engine to which you connect your Faith, and your Feelings are like the caboose and get to come along for the ride. The logic is fine to a point, unless you find you’ve been run over by that train. Here’s some of how I got caught on the tracks. My spiritual culture held emotion at arm’s length. If I had a dime for every time I heard a leader say, “feelings change; facts never do,” I’d be a rich man. This sentiment is fine if treated as a proverb, but somehow it became a theology. I was not as secure as all the leaders who taught that illustration. They would go on and on about love and the joy of the Lord, how these are not feelings, and so it left me discounting how I felt about things, especially about God. I cut myself off from my emotions, assuming they were not to be trusted. I concluded I should just live inside my mind. It worked for a while, but the Caboose wouldn’t accept taking backseat. Slowly over time, I was increasingly living in fear. I was afraid of messing up, of making God mad. I justified it by calling it the fear of the Lord. I memorized Psalm 115:3 to remind myself that God could crush me at any second and probably should, since I deserved it for that thought I just had. Feelings were speaking, but Mind wasn’t listening. Graciously, I found myself gaining an ear for Feelings voice. There were stories to be told about being inadequate and why I was so fearful. Feelings wrote long essays on my need to please and fit in and how that influenced even what I thought of God and how I assumed he viewed me. I’m glad I finally tuned in. So this is in part why I have a hard time with the choo-choo train illustration. It works better on a napkin, but not as my paradigm. Facts are fine and necessary and faith must be rooted in something solid or it will falter. But feelings are not the bastard children as I once thought. I now believe how I feel is extremely important in my spiritual well being. If I feel discouraged or depressed, I better take note. It may pass as quickly as the guy late to catch a plane, but if not, there may be a message I need to hear.

Turning 40

I’m turning 40 this week. But if you know me or looked at my profile, you would see that I’m about four years off. Let me explain. I was raised by parents with a can-do attitude. They were not complainers in any way. They both worked very hard at whatever they did, and I think that rubbed off on me. Consequently I find it easy to take responsibility for my actions and outcome in life. As a freshman in college, I encountered what was called at the time the “freshman fifteen,” those extra pounds you found clinging onto the midsection as a result of the all-you-can-eat dorm food and countless late night pizzas. Some of my friends would bemoan the fact that they were gaining weight, as they stuffed another slice of Dominos in their mouth. I resolved not to follow suit. So I changed my diet, changed my lifestyle, even changed my major. I got serious about getting fit and doing something about my circumstances. I lost weight as a result, and started looking and feeling better. I was on a new path I liked very much. I liked the feeling of being in control. I charted my course. I started exercizing. I set my goals. I ran 10k’s. I even ran a few marathons. Life was good. So when I turned 40 for real, I decided I needed another challenge, so I committed to run another marathon. I did it before, why couldn’t I do it again? Who knows, maybe I can even run a PB (personal best). Being no stranger to training, I did what I knew to do; put in lots of miles. No better place to start than with a steady dose of LSD (long, slow distance). But like the other LSD, it came with its after effects I noticed it first thing of a morning. Getting out of bed each day got harder and harder. Joints were slow to bend back into working order. The next thing I started noticing was the heat. I always loved summer heat. I felt it made me stronger, but now it makes me fatigued. I had to run earlier in the day. From there I became acutely aware of other conditions. Bumps on my body that wouldn’t go away with ice or heat packs. Hair growing out my ears instead of the top of my head. Stray eyebrows that looked like curly banjo strings. What is happening here? No more cause and effect. No more feeling in full control. So this is what I mean when I say I’m finally turning 40. It’s taken me about four years to accept the aging process, to resign to the fact that regardless of how hard I work, I will never be as fast or strong or lean as I once was. My body is failing, just like everyone else’s. It’s normal. It’s part of life and I can allow it. I’m losing control of my physical body and for once I am beginning to see that it just might be another step toward freedom that I am longing for. I can feel free from the need to chase an unreachable goal. I would hope for a healthy life free from illness for the rest of my days, but the true life of liberty really flows from someplace other than muscles that flex and joints that don’t ache.

Thinking inside the box.

