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.”

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.

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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)

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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.

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.

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

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

"The feeling remains that God is on the journey, too." --Teresa of Avila

Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he has spent his entire life merely picking up sea shells along the shore of the vast, unexplored ocean.

Addison Road has these great lyrics saying, "What do I know of You who spoke me into motion? Where have I even stood but the shore along your ocean?"

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The universe can't just be a home for us, because if it is, it's way over-sized, and as I walk alone and look up at the dark infinite above me, all I feel is how very small I am, how this is all so much bigger than me. 

Known as the 'Eye of God'

The Whirlpool Galaxy, also known as 'The Darling of Astronomy.'
By the way, see that bright mass on the right? We used to think this
was all one big galaxy, but now we know these are two separate galaxies.

My personal favorite, Pleiades

Our own not-so-humble abode, the Milky Way Galaxy. I won't pretend this is a
legitimate picture. We're kind of inside of this thing, so it's hard for us to get real
pictures.  What amazes me is how big it is. We put so much importance on our lives.
In reality, our solar system isn't even in the center of our own galaxy.

* Shout out to the only astronomist I know, Addie Jo.

You Sneaky, Manipulative God...

God is so sneaky sometimes. I'm reading Isaiah 6, which is one of those inspire-me kind of passages. God is so sneaky with Isaiah, like border-line manipulative. Listen: "Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?' And I said, 'Here am I. Send me!" Wait. Who is God asking? Isaiah is the only one in the room. God makes it seem all rhetorical and stuff, but it's not. This is a question only for Isaiah. God has a mission and purpose only for Isaiah, but he asks anyway and lets Isaiah really claim and own this.

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When I was in Costa Rica, I got to help out with a ministry in La Cuenca (which I'll describe through the words of another short-term missionary I met down there). "La Cuenca is dangerous, violent and so broken. For a while before I arrived, nobody was allowed in the area due to all the issues with drugs, gangs, and violence. The three missionaries I worked with in La Cuenca, Hugo, Magaly and Fernando, have been returning to this area for the past five years via a two hour bus ride and no salary. Even though the three are all part of growing families, they receive under $100 per month in support" (Caroline's blog).

One time while I was at La Cuenca, I went with Hugo to visit a family. I stepped into a house no bigger than a dumpster and no cleaner. All around me, a car door and scraps of metal and wood made for walls and ceiling, which blocked no rain during the rainy season. Making small canyons in the uneven dirt floor, toilet and bath water from homes higher up the hill ran between our feet as we talked. The five children had long dropped out of school, and the oldest daughter fumbled with a pot of rice cooking over a log fire just outside the door. Prostitution is stealing these girls and gangs have already taken the boys. When you're an uneducated and unemployed and unmarried mother of five children, what are your options?

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This is the world we live in. I hear God saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" and I know God's looking at me, because I'm the only one in the room. "Here am I, God! Send...oh, wait. We'll finish this conversation later. I'm about to be late to class."

Maybe I Should Hide My Qur'an...

I just finished another conversation trying to explain why in the world I would want to read the Qur'an. Someone even said, "Isn't that that terrorist book?" I realize that was surely, surely, a joke, that this is the Bible belt, that I can stand on half the street corners in these small southern towns and see anywhere up to 3 Christian churches at one time, but are we all really this tunnel-visioned? Yes, the Bible has loads of truth in it. As does the Qur'an, and the Tao Teh Ching, and The Bhagavad Gita. I would never call myself a Universalist by any means; I don't believe we're all on different paths up the same mountain to the same God sitting at the top. However, I do believe in some great Absolute (we can call it God). I also believe that truth is available to everyone, at all places, at all times, and that this Absolute will use anyone and anything to reach us, no matter how deficient. As one thinker put it, "all the world's thoughts, all the world's most beautiful languages and literatures, are but vehicles for that ineffable message which comes to the heart in rare moments of ecstasy... For me the embodiment of that voice has been in the noble words of the Arabic Qur'an" ('Abdullah Yusuf 'Ali).

