Hearing is Healing

My daughter has been volunteering with at-risk youth in the city of Spokane for the past year. 

On a visit to celebrate her 21st birthday, I had the privilege of accompanying her to the Impact Center. She knew every kid in the facility and it was clear that they knew and loved her too.

At one point a new face appeared in the doorway and made her way to our table. The card game came to a stop as “Anne” began to pour her heart out to my daughter about some recent crises in her life.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little awkward with the situation. There were some pretty private things being shared with anyone and everyone within earshot. And a number of people were on hold waiting for the game to resume. But the end was worth waiting for.

After several minutes, a long pause enveloped us. Anne broke the silence. “Thank you, Elizabeth. You always listen to me.”

The message was clear: Anne experienced being loved by the simple act of being heard. Elizabeth didn’t offer advice or solutions. Just a listening ear tied to a heart that clearly cared.

It is only when we have truly heard someone that we can begin to love them the way they need to be loved. To offer the care they need and are asking for. Hearing is healing.

Whether it was a Samaritan woman at a well, a father with a dying child, or a woman suffering from an ongoing illness, Jesus never seemed to be in too much of a hurry to be present. He took the time to listen to and explore the stories of those He encountered.

In his Gospel, Mark describes a woman who suffered from an illness for more than a decade. She had spent everything she had to get well, but only got worse. Her one remaining hope was to encounter Jesus. Pushing her way through a large crowd, she managed to touch a piece of his tunic. The bleeding stopped immediately. She knew she was well.

Jesus felt it happen and stopped in his tracks before asking a seemingly ridiculous question: "Who touched me?" The disciples thought it was a joke. "Who touched you? In this crowd? A better question would be, "Who hasn't touched you?"

But Jesus was determined. Refusing to resume his journey until the person came forward. Eventually she did. And kneeling before him -- right in front of everyone -- she told her whole story. Don't miss those last five words.

Why did Jesus stop the procession and force everyone to wait -- including a distraught father whose daughter was in the process of dying? Because Jesus knew that the physical aspect of this woman's healing was only one part of her journey. Being heard -- and, therefore, loved -- was the other.

Who do you need to begin hearing in a new way today? Hearing is healing.

Listen with one intention -- to understand. Ask clarifying questions to make sure you heard them correctly. And then thank them for trusting you enough to share.

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Recommended Resource: Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, by Peter Scazzero.

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2KIXcGu

Leaving Small Group

Some good friends just left our small group. And they aren’t coming back. 

It’s been a little over six months since we invited them. Over that time we have had them in our home, barbecued together, and vacationed together. We celebrated together and walked through difficult situations together — taking our turns at both high fives and tears. We shared the joys and struggles of marriage and parenting. We pored over God’s Word and poured our hearts out in prayer. 

I guess you could say we shared a good deal of our lives with them during this period of time.

So what happened?

They grew. 

And they left. 

They were supposed to.

It would have been easy to stay. And comfortable too. For all of us. Truth be told, our small group is different now. But — and don’t miss this — so are they. 

They saw the growth in themselves and their relationship with God. They understood following Jesus and being a disciple in a new way — and they owned it. And when they sensed a call, they mustered the courage to answer it. As a result they’ve gone from from invitees to inviters, from participants to leaders, from disciples to disciple makers, and a new small group was born.

Six months ago, they were intimidated by the idea of sharing God’s Word with someone and wondered whether they belonged. Today they are sharing His Word and what He is doing in their lives — and helping others find a place to belong.

The reality is this: they are going to reach people that they never would have reached had they remained in our group. They already have! It’s a big loss for our small group, but a big gain for the Kingdom. And that is what it’s all about: The Kingdom.

What did Jesus have in mind when He called the twelve disciples — and formed the New Testament's first small group? A group that would stay together forever? Or more of an incubator where people would grow for a time before being released? Did they exist for themselves? Or for the purpose of reaching and impacting the world around them? (Jesus’ recruiting invitation in Matt 4:19 may help answer these questions.)

While Jesus and His disciples formed lifelong relationships, the focus was always on impacting others in the same way that Jesus had impacted them. They would carry His message, use His methods, and continue His mission. The future of the Kingdom and the Church depended on it.

Fortunately for us, the original disciples eventually came to understand this.

I was thinking this morning: what would it have looked like if the 11 remaining disciples had simply chosen to keep their tight knit group together and “do life” while waiting for Jesus to return?

Don’t get me wrong, eleven families doing life together and worshipping Jesus is a beautiful thing. But who would they have reached? How would it have had the Kingdom-expanding impact that Jesus intended for His disciples?

What if a small group was the vehicle Jesus intended to use to reach the world? Was it? How would it be different if your small group and your home became the way more and more people were introduced to a life of knowing, following, and being on mission with Jesus?

I can offer some ideas from the past six months. It would look like people growing in their faith. It would look like people finding purpose in the mission of Jesus’ church. Like people taking chances and seeing God use them. Like people discovering the joy of giving themselves away for the sake of another — and then someday releasing that “another” to go and do likewise.

These friends left our small group, but we haven’t left each other. We’re as committed to one another as we ever have been! We will continue to meet regularly to encourage and disciple them, take phone calls when they have questions, gather in our backyard for barbecues, and celebrate what God is doing in and through them. And, over the course of time, we will meet those they have reached and hear the stories of how their lives have been transformed.

