Now, this meant a lot of things for me as a child. Things a normal adult human might not think of.

For example, this meant that our cardio-minded neighbors spotted us during our sunrise kickboxing sessions atop our trampoline, as we were accustomed to doing after spending the night upon its springy goodness – usually with sleeping bags over our heads to make it interesting.

It also meant that local pedestrians were able to gaze with great ease upon the wasteland of a backyard my brother and I created after we spread the leveling sand from our broken above-ground pool throughout the entire yard to make our very own white trash mini-golf course.

But most importantly it meant that we had additional sidewalk for all of the antics our little homeschool minds could conjure – which usually involved ramps built with logs and rotting plywood, or strapping wheels to items that should never roll.

One such encounter of said conjuring occurred when I was the wise and discerning age of about 9 years of age; the pinnacle of cognitive development in a boy’s life.

Some friends were over using our magnificent trampoline as they were accustomed to doing, and I decided that this was my moment to really impress them. So I grabbed my off-brand Transformers BMX-wannabe bike, and headed to the front of the house. As I sped down the side of our house approaching the backyard, I took my hands off the handlebars. Just as my bouncing-buddies came into view, I shouted proudly, “Look guys – no hands!”

Somehow the fact that the gate to our fence was wide open had escaped my otherwise thorough calculations.

Blinded to my impending doom by the allure of impressing my trampoline-loving friends, I crashed into our old metal gate harder than Pauley Shore’s career. My left arms went through the chain-link, hurling me from my gloriously heroic bicycle, brutally dragging me along the concrete in a perfect half circle of doom.

As I tried to assess the situation, it became painfully clear that I had tore up my knee pretty badly. I’d like to think my reaction to this realization was stoic and valiant, but I’m sure I cried like a tweenie at a Bieber show. Judge me if you must.

Spellbound at my newly acquired flesh wound, I stared intently at many colors of blood as it poured from my leg until my mother, hearing the screams from our now entertained yet terrified guests, ran to my aid.

Being the loving, caring, and intuitive mother she was and is, my mother immediately brought me inside to clear the debris from my leg. Once we concluded that torture session, she brought a tube of some sorts up from the basement. “This will help keep the scab from becoming too hard”, she said. “It will make life a lot easier when we need to change the gauze.”

I’m convinced now that what my mother brought to me that day was not, in fact, a tube filled with the dreams and rainbows I was promised, but instead was a mislabeled canister of rubber cement mixed with concrete powder. I say this not to assert that my mother had always secretly hoped I would one day be immobile and stop breaking things around the house, but because just a mere twenty-four hours after this “magical” gloop was applied, my wound was as indurated as Dick Van Dyke’s jawline – and it was getting worse.

By the time a week had passed and it was time to change the bandage, my family was using this rocklike wound to open beer cans and bust down castle doors. It was bad. And there I sat, seven days from that infamous event, sitting terrified in the tub with the hopes that a good soaking would make the unwrapping process a little less painful. Once again, my calculations were just a hair off.

After a quick word of inspiration from my father, my mother then slowly peeled away layer one of thirteen away from my grotesque mummy of a kneecap. I gripped the side of the tub like it was a bobsled and shrieked as if someone had stabbed me in the spleen or forced me to watch “I Hate My Teenage Daughter.”

Picking up on the subtly of my discomfort, my mother grabbed a pair of scissors and cut all remaining 12 layers of the gauze on either side of my table-top scab. “This way we can take each layer off a little more easily” she said lovingly. “It will be a lot less trouble.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that my wise and loving mother was there, helping me along. I sat back, feeling much calmer now, working up the courage to give my mom the go-ahead with layer number twelve. However, as I looked off in the distance trying to muster all the boldness my little nine year-old mind could manage, my mother summoned the strength and speed of ten ninjas and quickly ripped off all 12 remaining tiers of wound-protecting cloth in one fell swoop.

I won’t even bother to explain to you my reaction – I’m sure your imagination has already pieced that together. I would simply start with the image of a banshee receiving a root canal and go from there. Not my proudest moment as an aspiring stuntman, that’s for sure.

I was thinking about this story yesterday and drew all of these connections to the years that followed this event. Countless moments where life was painful, embarrassing, or difficult and I wanted to take my sweet time unwrapping the bandage – cringing and squirming at each layer. And then someone or something comes along and rips off all 12 crippling layers and says, “It’s time to let this breathe.”

I’m so rarely ready for those moments. I think few of us ever are. Our lists grows longer and longer of the things we’d like to have “under our belt” before we make this decision or take that risk. We cling to the bandage of familiarity, even if that familiarity is steeped in pain and bitterness. We see the wounds, the memory is still very fresh in our minds, but we’re just not quite ready to take the necessary steps toward healing.

Often I think we desperately need those people in our life that are willing to rip the gauze from our skin when we ourselves perpetually assert that, “We’re not ready.”

The truth is, often we truly aren’t ready, but the greater reality is that we’ll never actually be completely prepared. “When I get this degree, make this much money, meet this person, or feel this feeling” are benchmarks that simply may never come. When we tether ourselves to a ideal that we’ve created, we often end up crippling ourselves – creating a paradigm that rests on the assuredness of our abilities instead of the provisions of a great and loving God. We place the crown upon our own heads and bemoan the kingdom.

If we are always waiting to feel ready, we may one day awake old men and women, crushed with the realization that “ready” never came. We will realize that the wrongs we have done and the wrongs done to us have identified us more than Christ. We will se bandages that needed to be removed long ago, keeping the wounds from the life giving air around us.

I for one need to be reminded that these wounds aren’t permanent, that the breathe of the Spirit brings deep healing, and that I am to boast in my weakness as it brings greater glory to the goodness of God.

May we be a people that do not simply amble recklessly throughout our lives, trying desperately to impress those in the backyards of our lives, but embrace an audacity that clings to the promises of God – event when we feel anything but ready.

Here’s to living sacrificially, loving unconditionally, and serving radically with all that we are.

I actually don’t ever call her that. My name for her ever since I was two years old has been “Fram-Fram”. In fact, that was the exact name I called my grandfather by as well. When I addressed letters to the both of them, I began them like this:

Dearest Fram Fram & Fram Fram,

A short, fiery Irishwoman at 5’ flat, she is the source of and inspiration for countless of my family’s funniest stories. From completely fabricated “foreign” words, to a bargaining spirit that could talk a corpse out of a casket – Fram Fram is one hilarious grandmother.

A story that I was pondering this past week is not my favorite story, nor is it even the funniest. It’s simply one that has me thinking today.

It was the summer of 1995 and my grandparents, as they always did, had driven in to Michigan from Arizona to spend time with family and friends during the warmer months of the Midwest. This was always such a cherished time because of the great distance that usually separated us. Fram Fram and Fram Fram would spend the summer staying from house to house for a couple of weeks at a time, ensuring that they got some quality time with each of the friends and families that they cared most about. We would spend time playing cards, running through the sprinkler, telling stories, and fetching the frosted mug that Grandma kept in the freezer of all her closest friend’s houses. An archetypal Irishwoman, to be sure – she sure loves her beer.

During one such visit to our humble abode, a few of us were packed into our tiny kitchen making a classic childhood lunch – hotdogs, mac and cheese, and lemonade.

After we had successfully mixed the gourmet cheese powder with the noodles, stirred the exquisite lemony grit in a pitcher of water, and boiled the hotdogs to saturated perfection, we prepared to dig in. Before heading to the dining room table I grabbed the pot with the leftover hotdog water, and shuffled carefully to the sink. Just as I was about to pour the clouded elixir down the drain, my grandmother burst into the room.

“What are you doing?!” she inquired excitedly.

A bit confused by the question, I timidly responded, “Um, I thought I was dumping the hotdog water down the drain…”

“Not on my watch!” she responded, and she took the pan full of hotdog nectar from my hands, and ran out the front door.

A bit curious about what had just transpired, we ran outside after her, only to find Fram Fram carefully watering the flowers in our front yard with this pan of foggy hotdog water. Once she had successfully watered the outside plant life, she then came back inside, poured the remaining water into a Ziploc bag, and place it in our refrigerator. She then said sternly, but lovingly “Don’t you ever waste water.”

I remember having a good laugh about this whole scenario years later as we recounted the presumably frenetic actions of my grandmother. My family has a lot of these types of stories, and none of us are exempt. But as I was thinking about this seemingly miniscule event from my past this week, it got my mental fluid flowing and, instead of pouring it down the drain, I thought I’d try watering some flowers instead.

As a child, I didn’t realize understand what it meant to live in a place like Arizona, but my grandparents did. The overwhelming heat and desolate stretches of land were not foreign to them. With this experience came a profound cognizance of and appreciate for water. In the suburbs of Detroit, water wasn’t ever anything I had to think of beyond having enough for my make-shift slip ‘n slide, but to them – water was precious, valued, and treasured – and it showed. Sure, it manifested in ways my pre-pubescent mind found to be comical, but for them, it was not a joke.

I began to think of the things, and more importantly, the people in my life that I consider precious, valued, and treasured. I thought of the scarcity of time I spend intentionally telling these people how cherished they really are. I pondered the infrequency of my relational deposits compared to my withdrawals.

I felt challenged to begin thinking past the “Hey, how are ya’s?” and the “What’s cracka-lackins?” to examine my own heart and how my actions affirm or negate it.

This train of thought reminded me of a scene in the movie, “The Book of Eli” where a nomad named Eli is talking to Solara, the daughter of a concubine forced to spend the night with him, about what the world was like before the apocalypse began.

http://www.movieweb.com/v/VIJg6JLSB1sbMS

“We had no idea what was precious, what wasn’t.”

I think that because of our great excess, whether that is monetary wealth, relational abundance, or what we perceive to be an endless amount of time, we frequently confuse what is precious, and what is not. Often in our lives the most urgent things take the place of the most important things – some of us completely unaware that it is happening. They are not necessarily the same thing.

I remember getting a really difficult letter from a friend of mine years ago. It was a long, honest, and loving letter with a lot of really difficult truths throughout. One line reads:

“Ian – you’re not Superman. You can’t save the whole world. You can’t even love the whole world. While you’re busy trying to love everyone, those who are closest to you have no idea that they are.”

I’ve read those words dozen of times over the years. I’ve even pulled out this letter from time to time to again face the burdensome truths found on these pages. I’m so grateful for friends who will speak the weighty words of admonition to me – and humbled at how far I still have to go.

I so long for the wisdom to see things as God sees them – to live in an Ecclesiastes 3 type of awareness. To look into the eyes of the hurting and for them to know that they are loved. To speak words of edification and grace, and to do so frequently. To say “I love you” and know that they know I mean it. Life is just simply too fleeting not to.

My dear Fram Fram was willing to snatch a pot from an 11 year-old’s hands to show how precious water truly was to her. Perhaps you can ask yourself, as I am -

“What am I willing to do for the cherished relationships in my own life?”

May we move beyond the wisdom of the bumper sticker and the Facebook status and begin to invest our lives in what truly matters.

There is little I can do to keep you from drawing certain jaundiced conclusions based on the above sentence. In fact, some of you are probably judging me right now. I can’t say that I blame you – I do the same thing to other homeschoolers and I’m sort of getting used to it. Now if only I possessed the necessary social skills to actually overcome this tragedy…

I bring this up because there seems to be this myth floating around that homeschoolers don’t ever cause any trouble – that they are good little boys and girls that never break the rules. This, to me, only more deeply affirms my suspicion that homeschoolers are among the sneakiest people on the planet.

I’m here today to herald with lifted chin that homeschoolers are perhaps not as pure as you may have previously speculated. While many do not spend the bulk of their time becoming acquainted with the “Big Three” of adolescent exploration (sex, drugs, The SImpsons), countless numbers of these un-sung heroes investigate more creative avenues of deviance. This is one such tale.

