Bible

The Practice of Doing Nothing

Sunday morning, I commented on how the American Christian Church has often espoused, sometimes subtly, sometimes not, a salvation by works instead of by grace. Of course, it might not be explicit, but it’s there. There are things we have to do so that we can ‘go to Heaven,’ ‘get His reward,’ or ‘get saved.’ Things we have to do to earn our “free” gift. Things like going to church on Sundays, confessing our trespasses, knowing the right theology, praying the right prayer, reading our Bibles every day, and on and on. We’re a prideful culture, with an historically strong work ethic, a mean streak of independence, and boot straps crafted solely to be pulled. These characteristics are fine at the workplace or on the basketball court or, well, literally, everywhere else. We give our best effort, everything we have to give, with courage, resilience, and perseverance. How can that possibly be a negative? It is only in the context of grace. The only requirement for rescue is to be rescued. Anything and everything else, to deserve this rescue (or worse, to rescue our own selves) is noise and only moves us further away from actual rescue. The American Dream is not the Gospel, as much as we might like it to be. The salvation story is one of Christ Alone, and we must no longer perpetuate this false teaching. And I’m very indignant about it, right?

But earlier, in the same sermon, I said a practice, any practice, takes practice. We turn our heads to Truth, to Him, we focus on God as our “Strength and Shield,” we do the things. So there it was, I also may have given a contradicting, competing, message that illustrated how easily this inadvertent false teaching happens.

I’d like to think I had very clearly contrasted salvation with sanctification (of which practice IS most certainly necessary), and not been within miles and miles of a theology of works. I am a naive, optimistic person, but I’m not blind or crazy. I know that not everyone is hanging on every word of a 45 minute talk on a Sunday morning, in lock step with every word and thought. I know not everyone is giving 100% attention. (I look in your faces while I’m up there, I know;) I also know that I’m probably not as clear as I mean to be, or believe I am, either, no matter how many hours I spend in preparation and how hard I try.

It’s a simple concept, but quite difficult, too. We don’t do anything, except the things we do. Ha! Order matters in this. We don’t do anything FIRST, we do the things AFTER. We are rescued, SO THAT we can do the things, SO THAT we can live these beautifully faithful lives we are called into. We have practices, we must have practices, but they’re not to earn anything, they’re only to experience the thing is already ours.

This is a whole lifetime of learning, and it is a lesson that runs in a totally different direction of everything we’ve ever been taught. It might be the most important truth we will every understand, and we’ll miss the mark over and over. The Good News is that He is graceful. The bad news is that we are not. We will expect others to be exactly where we are, understand exactly what, and how, we understand. We’ll judge with planks in our eyes. We’ll hit each other with our theologies, often viciously, and often with this false teaching that has crept into our solid, true theology.

The point is that we continue to soak in the truth that we are already loved, wildly, without limit or end, and also without our participation. It’s not about us, it’s not our story. There is so much peace there. We’ll continue to root out the me in the Gospel, and when we’re done, and think we have it all together, we’ll understand that thinking we’re done, and that we have it all together IS me in the Gospel, and start all over again. We’ll continue to call it false teaching, because that’s what it is, and we’ll love each other in all of it.

Reflections

In my reading today, I ended up stuck on Proverbs 27:19. My Bible is a New Living Translation, and the NLT of that verse says, “As a face is reflected in water, so the heart reflects the real person.”

Sometimes, I’m just moving right along. Sometimes, I take notes. Other times, I simply soak in the words and the feel of the pages in my hands. (Incidentally, when I purposefully study the Scriptures, I use a computer and lots of translations. The physicality of the paper or the hard cover has no draw for me. Instead, then, bridging gaps and making connections are the point.) Today was a little bit different, though by no means rare or unusual. Reading for pleasure and communion became study, then back again, translations mixed, computer screens and the thin pages held hands with each other, to the extent that it wasn’t either study or communion, either work or rest, it was both, and. It was everything, dancing together, blending seamlessly into one.

