Auld Lang Syne

(to be listened to while reading this post)

My Resolutions for 2012:

1) Learn to play the guitar

2) Workout upper body more

3) Volunteer and serve more in the community (plug for cool ministries like the Potato Project)

4) Invest in others more intentionally (pray more for others & keep a prayer journal; write and send more letters to people)

5) Fall more recklessly in love with God in 2012 than 2011 (more Scripture, more Sabbaths)

6) Kiss Lea Michele

Where is He?

After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, "Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him." When King Herod heard this he was disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him. When he had called together all the people’s chief priests and teachers of the law, he asked them where the Messiah was to be born.  ^"In Bethlehem in Judea," they replied, "for this is what the prophet has written: 

"But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for out of you will come a ruler
who will shepherd my people Israel." (Matthew 2:1-6)

I was packing up to leave work when a bundle of students slowly passed by my door, pressing their hands intentionally against every wall and locker. Noticing I was still in my room, a girl who isn’t one of my students left the group to come into my room and explain that the Bible club was having a prayer walk and “Is there anything we can pray about for you?” I said something about family and how what they were doing was cool. Then she said, “Mr. M, I don’t really know you. Do you know Jesus?” Without hesitation: “Yeah, I know him! He’s my Savior and the reason I live.”

The honest answer would have been to say that some days I feel like I know him, and most of the days I believe he’s my Savior. To say, “Yeah, I know him!” with such zeal is just not true. My confidence about Jesus’ identity is about as steady as a three-legged chair, so I’m grateful God’s grace isn’t dependent on my understanding. I cannot comprehend why it is so exhaustingly difficult to figure out who this Jesus really is.

With all the holiday emphasis on glittering décor and extravagant presents, this Christmas bustle is a great reminder that I am so vacillating in my understanding of Jesus. Reading Matthew’s Gospel, I think the author found himself in a similar predicament, or at least he seems to be writing to those who do. Matthew walked with this man named Jesus, was present for his miracles as well as his death, and he witnessed Jesus’ resurrection. But who is Jesus really?

In the beginning of Matthew 2, the Magi from the east ask, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him.” The Magi’s assurance confounds me. He’s a king, and we’ve come to worship. They have never met Jesus, yet they are already so sure of this newborn’s identity and what their response should be—they just need to find him.

How did the Magi reach that point of confidence? What happened in their process of belief that led them to travel miles in search of this child in order to bring him gifts? I don’t know, and maybe Matthew doesn’t either, because he remains mute on their history.

In response to the Magi’s question, “Where is the one,” Matthew quotes Micah 5:2 and a prophesy made 700 years prior about a promised ruler (Matt. 2:6). It seems that Matthew is witnessing connections unfold, and as Matthew reads through the ancient Scripture, he finds Jesus there. I think it’s critical to note here that Matthew uses Micah’s prophecy not to validate ancient Scripture, but to validate Jesus. He asserts a connection between Jesus and the prophesied Messiah.

While Matthew watches ancient Scripture and finds Jesus there, a couple verses later in chapter 2, the Magi find the king by watching the stars. Throughout the rest of the Gospel, people find Jesus in deserts, in fishing boats, and in their living rooms. Matthew finds him at a tax collector’s booth, but he soon finds him on a cross. In the last chapter of his Gospel, Matthew writes that eleven disciples finally found Jesus on a mountain in Galilee, and “When they saw him, they worshiped him, but some doubted” (Matt. 27: 17).

I am so like those eleven. I cannot stop doubting the identity of this man, and yet like them I cannot stop worshipping him. The Magi ask, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews?” and Matthew says, “I’ve found Him in Micah! I’ve found Him in the Stars! I’ve found Him in a tax collector’s booth! I find Him everywhere!”

I may waver when you ask me exactly who Jesus is, but I can say I know where to find him. I find him in the classroom while I teach and on the sidewalk while I run. I definitely found him in that little girl who asked me if I knew him. I find him in so many places, and hard as I try, I can’t seem to get away from him. Maybe we can be content with our inability to pin down who Jesus is. Maybe it’s enough to simply look for Jesus everywhere, and when we find him, for we surely will, fall on our knees in worship.

