Faith My Eyes

There and Back Again: A Garden Tale (Part 1)

2011-10-08T19:37:00.006-04:00

There are a few obsessions I have -- apart from John Piper, of course. One is resurrection. I am in love with new life and resurrection language and imagery, but this is a topic for another day. I am also obsessed with this idea of reconciliation and its dark cause and wonderful fulfillment in both future hope and present relational experience of the God of the universe, but this can wait too.

The garden. My obsession with the garden finds its root in the fact that I was made for it. The Pentateuch opens with anticipation, expectation, pregnant mystery giving birth to the land conceived in eternity past. "In the beginning" to the modern reader sounds so antiquated, but at the beginning these words could only look ahead to a living, breathing land that was full of perfect and glorious means and ends. Yes, means AND ends.

God knew them both. The wonder and mystery of the end. The tragedy and triumph of the means. Life is precious, but life out of death is thrilling, an unexpected plot twist in the ever darkening cosmic story; he who finds life past the brink of death finds its true meaning.

This garden life envelopes time and space. In the beginning, the garden tells us of what should have been the true man as he walked side by side with his Creator. At the end, the garden awaits once more, the hope of restoration and everlasting fulfillment. Between these bookends, as men endure the hell of turning away from God and condemn themselves to a true, literal hell, the anti-garden, one emerges living the life that every one of us secretly wants and knows we should have lived. This one true man comes with a message: Trust me, lay your heavy burdens and your dead life on me that I may free you to walk in all the fullness of mine.

Meet the Heretic

2011-10-07T19:01:00.001-04:00

My name is Paul. And I am a recovering mud-slinger. It has been 22 months since I called someone a heretic. They may have deserved it, but then again, maybe not.

Almost two years ago, I used this word three times in a span of just two months. My friend, Meredith, happened to be present on all three occasions and likely didn't see my best side. Greg Boyd I called a heretic for his stance on the dangerous open theism. Rob Bell I had called a heretic for the collective of what I deemed unbiblical teaching. And Joel Osteen I called a heretic when maybe false teacher was a better designation.

I fear that after 22 months of sobriety I am on the verge of falling right back into my old ways. But it must be said, maybe just this one more time. Just once more.

I am a heretic.

I don't expect this admission will light up the blogosphere or make front page news, frankly because no one has ever heard of me in my little corner of the web. You wouldn't be privy to this insight had you not stumbled across this blog. You would have gone about your business and never been the wiser.

You see, high up in the mountains where few go without a donkey, I committed heresy before my believing friend and his wife, a Muslim. Maybe I get a pass because I heresied in Arabic, but I must admit that I knew what I was saying. Maybe I get a pass because it was an explanation of the trinity, but after ten years of following Jesus shouldn't I have that one locked down by now?

As I shared a story, she got the impression that Jesus was the Holy Spirit. Naturally, any good trinitarian would be quick to correct this. A good trinitarian knows there is one substance and three persons.

But how to express this in words that she would understand? I began by explaining the multiple roles of her husband, Ahmad. He is one person, but fulfills three roles. He is a father to his three children. He is a son to his own father. And he is a worker at the local butcher. Straddling the heresy line, I reminded her that this was only an example, a picture.

She didn't completely understand yet. So I tried again by showing her Jesus at his baptism in the Jordan River. We had gone through this story the previous day. Who is present? The Father speaks. The Spirit descends in the form of a dove. And the Son rises out of the water. This was it I thought, the perfect example from the Bible!

Well, she wasn't there yet. That's when I said it. They may not let me come home after this one. I could be excommunicated. They'll write books and blogs against me. I may forever bear the label "heretic", my scarlet letter. But I just didn't know how else to show it.

"We believe that God is one," I said to her, "and the Book says this in the Old Testament and the New Testament. But God shows Himself to men as a Father, a Son, and a Spirit."

In the wake of this horrendous representation of a crucial piece of Christian doctrine, I realize that anyone can fall into heresy, albeit mistakenly. It is a thin line between good teaching and bad teaching and I guess it was just my turn to cross it. Surely everyone has crossed this line once or twice. I'm not saying we reward people who camp out on the other side of the line, but that we have some understanding for people when they slip up from time to time. And when I say we, I'm firstly talking to myself.

Perhaps a little humility will go a long way in understanding people rather than judging them for theological views that may still be in process and condemning them for their process theology. After all, we believers in the only begotten Son are all continually being moved toward perfection through Him, whatever that may look like. We're being conformed to His image, even heretical offenders like me.

Kindness and Severity (Or, Islamic Intolerance)

2011-09-15T18:44:00.011-04:00

The Muslim world demands to be heard. It demands respect. It demands tolerance. The Muslim world demands to be given the place of honor that it has not earned. This is not the quiet pleading of a weak, crippled beggar child who tugs at the pant legs of passersby on the street. Rather, it is the screaming of an abused, neglected, marginalized child who thirsts for attention. A child filled with violent rage, its craving grows with every new journalist assigned to cover its many heinous crimes.

The Muslim world demands airtime, even a brief flash across the news ticker, but once it has your attention, it demands more. It demands a hearing, and with that hearing an understanding, and with that understanding an alliance. It demands your respect, your cooperation, and your tolerance. It will have your tolerance, or your life. Islam has forced on the world its need to be tolerated, recognized, and showered with praise on the world stage, but behind the new iron curtain of Sharia law tolerance is nowhere to be found. One by one, Arab leaders air their grievances and demand reparations and justice only to return to their homes where they violently suppress their own national minority voices.

Nationalism is not the driving force in the Muslim world, but insecurity. The citizens of this world do not hoist high the national colors, call out for global acceptance, and aggressively defend their actions and religion as a result of nationalism, but because of an intense insecurity that plagues the entire culture. It is not praise that falls from the lips of its people, but a continual defense even when there is not the slightest hint of accusation. And arguments for this defense thrive in the realm of poor scholarship, half-truths, and misrepresented facts. I am told the world is turning to Islam en masse. I am told that all civilization hinges on Islam juxtaposed to the roadblock of what the Europeans call civilization. I am told that any of today's technological advances are the direct result of Islamic civilization. I am told that every single person on the earth is born a Muslim. The world watches on as an entire race of people labors to continually prove their great worth and value to the world. They yearn for your attention and your allegiance. The average citizen who falls prey to this pervasive insecurity utterly rejects, mocks, and abuses the very cross by which he can be fulfilled.

The great message of tolerance preached by the Muslim world is utterly empty behind closed doors. Day after day, my Muslim friends command me to enter Islam. They force on me this decision and command me to convert. No arguments are necessary, but simply my submission. The residents of my city continually clamor for my attention in matters of religion, their religion. The moment I turn the conversation to the cross, the resurrection, and the payment of mankind's sin the conversation has become unacceptable. Strong arguments for the Christian position are not met with thoughtful dialogue, but scorn. Presentations of gospel truth are not met with the question "What must I do to be saved?", but fear of the secret police. Prayer for the sick is not met with gratitude and expectant faith, but mockery and abuse.

If I may for a moment address my Muslim neighbors: your blood is not on my hands.

There will come a day when you stand before the throne of God almighty and you will not be able to claim ignorance. You will be held accountable for your rejection and abuse of the only beloved Son who came to ransom mankind. God will exchange a lifetime of kindness for the severity reserved for those cast into the outer darkness. "Behold!" cries Paul, "the kindness and severity of God."

From Paul's Journal: Tyrants and Thieves

2011-08-22T18:00:00.002-04:00

There is a weight associated with a relationship that looks ahead to marriage. There is a heavy burden, it seems, to truly be the man that God has called me to be. I feel it pressing down on my shoulders as a squat bar digging into my bones and causing me to buckle down and focus on the goal ahead. There is a responsibility that I feel I have taken on. I have not yet made the commitment, evidenced by a wedding ring, but I will be tasked with the duty and great delight to provide for my wife, treasure her, protect her, honor her, and, without hesitation, lay down my life for her -- and this does not necessarily mean dying, though that is there as well.

Also, I will be charged to lead my wife. Leadership should be the expectation of all men. We are all called to lead in some way or other, but few take this seriously. Leadership is a fine line, and not for the faint of heart. There are many men who attempt to call what it is they do leadership, but they are deceived and sadly mistaken.

Some are thieves; they steal, kill, and destroy like their father. The thief takes what he wants, and in the end never really wants what was taken. Indeed, what he took did not belong to him, but neither does it become his. He will never be satisfied; he grasps for every rose within his reach, causing all to wilt.

Some are tyrants; they overpower, rule, and dominate like their father. The tyrant abuses and controls, but will never control his abusive power. Under the tyrant, there is no freedom until death do you part.

And some are leaders; they serve, understand, and love like their Father. With humility, the leader serves. With patience, he listens. He recognizes that he has been forgiven much, and therefore loves much. Because of the life Jesus is living through him, the leader is patient, kind, not jealous; he does not brag and is not arrogant, he does not act unbecomingly; he does not seek his own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; he bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.

This is a heavy burden to bear for any leader. It is heavy for any man. This burden is far too much for any son or daughter of Adam to bear. As I contemplated these things, the weight grew even heavier when I decided to ask Rebekah's father permission to begin dating her. This would set in motion the process by which I would one day take full responsibility to lead his precious daughter.

As I sought the Lord that week, I asked Him to give me a promise from His Word.

"Come to Me," He said, "all who are weary and heavy-laden, 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. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light."

Baptism and Ramadan

2011-08-22T12:57:00.008-04:00

With whom do you identify?

We all must answer this question. And, in fact, we do. Every day we attest to our identity by the way we live and the places we go, those we follow and those we shun. The question can be rephrased a hundred different ways: Where does your allegiance lie? Whose badge do you wear? Whose colors do you raise? Whose team do you support?

With whom do you identify and are you willing the world to know?

Now that Ramadan has reached its full potency, all the masks have been stripped and the truth unveiled. People are hungry. They are hot. They are thirsty. Did I mention that the entire Arab world is hungry? An entire people spanning parts of three continents is miserable for a full lunar cycle each year, so stay out of its way, walk on the other side of the street, and, if need be, run for your life. But what is commendable, and certainly notable, is that they will continue to persevere until the end. Ramadan is theirs and they will see it through to the end, if nothing else by mere mechanical, chemical impulses to place one foot in front of the other. Why? Because it is in the DNA, it is who they are.

But in the months leading up to THE celebration of the year -- the most wonderful time of the year, that time of the year when families come together to prepare feasts, bake holiday cookies, and celebrate together -- everyone wants to know of the foreigner: Will you fast? Some are pushier than others, but I have not yet met an Arab Muslim in my North African country who has deflated the notion that I must fast during Ramadan to really belong here. People are thrilled to hear that I fast, but vastly disappointed that I will not fast for Ramadan. When I push a little deeper into this thinking I find that if someone can just get me to reschedule my fasting for Ramadan, I'll be there.

You see, in the Arab world, image is everything. The one thing my friends want from me, maybe even need from me, is to identify with what they are doing. In their eyes, if I will just come along and if I will just identify with them, pray with them, fast with them, then I'm already there: I'm one of them. At the most basic level, I have identified with Islam. And once I'm a Muslim, I am a true North African. My identity is Arab.

This is why baptism is so important in the Christian life. Contrary to popular opinion, baptism is so much more than a glorified bath in an oversize tub. It is more than the drops of water that anoint the head of a new believer. Baptism is more than water, however one chooses to use it. Baptism, at its fundamental, core level, is identification. When Paul says that we are baptized into Christ's death, burial, and resurrection, he is saying that we bought the T-shirt and want the world to know who we now are. I have pledged my allegiance to the new Spirit-driven life that His resurrection signifies.

We make identifications all the time. We go to a certain school, cheer for a certain team, and give ourselves names like "Calvinist", "Dispensational", and "Bedside Baptist". How I identify myself begins to define me. This is why when my identity is wrapped up in all the things I'm against, I begin looking for fights around every corner. And when my identity is secure in the truths of Ephesians 1, I can rest easy knowing that I am a chosen, adopted son without fear of endangering my long-awaited inheritance.

That with which I truly identify will be evident in my life. She identifies with the Texas Rangers, and proudly wears the hat wherever she goes. He identifies with a certain political party, and anyone who doubts him can look to the pin on his jacket. True identification is to march out to war with the king and proudly wear his colors at whatever cost. Take off the old self, put on the garb of the new self. True identification with Christ's resurrection is to yield oneself to the transformative power of the Spirit; yes, walking in newness of life is proof of identification.

So, again, with whom do you identify?

But, perhaps, the more telling question is with whom would our neighbors say we identify?

Hope Floats

2011-08-10T06:20:00.002-04:00

"But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness and all these things will be added to you." - Matthew 6:33

Coming through the tempest, I now find myself lying on the shore, exhausted and weak. For the longest time, I swam against the current, trying to reach a goal from which a greater force was intent on keeping me for one reason or another. In the midst of those interminable moments returning to shore, swimming through the rough, suffocating waters, I feared that my vain striving to reach some distant buoy would prove fatal, not in an extravagant or eloquent death that people would remember and retell again and again as a story of bravery and courage to the last breath, but simply sinking into nonexistence, swallowed up by the deep waters and forgotten.

I nearly lost heart that day at a beach in Torremolinos, just as I nearly lost heart that summer in the mountains of Africa. Doubt followed closely on the heels of loss of faith and death began to creep into my heart and spread through my limbs as I struggled in the direction of shore. Empty and sinking, I cried out in anguish for mercy and hope was reborn. The only hope that is capable of restoring my spirit, reinvigorating my passion, and re-centering my heart after it had once more strayed.

On that shore I lie, drained of all of me. Lying at the edge of the sea where I had given my last vain effort. Lying safe from the driving waves in which I was sinking into the deep waters of oblivion to the notice of no one. Spread out on the sand, my chest heaves as the waves continue to crash and surge over my weary body. Hope is rekindled as dependence is set right in my life, no longer the hand-puppet to suffocate me at the whim of selfish desires holding it captive; its icy fingers now slowly release from around my neck. For a time, dependence had become confused in me, given to that which was undeserving. My hope is not reliance on the girl I met two months ago in Sevilla though in the end it was her silence that served to painfully return me to dependence on the only One who will never fail me. My hope is not contingent upon advantageous circumstances, warm feelings, or the returned affection of a woman, nor should it be shaken -- if held firm by meditation on what has already been proven true in the world and in my own life -- by a lack of any one or all of these elements. My hope was and now remains He who rescued me after I had worked so hard to swim my own way only to find myself drowning in an unforgiving ocean. Even when I no longer held on to hope, He held on to me.

Now just ten days removed from my near death experience, with fresh perspective and a focus rebuilt on the foundation of the Creator of heaven and earth, He has enacted the process by which it seems He will give me one of His most precious gifts. And if there is one thing I have learned this summer, it is to not elevate gift above Giver. As I have sought the Lord these past few days, He has met me with wisdom, timely counsel, and ever-clearer direction. This morning I awoke and found myself soaking up a sermon preached by Jesus long ago. He proclaimed, "Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness." Seek the Giver, for then "all these things will be added to you."

From Paul's Journal: The Adventure Instinct

2011-06-29T04:14:00.008-04:00

I'm home now; finally returned to my city. I've never been one for what they call home; home was something from which one must escape, a captivity into which freedom called. Stained and dreary, those four walls pressed in on me for years. I have not settled since, always chasing freedom but finding new walls. It may very well be that a woman's touch is needed to transform a dungeon into a home.