Since the majority of my friends couldn’t afford drugs or alcohol in the first place, we often resigned ourselves to alternative methods of entertainment. These endeavors often resulted with frequent expression of confusion and dismay by grocery store cashiers, local police officers, and onlookers.

One of our most beloved of these undertakings was to jump off a bridge.

Now, this wasn’t just any ordinary bridge. This was a railway trestle bridge. It was on private property about 40 minutes from our house and stood roughly 45-feet above the small pond below. Old Tressy was glorious. She did more than bridge a railway – she bridged our hearts.

On numerous occasions throughout our high school years we would sneak on to the property late at night, scale the crumbling stone hill beside it, do our best to muster any level of courage, and hurl ourselves from the bridge to the water below.

This was particularly terrifying for a few reasons. The first was that, well – it’s jumping off a bridge. I feel pretty justified in my fear there. Secondly, because it was so late at night when we went (so as to not get caught) and there was little to no lighting available, often we couldn’t even see the water below us. That may not sound like a big deal, but when you’re 45-feet up on a railway bridge, to not be able to see the destination where you hope to land is terrifying. Lastly, somewhere in Michigan during the time of our excursions a young man died doing the exact same thing we were doing on a fairly regularly basis. Apparently there was so trouble with the construction of another nearby bridge, and they had to disassemble what they had already started. When they completed the new bridge, however, the original foundation spikes remained and one night a man jumped and impaled himself, dying shortly thereafter.

But did this tale stop us? Of course not. In fact, it wasn’t long before other friends asked to accompany us to the great bridge. We were, of course, happy to oblige. Homeschoolers are nice that way.

After months of treks to this great solution for teenage thrill seeking, we decided that we needed to go Emeril on our adventures and take it up a notch.

Our solution? – Let’s jump naked.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, and I wish I had been thinking the same thing at that time as well,, but who really is making wise, well-informed decisions at 17 anyway? We’d all like to think we’re a “Cory” but honestly, most of us are probably “Erics” (clap twice if you got that reference).

So, as we pull into our secret spot across the road and “quietly” sneak past the house on the property, we cannot help ourselves from letting out the occasional giggle knowing full well that tonight was the night that we partook in the disrobed dive, the bare bound, the stripped spring. We climbed the familiar wall, walked up onto the track, and did what teenage guys in my community did best – we got naked.

Now imagine if you will (just not too vividly) – there are five of us standing on the edge of this railroad bridge, doing our best to cover ourselves with our hands, staring apprehensively at the black abyss below. We had jumped this bridge nearly a dozen times before and yet, in this moment, we were frozen.

“Why don’t you jump, pansy?” one of us would ask. “Look who’s talking, Kenevil!” another would snap back. “Why don’t you grow a pair and jump?” We would each take a friendly stab at the other, desperately hoping they didn’t hear the fear in our voices.

This went on for a few minutes until eventually Chris, who hadn’t said anything up to this point, calmly said, “I’ll go” – and before we could react, had leapt from his spot on the bridge. There was a brief moment of sheer silence until we finally heard a loud “slash” far below us. It was then quiet for another moment or two when finally Chris hollered back up at us:

“Um – guys? I can’t swim”

Worried, surprised, and, frankly – a little humored, we turn and look at each other for a solution. With our friend 45-feet below us, we begin to debate who will brave the frigid waters and save him – naked.

“You save him!” one shouted. Another would reply, I’m not going to save him. I hardly know him! He’s your friend!” Which inspired the response, “Yea, but I don’t know him that well. I’m also not very buoyant.”

This went on for what seemed like an eternity until finally Zach, in exasperation said, “Fine, I’ll save him”. He then took a big nervous breath and jumped after our naked, non-aquatic friend.

We all waited in anticipation to see what would happen next. Zach’s voice was the next sound we heard.

“Whoa, dude – do NOT touch me, man!” he shouted. “But I ne-“, Chris tried to respond. But Zach interjected. “No dude – do not touch me. Turn around and I’ll swim you to shore. Otherwise, I’ll drown you right here. Seriously.” We think Chris got the point because we didn’t hear another sound out of him.

The rest of us eventually jumped, trying desperately not to be outdone by the guy that didn’t even know how to swim, and we reconvened on the shore. Chris stood there, naked, and with his head hung just a little lower than usual.

“You can’t swim? What were you thinking, man?” one of us asked? “I don’t know” Chris said, “It just sounded so fun.”

We, of course, forgave Chris for giving us the scare, but delivered a punishment of having to spend the rest of the evening sans-clothing. No one ever wanted to sit in the backseat of my car again after that.

I was thinking about this story the other day and about how often my faith journey has mirrored so many elements of this adventure. I began to recall the many times in my life that I dove head first into something without even so much as a consideration of what it might truly entail – which often ended in relative disaster.

Jesus talks about this in the Gospels when he speaks to the issue of expectation and how it relates to being his disciple:

For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, saying, “This man began to build and was not able to finish.” – Luke 14:28-30 (ESV)

Essentially, what I believe he was saying was, “Don’t kid yourself – this is a big deal.”

In his book Crazy Love, Francis Chan talk about seeing commercials for the Marines when he was a young man and recalls being enamored at the idea. The only setback – he hated running.

In every single one of those commercials one could see a man or woman sprinting across a dessert or running through the forest before the climactic end – “The few. The proud. The Marines.”

He goes on to say that he still desired to join the Marines, but knew it would be ridiculous to approach a recruiting officer and say, “I’d like to join you all, but I was hoping that I could skip the running part.”

My concern is that many Christians, young and old (myself included) have never really considered the cost of serving Christ. Someone once preached “cheap grace” instead of “free grace” to us years ago and, like my friend Chris, we responded – “Sure, that sounds fun.”

And maybe we were once told that, “If you give your life to Jesus, all of your relationships will be flawless, the money tree you planted last year will finally sprout, and a cloud filled with double-rainbows will follow you wherever you go.”

So then we begin to grow in our faith, or at least in our knowledge and theological vocabulary. Many of us begin to spend more time debating chairs versus pews or obscure theological nuances instead of putting flesh and bone to the nucleus of the Gospel truth – love. But not merely bumper-sticker love, but a love with hands and feet – the kind of love that enters into the pain of humanity and brings stitches when the rest of the world is handing out band aids. A love that doesn’t avoid the storms or pretend that they don’t exist, but s rooted in something deeper.

Then difficulty strikes and we’re furious. We shout as if God abandoned us, not realizing that, for many in the early church, things got more difficult once Jesus entered their lives – not easier. And so we become more and more inwardly focused, slowly imploding on ourselves. Whether this is manifested by a perpetual insistence that we remain the center of caring attention, or we begin to dissect and dissent about the many trivialities in our churches and homes so that we don’t have to deal with the deeper frustration of feeling like we got a raw deal.

I often wonder, “Where are least of these in our vision statements, small groups, and board meetings? Or more personally, where are the least of these in my vision statements, small groups, and board meetings? Have we so emasculated Scripture to point that it functions to serve us rather than the other way around?

Don’t get me wrong – grace is still very much grace. More so then we’ll ever realize, I think. The beautiful and scandalous truth is that there is nothing we can do to make God love us less and there is nothing we can do to make God love us more. We are justified, not by what we do, but by what he has already done.

But is it possible that, in pursuit of noble goals (orthodoxy, friendship, community, encouragement), we have overlooked the deep and pervasive orthopraxy (right action/practice) of service?

Please hear me in this – we still desperately need risk (not the game, praise Jesus) in our lives and the church, maybe now more than ever. Counting the cost is not meant to be the counteragent of risk. We’re often clutching the balance-beam of life, playing it as safe as possible, desperately hoping that at the end we’ll hear our Master say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

This is why I believe we so deeply need both.

May we begin to loosen our grip, being willing to jump into the unknown when God calls us there, always remembering that the cost is real, the road is narrow, and the reward is beyond measure.

Jesus ≠ Religion…

Please don’t misunderstand me – I thoroughly and completely believe that Jesus is, indeed, greater than (>) religion. Much greater. So much greater, in fact, that I feel it is almost frivolous to make the comparison. But not entirely.

If you haven’t yet clothed yourself in sackcloth over the anguish my words have caused, please feel free to read on with the understanding that this is merely one man’s feeble attempt at articulation. God has spoken, the rest is just commentary, right?

Otherwise – my condolences to your soon-to-be-very-itchy skin.

There’s a video by a chap named Jeff Bethke that’s been blowing up the interwebs this last week, and if you have even one moderately gregarious Christian friend in your life – it’s likely you’ve already seen it. If not, grab your typographical caps, a bowl of fair-trade popcorn, and have yourself a gander.

As I’m sure you could guess, this video has sparked just a splash of controversy among – well – everyone, it seems. Bloggers, poets, theologians, journalists, hipsters, power-walkers, dental hygienists, and interpretive dancers have jumped at the opportunity to discuss the contents of this video and, in some cases, drive their theological stake deep in the social soil as well.

Normally I wouldn’t feel in any way compelled to join the symposium for a situation like this, but for some reason I simply cannot shake the urge to respond in some way. I did want to wait, however, until the dust had settled a bit to ensure that my response wasn’t simply a knee-jerk  or merely adding to the tumult surrounding this debate. I hope that I have succeeded in this.

First – I need to be clear and state that my desire in responding is to help catalyze (or continue) and facilitate healthy, edifying, and respectful conversation. I’m not interested in a bash-session nor am I loading my quiver with flaming arrows. I feel there is already far too much “blood on our hands” as brothers and sisters and I have no desire to contribute another tally mark in the record book. Ultimately, my deep hope is for greater unity, stronger clarity, and a deeply propagating love as, I awkwardly try to stumble towards what it means to be Christ-like. Love must permeate all that we pursue and engage. In my opinion, if we aren’t willing to first assume that posture, we have no right (as believers) to join in the debate. May all we say and do flow from a heart and position of love.

Unconditional love, however, sometimes also requires rigorous discernment. A good friend of mine keenly responded to the buzz around this video in this way:

These types of reactions are a result of a group of people (Christians) desiring to seek and know the truth. If we blindly accept anything with a Christian label on it, we compromise that pursuit of truth. And that ultimately hurts us. – DW

Our disposition must be rooted in love, but that in no way means that we need to throw out our brain in the process. I think far too many people swing to either extreme and the danger there is unmistakable. The principles of grace and truth are joined for a reason.

Second – I want to be diligent and forthright in acknowledging this video for what it is – poetry. The argument could be (and has been) made that “art” follows a different set of rules with regard to content and the empirical inerrancy of its composition. As my dear friend said of this very theme:

Sometimes artistic expression is not always based on absolute truth, but on a felt reality. And our realities shift, and sometimes our expressions of such are more visceral than objective- as I think the poet’s was. In summation, I think discussion of such matters can be a very important and exciting necessity to promote deeper understanding. – AE

This is an important and necessary foundation from which a fair dialogue can sprout.  I think the old adage; “our perception becomes our reality” is very much in play here as we seek to understand and make sense of this “lightning-rod” of a video, and is an expedient starting point. One can’t perform surgery until he/she understands what the need truly is. Art or not, though – capital “T” Truth is still Truth and we have the responsibility of accountability when we feel it is challenged or misrepresented. Scripture is our authority – the blogosphere is not.

A strong and intriguing discourse could be launched from here pertaining to the issue of excellence in Christian artistry and the predominately parodic nature of the Christian marketplace in general, but I’ll retain that discussion for another time.

