Exchanged Living

Incarnation and Mission: thoughts from the laundromat

Today I ended up at the laundromat (Our washer washes clothes well, but the basket in it decided that it doesn't want to spin anymore, so our clothing just gets wet, but not spun out so it can dry. All this to say that we need a new washer. If you have one lying around, let me know). Now I love a good laundromat; from my summers working at camps to my year+ in philly, I have washed and dried some clothes there. I like the sound of $10 of quarters jingling around in a cargo pant pocket, the faint smell of cigarettes mixed with fabric softener, and the tv that somehow plays Jerry Springer, Maury Povich or some strange out-of-place movie at all hours (chad suggested Silence of the Lambs--"put the lotion in the basket" being said at a laundromat at dusk makes that line all the more creepy). Sometimes what I like most about laundromats is the people you see and meet there. If you ever think you have a good handle on the kind of people that populate your area or city (especially in ministry), go to a laundromat and double-check yourself. Chances are, you're wrong.

Today, I brought a book to read: Ruth Haley Barton's Sacred Rhythms. I'm about two-third's through it, and it's been pretty good so far; great insights on silence and scripture reading. But today's first chapter was on caring for your body as a spiritual rhythm. Since beginning at Asbury, I've been introduced into a much more holistic approach to the life of faith, and honestly, taking care of my body has never been a top priority for me. As I've reflected on this, why it is and why I've felt this way, I've sniffed out a few thoughts that I need the truth of God to transform in my heart.

One of the first ones has to do with my view of the significance of the body in our spiritual life. I grew up in a setting where the body (in the context of faith) was marginalized in favor of the soul/spirit.  The body was something to be wrestled with, framed as an enemy or a prison one must endure while on earth until that day when we enter eternity. This probably stems from Greek philosophy, which greatly influenced the early church with mixed results; in these philosophies, the body was often seen in the same light, and ultimately was neglected or left aside for the pursuit of more spiritual things.

The odd thing is, the body is the site where God makes His dwelling in the church. Our bodies become temples of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 6:19), making them very sacred.  The body matters because becomes the site where the presence of God interacts with the outside world. Sometimes this verse can be taught with the idea that the body is the shell where the Spirit resides; this kind of thinking minimizes the body like the kind of thinking I mentioned earlier. Perhaps a better way of thinking about this would be through the concept of incarnation.

Incarnation is the word we use to describe the process of God becoming man in the person of Christ. John 1:14 says that "the Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us"; this is the mystery of God at its finest. I can't quite explain this, although we can derive a few things from this verse. One, that Christ was both fully the eternal Word of God and yet fully human, in the body, in-carnate. This alone should call us to rethink the significance of the body. Christ adorned flesh as part of His mission here. His humanity allowed him to atone for humanity as one who lived a perfect life here on earth, therefore presenting a blameless sacrifice for the sins of man. Embodiment was necessary for mission. This could lead one to think that the only reason Christ became flesh was to atone for humanity, but that doesn't seem to be the case. The more I read scripture, the more I see that the incarnation, death, and resurrection of Christ lead to a critical event: Pentecost. At Pentecost, the Holy Spirit came and made its home in those who put their faith in Christ. Why does this matter?

In the beginning, God was with man in the garden. Since the fall, we find that God moved on man's behalf to be with man again. He began a re-creative work with Noah, Set aside a family for covenant with Him in Abraham, and chose a nation among whom to dwell in Israel. In all of this, the result of God's actions and covenant with these people was that He dwelt among them. In one way, this is important because it reveals the design of mankind as intricately linked to the communing presence of God. But in another way, this shows something deeper about the heart of God: God through this presence in the world was calling the nations back to Him. Through the covenant life of the people with the God who dwelt among them, the surrounding nations were meant to see and come to faith in Yhwh, the one true God. This presence had a missional end in mind--calling others to faith in God.

So when the Holy Spirit arrived, we see something both similar and vastly different in the world. God's desire to dwell among His people is affirmed all the more, as now He has literally made them His home, His body and His temple. This is in line with the revelation of God throughout the OT. And yet we see the Holy Spirit doing something in the church that has never been done before: the Holy Spirit is sanctifying the people of God from the inside out. He gives them a new heart and puts a new spirit within them. Through the new covenant of Christ, sealed with His blood and empowered by His resurrection, the people of God are now being set apart, mind, body and soul, as a testimony to the one true God, the God of Abraham, Issac and Jacob. The body is now the sight of the evidence of the God who created the universe and still calls the nations to Himself through the Church.

This should cause us to think about the body in a much different light. The body is not something that is useless or crippling to our spiritual life; instead it is the sight where the transformative power of Christ is displayed for the glory of God. Care for the body, then, becomes a spiritual act because we can see the body as divinely part of the mission of God (and therefore the mission of the Church).

Paul himself fought with Himself about whether it would be better for him to live in the body or die and enter perfection. His argument wasn't about leaving the decaying, lesser body for the more spiritual...