For me the embodiment of that voice has been in the words of Jesus Christ; but when I look for it, I find truth everywhere. As it says in Jeremiah 29, "You will search for me and find me when you search for me with your whole heart. I will be found by you." When I read the Bible, I find stories of love and a God that sacrifices everything just to have us. When I read the Tao Teh Ching, I find order, balance, and something universal uniting us all. When I read Nietzsche, I see what sexist, racist, ageist, nationalist man turned bitter looks like (this is a joke...). The point is that every text I read gives me a slightly bigger picture of all this--of life and God. Why wouldn't I read the Qur'an?

I'm tired of saying we're Christians when we've never read a single Sutra or Surah or Veda, much less our own Bible, and the same goes for professed atheists. We say we're Christians or atheists or whatever, but we're really just ignorant. And as far as Agnostics go, you can't choose doubt as a philosophy of life any more than you can choose immobility as a form of transportation (Life of Pi). Agnosticism may be a stage in life (I'll attest), but it's no place to stay.

Whew. Glad I got that out of my system. Here's what God used to speak to me this morning:

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The Holy Qur'an  C.23 & 24


But he [Muhammad] grew steadfastly in virtue and purity;
Untaught by men, he learnt rom the, and learned
To teach them; even as a boy of nine,
When he went in a trade caravan with Abu Talib
To Syria, his tender soul marked inwardly
How Allah did speak in the wide expanse
Of deserts, in the stern grandeur of rocks,
In the refreshing flow of streams, in the smiling
Bloom of gardens, in the art and skill with which
Men and birds and all life sought for light
From the Life of Lives, even as every plant
Seeks through devious ways the light of the Sun.


Nor less was he grieved at Man's ingratitude
When he rebelled and held as naught the Signs
Of Allah, and turned His gifts to baser uses,
Driving rarer souls to hermit life,
Clouding the heavenly mirror of pure affections
With selfish passions, mad unseemly wrangles,
And hard unhallowed loathsome tortures of themselves.

God, forgive us for using our systems of religion to hide from you.

What would happen if a generation embraced something greater, giving all of themselves away?

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We're losing today's generation, not because we're making Christianity too hard, but because we're making it too easy. Now when Christianity started, it was a radical movement. A movement that changed the world of the early church. People can get behind something like that. We've got to stop selling easy faith--do this and you'll get this. It's never been about houses and cars and soccer practices, our biggest worries being what bill to pay off next. Here in America, we have this idea that we're supposed to be happy first, but no, Jesus doesn't send us that message. He never promises a life with less pain and less worry, a life with secure jobs and more money, a life with a gym membership and a dog.

We're creating something different, something not following Jesus. We say the first step is accepting Jesus into your life. Your life. That's a fine theology, but it's not based on Jesus (if that's who we're claiming to follow). Gandhi said once that he loved Jesus, he just wished Christians would take him more seriously, because everybody knows what Jesus was teaching except for Christians.

Jesus doesn't ask to be invited into our hearts, to enter into our lives. Jesus calls us to come and die. Our old selves? Dead. Our nice houses and new cars? Sold. We're to come and kill everything--our wants, our goals, our securities, our comforts, our possessions, everything. If we say we want to follow Jesus, then we're entering into lives of sacrifice and poverty and homelessness and suffering. If anything, a life that follows Jesus is one of more pain. However, if we say we want to follow Jesus, then we're also entering into lives of purpose and peace and love and freedom. And ultimately, if we say we want to follow Jesus, then we're entering into a new plane where change is finally possible.

Jesus lived an extreme and radical life, a life of sacrifice and poverty and homelessness and suffering. Does he call us all to be that radical? Yes he does, because radical people can change the world. But radical people are the only ones who can change the world.