Though, on the other hand, it may simply be a matter of the heart, but matters of the heart are never simple. Perhaps, I'm growing weary of running. And what is a runner who has no destination? To always run and have no finish line quickly compounds the fatigue. Maybe this is the cause of that sudden, unexpected loss of the wild, escapist spirit that many men don't realize has left until mid-life. They lose the adventurer inside, that wanderer running from old, cell walls, that killer instinct. The instinct that the youthful fighter feeds off, but when suddenly it leaves, if not replaced by anything substantive leaves him dead in the water, old and washed up, fully at the mercy of his opponent.

So this growing desire for home, or a home -- because home itself does not necessarily have to be something I have already known or seen or heard, but perhaps a new invention, or a remixed solution fortified with better ingredients -- though it seems to come at the cost of the killer instinct falling away, does not have to be something bad. A tree which has suddenly lost its leaves will rest and return after a season fully rejuvenated.

To live and learn this idea of home does not of necessity have to mean the death of something -- adventure, joy, or fullness of life -- but a transformation, a step into the unknown. How else does a duckling discover its natural swimming ability unless it pokes through the shell and stumbles past the broken pieces?

Naturally, at this stage of my life, one of the biggest upcoming steps to discovering and integrating home will be starting a family. But this itself is another big adventure, so where do men go wrong, what is the cause of the crisis many men experience at mid-life?

It seems to me that the root can be found in the attitude toward the two stages of life. There is an instinct in many men my age to wander, explore, adventure, and experience; let's call this the adventure instinct. Could it be, as I have said, that this adventure instinct gets fatigued and must, for a time, go into hibernation or briefly lie dormant in order to refresh? That many families often begin while this instinct is dormant, leading to later discontent when the man feels that home has again lost its freedom and reverted to the old, dirty cell walls.

So what is the solution? What is the remedy and road to a healthy family? I would suggest that the answer is in the object of that adventure instinct. The wandering season I am in now is feeding this instinct, as well as, I am sure, early married life will also be a source of new adventure. But it seems like the adventure instinct is seeking, even dependent on, something to fulfill it. It is possible that I could let the instinct run away with me and chase fulfillment in traveling, hiking, rock climbing, and all the other excitement that awaits me on this side of the world. In the next stage, I could seek fulfillment in my wife, my kids, and this whole home idea. If these are the objects of my adventure instinct and its fulfillment, they will all fail me.

The object, the goal, must be a greater adventure, a more luscious pleasure, and a bigger joy than any object I have so far named. My hope must be the One who secured it. My joy, He who is not only the essence of beauty, but her source. My adventure, He who created the wildest habitations and the fiercest instincts.

If I am to step into this new stage of life, I must rest on the Foundation which will hold all the stages together. If I am to love my wife as she deserves to be loved and raise my children to know the greatest Adventure, then they cannot be the first focus. In fact, they will only come into right focus when I use the proper lens to view them. To be a consistent man, a passionate husband, and an adventurous dad, I must be setting the right lens now in advance.

"Set your mind on the things above, not on the things that are on earth." (Col 3:2) If Paul sees it as necessary to inform us to do this, it's likely that it will not just come naturally. Whatever season my adventure instinct is in, I must be alert and continually forming this instinct by setting my mind on the things above.

From Paul's Journal: Sex and Heaven

2011-06-24T08:48:00.008-04:00

My most recent exploration into heaven began several weeks ago when I stumbled over Isaiah 25. I'll come back to this momentarily, but first some thoughts from Mark Driscoll and C.S. Lewis.

In Mere Christianity, Lewis compares the next stage of man with the contemporary view of evolution. The turn from "huge, very heavily armoured creatures" to "little, naked, unarmoured animals which had better brains" is, by and large, inconceivable and leaves man with very little to go by in predicting the next stage.

The new man will be like nothing we've yet seen and Lewis makes the point that he is not the result of a sexual act. The new man is advanced and comes about through a spiritual birth. In the next stage, sex is voided, no longer necessary or even in existence. In a sermon I recently heard, Driscoll quotes Steve Arturburn as saying the sexual act is the most powerful, pleasurable act in man's earthly experience.

As a single man who still remains a virgin, I have no real category in which to place this information. I have never experienced the supposed thrill, ecstasy, and intimacy of what I am told is one of God's greatest gifts to man. You could say that my "Man" experience is still lacking, incomplete, as a puzzle missing a large piece just off-center or a machine not yet running at full efficiency because a certain cog has not yet been replaced with its proper upgrade.

So I ask, if for some reason I am not married and have not experienced sex before this life ends, will my joy be incomplete? It seems that if the words of Jesus are correct -- "they will not be married or given in marriage [in heaven]" -- there is no sex in heaven. But the greater question is, can my joy be incomplete in heaven? Is not every good and pleasurable thing on earth given, or come down rather, from the "Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow?"

The gift is not to be gloried in, but the Giver. Sex is not to be gloried in, but He who has given it. Will heaven not be the true form, and God the actual light that our individual idols cause to be seen as shadow on the earth, in which all joy and pleasure and more are culminated and even increased exponentially? In heaven, all good and pleasing gifts are true, real, tangible. It's amazing how empty men can feel at the height of conquest, success, and victory. How, when I grab onto what I'm looking for on this earth, it never seems to be what my soul is really in need of. That somehow in heaven the momentary, scattered wafts of true joy and pleasure that often tempt me to God are full and ongoing and not lacking for eternity.

Heaven is to truly come home as we always dreamed it would look, to smiles and hugs and never-ending love deep as the sea. Heaven is to walk the fields along the creek side soaking in every bit of the sun's warmth to never again have a care or a worry or a fear of something needing to be done or fixed or made ready. Heaven is to know my neighbor with the greatest of love and intimacy surpassing and superseding what man knew as sex on the earth in ages past, now nearly a forgotten memory.

Isaiah informs of us these things:

"The LORD of hosts will prepare a lavish banquet for all peoples on this mountain; A banquet of aged wine, choice pieces with marrow, And refined, aged wine.
And on this mountain He will swallow up the covering which is over all peoples, Even the veil which is stretched over all nations.
He will swallow up death for all time, And the Lord GOD will wipe tears away from all faces,
And He will remove the reproach of His people from all the earth;
For the LORD has spoken."
Isaiah 25:6-8

God Comes To Us

2011-06-23T14:28:00.001-04:00

"O Children of Israel! Call to mind the special favor which I bestowed upon you, and fulfill your covenant with Me as I fulfill My Covenant with you, and fear none but Me. And believe in what I reveal... And cover not Truth with falsehood... And be steadfast in prayer; practice regular charity; and bow down your heads with those who bow down (in worship)." - Al'Baqarah 2:40-43

Just what is the fundamental difference between Islam and Christianity?

For some time now, I have been studying the Bible and the Qur'an with my friend Muhammad. As I have gone deeper into the Qur'an, the lines that divide us are becoming more clear in my mind. The above reference from the second surah represents what I think is the biggest difference.

Mohammad goes all the way back to where it all started with God and Israel, the Abrahamic Covenant. The Covenant is established here for the first time in the Qur'an and is immediately followed by what I call the "imperatives of worship". It is a call to Israel to remember the God who covenanted with them and an establishment of the foundation on which the covenant stands. What does Mohammad understand here as Israel's part of the covenant?

Several "imperatives of worship":

Believe in what I reveal. (2:40)
Cover not Truth with Falsehood. (2:41)
Be steadfast in prayer. (2:43)
Practice regular charity. (2:43)
Bow down your heads (in worship). (2:43)

Israel is to fulfill it's part in order that God may fulfill his side of the bargain. This understanding of God's covenant with men leads to what are known as the 5 pillars of Islam (pray 5 times each day, give alms, go on hajj, observe Ramadan, and say the Shahadda). In Islam, man must go to God. He must work and earn favor with God in order to be acceptable. God waits for man to come to Him.

This is exactly the opposite of the message we find in Genesis to which Mohammad seems to refer. Remember, Mohammad never read the Old Testament in His own language. He came a millennium after the completion of these books and almost two millenia after the writing of the Torah. Furthermore, he came from an entirely different culture hundreds of miles away. His opinion of the events of Genesis are slightly suspect.

But what do we find within the pages of Genesis? God comes to man. On the very day God establishes His covenant with Abraham, in blood, we find the sole condition placed on man for his part of the covenant. God is clear about what he is offering: a great nation, One who will rise up out of that nation, resulting in a blessing for all the world, which would serve as a great inheritance. But what does Abraham offer? Is he commanded to pray fervently, offer charity, or bow his head a certain way?

"Then he believed in the LORD; and He reckoned it to him as righteousness." - Genesis 15:6

God came to Abraham. Abraham simply believed and God looked upon him as righteous. The very foundation of the Abrahamic Covenant is grace. Paul writes in chapter four of his letter to the Romans, "Now to the one who works, his wage is not credited as a favor, but as what is due. But to the one who does not work, but believes in Him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is credited as righteousness."

Mohammad misunderstands the connection between the Abrahamic Covenant and the Mosaic Covenant. Unfortunately, the Qur'an's version of the "Ten Commandments" is the foundation on which the covenant is built. This error is obvious in Al-Baqarah as Mohammad intertwines the two covenants and bases the first on the second. In the Torah we know that the "Ten Commandments" were given only after the first covenant was ratified with saving faith. God gave more specific commands to his people several hundred years later because they proved incapable of simply walking in the grace of trusting God. Their hard hearts required specific directives to point out their sinful ways and lead them to a knowledge of the grace given to Abraham.

Clearly, hard hearts continue to prevail today, especially in the Law-burdened Islamic nations. So what does this mean for our Muslim neighbors? Stop working! God says in the Zabor (Psalms): "Cease striving and know that I am God." The foundation of the covenant which God made between Himself and Israel is a trust and a belief in the God who revealed Himself to Abraham, Moses, David, and Isaiah. They trusted God as He gradually revealed Himself. To Abraham, God was the One who would bless the whole world through one of Abraham's descendants (Gen 22:18). To Moses, God was the One who showed grace on His people by teaching them what righteousness looked like (Exodus 22). To David, God was the One who did not count sins against His people because they would later be paid for in blood (Psalm 32). To Isaiah, God was the One who was sending His Suffering Servant to bear the sin of the world (Isaiah 53).

One day, as Jesus was teaching in Jerusalem, a crowd of scribes and Pharisees gathered -- their main goal to find a way to have Him killed -- providing Him an opportunity to rebuke their hard, religious hearts. He was disappointed that the Jews had not followed Abraham's example of faith. John chapter eight records their conversation:

"Your father Abraham rejoiced to see My day, and he saw it and was glad."
So the Jews said to Him, "You are not yet fifty years old, and have You seen Abraham?"
Jesus said to them, "Truly, truly, I say to you, before Abraham was born, I am."
Therefore they picked up stones to throw at Him, but Jesus hid Himself and went out of the temple.

Many Muslims are ready to throw their stones at Jesus and His followers. I want to challenge you to consider the claims of this man you call a Rasul (Teacher). Read the Injil (New Testament), read the words of this Rasul you call Jesus. What He truly said in history, recounted to us by many witnesses will shock you. Read, and find out for yourself that God came to us.

Justice And The Fight For Freedom

2011-05-12T16:30:00.003-04:00

The world watches anxiously as Arabs from Morocco to Bahrain together pursue one goal: freedom. They have mobilized to strike fear into the heart of tyranny. An entire generation fighting to expose and dismantle regimes built on oppression, corruption, and tyranny, these brothers and sisters envision a better future and a better life. They cry out for freedom, but the battle is really one for justice.

Today's youth have awoken to the reality that if they do not fight against injustice, no one will do it for them. They believe that corrupt governments and power hungry politicians are not the cornerstones of progress. Rather, hope rests on democracy and human rights to create a better world. Justice will be served. The wicked will be cast down.

Yes, this is an age of awakening. We will no longer lend ourselves to the injustice of kings and dictators, crooked politicians and bribe-seeking police. Yet to this day, mosques everywhere are filled with worshipers who bow to the antithesis of what it is they seek. They are a people who refuse to be ruled by unjust men, yet submit to an unjust God.

Time and again, my neighbors and friends instruct me that God will grant mercy to the faithful. I am told that for those who confess "There is no God but Allah, and Mohammad is His prophet" and outweigh bad deeds with good all will be forgiven. God will simply erase all the mistakes and errors triumphantly ushering the believer into paradise. In Islam, pardon is fully within the realm of God's justice, and He will pardon every good Muslim. Supposedly, bad deeds are forgotten never to be remembered.

But what of the victims, do they remember? Do they not deserve justice?

Consider a fictional courtroom in my local village. As you and I sit behind the defendant, he rises and moves to plead his case. Accused of murder, he stands before the judge and begins his defense,

"Your honor, I have committed murder as you are well aware. But you must understand that this is but an isolated incident. I have murdered, but I am no murderer. Consider the weight of my good deeds, I pray five times a day, give alms, and uphold Ramadan. Please ask my neighbors and they will tell you that I have been on hajj twice. Allah Al'Aqbar! Does not this life of service before Allah more than cover the few mistakes I have made? I beg your mercy as you consider my past service in rendering judgment."

With the drop of a gavel, the judge acquits this man of all charges. He is free to go. For a moment the courtroom is stunned; the citizens stare at the judge in shock. And shock gives rise to anger. "Order in the court!" cries the judge at the public outcry. Amidst the uproar, a young girl sits quietly trembling in the back row. Tears begin to flow down her cheeks; a flood of memories gushes through her mind. As her makeup begins to smear, her puffy eyes lock with those of the defendant as he retraces his steps down the aisle. With a grin, her father's murderer exits the courtroom.

Not one of us would tolerate such blatant injustice from a human judge. This revolution was started to cast down such injustice. And yet, Islam's claims make God out to be no better than our oppressors. To this point, my Muslim friends will object, "But God is not bound by our justice. His justice is different than earthly justice."

You are right when you say that God is not bound by temporal, finite creation. But I ask, did not the God who created you and I and the world in which we live also create the order that turns it and the justice that governs it? If God deems that the justice passed down to the prophets Moses, Jesus, and Mohammad is holy, is he not unholy when his justice proves contrary? Buried inside every human heart is a God-given conception of justice that flows from God's very nature. We can know and fight for justice because it is essential to the God who has sanctioned and sanctified it.

All injustice comes at a cost. A price to be paid. The murderer must relinquish his freedom, the thief must make reparations, and the sinner must be called to account for his active rebellion against a holy God. Within the confines of Islam's double-standard-justice, men will continue to uphold justice only when it is convenient and beneficial for them. Only a people that understands God's deep love for justice will actively pursue that justice in all facets of life.

Until the Arab world takes a firm stand on universal justice, the change they so desperately desire will elude them. An unjust God is as worthy of my worship as Mubarak is deserving of my tax money. Under an unjust God, the fight for justice will fail. Nothing will change but the names of those who filch and oppress the poor.

So what is the answer? How does God prove Himself just and still justify sinners? According to Paul's letter to the Romans in the Injil, chapter 3, the publicly shed blood of Jesus stands as payment for the sin and injustice committed by all who place their trust in this Messiah. Islam is half right, God will indeed pardon sin for the faithful. But He does not do this without payment.

God came to earth wrapped in man's skin, called Himself Jesus, and made the reparations on our behalf. Justice was fulfilled at the cross. The sinner's pardon is the blood of our spotless lamb.

Freedom or Facade?

2011-05-07T12:30:00.004-04:00

Arabs everywhere are crying out to demand freedom. Egyptians, Libyans, and Saudi Arabians are standing up to corrupt and violent governments and clamoring for change. They raise their fists for freedom, equality, and hope.

On January 30th, Egyptians protested in a "Day of Rage." Officially, Bahrain followed on February 14th, Libya on February 17th, Morocco on February 20th, Tunisia on February 25th, and Saudi Arabia on March 11th. Unofficially, many have fallen in between, more frequent in some countries than others. In Morocco, for instance, every Sunday has seen peaceful protests in all the major cities since February 20th.