A New Work

The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me; Your steadfast Love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands. (Psalm 138:8)

I’ve adopted this verse as my theme and prayer for the summer while working here at the Boys and Girls Home. In the face of discouragement and frustration, which threatens to take me under everyday, God’s promise faithfully lifts me above the water: “A New Work,” I hear God whisper in my ear.

I was studying that verse above, and in the original Hebrew, the word used on that second line for “steadfast Love” is the Hebrew word hesed (Blue Letter Bible). According to several of the Bible dictionaries I’ve consulted, hesed means an enduring and lasting Love, or like my translation of the scripture put it, a “steadfast Love.” One scholar put it this way: “Hesed connotes a depth of loving-kindness unmatched in the world’s various kinds of love.” Hesed, this deep and holy love, is everywhere.

Genesis tells us God’s hesed preserved Joseph as he suffered in prison after being betrayed by his brothers and master.  Exodus tells us God’s hesed saw the Israelites suffering and led them out of slavery into a land of promise. Jeremiah tells us God’s hesed was stronger than the sins of the people and it drew them back to God. Daniel tells us God’s hesed protected Daniel and granted him favor in the eyes of the King. Jonah tells us God’s hesed transformed Jonah in the belly of the fish and gave him strength to fulfill God’s plan for his life. What I find when I study the Bible is unending evidence of God’s hesed, and it’s that same everlasting Love that the Psalmist writes about.

The reminder of God’s hesed in this scripture comforts me, and God’s promise here rouses me. I can’t always see what God’s purpose is for me, but I know God sees it and promises to fulfill it. To think that I am a work—a piece of art or a construction project—is both humbling and empowering; I am not my own, and yet it’s God’s hands that are on me—pressing me, fixing me, and turning me into something greater than what I am right now. Coming vulnerable and weak to allow myself to be changed by a power I don’t quite understand is scary, but when I remember that the hands of God move over and through me in hesed, I realize that the pain I feel is God working out the lumps and smoothing me into a masterpiece of priceless worth.

God has begun a work in my life, and God promises not to give up on me. As the Psalmist writes, “The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me.”

Worth

[context: working as a Pastoral intern at the Boys and Girls Home for the summer]

The other day, I led a Bible study here at the Boys and Girls Home for some of the newer guys. At first, we just talked about life--the bad stuff we’ve done in our pasts, the mess we’re in now, how cruel life’s been. So I asked the question: 

   What are you worth?

Are you worth more than the life you’ve been given? The situations in which you’ve been placed? The things that have happened to you? Are you worth more than the quality of life you have right now?

Without a hesitation, an adamant “yes” from every guy. So what are you worth? “Everything.” That one word--“everything”--released from the breath of the youngest, invaded the room, filling the spaces between each of us. Whether that one word captured the inner voice of everyone in the room, or whether the conviction in which it was said was so sincere, or whether the ache for it to be true outweighed the need to utter an alternative, that one word “everything” connected us and stole the need to speak.

Silence. So loud you almost smarted from it. Then (of course), I talked. I was probably wrong for what I did—I’m usually very wrong. I looked that young boy in the face, who’s struggling through layers and layers of the injury being rejected has caused, and I told that boy, “No.”

To be honest, you’re not worth it. You’re too risky an investment. Too many times you run away. Too many drugs stay in your system. Too many wounds, too much bitterness, too much. It’s not worth unpacking. Even if you change, even if you don’t totally screw up again, your return would never be worth the investment. Everything? You think you’re worth my everything? All of my goals and passions, all of my desires and needs, my very life—you’re worth that? No. You’re too dirty, too stained, too messed up. Not strong enough. Can never be good enough. You don’t deserve anything because you’re just not worth it.

But for some reason that I do not get, you are loved anyway. Despite the risk, the cost, the loss; despite your brokenness, and helpless; despite how many times you’ll walk away and give up on, no, turn your back on him; despite how many times you’ll curse him, and fight him, and criticize him, and doubt him; despite the fact that you will always disappoint yourself and never do enough right—He will love you.

