Choices

Can there be something in life that has power over us which little by little causes us to forget all that is good? And can this ever happen to one who has heard the call of eternity quite clearly and strongly? If this ever can be, then one must look for a cure against it. Praise be to God that such a cure exists – to quietly make a decision. A decision joins us to the eternal. It brings what is eternal into time. A decision raises us with a shock from the slumber of monotony. A decision breaks the magic spell of custom. A decision ends the long row of weary thoughts. A decision pronounces a blessing upon even the weakest beginning, as long as it is a real beginning. Decision is the awakening to the eternal.

- Soren Kierkegaard

After spending thirteen years in public education and four years in a university, I’ve learned many things - but decision making is not one of them. Life to this point has felt like something that has just sort of happened to me. I didn’t choose my best friends growing up. My neighbors and classmates were just there – handed to me by my street address and my last name’s special place in the alphabet. In high school, I didn’t exactly spend the summer after my sophomore year staying up late, trying to discern whether or not to enter my junior year. It was kind of a given. Even my college selection was a no-brainer. With free tuition, wonderful professors with whom I was already acquainted, and a solid Christian roommate lined up, it was time to pack my bags and head up the hill to Miami University. Life has been full of “next steps” that have presented themselves in perfect succession, allowing me to coast down the path naturally, with minimal steering on my part. And make no mistake – I feel I’ve spent my time exactly where I’ve needed to spend it. I have no regrets about any of the places I’ve been or people I’ve come to love.

However, after graduating college, it did feel a bit like standing at the edge of a cliff. The path before me suddenly stopped, and the next move was mine to make. My indecision really came out in that season, and luckily my friends and family were more than patient with me as I stood there, petrified and paralyzed. Well, I’ve taken a few steps since then and have found myself in a new place. And as I keep going, I guess I’m realizing more and more the centrality of decision making (and how I’m not so good at it). Life’s path no longer slopes gently and naturally, and for the first time in quite a while I’m having to peddle to get somewhere. No more coasting.

I’m beginning to wake up to the fact that my dreams and goals aren’t going to materialize in front of me on a platter (my apologies to any older and wiser readers for whom this point seems painfully obvious). If I want to someday escape the American Dream, it’s going to take decisions. If I want to get married some day, it’s definitely going to take action on my part. If I want to live by the mountains or by an ocean, that’s something that I will have to choose.

It’s an odd feeling – my white-canvas life in front of me. It’s not unlike “playing God.” And I suppose that’s where I am in all of this: trying to figure out where God resides in it. More precisely, I’m looking for the points where God and I will intersect in the moments of choice. As Kierkegaard says, "a decision joins us to the eternal." At the heart, it’s a creative process, and thus there is risk. Through making choices, God allows us to reach upward, take hold of eternity, and pull it down into time.

Don Miller on Ministry

I've really enjoyed re-reading some Donald Miller books since moving to KC - probably because his perspective on walking with Jesus is way different than that of my charismatic surroundings - and I guess I still get a kick out of feeling different every now and then. He's also an incredibly entertaining read, with stories that leave me wishing I knew all of his quirky friends. On his website, Miller has posted a document that I've included below. It's an overview of convictions that he and his friends have come to as they have ministered to the "pagan society" that currently surrounds us. Some of it I really like, and some of it grieves me because I see the dangers that hide right around the corner from such beliefs. It's very interesting stuff to ponder, and I've enjoyed trying to extract the good bits from the not-so-good ones. I've very rarely come across a single "mission statement-esque" document that made me think so much! My comments from here on out will be in blue italics.

(The following can be found at donaldmillerwords.com).


Thirteen Paradigm Shifts We Encountered Doing Christian Ministry in a Pagan
Environment...

1. Other People Exist: Simply coming to the understanding that the world does not
revolve around “me” but that everybody is having an experience, created by God,
loved by God, and that we needed to repent of showing partiality...

2. Nobody will listen to you unless they know you like them: We began to
understand that people, subconsciously, merit a religious or philosophical idea not
on logical conclusions, but on whether or not the idea creates a “good
person”...the definition of a good person being whether or not a person is kind to
them, tolerant and understanding, able to listen without arguing and so on.

I really appreciate this approach, and how it recognizes that even sinful men can "judge a tree by its fruit." Are the Christians they see in their daily lives beautiful people? What has God actually done to change them?

3. Nobody will listen to God unless they know God loves them: We came to believe
there was usually a hidden pain behind hostility, that many people have been hurt
by the church, or people or perspectives they believed to represent God. Many
times its as simple as an interview they saw on CNN, but an apology and kindness
went a long way in helping people understand God was loving.

4. Other people have morality and values: We came to understand that Christians do
not own morality, that everybody lives by a moral code, not always informed by
an ancient text, and yet it is there. Calling people or even thinking of them as
immoral was, then, inappropriate. In fact, we often found that people who did not
know Christ lived a morality close to his heart in many areas we had ignored, ie;
community, tolerance, social justice, fairness and equality, freedom, beauty and
so on and so on.