A Favorite Hymn of Mine

1/10 to Jesus I surrender
1/10 to him I freely give
I will weekly love and praise him
In his presence Sunday live

I surrender 1/10
I surrender 1/10
1/10 to thee, my Precious Savior
I surrender 1/10

Come on God! Almost all of us are surrendering to you what you asked of us. When are you going to change this world?

Silly boy, Jesus doesn't mean it...

Ah shit. I almost forgot. When Jesus says, "You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me," (Luke 18: 22), what he means is you must be willing to give up everything. He means that you must figuratively give up everything, meaning it's okay to have stuff, just make sure you tithe and go to church and God's first in your life. It's so easy. I can't believe I almost forgot.

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I've mentioned before that I go with Don Horacio occassionally and help out with the homeless ministry. Well, I went again, and it was powerful! I made such a lasting difference in this world for Jesus! I handed out cups of coffee and water and sandwiches! I sang my heart out and clapped so everyone could hear these worship songs to Jesus! I hugged those stinky alcoholics and drug addicts and told them that Jesus loves them! Oh, and guess what happened...a homeless man came up to me and asked me to pray for him! He told me that it was his first time ever coming to this park and seeing what we do here! He said it's the first time he's seen Christians do something like this! He asked if I would tell him why I'm here helping them when I could be in the states! He questioned who is this Jesus guy! He explained all about his addictions and his problems with his family and how he's been on the streets since he was a kid and how he has this woman that he's in love with but she's crazy and so addicted that she'll run off with anyone for just a quick fix and how gosh this sandwich is amazing and this coffee tastes so good! And he asked if I could pray for him and the woman he's in love with, that God will prove He can not just handle all this but make it better! And we hugged and prayed and hugged again, and it was awesome, because I'm being obedient to God and loving people!!!

A different man came up to me. I counted 3 toes through his shoes and 4 teeth behind his beard. Pleading with me through the damaged, glazed eyes of alcoholism, he asked me for my shoes. "I sleep on cardboard, mae. I only have this one pair of shoes, and you can see they don't serve shit. It's the rainy season, so they're constantly getting wet and giving me blisters. You come here because you're a Christian, right? See I knew God would send me a new pair of shoes."

Uhhhhhhhh....yeeeaaaaah....

Don Horacio, his wife, and a couple other missionaries were right there with me. They redirected the man back to the coffee line. I thought about it for a couple minutes, and decided. The way of Jesus isn't supposed to be easy. We're called to come and die, not live comfortably. Giving a pair of shoes is the least I can do. I slipped off the shoes and started walking barefoot over to the man. Immediately, 3 missionaries surrounded me, deterring me from my mission. "You can't give him those shoes. We understand you feel bad and want to help. You just don't understand. That man is clearly an alcoholic and a drug addict. He'd probably just keep his old shoes and sell your nice ones for a couple dollars so he could have some drug money. Trust us. We're out here all the time." So I slipped my $120 Nike shox back on my feet and walked away.

Because I almost forgot that when Jesus said, "If someone takes your tunic, give him your cloak as well" (Matthew 5: 40), what he really meant was, "...but check their motives first!" and when Jesus said, "Sell everything and give it to the poor," he meant just don't get attached to your possessions, but you can keep them. For a minute there, I forgot that Jesus says radical things and talks a big game, but he doesn't mean what he says in a literal sense. I almost forgot the most important thing about Jesus: that he's just like our generation.

Our generation. We go to school for 12 years, and then to college, and often to graduate school. We learn about Algebra, Geometry, Biology, Chemistry, Literature, Composition, History, Geography, Foreign Languages, Psychology, Philosophy. Our generation has more knowledge than any previous generation. We've become an age that values knowledge and reflection so much, that now all we do is talk, as if that's going to solve the world's problems. And so we talk. And reflect. And talk. And reflect... In the end, we do nothing, and nothing is changed. We've even reduced the great teachings to the same abstractions. But, every once in a while, someone of our generation will stand up and move. They'll act on the vision God's given them and try to do something. However,  it takes no time at all before a well-meaning parent or a friend or other Christians (especially other Christians), calm us down. Sober us. Deaden our passion. See, our generation is one of immediate enthusiasm, an enthusiasm that quickly dies, an enthusiasm that our thought and our logic and our reflection kills before it can grow into authentic passion.