Junk has a way of accumulating in a house after living in it for any length of time. There are two ways to deal with the junk, my way and the wrong way. Some people are savers of the junk, some are tossers. It can cause trouble if a saver marries a tosser, because the saver is continually asking, “Honey, where’s my _______.” The tosser has either a) thrown it out, b) thrown it out years ago, or c) sold it on eBay. I only speak from theory here, and what others say. I would never do something like that to my dear wife. I propose that from time to time we should purge our language of useless words and phrases that have piled up, and have a sort of verbal garage sale, so to speak. Here’s the first one I want to get rid of: Outside the box “Our folks think way outside the box…” “We are doing church outside the box…” “I encourage our people to push the limits and get outside the box…” What’s wrong with the box, and why are we desperate to get out of it? “Outside the box” has become a meaningless phrase today. Like a soda can after a few miles in the cup holder on a bumpy road, it’s lost its fizz. Originally coined to represent creativity and the pursuit of fresh ideas, it has slowly eroded into just another innocuous term to reflect the inner reality of one thing: insecurity. Insecure people are the ones who seem in constant need of reinvention. They change cars, clothes, styles, friends, jobs and even churches on a regular basis. This is not out of the box thinking, acting or living. Its only shows the lack of an inner core, a “box” if I may, where identity should reside. Insecure people tend to hide behind the moniker and brag that they are outside the box. But true out of the box thinking cannot exist without a box in which you are comfortable. We all need a place in which to come home and live and rest. I offer a new saying for our culture. I am thinking “inside the box” these days, which means I am learning who I am, what my real core identity is and what my core values are. If more people knew how to think inside the box, I would be willing to bet that our world would actually become a more creative place.

Job versus Work IV

I don’t know if this is a fair comparison or not, but ministry always felt a little like a position in sales for me. There is a Product (The Gospel) that must sell. Depending on the Company, there may also be regular quotas to meet. There are monthly performance reports to fill out, and when a group of your Salesmen colleagues get together, there might be a compulsion to tell a story or two about the latest deal you closed. You might even be inclined to stretch the truth a little, just to fit in. Forgive the crude association, but that was the nagging sense I always carried with me. I was raised in a Sales oriented culture, where those stories were highly valued. My leaders were Salesmen extraordinaire, at least back in their day. They had legendary tales of people just showing up to buy the Product. It was in their mind that people were dying to hear about the Product, and it was your job to tell them about it and register the transaction for the good of the Company. To them it was as easy as taking candy from a baby. So there I was, young new Salesman, trying desperately to fit into my Sales culture, and I couldn’t make a Sale. Everyone, I was told, was a potential customer, so whether or not I got on a plane or a ski lift or stood in a long line at the DMV, I was trained to think sell, sell, sell. Try as I may, I just couldn’t do it. I never once made a Sale. It’s ironic that I am now again in a position of sales. I am selling food. And once our restaurant opens, I will be selling ambience and a place to sit and enjoy it. But the contrast of the two could not be starker. No one ever wanted the previous Product. It didn’t matter that I believed in it. I could never convince someone else that they needed it. On the other hand, with my food, I now have people asking me about it. I get phone calls, emails, questions from people I don’t even know, wondering when our store will be open. It’s an incredible feeling, to be sought out like that. To have a product that basically sells itself is just short of amazing. This is why I say I’m working again. I finally quit my job of selling the Product and have started doing new work. Its work I feel good at, and good about. Its work that doesn’t feel like work. It’s just a whole lot of fun. The hardest part is that I had to walk away and disappoint a lot of people to get here. I fear being seen as the one who turned his back on the Product because he was ashamed of it, and now he is running a bar. A word of advice to those swimming against the current; learn to listen to the Wind. Its voice is your most imperative to hear. There will be countless ones in your head who sound like people you know, and theirs will undoubtedly be the loudest. I never know when the Wind will speak, but I find it’s usually when the air is the most still. It’s then I can hear the message that I think is all any of us really want to hear, “Well done.”

Job versus Work III

As I mentioned previously, I’ve quit my job and started working again. Let me explain that a little more. I believe the need to work is innate. It is in our nature to accomplish, to bring order, to design, create and ultimately leave something behind long after we are gone. This is why I separate the idea of work from the current understanding of having a job. Very few of us are lucky enough to have a job that includes an opportunity to do this kind of work. I saw this dilemma all the time in college students, especially as they got nearer to graduation. They all asked the same question, “What am I going to do with my life?” My starting point was always to start by finding out about desire. What made you choose this major? What did you picture yourself doing or becoming? But the direction inevitably shifted when we would get past the subject of getting a job and get down to what is at the core of that person’s heart. “If money was no object, what would you do with your life?” I’ve asked this question so many times, it almost feels cliché’ The answers revealed the tension between our need for a job and the yearning to find real Work. The engineering majors were the easiest. They seemed to know more about what they wanted to do than the English, Psychology or the Art History majors. Engineers have a tangible element to their work. Mom and Dad don’t worry as much about Johnny the Bridge Builder as they do with Johnny as the Starving Artist. Its harder to pay the rent with the canvas than the blueprint. I was fortunate to find a job right out of college that was in my major field, Exercise Science. My position at the Central YMCA in Oklahoma City gave me a chance to put my learning into practice everyday. I got paid to play basketball and workout with members. It was an easy gig, except when people asked me in conversation what my day was like. If they showed too much jealously, I would retort with “I guess it sucks to be you.” But everyday, despite the ease of the job, there was the pull on me to do something more. The YMCA was not where I wanted to be. I wanted to be back on campus, talking with students about matters of faith and such. This was my real work. So when the chance to throw myself into that work came along, I took it. I moved to California to attend seminary and work with university students. The inner tension subsided. My work and job were now one and the same. Fast forward to fifteen years later. Still working with university students, but the job and the work had drifted apart. What had changed? Why was I no longer passionate about my job? Or was it my work? The two did not feel the same as they once did. How could I get them to reunite? to be continued...