That said – it is also not my aspiration to develop a tenacious rebuttal (in the traditional sense), or dissect every idiom and nuance of either “camp.” The internet is already chock full of “blow-by-blow” exegesis and dramatic confutations (i.e. “Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus – The Smackdown”). While I see some benefit to these methods, I observe many (certainly not all) of these attempts as primarily divisive, combative, and narcissistic in nature. I hope and pray my response is as free from those attributes as possible. Lord – save us from ourselves.

While I may disagree with some of the theology stated in Bethke’s video, there is much that I love and agree with as well. I sincerely believe that he is a brother who loves Jesus and longs for the world to know of God’s scandalous grace. As Paul rejoiced when the message was preached anyone, I too rejoice that these conversations are taking place and that people are interacting with these dep truths for the first time. What an incredible blessing.

Bethke ends this poem with a profoundly poignant proclamation of the cross and invites those listening to come to Christ. I do not believe he hates the Church or even despises orthodox Christianity. In my humble opinion, the strengths of this video certainly outweigh the weaknesses. In fact, he posted this statement on his Facebook page just a few days ago:

If you are using my video to bash “the church” be careful. I was in no way intending to do that. My heart came from trying to highlight and expose legalism and hypocrisy. The Church is Jesus’ bride so be careful how you speak of His wife. If a normal dude has right to get pissed when you bash His wife, it makes me tremble to think how great the weight is when we do it to Jesus’ wife. The church is His vehicle to reach a lost word. A hospital for sinners. Saying you love Jesus but hate the Church, is like a fiancé saying he loves his future bride, but hates her kids. We are all under grace. Look to Him. -Jefferson Bethke

So, to get to the core of the commotion, I will attempt to focus my efforts. It appears that the crux of both criticism and praise for this video is stated in Bethke’s opening line:

What if I told you Jesus came to abolish religion?

It’s been said that this is merely an issue of semantics and explication – that Bethke really just means “legalism” or “hypocrisy,” but I’m not entirely convinced that such an answer will fully suffice nor do I believe it to be the most helpful route to take. I do want to be particularly careful to avoid the type of trap that another friend observed a couple of days ago in response to the many blog posts and articles flooding the internet:

I believe the sloppy semantics might unfortunately create a whirlwind of criticism in the Christian circles that will once again unnecessarily make us all look like an in-fighting bitter family instead of one that loves each other – RG

And, as another wise friend said:

The nitpicking I think is at least one of the negative points that outsiders see in our American Church today. I don’t think that the video does any damage to Jesus, and I certainly don’t think that it could possibly lead someone down a bad path. Sometimes I think that we as seasoned Christians need to understand that things like this may not be intended for us, but for a different demographic, perhaps someone who isn’t a theological scholar. – SW

That said – I want to try and keep scholarship and accessibility in essential tension and respond with the love, grace, and truth that I believe we are called to always model and emit – even when it is difficult to do so.

Phew – okay. Still with me? Here we go.

The most common scriptural rebuttal I’ve seen in reaction to the first verse of Bethke’s poem comes from the first chapter of the book of James (which, I think pseudo-ironically speaks to many of the complications surrounding this issue in general):

²⁷ Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world. – James 1:27 (ESV)

Now, one commentator defines “religion” as “the outward practice, the service of a god” while Webster’s defines it this way – “a specific fundamental set of beliefs and practices generally agreed upon by a number of persons or sects.”

Herodotus (2:37) uses the very same word of various observances practiced by the Egyptian priests, such as wearing linen, circumcision, shaving, etc. The derivation is uncertain.

But there are some issues I see with offering this as a blanket retort to Bethke’s poem in defense of the legalistic structure I believe he is opposing in this video.

The word “religion” in this passage is the Greek word thrēkeia and it appears only five times in all of the New Testament – three of which are here in James 1.

The two other occurrences are:

¹⁸ Let no one disqualify you, insisting on asceticism and worship (thrēkeia) of angels, going on in detail about visions,puffed up without reason by his sensuous mind – Colossians 2:18 (ESV)

⁵ They have known for a long time, if they are willing to testify, that according to the strictest party of our religion (thrēkeia) I have lived as a Pharisee. – Acts 26:5 (ESV)

It is apparent to me from James that God’s emphasis is not on religious ritual but right living. Pure religion has nothing to do with ceremonies, temples, or special days. Pure religion means living out God’s Word and sharing it with others through:

1. Speech
2. Service, and
3. Sanctification

Now, there are many references to speech in this letter, including verse 26 – giving the impression that the tongue was a serious issue in this particular assembly. It is the tongue that reveals the heart. As Doctor Luke put it – “What you say flows from what is in your heart” (Luke 6:45 – NLT).

By this same standard, we cannot simply excuse what we believe to be doctrinally specious or theologically counterfactual. Some have stated that it is not so much what is said in this video that they take issue with, but the manner in which it is said – and in some sense I agree. I would ask Bethke, “Is a proclamation of rebellion the most helpful, most edifying, and most God-honoring method available?” And at the same time, as many of us attempt to articulate a response, I believe we should ask ourselves the same question. Are our words and approach the best way to honor God and usher in His Kingdom? We must be extremely careful to not fall into the same kind of omission many are accusing Bethke of.

According to James 1 – after we have seen ourselves and Christ in the mirror of the Word, we must see others and their needs. Isaiah first saw the Lord, then himself, and then the people to whom he would minister (Isaiah 6:1-8). Words are no substitute for deeds of love (James 2:14-18; 1 John 3:11-18). God does not want us to pay for others to minister as a substitute for our own personal service. As noted by Christ’s familiar invitation of, “Come, follow me” we should observe that he is a Rabbi of physicality – of movement. We have a model we are to follow and a road to walk. As some ancient writers put it, we are to be “covered in the dust of our Rabbi’s feet.” There is absolutely a “do” aspect to the Gospel, and to imply that there isn’t is misleading.

For example, a (usually sarcastic) Greek historian and satirist named Lucian, who lived between 120 and 200 AD, and despised the Christians of his time wrote-

“It is incredible to see the fervor with which the people of that religion help each other in their wants. They spare nothing.”

In fact, what James is saying in this chapter is that mere knowledge without action is not only useless – it’s self-deceiving.

This is one of the sharp distinctions between the “cheap grace” being taught in many of the neo-evangelical and emergent churches today and the “free grace” of the New Covenant. We must be careful not to confuse the two.

When Bethke states that Jesus came to abolish religion, I would say that it really depends on how one defines religion. It appears that he sees it as purely man-made – a feeble, oppressive method of trying to earn God’s favor. This definition carries with it a stench hypocrisy, smug moralism, and subjugation that I would be inclined to agree with as well. Some of Jesus’ harshest criticisms were directed towards those who observed strict adherence to the law, but with a total absence of faith, love, and action. As Kevin Deyoung observed, “(According to Bethke) religion is all law and no gospel. If that’s religion, then Jesus is certainly against it. But that’s not what religion is.”

I would agree with Bethke that perhaps this is what religion has become or even what many have observed it to be, but I would also agree with Deyoung who says that we must be extremely careful about the words that we choose to use. In the age of what Christian Smith calls moralistic therapeutic deism (a belief system that elevates human effort as the means of salvation, healing, and appeasement in the eyes of a distant therapist in the sky), we as believers have an enormous tasks of exposing this type of misguided teaching for what it is. Not only exposing, however, but walking with our brothers and sisters to healing and restoration as well.

The thing is, words matter and it is risky to define them however we please. A Jesus that hates religion is sexy and controversial – something my generation is growing increasingly obsessed with. But there are some fundamental observations about Jesus’ religious interactions from Scripture that I don’t think we can ignore (adapted from Deyoung’s post):

• Jesus went to services at the synagogues
• Jesus solemnized holy days
• Jesus said that he did not come to destroy the Law or the Prophets, but fulfill them (Mt. 5:17)
• Jesus established the church (Mt. 16:18)
• Jesus instituted church discipline (Mt. 18:15-20)
• Jesus inaugurated a sacramental meal (Mt. 26:26-28)
• Jesus commissioned his believers to baptize and teach (Mt. 28:19-20)
• Jesus insisted that believe in him and believe certain things about him (John 14:6)

Jesus said things like:

Whoever says, “I know him” but does not keep his commandments is a liar, and the truth is not in him– 1 John 2:4 (ESV – emphasis added)

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me – John 10:27 (ESV- emphasis added)

In fact, Peter writes in 1 Peter chapter two:

For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. – 1 Peter 2:21 (ESV – emphasis added)

The words “an example” is the Greek word hypogrammon – which literally means, “an underwriting.” In Jewish schools, students would have a sort of tracing paper placed over a document the teacher had prepared ahead of time, and the student would very carefully trace the characters written previously by the  instructor as they learned to write. We are to “do as he did”, following closely in his steps. There is most certainly a deep sense of mobility in the Gospel message. Jesus says both, “it is finished” and “it is only just beginning.” We cannot continue to glorify our brokenness and fail to acknowledge the regeneration that God longs to impart. As Deyoung stated, “the grace that forgives is also the grace that transforms.”

He goes on:

“…there is no inherent dignity in being broken. Jesus likes the honesty that acknowledges sin, hates it and turns away, but he does not love authenticity for its own sake. We have to be more careful with our language. When Paul boasted of his weakness, he was boasting of his suffering, his lack of impressiveness, and the trials he endured (1 Cor. 2:3; 2 Cor. 11:30; 12:9). He never boasted of his temptations or his sins—past or present. That’s not what he meant by weakness. Being broken is not the point, except to be forgiven and changed”

As a mentor used to tell me:

“God loves you exactly how you are, and too much to let you stay that way” -DS

To me, a misunderstanding of this reality is a misunderstanding of a much bigger concept than mere weakness or works.

Which I think ultimately boils down to an issue of justification.

“Justification by faith” was the watchword of the Reformation, and it is important that we understand this doctrine.

It is a legal term, borrowed from the ancient legal courts and means “to declare righteous.” Its opposite is “to condemn.”

But what is justification? Justification is the act of God whereby He declares the believing sinner righteous in Jesus Christ. Every word of this definition is important. Justification is an act and not a process.

In other words, no Christian is “more justified” than another Christian (Romans 5:1). How beautiful is that?

Since we are justified by faith, it is an instant and immediate transaction between the believing sinner and God. If we were justified by works, then it would have to be a gradual process.

In justification, God declares the believing sinner righteous; He does not make him righteous. (Of course, real justification leads to a changed life, which is what James 2 is all about.) Before the sinner trusts Christ, he stands guilty before God; but the moment he trusts Christ, he is declared not guilty. Truthfully – this still blows my mind…

Justification is also different from “pardon,” because a pardoned criminal still has a record. When the sinner is justified by faith, his past sins are remembered against him no more, and God no longer puts his sins on record

It’s also important to note that God justifies sinners, not “good people.” Paul declares that God justifies “the ungodly” (Rom. 4:5). Sinners are the only kind of people Jesus Christ can save (Matt. 9:9–13; Luke 18:9–14).

It’s out of this heart that I believe Bethke says, “Religion says do, Jesus says done” but even that can be a bit misrepresentative. Many in my own sphere of influence like to say of Christianity things like, “There’s no rules – just a relationship”, but we know that Jesus commissions us to do everything he has commanded (Matt. 28:20).  However, if Bethke interprets “do” as “do this in order to earn God’s forgiveness and favor” then I would say the juxtaposition is quite fitting.

Gospel truth says that we worship God, not so that he’ll accept us, but because in Jesus he already does. We serve him not so that he’ll redeem us, but because in Jesus he already does (Romans 3:22). Paul recognized that, once he met Jesus – everything changed for him. His entire pious religious track record was like garbage compared to the scandalous grace of Jesus Christ. His response was both thankfulness, and action. His response was so radical, in fact, that many doubted it’s legitimacy.