And I yell out to God: "God, I'm done with this life! I want to be radical for you so badly! You're asking, 'Whom shall I send?' Send me! I'll go! We can change this world! I'll do anything to open the cracks in this world for Love to crash in!"

"Our own age is essentially one of understanding, and on the average, perhaps, more knowledgeable than any former generation, but it is without passion. Everyone knows a great deal, we all know which way we ought to go and all the different ways we can go, but nobody is willing to move." (Soren Kierkegaard, The Present Age)

And all too quickly, God answers me back: "You want to be radical? No, Keith. You don't mean that."

A Wasteful God

God, I am so pissed off at You right now!

I just got a facebook message from one of my Camp Joy kids. I've spent only 5 days a year with him for 4 summers, and it's been over a year since I've last seen him. Yet, out of the blue, he sends me this message saying how I'm like a brother to him. That he remembers when we prayed together, just us two. That when his guardians yell at him, he remembers all the love he felt at camp. That no one's ever led him to You God like I have.... What the hell is that, God!?!?!

He says those things about me? It's been over a year, and I was only with him for 5 days a year before that. Where are the parents he deserves? Where's the environment and the neighborhood he deserves? Where's the school and the opportunities he deserves? Where's the security and the family and the constant love he deserves? Where's your church, God? Answer me! I'm so angry at you God! You mean you've put no one else in his life to love him and lead him to You, except the crazy white college kids he sees 5 days a year, college kids he's too old to see at Camp now? I don't understand God, but I will love these kids until it kills me, even if their maker won't.

I don't trust you, God. I trust you with Keith. You've done nothing but lavish blessings on me--education, family, opportunities, love. What I don't trust you with are all these kids I see all around me. Kids labeled high risk because they aren't first in anyone's lives. Because You aren't loving them like you're loving me. I see you bring Heaven to me, beneath my feet, here in this world everyday; but I don't trust you to bring about Heaven here for all these kids. Heaven here. Heaven now. I don't trust that one day You'll make all this okay, but that won't stop me from giving and working and hurting and dying and trying until every youth I meet knows and feels they're loved, and then lives in that love so completely that their lives become dedicated to the same suicidal purpose of persisting in love.

I don't trust you. I'm having too hard a time seeing past what I see right now. I see too many without any love, without any homes, without any hope. Too many with only the negative as influences. Too many that know despair and abandon more than joy and affection. Too many surrounded by only hatred and selfishness. Too many orphaned. Too many never hearing the words,

"I love you. I believe in you."

No God. I don't trust you. Not with that. They're too valuable, too priceless for flippant and reckless trust.

I don't trust you, God.

But I want to.

I read in one of Your scriptures today, Luke 9, that popular Sunday School story about Jesus feeding the 5,000 with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish. I don't believe you, I don't trust you for miracles like that anymore. But I want to. I want to believe in a God that preaches healing and hope to hurting people, and a God that when others say it's time to send the people home so they can eat, says, "No. We feed them," and a God that then takes a meager meal and turns it into a feast, physically feeding and showing people what Heaven here looks like. A God that is verb-loving the people here, now. I wan't to believe in that kind of God. And how wasteful you were! There were 12 basketfuls of food left over!

God. Take the 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish that I am, and feed 5,000. Prove to me that I'm not wrong in wanting to trust You. Prove to me that you're still a wasteful God. Be wasteful in your use of my life. Show me what Grace and Provision and Love in waste look like.

The Life I Want

I found him.