The protesters collectively want freedom. But on an individual level, people are demanding work, better pay, and more opportunities for the college-educated. They want to put a stop to corruption. They want new leaders. They want a better life.

But today's freedom movement has a serious internal flaw. The focus is on me. What can I get? How can I better my position? America's freedom was built on a Judeo-Christian ethic, an entire nation joining together to create a better world for everyone. Where self-interest comes first, freedom devolves into tyranny. The fight for personal gain is not the fight of freedom. This man's freedom is another man's chains.

The conception of freedom that requires the destruction of the bourgeoisie by the proletariat is a never-ending cycle of violence. Freedom always has in view the minority. And this is the fork in the road where freedom and Arab culture part ways because even the minority does not have in mind the minority. What an Arab minority has in mind is ascension to power on the backs of other minorities. For many, freedom is an empty word, a stepping stone to securing power.

I fear that many of today's freedom fighters have a short-sighted view of freedom. If freedom is what you want for your nation, there is no place for your motivations of money, power, and position. Freedom requires sacrifice. Freedom defends the weak, helps the helpless, and extends its hand to enemies. My Arab friends, you must set aside your hatred, your biases, and your differences. It may sound counter-intuitive, but by helping the helpless, you help yourself.

Will you fight for your own rights, but deny them to your countrymen? At the end of the day, will the poor and uneducated still be marginalized? When you have seen your revolution through, will you acknowledge the rights of your Christian brothers and sisters, those who have been threatened, tortured, and killed in the name of Islam? Will you defend the oppressed, abused, and downtrodden?

I want you to know that you have many Christian countrymen. In fact, they are scattered all across North Africa and the Middle East. They work hard, commend truth, seek justice, and ask God to give wisdom to those in authority over them. They are the minority that is most in danger of being left behind in this revolution.

Will we all get the better life you seek, or is this just a facade?

The Shot Heard Around The World

2011-05-04T11:30:00.001-04:00

A young 20th century would stumble into the world desperately seeking identity. The expectations were high; previous generations had been responsible for reformations, industrial revolution, and the Enlightenment. Progress was lifted high as the banner that historians would use to define the age, a powerful diversion to steal the world's attention away from the atrocities of imperialism, ongoing wars, and the rising discontentment of nationalism.

Mankind looked down from his high tower reveling in the glory of his great masterpiece all the while oblivious to the corrosion of its foundations. Then, one warm summer morning in Sarajevo, a shot was fired that was heard around the world. Before the projectile reached its mark, the world was at war. Piercing the jugular vein of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the bullet released a flow of long overlooked anger and virulence into a shattered world loosely held together by the tenuous geographic lines laid out by the imperial powers that be.

Fired from the gun of a young Serbian, this shot would signal the mobilization of the world's armies. Declarations of war would be heard as far as the shot's ringing echoes could reach. With one swift action, the world was at war. An unstoppable chain of events brought modernity crashing back down the very mountain of progress it had intrepidly stood upon.

A fledgling 21st century would find itself in that same struggle to discover its identity. One more generation fed up with its oppressors, the Arab world unwittingly awaited a catalyst as it stood by watching kings and dictators -- risen from among their own people -- multiply the iniquities of previous centuries' colonists. Once more the answer would be heard loud and clear by the world that had turned a blind eye to their suffering. With the strike of a match, a young Tunisian man would ignite the Arab world sending far and wide the flames of violence and rage long suppressed.

College-educated but out of work, his only hope to support a hungry family -- the produce cart that he pushed around the streets of his city -- was confiscated by corrupt policemen whose own families were well provided for. The next day he set himself and the Arab world on fire. The empty gas can lying by the side of the road, his smoldering body would spread the flames like a wildfire to the far reaches of North Africa and the Middle East. As the flames spread, every major Arab leader would feel the heat of Mohamed Bouazizi's fire.

Wisdom of Words

2011-04-20T11:19:00.001-04:00

How is it that our words can be so powerful? How can such small exertions of air -- manipulated and repackaged according to various nuances -- carry such a heavy burden, bearing the heavy baggage of both the past and the now?

Words, while taking the form of a sharp blade, or, perhaps, a dense, blunt object, even a virus, small as it is in its preliminary form, which quickly spreads and overwhelms its victim, bear the power -- at times blatantly, but often acting from a more subversive nature -- to cripple, to maim, and in such extreme cases to kill. But this is the easy way; the broad path leading to the destruction of all involved, even, in due time, the destruction of he who wields such deadly power.

And what -- apart from the obvious answer of man's fallen nature -- motivates such violent a power? Lust, greed, pride, hate, anger, competing ideologies, in some cases religion itself, poor reasoning, and on goes the list from the very minor, subconscious ticks, to the far spectrum of worldview and culture.

But my interest does not so much lie in the realm of the nature of evil in its marriage with words, but moreso in the divorce of the two. I choose the word divorce because the time is past for a pre-emptive strike; prevention was only possible in the garden. The task now is restoration; to bring all things into submission under Christ.

So what, indeed, is the motivation -- in contrast to the above stated motivations that open the door for evil to play its role in our words -- behind the arduous task of redeeming our words? Quite simply put: wisdom. And so for this I lean on proverbs to bring light to how one's words are to conform to his position and continual transformation in Christ to his likeness.

Proverbs 1:7... The key by which we understand wisdom: "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom."

"Put away from you a deceitful mouth,
and put devious speech far from you." - 4:24

"A worthless person, a wicked man,
Is the one who walks with a perverse mouth." - 6:12

"The mouth of the righteous is a fountain of life,
but the mouth of the wicked conceals violence." - 10:11

"when there are many words, transgression is unavoidable,
but he who restrains his lips is wise." - 10:19

"By the blessing of the upright a city is exalted,
but by the mouth of the wicked it is torn down." - 11:11

"There is one who speaks rashly like the thrusts of a sword,
but the tongue of the wise brings healing." - 12:18

"Anxiety in a man's heart weights it down,
but a good word makes it glad." - 12:25

"The one who guards his mouth preserves his life;
the one who opens wide his lips comes to ruin." - 13:3

"A truthful witness saves lives,
but he who utters lies is treacherous." - 14:25

"A gentle answer turns away wrath,
but a harsh word stirs up anger." - 15:1

"A soothing tongue is a tree of life,
but perversion in it crushes the spirit." - 15:4

"The heart of the righteous ponders how to answer,
but the mouth of the wicked pours out evil things." - 15:28

"He who restrains his words has knowledge,
and he who has a cool spirit is a man of understanding." - 17:27

"Even a fool, when he keeps silent, is considered wise;
when he closes his lips, he is considered prudent." - 17:28

"A fool does not delight in understanding,
but only in revealing his own mind." - 18:2

"He who gives an answer before he hears,
it is folly and shame to him." - 18:13

"He who guards his mouth and his tongue,
guards his soul from troubles." - 21:23

"Do not go out hastily to argue your case;
otherwise, what will you do in the end,
when your neighbor humiliates you." - 25:8

"Do not answer a fool according to his folly,
or you will also be like him." - 26:4

"He who rebukes a man will afterward find more favor
than he who flatters with a tongue." - 28:23

"A man who flatters his neighbor
is spreading a net for his steps." -29:5

"Do you see a man who is hasty in his words?
There is more hope for a fool than for him." - 29:20

A Drop In The Bucket Is Something

2011-02-27T16:00:00.024-05:00

The tower shuddered with the impact of the plane. For a moment, it swayed as pieces of debris began falling from the heights. Then, in one destructive moment, the foundation gave way and the tower collapsed inward, toppling over on itself and spreading the remains across the floor. Blocks were heaped in masses with the crumpled nose of a paper airplane protruding from the rubble. Little Megan stood close by pleased that her airplane had finally taken down this once proud skyscraper.

Watching her play, something long forgotten had awakened inside me as the poorly constructed tower of lego blocks, molded by the hands of a five-year-old, lay in smoldering ruins on the kitchen floor. The memory had been dormant for years, waiting to be released once more by some abstract sight or thought. I was sitting again in Mrs. Stempien's 10th grade homeroom surrounded by those drab, brown curtains and dull tile floors typical of the region's under-funded high schools. With every eye glued to an antique television set, the room was left utterly speechless. Those flaming towers, tinted blue on the old screen, were burned in my memory forever as they crashed to the earth.

Similar to my own experience with the infamous assassination of John F. Kennedy, the defining moment in history for many of my elders, she has heard only faint legends of twin towers from ages past. She will never know precisely how I felt that day sitting uncharacteristically silent at my creaky, wooden desk. There is much pain in the world that she does not yet know.

Recently, someone criticized me and my youth, questioning my ability to understand anything about the world. After all, I'm not even thirty yet, how could I really know anything?

But the truth is, I have seen the world in all its beauty, beauty that quietly uncovered my village with the first light of dayspring as it emerged from looming Himalayan peaks. I have seen the world in all its pain, weeping with Mother Theresa's nuns as they cared for leprous, dying Indians who, their whole lives, had known only the street. And I have seen its violence, living amidst the rage of Arab Africans as they angrily fanned the flames of revolution in hopes of a better life.

I have sat at the feet of the great thinkers of history and asked them the hard questions. I have studied the world around me and discovered universal truths that many have rejected and many more will disregard to their destruction. I have known mankind and attentively listened to his hopes and dreams, regrets and hurts. I have become personally acquainted with the world's suffering, that feeling of gasping for air, or a searing heat that comes suddenly upon the body, when the most intense pain breaks through with the news of divorce and separation, growing up with an alcoholic single mother, and a stepfather's rejection after discovering faith in a Savior who was supposed to make everything better right now.

My time on this earth has indeed been short, but I have savored it and squeezed out as much as I could. If today was my last day, I couldn't honestly say I did not know the world. I do know the world, we're just not that well acquainted yet. There is so much more I want to explore; so many more adventures yet to be had that it's almost overwhelming. I'm bursting at the seams with my experience with the world, and yet it's only a drop in the bucket.

I did, in fact, see the towers fall; one day she will have her own towers. One day she will stand in my shoes, somewhere between innocence and adulthood, gathering herself to step into this mystery: a world that she has known, but not nearly well enough.

Rob Bell and African Kung Fu (Or, On "Love Wins")

2011-02-25T11:26:00.000-05:00

Bad theology is sort of like Kung Fu training in Africa.

For several months I was a member of an African Kung Fu school, the first Arabic-speaking martial arts class I have attended. Throughout my training, I struggled to acclimate to not only the foreign language that was in many ways still a mystery to me but to the African mindset -- widely unknown in today's America -- that bones break, people get hurt, and life moves on. On every level, this was a new experience for me. Unlike my former Tae Kwon Do training in America, where everything was done on heavily padded mats, under constant supervision, and with specific instruction and warnings against how not to perform certain moves, my experience here, both in terms of instruction and sparring, could be described as "no holds barred."

One day, two months into my training, and a mere week before my knee injury, I nearly crossed that proverbial line only to be met with a brief "look" rather than the severe rebuke I likely deserved. In performing a specific defensive maneuver, in which the arm is tucked around behind the back in order to control the attacker as he lies on the ground or to lift him back onto his feet, I mistakenly looped my arm outside-in through his arm rather than inside-out. Just before I lifted him up, thereby putting all of his 130 pounds on that one specific hold point, another, more skilled, participant took notice of me, still a novice, and my egregious error. A brief look and word of correction, "no, no, not that way, you'll break his arm; the other way," and I was set off on my way again.

Now, I had thought I knew what I was doing. After all, when the instructor had quickly demonstrated the move on one unfortunate victim the first time, and even a second time which was unusual, I had taken in everything; I was obviously ready to go and make it happen. Thankfully, someone caught my mistake before I made it; this would prove to not be the case a week later when I performed a move wrong several times without guidance, effectively spraining my knee and setting me out of Kung Fu for three months.

With seven years of camp counselor experience under my belt, I can confidently say that 90% of the mothers I met over the years would never let their children train at my African Kung Fu school. Now the point, while I'm not advising a "helicopter parent" approach, is that I do see the need to balance freedom with oversight and instruction in any discipleship or mentoring relationship. The middle ground is the way to go; freedom with oversight and training.

This is what is sorely lacking amongst our pastors today. In the same way no Kung Fu master rises overnight without years of training, neither can a pastor perform his duties effectively without the proper training that balances freedom with oversight and instruction. Freedom to flourish, to innovate, and to love, but oversight and training that gently guides and leads along the path of truth, not taking for granted the essential doctrines laid as the foundation for our faith. It seems that too many pastors today have not been given this gentle training and oversight that Paul so strongly advocates in letters to Titus and Timothy. Too many ill-prepared pastors are leading churches, and in many cases leading them astray. They wield freedom, free from the constraints of godly instruction, and find themselves quickly using it "as a covering for evil."

Case and point: Rob Bell. Though I intend to read it, I have not yet read his new book entitled "Love Wins: Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived". From what I gather so far, it looks pretty universalist/inclusivist and therefore anti-Christ and His teachings. I wouldn't make this judgment simply on what I've heard about this one book, but have been increasingly skeptical about Rob Bell since college. But, unfortunately, he seems to be just the latest example of a "Christian pastor", whether emphatically or subtly, who, while likely a believer in the Lord Jesus himself, is leading thousands astray and as James writes, "will incur stricter judgment", certainly not from me, but from God on the Day of Judgment.

And, by the way, this isn't my standard that I'm holding him to. Simply follow the line of orthodox Christianity throughout the centuries and you will find continuity amongst the greats: Jesus, John, Polycarp, Irenaeus, Athanasius, Augustine, Aquinas, Calvin, Luther, Edwards, to the modern day. The line is clear and goes back to Jesus following the trend he set forth himself, "I am the way, the truth, and the life, no man comes to the Father but through me." And He made very clear what the only other option would be.

And one last thought. I understand Bell went to seminary. That's great, so did I. But seminary and good, effective pastoral training don't always go hand in hand. Discipleship is a necessity and I had a hard time finding that in seminary.

Iron Will (Or, Mankind's Shtick)

2011-02-02T22:18:00.004-05:00

Is it possible that man can will anything? Is he that strong? Referred to as "the measure of all things" by Protagoras, can man overcome aything?

War. Tragedy. Pain. Inconvenience. Cold, for instance, is a cancer. It lurks close by as I awake in my warm bed. It nips at my heels as I make for the shower. And it takes shape as the hot water ends and I reach for a towel. It begins small, but grows maliciously. Soon, my whole body is seeping with cold. But I endure. I remind myself of my strength and press on. For a day, it is a small trial. It makes me better. A second day, another opportunity. A week and the optimism holds strong. But as the cold lasts through the weeks and on to months, the will begins to wane.

The first choice is easy. But with time, the will corrodes. The will is strong at first, steadfast. But over time, steadfastness turns to uncertainty turns to improbability turns to impossibility. Do you see how it works? Man does not lose his power to will with one choice. But as decay spreads through the bones and returns the man to the earth, so a life of trial can decay the soul leading to ultimate destruction. After weeks of cold, I lie here wrapped up in my blanket, striving for any and every drop of warmth to fall on my parched tongue. What was once a good and easy decision of my will is now just a stumbling block before my idol of comfort. My will is gone. My comfort takes over.

A month ago, Wednesday night's trip to the gym was a given. Of course I would work out, but I would also carry on with Mohammad in the cardio room. I would laugh with Saiad about how I came to see him at his restaurant again, but my suspicion grows that each time he sees me coming he escapes through the back door. I work out hard because I like the praises mixed with silly comments that I get from Abdul Aziz. A month ago, Wednesday night was non-negotiable. A week ago, Wednesday night was a fight, but a victorious fight. But here I lie, Wednesday night. My will has given way to Comfort, my god. Cold has battered my weak will into submission. The walls have fallen, the city is taken, and the golden calf has been erected. Life, joy, and laughter have ceded their superficial pedestals in my life as selfish idolatry has turned me inward.