Religion then, is not our attempt to earn God’s favor, merit, or blessing. Quite the contrary. It is an effort to bring greater glory to God and edification to one another as response to the immeasurable mercy, grace, and love of a perfectly omnipotent God poured out for sinful, separated man. It is a commitment to love as he first loved us. It is a pledge to enter into the messiness and despair of humanity as Christ modeled in the incarnation, and walk in restoration, to the glory of God.

Religion is not the enemy. Satan is. The Church has most certainly made more mistakes than any of us are even aware of and I have no doubt that Satan is still at work through many of those in positions of influence within the church. But she is still Christ’s bride.

As pastor and author David Platt has said, “Church, we are Plan A – and there is no Plan B.” St. Augustine has been attributed with coining the phrase “The church is a whore, but she’s my mother.” Because of the cross we have the freedom to disagree, but we must be careful what position we take on Christ’s bride.

Ultimately, none of us are completely right. Truth is a person – not a doctrinal statement, denomination, or theological position. We need Jesus more than we’ll ever realize this side of eternity. Our deficiency is greater than we can ever hope to measure.

With patience in His love I’ll rest,

And whisper that He knoweth best,

Then, clinging to that guiding hand,

A weakling, in His strength I’ll stand.

My prayer is that this discussion spurs a joining of hearts in greater unity instead of contention. May we be committed to harmony in the primary and not divisive in the secondary.

May our eyes be open enough to enter into the pain around us, may our hearts break for the things that break God’s heart, may our feet join in the dance of liberation, and may we never cease to speak love to one another.

May our words carry life.

A religion that gives nothing, costs nothing, and suffers nothing, is worth nothing. –Martin Luther

When it comes to the notion of humility, I think that many of us have conflicting ideas of how it should actually look.

I think Paul puts it brilliantly in Philippians 2:

“Don’t push your way to the front; don’t sweet-talk your way to the top. Put yourself aside, and help others get ahead.” Philippians 2:3 (MSG)

I feel like I got this talk a lot when I was a child. Anyone who has ever had siblings has likely experienced the beauty of sibling rivalry. The unfortunate reality is that many Christians, while biologically adult, are still spiritual children – picking fights and competing with fellow brothers and sisters. We crave success – sometimes at all costs.

Jesus tells a famous parable in Luke 14 that goes something like this:

(Forgive my creative license)

Imagine that you show up a little late to a friend’s wedding. The service is a few minutes away from starting. You poke your head into the sanctuary and spot a couple of open seats at the front of the room.  You quietly sneak into the room and quickly take the seat you spotted.  As you settle into your chair in preparation for the ceremony, an usher sheepishly approaches you and says, “I’m sorry sir – but you’re in Nanna’s seat. I have to ask that you move.” And then, just moments before the service began; you are stood up in front of everyone and escorted to the balcony. Guests look back at you with embarrassment and contempt as they shake their furrowed brows.  For years to come the bride and groom will watch their wedding tape and ask themselves, “What was he thinking?”

Now, picture that same wedding scene unfolding with just a few changes. You show up to the church a little late, poke your head into the sanctuary and realize that all available seats are taken. You quietly make your way to the back row of the balcony seating and peruse the ceremony program that was handed to you. Just before the service begins, the groom, standing upfront, notices you sitting in the balcony. He calls an usher over, points to the balcony and says, “That is a dear friend of mine. He should not be sitting back there by himself. Please go get him and give him this seat up front before the service starts.”

So now you’re being escorted down the aisle – the right way.

See, if you start with exaltation, God is going to give you humiliation. But if you start with humility, God can exalt you. Many of us don’t see this as the problem it truly is. We’re bold, maybe a little pushy, but because most people don’t like confrontation, they let it slide.

From what I can understand, Jesus doesn’t mind you getting the good seat. The question is “Have you taken it or was it given to you?” This is why Peter says:

“Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time” -1 Peter 5:6

One of the first conductors born and educated in the United States to receive worldwide acclaim was Leonard Bernstein. He directed the New York Philharmonic, conducted concerts by some of the world’s leading orchestras, wrote symphonies, and numerous pieces for Broadway. His obituary in The New York Times (October 15, 1990) called him “one of the most… talented and successful musicians in American history.”

Bernstein once was asked which instrument was the most difficult to play. He said, “The second fiddle. I can get plenty of first violinists, but to find someone who can play the second fiddle with enthusiasm—that’s a problem.”

There’s a somewhat famous poem by Cicely Fox Smith actually called “Second Fiddle.” It goes like this:

The hardest instrument to play
Is second fiddle, so they say
And I believe this is so
I’ve tried, but haven’t mastered it though
It takes more grace than pen can tell
To play the second fiddle well.

The second fiddle compliments
All the other instruments
While faithful to keep time and tone
Tis of great price and worth unknown
It takes more grace than pen can tell
To play the second fiddle well.

The master looks for those who he
Can use in his great symphony
Tis but a few can bend and blend
On whom he always can depend
It takes more grace than pen can tell
To play the second fiddle well.

I began thinking about this idea of life as it pertains to an orchestra. Our Ministry Director of Worship Arts put it brilliantly while teaching our musicians about this idea of humility in service.

“An entire band equals 100%,” she told them. “If each member is playing at 100% the entire time, then all you have is a mess of noise. But if you understand that you are collectively 100%, you can really make something beautiful.”

Anyone that has ever played in a (mentally healthy) band or on a (relatively ego-free) sports team understands this important dynamic. Blazing solos don’t make a band any more than a hot-dogging striker makes a soccer team. As Christians, we are a part of a much bigger narrative – a much bigger composition. And we miss out on the beauty of community every moment that we fail to understand this important truth.

For example, if I played you this clip, I’d venture to guess that most of you would have no idea what it was you were listening to (if the title didn’t give it away, of course). You might even be slightly embarrassed that I chose to post it.

Not all that impressive, right?

But if I played you this clip, few of you would have any difficulty identifying exactly what song this was.

Some of you might have even been unable to fight the temptation to get up out of your chair and dance a bit. I won’t judge you.

The point is this: apart from the greater composition of the greater song being written, our feeble attempts have little impact. We must keep in perspective that we are the paint, not the painter, and sometimes it is well worth our while to step back from the canvas now and again to observe the greater configuration around us.

This is why I think Harry Truman said:

“It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit.”

Which is why verses three and four of Philippians 2 is so profound to me:

³ Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, ⁴ not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.

That word “looking” in verse four is the word “scopos,” which is where we get our word “scope” – as in telescope, or microscope. It’s like the scope on a rifle. It’s sole purpose is to help one see clearly and with great focus the target they are aiming at.

If I’m completely transparent, much of my service comes as a result of someone asking me for help. Opportunities often seem to fall into my lap and I merely try my best not to screw it up. But for Paul, the objective and root of humility is not to simply handle well the opportunities that smack us across the face but to search intently for those opportunities.

To me, this means learning how to shut my mouth, to put on hold talking about my life, struggles, and victories, and actually listening to the often cryptic needs that are being communicated all the time.  To stop looking at my own situation first and to begin to hone in on the needs and lives of the people around me is a difficult but beautiful discipline.

We see this on the cross that, while Jesus is moments away from his own death, he is caring, inviting, and forgiving – and not just those who have been good to him.

We imitate Christ by choosing to be genuinely interested in the lives of those around us. When a spouse is sarcastic and you want to lash out, when someone fails to recognize your contribution – our response should be grace and service.

Paul continues:

⁵ In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:

⁶ Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
⁷ rather, he made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.

Paul understands the importance of our mindset, and sets the bar high. This is the classic “outlook determines outcome, and attitude determines action” mantra, and Paul seems to see this as an enormous priority for Christ’s church. How we think about God and others will have a tremendous impact on how we act.

A reporter was interviewing a successful job counselor who had placed hundreds of workers in their vocations quite happily. When asked the secret of his success, the man replied: “If you want to find out what a worker is really like, don’t give him responsibilities—give him privileges. Most people can handle responsibilities if you pay them enough, but it takes a real leader to handle privileges. A leader will use his privileges to help others and build the organization; a lesser man will use privileges to promote himself.” Jesus used His heavenly privileges for the sake of others—for our sake.

In verse seven we see what theologians call the “Hypostatic Union” which, simply put, is the personal union between Jesus’ two complete natures – adding humanity to His divinity.

For those burrito lovers out there, you probably know the difference between merely a burrito and a burrito con carne. I am confident that I could walk into any gathering of men anywhere in the United States and, if asked what carne meant, would respond with resoundingly:

“Meat!”

Now, forgive my redneck theology here, but this is essentially where we get the word “incarnation”. It’s Jesus – with meat.

The creator joins creation. God, who is spirit, takes on a physical body. This means that he got hungry, stubbed his toe, blew his nose, and bled real blood. He stepped out of eternity and down from paradise, not to ride in on a white horse, but to be born in a feeding trough to an impoverished young couple. Not to some glamorous job, but as a laborer. Not to endless wealth, but poverty. In contrast to Adam and his temptation to seize that which would make him “like God,” Jesus chooses to forfeit. Our meager attempts at humility are nothing in comparison to this sacrifice.

Verse eights reads:

⁸ And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death—
even death on a cross!

Many of us are willing to serve others, but only as long as it doesn’t actually cost us anything. The moment is makes us remotely uncomfortable or stretched our pocket book, many of us bail.

Martin Luther once said:

A religion that gives nothing, costs nothing, and suffers nothing, is worth nothing. -Martin Luther

The test of the submissive mind is not just how much we are willing to take in terms of suffering, but how much we are willing to give in terms of sacrifice. Thinking of “others” in some sort of safe or abstract sense only is insufficient; we must get down to the nitty-gritty of true service and stare suffering straight in the eyes. After all, Jesus went from having throngs of angels sing endlessly “Holy, holy, holy” to hearing the violently cries of an angry crowd scream “Crucify, crucify, crucify.” Don’t forget that this King of Kings knelt to wash the dirt from his followers feet – a truly backwards and upside down model of leadership for many of us.

This section ends with a statement of exaltation:

⁹ Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name,
¹⁰ that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
¹¹ and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.

The whole purpose of Christ’s humiliation and ultimate exaltation is the glory of God.

When I try to think of the fundamental differences between pride and humility, this is how I think of it:

So, perhaps you’re sitting there asking yourself the question, “I wonder if I’m prideful.” Well, inquisitive reader – you are in luck. I stole this rather helpful “Pride Test” from a pastor that might be of some benefit to you:

First, ask yourself the following questions:

1. Do you long for a lot of attention?

Are you often making a scene so that people notice that you’re upset?

2. Do you become jealous or critical of people who succeed?

Do you find yourself saying “I can’t believe he got that job!” or “I can’t believe she’s married!”?

3. Do you always have to win?

Some of us can’t even lose at board games

4. Do you have a pattern of lying?

Lying is essentially pride manifest in not wanting the real you to be exposed

5. Do you have a hard time acknowledging you were wrong?

Are you the kind of person that squirms when cornered and tries to deflect to anther issue?

6. Do you have a lot of conflicts with other people?

Jesus still had conflicts with people and was the most humble person ever. But get two prideful people in a room together, and you know what I’m talking about.

7. Do you cut in line at the store, airport, on the freeway, etc.?

Many of us will cut in line and stare everyone else down because we know they won’t say anything. Or we pretend to be on the phone.

8. Do you get upset when people do not honor your achievements?

Are you always wondering where your accolades are?

9. Do you tend more toward an attitude of entitlement or thankfulness?

When you are a sinner saved by grace, you recognize that we deserve Hell an that every breathe is a gift from God.

10. Do you honestly feel you are basically a good person and superior to others?

Salvation by grace rejoices in the fact that, while we were deserving of death and no better than any other sinner, Christ saved us.