His name: Don Horacio López.
Place of birth: Buenos Aires, Argentina.
Current Location: San José, Costa Rica.
Family: beautiful wife, 3 beautiful children.
Profession: Missionary, youth and homeless ministries.

This--listen well, God--this is the life I want.

Anoche. I go with Horacio and his daughter to Carpio, a lower socioeconomic community largely consisting of Nicaraguans. I walk into a blue warehouse-looking building and straight into the middle of band practice. They're all about 16-18 years old. Baterias, guitaras, teclado (unweighted keys and no pedal), micrófonos, and voces that make God cry. We play, we sing, we worship. Some call me Andrés, favoring my more culturally adaptable middle name to my straight gringo first name. Some don't play or sing, so for a while, I join a game of one-touch fútbol (two touches and everyone gets a free kick at your body. I know. So awesome). "Hey, debes venir en domingo a la iglesia y cantar con nosotros para el servicio." Por su puesto. No hesitations. A few other people walk in carrying three loaves of pan y 2 litres of fresco. We're sharing cups and passing around the table the sweet, fresh pan still warm from the local bakery. This communion we share while they tell me jokes and talk about the Copa Mundial.

Horacio starts talking, and immediately all eyes are on him. Respect and love are in those eyes. Horacio prays. He asks who's grown in God this past week. Jeffry, a leader in his group of friends, speaks up first. "He estado leyendo la Biblia todos los everyday. Esta mañana, leyó Mateo 13." I laugh at his use of espanglish and am moved by his spirit I sense inspiring his friends. Horacio reads the parable about the people at a wedding with their oil and their lamps, waiting for the groom to arrive. "Es un buen mensaje para nosotros jóvenes, porque no podemos esperar. Tenemos que acercarnos a Dios hoy, servir al Señor hoy, y ser preparados para su vuelta hoy," one says.

Esta mañana. I walk to Horacio's house and join him and his wife in their car, first helping them load coolers of water and café and huge containers of pan into the trunk. We drive straight into downtown San José, where a group of indigentes (homeless) are already waiting for us at el parque. The youth from the night before are waiting for us there too, ready to serve. Rudi plays his guitar and the boys sing worship songs. Indigentes are surrounding us. Some singing when they know the words, some dancing, everyone at least clapping. The youth and I hand out café and pan. Horacio leads a short devocional. Did I mention that Horacio's kids started this street ministry? O that these youth and homeless ministries aren't what he gets paid for? That he's a pastor, and that these ministries come straight from his own pocket, like a Christian zakat? Someone tells me how great Don Horacio is, how he's different. He understands us. He even sleeps out here on the streets with us sometimes. Another man interrupts, "Soy el portero, y usted va a jugar con mi equipo."

Left midfield. You know, I always prefer the right, but it pays off. Indigentes, jóvenes, y un gringo playing the greatest sport, the greatest equalizer: fútbol. First half, only one goal for nuestro equipo. We're losing. Half time, tres indigentes y Jeffry y yo share a cup of hot water. Second half, dominación. "Centro, Centro!" I yell. José with the perfect pass. Off the laces. Top left corner of the goal. Minutes later, a corner kick. Jeffry lauches it and I dive into the best header I've ever had. Bottom right corner. "Ay, gringo!" everyone yells. Thirty minutes later and Horacio, standing as el arbitro, blows the final whistle. We win.

I get back in the car. Our portero, wearing clothes that needed washing weeks ago, runs up. "You always have forever friend with me. Come back in the next week!" I learn what it feels like to hug Jesus, and he sings as he walks away. Driving back, I can't stop thinking about how bad I'm going to feel when Horacio drops me off and there are butt and back sweat stains on the seat. "¿Entonces, vas a venir conmigo mañana a la iglesia? Y en miércoles de nuevo a los indigentes si quieres venir." Wouldn't miss either for the world, Horacio.

Papaya, Piel, and Penises

I've officially been back in Costa Rica for a week now, and I've rediscovered something beautiful. Laughter.