This is discipleship. This is being the Church.

The message of Jesus. The methods of Jesus. And the mission of Jesus.

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Interested in reading more about how the early church reached the world around them?

https://churchleaders.com/smallgroups/small-group-articles/285398-early-church-small-groups-larry-kreider.html

A Tale from the Trail

This past summer, my wife and I found ourselves in one of the most beautiful places we’ve ever been — Victoria, British Columbia. The city itself reminded us of Disneyland with its lush flower beds, sculpted hedges, and historic architecture, but there was even more beauty to be found in the surrounding area. And we were set on finding it.

We found it on a trail to the top of Mt. Finlayson in Goldstream Provincial Park. This half-day venture would allow us to stretch our legs, have those conversations that only happen on the trail, and take in the panoramic views of the surrounding mountains and sea.

The hike was challenging and the terrain difficult in many places. As I tracked our progress via an app, I couldn’t help but notice that there appeared to be a trail descending the backside of the mountain. While I strongly prefer to return the same way I came — especially in unfamiliar territory — maybe we’d do something different today.

No one at the summit appeared to be taking this other trail, but a few locals did confirm its existence. So, after some time enjoying the picturesque views and celebrating our victory over gravity, we began the new and unfamiliar descent.

The forest was spectacular in the afternoon light. And all was well for the first mile or so. Periodic checks of the map and our progress showed us right on track. Until they didn’t. One minute we were good. A half mile later, the app showed us way off the trail. And yet we were on a trail.

We faced a decision… To continue on meant we would be flying blind in unfamiliar territory. To turn back meant a long trek back to the summit before descending the way we had come.

In all honesty, it was a tough call. Risk wasting more time or getting lost? Or cut our losses and head back? As we mulled our options, my peripheral vision picked up movement in the trees. It was a hiker descending from the summit the same way we had come. We were in luck!

As he approached, we introduced ourselves — and our dilemma. He wasn’t familiar with our map or the original trail it showed, but he was familiar with this new trail and offered to accompany us the rest of the way down. 

His experience and confidence allayed our concerns and his presence proved helpful as we encountered more questions along the way. The trail proved longer and far different than I had envisioned it. I can tell you with certainty that we would have turned back at some point if not for his assistance along the way.

The significance of this event was not lost on me. My wife and I had made a major decision just months earlier to leave what we knew as ministry and venture into new and unfamiliar territory — relational discipleship. We had a map and even a couple of guide books written by those who had been there before. But we knew there would be questions along the way. We had so many already! 

What we lacked was someone who would take the to trail with us.

Unbeknownst to us, that person would step into our lives just a handful of weeks after this hike — and in a way that was eerily reminiscent of this day on the trail. We stood at a critical  junction in pursuit of this new ministry, but it was time to go off the map. To go from theory to practice. In unfamiliar territory. Unsure if we were on the right track or even understood the trail.

This time it wasn’t something in my peripheral vision, but rather the buzzing of my iPhone against the wooden surface of a nearby desk that caught my attention. It was a Facebook message from a pastor in Houston by the name of Brandon Guindon. We had met when I visited his church about five months earlier.

In keeping with our current theme, you could say that Brandon is a seasoned hiker. He knows the map and guidebooks well, having assisted in their development and production. More importantly, he has decades of experience on the types of trails we were setting out on. And, in an extraordinary turn of events that we couldn’t have foreseen or arranged, he was reaching out to see if we might need some guidance — or a guide!

In a world full of people standing at the summit, pointing to the trail, and wishing others well, here was someone willing to take to the trail with people just one degree of separation from total strangers. Who does that?

That Facebook message was just the beginning of an ongoing relationship that has included multiple trips to Houston, regular phone and video calls, and countless hours of conversation, questions, clarification, and encouragement. Just this past month, the pastor and his staff invested six days of time and training in some couples who have joined us on the journey. It was incredible!

To be honest, I still find it all a bit hard to believe. What makes Brandon and his people so different? Why are they so generous? And so committed? After being in the process long enough, I discovered the answer. And it’s incredibly simple: They get it.

They have experienced the transformation that occurs when one person intentionally invests what they have in another over time. They have reaped the benefits both personally and corporately. And they have discovered God at work in the midst of it.

When it’s something and someone you’ve become, it’s easy to figure out how to do that for others — you do what has been done for you.

Everyone when he is fully trained will be like his teacher. 

Luke 6:40

The reality is that true discipleship — what Jesus did with his followers — is a lost art. He took some pretty raw materials and made disciple-making machines out of them. He took fishermen and tax collectors, invested three years of teaching and on-the-job training in them — in other words, He invested himself — and then sent them out to change the world.

Disciple-making churches do the same thing, taking accountants, plumbers, and cooks — everyday people like you and me — and raising them up to be disciple makers, shepherds, and pastors. They are certainly the exception to the rule at a time when many churches seem focused only on improving the show and filling the seats. Ministry is left to the professionals while the vast majority of the body of Christ is relegated to the role of spectator.

It is crazy to think that this trail of discipleship is unfamiliar territory to me after 15 years in ministry. I should have had the trail of discipleship all mapped out long ago. 

It turns out that this trail lies on the backside of the mountain of church activity and goes largely unexplored. It’s a trail that follows the mission and methods of Jesus. A trail that is never traveled alone. And one that fits perfectly with who we’ve been created and called to be. 