And I was stuck. My eyes wouldn’t skip down the 1/8” to verse 20. This isn’t that unusual, either, and when it happens, I know I’m about to be laid bare and kneaded like dough.

“The heart reflects the real person.” Who am I, really? Would my heart agree? When I think about my heart, it’s the motivation, the why behind the actions you see. Why am I doing these things, any things? Is it ministry, like I think/hope it is. Or is it obligation, vanity, ego, simple image-making, people-pleasing, or something else that I haven’t yet considered at all? I wish I could tell you, once I was open and totally authentic, it WAS ministry!!! But I don’t know yet. I pay lots of attention to this very thing, but “the heart is hopelessly dark and deceitful,” (as it says in Jeremiah) – it’s why I ask, seek, knock for clarity, to be shown my dark, deceitful parts before they can take root and lead me down paths not meant for me. But just because I pay attention doesn’t mean I can’t fall, or get confused, or misled.

So back to the matter at hand, why was I stuck on this verse 19?

The NIV translates it as, “As water reflects the face, so one’s life reflects the heart.” Now, my life reflects my heart, which reflects the real me. What does my life say? And does it actually say what I think it does? Or what I want it to?

I don’t always know why I write these posts, sometimes it’s in writing that I discover the point. But I already knew, today. I knew before I opened my computer to type a letter.

The Scriptures are never simply one thing. This library of books is not just instruction, not just history, not just poetry, not just allegory, or parable, or prophesy, or love letter – it’s all of them. It cuts us, wounds us, and puts us back together and heals us. It tells us we are here, now, and we are special and loved extravagantly, and then invites us to grow and move beyond the here and now. This library also serves as a mirror, reflecting our faces, hearts and lives, back at us.

I’m pretty sure the answers to all of these questions I’ve asked aren’t important. (And if they are, maybe they’re the sort of questions that are answered with the Spirit in private;) But what IS very important is that we ask them. It’s important that we jump in enough to get stuck, that we acknowledge that we’re stuck, and that we care enough about the answers to stay stuck until we’ve asked the questions. Maybe today isn’t a day for answers, maybe just for questions. Maybe I need to ask if the values I think I hold are really the ones illustrated by my life. Maybe I need to ask myself, “is it, really?” Or “Why are you doing that?” Or “Why did you just say Yes (or No)?” Or “Is this love?” Maybe I need to be laid bare and kneaded like dough to awaken me to my own beautiful life. Today, I did. I don’t always listen, don’t always ask.

So anyway, what did I find in this reflection? Me. Like all reflections, I saw me, for all that means, the good (of which there is much more that I can see than ever before), the bad, and the places we (He & I) need to address. I saw guilt and forgiveness. I saw love. I saw the same thing I always see: a new creation.

It’s a new year, I wrote this to get to this one line: May we all follow Him into our own reflections, see the intense, boundless, endless love He has for each of us, and may we ask all of the questions.

Everywhere

Last night, we watched the 6th and final episode of the second season of Loki, a series on Disney+. As everyone who has spoken to me even once is well aware, I love superheroes and my interest in their stories seemingly knows no bounds. The Marvel Cinematic Universe is bent on testing my commitment. I now have reservations about each new release. I didn’t see the 3rd Guardians of the Galaxy or Black Panther 2 in the theater, and the Marvels came out last night and I was not there. I still see them all, but my rose colored glasses are off. My child-like excitement has been replaced with weary hesitation. Which brings us to Loki.

There are many many things to say about it, both positive and negative, but just one is going to remain long after this series is forgotten. I am going to ruin the ending, sort of, and for that I’m a little sorry.

First, Avengers:Endgame ended with the completion of the Tony Stark/Ironman arc. When we were introduced to him, he was an arrogant weapons dealer, selling to the highest bidder, building a life built solely on the next selfish pleasure. Over the course of the Infinity Saga, he transformed, finally meeting his heartbreaking demise in the climax of Endgame. His death was the ultimate sacrifice, giving his life to defeat the Big Bad, Thanos. He gave his life so everyone could live. Of course, it’s not hard to draw lines to the Bible, and to the passion of Christ – His sacrifice to rescue us, His death so we could live.