²⁰I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. ²¹For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. ²²If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! ²³I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; ²⁴but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. ²⁵Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, ²⁶so that through my being with you again your joy in Christ Jesus will overflow on account of me. --Philippians 1:20-26

This struggle shows how the body fits into a earth versus heaven mentality: the body in heaven is compete in Christ, while the body on earth is missional from Christ. Christ is the source of both life and gain for Paul. This is far different from the escapist idea of leaving this old body on earth and having our spirit fly off to heaven. No, instead Paul shows that life here is moving towards perfection in Christ, and whether in the incomplete state of now or the complete state of eternity, the purpose of the body is still Christ.

In Philippians 3:21, Paul notes that through Christ our lowly bodies will be transformed into bodies like Christ's, heavenly and perfected. So we see that the body is a part of the heavenly picture. This is another point in which my theological upbringing has left me with some things to sort out: heaven will include bodies and not just spirits. I have never ascribed to the angels-playing-harps image of heaven, but I'll be honest: thinking about having a body in heaven is relatively new to me. And this is where my lifestyle changes might have to come into play...

You see, as I've mentioned, I've never had bodily care as a priority in my life. It's not like I don't bath and have poor hygine; it's just that eating right, exercising, etc... has always been an afterthought and not part of how I view holy living on the earth. I mean, if you get a heavenly body, why take care of the earthly one as if it's all you have? (j/k--but honestly, I probably think that on some level...thus the need for transformation). And yet I'm wrestling with this now because I'm starting to see that if my body here and now is designed for mission, then it is important for me to care for it, listen to it, and learn from it. Part of it is that our own minds, souls, and bodies have a lot to teach us about the injustice God's reign is fighting against. It awakens us to injustice in us, that Christ may transform it, and allows us to act as representatives of Christ against the forms of injustice in our world. If I take poor care of myself, I may be closing door to opportunities in which the kingdom of God can be announced through my life.

In another way, I see that things I wrestle with physically, like sickness, limitations, and death, call me towards a longing for the return of Christ, and can move me towards more missional living everyday. Knowing he will come and make all things new, including this body, will encourage me to seek those things in my world now, knowing the work will be completed in Christ. Being in the body and embracing it for what it is, with all it's amazing gifts as well as limited ability, can bring about a lot of hope.

OK, that was much more than I planned on writing. Hope it made sense. What do you think about all this?

A Confession on Judging Others

this post is an echollaboration (echoing things that were said by someone else collaboratively with my own thoughts on the matter. My poem with JD was the same way. Hey- I made I new word. 2 points.) with the devotional Brad Johnson gave this morning in Greek, which was amazing.

One of the professors I studied with at LSU noted that all people are lumpers and splitters; we lump things together and split things apart as we encounter them. This is a natural phenomenon, part of coming to understand the world we live in as we experience it. The unknown is always understood in reference to the known; and this subjective knowledge marks "the way things are" in our perspective of the world. It is the things that we don't know how to lump or split that often give us the hardest time understanding others, especially when our judgments are based solely on what we see or comprehend. This puts us in a situation where we make calls based on what we observe that may not match "reality", and can make us look rather foolish if we judge quickly, and often reveals a faulty structure or system of judgment under-girding our perspectives.

Isaiah 53:3 reads like this:

       He was despised and rejected by men,
       a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering.
       Like one from whom men hide their faces
       he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

This passage is part of a prophetic section often connected with the life and death of the Messiah. As Isaiah would correctly prophesy, Jesus was one person who was judged incorrectly by those around him.  I think a lot of people think that they would have been able to see Jesus as he was in his day.  I'm not so sure, though.  However, there were times where people's eyes were opened, like Peter's proclamation that Jesus is the Messiah, and the truth becomes clear.

In Greek today, we watched this video as part of a devotional. I think it's a great example of the truth of a person shining through the false judgments about them. If you have time, please watch it. Pay special attention to the judges' reactions. And try not to cry...

Susan Boyle - Singer - Britains Got Talent 2009
Uploaded by moovieblog

I love this video. I cried like a baby in class when we watched it.  Part of what stirs me up about it is the brilliant way through which the pure talent of Susan Boyle humbly shines through every assumption in the room. Who she was overcame every stereotype of her that was thought or voiced as soon as she sang her first notes. As you watch the judges' reaction, you can see when the ugliness of their judgments are exposed by the light of the beautiful truth. And honestly, they seem somewhat relieved. And ashamed as well.

Ever had a moment like that? Where your judgmental heart and perspective was overrun by the light of the truth? It brings you to your knees, to the earth; it brings you low. But its a good place to be. And honestly, we sometimes need moments like these to teach us to let go of our judgments. Those who judged Jesus eventually allowed those perspectives to murder him. Brad made a great point in class (which I'll paraphrase): I wonder how many people the church has caused to suffer and even die because we judged them instead of seeing them in the light of the truth, for who they are and who they can be?

Jesus Hmself knew what it was like to be seen as something different that who he really was. And what I love about Jesus is that He didn't feel the compulsive need to prove who He was to anyone. He was simply himself, and that clearly spoke to all who would listen. Living that comfortably in one's own skin judges the judgments of others; the truth critiques all other things simply through what it is. Living that comfortably in one's own skin also leads to the kind of glory we saw in Susan's performance; a live lived as it is intended to brings people to their feet.