Our current focus is on creating environments where authenticity is the norm, where it is safe to struggle and have questions, where individuals can explore what following Jesus really looks like, and where disciples and disciple makers will be raised up and equipped to do what Jesus has called all of his followers to do. Here's a little secret: it's not that complicated.

We couldn’t be more excited about this new trail and those who have joined it with us. We’ve been on it long enough to know it’s not an easy one. And we’ve done our best to count the cost. But once we’d experienced it — once we got it and began to see its impact on ourselves and others — we realized there’s no other trail we’d rather be on.

Maybe you've been sensing that there should be more to this following Jesus thing. Maybe you're frustrated with the ineffectiveness of the church or your lack of personal growth. If so, maybe it's time for a new trail. A new adventure. Maybe it's time to follow the ministry and methods of Jesus and see what kind of disciple he might want to make out of you.

We're on the trail and it would be our privilege to walk it with you. You can reach us at info@reallifearizona.com.

An Epic Tug-of-War

Why are some things so easy in theory but so hard in practice?

“I’m sorry.”

“I was wrong.”

“Please forgive me.”

I mean really... they are simple, everyday phrases in our native tongue. Yet sometimes it feels as though those particular words have a 400 pound anchor attached to them. As if the level of difficulty in drawing them from our hearts to our tongues is insurmountable. And an epic battle of tug-of-war rages inside of us -- a battle between doing what's right and self-preservation.

Maybe that’s dramatic, but it seems to be a pretty accurate description of my recent experience. 

I had been on edge for a few days, but couldn’t put my finger on the “why.” My normal jokes and quick quips were of the usual type but there was something different behind them. They cut more than they quipped. My wife was feeling it. I played it off. Maybe she was just feeling extra sensitive, I suggested. But I was noticing too. And then it seemed to subside.

A few days later, we were traveling out of state as a family. People were tired. There was tension in the car. I attempted a joke. It came out more like a jab. It was back. And she wasn’t laughing. I knew I needed to own it. Not just this it, but the other its before it. But it was hard.

You’d think that four and a half decades of opportunity and experience would make anything second nature — even apologizing. But that’s just it — it is second nature. With the first still alive and kicking.

Our first nature hasn’t changed much in 10,000 years. It’s the nature we inherited from Adam and Eve. They hid and blamed. We do the same. Because if there’s one thing we don’t want, it’s our sin out in the open.

“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate. Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths.

And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man and said to him, “Where are you?” And he said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself.” He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” The man said, “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate.” Then the Lord God said to the woman, “What is this that you have done?” The woman said, “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.”

Genesis 3:6-13

To paraphrase…

“I was exposed. I was afraid. So I hid.”

“The woman you gave me, it was her idea.”

“The devil made me do it.”

Have you ever wondered what might have happened if Adam and Eve had simply owned what they had done?

But that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Ownership. It’s not the words themselves that weigh 400 pounds. After all, we’ve seen kids throw them about with all the weight of a paper airplane. Some adults, too.

I believe it’s the owning of the pain and the damage it’s caused that increases the level of difficulty. It’s admitting the stuff that was — or still is — in our hearts that incarnates the power lifter on the other end of that rope. It’s a battle of the wills. A battle of two natures.

So how do we win? How can we persuade ourselves to do the really hard thing as we ask and trust God to give us the strength? Can I offer you another perspective? One that I hope will lead both of us to more victory in this area of our lives? 

What if we began to think of that 400 pound weight as a measure of potential power to be wielded rather than a personal price to be paid? What if we viewed the difficulty in dragging it from our heart to our mouth as a measure of the potential healing and relief that could come? Because it is.

The harder it is to face the thing you need to face, the more necessary it is to face it. Your desire to ignore what needs to be owned correlates directly with how much it needs to be owned. And the power of an “I’m sorry” is in direct relation to the difficulty in saying it.

I knew I needed to own my it and all the its before it, but hadn’t worked up the courage that evening. Embarrassing, I know. But I woke up the next morning resolved to drag the words to my lips. They would be spoken. No. Matter. What. 

Soon we would be in the car together. Alone. It would be a short drive to church on this Sunday morning, but I would get it done. As we made our way towards the church, the resistance inside felt as if portions of my organs were the ropes involved in this epic tug-of-war.  “It shouldn’t be this hard,” I thought. “Just say it,” I told myself. I was resolved, but the struggle was real. 

We turned into the parking lot. Time was running out. Had I really let it take this long? My heart pumped faster. And louder. The tension may have only been within me but it seemed as if it was enough to fill the whole car. “This is ridiculous,” I thought. And then determination overtook self preservation. “I’m sorry, Sweetie.” I paused and turned to look at her. “My words have been sharper than normal lately,” I continued. “I don’t know what’s causing it, but I know I’ve hurt you. And I’m sorry.”

Tears came. For both of us. She looked at me and simply said, “Thank you.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. They were words she needed to hear. Words her heart needed to receive. And words I needed to say. Healing was happening. Not because it was easy, but because it was hard.

I have a new determination going forward. When I think of the power of owning something that is hard to own, I’m going to begin picturing David standing before a fallen Goliath. That is the victory and legacy I want. Not that of the “warriors” who hid and refused to fight, but of the one who stepped forward. Because he knew there was a good God standing behind him and that His will was crystal clear.