Now, to ruin Loki… His story began as a villain, selfishly seeking nothing but power, everything to bring glory only to himself. Through the years, films, and stories, like Tony Stark, he eventually became the kind of character who would also sacrifice his own life so everyone could be free to live theirs.

The stories that move us, really move us, that make us feel something beyond ourselves, are the ones that point to deeper truths about our world, our selves, our purpose, our humanity, and Our God. What that means is, they point us to Jesus.

Of course, we’re drawn to the relationships and connections between people. We’ve been made this way, and the further progress takes us from this original creation, the more we ache for it. So when Black Widow, in an early moment, leans in when her friend Hawkeye is in danger, that matters. Her movement touches us in those parts way down inside that we don’t always acknowledge and certainly don’t talk about.

Of course, we’re drawn to themes of guilt and forgiveness, atonement, courage, and sacrifice. The Story we have been born into is one of a Redeeming Savior, Who saves us from lives of loneliness, meaningless pleasure and destructive (of self and others) behavior, Who rescues us from avarice and superficiality. And Who calls us into that Story, too.

Of course, we’re drawn to good and evil. We fight darkness wherever we find it. We’re not super-soldiers, incredible hulks or spider-men, but the impulse is the same. We are called to create and protect new, kind, gentle, safe worlds for our families, neighbors, and communities, no matter the cost.

Of course, we’re drawn to love. As pride is the catalyst for all wayward paths, Love is the engine that drives everything wonderful and pure. Love points us to Jesus Christ.

And of course, of course, we’re drawn to anything that reminds us of Jesus Christ, any and everywhere we find it (even superhero movies).

Questions…

“…as we contemplate how we spend our time and money, it’s important that we realize that being a healthy member of a healthy church will have a direct impact on those issues as well. There’s nothing we can do for our families that will have a greater positive impact than making sure we’re members of a healthy local church.

I’ve seen evidence of this firsthand as I’ve had conversation after conversation with fathers and mothers who are committed to family discipleship, but who are struggling tremendously as they either attend an unhealthy church or no church at all. These families don’t testify of overwhelming joy and fulfillment because “family is enough.” On the contrary, they testify to struggle, strain, loneliness, fear, isolation, and despair.

Family discipleship is absolutely critical, but there’s no substitute for healthy membership in a healthy local church.”

Voddie Baucham Jr wrote that in a book called Family Shepherds. It’s the perfect kind of book; it’s convicting, challenging, an absolute call up to me (and, honestly, probably all of us), but it is also a book with which I don’t always agree. These parts engage me, invite me to dive a bit more deeply into what I say I believe, what I truly believe, if they are the same, and why I believe those things. Then I am satisfied because I still disagree (based on solid teaching, learning, understanding, and/or practice) or, in a very uncomfortable twist, I am left untethered to my own ideas (either because they come from a faulty theology, a cultural hijacking of my spirituality, or from nowhere at all, simply because I’ve never examined them) and have a decision to make. Do I let go of the known past and step into the unknown abyss? Or do I continue to cling to old, wrong, misguided baggage?

You already know which I’d prefer to choose. You also know which I actually choose.

This is not why I included the earlier quote, it’s just why I care about the book, and why I like it so much.

I included the passage because it confronts all of us, on some level or another. Do we belong to a local church? Should we? Do we take it seriously? What exactly is family discipleship? What do we testify to, in our own lives and families? Is it joy and fulfillment? Or is our story one of struggle, strain, loneliness, fear, isolation, and despair? What does it mean to have a “healthy” membership? What is a “healthy” local church? Is the Bridge one of those?

3 small-ish paragraphs that beg soooo many questions. Are we asking them or just turning the page? Are we wrestling with these concepts or falling asleep as we try to finish the chapter?