Why don't I see people as they are, full of beauty and truth and potential? I've judged a lot of people in my lifetime. I know I have. Some I probably still do, though I hope God will bring that to light so I can walk away from it, humbly, but in truth. I know I've cut people off from their own potential through the way I've lumped them and split them in trying to understand them as people. I hate that. Forgive me, and transform me, Lord.

Lord, I pray that I can view people as they are, and not simply fit them into my understanding of the world.  I pray you enable me to love in a way that enables people to be who they are, and to allow who you are making me to be to shine for itself, knowing the proof of who I am will rise to the top. Thank you for suffering this kind of shame, that when I do, I have comfort that you have journeyed there with me and have endured to new life. I pray my today honors you more than my yesterday, and tomorrow more than today.

Living with Zyrtec

So the other day, I thought I was having an allergic reaction to something, so I went to the doctor. Turns out, they don't know what's exactly going on, but they put me on Zyrtec while we investigate a little further.

For the past two days, I've felt like I'm in a permanent hangover due to this drug (how do I know what a hangover feels like? hmmm.... educated guess, right mom?). I now understand why they tell you not to operate heavy machinery when on these things. This morning, I could barely lift my head up when my alarm went off. I hate being on medicine.

Which reminds me of this video (it's popular, but it's funny):

I had a similar experience when I got my wisdom teeth out. Whew... thank God my mom didn't let me drive home. 

When there's no power at church...

Jeff's quick to say that there's only one power you need in your church, and it's not electric power...

We saw a good example of that yesterday: we downsized our usual Sunday schedule to one service due to all the ice and snow in the area. I got to the church at about 8:15 to get ready personally, as well as to make sure all the little things that usually get done during the week were done for Sunday. Brent was going to lead the service's song sets, so I was mainly there to play the bass (poorly, but with a lot of heart) and make sure all the elements of the gathering happened.

At about 9:30, right as we were about to begin our rehearsal for the 11:00 service, the power went out.  And so did our original game plan: what we were planning to do required our usual army of lights, sounds, lyrics and media. With those options out of the window, we had to restructure everything from scratch.

No real plan: that's when Hope Church shines, so it seems...

Within 45 minutes, we had more power generators than we could use roaring outside. We had candles everywhere, which made Andrew giddy like a schoolgirl. We had re-routed power to a small portable system for Brent and I to use to lead the songs together. He and I worked through songs that would be more familiar to our people. Then, Greg routes power to the flat screens we have and runs media off his lap top to both screens through the already-run cables, so even in the dark everyone could sing along with all of the lyrics accessible to them. It reminded me of one of the trendy college-aged worship scenes I played in while in college; and it came together with time to spare.

It may have been one of the better worship times we've had at Hope as of late (and they've not been shabby at all). Jeff's sermon was short and pointed, the time of prayer was rich--and His presence brought the chaos of it all to order in a way that is blatantly supernatural.

All this to say: every time I think Hope cannot be a more servant-hearted and willing group of people, something happens to prove me wrong. We aren't firing on all cylinders as a church, and our flaws are always findable (and sometimes glaring), but I wouldn't trade this church for anyone, anywhere. I'm so blessed to be a part of it all. Thanks to all of you who are Hope Church, who make what we do possible through your lives and willingness to give of yourselves. The patience and flexibility I see in you guys makes the kind of ministry we long for possible everyday.

A poorly thought out post...

So last night, I went and saw Rick Stanley and Rick Gage, among others, at their crusade in Taylor County (home of Campbellsville University). It was a good night--the worship team was wonderful, and Stanley's testimony was filled with humor and insight from his both his life with Elvis (he is the king's step-bro) and his life with Christ. And then came the invitation...

Now, let me make a few things clear:

1. I am pro-evanglism. I believe in the gospel, that it's the hope and truth for all peoples.
2. I am not in anyway criticizing either of the Ricks or the ministry time last night.

However, and maybe this is personal, and maybe it's kind of generational, but when evangelism happens, I get very...on edge.  Especially public, large-group evangelism. Perhaps its the fear of manipulation and forced emotionalism that I've gained from experiences in churches and retreat/event settings. Perhaps its the people I can name who've "made a decision" in one form or another in one of these settings, yet who's lives never bore the marks of a transformed life. Perhaps its even my own experience in walking an aisle when I was young and making a decision for Christ with little to no real understanding of what I was doing or what that decision meant (other than perhaps going to Heaven, which was always more appealing than the alternative). But whenever that invitation began, those things all bubbled up inside of me...

Last night, a large number of people responded to the gospel. It was awesome to see. And the Gage Team handled things well for the setting it was in---people went and sat with counselors and talked through their decisions, etc... And I never want to doubt the validity of that time of ministry; I pray all those who saw themselves in light of who Christ is and what He's done put their whole faith in the saving power of Jesus Christ, His death and resurrection. I pray their lived are forever changed.