Now it’s time get your results. If each question is worth one point, this is how to score it:

If you scored 1-10 points – you’re prideful

If you scored 0 points – you’re very prideful

Ultimately, I don’t believe that we ever actually achieve humility. If we did, we would be so filled with pride that it would cancel out all of our hard work. If you want to grow in humility, don’t focus on humility – that kind of focus still results in a prideful self-obsession.

The answer to pride is not humility – humility is the bi-product of growing closer to Jesus. As you get to know Him and grow closer to Him, the things that we brag about seem a little bit more ridiculous every day.

Jesus is the answer to pride. All we can say is “By God’s grace I am a proud person, pursuing Christ.” To grow in humility we must think about someone else and that person is Jesus.

For those pragmatists out there, here are some practical steps you can take towards pursuing humility:

• Follow truth wherever it leads – Even if that means that you’re wrong, you have to apologize, or you even have to lose your job.
• Invite and pursue correction and council – Say to someone you trust “I need you to speak into my life.”
• Learn from everyone, even enemies and critics – Have the humility to overlook their pride.
• Repent quickly and thoroughly – Don’t make someone pin you to the mat before you tap. Just tap.
• Seek and celebrate God’s work in the lives of other Christians – Look intentionally for it. Make an effort to tell them to their face.
• Cultivate a spirit of thankfulness – Proud people think they deserve everything – humble people recognize that everything is a gift.
• Listen to Scripture more than yourself – Our emotions are often inconsistent. Scripture isn’t.
• Exalt the name of Jesus in all you do – When unsure about a decision, the right answer is always whatever make Jesus look good.
• Laugh –Proud people can’t laugh at themselves. Be willing to laugh at yourself now and again.
• Sleep – Sleep like a Christian. Proud people toss and turn wondering if people noticed their work, if so-and-so likes them, and if they’ll be successful. Rest in who God says you are.

I’ll end with two brilliant quotes that I think summarize what I’m wrestling with in my heart.

“Is not the most effective way of bridling my delight in being made much of, to focus on making much of God? Self-denial and crucifixion of the flesh are essential, but O how easy it is to be made much of even for my self-denial! How shall this insidious motive of pleasure in being made much of be broken except through bending all my faculties to delight in the pleasure of making much of God!” – John Piper

“The pleasure of pride is like the pleasure of scratching. If there is an itch one does want to scratch; but it is much nicer to have neither the itch nor the scratch. As long as we have the itch of self-regard we shall want the pleasure of self-approval; but the happiest moments are those when we forget our precious selves and have neither but have everything else (God, our fellow humans, the garden and the sky) instead” - C. S. Lewis

How many of you know someone like this?

Better yet, how many of you are someone like this?

Pride and arrogance is not something we have to do much searching to discover, it seems. Think about it – when was the last time you heard a rockstar, athlete, actor or politician speaking in a public forum and thought “Now there’s someone who is advancing the value and virtue of humility?”

Can you imagine how strange the music videos would appear to us if a spirit of humility swept the hip-hop industry? Everyone would be wearing lemon-yellow sweater vests drinking Earl Grey, swapping stories about how much they respect their wife and appreciate their parents.

But truthfully, I’m not sure that notions of humility are even in the scope of desire for the average American. In fact, quite the opposite seems to be true.

When a man named William Bennet wrote the “Book of Virtues”, the one virtue that was intentionally left out was humility. Maslow created his “Hierarchy of Needs “ which placed self-actualization at the very top of this pyramid – almost as if to imply that our greatest goal has humans is to achieve our fullest potential in this life.

And while I don’t think his model is the most detestable thing ever created by man, I must humbly disagree and say plainly – that our greatest drive and sole purpose is to bring glory to God, not ourselves.

While we do not feel a need by any stretch to shy away from terms like “pride” in the western world, we’ve even developed other more politically correct terms to conceal the etymology, terms like “self-esteem” – which is truly just pride rolled in argot sugar.

For the Christian I believe this poses a serious challenge because, quite frankly, books like Isaiah 14 and Ezekiel 28 don’t seem interpret pride as a subtle, intrinsic hiccup, but instead understand it to be downright evil at its core. In fact, Augustine famously said:

“Pride is like a mother that is pregnant with all the other sins”

But pride has become so engrained in our education and culture that, for many of us, its presence in our life doesn’t even show up on our radar.

There’s a story about a young turtle who had grown tired of the Chicago winters (understandably) and so decided to pitch an idea to a couple of geese flying south for the winter. He suggested that the two geese held a rope between them by their feet and the turtle would grasp tightly to the rope with his strong jaw while they flew him to warmer climates. To his surprise, they actually went for the idea, and in a few short minutes, he was airborne. A few miles into the trip, other birds began to notice this incredible feet. One bird finally flew up to this unique trio and said “What an innovative idea! Who’s brilliant idea was that?

And the turtle then responded “ I diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid…….”

That’s obviously a ridiculous story, but for me, it really illustrated ideas I’ve read in Scripture before like:

Pride comes before destruction, and an arrogant spirit before a fall. –Proverbs 16:18 (HCSB)

By pride and insolence comes only contention- Proverbs 13:10 (AMP)

I hate pride and arrogance – Proverbs 8:13 (NIV)

All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because, “God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble.” – 1 Peter 5:5 (NIV)

As I understand it, many of us each day are saying to each other things like “Well, I suppose I am prideful at times, but everyone struggles in that area.” While God is saying, “I hate pride and arrogance” many of us are dismissing it as nothing more than nuance. And I feel like most of us aren’t likely waking up in the morning, turning to God, and saying things like “I dare you to stop me cheating here or lying there”, yet it seems that, for Peter, the prideful are doing just that – and God opposes those of that posturing. Truthfully, that’s what happened with Satan, right? In his arrogance he was cast out of Heaven for his unwillingness to be second to anyone. His kingdom-craving was unquenchable.  Which I think highlights an important truth:

God’s Plan A is humility, but His Plan B is humiliation. May I submit to you that Plan A is a much better way to go.

Paul talks about this notion of humility and unity in a beautifully pivotal passage in his letter to the church in Philippi:

 1 If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, 2 then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose. 3 Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. 4 Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others. 5 Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:

 6 Who, being in very nature God, 
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, 
7 but made himself nothing, 
 taking the very nature of a servant, 
 being made in human likeness. 
8 And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death— even death on a cross!

9 Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, 
10 that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,  in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 
11 and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.-Philippians 2:1-11 (NIV)

Now, I’ve found that a lot of people like to peg Paul as an idealist but I would argue that being a prisoner has a strange and subtle way of beating idealism out of you. Paul’s context as one under house arrest is incredibly important to keep in mind.

This short passage is full of all sorts of nuances that nerds like me find fascinating, but I won’t bore you with all of those. There are a few details that are particularly important to note, however.

For instance, that very first word “if” here is in the conditional particle, which speaks not of unforeseeable prospects but a fulfilled condition. Some commentators believe its better translated as the word “since” instead. To me, that changes the entire tone and feel of the words that follow.

Just a few words later Paul uses the word “tenderness” which is the Greek word spanchna – the same word used for bowels or intestines. For the Jews, the intestines were the deepest seat of a person’s emotions, passions, and feelings.  Paul seems to believe that our unity in Christ and love of Christ are to the driving force behind our very core – the gut of who we are.

In verse two, Paul talks about completing his joy. He already has joy, but it’s made complete by the unity they embody. I believe that everyone can experience joy because God graciously allows for people everywhere to experience goodness in some capacity. But for the Christian, I think that we’re called to a heightened and sustaining joy – rooted in the bond that exists between them and God.

This is why I find passaged like Psalm 30:11 to be so beautiful. It says:

¹ You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy

To me, being clothed with something is far more enduring than the erratic joy that many of us tend to experience. It is beyond circumstance and context and is made complete by our decision to actively pursue unity and humility.

When he speaks of “having the same love,” the word “having” there is both the participle present and active tense, implying that this is a maintaining kind of love, one that is worked on and worked towards intentionally and continuously. It’s not just a decision to “join a church,” or merely telling someone once that you love them. It’s working purposefully towards fostering, developing, and growing a deep-seated love and unity.

John MacArthur once wisely said:

“On a purely emotional level, having equal love for others is impossible, because people are not equally attractive. …however, [it] is the love of the will, not of preference or attraction. It is based on an intentional, conscious choice to seek the welfare of its object.”-John MacArthur

And an old parody of a favorite hymn reads:

“To dwell above with the saints we love, that will be glory. But to dwell below with the saints we know, well that is a different story.”

To take it a step further, the phrase “same love” in verse two literally means, “to be equally disposed to love and be love.”

Many of you have no problem actively seeking to serve the needs of others. Your beautiful heart of service is apparent and visible to anyone who even remotely knows you, but you’ll be hard pressed to ever truly allow someone else to serve you. It’s Peter at the Last Supper, who’s initial reaction to Christ’s decision to wash His disciple’s feet was passionate opposition.

To “have the same love” means not only that you get to be the “humble hero,” always sacrificing of your time and energy to serve a greater good. It also means to pursue humility enough that would allow even your King and Messiah to wash the dirt from your very feet.

Paul knew what some church workers today do not know, that there is a difference between unity and uniformity. True spiritual unity comes from within; it is a matter of the heart. Uniformity is the result of pressure from without. It demands that everyone looks, talks, and thinks exactly like them.

There is also a massive difference between unity and union as well. For instance, if you take two cats, tie their tails together, and throw them over a clothesline, they’ll have union, but you better believe that they’re not likely going to have a whole lot of real unity in that moment.

For years I believed that if I was in the same ministry, the same small group, or even the same building as other Christians that I was somehow living out the type of unity and community that Scripture speaks of. Truthfully and tragically I believe that there are millions upon millions of church-goers every week who are kidding themselves into thinking that, since they all showed up to the same address on a particular morning, that they are unified.

May we move past the tactics of relevant contextualization and cotton-candy theology to a place of unrelenting love, service, and unity for those around us.

May our joy be complete.

(To be continued)

What did you want to be when you grew up? Or, perhaps it’s more appropriate to ask, what do you want to be when you grow up?

I remember looking out the back window of our home years ago and seeing my little brother Trav playing in the backyard by himself. After a few minutes, a group of highschoolers walked past the yard on their way home from school. Trav’s eyes lit up and he immediately ran to the fence to greet this collection icons.

“Hello!” he yelled excitedly.

They ignored him entirely – like annoyed rockstars at a concert.

“Hi there! My name is Travis!”

Still nothing.

“My name is Travis! What’s yours?”

And silently, they walked out of sight.

And we saw little 6-year old Travis standing in the backyard all by himself, my heart just sunk. As he came running inside, I fully expected an outburst of uncontrollable tears. To my surprise, he ran up to my mother and I with a strange smile on his face and eagerness in his eyes.

“I know what I want to be when I grow up!” he stated authoritatively.

“Really? What’s that, buddy?” I asked.

“When I grow up, I want to be a teenager!” he replied.

When it comes to growth, I think many of us set our sights to some rather strange destinations. You know what I’m talking about. How many of you were certain that you’d be an astronaut, supermodel, scientist, or crochet aficionado when you became a contributing member of society? I remember another younger brother named Sam once proclaimed, “When I grow up, I want to be a football!” We thought what you’re probably thinking – “Not, a football player? Football star?” No, no – we asked. He wanted to be a football. He may have been dropped as a child. I think we all were.

At what point did we begin to compromise on those childhood dreams? What did it feel like to realize your grip on these ideas and ideals was slowly loosening? Was it a gradual drifting or did it hit you like a lightning bolt one day? Isn’t it strange how these passions tend to naturally often float away from us and not towards us? I myself wanted to be a rockstar in a band and swore for years that I would play any instrument but the drums. Drummers were boring to me. When I was a child, it seemed like everyone else in the band got to run and jump all over the stage like maniacs, but the poor sap of a drummer had to stay put. As I began highschool my opinion shifted slightly and  my observations seemed to assert that drummers never got the girl. It was always the lead singer. Or guitarist. Or even the tuba player, for that matter. “Drummers get no love” I thought.