Is there really “nothing we can do for our families that will have a greater positive impact than making sure we’re members of a healthy local church?” It feels like a conflict of interest for me to ask these questions, because I happen to know of a local church that would love to have you. But if I take my job seriously, my purpose isn’t to increase Sunday morning attendance (well, I suppose it is a purpose, or part of a purpose, but it’s nowhere close to THE main purpose, which is to share the Gospel, point everybody to Jesus, tell & show them He loves us here and now, loving in the way I do all along the way). My professional and my personal missions happen to be the same, so my call is to ask questions that will lead us to who we really are, which will always, always lead us to Him.

Maybe there isn’t a clever last line to this post. I usually like to do that;) But maybe we’re just asking questions and figuring out if we’ll answer them honestly, and then, if we’ll move based on those answers. Who knows? I just love that we can find out together.

A Short Post On Perspective

All 4 of us who live in this house eat dinner together nearly every night, and I dream it’s the best part of each of our days. It certainly is, for me. I am very grateful. So last night, the boys shared a cool story of 2 local brothers making music on SoundCloud (a music sharing website). I can’t tell you how much I love the idea of everyone having the opportunity and space to share their God-given creativity.

The internet has so many dangers and vicious traps, but it also overflows with beauty and connection. It is a place of possibility.

The boys who made the songs are what I would kindly label, or what we would’ve labeled when I was young, “at risk.” They are often in trouble, of various kinds and of various severity. I have a small relationship with one who comes into the weight room, (the other not so much), and have real concerns about both. Different, but equally serious, concerns for each.

But this SoundCloud situation elated me. I didn’t imagine the songs would be particularly good, not something I’d ‘like,’ but that’s hardly the point, is it? They were expressing themselves in a positive fashion and not in any one of the million negative ways that are open to them. Knowing them fairly well, we laughed at the prospect of what they would consider art. Art is subjective, but let’s be honest, not all is awesome. We found their page and clicked on the first track.

What was funny and wonderful turned on the first word. Smiles immediately disappeared, as our hearts wept together.

One of the best things about artistic expression is that we can learn the things we’d never say out loud. I knew these boys were broken, but had no idea how deeply.

The point is this. The one I know is mostly quiet and lonely, which can come across as surly and disrespectful. The other is surly and disrespectful. Neither is particularly likable, they can be quite nasty and stand-offish. And that can drive us all away. After all, we don’t seek out people who are distant and mean to us.

But these kids are severely broken. We know the ones who appear to like others the least like themselves least of all. And it’s not even close. As followers of the Living Christ, we are called to love everybody, so what does that look like, in this circumstance? It surely won’t look the same for each of us, but the first step is shifting our perspective. They aren’t punk kids, or freaks, or anything else.

They’re our kids, and they’re hurting. Now what?

Imagination

This series on love (based on the Love chapter, 1 Corinthians 13) is awfully uncomfortable. I’m not sure how something so disruptive could have ever made the leap from a wild animal into a soft, cuddly stuffed toy. How could a passage designed to crawl into our hearts, and expose our selfish instincts in such an aggressive way, ever be a sterile poem our grandma’s read at weddings to which no one pays any attention? How could “Love keeps no record of wrongs” not tear each of us to shreds when we so clearly do?

There are songs & artists I love that seem alien. Like what they do, what they are, is something far off that I have no category for outside of themselves. Their creativity is shocking. They keep me at a distance, standing on the sidelines or sitting in the cheap seats.

Others make me want to sing.

Some books make me want to never write again. Yet others drive me right to my notebook.

The basketball world changed when Steph Curry remade the game. We could never in a million years do what LeBron James and Michael Jordan can do, the game is far off, like superheroes and mythology. Steph makes us think we could do it, too. We bought basketballs and went to the local hoops and shot all day. Jordan left us in awe, Steph inspired us to play.

It really doesn’t have much to do with the quality. Steph is an unbelievable basketball player, and the truth is, we probably couldn’t do what he does. He’s one of the greats. High Fidelity is an A+ work of fiction, and makes me want to create an A+ work, and perhaps more importantly, makes me think I can. If Nick Hornby could do it, maybe I could.