I kept thinking of this John Wimber interview I saw once. John Wimber was the founder of the Vineyard Church movement, and just a pretty amazing guy from everything I've seen and read by him. You don't have to agree with everything he taught to see that He loved the Lord and wanted to see this world changed by Him. John was being interviewed on 20/20 or something, and they sent a camera crew into a Vineyard Church to capture some footage as he and the interviewer discussed what the Vineyard movement was about. The footage they showed was a collage of actions that could easily be catagorized (or stereotyped) as fanatical pentacostalism--there were people yelling in tounges, rolling on the ground, "falling out" in the Spirit, etc... The interviewer looked at Wimber and said, "What we're seeing here...are you saying this is Jesus?"

Wimber responded, very wisely, " Some of it is."

As I watched the response last night, I came to a crisis of faith, in a sense. I had to choose to believe in the power of Jesus to save in spite of any of the other things that might play into this time of decision. To trust that there are things the Spirit is up to that I'm unaware of (I know--tough to believe) and to trust Him to draw people to the Father. I had to pray through my stuff and ask Jesus to save, no matter what I think may or may not be happening.

I don't know. This post isn't well thought out. What are your thoughts? Do any of you have any weird issues when it comes to evangelism?
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Listening to: The Decemberists - Los Angeles, I'm Yours

Prayers for Lisa and Peter

Today being September 11th and all, I started thinking about that event, and I was reminded of what happened in my life around then, things that were catalyst by 9/11.

One of those stories is about my friend Lisa. She and I worked at the CC's Coffee on Jefferson (the old one, where Bellue's is now, down from Churchill's). I was working the bar that morning; people started coming into the store claiming there had been a bomb in New York, then that a lane had hit one of the Trade Center towers...we didn't have a TV in the shop, so we couldn't watch the news. With every update, things became more and more clear that the planes had hit the towers on purpose, and that that day would be etched into our minds forever.  I got off of work at 10 to head to LSU for class; at that time the first tower had just fallen.  By the time I got into class, the second tower had fallen, and most of us had no idea what to make of all of it. My teacher tried to teach class as if nothing had happened, but we knew better.

We were preparing to host an event at LSU: Passion was beginning their second campus tour, and I was a part of the hosting group for that tour. Their first stop was at LSU on the twelfth, and in light of the events of the eleventh, who knew what would happen that night. I remember being on campus, talking with a few friends about NYC, planning our hosting half-heartedly, but really trying to make sense of what little info we had and what to do with it, when Lisa called. She was crying, or trying to restrain herself from crying, when she said hello. She told me that her brother worked in the second tower in NYC, and that they hadn't heard from him yet. His cell phone wasn't on, and that was the only phone he had, so there was no other way to get in contact with him. Her questions about why and how dwarfed my own--I could hear how desperately she wanted to reconnect with him and not think about the reality of him being there, inside, when the planes hit. She asked me to pray for him, that he would be counted among the survivors, and that they would hear from him soon. I prayed the best I knew how, honestly not knowing what to pray--who knows how to pray in a time like that? and told her that I would pray for them until they heard back from her brother. I told my friend Eddie, and we prayed, and sensing that this would be a way that the Father would draw Lisa to Himself, we began to pray more boldly: no matter the outcome, the Lisa would find God in the midst of this chaos.

The next day, I saw Eddie, who asked me if I'd heard from Lisa--I hadn't. To be honest, I didn't know what kind of phone call she'd get from New York, and I feared it would be the call she and her family didn't want to get.  We prayed, then set ourselves to getting the Passion people what they needed.  After making sure they were taken care of, I wondered into the LSU bookstore, killing time before the event and just praying, still grappling with the events of the previous day. I bumped into Louie Giglio, and we talked about it some--he was asking similar questions (though probably much more awesomely), and when we parted ways, the only thing I could think about was Lisa's brother. I went up to the Union Stage where the event was being set up, and Eddie was standing there. He looked right at me and said--let's pray for Lisa's brother. So we began praying...

Halfway through the prayer, my phone rang. It was Lisa. She was crying, but crying tears of joy. It seems that the morning of the eleventh, her brother's car had been broken into, where he had absent mindedly left his phone and his computer. So instead of going to work, he went to the police department to report the theft.  Once the attacks had begun, he was swept into the masses of people being herded out of that area of town, and had finally got to a phone he could use only thirty minutes before she called us.  Lisa called us to thank us for praying. I told her to thank God for hearing our prayers, for hearing her prayers, and for the grace her brother was shown.

Today I pray for Lisa, that she will remember the day her prayers were answered, and that where ever she is, that she would see the God who spared her brother is the same God who gave His Son to spare all of us. I pray that she and her family are blessed, and that they see and respond to the grace of God as He's displayed it in their past and in their present.

Shortly after 9/11, I went with Campus Crusade to NYC to help with efforts both at Ground Zero and in the Boroughs.  One of the days, my friend Tara and I were paired up to walk through parts of Queens and invite people to a city-wide prayer night hosted locally in different church throughout the Boroughs.  Once we split up, we began handing out fliers, talking to people about their experience in that past week, and praying with people that we encountered in the streets of Queens. That's when we met Peter.