As dirty and untouchable as you feel, you are accepted by the maker of things as intricate as blood cells and as massive as mountain ranges. You are loved and prized by majesty. The God of all, the God who births all life and works to make it good, says you are worth it. And let the one who knows you best and loves you the most anyway tell you your worth.

Finishing my monologue, I gave every guy a copy of the words from the Psalm: “O Lord, you searched me and know me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up…You hem me in, behind and before, and your hand is always upon me…Where shall I go from your Spirit?”

******************

God, take the stupid works of these barren hands and the crippled words from this broken vessel and use them in spite of me. I pray every child here finds a home in you, where your consuming and steadfast love gently tickles our ears with the assurance that, to you, we are worth it. 

I Could Be a Farmer

I think for the longest time I knew only a black-and-white joy because I was a grazer. A fat, lazy cow chomping blades of grass under a burning sun. My movements slow, I'd eat my way from pasture to pasture. School--being fed. Church--being fed. Family and friends--being fed. We need that for so long, being fed, because we can't sustain ourselves. At some point, though, we do get it, and at that point, I think we're invited to change. The choice isn't forced on us--we're allowed to keep grazing off what others have sown if that's what we want. But that choice visions a black-and-white life. The invitation is to plant. To labor in the field farming what others will eat. A choice including sweat and blisters, but illuminating so much more color to life. I guess a lot boils down to what we choose to do.

Here's to being a planter instead of a grazer.

On Earth

You know when Jesus closes his prayer and says, "Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven."? Well, I've been thinking a lot about that lately. This past week in Sunday school, we kept talking about the point of Christianity being Grace, being saved from eternal punishment, a loving God giving us eternal life if we choose it in the way we're told He (She) wants it. Now, I love that Sunday school, but I'm not so sure about the theology anymore. What I've been taught all these years growing up in the church misses the point. It's got to.

I'm reinventing my eschatology, because I'm just not convinced that Heaven's so exclusive and Hell's so default. But good grief! is that too much to talk about in one blog post, and it's not what I want to focus on anyway. I don't think Jesus wanted us to focus on it so much, not in the ways we're doing it now at least.

Okay, here's my theory. Think about what pisses you off, disturbs, or saddens you most about life here on earth (I'm thinking about kids being abandoned, orphaned, left feeling unloved and unwanted). Now imagine the best Heaven you can possible conjure up (I'm thinking about everyone feeling totally loved and wanted, everyone belonging and communing continually). Whatever you just imagined--for that will look very different from person to person--is your responsibility. Jesus said so himself. "On Earth as it is in Heaven." Jesus seems more concerned about widening the gaps to let Heaven crash into Earth here and now than He is about us one day being in Heaven later.

Maybe that little exercise in imagination doesn't work for everyone, but it definitely works for me. We've got to start laboring and toiling and never stop striving to bring to Earth that vision of Heaven each of us has. It may seem futile work (it very well may be), but it seems the only thing worth our blood.

Like Glass

Clay is easier than glass. I'm clay. You only see what I want you to see, and I can display myself anyway I desire. I take care of myself. No one gets in to screw around. None of my sewage spills out. Glass is too weak. I can't fog it enough; you see right through. See the smears and smudges on this man, the inconsistencies and imperfections. The flaws in this plan I'm trying so hard to live into. Glass can break and crumple and it's too trusting in its exposure.

But glass is the only way we can change this jacked-up world. Glass is the way of Christ, the way of descension. It's a denial to self-protection and an acceptance of something greater than me. It's time to be more exposed, more transparent about our hurts, our failures, our shame, our brokenness.

I would blog more, but I need to get off my bum and share my story.