That massive sword at Goliath’s side is the weapon I will yield. Much like the difficult thing I must do, it is full of potential power precisely because of it’s weight and the determination required to wield it. But, oh the joy and satisfaction in raising it overhead when the battle is over and victory is secured! When peace replaces palpitations.

Is there something you need to face today? Face it. Is there an it you need to own? Own it. 

Leave the legacy you want to leave.

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This post belongs to a series in the book of Genesis. To read previous posts in this series, use the links below or the archives to the left of this post.

The Image of God -- Genesis 1:27 -- an important reminder for all of us

Anatomy of a Fall -- Genesis 3:1 -- one of my favorite posts of all time  : )

Anatomy of a Fall

Now the serpent was more crafty than any other 

beast of the field that the LORD God had made. 

Genesis 3:1

Crafty. It’s the word Scripture uses to describe the serpent in the Garden of Eden. An apt word for a foe that manages to trip us up again and again. And a word that manages to conjure up all kinds of images in just six letters and two short syllables. Crafty. That word just does something!

Satan is indeed crafty — and effective. I can tell you that from personal experience. But the reality is that he’s been using the same technique since the beginning of time, quite literally. And we, both collectively and individually, keep falling for it.

We know the truth. We do. Honestly. We know that good is better than evil, that purity is better than corruption, that honesty is better than deception, that forgiveness is better than holding a grudge, that generosity is better than greed, etc. 

But temptation tends to eat away at truth.

Turning our focus back to the Garden, I think it’s safe to assume that Eve had seen the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (Gen 2:16) many times before her encounter with the serpent that day. She knew the truth about it and understood the danger, yet when temptation came, she gave it a place in her thinking.

We tend to read this passage as if it all happened in a moment. The serpent asks, “Did God really say…?” Eve responds, “We will die.” The serpent counters, “No. You’ll be wiser.” And then, within a few seconds, with the serpent still watching and the fruit within reach, Eve takes and eats — and all hell breaks loose. 

Might I suggest another scenario? One that Scripture would allow for? One that isn’t influenced by every painting you’ve ever seen of Eve under a tree with a snake over one shoulder and an apple over the other? Ok, good. My hunch is that Eve was minding her own business in a much less prominent location in the Garden when the serpent offered her not an apple, but an idea — the idea that what God had described as a danger to be avoided was actually a delight to be enjoyed.

Eve walked away from that conversation not with apple skin stuck between her teeth, but with a big “what if” lodged in her head. A big “what if” that she mulled over again and again and again. A “what if” that became more appealing over time as it pulled at different parts of who Eve was. That’s what I see when I read the following verse:

When the woman saw that the tree was good for food, 

and that it was a delight to the eyes, 

and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise… 

Genesis 3:6a

First the tree offered something to satisfy her hunger. And, hey, it’s ok to be hungry, right? And then she began to notice how beautiful that darn tree was! Not that the other trees weren’t. But this one… wow! She just couldn’t stop looking at it Or thinking about it. And wondering, “What if?” What if it would make life better? What if I could be wiser? And happier? 

Some time after her thinking changed, her actions followed suit. 

…she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some 

to her husband who was with her and he ate.

Genesis 3:6b

When did she take of its fruit and eat? The author of Genesis writes, “When the woman saw…” (see Gen 3:6a above) Not necessarily the next time she looked at it, but rather — and please don’t miss this — when the way she looked at it had changed. When the “what if” had been entertained long enough to tip the “danger vs. desire scale” in her mind. 

That’s how it usually goes, doesn’t it? We avoid dangers. Naturally. But we entertain desires. When our thinking transfers something from the “danger” column to the “delight” column, that’s when destruction is imminent. Because our thoughts, more than anything else, drive our actions. Let’s cover that again: our thoughts, more than anything else, drive our actions.

You see, the mere existence of the tree wasn’t Eve’s downfall. Her thinking about it was.

And the existence of a drink or drug, or a pile of cash, or a man or woman won’t be our downfall either. Our thinking will be. Because our thoughts, more than anything else, drive our actions. 

So… what pattern of thinking needs your attention today? What is pulling at your appetites and pecking away at what you know to be true and right? Has something slowly moved from danger to delight? What are you going to do to move it back? And who do you need to tell about it?

While I don’t know your answers to those questions, I do know this: nothing good lies on the other side of that “what if?”

Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.

Proverbs 4:23

The Image of God

"So God created man in his own image; he created them in 

the image of God; he created them male and female."    

Genesis 1:27

It wasn’t until l began to attend seminary and studied under Dr. Wayne Grudem that I heard much talk about humanity and “the image of God.” And yet perhaps no other biblical concept has informed my thinking more than this simple fact — that men and women have been created in the image of God (the imago dei).

In the book of the Beginning (Genesis), Scripture lays out the story of Creation. Over the course of six days, God created the universe and everything in it — the sun, moon, and stars; the deserts and the mountains; the rivers and the seas; the birds of the air, the creatures of the deep, and every animal that roams the earth — from aardvarks to zebras. God created all of it. 

And all of it, with God as our witness, is amazing! The intricacy and the design only gets more fascinating as science peels back layer after layer of God’s Creation, revealing complexities previously unfathomed. Inspiring, and rightly so, awe among those who dare to plumb its depths.

And yet one element of Creation stands above it all: Mankind. For one simple fact: They were (we are) created in the image of God.

God infused all things with His creativity and design. But mankind he infused with a piece of Himself, His image.