Peter came out of his building as we walked by, so I handed him a flier and told him about what was happening that night. He quickly rattled off on why established religion corrupts the world and how it's all crazy and pointless, and we just let him--we weren't there to argue, but to pray. So we talked for a second more, then proceeded on our way.

"You need some help?"

And that's how we ended up with Peter that day. Even though he disagreed with our faith, he walked the streets of Queens with us, even at points taking the fliers and inviting people to the prayer services that he didn't think were worth his time. He told us about how he used his web cam so much, it's how he views reality now. We had long conversations about life and 9/11, about God and social issues and politics; he found out He agreed with the book of James more than he realized, as we opened it and talked about action and faith being linked. He took us to Socrates park, where we looked at art as he smoked a j. And finally, we headed towards the church, where he came in with us and sat for a bit.  He got up and left in the middle of the service, waiving to me as he left.

When I walked out of the service when it was done, he was there. He was crying, and he asked me to pray for his sick mother and for him--that he had some things to think about. I called him three times after that night and never heard from him.

I pray for Peter. Father, even now, remind him of that day, of our conversations. Remind him of whatever he had to think about, and let him know that You will receive him as he is, no matter where these years have taken him. Bless him in every way, and help him to see every blessing as an extension of Your hand, your grace towards us, as you desire for none of us to perish but all to come to repentance. Draw Peter into You--let him see You today.

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Listening to: Sojourn - We Are Listening

Other Thoughts, part two

Thanks to the gracious comments from the past post. It's great to know people read and have opinions about the garble I sometime regurgitate on this page.

The second part of the previous post has to do with living a life of holiness. This is a weird confessional point for me, but here it goes:

It's been a long time since I've taken living a life of holiness seriously.

"What, what?" you may be saying..."but aren't you a pastor? Isn't it your job to be holy?" Well, yes and no. It's my job to do the things Hope Church asks of me, and yes, one thing they ask (or rather, is an unspoken must of the job) is a holy life. But being holy isn't my job; it's my calling. Just like the rest of you followers of Jesus out there, I'm part of a "chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession," that I may "proclaim the excellencies of Him who called (me) out of darkness and into His marvelous light." (1 Peter 2:9-10)

I take issue with the holiness-is-your-job idea because it sanctions holiness to certain professions and out of the all-encompassing call of the believer to a life as a person set apart by the work and person of Jesus Christ. But that's not where this post takes root...

You see, I grew up in a church and house that served me with a great moral core. My parents raised us within a sphere of Christian values, and the church we went to supported, instilled and ingrained (and even enforced) these values into my social/cultural identity. But at some point, I believed a lie that I think a lot of people can fall into: I equated "living a holy life" with this moral code.

Now very few of these instructions for life are ill-advised or non-biblical; they find their roots in the faith, and still largely inform the ways I make decisions today--so don't take this as a bashing of my parents or the church I went to back then. I am grateful everyday for the grace those principals guided me into. However, I grew into thinking that if I kept this sometimes long list of do's and do not's, then I would be living a good, even a holy life. Part of this mentality is to set up kids with a moral tide that guides them to Christ.  Part of it is to set up fences that keep often foolish kids like me from making dumb and harmful decisions. Part of it even stems into our history, as Christians set up social systems that set them apart from the world they lived in so that a contrast would be seen in their gatherings (an artifical difference, might I add). For me though, this line of thinking brought great pride to me in keeping the rules well and great guilt and shame to me in the areas where I failed.

Now, when I was in college, I learned a good deal about the Scriptures, really becoming more of a disciple of Christ and less of a believer-by-culture-and-not-personal-faith. (I think i hyphenate too much. Note to self: stop it.) One of the topics of the faith I spent a lot of time in grace; and when you grow up in a faith that is governed primarily by rules, one of the topics I began to look at was legalism. You know, the idea that one can become so consumed by rule keeping that you actually miss the gospel--that "the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death" (Romans 8:2), that it is for freedom that Christ set us free, that we're no longer under law, but under grace, etc... Now, for someone that's been bogged down by the weight of their checklist, this grace becomes intoxicatingly attractive. One might say that I went grace-crazy, and for good reason: there is no more powerful force in the world than the uninhibited grace of God.

Sadly, for me, this ended a long-time concern I had with holy living, primarily because I equated no check list with no concern for holy living. I was excited to no longer bear the burden of creating a righteousness for myself, but I did what I'd guess a lot of people do who get that first taste of grace in their mouth: I quit worring about holiness. (I say I guess I'm not the first to do this because Paul warns about this kind of reaction with his two interrogating questions in Romans 6. I should read closer.) Now, I had both outright rebellion and dumb-ery during this phase and some amazing revelation and growth, which is weird. Freedom in Christ became a banner I flew far more than I understood, and I still had this underlying core I drew from for both guidance and correction that I left alone in the name of freedom for the most part, almost taking the attitudde that holiness will happen eventually, but I need not concern myself.  Needless to say, I was a walking wreck most of the time. 

