Audios

13 Years

13 years ago, this week, the Bridge was born out of the ruins of our previous church, which had closed its doors the previous week.

Including our flood-ravaged home, this was the 2nd home we’d lost in 10 months – I don’t know how much you can lose before you break forever… The cliché is that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle, and I don’t believe that, at all. I think we get more than we can handle all the time. I have a very great friend who has much more than anyone can handle. I think the cliché is, or should be: God gives you more than you can handle, and that’s why He also gives you the Church. Together, there is nothing you can’t handle.

As we walked away from the final New Song service, I invited our friends to my house to mourn out loud, together. They came, we mourned, and after several hours, I said some of the most hopeful words I would ever speak: Next week, if you want to come back, we’ll open our Bibles to 1st Chronicles 1:1. Not everyone came back, but some did, and that’s exactly what we did. They didn’t know, then, what I did, that we were being called to build something new. We all were just faithful in listening to what each of us were given, and no more. Just the next step. Maybe it was doomed, maybe we had misheard, maybe we were all very foolish, but we took these fresh new steps.

People came, stayed, left, more came, more stayed, more left. (If you think you ever get used to the leaving, and it stops hurting, you would be fantastically wrong.) We tried lots of different things. I played the guitar and sang “Stand By Me” one time, handed out mix cds another time. One service was only us reading chapters of the Bible outside, with our shoes off and our feet in the grass. We canceled another as a living, breathing, illustration of grace. One homework assignment was to give away our offering to someone in the community, face to face. We ate so much food together. We prayed. We moved 3 times and grew each time. We referenced so many movies and songs. We danced. We love The Most Spiritual Movie Of All Time, Fight Club, together (even though most of us, thankfully, haven’t actually seen it.) I made you mad, didn’t respond as quickly as I should have, we disagreed. There were marriages and babies. We cried, laughed, fought and made up.

The growth was/is slow, with what looked like a plateau each time, but was actually regaining equilibrium before the next bump. I am thankful for that, now. The Angel still believes it was God’s grace, keeping my soft, mushy heart from exploding. I also believe it was God’s grace, but for a different reason. You see, I could never wrap my head around my own transformation. I often found myself waiting for everyone to wake up to the fact that I should not be here. (As you probably already know, I did the same thing with the Angel. You’re not the only one who asked, what is she doing with him??) I don’t wait anymore. Once I did the waking up, not to my inadequacy, but to the searing disobedience & idolatry of constantly questioning what God has created (or was creating, if I would only stop being an obstacle and step into His mercy and love), I could finally see me, as I am (which is changing all the time).

We sometimes do that with the Gospel. It sounds amazing, super-spiritual, to brag that we are too bad, too far away, for Jesus to cover, accept, rescue, to love. But it’s not spiritual at all, it’s mean. Instead, it’s saying, “I’m so special, He/His sacrifice/His resurrection aren’t enough. I was saying, “I can’t be (whatever), He can’t make dry bones live, He can’t bring healing, He can’t He can’t He can’t.” But I was terrifically wrong. He can. I’m not too special, but I am wonderfully made by the Creator of the Universe, in His image, and, to paraphrase Nick Fury in The Winter Soldier, “it’s about time I get with that program.”

I asked those of us who were there that first week to reflect a little, remember these last 13 years. Every year, I teach what I call a manifesto to never forget our purpose. We may not be called to have 25 different services in a weekend on screens all throughout America. We may not even be called to have 2. My books might not get the sales of Joel Osteen’s (I don’t have his hair or perfect teeth, either). We might end next week. But this thing that God has built through us, it’s so much better than the best case scenario. I have no idea what could possibly be next, but what I do know is that the ethos of the Bridge has never changed – we’re still listening and taking just the next step. We exist in Him, through Him, by Him, and for Him. We are, and will remain, a Gospel church (which, if you ask me, is the only kind of Church to be).

He’s given us all of this, grace, kindness, forgiveness, righteousness. He’s given us a home. He’s given us each other, to walk with, to listen to, to hug, given us hands to hold. He’s given us the people who will pick us up or will simply get down on the ground with us until we can stand. He has given us a call, given us The Church, and He’s given us this Bridge.

I am overwhelmed. I am honored to belong to it, honored to be your friend, honored to get to watch you, really blessed to love you. I am grateful. Happy Anniversary.

Am I?