Yes and no. I see what he's going for - how we often neglect the good heart and the valuable gifts that God gives people simply by virtue of being created by him (even before they're saved they have eternity written on their hearts). But if left unchecked, this message can whitewash the depravity of man and tend to downplay the desperate wickedness of the heart that needs God's re-birth.

5. Find common ground: Often the morality of others overlapped Christian morality,
and we came to understand that in these cases, we would focus on the overlapping
issues. We came to see this as kindness, just as though we were on a date or
making friends, we did not focus on what we didn’t have in common, but rather
on mutual feelings about life. We would not say or do anything to combat people
unless they knew we loved them, and this takes a great deal of time.

6. Define terms in their language: We were careful about Christian sayings and
phrases that might be offensive: Crusade, sin, immorality....we came to
understand that concepts were more sacred than terms...

Amen! I really appreciate this point. If truth itself is offensive, that's one thing, but much of what we cling to as "gospel" is in fact mere form and terms that could be communicated in new and more loving ways if we tried.

7. Telling somebody about the gospel is about them, not us: We were careful not to
try to “build our organization” and respected peoples freedom and space. Sharing
the gospel became an exercise in friendship, rather than an attempt to grow a
machine. Often, people feel used if they feel they are being recruited. The gospel,
we learned, is really about them, their feelings about God and truth, about sin,
and about life.

Yes. Jesus never manipulated anyone to follow him.

8. Don’t let spreading the gospel feel any different than telling somebody about a
love in your life, about your children or a great memory: We realized that in
telling somebody about Jesus, we were telling them about somebody we have
come to love and need, and about something that had happened to us, an
encounter. This keeps us from sounding preachy, and allows us to share part of
ourselves in a friendship.

This is one of those things that's tricky. Yes, when speaking of Christ you are telling someone about "your close friend," but here's the difference - none of my other friends hold salvation in their hands. None of my other friends lived a sinless life and died in my place. None of my other friends are returning in wrath to judge a fallen world and destroy wickedness. In this way, there is an urgency and a necessity in preaching Jesus that feels quite different from just talking about any other friend in my life.  It is not necessary for your soul that you meet and love my friends before you die.  However, it is quite necessary that you meet and love Jesus.

9. Include lost People in Your Community: Our organization was not exclusive. We
invited non-believers into the community if they wanted to be invited. We were
careful not to not be ourselves with them, but they were certainly invited and
enjoyed being a part of the group. We explained terms that we used, what we
believed, but other than that, continued as normal.

I really like this one. I want to be upfront in my spirituality. Let people see exactly what they're getting into by being a Christian living in community. Let them consider the cost, as well as see the real beauty of fellowship.

10. Apologize for what you represent: We discovered that many people have been
offended or hurt by what they perceive Christianity to be. We allowed ourselves
to stand in the place of “Christianity” and apologize whenever necessary.

Very powerful point. Read Miller's "Confession" chapter in his book Blue Like Jazz to hear an amazing story of this in action.

11. Be authentic: We discovered the need to be as honest about our lives as possible.
We did not feel the need to sale Jesus, as much as share what He has done in our
broken lives. We had no problem sharing our doubts and fears about faith, along
with our commitment and appreciation for what God had done.

Again, very powerful.

12. Pray for the Salvation of others: We discovered the need to pray for others. This
would insure God was working in peoples lives, as we asked Him to. We
discovered the work of evangelism is something God lets us watch, but very little
of it is what we manipulate. We repented of not believing evangelism was a
spiritual exchange between a lost person and God, rather than believing it was a
series of ideas we were supposed to convince others of.

13. Ask people if they would like to know Christ: We decided to initiate, whenever
the relationship called for it. We were not afraid to ask people if they would like
to know God.

War

Of all the metaphors found in the Word of God, one of the most widespread and powerful images is that of war. I got a fresh taste of this metaphor yesterday because I visited the World War I museum downtown (it’s the only such monument to WWI in our nation, by the way). It was fascinating to see so many artifacts, films, and photographs from a time not so distant, but very differret than ours.

It struck me just how confrontational things were. While this may seem like a given when talking about a war, it's something that hit me as altogether different than our war today. So much of the propaganda in WWI was designed to make young men feel like the lowest of the low if they were not out there on the front lines. There was one poster that showed a woman and her child drowning with the word ENLIST plastered across the bottom - as if to send the message to some young man that he was personally responsible for their deaths by way of his inaction. Today, by contrast, it doesn't really matter if you support the troops or not. You are, of course, entitled to your opinion. Another WWI poster portrayed a german soldier as a crazed gorilla, ravaging towns and raping an innocent american woman. Today, we can't even call them "enemies" - they're insurgents. Essentially the american public is trying to have non-confrontational war. We can shoot them dead, but we can't call them names.

This tension of tolerance and war can only continue as our world gets smaller and smaller. Collisions of belief will happen more and more. Post-modernism and relitivism won't last much longer - and contrary to popular Christian thinking it won't be argued away with a quick-witted debate full of big names and hard evidence.