It’s why the birds and the bees continue to build the same hives and nests they always have, while mankind has gone from caves to condos. It’s why humans collaborate to save a fragile ecosystem or a species of endangered turtles and never the other way around. And it’s why caribou, catfish, and caterpillars remain within their designated habitats while humans explore the world — and beyond.

Because more than any other part of Creation, men and women have been created in the image of God — to reflect Him and his attributes in this world. His intelligence. His creativity. His compassion. And the list goes on.

It’s also why we believe that every human life, regardless of age or ability, has inherent value. That no person should be subjected to treatment deemed demeaning or inhumane. It’s why we should believe that regardless of nationality, religion, skin color, or sexual orientation there is no room for hate, discrimination, or oppression. Because every person of every shape, color, size, and creed is an image bearer of God, possessing inherent worth and dignity regardless of what makes them different from you and me.

It’s true… the image of God in humanity has been tainted and corrupted. Sometimes, at our worst, it’s hard to see the image of God in others, in you, or in me. We don’t reflect much of His love or compassion or goodness at all. But God is gracious to us. He is willing to look past those things to see us. And we should do the same for others. And maybe, just maybe, as we look past behavior to see the image of God in others, it might just help others see more of Him in us.

Something New

If change is hard for you, you’re not alone. Change is hard for most of us. Especially when it touches something close or important to us — a relationship, a favorite place, or a favorite anything really.

I still remember my reaction when I heard that the College World Series would be moving to a brand new stadium. New stadiums are nice and all, but I’d been attending games at Rosenblatt Stadium since I was a little boy. I had decades of memories tied to that place. Others had school and family traditions tied to it. It seemed that Rosenblatt Stadium was the College World Series. How could you possibly have one without the other?

A month or so ago, Starbucks announced that it will stop offering plastic straws with their drinks beginning in 2020. What? Someone’s going to mess with the way I enjoy my favorite drink? Everyone knows that Starbucks has the best straws! My wife and I now joke about hoarding Starbucks straws in preparation for Strawmageddon in 2020. At least, it’s partly a joke.

Change comes — whether we like it or not. And often whether we choose it or choose to avoid it. But the reality is that change is often good. And good for us. Despite my initial misgivings, I have now enjoyed several years of College World Series games at TD Ameritrade Park. And I have to admit, it’s really nice! Much nicer than Rosenblatt ever was. I confess, it’s hard to see now how a paper straw can possibly compare to the plastic that I’m accustomed to (not to mention be an improvement), but based on experience I should at least be open to the possibility.

As followers of Jesus, we, of all people, should be the most open to change. To something new. Even when it touches something important to us. After all, our relationship to God is the result of God having done something new. The Jewish people had their faith and memories and traditions based on what God had been doing and the way He’d been doing it for hundreds of years. And then Jesus showed up and started talking about something new. 

This something new seemed to be a real threat. A threat to their faith and understanding of God. A threat to their way of life. A threat to their memories and traditions. And there was a lot more at stake than a baseball stadium or a preferred vehicle for beverage consumption. This was the very fabric of their society. Their entire identity!

And yet we can look back now and see what God has done. In a passage that the people of Jesus’ day would have known well, God spoke to his people through the prophet Isaiah telling them, “I am about to do something new.” This was a big something new. A something new that literally changed the world. For the better. For good.

But it was change. And change is often hard. Yet it was good. And good for us. (That may register as the understatement of the year right there.)

Is there a something new on the horizon for you? A change that you are worried about? A new that you are hesitant about? A something you are avoiding?

In spite of all of your fears and all of your misgivings, something new might be exactly what you need. Exactly what the world needs.

Maybe this fear of change and new somethings is why God gave us the reassurance of Romans 8:28 along with the something new:

“And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God.”

Did you catch that? He said all things. Even new things. Even change things. For good. And good for us. Trust that. Trust Him. He might just be doing something new.

<< Leave a comment below and let us know how we can be praying for you and your something new. And feel free to pray for us as we venture out into our own something new. >>

Roll Pride

Players from an Alabama football team woke up Tuesday morning reliving plays in slow motion like a lowlight reel that wouldn't stop looping --  tackles they should have made, catches they could have broken up, and passes that missed their mark. 

Coaches woke up running mental tapes of schemes they should have run and play calls they wish they had made. Outcomes that are now out of reach. Because the game is over. Time has run out. 

Some people live their whole lives this way -- always reliving and regretting; never repairing or repenting.

Though the contemporary church has largely gone away from them, my upbringing in the church included the regular use of creeds and confessions. A particularly pertinent one, in speaking to God, includes these words: “We have sinned against You in thought, word and deed; by what we have done and by what we have left undone.”

The things that replay in my mind tend to fall into one of those two categories — things I’ve done and things I should have done. Chances are, yours do too.

The done: That betrayal of trust. The insensitive comment that seemed funny at the time. The cold shoulder you’ve been giving. The addiction you coddle at others' expense. 

The undone: The apology never extended. Encouraging words unspoken. A phone number never dialed. Generosity hoarded. 

But if you’re reading this today, your clock has not run out. The game is not over. Chapters of the story have yet to be written. 

And you only have one enemy between where you are and where you want to be. One obstacle between you and a game-winning touchdown. Pride. Pride is at the root of nearly every offense — either pride offended or pride unleashed. And pride keeps us from saying the hard things that need to be said and doing the hard things that need to be done. Truth be told, pride is the only reason they are hard!