Job versus Work II

A group of us were celebrating a friend’s 40th birthday this weekend. As I was standing in the men’s room, taking care of business, a guy who had obviously had a little too much to drink walked up to use the stall next to me. He made a serious man-law violation; he asked me a question. “Sssslo whatsss do yooou do?” he boldly queried. In my mind I chided, “please, dude, not here in the toilet.” But I quickly remembered that I didn't have to give my standard clever answer to hide what I really did, and relief settled in when I knew I didn’t have to respond with, “Oh, I’m a minister.” This almost always adds an immediate chill to any conversation. But now that I think of it, maybe I should have said that to the drunk guy to get him to shut up so I could go back to going number one. It’s not the work of a pastor with which I wasn’t comfortable; it was the job “pastor” that made relating more difficult. You see, it was always hard for me to relate to normal people when my full time job was being a pastor. Building a bridge to find common ground to discuss anything was hard to find once the “pastor” flag was raised. Yet some guys seemed to thrive on these kinds of “single serving” interactions, because inevitably their sermons would always start out with telling the audience about the person they led to Christ on the plane on the way here. It never dawned on me that they never gave illustrations involving their golfing buddies or the neighbor across the back fence. It was always about the guy in the checkout line, or the homeless man, or the guy who came into the church office for help. These last two years have been a freeing revelation to learn that in spite my job change, my work stays the same. In seminary, and at many pastor’s conferences I’ve attended, they make a big, big deal about our role in equipping the saints to do the WORK of the ministry. But the system is not really set up to support this idea, because the guys with the JOB of the ministry have created it this way (of which I was one). The only way I see it changing is to give more leaders permission to quit their day job so they can become more effective at their work. To be continued…

Job versus Work

Are these different things? The reason I ask is that I’ve been thinking a lot about the two since my drastic life shift. Two years ago I changed jobs, or did I change my line of work? I’m not trying to split hairs here or play a semantics game. I want to know what Solomon meant when he said there is nothing better for a man than to eat, drink and enjoy his work. I get the first part of his proverb. Food is a common experience between all people, regardless of age, race, or economic status. It can be enjoyed in simple fare, or with great expense. Happiness can show up on a picnic blanket or a banquet table, in a humble sack lunch as well as in an eight course feast. It’s the work thing that is not so clear. God said in Genesis that humankind would be cursed to toil in work by the sweat of the brow, but then Solomon turns right around and says that the greatest gift from God in all of life is to eat, drink and enjoy that work that we were so graciously burdened with. Did I miss something? I think I missed the paradigm shift somewhere along the road when work became job. It seems we work differently today. Most jobs have tight definition, bounded mostly by time and location. Our jobs have set hours, mainly in the day time hours, and as a rule, spanning eight or so hours. The parameters may be sitting at a desk behind a computer screen or limited to an office space. And for how many of us, our jobs are a place we look forward most to leaving and going to do something else? And do we hate our jobs because they are just that; a job. Would we be better off if we were really able to quit our jobs and start working? I started counting the number of hours over the last two years that I have been putting in trying to start this restaurant and I was amazed, a bit stunned actually. Not by the amount of time I’ve been devoting to it, but rather by the fact that it doesn’t seem like a job. It’s a whole lot of fun. I get up earlier. I work more and have more energy. I do more and get more done. At the end of the day, I’m tired but not depressed. I look forward to getting up in the morning. I really think I quit my job and started working again. To be continued…