Do you see it yet? This is what we do. John Calvin would tell you that your heart is an "idol factory". Hardly complementary words considering you're such a good person, right? Consider the man of Isaiah 44...

He comes home from a hard day's work. Tired, he crumples over against the wall outside his home. As night falls, the cold comes and a shiver trickles down his spine. Soon the shiver turns into a rumble in the pit of his stomach. So he motivates himself to make dinner. He pulls together some kindling and sticks and starts a fire. As he sits close by the fire, the warmth returns to his body. The fire crackles and rumbles; after some time he places a large stick in the middle. Warmed, he looks on in admiration of his accomplishment. With half of this stick, he begins cooking bread. With the half protruding from the fire he begins to carve a figure. When the bread finishes, he adds meat to the fire and continues his work. About the time he finishes carving, his meal finishes. Next to the fire, he eats his dinner and then bows down before his carving. The one half of his log he burns in the fire while he bows down before the other, praying, "Deliver me, for you are my god!"

How silly is this man. How silly this story, one more outdated chapter from a caveman scroll. But you do it. I do it. Man's will is weak, he will eventually succumb to any and every trial and temptation. He will make every love, joy, and pleasure into his god, seeking some deliverance. Man's only hope is to replace his will with that of someone or something greater. Some realize this and seek to replace their own will with that of another man, we call them accountability partners. Or, perhaps, he'll use some 12 step program. Someone better. Some set of rules. Some code.

What we really need is a divine will. Not the stick. Not the will of man as it shifts with the shadows. But the source of all light. For the light source can not be shadowed, but, rather, is the wellspring of radiant glory, the forgotten desire of those shadowed souls who stand behind their idols.

Dependence is natural to man. It's buried deep inside him. We all will depend on something. So what are the options. There is, of course, dependency on the stick. There is dependence on oneself which through the decay of the will simply leads back to the stick. There is dependence on some other person just as vulnerable as yourself which eventually leads to his stick. And finally, there is dependence on something more, something eternal. The only One true. The only One wise. The only One everlasting, never failing. One who was, is, and is still to come.

As I lie here wrapped up, defeated, I am reminded that I stray so easily. Before I know it, I'm right back to the shtick. Half of it comforts me, the other half I bow down to.

Sight Reading

2011-01-15T10:29:00.017-05:00

Everything appeared crisp and clear. Every turn of the soccer ball. Each individual ray from the line of street lights. Each object in that small park with its own particular detail appeared enlarged, magnified even, as an insect observed through a magnifying glass. On this particular night I viewed the world in high definition.

I could see clearly the expressions of happy couples on the benches skirting the park. Each girl's joy uniquely revealed by means of her own individual facial features. And their counterparts each brandishing that same soul-searching gaze that every man knows, whether as a genuine reflection of his inner man or a contrived act, the perfection of the artful diversion designed to mask deeper motives.

Not too far off was an enclosed area where there was a football match underway. Nothing too serious, but scrappy football at its best. As I studied these teenagers, nothing escaped my vision. The highlight of the night was a brief scuff over a disputed goal. With perfect clarity I had seen the ball bend just inside a black shoe marking the goal post. From my distant vantage point, I had not missed the shooter's frustration with the disagreement over a legitimate goal. Nor did my eyes miss the knowing look on the goalie's face as he adamantly argued against the goal. With force he made his case, but his eyes were revealing. Taking pleasure in the other boy's fury, he was well aware the goal was true. Despite the intensity of the argument, these friends were soon back to the game with angry words a thing of the past.

Panning across the park to the street view, cars moved rhythmically through the large roundabout. Here the traffic flows similar to a Handelian movement. Each musician knows when to play and with what dynamics, and, subsequently, each knows precisely when to rest. Weaving in and out, each vehicle smoothly made its round and flowed on to the next destination. I marveled at the clarity of brake lights fading off to distant streets. Taxis and buses, bikes and strollers filled the square and carried on with their part in the sonata.

This is life. No better and no worse than it always has been. To them, this life is simple. To understand it is to flow with it, to be caught up in the various melodies and crescendos that life offers. Yet sitting on my park bench seeing it all afresh through new glasses, I see with greater clarity, but still cannot seem to follow the rhythm.

Across the street is a cafe. This is where the men go. They watch Champions League football, talk business, and relax with old friends over a coffee. And before they were old enough to do so, their fathers were here. And one day their sons will come here. In the same way, the teenagers playing football have always done so. Every summer they can remember was spent forever perfecting that shot, practicing this move, and playing with a certain team.

And here I sit. On the outside looking in. My father did not have a favorite cafe where everyone knew his boy. That special one in which we watched our first football game together. When I go to a cafe no one knows me, or my father or his. I did not grow up watching Champions League or playing football. None of these boys or their brothers did I run around with on endless summer nights. As a virus invading the body seems my existence in this African life. It is unknown, foreign. To the natural inhabitants and defenders of the body, it could appear a threat or simply be ignored.

Though a new pair of glasses offers greater clarity of vision, at least one great composer has created beautiful music without such an advantage. This piece I am now learning is driven by a different beat; a new style for me, but hardly new in itself. All great movements find their beauty and rhythm in an ordered complexity, a culture that each individual musician must perfect over a lifetime.

Life is too intricate to enter into on a whim. Adjustments must be made gradually. Unwritten rules discovered with experience. Dynamics explored through feel and often dictated by varying circumstances. An outsider cannot step in here and play first violin. He must defer to those who are more familiar with the part.

With new glasses and new vision, I look over the sheet music with greater clarity. Details come into focus that were once too blurry for me to make out. The most important of which is scribbled in the right hand corner: "second violin". Those who play second violin recognize and accept that sight is only one piece of the pie, a pie that will never be natural to them. Those who continue striving to play first violin without the talent to do so merely bring undo negative attention on themselves from the surrounding symphony.

At no other time in my life has my vision become more clear. Had I not come to live in Africa, my eyes would have never been good enough to see just how much of the world was still blurry. I can now see more clearly the rhythm of life, though I struggle to follow. I can see the unique qualities of the beat, but it does not flow through me. And I can read each individual note as it lies on the page, though I will never play them as well as my neighbor. But, at least now I am on the same page.

Holiness: What Do I Really Long For?

2011-01-13T13:20:00.005-05:00

I have thoughts about God. But, of course, so do you. You see, all of us have thoughts about God. Even my friends who subscribe to the new atheist movement. We suppress the truth of God as revealed by His invisible attributes, His eternal power and His divine nature. Or, we submit to Him as Lord and Savior.

Now despite my suppression or submission, if my thoughts about God are not proper than they're pointless. For if my thoughts about God are not the primary thoughts of my life, they really don't count for much. Unless my thinking on God is my best thinking, my most inspired thinking, and the thinking that produces my most aesthetically-oriented word choice to reflect the beauty I claim to grasp, my thoughts on God are not true to life. For, if He truly is who He has revealed Himself to be, my only response must be to fall before Him with Isaiah and cry out "WOE! Woe is me for I am a man of unclean lips."

And it is true. But it is only the first leaf to fall in a vast forest of flaming, golden trees. Not only are my lips unclean, but consequently my heart. And if my heart is unclean, clearly the countless desires that pass to and from that heart each and every day are as tainted as the once white snow that is now an eyesore with its bountiful amalgamations and reproductions of the various shades of brown compounded by each successive plowing; snow that was once gifted with a glorious purity.

Stick to the Playbook

2011-01-12T16:30:00.005-05:00

As a student of the world, I can't help but continually make observations and notes about everything. In professional sports, the best players spend hours pouring over game tape. They look for strengths, weaknesses, and overall quirks of the opponent. As Christians, I say we study our opponents, but we also must inspect our own team from time to time.

Now, like anyone else, I have a strong preference for my team. I am convinced that my team has a leg up on the others, namely the truth. But every team has its weaknesses. Some teams have more while others have less. Some teams could be great, but they lack identity.

A football team built for a strong ground-and-pound run offense will not flourish by spreading out five wide and expecting the quarterback to become Joe Montana. Likewise, a team built around Peyton Manning, is at a large disadvantage if he gets injured and the onus to win falls on the ground game and defense. So it is with the team whose identity is built on certain principles, but when its opponent comes Sunday morning the players begin to model a different style of play.

The same is true now in the faith world. As followers of Jesus, we have what other teams don't: grace. Our lives are to be saturated in the joy of knowing this amazing, unique grace. Our doctrine should be built on the immovable, unshakable foundation of grace. The greatest gift Christians have been given is grace. So why in the world would we ever want anything else? How could we start taking pages out of the other teams' playbooks?

This mindset has particularly detrimental consequences for the work being done in the Arab world. For too long we have been guilty of replacing Islamic hadiths, rules and fear with our pharisaical, Christianized ones. We teach Muslim background believers to forget the 5 pillars of Islam and hold to the pillars of Christianity:
1. Read your Bible every day.
2. Pray before every meal.
3. Give 10%.
4. Fast, but not during Ramadan.

We take one checklist for building up good works, and unwittingly exchange it for a whole new checklist. We go from fear to fear. But what does the Messiah say? “Perfect love drives out fear!” We must stop instilling fear and move to providing hope. This is the whole point of the Old Testament. “Look, you Jews, there is hope! His name is Messiah! And He is coming!!” And then we get to the New Testament and do we see, “Look! It’s Jesus! Now do this, this, that, and a few of these things and he’ll love you”?

No! This isn't the way it works. Jesus says, “If you love me, you will obey what I command.” He does not say “You must love me AND obey my commands.” My pastor in college once said, "Good works don't lead us to heaven, they follow us to heaven." The writer of Hebrews says, "Now where there is forgiveness of these things, there is no longer any offering for sin." (10:18) There is only one thing we can do to please God and that is trust Him as Abraham trusted Him. From the point of salvation we have nothing to offer. There is nothing we can do to please God or to lose His favor. Jesus has already done it all for us.

John tells us that “He came to the world to save the world, not to bring judgment upon the world.” Judgment is for later and Jesus comes to make our judgment a joke! You see, Muslims believe the Day of Judgment will be a large scale with weights comparable to your bad deeds and your good deeds. But, as Anselm of Canterbury has pointed out, one bad deed is not just a bad deed. One bad deed is rebellion against an infinite God and can not be covered over with any number good deeds. So when the Christian walks up to the proverbial scale and sees the many, many bad deeds sitting on the one side, he can rest in his assurance that the infinite weight of Jesus' good work more than compensates the evil. In fact, when Jesus’ good work sits on the opposite side of the scale, every shameful act I ever committed is transferred to Jesus’ scale.

It is grace! Grace is the whole idea behind the good news. That a loving, but uncompromising God wanted so much for the world and its inhabitants to be restored to Eden, to perfection, that He gave His one and only Son to pay for us. He pays our price. And He pays at His own expense. He doesn’t go out and take someone else’s trading chips to cover our cost, He pays with His own blood. This is grace. That we get what Jesus deserved and He takes what we deserved. We deserve to die, but live. He deserved to live, but died. And being the one perfect, acceptable sacrifice, God raised Him to life completing the perfect sacrifice.

Many act like discipleship begins with rules, I disagree! Discipleship begins with a proper, all-encompassing understanding of grace. That where sin once reigned, grace abounds all the more. Not the more I sin, the more pergatory I must endure or the more good points I must obtain. It is only by God’s grace that we are changed. Only by His grace that we are made new. That we follow Him, love Him, obey Him, tell about Him. Only by grace can one man say, “I am the chief of sinners!” and yet be assured of his reserved place in eternity where He will enjoy God forever.

No, our team is strong. I choose to stick to my own playbook, thank you.

Tomorrow

2011-01-06T12:14:00.001-05:00

Darkness surrounded me. Reality began crumbling beneath my feet as I vacillated between two worlds. Seeking to immerse myself in bliss, my only remaining memory, I found myself fighting harder as other memories returned slowly reshaping my world. The more desperately I reached for this bliss the easier it slipped through my fingers. Grasping for everything I had known only moments before, an unbearable siren cut through the fog. At first unrecognizable, it seemed to come right up next to me.

Reality set in at 6:05am as I flung my arm at the alarm clock. Groaning, I turned over seeking one last hit of bliss. I would give anything for one last high. But it was over. I sat up and stared for several minutes through the bedroom window. Darkness had firmly gripped each stronghold of the night hours, but now a lone ray of light beamed across the far mountain peak signaling the long awaited invasion.

Jogging the old, littered streets I watched as the consuming shadows retreated one by one with the arrival of the dayspring. One ray after another appeared over the horizon as I ran the empty streets of this new, unknown city. With each mile the retreat was more sure as the strength of the day grew. A new day. Light had come to conquer the darkness.

Three years ago, I walked these very streets. I knew nothing of the culture, the language, or the people. I was just one more ugly American walking streets that didn't belong to him. Just one more inexperienced college student trying to wrap his mind around an ever-changing world. One more young, wide-eyed Christian claiming to know a thing or two about the Great Commission, but time would determine the level of that commitment.

As I jog into the new day, I am thankful for a new breath, a new morning, a new opportunity. Just as today will not be the same as yesterday, I am not the same person as three years ago. I am not the same American. Not the same student. Nor the same Christian.

What a difference three years can make. I can’t help but wonder, will I visit this city again in three years? And what then will I think of myself? Perhaps there will be disappointment over the battles lost and ground ceded. Or, perhaps like today, I will praise God for the growth He has steadily wrought in my life. Time will tell, but there is much to do these next few years. One thing is true, I have not reached the proverbial “there”. I never will in this life, but that won't stop me from running hard.

Paul tells us to “work out [our] salvation with fear and trembling.” How I long to see my salvation continue down this path of fear and trembling! As I look back three years, the road was difficult, but as I am continually made to be more like my Savior, the fight is worth the casualties. The road is long and there are always more miles to cover.

Today, with all its struggles and victories, will not last. Tomorrow is forever a ripe, new day.

A Wake-up Call

2010-12-09T12:30:00.008-05:00

Staring through the dark, the motivation to move seemed overwhelming. The slightest move or shift might procure for me several hours of sleeplessness before sunrise. As consciousness grew, so did the realization that I might need a pit stop before finishing my journey. But, depending on the time, perhaps I could wait until morning. With these concessions, I finally made the effort to reach across to the cell phone lying on the end table. 3:45am.

Wait? What time is it? I opened my eyes to darkness wondering what time it really was. Grogginess consumed my mind, but the throb of a full bladder grew as I awoke more fully. But could I make it? What time is it? With these concessions, I finally made the effort to reach across to the cell phone lying on the end table. 1:30am.

But, no that can't be. Breathing deeply, I allowed my eyes to open and begin to adjust to the deep dark surrounding me. Is this real? I reached to my cell phone. 5:45am. And I waited. Could I still be dreaming? As my body acclimated to the waking world, I continued to ponder which reality was right. Perhaps I will wake one more time.

Infinite and finite. Fantasy and reality. Two parallel lines can go on for eternity without touching, yet be separated by a hair's width. While the two pieces of any paradox can seem infinitely separate, there is often an intrinsic connection which prevents each from being the true antithesis of the other. For instance the dream world and the real world seem to be mutually exclusive in their sensations and the laws that govern them. Yet, a line of connection, however thin it may be, runs through the two and intertwines them as a stitch on a quilt. The subconscious, dwelling in the infinite realm of fantasy, works together with the conscious, which dwells in the finite world of reality, to influence the whole self. These two influences profoundly affect one another both in the dreaming world and in the waking world.