Despite all this undeniable evidence, however, what did I end up becoming? A drummer, of course.

We explored this notion of growth this weekend by examining a brilliant text in Ephesians:

¹¹ It was he who gave some to be apostles, some to be prophets, some to be evangelists, and some to be pastors and teachers, ¹² to prepare God’s people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up ¹³ until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.

 ¹⁴ Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of men in their deceitful scheming. ¹⁵ Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will in all things grow up into him who is the Head, that is, Christ. ¹⁶ From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work. –Ephesians 4:1-16 (NIV)

The first half of this text is particularly intriguing to me for a number of reasons.

First of all, Paul is writing while under house arrest to a church (one he established on his second missionary journey) in this absolutely incredible 1^st century city – the religious center of the entire province of Asia and the third largest city in the world.

Beyond being a massive stop for port trading, Ephesus was home to the colossal temple of Artimes. One of the seven wonders of the world, this temple drew tourists and worshippers from all over the world. It was 342 feet long, 164 feet wide, and featured 100 outside columns each over 55 feet high. An annual month-long festival to Artimes drew a half million pilgrims each year from all over the Mediterranean world. This temple also served as an enormous bank from which entire cities would apply for loans.

This is important because, amidst a culture and society of empty temple worship that was becoming more and more institutionalized every day, Paul was desperately trying to remind the church of it’s distinct difference as a living, breathing and growing organism – the very body of Christ.

So, verse 11 begins with an explanation of what God has given his church. Just before this in verse 8, Paul quotes Psalm 68:18 by speaking of the gifts God gives, similar to the ones a king grants to his people amidst a kingdom-wide celebration upon his return from a successful conquest or victory. The intensive pronoun “he” in the Greek text in verse 11 is also strongly emphatic, emphasizing for the reader who it is that gives these gifts and where they come from. It is a significant reminder both then and now.

I won’t expound on the offices of apostles, prophets, or evangelists here, but the role of pastor (poime = shepherd) is one that I find infinitely captivating.  As a child, and teenager, I would never in a million years have imagined that I would ever be in a position to be given the honor of a title like “pastor”, and yet, strangely and by the grace of God, here I am – Grossly under qualified and sometimes still feeling quite like a child who is wearing his father’s suit coats, pretending to be an adult

The notion of “shepherd”  here is one that, for me, implies a much greater investment than merely “instructing”, but carries with it the notions of both guiding and governing as well. But compare God’s job description for this controversial role to the stereotyped role of “pastor” in our culture. Today, most pastors are expected to preach, lead, administrate, visit, marry, bury, care, counsel, write, develop, implement, mobilize, orchestrate, motivate, construct, teach, organize, publicize, innovate, sing, sew, dance, paint, and juggle. But what does verse 12 say?

¹¹ It was he who gave some to be apostles, some to be prophets, some to be evangelists, and some to be pastors and teachers, ¹² to prepare God’s people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up

It appears that, for Paul, the main role of the pastor is to equip and prepare God’s people to do the work of ministry in the church and world.

Now, this word “prepare” is a pretty fascinating word. The original Greek word is kataritzo, which carries with it the notions of both preparation and repair.  For instance, in Matthew 4:21, the word is used to describe James and John preparing and repairing their nets for fishing, cleaning the nets of seaweed and sticks, mending parts that were damaged, and untangling the ropes. These nets were being prepared for service, not for storage.

In ancient literature, the same word is used to describe when a physician realigns a dislocated limb in its socket or sets a broken bone – putting it back into proper relationship with the rest of the body.

I don’t mean to overreach here, but this to me provides so much clarity as to why people often get so upset with pastors. I’m not talking about the (unfortunately frequent) occasions where a pastor is caught in moral failure or is simply rude in his/her conduct. That’s not the kind of tension I’m talking about. What I’m referring to is the hard truth, the difficult charge, and the “bone-setting” kind of instruction that some pastors have the boldness to both teach and live. Now, I’ve had stitches before, I’ve had bones reset – it hurts like hell. I’ve probably even been upset with the one inflicting said pain on me in that moment as well. Maybe even had some choice words to share. But eventually I calm down and realize that this pain is necessary and the one inflicting it on me has a bigger picture in mind – one of healing and recovery.

So again, for Paul, the role of ministry is for all who are Christ’s, not just the pastors. Not just the elders. Not even just the “grown-ups.” In 1 Peter 2 believers are called a “royal priesthood” (a phrase that appears 45 times in the New Testament), which to me implies that the work of carrying out Gospel truth is quite literally on the shoulders of Christians of every stage, age, and proximity. If you are in Christ, you are in full time ministry. Period. There are no second-class Christians. You are a minister.

Which then begs the question:

“How is your ministry going?”

It is here that we have often missed the implications of the body portrait and developed congregational patterns that deny rather than express what the church is.  Far too often leaders are hired by a congregation or a board to “do the work of ministry”, but how differently Scripture portrays our roles! In a living organism, every cell contributes – the church should be no different.

I love what John Piper says about this particular concept:

Most of us are able to keep clear in our minds the origin and goal of Christian ministry: its origin is in Christ, who gives spiritual gifts and gifted people to the church; and its goal is the upbuilding of the body of Christ in knowledge, faith, and love. But what we don’t keep as clear is the living, dynamic, God-appointed process that moves from origin to goal. Notice very carefully what it is in these two verses. God gives to a church spiritual leaders whose role is to equip the saints for the work of the ministry. And from the work of the ministry by the saints, the body is built up. God’s pattern for producing people with powerful faith and genuine love is not to have the pastor-teachers do all the work of the ministry. They are to equip the saints to do the ministry. And the saints are not a class of Christians. They are you, all of you, who have set yourselves apart for God through faith in Christ. According to God’s pattern, the upbuilding of the body in faith and love is the immediate result of the ministry of the laity, not the ministry of the clergy. – John Piper

Frankly, some men are perfectly content with allowing the women of their congregation to take on all the responsibility. Similarly, some women have been told that women can’t truly serve in ministry. These are both incredibly treacherous lies.

If you are in Christ you are ministers of the Gospel.  Service is an integral part of the believer’s DNA.

Some of you may be asking, “Great, so how long do I actually have to serve? What is the level f commitment expected of me?” Interestingly enough, vs. 13 has something to say on the matter:

¹² to prepare God’s people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up ¹³ until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.

You might be reading that and saying, “Geeze, that sounds kind of like a lifetime of commitment to me – especially considering how far away unity (or maturity, for that matter) seems from me.” And I would agree with you. I think that’s the point, actually.

The word “reach” in this passage is the word katanteoenused (good luck pronouncing that one), which is the same word used in the book of Acts that speaks of a traveler arriving at their destination, and I would argue that, in this context, our destination is Christ.  It always is.

But the word that I find most fascinating in this verse is the word “knowledge.” It is the word epignois, which carries with it a much stronger idea than merely knowing or understanding facts and data. It conveys a sense of “knowledge through participation” – a far more experiential understanding of knowledge than many of us attribute to “churchy types of things.”

And this is how I thought of it. Laugh if you must.

If I showed you this picture how many of you would know what it is? How many of you would know how to answer beyond simply saying “a guitar?”

Well, in case you were wondering, this is a 1975 Gibson SG – in my opinion, one of the most beautiful guitars ever made. I’d go on about the specifics, but I’m afraid the drool might damage my laptop and significantly hinder the resale value.

Now if I were to show you this picture, how many of you would know exactly what it is?

It looks very similar to a real guitar. It has a similar shape, many of the same markings and features – volume knobs, whammy bar, headstock, etc.  A part from the colorful buttons on the neck, it looks remarkably similar to the real deal.

The funny thing about Guitar Hero is that some people commit hours upon hours playing this game. I’m convinced that if some of those people spent half as much time learning to actually play guitar instead of playing a game, they could very well become a guitar hero some day.

So for you musicians out there, if a 12 year-old kid who plays Guitar Hero three hours a day approached you and said, “Oh yea, I know guitar” what would you say?

After you finished laughing, you’d probably say (or think) something similar to, “Kid, you don’t know guitar. You know what a guitar looks like. You sort of know how to hold it and some of the noises it can make. You may be familiar with guitar, but you don’t really know it.”

And this is exactly what Paul is talking about here. He’s challenging God’s people to not simply fill their heads with information, to observe from a distance, or even play the part well. It’s a call to participation, to physicality, to both knowledge and experience. It’s why Christ’s simple call to “follow me” was an is so profound. It’s why this church in Revelation 2 is exhorted for there doctrinal and pragmatic success, but rebuked for leaving their first love.

God doesn’t want you to simply do things for Him or even with Him – he wants you to deeply know Him. Stop and think about the implications of that reality. Let it sink in. Insane, right?

In light of this reality, one commentator translates verse 13 this way:

Until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the experiential, full, and precise knowledge of the Son of God, to a mature man, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of the Christ.

So what does maturity look like? It looks like Christ.

Paul continues with this idea of maturity versus immaturity – fullness versus void.

¹⁴ Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of men in their deceitful scheming.

Now, I love babies. I’d venture to guess that you probably do too. They’re adorable! Even the ugly babies (you know they exist) are cute in their own way and absolutely beautiful in the eyes of their mother. Jesus praises little children in Matthew 18. There are numerous references to the beauty of innocence and the childlike nature we should always be nurturing.

Every night there are millions of beaming parents smilingly lovingly into a crib as their precious newborn sleeps. They gush with oohs and ahhs at every small twitch and sound (as long as it’s moderately quiet).  Their adored baby looks so precious sleeping in the cradle.

Now imagine that same scene but instead there is a 34 year old man stuffed into this cradle, sleeping quietly and sucking his thumb. It’s not quite as adorable anymore, is it? You’d likely be wondering what you missed as a parent – and understandably so.

Which reminds me of something the Japanese have recently begun doing. Have you seen these incredible watermelons that they grow in there?

They charge twice as much for these cubed melons because they’re far more convenient than regular watermelons. They’re easier to stack, easier to carry, and easier to serve. They’re far more agreeable.

The way they grow these melons is simple – they merely plant each seed in a clear cube and the melon fills the space that it is given to grow in.

Truthfully, I think this is how many people choose to live out their faith. They are afraid to step out, to take risk, to do the work, or to climb out the crib. “It’s safe here” I imagine them saying. Eventually atrophy sets in and we merely take on the shape of whatever or whoever is nearest. We become what is convenient.

The church in Corinth apparently needed some instruction in this area:

“Brothers, stop thinking like children. In regard to evil be infants, but in your thinking be adults” -1 Corinthians 14:20

And the writer of Hebrews saw this is a much needed topic of discussion as well:

“You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil” –Hebrews 5:12-14

And the result of this infantile state of being, is the likelihood of being tossed back and forth by the many different doctrines and teaching that we encounter every day. Like being ambushed by a co-worker or cornered by a malicious family member who’s only goal is to trip you up – so many of us cower under the pressure. The flipside to cowering is not a verbal retaliation. That’s not maturity either. But how would it change things if we had the willingness to simply respond with, “You know, I don’t have an answer to that question, but give me a week or two and I’ll do some research and find out.” Or even “Do you think we could grab coffee later and talk about it more once I’ve had a chance to examine this a bit further.” What a radical shift that would be.

I remember being that kid “tossed back and forth” by every opportunity and possibility placed before me. This is exactly why my mom stopped taking me to Basin Robins as a child. She said that I would literally sample every flavor at least once and still not be able to make a decision. I truly “reasoned like a child” during those years.