Peace.

about the search (rambling)

I think it's safe to say that everything we do in life is about the search. We all have those days where we feel like there's more, like we're destined for more, like we're only seeing such a small, insignificant part of the whole. It's an aching we have for something more, something beyond just ourselves. I've been trying to assuage the burning with ministry. It's painfully clear that the passion God's given me is to love and mentor youth. I can honestly say that in the past year and a half, the only relationships I've actively and consistently invested in are those: relationships with youth. Ministry revives me, ignites me. Loving on youth hurts a lot of the time, but it's the only thing worth it. It's what gives my life purpose, my toils meaning. But it's so damn lonely.

I realized the problem with only living for ministry, with my only investments being in youth, is that it's often a one-way street. Yes, nothing pours into me like when one of my students offers a simple "thanks" or a youth tells me "I'm praying for you," but it's still one-sided because they can never pour back into me to the extent that I need it. A sage pointed out this phenomenon to me, and in retrospect it seems so obvious. I have such a fire to let youth know they belong to someone, to something, that they're loved and valued, but there's no one doing that for me.

This is quickly turning into a self-pity post, so I'll shift the perspective slightly. Freshman and Sophomore year of college, I had a small group--a group of about 8ish guys that became family to me. We were a brotherhood, and for the first time, I lived within the context of a community of accountability and love and support. When that group disbanded, to bandage my hurt, I quit investing in college friendships, and instead I invested in youth, striving to be the mentor I've always longed for and felt I needed. And now, so often, I find myself feeling lonely.

It's not always. It's usually just when I sit down. Most of the day, I'm running from one thing to another, working on one thing so I can move on to the next. It's when I sit, when the busyness stops, that I realize how alone I am, how alone I've made myself. Yes. I'm being dramatic. But seriously, you have met me, right? The point is, I feel like I don't have anyone or any group to belong to, not like I used to have, and that's tough. Some days I feel like I'm trying to clean another's wounds, all the while I can't stop bleeding. I'm meant to be communal, to need other people, and it's time I stop keeping people out. I try to always parage around and carry a spirit of joy, but that's such a surface-level Keith. I know if I'm going to make it, then I have to start letting more people in.

Finding Love in Bubble Wrap

Sailing to a new country across the seas,
  She's a girl simply trying to appease
   An aching for meaning to life and for Love
  But not anymore from some man above,
   But from one man down here.
Where's this Yahweh now?
  It's time she try another way now.
Too far removed from old family and friends,
  But this man's love compasses to a more solid end.
Feeling reborn in this new time and place,
  There's only acceptance reflecting in his face.
What she sees ahead with him
   Looks better than what she left behind her.
Yet every odd day, it's the
  Ordinary that stands out to remind her
   Of all her yesterdays.
Today it's bubble wrap,
  And with every pop and snap
  She releases a tear for every year
   She remembers when life was different.

*inspired by a real conversation*

"Surrender is the only thing that is our own." ---Mother Teresa

God, why can't I do this?

Why's it so hard to just get it right?

I keep thinking I'm ready so I jump in mid-flight,

and all I seem to do is fall

when faced with the sight

of myself.

God, why can't I do this?

Why's it so hard to surrender?

I try something else and all I engender

is more of the cold, hard pain I feel.

Another man a pretender, and defender

of what? Of Polo and Cee Lo?

Crack Cocaine and Lil Wayne?

More fly sedans and retirement plans?

Lifestyles of haste, our style of life is just waste,

and in the fiscal year of 2010

our budget of Defense was surpassing 285 billion?

What are we defending?

What is it here that's so precious that makes us think

our money is best spent on protecting it?

But me, nah, I got this down pat.

I know Your plan so I spit out the facts

of what it means to do this and that.

As far as being a Christian goes,

I know how to act

and play the game,

but I have no clue about the stakes of this poker match.

It seems like every day I'm gambling and I'm donning a new hat

to try to look the way I feel I should for You.

And I get it. I get it.

I get my life on track,

and I can see a higher path

of love and what a life of devotion

looks like. As a matter of fact, 

I start feeling your presence thick around

and chasing the sound of your music.

Life starts making sense,

with my time spent in your midst

in the presence of the poor and lonely,

those you bring to my attention.

But why is it that my prayers of praise soon turn to contention,

and all of my efforts and time and energy

result in only another invention of just more dissension,

and with three steps forward I turn back

in the wrong direction?