Does wisdom imply honesty? I guess it doesn’t imply anything, does it? We can know plenty of facts, but wisdom puts those facts to use. We might know how to build a nuclear bomb, have all of the information and skill, but it’s wisdom that keeps us from actually using it. Maybe wisdom could/should keep us from building it at all, but that might be a different question.

I’m asking that initial question, because Sunday morning, we discussed a passage in Ecclesiastes that was patently disingenuous. (Maybe it wasn’t technically a lie…) In chapter 4, verses 1-3, Solomon laments over the oppressed who didn’t have anyone to comfort them. If you are familiar with Ecclesiastes, you can probably guess that this is “meaningless.”

Now, this is an interesting observation from Solomon, as he had morphed into empire building, using slaves to build his palace and army. Essentially, he was the oppressor of a great many in Israel.

If I take my son’s cell phone away, can I lament his lack of a cell phone? Maybe it is terribly sad that he doesn’t have one, but if I’m the reason, then what? If this Teacher’s world is meaningless because there isn’t anyone to comfort the ones he’s oppressed, why isn’t he comforting them??? If I am heartbroken because my neighbor can’t cut his grass, and I don’t cut it for him (and I can), is my heart really broken??

So, I was angry with Solomon. Why are the people of God doing the oppressing? Why are they not comforting the oppressed, instead? Where are they???

I write another blog (lovewithacapitall.com), and there, I wrote about some Netflix documentaries. They were entertaining, (some very much so), but their root was the undeniable human impulse to act terribly to each other, if given the opportunity. I wrote: “These shows are pretty depressing, to be honest. Mirrors often are.” I’m thinking about that now, because I wonder if I was so angry with Solomon because he’s a mirror to my own capacity for 1. Hurting others, and 2. Ignoring my own hypocrisy.

If I had a country and unlimited power and resources, who is to say I wouldn’t build that country into an empire, even though most every word in the Bible says NO? Maybe I’d be so wise that I’d know every word of the Scriptures, know God would not want an empire of slaves and gigantic armies used to oppress, I’d know the right thing to do…and I’d take the other road anyway. And maybe I’d write books about how it’s so awful that there are oppressed people, my boundless wisdom would allow me to see every social ill clearly. As much as I’d like to say otherwise, I bet I would. Then what?

I know the right decisions to make in the kitchen, I am very aware what foods make me feel good and are healthy for my body. And I choose not to make them. I think I’m so frustrated with Solomon because, at least in this, he’s me and I’m frustrated with me. I see what’s wrong, I wonder why it’s happening, and I wonder why the Christians aren’t comforting the poor and broken, wonder why the Christians aren’t peacemaking… And then I realize, I am a Christian, aren’t I? Am I writing instead of comforting, posting instead of peacemaking? Am I a hypocrite?

The answer to all 3 of those questions is Yes. And this is not surprising. This kind of thing happens all of the time. The Bible opens us up in a million wildly uncomfortable ways, sends us running into the arms of Jesus, Who has already forgiven us, and Who sends us right back with a new (old) commission, call & focus. Take drinks, bring food, give shelter, visit, help. Love someone. Comfort. Make peace.

Am I? Yes, I am all of these things. I am oppressor and comforter, the idea is to be less and less of the first and more and more of the latter. Make more peace than we break. And sometimes seeing that in ourselves begins with outrage at another’s behavior.

I’m no longer mad at Solomon.

What Makes A Teacher?

This website hosting app, Jetpack or WordPress, has a prompt every day, a question that is designed to inspire (or at least to get us to write more often, ostensibly so that they can collect more advertising revenue. But I don’t care why, to be honest with you. I like this site, their prompts, and I think they should get paid for their service. But now that I think of it, in my head, people sit at desks and around tables brainstorming for these prompts, and I want them to get paid… but that’s probably hopelessly naive, it’s for sure an AI generator that’s creating them. Maybe the machines should be paid, too. Anyway.) Today’s prompt is: What makes a teacher great?

It’s interesting, right? Especially in light of our Ecclesiastes study, written by “The Teacher.” What makes him great? Is he great? Think about your favorite/best teachers (were the best your favorite? Maybe that’s a different criteria…), what made them special? I am a teacher, and I am constantly evaluating my methods, style, clarity, and on and on, looking for obstacles to remove and new, different possibilities to help the material print on our minds and spirits.