Ironically, it looks as if violence may turn out to be the answer. Tolerance is no match for man's depravity. Open-minded acceptance is no match for fear. "Self-Help Righteousness" devoid of God Himself will eventually self destruct and fall apart in bloody conflict.

War is not the glamorous picture we paint it to be. It's not a bunch of teenage guys reenacting scenes from Braveheart. It's mud and trenches and bullets ripping through you. It hurts and it costs. But somewhere in the midst of it, the Church will be beautiful. Love will disarm as Martyrs' blood cries out. The peacemakers will be called Blessed in that day.

Jesus, Me, and Lawn Furniture

Two weeks ago at New Day, a leader in the congregation shared a revelation he'd had from the Lord regarding certain members of the church and where their hearts were postured. The Lord began by giving him an image in the spirit of an outdoor area - like a patio or a courtyard. It was a beautiful place, with a fountain and stones and sunshine, but it was absolutely full of the most hideous lawn furniture imaginable. Wicker sofas, neon umbrellas, plastic pillars, fake flowers, inflatable chairs - they were all there. In fact, there was so many of these tacky outdoor accessories that one could hardly stand on the patio at all. It was anything but a tasteful and enjoyable place to spend time.

This leader went on to explain that he felt that this patio represented the hearts of many in the congregation - places that have become overrun with overwhelming externals - things like the worries of life, relational offenses, religious performance and regulations, busyness, or just boredom. "In fact," he continued, "There is so much junk that many of you don't even want to go outside anymore. You've taken one look at that patio and walked in the other direction. You don't even want to go there."

The ironic thing is that the patio had so much beauty beneath the clutter. It was designed to be a place to enjoy the outdoors. It was meant to be a fun place; a place to breathe fresh air and feel the cool breeze. Instead, it had become downright ugly.

The second image the Lord gave him was of the same patio, only this time it was empty. No lawn furniture in sight. Just green grass, flowers, stones, and a fountain in the middle. He said the view was beautiful. It was so simple, elegant, and enjoyable. The kind of place where you could just sit for hours at a time.

The images and words this leader shared have really stuck with me for the past two weeks. I don't know who else in that little church needed to hear it, but I know that I did. It was a word for me. It's a snapshot of my heart - a place that was designed for simple communion with God, but has become cluttered to the point where I don't even want to go 'outside' anymore. Things like disillusionment with church culture, misunderstanding, offense, loneliness, and boredom have all but covered up my patio. The invitation now is to clean house.

As I choose to let go of these stumbling blocks, I'm beginning to clear the patio and rediscover the stone floor. It's so like the Devil to take the most beautiful thing in creation - knowing God - and dress it up until it looks like a chore. I've played the fool and I've believed that the plastic pillars and the neon umbrellas belonged there on that patio - that they were part of the deal. What I've forgotten is the most basic truth: that God is beautiful, and that my heart was meant first and foremost to be an enjoyable place where I could spend time in the great outdoors.

So, I'm trying to humble myself and to do the "first things" again. Things like reading the Bible because I actually want to. Praying. Taking walks. Forgetting the lofty things and shelving the hard questions for now. Clearing space. Abiding in the vine. Taking it slow. Going outside.

Do You Want to Be Well?

This is the question that Jesus asked before healing a certain man in the scriptures. It's a question that he asks me too. My answer sometimes doesn't come easy.

This week in church Lloyd spoke about Jesus calling the poor in spirit "blessed." Apparently, the phrase "poor in spirit" is most accurately translated as "reduced to a state of begging dependency." Most of us feel desperate. It's the dependency thing that we've yet to touch. Lloyd went on to talk about the difference between authentic brokenness and counterfeit brokenness. True brokenness is a very healthy place to be, and in fact a blessing is promised, but it's easier to step into the other place - the place of false brokenness.

People in false brokenness tend to camp out there. They thrive in its soil, and the old saying is indeed true: misery loves company. Healing sounds great, but honestly... who are we going to talk to once we get free? You have to admit, it's incredibly satisfying to associate with a few others in weakness, patting each other's backs and licking our self-inflicted wounds. Sure we're screwed up, but at least we have each other. It may be a boat full of holes we're sailing in, but isn't it good to know we're going under together?

It's counterfeit community - a fellowship that ignores things like change and transformation and replaces them with "sympathy" and "humility."

Even something like healing is not without a cost. Healing means the end of self pity. It's the end of excuses and the beginning of follow-through on the demands of Christ. I'm like a child who doesn't want to take his medicine because I know that getting well means the end of the days in bed, the bowls of ice cream, and the hallmark cards (never mind that I'll be able to eat my favorite foods again, play outside, and fill my lungs with fresh air).

The truly poor in spirit are blessed, but only because they get the Kingdom; not because suffering in itself means anything extraordinary.

As God shepherds me on this path through feelings of suspicion and offense, it takes a concentrated effort on my part not to camp out along the trail and indulge in the fantasy that my bitterness is somehow mature; that it's romantic or glamorous or cool.

In the meantime, Jesus asks me again: Do you want to be well?