God, why can't I do this?

Why can't I get this right?

Somebody is always trying to fight
for my time,

and since I feel like I have to do it all,

I make nothing the priority

and always give in to what the majority

says I should be doing.

It's not until later that I remember the Authority,

or what should be in my life.

I'm too afraid of what being the minority

means--lonely, unhappy, desperate, lacking?

The fear's too strong and the lows hurt too long

for me to sit back and just wait.

Isn't that what you say trusting is?

Just.
waiting.

God, why can't I do this?

When will my good be good enough,

and my desires end for all this stuff

I keep carrying around in my wallet and closet
and wearing on my face? I know it's time to deposit
all this in You.

But, this conceit lives the life of the leech sucking deep.

My pride works against me, and my mind just conspires

and plays games of vampires--draining my soul.

Everything we ever worked for,

sucked...out...slowly...

God, I feel so lowly

when faced with myself.

Why can't I do this?
Worry's hills are the only ones my eyes look towards.

Not knowing the future
and never to be sure, it's so hard
when my trust is so immature.
It's time I conjure up something new.
My mind and my thoughts in the end point to You,
my soul and my spirit lined with Yours finally true;
my will and my desire,
my possessions and dreams all turn to fire,
all bow down when my self is faced with You.
God, my air, my time, my blood, my life: it all belongs to You.
The only thing you seek
is the one thing that keeps me free
of You and inadvertently the one thing
keeping me back from being me--the me created to dwell in You.
So why's it so hard to give up that one thing,
that one thing you ask of me?
Surrender

A God Not To Be Known, Perhaps, But Experienced

We all have anchors in life--external forces that keep us from drifting, that hold us fast, that give us support, security, and stability. Sometimes our anchors are massive, sometimes they're little things.

********************

Starting my freshman year of college, a couple times every semester I received a letter in my mailbox. These letters, hand-written by Paul Cook, a neighbor and mentor, were packed full of gold. Mostly, they were full of anecdotes and aphorisms--some ridiculous and hysterical, others profound and deeply moving. I always looked forward to reading these letters because they were so personal. It felt like Paul was literally standing right beside me as I read them. His words were always encouraging and affirming, and they always challenged me to push deeper in my thinking. These letters were an anchor in my life.

Last year, Paul Cook passed away. The letters continue to come though, now written by his wife Debby. Time and time again, she has proved to be another anchor in my life, and I can't praise God enough for the blessing she is to me. I received another of these letters from her yesterday. Just like with the letters from Paul, there were parts where I was comforted, parts where I was challenged to think deeper about God, and parts where I laughed out loud. In this letter, Debby included an excerpt from one of Paul's sermons on believing in God. It's got me thinking about God in a different way: maybe God is not one to be known, perhaps, but experienced.

"Consider an analogy of God that has proven helpful for me: Believing in God is like standing at the seashore and looking toward the horizon. The water between the horizon and us is so immense that it defies even our imaginations. And in addition to what we can see, there is an invisible world beneath the surface brimming with life and full of mysteries. Though we cannot comprehend it all, we can taste the sea and discover its saltiness. We can sense its power as the waves pound the beach. In spite of all that we cannot fathom about the ocean, we know we can trust its tides and waves; we can ride on its surface and enjoy it. Similarly, we will never fully comprehend God. We can stand at the edge of God and discover things about Him. It may be that what we can learn about God is comparable to a small cup of water drawn from an immense sea. Yet, we rejoice in our small revelations and discoveries of God, such as the knowledge that God is love. We can trust Him and enjoy Him, much as we enjoy the sea..." (Paul Cook)

********************

In one of his songs, rapper Lecrae says, "Don't Die. Multiply." Debby and her letters are evidence of Paul's multiplication. I want to live in a way that multiplies Paul, too.