I do have a huge advantage over the teachers & coaches you may have had, I’m not teaching geometry or physics or 19th century poets, I am teaching The Gospel, a message we are hard-worked to search for and accept. Added to that, what could be more important?

But it just so happens I do have an answer for this AI’s question, and it’s fresh because it happened to me yesterday morning.

In the middle of our study of Ecclesiastes, chapter 3, we had a short discussion on hell. I didn’t jump all the way into these deep waters, just more of a passing glance, talking about words and cultural influences. Maybe it was effective and clear and gave you a whole new understanding. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it made these waters even more muddy than they were before. Maybe I lost your focus, as you started thinking about lunch.

Then, after the service, as I stood in the narthex (one of my very favorite words) to say goodbye, a good friend walked right up to me and said, “I have a question…” And that’s it, that’s the answer.

Jesus, the greatest teacher who ever lived, answered questions with questions. It was pretty rare for Him to just give a straight yes/no and detailed explanation. It seems like He wanted each of us to dig deeper, to discover the answer. Now, that might be because the answer sometimes changes from person to person, and even at different seasons of the same person’s life. Or it could be that He wanted us to hold His hand for a little longer, or forever, never letting go. Maybe it’s all of those things.

I’m just me, I’m not the greatest teacher in Cleona, I’m probably not ever the best teacher in this house! But whatever happened in that church yesterday encouraged someone to want to continue to wrestle with concepts we too often…

Well, what do we “too often” do? Do we just accept what we’re hearing, take it as truth without thinking? Or are we disconnected, neither accepting or rejecting, indifferent to whatever, indifferent to everything?

What makes a teacher great isn’t always the teacher, certainly not only the teacher – of course, the teacher has a responsibility in communication, but it’s our posture as learners, our openness, it’s the words, environment, experience, space and mostly it’s the Spirit working in/through them, kneading them like dough in our minds and hearts. It’s the Truth that opens us up to look more closely, to not just be satisfied when the lesson ends, and keeps us going back to the well.

Homing Pigeons

We are homing pigeons… I love that metaphor: homing pigeons created to fly home to our God. Our fear, anxiety, restlessness, discontent, unease, unfulfillment, depression, longing, all point us away from all of the superficial, hollow ways we try to make sense of ourselves and our lives, and point us to the only One who can. We all look for meaning, purpose, and identity, most times in wildly unhealthy ways, our unmet desires are spiritual direction signs, and we ultimately find our answers in Him.

But there is one thing I didn’t really mention, and it’s the thing I haven’t been able to shake.

We used to have a van, and there was a “tire pressure” indicator on for the last several years we owned it. In high school, my best friend Matt had a car with a perpetual “check engine” light. At the last oil change, the computers weren’t reset, so every time I start my focus, the “oil change” message shows on my dashboard screen. That’s just 3. There might be any number of lights on in your car right now. The common thread is that we all ignore(d) these warnings.

If our unmet desires are spiritual direction signs, are they just more warnings we ignore? Do you feel anxious about anything? Better yet, what are the things that make you anxious? Maybe you don’t know. Maybe we are so busy, and so busy running from all uncomfortability, that we don’t have (or take) a second to address our holy desires, don’t pause to ask these questions.

Or, if we do ask, we answer dishonestly, with a maddening nonsense that’s only purpose is to uphold our ridiculous constructed images that everything’s fine, that we’re all ok. But we’re not.

A massive self-help industry implies that we need it. Marketers/advertisers know the best way to reach us and convince us to buy the newest, fanciest, most expensive whatevers is through our perceived lack. Alcohol, drugs, porn, junk food, and & all -isms, and on and on – they’re all futile attempts to fill these holes.

What could happen if we stopped and sat down, looked around, said, “these things certainly aren’t helping…but I still do have this nagging thorn in my soul that there must be more. What’s that about?” What could happen?? That’s the idea behind being homing pigeons. Solomon writes, “He has set eternity in the human heart,” which is another way of saying, “He has set Himself in our hearts.” So, what now? Do you think He gave it to us, so we would be forever incomplete? Or do you think He gave it to us to allow Him to complete us?

(That’s not a genuine question, you already know what the answer is. But what if your perspective of God is one of distrust? What if the god in your head is an angry, disapproving one just waiting to catch you messing up, so he can unleash his wrath upon you? Maybe you wouldn’t be so quick to go home, maybe you’d want to be a different kind of pigeon. But that isn’t the God of the Bible. That is simply not the Gospel.)