I also remember tricking my younger brother Zach to trade me all of his dimes for my nickels because “Nickels are bigger and obviously worth more money.” Not a bad argument, right? He didn’t know better and lost out on nearly $5 of fortune that weekend.

This doesn’t mean that in our “growing up” we don’t still struggle, waiver, and fall. Perseverance is not a trait that emerges fully developed in the new Christian, and that’s okay. Have you ever watched a toddler try to run in a straight line before? It can’t be done. They swerve and veer like a drunk driver all over the room. As you grow, you’ll likely struggle with doubt, confusion and uncertainty. Which is why what Gary Parker says in Lee Strobel’s “A Case for Faith” is so important for us to remember. He said:

“If faith never encounters doubt, if truth never struggles with error, if good never battles with evil, how can faith know its own power? In my own pilgrimage, if I have to choose between a faith that has stared doubt in the eye and made it blink, or a naïve faith that has never known the firing line of doubt, I will choose the former every time”

If you’re like me at all, I’m on board with this notion of “growing to become in every respect the mature body of Christ” (a topic I’ll explore more deeply in another post), but in the past I often allowed my insecurities, defects and shortcomings to anesthetize my passions, leaving my paralyzed and seemingly unable to dive in with all that I have. I loved adventures and risk as long as it didn’t pose a threat to my reputation or challenge my abilities. I was plagued with a constant feeling of inadequacy.

And that same fear often afflicts my conscience now – but my perspective is slowly changing. Perhaps your feeling of inadequacy is crippling you as well and I assure you, you are in good company.  Consider:

1. Moses stuttered.

2. David’s armor didn’t fit.

3. John Mark was rejected by Paul.

4. Timothy had ulcers.

5. Hosea’s wife was a prostitute.

6. Amos’ only training was in the school of fig-tree pruning.

7. Jacob was a liar.

8. David had an affair.

9. Solomon was too rich.

10. Abraham was too old.

11. David was too young.

12. Peter was afraid of death.

13. Lazarus was actually dead.

14. John was self-righteous.

15. Naomi was a widow.

16. Paul was a murderer – so was Moses.

17. Jonah ran from God.

18. Miriam was a gossip.

19. Gideon and Thomas both doubted.

20. Jeremiah was depressed and suicidal.

21. Elijah was burned out.

22. John the Baptist was a loudmouth.

23. Martha was a worry-wart.

24. Mary was lazy.

25. Samson had long hair.

26. Noah got drunk.

27. Did I mention that Moses had a short fuse?

28. So did Peter and Paul

If you are in Christ, I believe that you are a gift that God has given to the church, that your participation is needed urgently, and that the part you play is vital. I don’t know what that is, but my prayer is that you seek God fervently in the context of community to determine what that role is.

The church is a caravan. We haven’t arrived yet. We’re going someplace. And you have a role to fulfill. May it be so!

I think gyms are mostly comical. Not completely, but predominately. For a lot of men, they’re like a masculine catwalk with metallic obstacles – to make it more manly of course.

I often see guys wearing their workout edition daisy-dukes and dental floss t-shirts, parading back and forth throughout the gym for hours at a time without lifting a single weight. Many of them look strangely similar to  a carnivorous hunting animal who has lost his sense of smell entirely. They distressingly pace back and forth, perilously attempting to find some purpose to their exhaustion. Heralding their physical fortitude, they wait for an opportunity to unleash their raw, unadulterated power upon the masses.

That, or strike a pose and hit on the next attractive lady to walk into the room.

In general, I think we as a society have an interesting perception of strength. Type the word “abs”, “ripped”, or really any combination of words partnered with the word “extreme” into any search engine and you’ll immediately realize our obsession with physical strength, or the appearance of it at least. I love what Mark Twain once said:

It is curious that physical courage should be so common in the world and moral courage so rare. -Mark Twain

I heard a story yesterday about an incredible seventy year old woman from Daytona Beach named Eliud Haliday. This sweet Brazilian woman was loading groceries into her van when a carjacker jumped into the driver’s seat and drove off with it. The incredible part to this story is that Eliud then jumped into the car and put the carjacker into a one-handed choke hold until he eventually had no choice but to dive out of the car, gasping for air and dignity.

“I can’t believe how hard it is to break somebody’s neck,” she said. “I just kept choking him until he couldn’t talk. I thought he’d at least faint.”

And that stories surprises us, because it goes against everything we’ve come to expect from seventy year-old women who own champagne colored minivans. But the truth is, it happened. This woman demonstrated strength and courage when most of us would expect the contrary.

What I’ve noticed is that people often develop for themselves a model or protocol of how they expect things to go, often based solely on their limited perspective and understanding, and are continuously surprised when the outcome is other than what they had calculated. It’s so difficult for me to not simply “buy into” the fact that God regularly functions outside the confines of my ineffectual rationale, but I daily walk and live in that realization every day of my life.

I am inspired by what Paul said to the church in Corinth:

“But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.” -1 Corinthians 1:27

When Christ chose the powerless and the anonymous of society, it wasn’t just because he was bored or feeling feisty. There was great intent with who he chose as his disciples, and they are likely the last people we would ever choose if given the chance to organize a revolutionary insurrection. There’s something about the tired, burdened, and forgotten heart that compels the Christ of scripture, and I must admit that I find it absolutely enthralling. To be in a place of total depravity is apparently when Christ is most inclined to meet us where we’re at.

Two days ago there was a massive earthquake in Qinghai, China. My little brother is currently living in China. When I first heard of the quake and the resulting death toll, I felt an immediate sense of complete and utter helplessness. As juvenile as it may sound, it didn’t matter how many push-ups I had done that day, if Trav was caught in that earthquake, there wasn’t a single thing that my, or even his limited strength could accomplish. I imagine there are few others times where a person’s own frailty and weakness is so evident, as it is when you are caught in an earthquake. There is nothing you can do about what is happening to you. We both were at the mercy of the unchallengeable force beneath the earth.

I finally received an email response from him today, letting me know that he was okay, and in that instant I felt as though God was saying “I want you to reach that point of total dependence on me in everything that you do”.

To live as if we don’t already have all of the answers may be incredibly difficult for a lot us, but I for one hope to one day truly live my life with open hands, willing to go and do wherever and whatever God may lead. To not rely on the stature and strength I’ve established for myself goes against everything my instinct tells me, and yet I am compelled to live recklessly in the love that chose outcasts to usher in a new kingdom.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” -Matthew 11:28-29

Before Facebook, Youtube, and plunging male V-necks, there was a bright and shining era of American narrative known as “The Family Vacation.”

My great family was then and still is in the habit of joining throngs of beloved relatives each summer at a glorious little “campground” in Alpena, Michigan for a week of good, old-fashioned quality time. The stories from these trips are endless, filled with unicycles, broken arms, French Merlot, and third-degree burns. Unfortunately the story I want to write about here involves none of those things. Perhaps another time.

This was the summer that Uncle Ken bought a speedboat.

We were all beyond excited about this particular purchase. Canoeing was great, sure, but this was a speedboat. The word “speed” made up 50% of its name and we couldn’t have been more thrilled. All of the uncles drove this fine vessel, but for some reason my memories of Uncle Glen’s behind the wheel remain most vivid in my memory. Perhaps it’s because he had a sailor’s mustache. Or maybe it’s because he had the highest ratio of crazy in his blood. Probably a combination of both.

During one particular boating adventure, my younger brother Zach and I were in the water holding on for dear life to our second-hand tube while Uncle Glen whipped as back and forth across the lake. Our cousins Liam and Donal were laughing at us from the boat, but you could tell that they were terrified as well.

After a few minutes of screaming like schoolgirls, I looked over to my brother Zach only to find that he was, in fact, completely naked. Puzzled and a little curious, I shouted over the roar of the engine, “Why are you naked? What happened to your swimsuit?!” Not even the least bit embarrassed he yelled back, “Oh I lost them back there about two minutes ago! The water tore ‘em right off!”

Judging from the almost eeringly enormous smile on my little brother’s face, I decided that naked tubing looked like a lot of fun, so I joined him. Trying desperately to hold on to the tube with one hand, I removed my swim trunks with my other hand, and boy was I right – it was a lot of fun.

Noticing our recent liberation from the bondage of clothing, my Uncle decided to drive the boat uncomfortably close to the beach where my extended family happened to be enjoying the afternoon. As he slowed down and brought the tube around for display, our little Irish butts gleaming in the summer sunlight despite our best effort to hide, my relatives responded with uproarious applause. One by one they stood to their feet, clapping, whistling, and even cat-calling as the two Simkins boys tried desperately to shelter beneath the water.

Eventually Uncle Glen had his fill of nephew beach-time nudity and decided to dock the boat. As he turned off the motor, Zach and I were greatly relieved until we heard him turn to our two cousins inside the boat. “Grab anything that looks like clothes and run,” he said with a smirk.

Thinking that perhaps we had some water in our ears, Zach and I both mumbled something like “Say what?”

But before we had any time to assess the situation or even bargain, for that matter, the three of them had grabbed everything they could find out of our beloved boat and went running and giggling to their cabin.

“Expletive”

The two of us quickly jumped into the boat, frantically searching for something that would serve as a covering for us. Zach found himself a small washcloth that would do the job for our mad dash back to safety, while I hit the jackpot discovering a toddler’s life-jacket that I quickly put on upside-down like a bright (and doubly functional) diaper.

Now, the landscape of this humble resort is important. From the shoreline where we were parked, there stood a massive open field with a line of a dozen or so cabins on the far side of this clearing. Our cabin that year was, of course, at the very end of this long stretch.

Unbeknownst to us, our dear Uncle, after dashing with our clothes, knocked on each cabin door and said, “You’re going to want to be on your front porch in about 60 seconds.” So as Zach and I sprinted to our inconveniently distant cabin, holding washcloths and life-vests in place as best we could, we were greeted once more with the roaring applause of our loving family. The hoots and hollers filled the air as our little legs took us to safety as fast as they possibly could.

As you can imagine, our parents had some questions for us. For me, more specifically. Zach’s issue was merely with velocity while mine had a bit more to do with cognitive reasoning. My father was so confused (and mildly amused) by my action, he couldn’t even articulate a proper interrogation.

“Why on Earth would… Did you think that maybe…Is there a reason you…Were you sniffing paste again?”

For the rest of the trip he would refer to us as, “My sons, the strippers.”

I remember feeling pretty humiliated for the rest of that week. To this day any time my family decides to go out on a boat, someone invariably says something to the effect of, “Think you can keep your clothes on this time, killer?” My response is usually something to the effect of “No, I’m not sure I can. I can’t seem to stop myself from random outbursts of complete nudity and it’s made life very difficult. Thanks for bringing it up.” That, or I’ll just burst into uncontrollable weeping and let them guess what triggered the hysteria.

It took me years to realize the difference between humility and being humiliated. For so long I saw the two as synonymous terms and as a result, wanted nothing to do with either. Being humiliated was a terribly debasing state and it didn’t make sense to me that I was being told how God desired that for my life. It seemed cruel and, quite frankly, incongruent with who I felt God was.

But I eventually learned the difference.

Hearing the story of Christ washing His disciple’s feet for the first time was what changed everything for me. Imagining the smell of that room. The strong and distinct pungency of sweat lingering in the air from the day’s travels, the dirt and dust that was undoubtedly cemented to the feet and legs of everyone in the room, and the unmistakable expression of sun-worn exhaustion on the faces of the disciples. I imagine the space had an aroma of its own as well, but I think that the sweet scent of Christ’s love for his disciples overpowered it.  John 13 even says that the meal was already in progress when Jesus decided to get up from the table and execute a beautiful act of service and humility to towards his friends.