As a high school football player, two weeks of football camp was exhausting. It was exhausting not only in reality, but my dream world also suffered under the extreme stress. My reality was three 2 1/2 hour practices every day in 100-degree heat. My subconscious endured a similar fate as I tossed and turned each night. Sweep left: pull, block the outside linebacker to the sideline or log up and block the inside linebacker to the post. Dive right: block the defensive back inside or, secondary objective, block the defensive back straight ahead. Waggle left: cup block to defend the quarterback. All night, every night. Hit after hit after hit. The sun beating down, sticky, wet pads rubbing against my skin, and tired, achy legs.

Recently, I had one of those experiences that left the lines blurred. A dream, but not. Fantasy became reality, or something close to it. The rules were suspended as the dream world so closely resembled the real world. Reality seemed to invade my subconscious. Each sensation, the gentle breeze rustling through my hair, warmth from the sun resting on my skin, and her touch, these seemed no substitute for the waking world. Not so much did these resemble, but seemed to take on reality. The one giveaway was she had no name, but she was there, she was close. She was more sure than anything. We walked together, laughing and talking about all the important and trivial things in the world. And as her hand reached for mine, I fell asleep, back into the waking world.

Am I still sleeping? Will I soon wake up to the normal 9-5 at the office? A wife? Kids? After all, dreams are more often than not of the fantastic sort. And the world in which I presently reside seems far more fantastic than the dream world I remember. As I sit waking, or dreaming, wherever I may be, I am a 20-something-year-old bachelor living in Africa spending most of my days speaking Arabic. I spend each week preparing to begin exploration of large sections of mountainous terrain to the south. Can this world be any more fantastic?

Kierkegaard suggests that the most important thing in life is to know oneself and to want to be oneself. In his book, The Sickness Unto Death, he writes that not knowing oneself is despair and the beginning of realizing one is in despair is to begin to know oneself. Unfortunately, most of us don't know that we are in despair, yet this itself is a form of despair.

"Such things cause little stir in the world; for in the world a self is what one least asks after... The biggest danger, that of losing oneself, can pass off in the world as quietly as if it were nothing; every other loss, an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife, etc, is bound to be noticed."

So what does it mean to know oneself, to not live in despair?

"This then is the formula which describes the state of the self when despair is completely eradicated: in relating to oneself and in wanting to be itself, the self is grounded transparently in the power that established it."

Discovering one's true identity and joyfully taking hold of that identity is preceded by returning to proper relationship with the Creator. Consequently, with the acquisition and acceptance of this knowledge comes the joy to pursue one's identity to its fullness, and one has all eternity for this endeavor. Everything else in life must be balanced in relation to that relationship.

Furthermore, this "revelation" and "fulfillment" comes in light of a balance of various paradoxical concepts. Kierkegaard writes that man is a synthesis of the finite and the infinite, though most men do not acknowledge and live in regard to both of these. To dwell in one without the other is the essential definition of this despair that every man endures until he is awoken from "spiritlessness" by the Holy Spirit of the Creator.

The despair of the finite is to lack infinity, to "dare not to believe in himself, find being himself too risky, find it much easier and safer to be like the others, to become a copy, a number, along with the crowd." This is to lack possibility and hope, to live wholly in the material world. On the other hand, the despair of the infinite is to lack the finite, to be carried away "into the infinite in such a way that it only leads him away from himself and thus prevents him from coming back to himself." This is to live boundlessly in the fantastic, forgetting, or "losing", oneself.

So then, are those things of my subconscious dream world bad? Seminary. Marriage. Family. Of course not, but it isn't reality for me. It may be possibility. It may be my desire for the future. But to live in the fantastic at the cost of reality, to allow the infinite to run unconstrained by the finite, this only leads to despair. To "live life abundantly" will be to truly take hold of both necessity and possibility, finite and infinite, reality and hope.

According to the Westminster Shorter Catechism, "Man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever." This is only done when one is founded on the Creator, first and foremost. In Matthew 6:33, Jesus says, "But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you." This is the challenge of every man.

So what are the options? The life of despair. This results when one knows not himself (ignorance or not) nor his Creator. Despair in this life continues increasingly and unbearably throughout eternity. Or, the abundant life. To know oneself in light of the great and glorious Creator. Knowing Him leads to truly knowing oneself.

So you have to ask the question: "Who am I?" Do you know? Let's face it, we deceive ourselves all the time. This week, I was exposed. Indicted by the pure honesty of the subconscious, the imbalanced reality I had been living in was called to the carpet. Fantasy, future, and hope without limit, without constraint and grounding in the present circumstances and their Creator, leads only to despair. It's time to recenter, and that means going back to the Word of God.

I guess I can consider this a wake-up call.

The Lamb of God (or, Stories For the Village)

2010-12-08T20:00:00.001-05:00

In recent weeks, I had the opportunity to accompany several friends to a remote village for the Islamic holiday, Eid l'Kubir (The Big Celebration). Here, I spent another week with my good friend Sa'id, a brother for about five years now. He is the lone Christian in his family, but more and more his wife and mother are beginning to develop strong interest in the stories we tell. This particular week two stories seemed particularly appropriate: Abraham's sacrifice and Jesus, the lamb of God.

For a moment, contemplate with me the typical holiday season in America. There are several major events that lead up to Christmas. Thanksgiving begins everything with copious amounts of turkey, mashed potatoes, and a healthy portion of pie. A more modern Thanksgiving tradition has been added in the form of several primetime football games. Immediately following Thanksgiving, the official Christmas music season begins. Perhaps that next week the tree goes up, the greens are hung, and lights are placed outside most homes. Finally, Christmas Eve often involves a trip to the local church, the opening of a few gifts, and setting out cookies and milk for the phantom gift giver. And then, what every child counts the days for, Christmas.

As a kid, I remember waking up early every Christmas, often long before my parents. For several hours I would anxiously meander around the house watching cartoons or counting pine needles. I would always attempt a facade of nonchalance when my parents slippered feet finally appeared atop the staircase. And with a sudden burst of excitement, the family was ushered in and presents were torn into. Lunch would ensue followed by hours of fiddling with various gizmos and gadgets and their endless manuals.

For the Muslim, the atmosphere is very similar. Forty days of Ramadan end with a night of power. All the mosques fill as this is the one night of the year the prayers go straight to God. Next is the three day celebration where we eat, eat, and then eat some more. The final celebration occurs a month and a half later. This is called the Big celebration and often lasts several days. The average family will have saved for several months for that $500-$1,000 sheep. The wealthier families will purchase several. In the days before the celebration, every city, town, and village fills with the cries of millions of sheep.

On the actual celebration day, everyone wakes up early in anticipation. For hours the family mulls around anxiously watching television or counting spots. Out of a facade of indifference erupts all the bottled up excitement as the father finally goes to get his knife. At 10am the throat is slit. The streets, sewers, and rivers fill with blood as the sheep are hung to drain. Throughout the rest of the day the celebration continues as the sheep are prepared for feasting. For the next three days, families eats together and make the various trips to the mosque for special prayers times.

As I have asked many Muslims about this specific festival, the universal understanding is that the meaning comes from God's provision for Abraham of a sacrifice on the mount. But this is as deep as the understanding often goes. Why we continue to slaughter sheep every year is simply a matter of tradition. Therefore, the first story we told in the village was the story about Abraham and his only son. This is a point of agreement between Christians and Muslims.

The second story, was given to me to tell. This is what I shared, and the interest was sincere on the part of our Muslim friends as the story was explained.

"About 900 years after David, came John. He came proclaiming and said, 'Repent from your sins, the kingdom of God is close!' People came to him confessing their sins and being baptized at his hands and he told them, 'Do works in keeping with repentance. Do not say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our father!' I tell you, God can make these rocks the children of Abraham. The axe is laid at the root of the tree. And every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.'"

"One day John saw Jesus coming and said, 'Behold, the lamb of God come to bear the sin of the world!' Just as the son of Abraham needed someone to be sacrificed in his place in order to deliver him from death, so all men need a sacrifice to deliver them from death. When Adam ate from the forbidden tree, he died spiritually. The relationship between him and God was broken. All men sin."

"About 600 years before Jesus, the prophet Isaiah said, 'All of us like sheep have gone astray. We have wandered from the path. But God has put on him all our sins. Yet he did not open his mouth. Like a sheep led to the slaughter. Like a sheep silent before his shearers, he did not open his mouth.' Jesus fulfilled the prophecy that says, 'I am the lamb of God that bears the sin of the world!'"

From Nietzsche to Christ

2010-10-14T13:35:00.003-04:00

Gospel proclamation will be foundational to any spiritually thriving group of worshippers. I am a firm believer of this. And while I would never force one particular method upon someone, I am a strong proponent of going from Creation to Christ. What a beautiful picture we have from the Father of creation, fall, redemption, and restoration, the perfect end to His perfect plan. This is a major goal of mine: to be able to present this story in Arabic. I want so badly for people to see the big picture of God's goodness, faithfulness, and eternal plan culminating in both, not either/or, mercy and justice.

So when I write that my greatest experience, to date, in North Africa was not built on the Creation to Cross story it might come as a surprise. At the very least, it shocked me like that electric fence I was in too much of a hurry to notice (true story). In lieu of using my usual story, I inadvertently stumbled into what I never considered an option: the Nietzsche to Christ model.

On a normal day, in a normal restaurant, under normal circumstances I sat waiting for my lunch. After sharing the usual small talk and joking around with friends, I had settled in at my small table on the second floor. And as was my custom, I began to read. And what book was I reading when my friend reappeared? None other than Nietzsche's Genealogy of Morality.

Now why is it that I still expect God to do the expected? For some reason I simply refuse to believe that God does big things without consulting me first. Here I am always wanting him to stay true to my plans and provisions when His have been made long before. I smugly wait for him to use all my confounding theological and philosophical arguments, thinking for some reason that they've never been thrown down in an argument before. I suppose, at the very least, I expect him to give me a heads up before he does something that rocks my whole world.

But, of course, God waited for His moment. And His moment wasn't as I read Tolstoy with his winsome development and portrayal of the human character marked by its sundry deficiencies. It wasn't while I read Dostoevsky's Brothers Karamazov with its vast and deep panorama of redemption. Nor in the midst of Newbigin's treatise on applying the gospel to postmodernism did God open the door. He waited for Nietzsche, the guy who claimed He was dead! The anti-God, anti-Christianity, anti-metaphysical, even, philosopher who inadvertently contributed to the rise of Nazism.

"Hey! You're food's ready. What is that you're reading?" He approached me, surprisingly curious.
"Oh, its just a book on philosophy," I said indicating the book he now held in his hands investigating, "I was just doing some studying."
"What does this man say?" he asked.

Attempting to dismiss the conversation, I briefly explained some of Nietzsche's major points on how to evaluate and assign meaning to morality. "He is just talking a lot about how we can decide what is good and bad," I concluded, hoping to move away from the technical language that philosophy would inevitably entail.

And then he asked the question that marked the conversational turning point: "Don't you know what is good and bad?"

Still not fully realizing the opportunity presented to me, I quickly scanned the room. Finding that my friend and I were alone, I answered hesitantly, "Well, I know what God says is right and wrong through the Kitab M'qudus (Holy Book), but its good to read those who don't believe like me so I can understand how the world thinks. But I believe and trust the Kitab M'qudus. And you have the Qu'ran to tell this as well, right?" I watched him hoping for further interest, but expecting yet another verbal lashing about how there is no one but Muhammad and the Bible is ridiculous and changed and wrong and full of lies, etc, etc, etc.

"The Kitab M'qudus?," he answered slowly, then more directly, "Well there is the Qu'ran, but I have the New Testament."

My eyes did the talking for me, "WHAT!?" Any remnant of passivity and nonchalance dripped from my face as I turned pale. As though I had drifted off, I attempted to refix my gaze and restore my mouth from its gaping state. Any attempt to suppress this immense upheaval of emotion was met with miserable failure. Awkwardly, I turned my wide, beaming eyes to the floor, diminished an aggressive grin to a sort of half-smirk, and brought my voice down a pitch or two, "Did you say New Testament???"

He could barely contain his own smile at my total lack of inhibition, but resting his index finger on his pursed lips gave me a long ssssshhhhhhh. In a whisper, I reiterated, "Wait, did you just say New Testament?," fully expecting him at any moment to burst out laughing and start off on another joke.

But this would not be the case, his solemn confirmation was cold, clean water bringing refreshment to my long, arduous journey through the desert, "Yes, my wife and I both read and study the New Testament."

"BROTHER!," I whisper-yelled as my face erupted with all the emotion I was working so hard to maintain. My face showed everything from the mile-long smile of joy all the way across the spectrum to tear-filled eyes that couldn't explain to me from which emotional well they had sprung. I was totally perplexed with a wave of various and conflicting emotions.

With a deep, humble smile, he responded with a genuine, but emphatic "Yes."

Losing Hope (Or, The Emergence of Grace Anew)

2010-10-14T13:06:00.005-04:00

"Joy inexpressible and full of glory." What could renew joy, and with such vigor? What could spur the writer to glide over his page afresh as a newly inspired artist returns to the easel from a long hiatus? And yet, with words brimming over at the edge of release, what could render any attempt at clarity meaningless? What could indwell in me a true and beautiful, yea violent, desire to pursue prayer all the more fervently? To incline me to cry out for each individual with whom I cross paths? And reveal my complete unworthiness? My inadequacy? My own lack of faith? My own redemption, even?

Oh, amazing grace it is! Sweet to the taste. Never ending. All satisfying. Grace that is fresher and truer than simple words uttered at a dinner table. Wider and deeper and beyond any legitimate attempts at expression, the Father's wealth of goodness falls on a desperate people. Cold and clean and crisp, his river satisfies the entire man. Washes clean the entire man. Purifies and renews God's man. Grace for His people; grace which He has lavished upon us. And I, like the unworthy apostle John, can only express to you what I have seen and heard, what I myself have witnessed, experienced, even imbibed.

For 10 months I have lived in Africa, forced to a crawl under the weight of Islamic reign. With an iron fist, it rules the culture, the people, the speech, and, five times each day, the air. This darkness pervades and ruthlessly invades. A deep, cold darkness. Darkness that, at its peak, can impress upon its observer a quality of endlessness. Amidst night's stagnant climax, an impenetrable shadow smothers the land as a cloak, the faintest hint of light a seeming impossibility. A giant which bears over me, he gawks and mocks and laughs at my minuscule attempts to shine and uncover his face.

But the Light has come into the world. And the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness comprehends it not. Today I met a man who has stepped into this Light. No, I met him 10 months ago. For 10 months I have known this man. For 10 months I have talked with this man. Stopped by his work to see this man. Laughed and done business with this man. Fostered a friendship with this man. And yet this man, he was nothing more than another face to me.

One more small fish piddling in a sea of faces I had resigned myself to never seeing again after this life. People for whom I learned to have no hope. A people who taught me that God does not work. A people who have convinced me that darkness casts out the light as effortlessly as the police write up deportation papers. I was nearly convinced that darkness could effectively stomp out the light with the intimidation and torture tactics of the religious FBI.

The change has been slow and gradual, almost unnoticed by me. The enemy, he twists the truth. He hides from me the facts. He binds me, renders me useless. If only I could be set free! What can I do, I ask, to be set free? What can I change to be set free? What habits can I develop, patterns may I employ, what can I do, I ask? I seek to do, to change, to renew myself. But in one fell swoop, he has done it all. Apart from me, my plans, my strategies. He comes to me in grace. And with one utterly unexpected conversation, my world is once again turned on its head.