I Want Your Help! :)

As a follow-up to my last post, I've talked around, and apparently there's a huge need at some local men's and women's shelters for good clothes. The majority of the clothes available at the shelter are old, out-of-style, and very worn. Our brothers and sisters need good clothes, name-brand clothes, clothes they will be proud of. Clothes the kids can wear to school and not look like they live in a shelter. Clothes the adults can wear to job interviews and end this cycle of homelessness.

I want your help. With every passing day and every new prayer, God changes my heart a little bit more, and it's a little bit easier to give away my things. I want to invite you to join me on this journey of fulfillment and love. Let's not be marked by materialism and greed with the logos and labels on our clothes. Let's give away that Polo and Calvin Klein, and let's live like Jesus.

I'm going this friday, and we can go anytime we want. Come with me to the shelter and let's give our clothes away. Let's meet the people that need them, and let's show them a love that weighs more than poverty.

Sacrifice

I'm reading through The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne. Highly recommend, by the way. He's part of a movement called New Monasticism. It's fairly new and known for its 12 marks:

1) Relocation to the abandoned places of Empire.

2) Sharing economic resources with fellow community members and the needy among us.

3) Hospitality to the stranger.

4) Lament for racial divisions within the church and our communities combined with the active pursuit of a just reconciliation.

5) Humble submission to Christ’s body, the church.

6) Intentional formation in the way of Christ and the rule of the community along the lines of the old novitiate.

7) Nurturing common life among members of intentional community.

8) Support for celibate singles alongside monogamous married couples and their children.

9) Geographical proximity to community members who share a common rule of life.

10) Care for the plot of God’s earth given to us along with support of our local economies.

11) Peacemaking in the midst of violence and conflict resolution within communities along the lines of Matthew 18.

12) Commitment to a disciplined contemplative life.

There's some good stuff in this movement. Its advocates are really doing what Jesus says--they're leaving their families, finding the hungry and the alone, and being Jesus. They're selling their possessions, giving to the poor, and living in community.

One of the quotes I read in the book is by Dorothy Day: "If you have two coats, one of them belongs to the poor."

God really convicted me when I read this. Putting down the book, I walked over to my closet and, including hoodies, counted ten coats. Ten! Recognizing my own entrapment in capitalism and this consumeristic society, realizing that I have way too much and that those who have nothing can have if people like me share, seeing that materialism has been a blind spot in my faith, I'm changing. I'm making an active and intentional choice to be different. And that means not only changing my lifestyle but also being proactive in doing something about the poverty and hunger that thrives in this world.

I took out all the clothes in my closet and my dresser (I have two different places to store all of my clothes!) and let my own guilt over my materialism slowly sift out half of my clothes. Half my t-shirts, shorts, pants, shoes, and coats, all are no longer mine. I resolved to take them to the local homeless shelter as soon as I had a free-day from classes.

My friend Shannon, who recommended The Irresistible Revolution to me, is now doing the same thing, choosing to share the abundance we've been given with the poor and the naked. You have to check out her thoughts on all this--so illuminating. She makes an excellent point about the purpose of sacrifice, how its value isn't inherent but rather can be a reflection of something greater happening internally.

I ran across this verse in my Bible this week: "You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise" (Psalms 51:16-17). Well crap. If sacrificing my clothes isn't going to please God, but rather the condition of my spirit, then I have a long way to go. Remember I said I had ten coats and decided to give away half? That still leaves me with five. Five! What do I need five different coats for?!

I've got to give away and do a lot more before I have a broken spirit.

Jesus and John

Jesus and John
by Lisa Gungor

Johnny was raised with a steeple over his head.
Lived in the suburbs and memorized scripture at night before bed.
He won a prize.
Preachers and teachers would tell him where all sinners go.
Prayed for revival but showed him a fancy lit carnival show.
Why is it a lie?
Why is it a lie?

John saw the lies.
And he saw the steeples.
And saw all the people get it wrong.

Went off to college and came home with knowledge to spare
Of crusades and slave-trades and all of the blood that was spared in God's name.
And all of the lies.
But John couldn't buy it, he just couldn't buy it again.
Church was too small, so he just threw it all up to chaos and chance.
And all of the lies.
All of the lies.