The Dog and the Saltdogs

There was a song by a guy named Darrell Evans that I remember singing quite a while back, don’t remember the title, but the crescendo line of the song said, “and freedom is now the song of my heart.” That line means something different to me now than it did then. Last year I saw a former ministry colleague at a baseball game for our local semi-pro team. As we chatted, he asked me if I would be interested in taking his place as team chaplain next year, as he and his wife were moving to another state to take on a new ministry position. Not thinking much of it, I said I’d be interested, but left it at that. In March of this year, he called me up and asked again if I was still serious about doing the chaplain gig. Now to be completely honest, I must say I had ulterior motives in saying yes. Our new restaurant we are opening is only about a 5 min walk from the ballpark, so if I had a foot in the door with the team office, I might be able to do a little good-guy marketing, plus I can get free tickets to any home game I’d like. I wrestled with feeling guilty or putting it in the “being shrewd” category. I chose the latter. This Sunday was my first home game to lead chapel. It’s the first time in at least two years since I’ve done anything of that nature. I felt surprisingly at ease leading up to it. Meeting the team for the first time was a lot of fun. It felt a little like my days at the university. There were five guys that showed up. We met in the dugout for about 15 min. I shared a thought about faith being the fundamental of our lives, that just like in baseball, without the fundamentals, you’ll miss the point of the game. Pretty short and simple. Players exit to their pre-game rituals. I take a stroll around the park before leaving for home. Reflecting on the experience on the way back, I couldn’t figure out why I was so nonchalant about the whole matter. When I was a professional and would do one of these kinds of engagements and only five guys showed up, I’d be in the tank, but not today. Why was I so free? The thing I concluded was that since ministry is no longer my identity, I am not tempted to attach some kind of personal meaning to the situation. Ministry as a vocation did a number on me, as I tried so often to justify my existence through my performance and the perceived outcome of my job. Ministry as employment may not be for me ever again. Freedom is now the song of my heart. I’d like to keep it that way.

Are you using Me?

As more layers of ministry veneer get peeled back, more and more new messages get revealed for me to decipher. In some ways its like pulling down old wallpaper sheets and finding a few lines penciled on the plaster beneath. They’ve been written for a long time, but now is when they get read. I found this one this morning. Are you using Me? I saw this as I was digging around the question of impact. Seems like we ministry types are always thinking about the next big thing, and where we can have the biggest impact. I would liken it to King David wanting to build the temple. God told him nice idea, but you’re not the one who gets to do it. Did the Father sense that this kind of accomplishment would not be good for David? Was David using the task to feed some ill motive? We’ll never know. And isn’t that the truth about motive? Will we ever know our heart’s true intentions? Will any of us ever have a pure incentive? I’m not trying to be cynical, because this makes grace all the more attractive. Regardless, the Father dishes out grace to all of us in unimaginable ways, all the while knowing our desires better than we know ourselves. The blessing of this uncovered message led me to think about why I want to do ministry in the first place. On the one hand, there is the simple joy of helping others. It’s a satisfying feeling to encourage, uplift, and console. In doing so, you sense you really are the hands and feet of God. You are cooperating with Him. But on the other, there is the side of ministry that gets really dark. It’s the side that feeds the ego. It gives me something to lean on, to talk about. It justifies my existence and makes me feel important. And with these eyes I saw the message this morning. I received the correction and relaxed in the freedom of not feeling like I have to strive to be somebody. Since I don’t work for Jesus anymore, I find my relationship with him on a different plain now. I’m just a volunteer. I don’t work for money or position or even recognition. This is the liberty I was intended to experience.

Changing Careers

We are getting so close to the opening of our restaurant. I can’t help but reflect on how I actually got to this point. Changing careers is not an easy venture, at least not from my vantage point, but I would imagine there are other fortysomethings out there who may be in the same boat as me; finding themselves bored, depressed, frustrated, and just plain stuck. I'm here to say, Change is possible. Some guys tell me they could never do what I have done. They say they aren’t able to turn rudder and chart a new course like me. I was always taught that where there is a will, there is a way, but to be fair, I have been fortunate and my situation in life has offered me a couple of advantages to taking this step. Living modestly. Being a professional minister for 18 years, I didn’t make very much money. Since all the CD’s I produced were given away and not sold, and my 15-book apocalyptic series deal never materialized, and my speaking engagements were always to poor college students, I was limited in what I made, and in turn, in what I could consume. I’d watch my friends move to the nicer end of town and buy new cars and take their kids on ski trips and buy them cell phones, while I stayed put. I spent my share of time grumbling about it, never knowing that what was happening was a development of a lifestyle that would actually help me change later on down the road rather than preventing me from doing so. Living within our means. From the beginning of our marriage, my wife and I learned to live on the modest salary we received. We made a decision to live on one income until our kids were old enough to be in school. We did incur debt from time to time, but it was due to unexpected expenses, not consumption. So when it came time to decide on changing careers, we were not saddled with such extensive debt that would force us to stay plowing the same old rut. My dad always had a saying; "Son, don’t just be thankful for what you’ve got. Be thankful for what you miss out on." Why does it take so long for wisdom to set in? How many years did I focus on what I did not have, only to find that what I did not possess would the very thing that would enable me to launch into this dream?