Finally I am not just talking about grace. For once, I am not limited to the cheap regurgitation of the phrases and teachings received from Sunday school, Theology 5100, or the latest John Piper sermon. This is not the grace that I have talked about. This grace has confronted me head-on. Grace that God reserves for the fiery trial. That bright and glorious fire that melts away everything displeasing. Grace He won't simply let me know about, no, grace I know, personally, in my own life, to a greater degree every day. It exudes from this smile I cannot wipe from my face, this joy I cannot contain, and these tears that I cannot explain. Tears that will not be held back. Tears that for 10 months were building to despair and hopelessness. But grace has come to me and my friend at just the right time. Grace is the air that I breathe. It is the sun that shines on me when I find myself lost again in the cold. It is the praise that comes to my lips when I am at my lowest low.

What has grace done for me? It has produced joy. Cultivated hope. Invigorated faith. Spurred love. Dealt with sin. Overcome the darkness. And come as the Overwhelming Conqueror.

No land is too dark, no people too hopeless for grace.

What Was Once Stolen

2010-08-08T13:09:00.004-04:00

Here, there is no credit. No debt. A man can’t beg, borrow, or steal to get more. In this currency, there is no buying on margin. What he spends is gone, forever. And years later he might look back and regret the purchase, but it's always too late.

Not one single second can be returned. There are times I think of the past and can’t help but cringe. A memory I wish could be taken back. The word spoken in a room of people that, once released, is poison. It spreads throughout the room, a deadly wisp of smoke dispersing before the gaze of its dismayed observers. No amount of rewinding, editing, or revising can ever reverse what has been done. Precious moments, unchanged to the end of time. Thieves, they seem. But many businessmen appear thieves. These seconds, ticked off one by one, deal justly, by the book one might say. Cold to the touch and impersonal, Father Time gives no second chances.

I sit here quietly as my mind runs, reminiscing, remembering. A ship sailing briskly with the wind at its rudder, visiting ports and cities of ages past until, without warning, the ship runs aground on previously unseen bitterness. The trap set by my heart to bring yesterday’s foolishness back into today’s theater. I ponder my part. I ponder my words, my actions, my motives. And I regret, to no avail. I reopen a bill paid long ago. I nickel and dime myself for no reason, running up the bill more than I had ever anticipated.

Time is not the thief, but regret. What man can change any one thing he has already released to time? And would he even want to? Would any of us, removed as far from the past as today, change anything that has already run its course? Who would want to bear time past’s pain a second time?

Regret takes a man’s gaze away from the pain that has defined him and inappropriately places it on pain that now has freedom to haunt him. What is past, what time has sealed, defines each and every one of us. I refuse to be a man of sorrow. In time, I hope to become a man of grace. And when the father looks at my bill, he sees that very thing. Grace. He does not overlook my faults, my mistakes, or my pride. There is no need. For He no longer sees them. He sees a blank receipt. The bill that, in my mind, I continue to add to has been permanently transferred to a separate, off-shore account that the court will never see.

And if the court will never see it, why be bound by it? When my focus remains on the past, on my regret, and on my sin I will remain in bondage. But the truth, now that sets a man free.

Enough Is Enough

2010-06-06T13:25:00.000-04:00

I hit full stride at the 50-yard line. With the goal square in front of me, nothing could get in my way. As though through a tunnel, I was focused only on the light at the end. I zeroed in and let loose. Amidst the ecstasy of flowing adrenaline, I awoke from my pleasure on top of the ball carrier. My first tackle. My first season. My first game. I looked up to the stands, hoping I did good by him. Hoping I did real good. But was it enough? I surveyed the stands, looking, looking. But he was nowhere to be found.

Even here in Africa, far from the high school football field, I make the tackle only to look up and wonder, is it enough? Sitting with my good friend, Joe, at a local coffee shop I talk about some weekly struggles. Everything from culture shock to frustrations with my team and roommate to let-downs in myself. I am tempted to think, is this enough? I respect Joe as a mentor and love him as a brother, one who cares enough about my walk with the Lord to meet every other week. Yet, my temptation is always to ask, OK, is this enough? I learned some great lessons this week, is this enough? Have I earned respect, praise, love?

There are so many influences in this world that teach me to ask this question of God. Is it enough? Have I studied enough this week? Did you count my prayers as I walked the city? Did I do enough to feed the kids on the street? J.D. Greer has this to say about my search of enough: “The simple truth is this: the Gospel eschews the word “enough” in any context, except in describing Christ’s work on our behalf. “Enough” will almost always become a form of compulsion…”

I know Joe wants me to see him not so much as a mentor, but as a brother, as a colleague. Life isn't about what is enough. What I have to offer is not enough. What Joe has to offer is not enough. Christ has already accomplished enough for both of us. The less I work to try to please Joe, my team, and my Savior, the freer I will be to live my life in loving obedience to the Savior who has already said, “It is finished”, or, perhaps, “It is enough.”

The Scenic Route

2010-06-06T11:00:00.000-04:00

In college the late Dr. Jerry Fawell stressed to me the importance of getting married. Well I didn't and was disappointed. When I graduated and my friends began to marry, I thought maybe I was doing it wrong. I was given the same message in a different way upon my arrival to seminary. For the first time, I was the minority. A single 22-year-old guy in a sea of married, established seminary students. The pressure seemed somewhat overwhelming. Now the message was not just get married, but get married so you can do ministry.

Despite this pressure to find that one special someone who possessed the key to the rest of my life, I decided to leave. Maybe I was running. Maybe not. But I began the process of going to Africa. And along the way I disobediently thought that maybe my obedience would provoke God to change His mind about my singleness. As this process progressed, I became entrenched in my decision to go live in Africa. And find her there.

Three months ago I sat on a beach in Spain and gazed at the moonlight shimmering across rolling waves. On a clear, calm night the tranquil ebb and flow of seawater lulled me into peacefulness. I enjoyed nature's beauty until one single thought ruined it all. Would I always have to enjoy these moments alone? I feared I might.

As I have waited for the last month and a half, my life has changed. Adventures have marked my path with even more promised. Twice the Lord seemed to speak to me. The first time He spoke, my course was reset for Mexico. The second time He spoke was just for me.

But as I think about living in Mexico, I start to wonder why I must return to seminary. At least, why right away for the Spring 2o12 semester? There is so much the world has to offer someone like me. I still want to live in California, Washington, or Florida. I want to hike the Appalachian Trail, even if it is by myself. I want to meet people from other cultures. I want to learn their language, their culture, and their dreams. No, before I return home to North Carolina, I have every intention of finally exploiting my singleness. Exploit it and enjoy it for as long as I can. But above all else, I am going to exploit it to the glory of my Savior. I have worked hard in my hermeneutics to overlook this, but I think Paul once said something similar.

Nowhere To Run

2010-06-04T10:00:00.000-04:00

Running from the border. Running out of time. And finally, running home. So just what was running through my mind as I fled the British-controlled border of Gibraltar? I can do this. On my own. And then I’ll tell everyone the story. So I ran and ran. And when I thought I was done, I ran some more. Running to pride. Running to my own glory.

We were two travelers, weary from the journey, who were ready to just sit for a few hours and watch a movie in our own language. Leaving the movie theater, we were both shocked to discover the time was 10:40. The last bus to Algeciras, Spain was scheduled to leave at 11:15, yet here we were on the other side of Gibraltar. So what did we do? We ran, of course. We ran through the downtown tourist area. We ran the length of Main Street. We ran across the airport. And we ran to the border.

Jogging across the border we flashed our passports and continued on to the bus station. We arrived at 11:07, but there was no bus. And everything was closed and locked. The sole occupant sat entrenched in the doorway with her belongings including some cigarettes, a pillow, and a coat. “Esta cerrado” she said. With this confirmation, my mind moved to our other options. Option #1: Sleep on the street. No thank you. Option #2: Find a hotel. At this hour of night? Option #3 struck me in a flash. “Cuantos kilos a Algeciras?” “25.” Algeciras was only 25 kilomters away. As I did the math I realized that was only 14 miles! Now the most I’ve ever run is 11 miles and that took a little more than 90-95 minutes. And here, I had all night! What a great challenge! Here was a real chance to show our mettle!

Luke was not so optimistic, but with some convincing he joined me and we soon found ourselves running down the interstate. Several kilometers later, as we jogged along the highway, Luke began to hold up the international hitchhiker sign. In the states this sign could be confused with a "good job," but we went with it.

Some kilometers later, Luke began to pray out loud. He asked God to provide a ride. But above all, he asked God to be glorified in us whether we got a ride or not. Around 12 kilometers from where we had begun in Gibraltar it finally struck me that my heart was wrong in all of this! While Luke had been far less optimistic than I about running home, my attitude had inwardly become haughty and prideful. While Luke was praying for God’s glory to come through provision, I was working hard to create my own adventure.

I jogged through the silence pondering my revelation. And it wasn’t even my revelation! It was God who had provided the conviction of sin. By the light of the moon and stars, God had illuminated my dark heart. My pride. My foolishness. “Lord, I did it again,” I repented, “be glorified in my attitude.” Immediately, the starlight that illuminated the ground we ran turned red. Brake lights came to a halt just ahead of me. Forgetting where I was, I greeted the driver in Arabic. Taken aback, he returned my greeting and continued to speak in Arabic.

For the final ten minutes of our journey I sat in the back seat and relaxed to the sweet sounds of Luke sharing the good news of Jesus in a mixture of Spanish, English, and Arabic. It is not for me to worry myself with what this man decides. But whatever he takes from the conversation, God was glorified through our attitudes. Attitudes of thanksgiving crediting every good and perfect gift to the Savior before our new friend, Hamid.

There is nowhere to run when I run for my glory. I can try to promote my own glory, but He always catches up with me. And as long as my strength, my will, and my endurance are sourced by my own pride I am doomed for a fall. With every step, humbling is just around the next bend. And repentance is the path to win the race, the marathon of His glory.

Fragile

2010-05-30T19:00:00.002-04:00

Through my hand the rope slides little by little. In complete control, confidence pumps through my veins like adrenaline. The cliff edge now far out of reach, his words echo in my head, "don't mess up, no one can stop your fall." Throughout our training, I have made it my custom to always lead the way. I am the first to repel. The first to climb. The first to take a chance. I go first to take the pressure off my companions, some of whom have never climbed. Whatever the circumstance, at the very least I can fake the confidence necessary to get the job done. Like today. I alone am aware of this smokescreen of trumped up confidence blurring my view to the ground far below.

Other days my confidence is more real, but today, like a sprain, it is functional yet raw after the week's first incident. Returning to bat after striking out, this is my opportunity to re-establish myself. As I lower steadily, the thought remains. The harder I work to forget, the clearer the picture becomes. Upside down. Back against the wall. Feet to the sky. Arm painfully caught between the rock and a rope bearing all my weight. As I had been positioning myself to repel, my feet slipped unexpectedly. Alertly, I had held the rope tight preventing a longer fall. Crashing hard against the rock wall, I was completely disoriented. And still, even now my confidence remains disoriented.

A full 15 feet from the cliff edge, the image burns into my mind. Fear begins to prevail. Is this my worst fear? Confidence, or sweat, perhaps both, empties out through my pores in a continuous flow. The rope slowly feeding, feeding, feeding. I look down. The hot African sun has beaten down all day, but almost in an instant my body begins to boil. As I pant for breath, the wall bears down, mocking my fear. At 80 feet to go, I stop. Blocking the rope off the Grigri with my right hand, I attempt to collect myself. This is nothing new. I am in full control. All my gear is in proper order and...

But it's not. This is my worst fear.

Hanging 80 feet in the air I discovered the fragility of life on this earth. "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord," said Job upon losing everything from here to the edge of his own life. Job recognized that his Redeemer lives, but the redemption He gives is not from pain and trials in this life. Jesus conquered sin and death which transcends even equipment malfunctions.

Carefully pulling myself to the wall, I climbed onto a small ledge and breathed deeply. Breathed like I never would again. I held tight to the rock face and unhooked my gear from the rope. Properly tying into the rope again, I tenderly finished my decent.

On the rock I realized I am not promised one more breath on this earth. Though I perish, I am His. But until then, there is work to do. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

White For The Harvest

2010-05-26T11:00:00.002-04:00

From my sanctuary in the clouds, a sea of gold ebbed and flowed in the world far below. Leaning against my pack, I watched wave after wave rise and fall driven by the rushing wind. Each flowed the full length of the valley before crashing upon the far mountainside and returning in a thousand trickling streams to the main body.

From this opposing mountain I had made my way, pulled along by the current. All day I had drifted through an endless ocean of wheat fields. In the cool of the morning, countless others had waded into this same ocean. Using a single tool, these were bent over everywhere cutting at the outer edges of the fields. White heads marked the harvest season as they floated upon the golden stalks rustling in the wind.

Now, as darkness descended over the valley, thousands of tiny lights began to appear. Some stood alone, others banded together in small communities. Thousands of white lights caught in the deep current of the night. A multitude carried about with the wind and the waves. Like white heads in a sea of gold, they wait.

Long ago, Luke stood on these very rocks. He looked out over these very people. He saw the very same white heads ready for harvest. Back then, reality seemed bleak; there was not one light in the entire region. As I stand here four years later, the light is bright. A single light. Yet it shines brightly from this peak over all the valley. Even the parallel mountainside is caught up in its illumination. It has started with one man. And the fields are white for the harvest.

Reading Between The Lines

2010-05-25T17:00:00.002-04:00

The quick rise of loud music provoked me to seek its source. Three teenage boys quickly passed through and entered the next car. As the door closed behind them and their large boom box, the various other noises returned to compete for dominance. Continually rising above the drone of normal conversation were the children. One seated somewhere behind cried loudly for attention. Another, head bobbing from side to side, curiously asked his mother about everything he was observing. While some cried and some talked endlessly, others bounced around darting through the aisle of the train car. Young men carrying large plastic bags stepped around these children as they passed through calling out their products: cookies, snacks, and tissues.

The cabin was almost entirely Africans. Darker skinned Africans likely from the Sahara. Lighter skinned Africans going south from the Mediterranean. And in the middle of the car, four white Americans. The commotion of the train car was steady and continuous, loud stereos, restless children, and a constant stream of venders. Everyone was busy with something or someone. But in the entire cabin I counted four books. Four Americans and four books. And where were the four Americans going? A conference on orality, of course.

I love to read. I read philosophy, theology, fiction, sermons, anything I can. And I read the Bible. The inerrant, inspired Word of God. But what is inerrant and inspired? The words or the meaning? Does inspiration flow through the pen of the apostle? Does inspiration flow as the words are read by each individual reader as Karl Barth would say? Or does inspiration flow through the meaning ordained by God from the foundation of the world? Is it enough to get the stories from the Bible into people's hearts and minds, or must we also get the actual words into their hands?

No decent scholar can claim the Bible is divinely perfect in every jot and tittle, but neither can any decent scholar deny that the Bible is the most accurate, well-documented ancient text we know. The book I carry right now has about a .5-1% difference from the original. Now none of this error changes meaning, but it is enough for the book I carry to not be 100% perfect, inerrant.

So is inspiration found in the actual written words or in the meaning? What is the meaning? A savior, Jesus Christ, was promised, lived a perfect life, laid it down, and picked it back up. What then is perfect and inerrant? Scripture tells us the Word of God. John tells us that is Jesus. He is the divine Word. He is the perfection, the fulfillment of the law. He is the very meaning behind the words which may only be as good, in the end, as faith and hope.