"Roll Tide” is the rallying cry of the Alabama Crimson Tide. Too often, it seems, “Roll Pride” is ours. 

Though we would never be caught dead in a “Roll Pride” t-shirt, it is our home team by default. But God has a better word for us. In his first letter, Peter writes, “Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility towards one another.” (1Pet 5:5b)

And then he gives us a solid reason why. Because "God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble."

2017 would be a great year to ditch that “Roll Pride” game day gear. Put on humility instead. And when you find yourself at the line of scrimmage in life, you’ll find God lined up beside you rather than across from you.

So stop reliving and regretting. And start repenting and repairing. It all starts with humility.

Lesson: Humility leads to both growth and grace.

Application:
1.  Identify the first "done" and the first "undone" that come to mind.
2. Write the first step in your plan of action to right wrongs and do the undone.

Lord, teach us to see.

The follower of Jesus that struggles with prayer is never alone. Neither is he far from a fellow struggler. Truth be told, it may be the most common struggle among us. Hence, the request of the disciples of Jesus to “teach us to pray.”  Who better to teach them (and us) to pray than Jesus himself?

And so He began, “Our Father in heaven…”  

These four words elicit an almost Pavlovian response in those of us reared in traditional churches.  Faster than Pavlov’s dogs can begin to drool, “Hallowed be thy name” flashes to our minds and scrolls to our lips. And as the prayer goes, so goes our recollection of it until we have reached the end.  Like an unmanned locomotive that always reaches the same destination: “…but deliver us from evil.”

The recitation can be so automatic that the weight of those first four words never has a chance to settle in.  And yet they are the key to all that follows.  

Our Father. Or Abba as Jesus referred to Him in the garden. This specific term of endearment and intimacy may have been new with Jesus, but the Father has always longed to be known as Father to His children.  For them to see Him and know Him both intimately and personally — as a father knows his child, and a child knows her father.  

“But now, O LORD, you are our Father;

we are the clay, and you are our potter;

we are all the work of your hand.”  (Isaiah 64:8)

“But to all who did receive Him, who believed in His name, 

He gave the right to become children of God…”  (John 1:12)

Our Father.  His children.  And yet our perception of God often falls far short of what He would desire.

At the outset, Jesus reminds us that we have a Father in the truest sense of the word — and that He is a Father who is above all things and over all things.  He is our Father in heaven.  As Jesus fulfilled all that Adam failed to do as a child of God, so our heavenly Father longs to fulfill in us that in which every human father is bound to fail at some point in time. Seeing us perfectly.  Loving us fully.  Motivated purely.  Angered but for a moment.  Full of grace and mercy.  Abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.  Speaking only and ever in wisdom.  Always working for our good.

This is the Father to whom we come.  The Father whose love beckons us to his throne of grace. Oh, that we would see Him as He is!

We would do well to allow the Lord to teach us to pray.  But we would do better yet to allow Him to teach us to see. To see Him.  Then will we come with anticipation and expectation, with a sense of both intimacy and reverence, with confidence and comfort, and begin to pray, “Our Father…”  

Can You Believe It?

You and I live in the Information Age.  It may be more accurate to call it the Age of Information Overload.  Information is continuously at our fingertips.  Calling for our attention.  Bombarding our attention spans.  Unlimited access to ideas, statistics and images rides in our back pockets and purses, rarely out of reach.

The upsides are easy to spot.  You can learn more with less effort, find what you want in less time, and make fewer bad restaurant choices with just a few taps, swipes or key clicks.  

But the downsides are there too.  Suddenly, it seems, the truth is harder to nail down.  The facts depend on who you are listening to at the moment.  Everything has a spin.

Who is to be believed?  What can we believe?  And how much of it?  Whether it’s the direction of our country, police brutality, ISIS on the Mexican border, or Ebola ready to sweep through the nation, whose truth is the truth?  What are we to believe?  Who or what is believable?

While information overload may be unique to our time, deciding whom and what to believe is not.  Jesus told people some pretty unbelievable things and, in that moment, they, like us, had to decide what they should believe… what they would believe. 

In John 5:1-17 we find Jesus making his way through a very crowded Jerusalem.  A feast was being held and many God-fearing Jews had traveled to the city.  As he makes his way toward the temple, He passes by a pool known as the Pool of Bethesda.  

It’s a pair of pools actually, walled in with covered porches on four sides.  A roofed colonnade divides the two pools.  Popular belief states that at certain times an angel of the Lord would go down into the pool and stir the waters.  The tradition also holds that the first person to enter the pool after it was stirred would be healed of whatever infirmity he or she had.  As a result, the areas around the pools are filled with all manner of disabled people — blind, lame, and paralyzed (Jn 5:3) — waiting for the stirring of the water.  A multitude waiting for their opportunity to be well.

And then the focus narrows.  We go from a crowded city and a packed scene to a very tight view.  From a multitude of people to only two:  Jesus and one specific man. A man who had been sick a long time.  And waiting a long time.  Jesus sees and knows.  He approaches.  He initiates.  Because this is what Jesus does.  He finds us among a multitude but always approaches us as individuals.  His approach is always personal.  It’s the nature of relationship.