No longer a professional

Sitting outside early this morning listening to the final drops of rain make their splattering noises on the leaves of the ash tree that guards my back yard, this thought knocked on the door, seeking entrance into my queue of musings: I am no longer a professional. This may not make sense to those of you who have never made your living doing church work, so I will try and explain. In vocational ministry, you have two sometimes conflicting needs; your faith and your salary. Both serve important purposes, but when one is dependent on the other, they can create a little cognitive dissonance. I raised my own finances through individual donors and interested churches for 18 years. We all were taught to say that we are trusting God for our needs, but it wasn’t always that easy, especially when you know that God is providing through people who may not be too happy with the directional risk you feel strongly about needing to take the ministry. If I decide we need to go that direction, and my salary donors don’t like the idea, what will I choose? Do I lean toward keeping people happy, or do I forge ahead with what seems to be the right thing? Such is the dilemma of the professional, one that I don’t experience right now. This is more of the freedom my soul clamors for. Faith and salary are much easier for me to maintain now that they are not dependent on each other. I still believe I am dependent on the Hand of God and His grace to provide my daily bread. I can gladly receive blessing and good fortune without having to hide what I really believe and am actually wrestling with concerning my faith. This is where I pity the pastor who has to stand in front of a congregation upon whom he is dependent for tithes and offerings. He can’t really be honest about his thoughts on prayer, especially when he is launching into a 5 week suppository preaching series on the Present Power of Purposeful People in Prayer.

Living Backward

My, how habits quickly form. I’ve had a laptop computer for a few months and when it went down last week, I then realized its impact on my routine. I usually log in first thing in the morning and do my writing then, but not having it available has left me silent on my blog. This has me asking if its a good thing or not, this dependence on machinery and technology. To live and work and interact in our culture today does require certain components like a phone or a car. I find myself daydreaming often about living a simpler life. Usually it starts out with "wouldn’t it be nice if..." I think this is a pretty common reaction for any generation. It seems to be human nature when we get to a certain point in life, it becomes more appealing to look backward than to look forward. Is there a reason why are we so inclined to reminisce? Could it be this is just another form of grief? And don't we grieve when we feel loss? Maybe it’s a loss of innocence or loss of time or energy. The old days may seem more pure or wholesome or honest, and we yearn for that. I’m not sure that’s a bad thing, but it can become one if we are not careful. I always come back to this advice in Ecclesiastes: "Do not say, 'Why were the old days better than these?' For it is not wise to ask such questions." It’s not wise because we don’t live backwards. Hope always lies ahead, not behind us. We don’t hope for what we see or have seen. We hope for what is unseen. Without hope, we are dead. Dead men have no future. Better days lie ahead because there will be men and women like yourself who will hope for them. You will invite the next generation to go forward with you because you have a place to go. Don’t get stuck in the past. Remember it with fondness, but also remember that it is never to be our destination.

Branding the Church

Since we are starting a new business soon, I’ve been reading up on marketing and the act of creating a recognizable brand, which is known as “branding,” Similar to a rancher putting a mark on the hip of his cattle, branding a business helps it stand out from another herd. Branding is an identifier. One way a brand is created is by the use of catch phrases, or by-lines, that summarize the product or business. Coke is identified as “The Real Thing.” McDonald’s changes theirs from time to time, lately it seems like they want me to know that “I’m lovin’ it.” I even remember back when I was a kid, the fuel additive, STP, was known as “The Racers Edge.” The catch phrase attempts to connect the product to the consumer, by making the brand seem like something worth having. Coke thinks you value authenticity, so you would probably want The Real Thing. Nike thinks you will buy into the discipline it takes to get good at a sport, so it tells you to Just Do It. You get the picture The Church As We Know It plays the same the same branding game by using its own by-lines. Here’s a few I’ve come across recently:

• A church of Broken People
• A bunch of messed up folks, so you’ll feel right at home.
• Not perfect, just forgiven.