I think my bigger issues with living a life of holiness (literally a life "in the state of set apart-ness") came down to two things: one, a fear of legalism, and two, a pride in being free. I heard a long time ago that a fear of legalism is the biggest enemy of holy living, and it makes a lot of sense. Honestly, striving to be free from rules, or being ruled by rules, naturally puts you at odds with all commandment, even God's.  It stems from autonomy, which can thwart the life of dependance we see in the Vine/branch metaphor Christ give His disciples to help them understand the design of a life of faith, which is naturally a holy life. Couple that with a pride in freedom, which twists the work of Christ in death and resurrection into a trophy I hold above my head and boast in, as if it was wrought by my own hands... wow...how I'm not dead from multiple lighting bolt strikes is solely a picture of undeserved mercy...thank you, Jesus!

So as I've come face to face with these ugly truths about my own heart and attitudes, I've had to ask the Father to teach me about holiness all over again; to divorce it in my mind from checklist spirituality while at the same time wedding it to my desires and drive, as it is something that He's made me for. I do believe that holiness is something that is to be natural for believers, as natural as fruit should be to an abiding branch.  It is not something I muster from my own efforts or some image created my my good deeds--it is the gift of God, something I cannot do of myself.

Part of my rethinking of (and rebirth into) holiness has come through thinking of God, the Father, Spirit, and Son, as the source of my holiness. Not to confuse this with Him being the source of my righteousness before Him, I'll draw this distintion through definition: my holiness is rooted in the act of God setting me apart; in the ways He sets me apart for His uses, I am holy. The items in the temple of the people of Israel were set apart for temple use from the point of design. They were made for use in sacred space, and were set apart for that use. They were treated differently because of that design and designation. They were also marked as set apart for divine purpose through their positioning. Priests positioned items in holy places, and because of that positioning, they became holy items, even if sometimes they had to be ceremonially cleansed before they could be set apart for that purpose. 

For those who are in Christ, these parallels should quicken your heart. We have been designed for use by God, "created in Christ Jesus for good works" (Ephesians 2:10). He made us new creations, and not for our own sakes (though we desperately needed it and greatly benefit from it), but for use in His purposes. We were set apart by design as that chosen race, that royal priesthood--and why, but to proclaim the excellencies of Him who called us out of darkness and into His marvelous light. We were cleansed by the redemptive covenant blood of Jesus Christ, and brought into the courts of God by Jesus, our High Priest. His Spirit in us guides us into holiness as He guides us into all truth, teaching us and showing us the path God has marked out for our lives.

So holy living becomes more about offering myself for use by God, for God, than it does my actions, though my actions are governed by my choices to obey his direction. That holiness is something I can rest in because it's completely by His doing. I didn't cleanse myself, nor did I bring myself to God; instead, He came and reconciled me to Himself. It centers in His work and my positioning to be involved in it. He sets us apart for use and we then choose to place our lives and hearts in His hands to be use.

I've had this hunger for holiness bubble up in the past couple weeks that I've not had for a long time. A hunger to be used as He's designed me to be used. It's weird...I didn't know I wasn't after it until that hunger bubbled up; it wasn't that I was unholy in all things--just that I started seeing how being set apart was an action God intended for my life for a reason, and I just starting thinking and praying---God, whatever you've done this for, I don't want to miss it. I don't want to not be what you've made me and set me apart to be. And I just started praying, and this hunger for holiness just started growing. And it's so good to be hungry for it, actively, again, and not driven to it because I fear I'm not holy, because I am, and I want to be too.

OK. That whole rant may not make sense. I blame the homework I'm not doing right now. I need to be set apart for homework now, so I'm out.

Oh, and keep praying for the people of South Louisiana. There are people who will be without power for weeks, and food is running out and there's no where to go if grocery stores don't have food (or power to get and keep food). Things are getting more desperate for many.   
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Listening to: Radiohead - All I Need

Another Update and other stuff...

My mom and dad got power yesterday, which surprised them (and most anyone else who's seen the damages done to BR in the storm). I'm pumped for them, and it was good to get a phone call from them instead of a text message. I was also encouraged to hear that their power came on while they were cooking and serving a gumbo to neighbors. It can be common for neighbors, even one's we've lived next to for years, to never cross paths; I'm proud my parents were reaching out and connecting with their neighbors. (note I'm not saying I'm surprised--just blessed to hear them serving their neighbors during the chaos of this storm).

I'm wrapping up my first week as a full-time student at Asbury, and while I'm sure I'll miss the free time and causal reading opportunities, I could not be more excited about school. I think I could be marked as one who's drank the Asbury kool-aid; I'm pretty sure if anything will shake that this semester, it will be greek. Or my gas bill.

Seriously though--two things have happened through my very-green-experience with Asbury thus far that haven't happened to me in a while. One, I have been overwhelmed by God's faithfulness, and by overwhelmed, I mean to the point where tears and laughter (most of the time simultaniously) are the only ways I can describe how awed I am by His grace toward me.  I've been trying to find a way to articulate this experience well, and the phrase I keep using is that I'm seeing the Father redeeem choices I had counted as beyond redemption...