I’m sure they saw the basins when they walked in. They must have made note of the towels hanging on the railing. I have to think that they expected a young servant to come in and take care of them at some point during the course of the evening. But then their master and king turned everything on its ear once again. Wrapping himself in a towel, he made himself like a lowly servant washing the feet of His disciples – even of the one he knew would betray him just a few hours from that very moment. He would eventually be stripped of his clothes, not by the waves of Michigan lakes, but by the hands violent and hateful officers who wanted nothing more than to see him humiliated and dead.

I remember thinking that my reaction would’ve been a lot like Peter’s – an outburst of disagreement and an unwillingness to let such an infraction continue. I think I share his difficulty with grasping the idea of a savior and king who came, not to be served, but to serve, to give himself fully – not just in a dramatic display of public execution, but in a quiet expression of a deep-seated position of love.  And to be honest, my reaction still resembles Peter in many ways. Humility doesn’t make any sense a lot of the time. It often doesn’t seem to “add up” as we understand it, and this radical type of self-sacrifice in the world is often scoffed at – even in the church  – as impracticable, illogical, or even unbiblical.

Ken Blanchard once famously said, “Humility does not mean you think less of yourself. It means you think of yourself less” and I think there is a lot of truth in that statement. Jesus never seemed to waiver in his understanding of his position – he knew exactly how he fit into this narrative of life – more so then we will ever grasp this side of eternity, I think. I imagine that when people ran up to him like crazed young girls at a Bieber concert, he didn’t lower his head, shuffle his feet and murmur, “Shucks, I’m not that great, ya’ll.” Instead, he always pointed people back to the Father and His kingdom. As a culture we speak so often of our lack, the areas in which we don’t excel, and the talents we don’t poses, but that is false humility at its core because we still end up talking incessantly about ourselves, even if in a pseudo-humble way.

I think Ruth Harms Calkin does a masterful job on the subject of humility in her poem entitled I Wonder:

You know, Lord, how I serve you
with great emotional fervor in the limelight.
You know how eagerly I speak for You at a Women’s Club.
You know my genuine enthusiasm at a Bible study.
But how would I react, I wonder,
if You pointed to a basin of water
and asked me to wash the callused feet
of a bent and wrinkled old woman
day after day, month after month,
in a room where nobody saw and nobody knew?

Which reminds me of a story I once heard…

Former heavyweight boxer James (Quick) Tillis is a cowboy from Oklahoma who fought out of Chicago in the early 1980s. He still remembers his first day in the Windy City after his arrival from Tulsa. “I got off the bus with two cardboard suitcases under my arms in downtown Chicago and stopped in front of the Sears Tower. I put my suitcases down, and I looked up at the Tower and I said to myself, ‘I’m going to conquer Chicago.’ When I looked down, the suitcases were gone.”

I think many of us, if we are really honest, are okay will the “first shall be last” notion that Jesus speaks of as long as we’re the ones in control. But when someone cuts in front of us in line (or cuts us off in traffic, for that matter), we often scream “injustice” and demand vindication.

It is so beautiful to me that Peter of all people is the one who wrote:

All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because, “God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble.” – 1 Peter 5:5

The root of the verb “clothe” means “a roll, band, or girth: a knot or roll of cloth” and is derived from another word that literally means “a slaves apron under which loose garments were girt up.” So the figure carries with it a brilliant exhortation to put on humility as a working virtue employed in living out tangible ministry. It’s Hebrew derivative is the word tapeinos and shows up in some form over 200 times in Scripture. The prominence of the verb shows clearly that the main reference is to an action rather than merely a state of being. So when Peter asserts that we must humble ourselves (or being basic sense of “stooping or bowing down”) it is an active choice not only internally and of heart, but in external deed and movement as well. Our decision to walk in humility as Christ did is not a secret to be secured, but neither is it a service to be flaunted. It is a garment to be worn.

Peter is so clearly drawing from that powerful evening where his master “girded himself with a towel” becoming like a servant, and gave them all the lesson of humility both by word and act. The commentator Bengel paraphrases this passage, “Put on and wrap yourselves about with humility, so that the covering of humility cannot possibly be stripped from you.”

No one is naked. We are all clothed with something. Many of us can be found donning the cloak of resentment, enrobed in the shawl of anger and bitterness, or buttoned up in the coat of depression. But I choose to be clothed in the essence of my Rabbi.

May we throw off the fabric that has entangled for so long and tie ourselves up in the robes of beautiful restoration. Jesus, we want you.

Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ – Romans 13:14

There is a library in my hometown that I adore. It really doesn’t look like a library at all though. It’s smooshed (or shmushed, depending on your region) in between a creepy costume shop and a Buddy’s Pizza. This costume shop is creepy enough for me to go to a different library on occasion simply to avoid the radiant creepiness of this small shop, but that’s not important, at least not now. The library is one of those buildings that proclaims its existence on the front, but only allows entrance in the back. I don’t know who’s idea that was, but I find it darn funny. You walk through the unmarked and heavily tinted double doors into a bare and wonderfully earth-tone lobby with two plastic chairs from that era in the 70’s where apparently the awkward plastic chair industry was booming. I so love those chairs and their awkwardness.

The only other thing in this small flash-from-the-past lobby is a giant silver elevator. The silver is almost glaring in its opposition to the uniformity of dulled browns and greens that adorn this little hippie oasis. Even a newcomer would assume that the elevator is the next course of action in this bizarre venture because the chairs don’t seem to hold much promise, and there is nothing else in the room. So you climb (or walk I suppose) into the elevator and observe the one lonely button all by itself, which I still find hilarious. It makes me think of a special agent elevator for some reason. So with deductive reasoning as your guide, you press the one button available and begin ascending slowly upward (that last part was redundant).

Now this poor elevator is like the vertical version of The Little Engine That Could. If you hadn’t seen the outside of the building before you came in and knew that is was only 2 stories high, you’d think you were climbing the highest sky-scraper in the mid-west (hyphen-tastic!). But alas the doors open and the elevator (who I like to call Earl for some reason) lets out a little huff from his exhausting 15-foot journey in hopes that no one else strain his poor gears for at least another 2 hours so he can fully rest. Poor Elevator Earl.

Upon first glance this looks like a typical low-budget library. The ambitious interior designer that beautifully orchestrated the lobby below apparently got his big break when asked to also plot out the color scheme for the library as well. Browns, greens, oranges, and what once were yellows dance on your eyes as a literature collide-a-scope of educational delight (ha, ok so that one was a bit wordy). The smell of old pages fills your nostrils. It smells a lot like a thrift store actually. And no matter who is working, the attendant at the front desk is always wearing over-alls, a mother goose shirt, and adorable little librarian glasses. Always. I’ve never so consistently been greeted to the point of thorough enchantment at any other place. It’s like seeing that one aunt who lives relatively far away but will always welcome you with a delightful smile and hug. Only these librarians don’t typically hug, but you get the impression that they would if they weren’t behind that colossal desk, so you let it slide.

There’s a lot of library-esque type of activity going on, whatever that is. You can see little drooling toddlers who are much more concerned with the pictures than the notion of reading, which greatly resembles college in a way. There is always some individual in the corner who was a functioning citizen during the Wright Brothers Flights reading some obscure textbook or romance novel that peaked their interest for some reason. You almost feel as though whatever category of description you yourself fit into is exactly the demographic that is missing to bring balance to this scholastic exhibition. Your seating destination is almost obvious, mainly due to the limited number of chairs, but lets not count out the possibility of that whole balance thing I was just mentioning either. You pull out your trapper keeper (you know you had and loved at least one) and find either the book you were looking for, or the more intriguing one that you saw on the way, and return to your seat (I’m not sure at what point I turned this into a ridiculous narrative, but go with it ok?)

You might get a few pages into it before you notice, but eventually it hits you. It hits you that you can actually hear the turning of pages other than your own. It hits you that the struggled breathing of the retired Ford worker is strangely audible, yet oddly soothing at the same time. It hits you that for some reason the atmosphere in this library is brilliantly different and peaceful. You might look around for a second or two and even apply your detective skills to determine the cause of this wonderful stillness. And over the muffled snickers of preschoolers laughing at the guy that fell asleep, you realize the element that is missing from this scene thus creating such a pleasant atmosphere: computers.

There isn’t a single whirling computer in the entire library. As you could probably imagine that means there also is not a single printer or copier for that matter. There is no frantic pounding on keyboards or buzzing gears of the inkjet wonder. No, the Dewey Decimal System is lord here. The rich history of library classification is found in beautiful actuality right before you..

You would not believe the utter sense of serenity that is experienced in a place like that. The deficiency of mouse clicks and paper jams is an experience that my limited writing skills will not allow me to convey with the accuracy deserved of such an encounter. It is beautiful. The atmosphere is really inexpressibly enthralling.

It is mind-boggling to me the difference that such a small absence, like that of a computer, can make. It truly is one of those things that we don’t seem to mind in a place like a library because that’s how it is at every library we go to. Those distractions and those noises are to be expected and therefore tolerated because that’s just “the way it is.” We put up with it, we ignore it, and eventually we don’t even notice that its there. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, that is just typically how it goes. Until, that is, we enter a library like my beloved hometown library. It might even take us a few times of reading and studying there to realize the uniqueness of this place, but eventually the realization hits us, that we are experiencing a completely new and foreign brand of placidity, and it makes it hard to go back to the whirly and buzzing that we had grown so accustomed to.

There are just a hair under a million observations and connections I could make with all of this, but the one that seems to be burning itself into the forefront of my mind is the concept of distractions. This is fairly unlike me, but I immediately thought of this verse:

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.

- Hebrews 12:1

Distractions do very easily “entangle” me for lack of a better word. And they do indeed hinder, to say the least. But the part that grabs me so hard is this idea of perseverance. I might even use the word determination because I feel like I can relate to that even more. Distractions and hindrances don’t just disappear upon our heartfelt wishes, sometimes we have to persevere with determination through them. The hard part is, like the computers and all that; sometimes we don’t even realize that they are there. It’s like, remember in Junior High when you really liked that one special person you couple skated with at the roller-rink that one glorious weekend and the ridiculous things you did for and around them to get them to notice you? When you were acting these things out you probably didn’t think they were that ridiculous, but the week or month later when he/she is “dating” someone else, or you just plain moved on, you realize how comical some of the stuff you did really was. Yea, that hindsight is a killer.

I feel like that sometimes with distractions. There are so many things in my life that have “always been there” that it can become rather difficult to effectively prioritize and/or make decent choices. You almost get caught in that rut, that routine of being you, if that makes any sense at all. I read a note I wrote to myself years ago and it floored me with some of the things I decided to write myself (ha, that sounds a little bit crazy I realize). One thing it said was “Don’t you dare forget that life is about people. Don’t ever let yourself become so consumed with stuff that you forget how to show love to people, how to take time out of your day to just be with people. Most importantly, be authentic, even if it kills you. Don’t be willing to settle for mediocrity in anything.” That was crazy to think that I had written that, but it made complete sense that I would, because I know me, sort of.

Stepping out and observing is an odd experience. It’s kind of like the bitter cold we’ve been experiencing. Walking around in it yesterday was frustrating and downright displeasing. But today when I walked out into it for the first time after cleaning up inside for quite awhile, it was refreshing and didn’t even feel cold for the first, well, 3 seconds. The stuff that can become so mundane and grinding can be so revitalizing when we take the time to simply step back and re-evaluate ourselves and our lives a bit.

So thank you. Thank you to those that inspire me, often without even knowing it. Thank you to those that love me when I really don’t even deserve cordiality. Thank you to those that push others and myself on towards something so far beyond ourselves that it hurts to think about. Thank you for you.

Let no man pray that he know not sorrow,

Let no soul ask to be free from pain,

For the gall of today is the sweet of to-morrow,

And the moment’s loss is the lifetime’s gain…

-Ella Wheeler Wilcox