Faith leads to a point of trusting, loving, and obeying Christ. But it falls short of perfection as our imperfect takes on the perfect. Hope, in the same way, leads to a point of stability and surety giving the believer confidence as he expects the reward to come. As mortality is swallowed up in the immortal, faith and hope fall short and are no longer necessary. Being imperfect in themselves, faith and hope get us to the perfect where love and Jesus takes over. Perhaps the Holy Book to which we cling is the same. It takes us as far as perfection where it cedes to the actual presence, words, and love of Christ in perfection.

Is it possible that God, to protect us from even more idolatry (Calvin said the human heart is an idol factory), disallowed Christians to have a completely perfect, in the jots and tittles, Book? Jesus' words are immortal, but what we have left behind, like everything on earth, is corrupted. It groans and waits for the return when glory reigns. Yet between the lines is the message God wants the world to know. It is the message we must get to them by whatever means necessary. Through orality and literacy alike.

I Surrender

2010-05-15T08:28:00.007-04:00

Dear agent,

I surrender. I am turning myself in. Perhaps you have discovered me. Perhaps you have discovered where I live. My identity. My purpose. My activities. I have broken no law, officer, but you can probably dig up enough dirt on me to make your accusation. I have not disturbed the peace of your country, sir, but I have seen that your constitution is not enough to provide me freedom of religion.

The following story is everything you need to indict me. I humbly request that you read on to understand my true purpose in your country. As you read, please know that I pray for you. I hope that you will treat me fairly, but I am not counting on it. Do your worst. I surrender.

The greatest story ever told.

A Tale of Two Sidis

2010-05-15T06:30:00.006-04:00

Two thousand years ago a sidi, Arabic for "sir", named Paul traveled to the island of Cyprus. He traveled from town to town teaching in the houses of prayer. It was not long before a certain government official heard about the teaching of this sidi. Hoping to hear the message for himself, he summoned the sidi. With this government official, there was a powerful sorcerer named Elymas.

When the sidi arrived, the sorcerer opposed him having been spurred to jealousy. He would not allow the government official to be swayed from his own teaching.The sidi, staring fiercely at the sorcerer, said, "You who are full of all deceit and fraud, you son of the devil! Enemy of all righteousness, will you not cease to make crooked the straight ways of the Lord? Behold, the hand of the Lord is upon you. You will be blind and not see the sun for a time."

At that very moment, a mist and darkness fell on the sorcerer. A power greater than he had ever encountered rendered him blind. As the man stumbled about seeking someone to lead him, the government official stood in awe. Amazed, he believed, seeing that there was something to this Jesus known by the sidi.

Two weeks ago a sidi living in-country shared his story with a friend of mine. This year he began a brand new journey centered on following Jesus. This sidi, learning to love like Jesus, began to see his responsibilities to his girlfriend and newborn child in a new light. He wanted to marry her, but she just wasn't ready, not to mention the fact that he was now Christian.

Strangely enough, the Bible proved true and his new-found joy was mixed with trials. The girl, seeing that bad things were continually occurring in his life, began to worry about him. Her advice? Go to the city seer. Well, having placed his trust in Jesus, this was not an option. Continuing to pressure the man, she enlisted her mother in the argument. The mother was in full agreement with her daughter. Please, go to the city seer!

After some time, the two women realized that he had dug in and was not moving. Yet, these bad things had not diminished. Taking the onus upon themselves, the girl and her mother went to the city seer on his behalf. After waiting half the day for their turn, they entered the seer's tent. Gathering all the necessary information, the seer abruptly fell into a trance. The two women waited, somewhat unsettled at the seer's strange behavior. Clearly, they conjectured, this would be considered normal behavior for someone in this line of work. Exchanging a knowing glance, the two women relaxed and accepted this normality.

Without warning, the seer violently erupted from the trance. Immediately she commanded the two women to leave. This was not at all how they had envisioned their visit. Refusing to leave without an explanation, they crossed their arms and waited at the opening to the tent. This incited the seer to become all the more insistent that they not hold up the line any longer. An argument ensued. The seer had nothing to explain, they must leave. And leave now. The women disagreed, they had a right to know why she would not explain.

Finally the seer decided that she could not win the argument. Wanting to forget this entire experience she offered an explanation to the two women. "I can not do it," the seer said shakily, "there is a force protecting the man that is too powerful for me."

The girl returned to the sidi saying, "There must be something to this Jesus you know..."

Bedtime Stories

2010-05-11T03:13:00.008-04:00

Barbie returns the stare as my gaze rests upon the dollhouse in the corner of the room. The whole family can be found relaxing on pink furniture inside the pink house with a pink convertible parked in the backyard. Child-sized clothes are scattered along the wall from the corner to the dresser by the door. Toys line the top of the dresser, some I have never seen, but can only assume find their origin in Portugal, the family's last home. In front of the dresser sits an intricately-woven basket overstuffed with children's stories. This basket and the one across the room, next to the bed where I sit, appear to have come from the same weaver.

"I found it!" comes the cry from inside the basket next to me. From this basket, boasting a much smaller stash of children's books, climbs Megan with her prize. She hops onto the bed and curls up next to me. As we lean against the headrest together, her head buried in my shoulder, my 4-year-old friend looks like a little princess. The flowing mosquito net that encloses the bed only adds to the effect.

As she opens the book, I catch the disney logo on the front. Maybe we'll read about the adventures of Timon and Pumba tonight! Or perhaps, we'll follow Baloo deep into the jungle with Mogly. Or maybe we'll read about my favorite character, Winnie the Pooh. Megan finds her favorite story, a prinecess story! A fitting story! Why shouldn't an aspiring princess read about a real (as far as she knows) princess?

The story has no title, just the small picture of a princess on the cover page. As I take in the title page and our main character, I realize that I am thoroughly enjoying myself. Megan isn't always sweet, but tonight she is. I suppose my kids will be the same; some days good, some days not so good. By God's grace I will be a dad much like hers. Caring. Compassionate. Slow to anger. Yet willing to discipline because he loves her so much. Much like my own heavenly Father.

Yes, one day I will be a dad too...

I turn to the first page and begin to read. My efforts are quickly halted, "Megan, I can't read this."
"Why not?"
"It's written in Portuguese!"
Nonchalantly, she replies, "Just read it in English like daddy does."

Yes, one day I will be a dad too...

Whatever It Takes

2010-05-06T16:00:00.009-04:00

Today, the heat was turned back up.

News came this afternoon that workers across five separate cities were informed that they must leave the country immediately. A new wave of persecution has hit this nation with the announcement of a second "list". The first list resulted in the expulsion of over 40 foreign brothers. The first list resulted in the traumatic closing of a local orphanage. The first list caused many national brothers to be jailed, tortured, and closely watched.

This week I have had the opportunity to come together with a group of believers to practice crafting Bible stories under the leadership of a skilled trainer. As our group has storied through the book of Acts, we have seen the amazing results of persecution in the early church. Persecution results in Spirit-filled worship and the spread of the good news of Jesus!

" 'And now, Lord, take note of their threats, and grant that Your bond-servants may speak Your word with all confidence'... And when they had prayed, the place where they had gathered together was shaken, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak the word of God with boldness." - Acts 4:29, 31
"They flogged them and ordered them not to speak in the name of Jesus, and then released them. So they went on their way from the presence of the Council, rejoicing that they had been considered worthy to suffer shame for His name." - Acts 5:40-41
"And on that day a great persecution began against the church in Jerusalem, and they were scattered... those who had been scattered went about preaching the word." - Acts 8:1a, 4

Yet despite this knowledge, news of more persecution ties my insides up in knots. I swallow the rotten fruit of uncertainty that travels to my stomach and spreads through my entire body in an ache of distrust. I want justice. I want retribution. I want fair treatment. But God does not work for my glory, only His own. God is jealous for His glory and I am but His bond-servant.

He awoke, but to a dream. As one transcending physical boundaries to wander outside himself, he searched the room expecting to find his own sleeping body. Instead, he discovered an angel. It was a vision! Just like the rooftop weeks ago, his hairs stood as a cold sweat wrapped his body in shivers. His consciousness dulled from sleep, he did not at first understand the indistinct words spoken to him. "Get up!" repeated the angel kicking his side.

He knew nothing but to obey. He knew not where he was. He knew not why or when or how. He simply knew that an angel had spoken and he had no cause to contradict. As he stood, chains crashed to the floor alerting him to two men standing on either side of him. Large men, soldiers heavily armed. His sudden fright was stifled almost immediately as not a muscle even twitched on any one of the soldiers. Chains loud enough to wake the dead had no effect on these dormant combatants.

By the light of the angel, he dressed himself and followed. Passing through the door into a brightly lit stone hallway, he glanced back to see a small, dark cell guarded by a squad of sleeping soldiers inside and a squad outside. As he followed closely, the angel entered a courtyard passing two more squads of unconscious guards. At the head of the courtyard was a large iron gate opening toward them. Entering the city, day turned to night as he stumbled falling painfully to the city road. The light borne by the angel had disappeared!

The angel himself was nowhere in sight, yet the dream did not end. But had it been a dream? Consciousness was now fully functioning as he understood the truth. It was all real! The jail. The angel. The escape. Yes, the escape. He was free from not only jail, but the trial to be held in the morning. Surely he was to be sentenced to death in the very same way his good friend James had been. It was a day of rejoicing amongst the religious leaders when James received the sword. And here he was, free. Unbound in the middle of the night on the city road.

Days earlier word had reached him that brothers all over the city were gathering day and night to pray fervently. He quickly picked himself up and made for the house of the mother of John Mark. Sure enough, the lights were still on even at this late hour. He knocked on the door to the welcome of John Mark's servant girl. "Peter? Is it really you!" Before he could respond she ran off calling frantically throughout the house, "Peter is here! He is here at the door!!" Within minutes, he had told the group everything. This story spread throughout the city amongst believers and unbelievers alike. Praise for God and sharing of the good news abounded.

And as a result, "the word of the Lord continued to grow and to be multiplied."

Last week I had the privilege of meeting a brother who has suffered under this present persecution. After an initial questioning he was blindfolded and taken far from his home. This Spirit-filled brother was stripped naked and blasted with water from a fire hose. After questioning him, the authorities beat him and left him in a small cell to rethink his answers. The process was repeated for three days. In the two months since then, he has traveled throughout the country praising God to be counted worthy to suffer shame for His name.

I fear for other brothers who may endure such treatment. Two of my close friends and brothers have serious medical issues, yet they patiently persevere under the watchful eye of the religious FBI. I fear for their lives, yet just what is the cost of national spiritual awakening? What must my brothers suffer to see this people know Spirit-filled worship and the spread of the good news of Jesus? And how in the midst of it all must I pray?

I can not pray for persecution, I love my brothers too much to want to see them suffer. But knowing it is here, I can pray for God to use it to His glory for the building of His church. The believers in the early church did not pray for persecution, but when it came they scattered bearing the good news of Jesus Christ. Wherever they were, they came together with one heart and mind to worship God. And so this pattern has been followed throughout history, most recently amongst our Chinese brothers who now number 30-50 million. We do not pray for persecution, we pray that God will teach His people to take advantage of it.

For the past three years I have prayed for this nation. I have often sensed the Spirit telling me that a time is coming when the church will grow in an amazing outpouring of grace. Perhaps we are on the brink. A seesaw teetering, waiting for that catalystic ounce of weight that will turn the entire apparatus on an unalterable course. Perhaps it will be this persecution that, like Rome, Northern Europe, and America, tips the scales to a Great Awakening.

By whatever means necessary the number one priority should be Spirit-filled worship and spreading the good news of Jesus. After all, that is His number one priority. What is at stake is the glory of the one true God. What is not at stake is the health, happiness, or prosperity of any one believer or group. May God use whatever means necessary to spread His fame. And may we pray appropriately, taking advantage of these times to seek His glory.

Whatever it takes, Lord. Whatever it takes.

Gloom and Doom

2010-04-23T08:30:00.008-04:00

Many a good sailor had perished on these waters. Those who weathered far off seas and survived to tell the tale. But there was something different about this sea that made men quiver with fear. The unknown. Without warning, a perfect day could become a seaman's last. This sea, the only predictable thing about her is that she will always be unpredictable. Peter smiled at the thought, not a bad bit of irony for a fisherman. Yet an undercurrent of dread remained as he watched the small pocket of clouds build on the horizon.

Studying the distant clouds, he decided they were all better safe than sorry. Following the wooden rail that overlooked a calm, peaceful sea, he made his way to the hull of the ship and crossed starboard to descend into the belly. As he expected, everyone was asleep.

"James, John, rise, I need you." James was up in an instant and quickly threw on his tunic. John, on the other hand, was known to have a bit of a temper when roused from sleep. He was awake, but lay there staring angrily at Peter, groggy from his interrupted sleep. There was no need for Peter to explain himself. He simply moved to the stairs and returned to deck. They would follow, both were good sailors.

The darkness of the cabin seemed to follow him. Studying the night sky, everything had disappeared. The big cup. The little cup. The bear and even what the Greeks had called Orion. A flash illuminated the doorway and his two companions. It had begun. What he had most feared.

Running to and fro, the three worked to continually adjust the sails and rudder to compensate for the ship's vacillating bearing. Through the roaring wind, communication from one side to the other was impossible. Never had Peter heard anything equal. The flashes had become constant and the ensuing clasps shook him with nearly the same force as the thirty- to forty-foot swells that threatened to tear every plank from the small boat. Hope was nearly lost now just twenty minutes after the first cloud had been discovered.

In complete and utter panic, Peter stumbled back to the hull and down into the cabin. By this time, Jesus was the last sleeping body on the boat. He ran to the bed, seized the man's shoulders, and violently pulled him awake to a sitting position, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing!"

At that moment, the storm prevailed and the ship was flung down on the raging sea.

Swimming to the surface, Jesus emerged from the water with a shout, "Hush, be still!" The wind and waves stopped immediately. Stars appeared and the moon re-lit the night. Lifting Himself up to stand on the calm water, He found Himself surrounded by the rubble and debris of what had once been His transportation to the other shore. His time had not yet come. "Why were they afraid," He said to Himself, "how is it that they had no faith?"

It happens when everything is right in the world. The hero, a mere security guard, saves the day from the imminent danger that has descended upon the stadium. An entire family finds themselves safely locked in the basement far from all extraterrestrial threat. A love story begins when our two protagonists discover their desire for one another as the scene fades out on an empty rocking chair. Back and forth, the chair rocks, foreshadowing the end of this new found joy. Now comes the twist. The surprise plot. The unexpected. This is the calling card of M. Night Shyamalan. Just when everything is right in the world, it happens.

This year I have taken risks. Risks like leaving North Carolina and reconnecting with my parents. All the while I ponder the outcomes of such risks, I am plagued by this gloom and doom mentality. I envision all the worst case scenarios and expect the unexpected plot twist.

I all too often think gloom and doom, but God is the one who determines the outcome. In this story, the unexpected plot twist occurs when Jesus wakes and calms the storm. He then rebukes the disciples for their lack of faith. But my question remains. Had gloom and doom prevailed, would God still be faithful? Had the boat capsized, killing His disciples, would Jesus not still have cause to rebuke them for their lack of faith?

When gloom and doom seems to prevail in my life, why can I not accept my failed expectations to simply be His fulfilled expectations? As He leads me, not every step I take will seem a successful one. Not every piece to this puzzle will fit together at my appointed time. The truth is that what I may often consider gloom and doom is His sanctifying hand. I am often not ready for the gifts He has waiting.

Jesus showed these men who He was. For three years they observed His love, mercy, and justice. They saw that He is God. Jesus calmed the storm in this story, but does not promise He will calm every successive storm. We are not promised life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. He has conquered the greatest storm, sin and death, but many of these smaller storms we must weather because He is making us more like Himself.

This all fits succinctly into His plan. He loves to give me good and perfect gifts, but often the exponential increase in His pleasure and mine are contingent upon the time involved. Time is what I need. Time to weather the storm.