What does this have to do with the Love chapter? What does Steph Curry have to do with Paul’s letter to the Corinthians?

The Bible wants us out of our seats, wants us to play. Sure, the ideals of “Love is patient and kind,” are high, maybe we can’t get there (certainly not all the time), but what the Bible does is tell us over and over who we are. We are not space aliens, we are made in the image of he Living God, and we have His power (the same power that raised Jesus from the dead!!!!) inside of us, and with that, all things are possible. If Paul does his job, and if we do ours, the vision is compelling, beautiful, and better yet, the kind that explodes our imaginations to where we actually participate as He changes our lives. This newly engaged imagination inspires us to be patient and kind, to not anger quite so easily, to think about throwing our records of rights/wrongs in the garbage where they belong. We begin to look for people and ways to love.

These words are tickets backstage, they’re invitations to sing. They’re tigers that have never been safe or comfortable, they weren’t supposed to be, but we are told that we are the artists of our lives. We are the songs. And what it means to be made in the image is that we are designed with the creativity to re-write the code of our own game into one where the players always hope, bear all things, and never fail. We simply have to start to shoot.

Letter to the Ephesians

For the last several weeks, we’ve focused on a specific kind of love. A love that doesn’t care if we want to, and acts anyway. We continue to talk about the importance of loving God and each other. Any time we study the Bible, the danger is that the emphasis is placed on us; what we think, say, and do. It seeps into this conversation easily, so we constantly have to be reminded of who we actually are.

The entire 1st 3 chapters of Ephesians (1/2 of the letter) are devoted to Jesus Christ and God’s “secret plan” to bring “all things” together. There is no mention of anything for us to do. The closest Paul comes is in 2:10, “…so that we can do the good things He planned for us long ago.”

There are prayers (1:15-23, 3:14-21), really really beautiful prayers, asking, hoping, that we see and understand this grace, kindness, and peace that have been shown, given to us. There is explanation and context to the world around us, and how it has been transformed. Every wall has come down. We have been reconciled.

It is only in 4:1, “I beg you to lead a life worthy of your calling…for you have been called by God,” that we get any indication that our lives will change now, in this new reality.

The order is vital, it has to be this way. Otherwise, we would start to believe that our actions & behavior are the things we use to get God to love us. We already have an idolatry problem. For us to continue in the delusion that we earn anything (ESPECIALLY our own salvation – “Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done” 2:9) only solidifies our ridiculous conviction to build higher and higher on this sand.

So Paul attacks that heresy for 3 chapters without a mention of response, without a mention of behavior. With very little mention of us at all, really, other than being the vessel God pours His love into, and the recipients of His grace, lavishly bestowed.

Our verbs in the 1st 3 chapters are “praise,” “receive,” “trust,” “come,” but the one used most often is “are,” as in “we are ____.” We are loved, forgiven, chosen. Next is “understand,” as in “may we understand” what has been done on our behalf.

The other verbs, and there are many, tell what He has done. The actions are by Him, He does, and we receive. We simply receive.

In chapter 4, and for the rest of the letter, Paul moves into what we can do – “be humble and gentle, patient with each other,” etc. Into what to do and not do, as children of God, worthy of our call. If we’re not clear on chapters 1-3, then 4-6 won’t make sense. It’ll be confusing and easily distorted. We’ll start to think the story is about us, and what we do.

It’s not.

This is a story about love and grace. Our response is just that, a response. We have been rescued, and we are now free to act from a place of profound thanksgiving. We simply can’t begin in chapter 4. The movie doesn’t make sense if we come in an hour late, and neither do our lives.

Yes, it’s a big deal that we love, always, in all ways. But our acts of love are the result of our salvation and transformation, we love in response to the overwhelming divine grace, never ever the other way around. So who we actually are is His. We are loved beyond reason or limit, completely and unconditionally. And that is very Good News.