I don't know if this is entirely common (though I'd wager it's more common than not), but I think there are choices I've made in my past that I designated as "Plan B'ers". You know, the kind of choices you make where you think, even subconsciously, that one bad choice (or a long series of them), while (amazingly) forgiven by the Father, probably landed you on the alternate plan for your life. They cost you and others too much for God to have you on the path you were originally intended to be on (or so we believe, or rather, so we sometimes live). It's not that God cannot still do great things in your world, but you almost start believing things like, "well, if I hadn't have done choice A (through choice HH), I'd really be where God wanted me in my life." We almost view ourselves on the "alternate time line" from Back To the Future 2; the one where Marty McFly goes to the past and changes one thing, and everything turns our horribly, except we (like a prophet) look at one event or series of events and banish ourselves to Plan B, or C or K. We view these choices as sealing our fate in a way; like a cosmic karma of sorts, putting a roof over our heads, keeping redemption at a level that is just gracious enough (which is a strange thought ina and of itself), keeping Jesus just merciful enough to let Him be Jesus without us really being awed by what He offers in Himself, because deep down we believe we should be worthy to receive such grace. 

I found myself in this mindset last week. And I saw Jesus redeem things I didn't know He could (or at least I hadn't experienced Him do in a long time). Now don't get me wrong--I don't want anyone to think that I'm saying what a person does in their past doesn't matter because it's behind us.  Bad choices can harm others and ourselves, and if Jesus didn't take them seriously, the cross and ressurection wouldn't have happened. But this week, I experienced a side of redemption I haven't tasted of in a long time--I saw God redeem choices I'd marked as fatal to my life. I looked down at my feet and found myself smack dabb in the middle of Plan A; "How did I get here?" I kept asking myself that--I couldn't believe I was standing where I was. I've made so many plan B, C, and ZZ choices...I've hurt others, I've hurt the reputation of the gospel, of the Lord I love both so deeply and so poorly...how Jesus? how could I possibly be here, now?

And in that moment the grace of God became more mysterious and wonderful than ever before.

It could be that I finally saw my complete unworthiness in contrast to the sovereign and wonderful grace of Jesus. It could be that I finally saw through the lie that there are some things that are impossible for God's redemption to touch. That for those who love God, all things really can and do work together for good (Romans 8:28). That He not only forgives, which is sometimes unbelievable in and of itself, but that He redeems--He rescues, He restores our hearts and our paths, He authors and perfects, and He can weave any life yielded to Him into His plan, no matter what that life brings to the table.

I'll share the other occurance with you another time... I have to pack up and head to Chapel, then Greek, then hopefully to get a haircut.

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Listening to: Jeremy Lister - Fit (EP Version)

Back to the Grind...

So today I call my mom, and she calls me out on my lack of writing this past week. Sorry, mom. Gotta please the faithful readers, even if it's just my mom.

Everyone seems to be getting back into their school patterns again--kids going back to school, parents shifting their schedule to accommodate this shift. Our Church builds a lot of our yearly schedule around this shift. After Labor Day, we'll be kicking off Annex, our discipleship program, again. I'm excited about Annex getting back into gear--there are great things happening in these groups, and we have some new groups forming that should be awesome. I'm sure Steve will give us more information on that soon...

Making this shift from summer to fall can be both troublesome and liberating; I guess it depends on how you look at your time. No one likes losing their free time to the grind of everyday life, but honestly, most of us don't lose our daily grind in the summer. I know one friend of mine has been looking forward to the fall for one reason: the routine. And not just the routine for him, but for his entire family. Summer doesn't allow his family to be together like the routine of school forces them to be during the school year.  The routine of school, homework, after-school activities, etc...actually enables his family to grow in the ways they desire. After talking with him about this, I got to thinking:

Discipline is something most believers I know struggle with on some level. Not discipline in the sense of "getting in trouble", but more discipline in the sense of a regimented way of life. Michel Foucault, a French philosopher, historian, and critic, wrote a lot on discipline, always suggesting that discipline is always a creative force. Foucault focused one of his books, Discipline and Punishment, on the historical shift of physical punishment for crimes to a more mental and psychological punishment, arguing this shift marked a change of thinking from an "eye for an eye" kind of punishment to one that reforms the criminal with the hopes that after this disciplining, they will no longer live the same life of crime. (OK--that's a huge summary that misses a lot of his complex arguments. If this line of thought intrigues you, read his book.) Discipline as a reforming force in not a foreign thought to most Christians-- most of us grew up in churches where spiritual disciplines were taught as the tools to shape us to be what we currently are not--they unleash the possibilities of who we could be, creating in us the kind of life we desire and see in the person of Christ.

One of the issues that springs from this approach to spirituality is that these disciplines can lead to a type of legalism. How many of you have every felt the guilt of missing your quiet time", or falling out of a pattern of daily prayer or scripture reading/meditation? I've been in churches where the idea of disciplines was approached so regimental that often it became the mark of spiritual life: if you read your bible and pray everyday, you are doing well, and if you're not, they you're failing at living the kind of life that pleases Jesus. This kind of approach to spirituality leads to a grossly warped view of Christian living, one that is driven by our doings and not the doings of Christ.  People in these systems of thought can become legalistic and condemning, or can fall into a perpetual cycle of failure, guilt and repentance that can never be transforming, or even worse, rebel from this way of thought and leave this legalism, leaving the creating power of discipline in their lives behind with it. How do we avoid the kinds of legalism that disciplines mis-taught/mis-practiced can produce without abandoning discipline in our lives all together?