John saw the lies.
And he saw the steeples.
And saw all the people get it wrong.

Jesus sees John.
And Jesus sees steeples.
He sees all his people get it wrong.

Trust Jesus John.
Trust Jesus people.
For Jesus will come and save us all.

To Die Empty 2

Consider this blog post a follow-up to the previous post "To Die Empty."

Got this text tonight from Shannon Brooke:

"I've been thinking about dying empty today. Then I started to see it in a different light: living empty. The best way to die empty must be to also live that way" (Brooke, 2010).

To Die Empty

Aluminum foil our plates, fingers our utensils, and fire-roasted meat, potatoes, carrots and onions. Lawn chairs, tree stumps, and logs pulled close to the crackling warmth of a campfire. Shadows cast from the flames dancing against the thick woods coiling all around. Bright stars and moon sneaking through gaps in the autumn leaves. Homework left at school, cellphones without service, and the fast pace of civilized life put on hold. Seventeen grad and undergrad college students, men and nature coming together for fellowship.

Life goals, one by one, given words and thrown into the space between us brothers where flames lick and whip and point upwards:

"to graduate"
"to work with youth"
"to run a marathon"
"to be a good husband"
"to get into a good Grad school"
"to run a godly youth ministry"
"to complete a triathlon"
"to be a good father"
"to travel the world"
"to be a foster parent"
"to hike the Appalachian Trail"
"to provide for my family"
...
"to die empty"

All possessions, all ambitions, all emotions--everything poured out.

Everyone quiet, reflective, staring into a pit of now only ashes. And a silence occupying the space previously filled with words and words and so many words.

"to die empty"

The Cost of Discipleship

I heard a sermon by Dr. Williams, one of the religion professors here at Gardner-Webb. At the end of his sermon, he brought up The Great Commission where Jesus sends out his disciples. Dr. Williams said that if you look back at the original Greek manuscripts, there's only one imperative verb in all of that passage; it isn't "go," and it isn't "teach," and it isn't "baptize"--it's "make disciples."

Jesus traveled and preached to masses, he healed people and ministered to individuals, he gave people purpose and hope, but none of this was his primary ministry. Jesus' primary ministry was to his disciples. Everywhere he went, everything he did, his 12 disciples were always shadowing him, watching him, learning from him, being changed by him. Jesus ministered to thousands, but his primary investment was in 12 men. Through those 12 men, Jesus created a revolution; and now, above all else, his one imperative command to all of us is to make disciples.

A lot of people go their entire lives asking the question, "What is my purpose?" I think Jesus answers that right here. Make disciples. Of course, this will look differently for us all, but for me, it looks like high schoolers. I'm trying to completely surrender my life to this aim of making disciples, and I won't lie: I hate not being able so see results sometimes, and I hate feeling like I'm giving my everything and it's not making a difference. Make disciples. It's hard. It's painful. It's changing my life, and I'm realizing that it's when I'm trying to disciple others that I'm opening myself up to be truly discipled myself.

A couple days ago, I picked up one of the guys I'm trying to disciple, and we went to Yamatos to have dinner together, to talk one-on-one, for me to encourage him, for me to invest in him. We mostly laughed and joked about everything from school to sports to girls. We also talked about searching for God everyday and how to live for Christ. During our time together, I talked about what God's been teaching me and I discussed the verse I've been meditating on, which we actually memorized together right there in the restaurant (John 8: 31-32, "If you follow my teachings, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."). We talked about how obedience precedes knowledge and understanding, even freedom, and that ultimately it's our obedience, what we're actually doing, that counts for something (for a better look at this verse, check out Shannon's super insightful and enriching blog). He sits and listens while I rant. He talks and questions. He makes stupid jokes that bring us back to the mundane and the crass.

Before we met, I spent all day praying and being with God. Dare I say it, I even skipped a class because I felt God nudging me to, reminding me how little time I've spent with Him/Her, reminding me how much S/He's worth it. Reminding me how much the people I'm discipling are worth it. I'm not just investing in myself when I spend intentional, focused, one-on-one time with God; I'm investing in everyone I come in contact with. After we met, I spent the rest of my day alone, neglecting my homework and praying for him, asking God to draw him and transform him and renew him and use him.