I'm convinced that the vice of modern man is busyness. Maybe I should specify the vice of the western man. Or even the Christian man. We're always rushing, always pressed for time, always in a hurry. I would venture to propose that it's the reason why western civilizations and Christianty began their relationship in the first place. Christianity is a religion of urgency--Save another soul before time runs out! It's occurred to me how we've translated our haste in the professional and academic and social worlds into the religious world. (And we'll save discussion of this dualily for another day.)

It seems to me that perhaps my favorite gift from God is laughter. It requires a living outside of the moment, a seeing of things not as they really are, but rather seeing a distortion. More often I think, it requires still a living outside of the moment but seeing things as they really are, seeing a reality from a different angle, maybe a more accurate angle--I don't know. Laughter. It dulls the sting of rejection, it's balm to broken expectations, it overshadows the grief of disappointment. Laughter's more infectious than the most potent virus yet as welcoming as a glass of cool water to a parched throat. When everything can be so damning, Laughter is breathing and it's hoping and it's pregnant with life.

I've never laughed so hard as I have in the past week. I think my boxers may even have urine stains. Okay, so I love laughing, and I feel like for a normal person, I laugh a lot. However, the past week has been inundated with that rib-crushing, gut-wrenching, eyes-burning kind of laughter. That laughter that lasts so long at such intensity that I'm crying for it to stop and praying it never does. I think laughter hurts so much because it's become something foreign to our bodies. But anyway, I attribute this rediscovering of a robust laughter to an abandonment of the busy. Don't get me wrong--Costa Ricans fight the busyness of life just as much as any American. It's just that the conditions of my stay here have afforded me with the opportunity to slow down, reflect more, enjoy everything. And laugh.

I read on Wikianswers (only the most distinguished of sources for me, please) that the average adult laughs about 5 times per day, while the average child laughs more than 25 times per day.

Life's slower for children, happier, filled with more hope, more fun, more adventure. As adults, I think laughter can get those things back for us. Therefore, allow me to share a few moments that have brought me and Rosalee (my gingo sister from the States here in CR) that kind of laughter that has turned our legs into jelly pulling us to mother earth, made our stomachs ache begging for respite, and caused us to look like maniacs. Though it probably won't be as funny this time around...these things never are.

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I hate papaya. Hate. Hate. Hate. I know, I'm such an American with my dislike of tropical foods. I just find it nauseating, and whenever I eat it, I fight the urge to vomit. Well, our mama tica (tica=Costa Rican) served Rosa and I papaya. I left that untouched on my plate, hoping to send a not-so-subtle-but-more-subtle-than-words message to the provider of my food. Rosa had never had papaya, and disregarding my warnings, with eagerness, shoved that putrid excuse for a fruit into her mouth. Needless to say to almost any gringo who has ever had the misfortune of tasting papaya, Rosa ignored the remaining papaya on her plate. The next day, we were walking through downtown San Jose when we both smelled something horrible. I've tried to preserve the words that exploded from Rose's mouth verbatim. I said, "Ugh, that smells awful!" to which Rose responded, "Are you kidding me? I can't tell if that smells like poop or papaya." Ticos cut glances at us as if we were lepers, and several had to step over our fallen bodies as we clutched our convulsing bellies. My shoulder still smarts from slamming into that pole.

I saw Michael W. Smith in concert on Saturday right here in downtown San Jose. I know, who would of thunkt... Well, on the bus afterward, I was talking to a tico who had also been at the concert. He saw ol' Gringo me and rushed to sit beside me and practice his English. He actually studied English the past few years at the Universidad de Costa Rica. We started talking about the concert, and he said, "I was so excited! It gave me chicken skins!" Which in Spanish makes sense. Piel de Gallina (chicken skin): it's like the equivalent of our goose-bumps. However, in English, it makes Keith's face turn embarrassingly red as he tries to stifle uncontrollable laughter. The guy was so seeking afirmation of his English, and I wanted to give it to him, I really did. I attempted to save face for both him and me, so I started to say, "Yeah, it gave me chicken skins too," but I only got about halfway through before I lost it. I hated that his pride was the price of my laughter, but asi es la vida. I decided the most pressing course to take was to make sure none of my saliva slapped his face as I tried to stop laughing. Poor guy.