I get the idea of trying to connect with people who have needs, but at some point doesn’t this kind of marketing break down? In the attempts to build a bridge between church and culture, does it help to say that the only difference between you and me is that I’m forgiven? It may inspire you, but it leaves me a little flat. I’ve got my weaknesses like the next guy, but I certainly don’t want to stay there. I don’t want my Achilles heel to be my identity. I want to be different. I want to grow and change. I want to leave that old stuff behind and live free. Can I do that among a bunch of people who boast about being messed up? The Church As We Know It needs to be aware of this focus. If it is to live by marketing, it must be willing to die by that same marketing. Branding itself as a Not Perfect, Just Forgiven will only lead to a church with no visible differences from its culture. At some point, who wants be a part of a group of people whose forgiveness doesn’t really lead to anything?

QSL

One of my earliest memories of my dad was sitting in his lap while he communicated to others via shortwave, also known as ham radio. He had a wall full of gear, among it was a SWAN transceiver over which he could talk around the world. It was his generation’s form of the World Wide Web. Old school hams would use morse code, of which he was one, and able to utilize this skill in the Army. He could very accurately transmit and receive the short and long tones, which to my young ears were called dits and dahs. I would mimic the sounds coming over the airwaves out in the garage for hours, according to my mom. DaDaDaDitDitDaDitDitDa. Over and over again, imitating my dad’s tapping on the key. Every once in a while he would get a postcard in the mail from a fellow ham radio enthusiast with whom he had made contact. The card was known as a QSL, which in the lingo of their world, it was an indication of receipt of transmission. When you made contact with someone, you could request a QSL, and guys like my dad would collect these postcards that had their call letters. (Dad’s was WA5JSE. The JSE stood for “Jesus saves everyone”) The cards might come from anywhere in the country, sometimes from around the world. Seems like I remember among them were Alaska and South American. I thought that was way cool. My kids don’t think this story is such a big deal and understandably so. It’s nothing to them to contact someone in Alaska or South America. Their world is smaller. They don’t get postal mail anymore. They are not as fascinated as I am in our ability to communicate around the world in an instant. I, on the other hand, am always amazed to think that when I publish this or any blog post, it becomes instantly accessible to anyone with a computer hooked into the Internet from anywhere around the globe. Such is the generation gap. So if you would humor me a bit, allow me to go back to my childhood and relive the fond days of my dad and bringing in from the mailbox those QSL cards, If you read this blog, could you simply leave a comment stating your city and state, and country if outside the US? I would greatly appreciate it. Over and Out.

The Disease of Comparison

Those of us afflicted with the Disease of Comparison know the effects it has within. See, the soul is just like any other part of the body when it hurts; it demands relief. The headache begs an aspirin; the heart looks to contempt. When you feel like a nobody, you have two options available to relieve that pain. You can use contempt on yourself or you can use it on other people. Either is an attempt to try and feel better. It’s ironic that both are equally destructive. What does this have to do with anything? With all the change that is occurring in the Church As We Know It, naturally what comes with it is comparison. Take Emergent Guy for example. Let’s say he doesn’t fit in with MegaChurch Guy and what he is doing. Emergent Guy finds himself feeling marginalized and left out and doesn’t know where to turn. This is where contempt comes in. Emergent Guy has the option of pouring contempt on himself or upon MegaChurch Guy, the one with whom he compares himself. Since he doesn’t know what to do with the pain of feeling like an outsider, he may beat himself up for not being a better person, assuming he is to blame. He buys the line, “If God feels far off, guess who moved?” thinking he must be the problem. It’s easier to feel bad and guilty that to risk doing something legitimate about how he feels. His other option is to turn his contempt outward, toward MegaChurch Guy, making him the problem. He immediately feels better as he passes judgement on all the money and people MegaChurch guy has show up at his deal. He condemns their work, calling it shallow or soft on real issues. I’ve used both pain relievers in my day. I’ve been from one extreme to the other. I’ve felt contempt for my own work and I’ve had plenty of bad things to say about others. I wish I could take back the number of times I bad mouthed other collegiate ministries. I now see I did so because my soul was not healthy. Comparison is a sad disease. It stunts growth; it keeps one very small. It limits potential. I’m finding that its only effective tonic is joy. A happy heart is good medicine. Its only downside is that it is in short supply and often very hard to find. When my spirit is inebriated on joy, comparison seems a million miles away.