After acquiring the man’s attention, He asks:  “Do you want to be healed?”  It kind of makes you wonder what the man’s first thought was after hearing a question with so obvious an answer.  While we don’t have his thoughts, we do have his words:  “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.”

If in Jesus we see God as He really is — and we do —  then in the disabled man we see ourselves as we really are.  Sick from the effect of sin in our lives.  Longing to be well and whole, but lacking the means in and of ourselves.  Scratching and clawing our way to the waters, but always coming up short.

And it is into this that Jesus steps.  Initiating.  Asking.  Offering.  “Do you want to be healed?”  It seems like a silly question, but Jesus wastes neither words nor opportunities.  If He asks, there’s a reason.

“Do you want to be healed?”  It’s a valid question.  Do you?  Do I?  Really?  While our mind and mouth may answer “yes,” our hearts often betray a different reality.  We may be more like the lame man than we think — looking right past Jesus to all the reasons we can’t be healed, all the reasons restoration isn’t for us.  Our heart, where fear often resides, is well aware what healing might mean.  Healing might mean letting go.  Letting go of control.  Or anger.  Or bitterness.  Healing might mean beginning to trust again.  Trusting others again.  Trusting God again.  Healing involves change.  And change involves the unknown.  Pain and brokenness may be an enemy, but at least they are a known enemy.  And so we choose to remain where we are rather than trust God with the unknown.

It is precisely in that place right there ^^ that Jesus singles us out and asks again, “Do you want to be healed?”  Are you willing to trade pain and heartache for healing, even if it means trusting and some unknowns?

What kind of truth does Jesus desire to speak over you today?  What kind of healing is Jesus wanting to bring to you today?  What has He been waiting to speak over you and heal within you for a long time now?

The man in John 5 had been suffering this way for 38 years.  He never saw Jesus as one who could provide the healing that he so desperately sought.  And yet it was to this very man that Jesus speaks words with the power to heal: “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.”  

At the initial question, faith in Jesus’ ability to restore was optional, but at these words it was required.  In that moment, he had to decide.  Should he believe it?  Could he believe it?  He could.  He did.  For the first time in 38 years he stood.  On his own two feet.  Only 8 words earlier he had been crippled by the past and trapped in the present.  And now he stood.  Suddenly.  Suddenly freed from the chains of hopelessness.

What is your 38 year thing?  What is keeping you from being all that God has created you to be?  What is keeping you from believing that healing and restoration from the past are for you?  That every good thing that God has for His children applies to you as well?  What keeps you from believing that you are a beloved child of God upon whom the Father longs to shower his grace, mercy, forgiveness and kindness?  To reveal Himself as the Good Father and Shepherd that He really is?

It’s interesting…  A number of scholars believe that John shares the duration of the man’s disability for its symbolic value.  You see, 38 years is the length of time that the Hebrew people wandered in the desert, never entering the Promised Land.  On the edge of the river, but never crossing over.  A generation of people whose purpose and future were lost for one reason:  they failed to believe God.  Despite all the evidence to the contrary, they would not believe that God was willing and able to do all that He had promised.  They squandered their purpose and the promise.  38 years of pointless wandering — and a lifetime of regret.  

What’s your 38 year thing?

I’ll leave you with Jesus’ final words from this passage:  “My father is working until now, and I am working.”  

He’s not done with you yet.  Can you believe it? 

A Cautionary Tale

A short time ago I received some unexpected news: my uncle had passed away at the age of 75.  The surprise wasn’t so much in his passing, but rather in the timing.  Eldon was no stranger to health issues and his body seemed to battle several things on a daily basis, including diabetes.  He had been battling fairly well for so many years, it didn’t seem that now would be the time.

Knowing that my aunt would be inundated with calls and messages, I gave it a couple of days and then made the call.  When I found her, she was driving home from a granddaughter’s softball game – a much-needed break from the patterns of thought plaguing her at home.

As I strolled a sidewalk in the fading evening light, she related to me the events of the past several weeks.  She told me how one of his sons had come to Arizona to watch Spring Training baseball. How Eldon had gone to the games with him.  Not just a game here or there, but 14 games in close succession.  And in some very warm Arizona temperatures. 

A nurse herself, my aunt explained that fatigue combined with dehydration had created a dangerous complication with his diabetes, how once he had overcome that another situation arose, and then, ultimately, how pneumonia eventually took his life.  I heard the agony in her voice as she described the decision to remove him from life support.

Eldon was gone.  My aunt was heartbroken.  Children and grandchildren were grieving deeply.  As she laid out the memorial service arrangements, a question triggered in my mind: what story would be told in light of Eldon’s passing?  Clearly his demise had been avoidable if only he had used better judgment.  A whole lot of grief could have been spared if only some moderation had been employed. 

Knowing what I knew of Eldon – including his well-known stubbornness to heed the warnings of his doctors, his wife, or just about anyone else for that matter; his knack for eating the things that were explicitly laid out on the “No, you have diabetes” List; his penchant for doing what he wanted to do rather than what he should do, I arrived at what appeared to be a foregone conclusion.  Eldon’s story, told properly, would be, should be, a cautionary tale.

I was pretty sure I was right.  After all, there really wasn’t anything to challenge my thinking.  He had set the course of his own demise and it was something we could all learn from.

A few days later, I sat three pews from my aunt in a traditional Methodist church.  The memorial service was going just as I had envisioned.  A song, a welcome from the pastor, the funeral liturgy, another song.  And then it happened.  People – the people who knew Eldon best and loved him most – began to talk.  They told stories and shared memories.  Together they told a tale, but it was no cautionary tale of tragedy.  It was a tale of love.