Living Letters

You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by everybody. You show that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts. (2 Corinthians 3:2-3)

Yesterday, I casually repeated the saying that ‘we are the only Bible some people will ever read,” and it elicited a stunned comment on the livestream. I see that I was wrong to toss it around like that, it is anything but casual. This phrase is heavy with significance and conviction. Sometimes, we can hear something enough that it becomes familiar, and in that familiarity, loses much (if not all) of it’s impact.

We’re about to talk about the love chapter (1 Cor 13), and it has been very much sanded down through thoughtless use. It has become nothing more than a pretty quote for a greeting card. Pretty, and innocuous. Those verses are lots of things, but innocuous isn’t one of them. They aren’t soft or inoffensive, they are seismic in their effect. It’s simply impossible to remain unchanged once we actually hear them, as they are. But that is for another time.

You’re the Bible people will read to see the Living God, to see His love and kindness, His grace, forgiveness, His work in a human life. Paul writes in the Bible’s 2nd letter to the Corinthians, that we are a letter from Christ, written by the Spirit. What does that mean?? What does that mean in the grocery store, the stadium bleachers, on the road?? What does it mean to our in-laws? For that matter, what does it mean for our spouse? Would those closest to us see our lives as Divine love letters? Or are we more letters of petty disagreements, cutting remarks, and rage?

It’s a shocking passage – The God of the Universe chooses to use us to communicate to a hurting world, to be His masterpiece, His letters. We know we are made in His image, we’ve read that since the beginning, but the Truth of that, too, has faded. If we knew we were made in His image, would we say the things we do to ourselves, would we be so mean in our own heads? If we knew our wives, husbands, children were made in His image, would we still use the same words, or the same sharp tones?

Usually, we can see this in others. Think of how you came to faith… It was a living letter (a parent, neighbor, teacher, etc), wasn’t it? Someone showed you grace, spoke a fresh word, shined light in darkness, and we caught a glimpse of the face of Jesus. It’s much more difficult to see ourselves as that someone. We can often see ourselves as “just” something or other, “just” a whatever, but mostly “just” me. There’s no “just” about you, about us. There’s no “just” a letter from Christ, never “just” written by the Spirit.

There’s responsibility in this, of course, but there is also honor, and dignity, and gift. And the question, as always, is: What will we do with this grace? What will we do today? This very moment?

Meaningless?

I’ve been reading Ecclesiastes the past 2 days. I’ve said it’s one of my favorite books in the Bible, but I’m not exactly sure why anymore. That’s not to say it’s without value or beauty, it certainly isn’t. The 12 chapters are overflowing with wisdom and application, but the refrain of “everything is meaningless” is honestly pretty depressing and sounds/feels hopeless.

I’m here at my dining room table reading, because I am the kind of man who sits at the dining room table to read my Bible. That’s an unusual thing to say, but here’s what I mean: I carefully place guardrails along the road we’re walking, so when I get lazy or distracted or overly rebellious, I can bump into them and remember why I put them there. More specifically, I am reminded who I am. This has been a topic before. We discover who God says we are, decide (with the guidance of the Spirit) who we are becoming and going to be, what we value, what weighs more, so that in times of stress and trial, we’ve already answered those important question regarding our identity. This helps to eliminate overreaction or inconsistency, and decreases the time we are forced to spend reconciling our behavior and our beliefs.

Now, with these guardrails, when I begin to sway or follow the directional signs not meant for me, I can pull the wheel back onto the path. Lately, this has been the case for me. I have wavered in my commitment and focus, making unhealthy, unhelpful choices. For instance, I haven’t read my Bible in some weeks (gasp!). I mean, my work requires study of the Scriptures. But it’s like this, I date the Angel because I like to and I like her in addition to the daily tasks and routines involved in creating a functional home together. In other words, I like to read my Bible for pleasure, because I like to and I love God and He reallly loves me.

I’ve decided this is an integral part of who I am (or who I have been created and called to be, and who I will become), and when I slide away from this lovely, loving practice, I feel incomplete. I am the kind of man who sits at the dining room table to read my Bible. See? Everything isn’t meaningless. This is meaningful.