Rosalee and I were on the internet, yahoo to be specific, and the article on the front page read, "Master this Habit for a Better Relationship." I couldn't help myself. Before I even really thought about it, or about the fact that my only present company was that of a lady, I smiled: "He calls it his habit?" You have to admit, that was a good one.   =)

My mama tica here is hilarious. She has the heart of a child, because she's got to laugh at least 25 times a day. She's the kind of person that cracks herself up to the extent that her words begin merging and dissolving into meaningless blubbering because she's laughing so hard. Well, on one such occassion when she was fighting to communicate a story through the laughter (which makes Spanish so hard to understand, mind you), I split a rib I laughed so hard. Apparently, the last short-term missionary that lived with her was named Hannah. Well, Hannah was on the bus one day, talking to serveral tica women in Spanish. One of the older ladies said something depressing or something, and so Hannah, trying to convey her sympathy, said, "Que pena." Well, she meant to say "Que pena," which translates as "what a pity/what a shame/how sad." However, what she actually said was "Que pene." Which means penis. "What a penis." Apparently, one of the old ladies had to be rushed to the hospital because of a stroke. And buses are beasts to manuever in Latin American hospital traffic.

"What a penis."

Remembering the Semester, Anticipating the Summer

Haha, that last post looks so dramatic now. It was for real at the time, though. I now want to write about some of the ways God has answered that prayer...

This past semester, I've gotten involved in a youth group that I met on a Focus trip last semester (Zoar Baptist). At the beginning of the semester, I went and helped out with the occasional Bible study, mainly going when I could find the time and when I didn't have a lot of work. Towards the end of the semester, I was going every Sunday night and every Wednesday night. I also hung out with any of the youth that wanted to hang out with me, anything from disc golf to tennis to hide-and-seek tag in Walmart (is that bad?). It's amounted to me hanging out with high schoolers during like 80% of my free time.

And life's never been so good.

First of all, it's amazing how much a bunch of high school guys can teach you about God. I would hope that each of the youth would say something about me being a witness for Christ and a Godly influence in their lives. I would hope that each of the youth would say something about me showing them a bigger picture of God's Grace and Love relentlessly fighting for them. I would hope that each of the youth would say something about me leading them to a deeper relationship with God. But the truth of the matter? They do that for me. Screw accountability partners. You want to be held accountable in speech, action, lifestyle? Find some people younger than you, people you'd give your life for. I'd do anything to see those youth get closer to God. And to think that maybe, maybe, just one of those youth looks up to me? Well, that's enough to keep me accountable.

In so many ways, by getting to know both the youth and some of their families, I've found my own families away from home while at Gardner-Webb. That's really taught me about God's Love. For sure. I love it when a parent says or writes something. Those moments are worth a world of encouragement, and God has really used them to minister to me. But overall, the most encouraging and inspiring moments I've had have been the result of words from these guys, often in the form of a random text or facebook message. Here are a few:

~keith can i ask u a favor? i always forget to read my bible will u hold me accountible and remind me? and if i have questions can i call u and talk about them? i reall ywanna get in the habit of doin this like we talked about in church
~alright im not finished yet but i read the first chapter of james im goin to read some more tommorrow and im praying for you
~i love you bro!!! thank u for everything
~keith andres menhinick im gonna miss you so much over the summer but i hope you have fun in costa rica and spread the love of christ around there you have definetly opened my eyes and showed how much love can make a difference but i cant wait until next week i love you man!!

I do not deserve this.