The cost of discipling was $20 that night (homeboy ordered freaking steak and shrimp! haha). It cost me several good nights of sleep (since I had to spend the next few nights making up for that skipped class and a day's worth of academic unproductivity (this should be a real word)). It costs me a lot of aching (the more I pray for these guys, the more I have this soft and constant aching, almost a hurting). It costs me my precious free-time and college friend-time and so much. But heck, it's the only thing worth it. And it changes me. I find I'm more encouraged, and I feel more love, and I have more of a hunger and drive to search for God, and I'm a better person. I'm more complete. Somehow, discipling disciples me.

Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. Then Jesus came to them and said, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." Matthew 28: 16-20

Who Are We in This Complicated World

"Who Are We in This Complicated World

(from Mathnawi 1 , 1510 - 1513):


if we come to sleep
we are His drowsy ones.

and if we come to wake
we are in His hands.

if we come to weeping,
we are His cloud full of raindrops.

and if we come to laughing,
we are His lightning in that moment.

if we come to anger and battle,
it is the reflection of His wrath.

and if we come to peace and pardon,
it is the reflection of His love.

who are we in this complicated world?"

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Quoted from The Kite Runner (movie), which as a movie I only recommend if you will never touch the book. The book's simply untouchable. You've got to read it. It will change you.

Get Over Yourself! (thanks Stephanie Richey for this title)

There's too much I want to do. There's always homework--I'm in the middle of my thesis, and so there's always work I want (yes want) to be doing on that. There's always some friend doing something awesome that I want to be a part of. There's always something fun happening on campus, and I want to do it all.

But right now, I want to get over myself more. I want to say no to watching movies with friends and doing stupid stuff and having fun, and I want to start changing this world. I will not lie about this. It's hard because if I leave and go do that, then I'm missing out on all these fun things my friends are doing.

But it's time I get over myself. It's time I say no to more things, and it's time I start being intentional about serving in this community.

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after the orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." (James 1:27)

Let's believe this and go.

All of our tracks and our ten percents and our sermons and our bible studies and our fellowships and our worship music just aren't going to feed people, and they're not going to change this world. Relationships will. Serving will.

It's time for our teachers and our nurses and our pastors and our hair dressers and our mechanics and our students and our everyone to step up and start looking for ways to serve. Start pursuing ways to build relationships with the hurting. Start being church, rolling up our sleeves, and getting dirty.

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I stole this from a Buddhist priest's blog (thestupidway.blogspot.com if you're interested). It's worth reposting (I know I just did that in my last blog post too, but I swear it's good stuff).

“Someone once had a dream in which she asked God to show her heaven and hell. God agreed and first of all brought the person to a dining room that had two tables, one on either side of the room. There were all sorts of delicious food stacked up on the two tables, and there were a lot of hungry people sitting next to the tables trying to eat the food. They could only eat the food by using chopsticks. But the problem was that the chopsticks were about two meters long. And because the chopsticks were so long it was impossible for anyone to pick up the food with the chopsticks and then put the food into his mouth. So everyone was very unhappy and frustrated and dissatisfied because they had all this great food in front of them, but was unable to eat it. God said, ‘This is hell.’ Next, God brought the person to another dining room that looked exactly like the first room. Just like in the first room, there were two tables on either side that were covered with all sorts of delicious food. People were sitting next to the tables, and had the same kind of long chopsticks as in the first room. But the people in this room were all happy and smiling and cheerful. When the person looked closely, she saw that the people in this room weren’t trying to use the chopsticks to pick up the food and put it into their own mouths. Instead, they were using the chopsticks to pick up the food and put the food into the mouth of someone else on the other side of the room. It was easy to use the long chopsticks for that, and everyone could eat plenty that way. God told the person, ‘This is heaven.’”

A Chapel For All People

This one's good enough to repost. Please read and enjoy! :)

A Chapel For All People