One of the first things we must keep in view is that it is God, not discipline itself, that transforms us. The power of discipline to shape us in not found in the actions themselves, but the God whom these discipline connect us. The only hope for the world was, is, and will always be God, who did for us what we could not do ourselves: He reconnected us to Him through the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit. Disciplines that can transform us are those that keep us consciously connected to the Father who is recreating us, transforming His church and the world through the Son and Spirit into a people who both declare and enact the purposes of God here. Every discipline has re-creation in view, and it must hold communion with God as the agent of change.

Disciplines, therefore, become avenues of communion. In this communion, we enter into the exchange that occurs between us and Christ--the offering of myself and the reception of Himself. These disciplines are not "staying connected" to God (such thinking can lead to us thinking that through failing to remain disciplined, we lose our connection with God. He is the giver and maintainer of our union, and we are the receiver and partner in it. This is simple "He is the Vine, we are the branches" theology). Instead, these disciplines acknowledge the connection we have with Him, position us as receivers of the life His Spirit offers, and awaken us to the larger reality of God--His story, His purposes, His will, His glory.

Through these disciplines, His life becomes the life we draw from for living. Obedience becomes natural, logical, life-giving, and transforming to our world because it finds its root in Him, the transforming agent of all things. We begin to see Him as essential for our life, so we choose to re-order our lives so that we can live as receivers of His life, for the sake of our lives, our families, our communities. Through this perspective, we read for life, not facts or information. We pray for life, not answers or solutions. We fast for life, not to gain God's favor or get Him to listen. We serve for life, not for brownie points or social cred. And we find life, because we're not looking to disciplines to give it, but to the Lord, who gives it freely to those who abide and seek Him. And so disciplines become less and less self-centered, because we are not lacking, and can therefore benefit others because our lack is met in the union we have and draw from in God.

I'm writing this because my seasons are changing, too. Our church schedule is shifting, my school schedule is beginning, and in the midst of this, I'm desiring to be changed, and I know disciplines can act as a channel to help me be more of what I'm designed to be. I want to have a better view and practice of disciplines in my life, one that draws from God as my very life. And to be honest, in one way or another, I'm still affected by learning about disciplines poorly. I've grown up thinking that I needed discipline, where the truth I needed to live in was that I need life. I need to be more convinced of that than ever before, to the point where I order my life around being as alive as possible, even if that means being more disciplined...
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Listening to: Blind Pilot - Poor Boy 
 

Skittles = Chaos

Last night was night one of X4:12, our church's VBS-but-not-really-VBS-but-still-kinda-VBS for kids.  It was a wild, fun night from top to bottom; there were tons of kids and volunteers and candy, including Skittles . Now, I have a confession: the idea of throwing skittles was a seed planted by Jon at SCL on one of his posts (I can't find the original, but if i do, i'll link it).  He thought it would be awesome if someone threw skittles as part of a sermon. As I prepared, I thought it'd be fun to incorporate something tangible with the ideas i was teaching on, and it just made sense--throw skittles, Drew, throw them!

Needless to say, this was not the most thought-out of plans.  First, I did not anticipate the kind of all-out greed that Skittles produces in young kids--when i first tossed out a handful of the rainbow, it was like all of them became enraged with some kind of Skittle-rage. The kids were out of their seats with hands extended towards me in no time--like a little Skittle-mosh pit. I had dropped some on the stage, and kids were looking at them like they had just found the treasure hidden in the field. Second, I forgot part of my heritage: Mardi Gras. Crazy things happen when you throw things to a crowd from an elevated position, especially when they want what you're throwing. I'm glad no one lost a limb trying to get Skittles...and I'm glad no one flashed me. That would have been awkward.

On another note, the whole idea behind throwing Skittles was to show what effect bearing fruit should have on our world--it would draw them in, that they would taste and see the Lord's goodness through our actions and words. Sadly, I know throughout my life, my own actions have not always been that fruitful, and in some cases have even caused people to think the church is little more than a self-centered group of people who use Jesus as a weapon to shame and hurt others. I want to be a fruit-bearer, so to speak, and I know that it's directly linked to my own dependence on Christ--His life and my yielding to it. I want to be a person and I want to be a part of a church that bears fruit that puts people into the Skittle-fueled frenzy I saw last night--in a place where people who are affected by my (and our) actions find evidence in them that Christ is alive and well and working in our world. I ask you pray for me, that I would choose more and more to cling to Jesus, and that His life in me would bear more fruit, even if that means I'm "pruned back". I'm praying the same for Hope, and for the Church. Make us fruitful for the sake of Your name, Lord. 

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Listening to: Sufjan Stevens - Chicago