This post is about the importance of examination. Maybe Socrates famously said, “the unexamined life is not worth living,” because he knew there is only one place to find this life that is “worth living.” And maybe he wanted us to check our warning indicators and finally listen to them.

Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning’s End

I’ve coached my last game, spent my last day in the high school weight room. My youngest son has graduated, and will be leaving for college in August. My oldest son has a great job. Better yet, they are 2 of the best human beings I’ve ever met. The Angel is The Angel (and yes, it’s still very obvious I’ve married well out of my league, but that’s her problem, not mine – I say that a lot, and I really, really like to say it). The church is on solid footing, or at least as solid of footing as a ministry can be. God can call any of us in a different direction at any time. It’s best not to be too comfortable with these sorts of things. I could lose some weight, but probably many of us could/would say that. Maybe I will. Maybe not.

But the question that keeps rearing it’s bright-eyed, exciting, excited head is one I love: Now what?

I referred, in my last post, to a hope for the time & space on vacation to bring some clarity, some light in a dark hallway for the next steps. It didn’t, exactly, which is both disappointing and awesome. 

So, here’s what I’m thinking…

I am a rescued, redeemed child of God, husband, dad, brother, friend, pastor, possibly exceptional dancer, lover of everything, including this life I have been given, you and pop songs. My ministry is to love, and to tell everybody how much they are loved, what the Gospel is, and why that matters so much. That is who I am. 

Now, what will I do, in service of that ministry/life?

I am always working on the sermons for Sunday mornings, and will continue my commitment to this call to pastor our beautiful community – an increased imagination will probably lead to more Saturday evening events, and different risks, at the Bridge. There will be a focus on a marriage curriculum. I do some marriage counseling (pre- and post- marital) and will make myself available for more and more of that, in pointed, individual & group, class-ish contexts. There is a new book in the works, which will be called, We Have a Weight Problem, which is not actually about body weight. (Well, it’s a little bit about body weight. It’s more about the value we give to things in our lives and how we’d go about changing those lives.) It’s a good title, right?

I post in 2 places every week (the Bridge Faith Community, and Love With A Capital L), and may increase that frequency. I should probably do some interesting things to get those posts in front of more eyes. 

[I often treat my work as if it is a secret. I guess it’s residual ash from from setting fire to my imposter syndrome. As if I think you might not want to see or read it, and if you did, you might not like it. That’s silly. Of course it’s true!! You might not like it, but that’s ok. I don’t like all Morrissey songs, and I’m not the greatest singer of all time. I’m not for everyone, you might actually hate my work, but you might not, too. In fact, it might be cool, it might give you a new perspective, you might think it’s awesome. I’m going to stop treating these things as if they’re a fancy club, where you have to know the password to get in. I’m going to invite you to the Bridge.]

There’s a new series that will show up somewhere called “What I’ve Learned,” I just don’t know where. Maybe here. I might begin a podcast-type thing, like the old Facebook minis (10 minute shorts), but with other people and their ideas and viewpoints. I’ll follow up on the Bull Elephants (if you know what that means, you know, if not, I’ll explain it another time). I’ll make a new Instagram Bridge page, where I’ll invite you to the Bridge, and keep you posted on any-/everything else. I’ll be at our mid-week prayer group, and increase the opportunities for connection with the people I know, and the people I meet. These connections will be to counsel or coach, to provide space to ask questions and discover the answers, to study the Bible, to discern spiritual gifts, or to build & strengthen the bonds of friendship. 

I don’t think the Church is a place people come to, I think the Church is a group of people that go from a certain geographical, local home. Our ministries are in places you are, at town squares, malls, grocery stores and fields. We cannot just walk around trying to build attendance in our local churches, as altars to ourselves. Instead, we’re called to GO. Much of the next steps, as far as I can see today, are loosely tied to where I/we already are (but maybe that’s bound to be the case) . 

I am not discouraged at this. (I once would have been, and would have thrown this all away immediately.) What this means now is that I show up and am faithful with what is here in my ever-growing circles. Maybe there will be time for all of this, maybe just for one or 2. All I can be is fully present in where I am, what I am doing. But I am also paying attention to all the burning bushes, looking for the ones that aren’t consumed, because it’s often there that God gives our specific GO. 