That !@#$ Dalmatian

The megachurch had their big Easter show Sunday and was reported to have 6000 people show up. I would be lying to you if I told you I wasn’t jealous. Competition and comparison was something that ate at me like a nest of termites in the walls of an old house. I knew they were in there, hidden out of sight to the visitor, but occasionally if I’d lean in close enough, I could hear their destructive movement and gnawing. I don’t know how prevalent competition and comparison really are, because they are two issues not easily discussed among colleagues. Who do you talk about your problem of comparing yourself to the performance of other pastors? Certainly not with the guy you compare yourself to. That’s kinda like a guy asking a girl to forgive him for his lust problem. What’s she supposed to do about it? The counsel I was given over the years all seemed to center around a core belief that results don’t matter, which is usually the source of comparison. The little guy looks at his labor and holds it up against what the big guy is doing. Then the little guy is supposed to simply say it doesn’t matter. I’m just not that spiritual. It does matter what I do. It does matter what fruit I bear. It does matter to what I have to show for my labor. So why does ChristianMan try and talk me out of it? In order to pay my way through seminary, I worked as a gardener for some rich people near our school. I had one lady give me pretty much carte blanche over her yard. I could plant whatever flowers I thought looked good for the season. She even gave me her credit card to purchase the necessary plant material. It was a good gig. Until the day the Dalmatian showed up. Her goofball husband bought an equally deficient puppy for her for Christmas. To cut to the chase, the !@# dog proceeded to tear up everything I ever did in the yard and garden. It frustrated me to no end. I told her “Sheri, you can either have a dog or a garden, not both,” but she didn’t heed my advice. Her reply was to just go buy and plant more. But part of what I loved about the job was to look back on my work and admire its beauty. I took pride in what I did in making her house look well kept, and in doing so, making her very pleased. The dog thwarted this desire, and the job was never the same. I continued to serve her, but the joy was gone. But if that was a ministry job, I would be told that I shouldn’t care whether or not the dog digs up my work. I’d be chided with a statement like, “It’s not about you.” I would be made to feel guilty for taking pride in what I accomplished. So what am I to do with the longing to have my best to offer? How do you turn that off? Even the successful guy can’t revel in his work. I would be willing to bet that at the big megachurch show this weekend, the 6000 sets of ears heard some kind of downplay of all the work that went into getting to that point. I’m not ready to act like results don’t matter. I just don’t want those results to rule over me.

Easter Morning

Up early as usual on this Easter Sunday, my day off. Sleeping in means getting up at 5 instead of 4:30am. I love the mornings, and always have. I was a bit of an oddball in college. I went to bed by 11pm often, while that was just about the point most guys in Sager Hall seemed to be getting ready for their day, or rather, night. Stillness always leads me to my innermost thoughts, which is probably why I seek it so often. I can’t get to those places with a lot of mental clutter scattered around, which comes in the form of noise and other demands. Sometimes I wish I was more like the guys in college who seemed to need chaos in order to thrive, since its much easier to create and maintain that kind of environment, but for some reason I think better in tidy places, thus my love of the early morning hour. Today’s quietness in the house with a fresh pressed cup of Dark Kenyan roast led me to think over many past Easter Sundays, where by now at this time of hour I would be in full gear, getting ready for leadership of multiple services, helping the band feel confident and prepared, praying over the needs of people who would enter in and experience our presentation. We all have our recognizable voices that speak so loudly in our mind, regardless of the decibel level of other kind of activity, but being this still brings about a sort of democratic process, and lets the littler, and most times, most important voices be heard. One of those voices this morning said, “You miss that, don’t you?” Instead of being rude and dismissing the statement, I chose to ask for clarification, and here was the answer. “You miss the feeling of importance. You liked that rush of having to come through, of having to deliver in the clutch. By this, you mattered. Unlike many who would rather die than get up in front of a 900 pairs of staring eyes, you felt alive in front of the crowd.” After the small voice spoke, I waited and waited. I kept waiting, but my expected follow-up never came. I expected shame. My knee jerk reaction was to brace for a condemning voice of shame for enjoying those past days of leadership. I just assumed the voice in my head was giving me a lead in for a good spanking. But it never happened. The voice just went away. And such is the nature of Quiet. If I turn the volume of silence up loud enough, it’s all I hear. And now at this early hour on Easter Sunday, I’ve already attended my sunrise service. I’ve already heard the sermon, and am ready to enjoy my day of rest. Happy Easter.

"It’s not about the building"