God has completely and totally expanded my worldview by focusing it on these youth. I see a bigger picture of myself and of life and of relationship, but what I've awakened to most is a bigger picture of God's Love. I would literally die for any one of those kids right now. Just for one of them to have another chance or a better opportunity I'd give everything. I find that when I'm alone, all I want to do is pray for them. These youth motivate me to change, to live differently, to be someone worth following. Maybe it's needless to say, but I've become attached to these kids, and I love them like crazy. I will miss them all so much this summer.

This summer... another crazy way God has answered my prayer. This Monday morning, I'm flying to Costa Rica. Last summer, I spent about a month there with the school to study Spanish, and I fell in love with the country. Now, I have the opportunity to go back with one of my bestest friends ever, Rosalee Johnson!, and work with some missionaries down there, spreading the Love of Christ (see youth message above). I might even get to help with music worship while I'm there. Spanish, missions, music, Rosalee...really God?

I do not deserve this.

I guess the point of all this is to say that God answers prayers. I wanted God to really use me for something worthwhile in life, something that will last, and now I feel used and see evidence of God's working in my life. I wanted an opportunity to leave America, apply my Spanish, and immerse myself in missions, and now I'm packing my bags to go. We serve an Awesome God, one who hears and answers prayer. God had to take me through a lot and take a lot away from me to get me here, but the place where I am with God right now is immeasurably better than any place I ever imagined.

And I know that the best I can imagine for the future is way less than what God's wanting to do.

A Birthday Prayer

Ephesians 3:20-21

"Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all we can ask or think, according to the power that works in us, unto God be all glory in the church and in Christ Jesus unto all generations for ever and ever"

Every once in a while, I'll write something down on paper because I feel like it's too intense or too emotional or too personal for the blog. Today, I was reading back through some of those writings, and I found a prayer that I had written while in a lot of anguish. I know, "anguish" is quite a dramatic word, but that's the place where I was. Long story short, God's answering my prayer in BIG ways. It is kind of intense so I'll only post an excerpt and edit some of it, but I wanted to post what I had written because God has answered this prayer far beyond what I even imagined, and so I pray it be a testimony to where God takes us when we cry out to Him/Her.

Traditional Theology: Moving on to the Next Kid on the Bench

A theology I heard a lot growing up in the church goes something like this:  If I choose not to obey God's prompting, I miss an opportunity, sin even. However, if God wants something done, it will happen. God isn't dependent on my obedience, and He'll find someone else to do it.

Disagree. It's a nice idea--that God doesn't need us and that ultimately God's will is accomplished, that if I don't do something for God it ultimately doesn't matter because God will find someone else to do it. It really is a nice, reassuring idea about the control and Sovereignty of God. I just don't think it's right.

I know everyone quotes Ephesians 2:10, but there may be a crucial truth here--"We are God's workmanship/masterpieces, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which he prepared in advance for us to do." Maybe we really were created for specific good works.

Maybe God created Keith to do certain things in this world, to reach certain people, to speak certain truths about the unique aspect of God that he sees best. And maybe God created you for something specific, for something no one else can do quite like you can. Maybe you can see and love a side of God that I can't, not in the same way. And maybe you can do things in this world that I can't do, and maybe you can reach people in this world that I can't reach. Maybe that's why God created individuals.

Maybe if I don't do the works God's created me to do, God won't give someone else my load and have them carry the slack. Maybe there really is something specific that God's created me to do, and if I don't do it, it won't get done.

Former President Dwight Eisenhower, commenting on his Presidency and life, attributes all of his success to  the message that his parents instilled in him: "The world could be fixed of its problems if every child understood the necessity of their existence."

Maybe there's a necessity for you. Maybe God made you just the way you are, placed you in certain situations for a reason. Maybe God does have a purpose for your life, a work created in advance for you to do, a work that won't get done if you don't do it. A work that can only be fulfilled by one person--you.