So, what now? Well, I’ll love who & what is in my path – Jesus, you, me, everybody, this lovely creation – in the ways I can, and if (and when) my path changes, or expands, I’ll love there, too. And i’ll be really, really grateful for all of it.

(A)PESTs

You know how a really great piece of art makes you feel like anything, like everything, is possible? It affirms your belief in God and that He is supremely good, that He loves us. I just had that, with a book I finished just now. I’ll talk more about that somewhere else, but I just wanted you to know how grateful and happy I am right now.

On a parallel track in my mind, I’m thinking about Ephesians, chapter 4, I think. (Yep, 4, verse 11.) “He is the One Who gave these gifts to the Church: the Apostles, the Prophets, the Evangelists, the Shepherds, and the Teachers.” If you like acronyms, it’s referred to as APEST, and you can understand it like this: Apostles say, “Let’s GO climb that mountain!” Prophets say, “Are you sure, that mountain?” and then discern if that’s the mountain we’re actually called to climb (or if we’re mistaken and want to climb that one, for another reason, whatever reason.). Evangelists tell all of their friends, “Come climb that mountain with us!!!!” Shepherds say, “What do we need? Will there be enough water for everyone, as we climb?” and make sure we all have comfortable shoes. Teachers say, “Climbing mountains requires some certain knowledge and skill. Here, let me show you.”

Everyone operates inside of their giftedness to do our task, in this case, climbing this (or another) mountain. It’s a perfect setup. Other places, Paul likens it to the parts of a body. No one does everything, everyone does something. And mountains get climbed together.

I say it’s a perfect setup, but it isn’t always comfortable or natural. Apostles think apostle-ing is what everyone should be thinking about (Let’s GOOOO), Evangelists wonder why everyone isn’t as excited about Evangelizing as they are (why aren’t you telling all of your neighbors??), and teachers think everybody is getting ahead of themselves (you can’t think about climbing a mountain until you know how to climb a mountain!)

I had a nice illustration/reminder of this, again, yesterday. Thankfully, life continues to send lots of lessons to finally get through my thick skull. It sometimes takes me a while to learn anything.

(I won’t use names or examples, but know that the person and I are very close, and love each other to the moon. So, I’ll use an different, years-old example…)

A woman said to me, “I think God is deeply concerned about the environment, His Creation, and part of being a Christian is being good stewards.” Of course, I agreed. What she meant was that she thought we should not be using plastic silverware and paper plates, and as far as I can tell, she’s right. She wanted us to use real dishes and spoons and wash them each week.

That is her mountain, her letter. My mountain might be different, and, in fact, it is. I agree with her, but dishes aren’t my primary concern, even as I agree with her. I said, yes, of course, but that I wouldn’t be doing it. She would have to, because I had other mountains to climb. She was sort of frustrated, she thought her A list was, and should be, everyone’s A list.

She isn’t wrong, this is what passion looks & feels like, it’s part of why she’s so awesome. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and even if you don’t much care about silverware, after a conversation, you’d be willing to do anything she asks.

But I was more concerned with making sure the food was there. You see, my A list is telling you about the Gospel, it’s what everything I do is geared towards, and there are lots of obstacles to that. You need to be inside and comfortable, before you are able to listen. I think about that – how to effectively communicate the love of God – and, honestly, ancillary details can get lost.

Hers was also communicating the Gospel, and disposables are an obstacle for her. I was ignorant, oblivious, to that obstacle. And that is precisely why Ephesians 4:11 is so important. She’s necessary to see the obstacles that I don’t. We all communicate the Gospel in different ways, it isn’t a one-size-fits-all ministry, because we’re not one-size-fits-all.

If I spend my time on dishes, it takes from my actual calling – which was not on her A list – and Evangelists are Apostling while Prophets are bringing water, and nobody is doing what they’ve been wonderfully crafted to do. This is how burnout happens. When Evangelists evangelize, they are fully alive – this is not surprising, when you think about it. The One who gave the gifts is also the One who is calling us into spaces to use them.

What can easily happen to me, though, is frustration. Like all of us, I think my part is vital…and I’m right, it is…so why don’t you see it?!!? But in my myopia, I can miss that hers was vital, too. She is right, too, so why don’t I see it?!!?