The big megachurch in town has built a massive new auditorium structure just in time for Easter, so we’re hearing a lot about it. We got the usual bulk mailing piece designated to our zip code that had the catchy graphics and title of the sermon series that tries to get you to think that church is full of messed up people like yourself and so you’ll feel right at home. (Not really inspiring to me, but that’s another post.) I know quite a few people who go to this megachurch and it’s funny to hear how people justify such a large outlay of cash for an auditorium that will be used in its capacity maybe one day a week. Some of my friends are conflicted, but won’t come right out and admit it. Most that are leaning to the side of thinking it’s a good idea inevitably slide this little caveat into the conversation: “It’s not about the building, you know?” Why does ChurchGuy feel the need to continually justify what he is doing for the sake of the gospel? I somehow don’t picture Giovannino de Dolci repeating over and over again, “It’s not about the building, you know?” while he oversaw the construction of the Sistine Chapel. Why do we look at the ceiling of his building and what Michelangelo painted there and have a different response than walking into a 10 million dollar state of the art sound and lighting, media communications, plasma TV-walled wonderland? One we label as a masterpiece and the other judged as a waste of money. My point is not whether or not the megachurch should keep building something bigger and better, I’m intrigued by the need to constantly justify doing so. Worship leaders are notorious for this same rationalization. Their phrase “It’s not about me” is used ad nauseum. Why do we need songs to remind us over and over again that it’s not about me, unless I have a problem with it being about me? If ChurchGuy needs to keep reminding me that it’s not about the building, its going to make me think that the building really is causing some internal strife. We are planning to open a restaurant this spring. To do so I had to leave my vocational ministry job, which didn’t pay much or have many benefits. I now face the possibility of making quite a bit more money than before. But wouldn’t you feel suspicious of me if I constantly reminded you that this business venture is “not about the money?” The reason I don’t feel the need to justify my change is that I don’t feel guilty, so I don’t really even think about it. Plus I don’t assume you are looking at me and judging my decision to change careers. And if you are, that’s a You-problem. God, bless the megachurch this weekend, and the poor tormented folks who are still trying to reconcile the need for their new building. Amen.

Joy

I’m currently pondering this question concerning the phrase; the joy of the Lord is my strength. Is there really any other kind? I feel like I have been told for years that there is a difference, and have just assumed that being joyful in the Lord was some kind of state one should attain by “appropriation” of some sort of right formula of scripture memory, self denial and church attendance. I’m not doing much of any right now and am feeling more filled with joy than any time I can remember. Is my happiness the wrong type? I’d like to think that if “all truth is God’s truth,” then all joy should also be the Lord’s. If the rain falls on the just and the unjust, then does it matter if that rainfall is a gentle spring shower or a punishing deluge? Both experience it, regardless of any kind of relationship with God. So if listening to the rain, or watching a sunset (or any other form of beauty) makes me, a person of faith, and an atheist happy, is that joy somehow different for him than it is me? Same with the birth of a baby, or a sweet reunion, or a moving song, or a fascinating meal, or a long walk with a dear friend. Is this joy the Lord’s, too? I place the blame on my confusion of my past way of thinking. I used to try and divide everything into a sacred/secular category. You had your Christian friends, and then you had the ones you were trying to witness to. There was “Christian” music, and then there was “secular.” No matter if one was nicer and more kind, or technically and artistically better than the other. The former was somehow sanctioned, while the latter was not. Today I worry less about these little categories, because now that I see they were created to try and limit me and keep me safe. Thanks for your concern, Whoever Led Me to Think This Way, but I find that I now trust in bigger parameters to keep me in check. I’m moving on now. Beginning my day with faith, hope and love seems to lead me to better places.

Happy

Every person has this in common; we all want to be happy. It’s the pathway we each choose to find that destination that differs broadly. This is a hard pill for many to swallow, especially for many church-goers and people of faith. Happiness, by some, is equivalent with being shallow or superficial or not living in the real world. Do you know someone who is genuinely happy? Probably not many of us do. The reason being happy is so hard to accept as legitimate is because our happiness is being assaulted every single day of our lives. Tragedy strikes us on every front. Our world is broken, and pain and sorrow often stand waiting for us at the edge of the bed as we rise. Many of us, survival is our first thought. “How will I make it through the day?” Take mountain climber Aron Ralston for example. Survival instinct led him to cut off his hand after four days of being pinned under a boulder. I watched an interview with him and heard the responses of a sample of viewers to the story. Some thought he was courageous, most thought he was an idiot for getting himself in such a dangerous situation in the first place. Regardless, I’m impressed with his choice. Instead of resigning, giving up and rolling over to die, he was willing to exchange the loss of his hand for more days to be alive and enjoy life. When it got difficult, he didn’t quit. Grief, sorrow, illness, pain and cutting off your hand are not what we wake up in the morning looking to find. These things find us. But we must contend with them if we are to take our joy seriously. It is far too easy to let the circumstances lead us to stay in the dark. The phrase, the joy of the Lord is your strength, must be taken as seriously today as in the days of Nehemiah. The effect is simple. The more we are familiar with joy, the more we want to experience it. Similar to our vacations in Colorado, the reason we love going back year after year is this; we have a wonderful time there. You may find yourself stuck in the wilderness and far from the joy of the Lord, but keep listening for its invitation back.