Of course, this isn’t what Solomon meant, that everything is meaningless. The things we spend so much time chasing, thinking will fill us, satisfy us, are temporary. And compared with the eternal, temporary is sort of meaningless. But we don’t compare, and these things, to us, aren’t meaningless at all. This day, this breath, this table, this song, Samuel, board games, laughter, pulled pork sandwiches, are all gifts from God, blessed by God. I imagine He makes pineapples and thinks about how great they’ll taste, and how much you’ll love them. “God has made everything beautiful for its own time.” (Eccl. 3:11)

So what are we supposed to do with these wonderful lives of ours, given that everything is temporary, vapor, meaningless (in a manner of speaking)? Well, “Enjoy every minute of it! Take it all in.” (Eccl. 11:9) “Enjoy what you have!” (Eccl. 6:9) “Live happily with the woman (or man) you love through all the days of of life that God has given you in this world.” (Eccl. 9:9)

I wonder if we miss those people we love or the things we have thinking/wishing for things we don’t have? Maybe we’re not enjoying them. Maybe we’ve been given those delicious pineapples and we’re disappointed they aren’t blueberries. Maybe we can’t tear our eyes off of the ‘meaningless,’ taking the gift for granted.

SO, the invitation/confrontation of Ecclesiastes that I’m seeing today is that we dive into these messy, beautiful lives of ours, love the people around us well, and eat all of the pineapple we can, and we do it all with an overwhelming gratitude. Now I’m starting to see why I like Ecclesiastes so much – it’s not depressing or hopeless, it’s here and now, it’s the same wisdom of my dad from Bull Elephant Day, it’s presence, and it is, above all, loving engagement with the God that made it all.

Hands

Last night I gave a talk for a big room full of students who will graduate in 2 weeks and their families. It’s still shocking to me to find myself in these spaces, standing in front of people, talking, yet there we were.

Events like this (singular significant moments, like weddings, funerals, etc) can be particularly heavy, where the usual Sunday morning butterflies become birds and I find myself nervous. I’d tell you that’s a good thing, those disruptive birds mean you’re alive and that it matters. I’d say the problem would be if you didn’t feel anything, if you were indifferent to the gift you’ve been given. And now it makes perfect sense that you want to punch me in the mouth when I say those things, whether they’re right or not.

The birds aren’t nearly as big as they were years ago, when all of this began, but seconds before I was scheduled to go up onto the stage, they were certainly active.

The students plan this Baccalaureate service. I have no idea what this word means or how/why this has become a tradition. I’ve never been to one and had no idea what to expect. And I guess they have to plan it without teachers direction because church and state are separate and must remain that way. So, they plan it and I got to attend their meeting. They chose hymns, Scripture passages and readers, and ordered them. Mostly, I kept in quiet deference to their leadership, but I did suggest that one Joshua (1:1-9) passage might fit perfectly right before the message. That passage ended:

“As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous, because you will lead these people to inherit the land I swore to their ancestors to give them. Be strong and very courageous. Be careful to obey all the law my servant Moses gave you; do not turn from it to the right or to the left, that you may be successful wherever you go. Keep this Book of the Law always on your lips; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful. Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

How many times can you command someone to “be strong and courageous?” I suppose until it takes, right? “Don’t be afraid…for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Sometimes moments are so noisy, it’s hard to hear God’s voice. In those spaces, it’s awfully helpful if He repeats it.

What is remarkable is the extent of the care God gives freely to us. We often think of God’s presence in one moment, comforting us, giving us peace, deliverance here and now. But this was proof that His hands had been working all along, even into this seemingly insignificant detail that meant the world to me. If His hands were holding me weeks earlier in the meeting, they were there months earlier as I was writing it, and they’d be there on the stage, behind a truly enormous pulpit.

And they were, the entire service was really beautiful, and I got to tell everyone in that room how much that same God loved them and would be with them wherever they go. I’m not right about everything, but I’m absolutely 100% spot on about that.