One of the points of the Bible, and the beauty of the early followers of Jesus calling this The Way, is that it’s a process, we’re in motion, listening for His Voice, listening to His Voice, finding out who we are, and what we’re for, what our A list is – and it is also in learning who they are, what they’re for, and what their A list is. We discover where we fall on the APEST spectrum (we are all on it, somewhere), what parts of the body we are, and step into the reality that we only work the way we’re designed if we work together.

Sermons

As vulnerable as it can be, every week I ask my family for feedback on my messages. They are usually honest. They know who I am and what I’m called to do, and they (mostly) like me, so they aren’t looking to hurt my feelings or feed their egoist agendas.

Yesterday, one of them rightly observed that I used a lot of personal examples and stories. Maybe he knew why I did (It’s not AI-generated, I do make these sermons personal, but to use so many is out of character), but he stopped short of asking. I told him, though, and I’ll tell you.

It would be impossible for me to love the art form of the sermon more than I do. It’s immediate, vital, and very alive. When you watch one online, the teaching can be excellent, thought-provoking, and even life-changing, but the electricity is missing. At its best, a sermon has an undeniable power, in us soaking in the Gospel together. It’s tangible and obvious. You can feel it in your skin and your soul. The Scriptures transcend an intellectual lesson, context and interpretation, touching us in our hearts and imagination. A great sermon fills us with the hope/dream that this, THIS, truly can change the world. That we can change the world.

Any Bible study is funneled through the person teaching, hearing, and experiencing. We show up as we are, all of us, give what we have, we are faithful, take chances, and God takes our paltry everything and turns it into Heaven, pierces our hearts and lives, transforms us and everything else.

Sometimes, the form itself becomes the illustration, the medium becomes the message. The wild creative artistry of Creation is perfectly transferred in poetry. Nothing else could capture the indescribable beauty in quite the same way. Lamentations uses line numbers and first letters for its heart wrenching content – we don’t even know why we feel what we do, we don’t know first letters or Hebrew alphabets, we just know it’s wholly devastating.

I have played with this kind of thing before, in very shallow water.

Yesterday, for Ecclesiastes 3 (“a time for… and a time for…”), we went through each one, in the same way, the same format, with the same main point. Of course, we did. The passage is repetitious and monotonous – 40 minutes talking about it were equally repetitious and monotonous. Is it over yet??? We get it already! Right?!!?

And at the same time, to do almost exactly what Solomon is doing in this book, I taught one thing through its opposite. The poem is completely absent of any humanity. Buildings rise and fall, big deal. And he’s right, without God or the His image, His Spirit, His animating energy, a building is simply a building. So, we talked about the buildings we spent time in, made memories in, loved. In that context, he couldn’t be more wrong, those things absolutely do mean something.

I told lots of stories of a full life. How do you do marriage? A marriage can just be a piece of paper in a drawer, OR, it can be God’s revolutionary gift that He’s given to bless us all. It’s all in the Hows and Whys. And NOT the Whats. I gave a message overflowing with hows, whys, personal detail and gratitude, to contrast with their absence in the text.

My son knew it was different. And it stuck with him. They usually say things like, “too long,” or “it was good.” This day, something was different. And I’ll take that. What I did wasn’t great, it probably wasn’t even particularly good, it was a risk. Maybe you thought it was boring or that I was too self-obsessed with my own story. Getting to do what we get to do (teach the Gospel in any/all circumstances, to everyone, all the time) carries an enormous responsibility, but it’s also a wonderful opportunity. We get to jump into this river that has flowed since the beginning of time, the Story of our Creator, Savior, Redeemer, Father, and all words in between. And we get to use the gifts He’s given us to worship & witness to His life, not in the way everyone else has done, but in the way we do.

I don’t take these messages lightly. I take them so seriously, in fact, that I’ll risk “boring” or “self-obsessed” to get through in new ways, to do my part to help The Most Valuable Story we will ever hear stick.

…And Yet

One of the most significant differences in me, now, and me, for the previous nearly 50 years, is the amount of lies running around in my head. Before I fell in love with Jesus, one of the things I absolutely knew about myself was that I was not enough. Of what? (There’s a cool movie called The Wild One with a young, awesome Marlon Brando. In it, he’s asked, “What are you rebelling against?” He answers, “What have you got?” That’s my answer…) What do you have? Wherever it’s possible for a person to be inadequate, I was. Not a good enough husband, son, daddy, worker, athlete, not pretty enough, strong enough, funny enough, and on and on.