Eldon was remembered – not reformulated or recreated, but remembered – as a man who consistently gave himself to others.  With his time, his talents, his joy, his humor, his smile, his touch, and, yes, his love of baseball, he had consistently given away what he had to share.  The more they spoke, the more I realized how right they were.

The pastor knew Eldon well through his involvement in the church choir and the singing of solos for special events, like weddings and funerals.  He spoke of Eldon’s dedication to the church and the ministry there.  How Eldon always took his calls.  How he could not remember a single instance of Eldon turning down a request to use his musical gifts at someone's special event.  How, despite his declining health through the years, Eldon always came.  First he came more slowly, then he came with a cane, then he had to sit during the singing, but still he came.

Over and over Eldon was remembered for what he routinely gave away – his time, his presence, his gifts, his love, a smile, an encouraging word, a piece of candy.  From what I gleaned, Eldon was never about guarding what he could keep to himself or for himself, but always about how he could bless someone else.

It was in those moments that I realized how well Eldon had actually lived.  Had he lived another way, he may have lived longer.  But while he lived, he had lived well.  And it became undeniably clear that he had also loved well.

It made me wonder… Are we too focused on our own life’s longevity?  And not enough on life’s brevity?  Could it be that we are ignoring Jesus’ advice rather than heeding it?  After all, it was Jesus who said that whoever tries to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will save it. 

Eldon’s life was a cautionary tale all right.  It just wasn’t the caution I was expecting.  As near as I can tell, Eldon hadn’t spent much of his life trying to save it, but he had spent much of his life and he had spent it well.  

“It’s what you sow that multiplies, not what you keep in the barn.”

--Adrian Rogers

Guilt or Gift?

… I died to the law, so that I might live to God.  Gal 2:19

Paul speaks here of dying to the notion that we can please God through works of the law (i.e. obedience to a set of rules).  Also, of relieving oneself from the law as a taskmaster and, ultimately, a tool of death.

Living to God arises out of the realization that our standing before Him (and our ability to live unto Him) arises not out of our performance and obedience, but out of faith and grace.  Out of freedom, not force.

Through faith in Christ…

We are relieved from… striving… failure… guilt… bondage… condemnation… separation.

And invited into… rest… grace… peace… freedom… justification… communion.

A few verses later, Paul writes… “Are you so foolish? Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh?”  (Gal 3:3) 

How foolish we are sometimes! Trading confidence in the unchanging grace of God for dependence on our temperamental flesh.  Let us be fools for Christ, but never duped by the flesh.

Where are you living today?  In the guilt?  Or in the gift?

Lessons from Psalm 23 - Fill in the Blank

 

“Even when I walk through the valley of deep darkness,

I will fear no evil, for you are with me;

Your rod and your staff reassure me”

Psalm 23:4

Tests are a fact of life.  From elementary school through graduation to the next life, life is full of them.  Spelling tests, math tests, science tests, driver’s tests, personality tests, blood tests, eye tests, tests of character, tests of strength, tests of faith.  The list is endless.  

Though we generally don’t like tests, we often have a style we prefer.  What’s yours?  Essay? Multiple choice? True-False? Fill in the blank?

Like you and like me, David faced all kinds of tests.  How he did in Hebrew school no one can say, but history records his diploma from the School of Hard Knocks.  It was there he did some of his best work – writing masterful essay after essay in what would later be called the Book of Psalms. 

David was a master of pen and poem.  This most know.  But a closer look reveals David’s  mastery of the fill-in-the-blank as well.

In our previous discussion of Psalm 23, we noted (and likely coveted) David’s statement of confidence:  “I will fear no evil.”  We also noted the source of that confidence – a critical phrase at a pivotal peak in the Psalm.  Two Hebrew words. The source of David’s confidence:  “You.  With-me.”[1]  [Psa 23:4]

David kept a mental 3x5 card in his hip pocket for tests of courage and faith.  A cheat sheet of sorts.  It contained two Hebrew words and one blank.  “You _______ with-me.”  When doubt, despair, danger or death looked David in the eye, the card came out.  “You _______ with me.”

It worked like this… David speaking to God.  “God, there is a lot I don’t know.  I don’t know what you are going to do or how you are going to do it.  But this much I know:  You have been with me, so I can say with confidence that you are with me.  Even when I can’t see you.  Even in the deepest darkness.  You with me, God.  In the past.  In the present.  And into the future.”  God’s past faithfulness gave David present and future confidence.

Maybe you need a mental note card in your hip pocket today.  (Cheat sheets are allowed here)  Maybe you’ve been wondering where God is in your current circumstances.  He is with you.  Maybe you’re wondering if you can handle an uncertain future that looms ahead of you.  Where will God be then?  With you.  His presence is not bound by any single verb tense – past, present or future.  He has been.  He is.  He will be.  Always.  With you.

Make a note card today with three simple words as a simple but profound reminder:  God with you.  Write it on your mirror -- or your hand.  Wherever you’ll see it when you need it most.

And remember:  The confidence you need today and tomorrow is found in the faithfulness of God in all of your yesterdays.

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[1] See previous blog entry “Lessons from Psalm 23: David’s Confidence” for an explanation.  English requires three words to render the same.