Then, when I fell in love with Jesus, He slowly began to unwind those ties that bound me in their ever-tightening grip. Unwind and Replace with Truth, His Truth. It’s been very nice, to feel some peace & quiet, some rest.

I’d be lying if I said I never hear those lies anymore. When I do, the big problem is that they sound so much like truth. They’re the same old lies – I can’t do it, I’m not enough, and I never will be. They deserve better, someone more…well, not me. Someone more than me.

What then? What if the perceived evidence supports the lie? Is the evidence an illusion that should be discarded? This is one of the hardest things about a life of faith: it requires trust in steps we can’t see, and distrust in steps we can.

What I am learning is actually pretty simple: patience. These lies, once you know the Truth, don’t generally hang around too long. When Jesus gets the first & last word in your head/heart, the noise in the middle can get drowned out after their initial deafening detonation.

The other big plus is the Gospel. What I mean by that is that this story is His. We can’t earn it or be great enough to punch our own tickets. So, when the lies roll in, screaming how “not enough” of whatever that I am, they can be met with a resounding, hilarious “that’s TOTALLY right! I’m NOT!!” which disarms this enemy, transforms the evil piercing attack of the lie into a reminder of the beautiful affirmation of the Truth.

“You’re not enough.” That’s right…and yet.

What would an enemy say to that?? It mostly neuters him with the sword of the Spirit, the Scriptures, and the shocking Truth of Jesus.

Of course, the ‘initial deafening detonation’ hurts. I guess the best analogy is a stubbed toe. It hurts like crazy, feels like our toe is broken, but it does go away. The pain of hitting the edge of the bed isn’t forever, it fades and is forgotten. Sometimes, it does break the bone. In that case, it lasts a little longer, but that doesn’t change the fundamental reality, that the toe is not broken, will heal and be whole again.

I’m not a good enough husband, daddy, pastor, teacher, whatever – all true. (This is what I mean by evidence. I lose my temper, say the wrong thing, don’t come through, swing and miss, all of the things that come with being a beautifully flawed human being.) These people I serve – you – are all made in the image of a wildly, passionately loved by The Creator Of The Universe. How could anyone possibly be enough for someone like that, for someone so valuable to Him? In other words, how could anyone possibly be enough for you?

…and yet.

We get back up, we move on, we show up with all we are and love these treasures of His. (By the way, we are one of these treasures, too. Imagine how He feels hearing us run down His beloved with all of our mean, nasty self-talk.) We show up the best we can, in any & all situations, every moment. You’re right, I’m not enough, not what you deserve, but I’m sure going to love you, from where I am, now. I’m going to keep moving forward, becoming more and more of who He has created me to be. I’m going to love this world of His, and I’m going to tell everyone who He is, and who we are. I’m imperfect, messy, I get it wrong a lot, I will let you down, but I am really really loved, anyway.

This is probably what Grace means to me, personally, right now. And it’s also what it feels like to have Jesus destroy the prison walls I’ve built that keep me from Him.

1,000 Questions

Today is our wedding anniversary, and Friday is my son’s graduation. I’ll write about them both on my other blog, lovewithacapitall.com. Maybe next week will have the graduation reflection in both spaces. Who knows? But there is another website, if you happen to be interested. But today, here, is directly related to our Sunday morning service…

Since I began teaching at the bridge, there has been one recurring complaint. Not that there haven’t been others – there is usually a chorus of “you should have done it this way,” or, “I don’t like the way you did that” – it’s just that each one of those is specific and pointed. They don’t like my voice, my shoes, my perspective. There’s plenty to not like. But the most common, general criticism is that I rarely project verses, important words & concepts, and any of the 1,000 questions I ask every week, on the screen.

There are 2 kinds of negative feedback. One has absolutely nothing to do with me (and is way more common). The mouth that is speaking cuts on purpose, out of a well of pain or insecurity in them. I can see this now, when, as a younger man, I couldn’t differentiate and allowed everything in, as if it were all equally valid and good-hearted. It isn’t. This doesn’t mean they still can’t be right about me, with their attack, it just means I spend much less time evaluating.

About how I receive this “help:” I am not so arrogant to think I do everything perfectly, am always right, and I am not so fragile to think my imperfection means that I am always wrong or worthless. So, I can (mostly) receive it with humble gratitude. Sometimes, though, boundaries are required – what I’ve also learned is that not everyone can have unlimited access to you.

Anyway, the second is genuine and helpful, even if I ultimately choose not to change me, my opinion or my process. These are friends, they care about me, want me to be healthy, happy, effective. I take lots of time considering their words, suggestions, and if/how I would integrate it into a newer, better version of me. Then, I either do or do not. (And against Yoda’s wishes, I sometimes try, with varying success.)

This projection issue is easily in the second camp. The well-meaning people that make this suggestion are absolutely right, I should.

So, why don’t I?

I don’t really know. I see the value in it. And the “I don’t know” goes against one of the characteristics I find most important: mindfulness. We should know why we do what we do, be intentional about it. It’s actually why I ask the questions, in the first place, to introduce us to ourselves and invite us to show up and get to know us, from the inside out. My boys knew “I don’t know” is 100% unacceptable and only prolongs the lecture (ha!). And my house rule as a dad has always been, if I didn’t know why not, the answer has to be yes. So, why don’t I just put the questions on a PowerPoint? I don’t know.

Here they are, from this week: Why do we do what we do? (That’s an ironic first question, isn’t it?) Who is building the “house?” Are things in their proper place? Who/What delights our hearts?

Maybe I’ll start. I’m pretty embarrassed to admit that I’ve been sleeepwalking through this relatively innocuous issue. But if I act without intention or awareness in relatively small things, maybe I will with big ones, too. Maybe this isn’t about slides at all. Maybe it’s about the man I am constantly becoming.

Next week we’ll probably have slides.

These Next Two Weeks

In the next 2 weeks, my youngest son will graduate from high school, coaching youth baseball will be over, and my time in the high school weight room will be over, too. Also next week, the Angel & I will celebrate 24 years of marriage together. It’s a lot to process. Last Saturday, we held an event at the Bridge for a pair of extraordinarily talented musicians, and the HS baccalaureate was Sunday evening. Today was the dentist, and tomorrow is the awards assembly.

I’m not telling you any of this because I’m particularly unique. Everybody is busy, the grass keeps growing, the wheels on the bus go round and round and round and round and round. You have these moments that you are aware/awake to the fact that they hold tremendous significance, that maybe your life will change, marking a deeply etched line separating before/after. There are much too many things on your mind to keep them all straight, but it’s the weight on your heart that is exacting the true toll.

These things are hard to hold. They are wonderful, your heart feels like it might actually explode from the joy. You cry those tears of celebration, and then, at some point, somehow, they morph into sadness. Where does that come from?? Why are you so sad? Because your life is not what it was before. Maybe it’s better. Maybe not. Who can tell here, now? How does one define better or worse? But it is certainly different. And all change is, in fact, loss, and all loss has to be mourned, or it sits in the corner of your soul (sometimes it’s very noisy, sometimes it’s quiet, almost unnoticeable), taking up space, waiting to be addressed.

But we are asked to hold them. Instead of what we would prefer to do, which is avoid them, run from them, numb ourselves so we don’t have to look at them, or simply pretend they don’t exist.

One of my favorite passages in the Bible is the shortest, “Jesus wept.” There may be a million different interpretations, but to me, this is Our Savior climbing into our complexity and staying there. He does not say (as we surely would), “It’s ok, don’t cry, you’ll see Lazarus again, watch this!!!” He knew that. But He knew what we often don’t, these tears are an integral part of the human experience, they’re necessary, honest. In His actions, He is giving us permission to be exactly where we are – more than permission, He’s encouraging us to be exactly where we are. He’s telling us that holding this life that He has given takes more than 1 hand. He’s showing us the value in presence, that here and now is more than enough.

I feel like Mary and Martha right now, so full of emotion. Like He knows how this movie ends, but He also knows I don’t, so He is weeping with me. We start with the joy, moving into and through the crushing sadness of missing something and/or someone, (of course, this is all awe at the scope of His Creation, this is all in gratitude, as it pours out of us for the time and the moments He’s blessed us with) and then back into the joy and wonder and pleasure of breathing His air and living the life He has given. He knows my love for Him, as much as I am able, yet paling compared to His love for me. He holds me as I’m experiencing all of what He’s made us to experience. And I imagine His delight as He sees how deeply I love all of it.

I don’t know what we’ll do tomorrow, in 2 weeks, or what the future holds for you or me or any of us, but I do know how we’ll do it – with both hands and our whole hearts.