His answer is rarely no, simply not yet.

To Be a Tree

2010-04-21T23:00:00.002-04:00

Beneath a thin carpet, the concrete floor had no give as my face crashed against it once again. Rolling over quickly to meet his attack, I managed to bring my knee into the space between us as his massive body covered mine. This maneuver bought me all of two seconds as he simply readjusted, wrapped up my flailing arms, and violently shoved my face back into the carpet. Now, fully at his mercy, my arms and legs were contorted into a position I never predicted possible as a sharp wave of pain shocked my entire body.

Uncle.

Not once. Not twice. Not even after three or four times had I enough sense to submit. Five times I went back for more. And five times my small, untrained body served as but a rag doll for this 300-pound marine. My pride throbbed with the swelling pain of defeat. Pain stronger than any rug burn or bruise my body had endured. Pride had driven me to do what no one else in the room had dared. Pride not only had driven me to do the impossible, but the plain stupid. Pride made me go back for more.

There are days when I long for North Carolina. I long to walk campus again under low, arching branches of trees far more experienced in this world than I. Trees that have weathered the strongest of storms and the most perfect spring day. Trees, strong and firm, that have provided for generations of inhabitants. They give shelter, nourishment, and cover from the hot, summer sun. Yet, without the provision of another source, these trees would not be the strong, dependable giants they are today.

For tonight, I love Africa. Walking home from a birthday party with dear friends, we discovered a small shop just outside the medina. While they scoured the store for tablecloths, I was quickly drawn into conversation with the shopkeeper. A rare moment of putting myself aside, I took interest in who he was. Within five minutes, I sat on my friend’s chair, behind his cash register, drinking the tea he had prepared for himself. We talked about his life and family as I enjoyed a moment of victory.

Not every day here is good. But not every day is bad. I just have to keep going back for more. But it’s different now. The prideful ambition that embarrassed me years ago is becoming less of the driving force. Perhaps, God is leading me to discover a new kind of ambition. An ambition fueled by love for others. A holy ambition.

Through the storms and spring days alike, I am learning every day that I must put myself aside. I long to soak up all the living water I can to stand through the ages. I long to be strong and firmly rooted. I long to provide for those in need. I suppose I long to be a tree.

I Walk the City Streets Alone

2010-04-07T12:38:00.014-04:00

Some days I walk the city streets alone. Step by step I learn to release my insecurity and need for companionship. Enjoying the fresh air, I take my solitude in stride. And on days like this, it is a shorter stride. For once, I can relax. There is no one to see and nothing pressing that requires my attention.

I think about where I am. The very place I never thought I would reach. Vibrant and new, the sights, people, and customs. A world that I understand about as well as I understood the television that at one time provided all these sights straight to my home. With my shallow understanding, I could press the power button, turn up the volume, and enjoy. A simple scratch on the surface, these pictures and sounds gave insight into a whole other world. Never before was there a need to understand the inner workings of how the flashes of light and soundbites all worked together to bring me entertainment. From the safety of my armchair, there was never a need to understand how or why the people here do things the way they do, it was enough to know that they were different.

In college, my car broke down one February. I read and read about what to do and how to do it. Within a week I had gathered all the necessary tools and new parts. I spent an entire day taking apart the section of my engine that housed the alternator. After carefully setting the new alternator and returning all the belts to their proper places, I happily drove my car around town. If I had been given a brand new mustang like the rich kid in the next dorm over, my satisfaction could not have compared. I didn't want a new car. I only wanted to drive my little white '97 hundai elantra with the large dent above the rear passenger side tire and damaged front bumper with the remaining paint smear from a blue pickup truck. Despite the limited miles that remained, it ran now because I had used my own hands to fix it.

I used to think that if I read a book, or a couple books, I could figure anything out. If I could just google something, I would be the expert. As I walk the city streets alone, I realize that not everything is that simple. If I had, for one moment, opened my eyes, I could have deduced that I really didn't understand how the electrical current flowed into the television to create light that was ordered in such a way as to carry information to the neurons in my brain.

It is easy to make rash judgments about surface level understanding, but real, objective knowledge is elusive. Knowledge requires time. The feeling of accomplishment I enjoyed driving around town lasted all but a week before I discovered my error by means of another broken alternator. They tell me there is a breaking point coming. This is the rock bottom of culture shock. Yet what if brokenness comes, but knowledge and understanding don't?

And why am I continually handed the excuse of culture shock? There is other knowledge in this world that seems equally elusive to me. Similar to cultural understanding, love has evaded me as well. Sometimes I can't help but wonder what I'm doing with my life. Did I miss a step somewhere along the way? Did I miss the memo senior year when my friends moved off campus to acclimate to real life while I dove deeper into the freshman bubble of Dorm 26? When my friends started getting married, was it wisdom or stubborness that caused me to ignore the fact that there was an alternate gender out there somewhere?

I am here now, so there must be some purpose. Perhaps, I am on the verge. Walking the main boulevard, I envision the next street corner being that proverbial breakthrough. To my right stands a cafe. At the height of the afternoon ciesta, every table is empty. That is, except one. Facing the street sits a tall, olive-skinned man. His arms rest on the table as he leans forward. Eyes waiting expectantly, in like fashion to the beggar I just passed. Eyes that eagerly pine for even a small portion of what could potentially be offered. He gazes into the face hidden to me by a veil.

I don't understand. I have no reference point for the love of which I have only heard. No feelings that tug at me when I see this man's joy. No true concept of what he experiences when he gazes deeply into eyes reserved only for him. For me, to love a woman is equal to culture shock. Perhaps, in time, I will understand love. Perhaps, in time, I will understand this city and these people. Perhaps, this understanding is just around the proverbial corner.

Passing the cafe, I arrive at the street corner for which I had hoped. Standing there, observing what had before been hidden by the cafe, I realize this next street looks no different than the last. I suppose life is the same. From each corner, every street looks the same. Unless I walk the street, I will never know what surprises await. New cafes. New alleys. New friends. Perhaps, something on this street will lead to my breakthrough. Until then, I walk the city streets alone.

Aslan's Pleasure (Revised)

2010-04-06T10:00:00.002-04:00

Stripped. Naked. Exposed, all of me, to a staring world. As though born for the purpose of humiliation, I sit in my glass house, shamed. A spectacle disrobed before a race of those heavily clad. These clothe themselves in many layers, concealing parts given to greater honor, effectively hiding shame that befalls all without exception. It is with a perception of freedom that they build, brick upon brick, the wall that ensures independence and solitude.

As war ravages an entire land, so it comes to me. Once free, peaceful, and full, now bearing the quality of emptiness. Void of people, crops, homes and laughter. Void of laughter. Laughter that may never return. All stolen. Hauled off under cover of the night shadows. A land that lies in darkness, empty as the starless night that now consumes it. A land that longs for the peaceful ignorance it once knew.

Denuded and ravaged. This work done by the hand a man cannot know by means of his own devices. A deeper work. More exacting. Aimed at completion. With inhuman precision, the claws dig deep. My chest opens wide, seared not by intense heat, but with an icy cold. The cold spreads through my body like leaven as the last warmth flows from the wound into a puddle around my feet.

With one last breath, a glimmering hope causes me to stare into wild eyes before me. Endless eyes. Eyes that reveal a torrential sea, vast and violent. Lightning flashes. Thrown to and fro, the dreadful power of the storm pushes and pulls at my body threatening to devour me. A brief window of composure permits the sight of approaching land. Land grows larger, more defined, until, at last, I enter a river.

Moving upstream, my body is hurled from rock to rock. The water’s force beats down, pounding me into submission. Onward and upward, a strange force draws me into the unknown. Curiously, I discover my complete lack of pain. I feel nothing despite the brute indifference of the storm. By way of the river, I am taken into what appears to be a garden.

It is here that I first see the sun in this new world. The storm, the rain, the thunder and lightning, and howling wind are gone. Not that they ceased, for something must exist in order to cease. They are no more, as though they never were. As though I simply awoke from a childhood nightmare full of those things I could not consciously conjure in my imagination nor recall upon waking.

Confusion, fear, and panic all subside as a peace unlike any other consumes my body. I bask in the sunshine that illuminates a cloudless sky. The river flows on and on surrounded by rolling hills and trees as far as the eye can see. Fruit trees of some kind I have not yet known. Trees scattered in a way wholly unlike the order a man would set an orchard, but ordered still. An order imposed by nature itself or, perhaps, a force greater than nature.

From the water I rise, carried by unseen hands into the center of a small grove of trees. I stand now before a man. Naked and unashamed, his eyes tell me that he has nothing to hide. He seems not to notice the invasion of the garden he tends. Through observation, I find that he is much like me, yet bears a strange, otherworldly quality. I wonder if I am still on earth or, perhaps, in a distant world yet to be tamed.

He is perfect. And complete. There is a glow that exudes from him, not unlike the glory one might envision of Moses coming down from the mountain. Joy. Peace. His eyes turns to a woman entering the small grove. Both naked, their gazes meet in perfect compassion, love, grace, and desire even, if necessary, to fully sacrifice for the other. Their gazes lack the gloss that comes over the eyes of people in my world as they suppress or, worse, conceal lust, greed, and selfishness.

Consciousness streams back. The lion remains, standing before me. New life flows through my veins. Yet the pain continues without mitigation. Slashing. Cutting. I turn and flee in miserable anguish only to find a trail of bloody scales marking the path from which I came. He cuts again. This deeper than the last, revealing, through the layers, a first sight of human flesh.

With the realization that the only true humanness in me has been deeply concealed comes the equally important understanding that I have not yet fully understood humanness. Standing in stark contrast to the man in the garden, my eyes are opened to the horror of what I really am. The dragon that always was. The lion pounces, tearing away more scales with his teeth to reveal a white stomach hidden since the garden. A rehabilitated criminal released from life in an 8x10 cell, I am freed into a new world that I cannot yet comprehend.

Taking my first steps from the cave, I am blinded by the great light hanging in the sky. I stare in wonder at its glory, while vainly grasping for more and more. Enraptured by this beautiful orb, fear invades. Fear that it may not be there tomorrow. I gasp deep breaths of air knowing that just as it is given so it can be taken away. Contrasting the stale, dead air of the cave, this is the air of freedom. Freedom from the shadows they think are reality in the depths of the cave I once called home. The cave I once called truth and beauty and reality. This new experience of true reality informs my soul. Never again will I trust the shadows of the cave.

I stand now before the lion, ready. Ready to learn to endure the pain. Yet, strangely, his eyes betray a smile. Another layer of truth penetrates my understanding as I recognize the deep warmth and love that greet me from the lion's eyes. Perhaps, on this side of eternity, I will never understand, or even experience, the full depths of the way he looks at me. But it is here, in his loving gaze, that I may share his joy. Not the smirk of an enemy pleasuring in my pain. But the smile of a wise father as his teary-eyed son, knees bloodied, falls into his arms. A knowing smile, he is well aware that the pain will make me a man.

He has more work to do. Tomorrow may yet be more painful than today. There are many scales that still remain. Lust of the eyes. Lust of the flesh. Pride of life. Weak and unworthy pleasures that bear empty promises of escape from the pain. Pleasures I formerly loved. Their power utterly confounded at the lion's bidding.

His pleasure is devastating. He is not safe, but he is good.

Wandering Souls

2010-03-28T13:40:00.010-04:00

My own sitting room. The perimeter lined with plush, African style couches, or frosh. The centerpiece, a cheaply made wooden table. Not much to look at, it provides enough space to entertain dinner guests. Dinner guests that often inquire about the pieces of decorations hanging from the ceiling. The last remnants of a child's one year birthday. The child of the previous tenants; the same child that now screams for attention in the once-empty apartment above.

Directly adjacent to the sitting room is the kitchen. Not just a kitchen, but my kitchen. This small space affords ample room for Luke and I to share cooking and cleaning duties. The small cupboards overflowing with everything we need to host up to eight friends any given night. I find myself fully content with a working stove, semi-working oven, and enough counter space to roll out egg noodles for two whole lasagna dishes.

Between the three of us we share two bedrooms. Space is tight, but none of us own much more than we need. The small bathroom contains a toilet, small shower, and sink.

It is here, finally, that I am home.

Home is an elusive concept. After four years of college, I was ready to move on. As much as I loved the freshman dorm that I served as a senior, this was no longer my place. Two years later, I find myself making my last of 13 moves spanning six different cities.

This lengthy transitional period began with a short-term marketing job by which I passed the time prior to the start of seminary. At 21 and single, I quickly discovered that I simply did not fit in with married, late-twenty-somethings in my new home. Too old for college. Too young for seminary. For two semesters I struggled to adapt. I struggled to make friends.

But I did not struggle to say goodbye again. It was at this time that a small church plant in Kansas offered me a home. My first official internship, and with a bonafide southern baptist church. This exciting new stage of life lasted two months, just long enough for them to decide that I did not belong there either. Shamed and now unemployed, I was told by the pastor to leave not only the church, but the city as well.

And go where?

Peter addresses his first letter to "those who reside as aliens, scattered throughout [the Roman world]." This was me. I was an alien in this world. This is how I identified myself. A theme throughout the Scriptures, God's people are continually moving toward the land, but not yet arriving. Even when Israel secured their earthly promised land, this land is but a picture of the greater for which it is relegated to the service of a mere symbol. Separate. Estranged. A novel concept. But one too easily romanticized.

For me, these had become convenient words to take the edge off the pain. But what was the truth?

A damaged wall, I putty countless holes and paint over the scars with a fresh coat. To the naked eye, I stand strong. A fresh and new look, my outer coat will last for some time. But, on the inside, the structural integrity is weak. The wall less functional to perform its duties of carrying the heavy weights and burdens placed upon it. With time and continued patch jobs, the wall will crumble.

What is the truth concerning Peter's scattered aliens?

Peter continues. They are scattered "according to the foreknowledge of God." They are scattered "by the sanctifying work of the Spirit." And they are scattered "in order to obey Jesus Christ, being sprinkled with His blood." What is in view here are not my insecurities, my instability, my scars, nor my seeming inability to maintain relationships. Rather, God scatters me with the intent that I will agree with Jesus when He says, "Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." Obedience is in view.

My task is to be obedient, He has done the rest. He gives everything necessary to serve His kingdom by means of "His great mercy [that] has caused us to be born again to a living hope." He has provided rest that awaits the obedient soul; "an inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled and will not fade away, reserved in heaven for you." And He has provided all the protection necessary to perform the task, protection "by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time."

The truth is that I am a stranger, set apart to obedience. It is not that I do not fit in or I do not belong. Sometimes I feel that way. Sometimes life is difficult. The temptation is to walk away. To move on. To be the wrong kind of wanderer.

Peter continues, calling brothers to rejoice, "even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials." Trials prove faith, he says, faith "being more precious than gold which is perishable, even though tested by fire, may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ." To escape the pain is also to escape the blessings that gush from the open wound as it painfully heals.

C.S. Lewis, after the passing of his wife, wrote many notes in his journal later compiled under the name "A Grief Observed". He writes that God is like "a surgeon whose intentions are wholly good. The kinder and more conscientious he is, the more he will go on cutting. If he yielded to your entreaties, if he stopped before the operation was complete, all the pain up to that point would have been useless."

Today I am home. For now, at least, I feel like I belong. A day will come again when my emotions deceive me. Perhaps tomorrow the cares of the world will choke out the truth. But truth is truth even when I don't think, or even feel like, it is. And the truth is that there is a higher calling beyond me, one to obedience. He is greater than my insecurities and struggles and His blood has secured undeserved redemption.

"If you address as Father the One who impartially judges according to each one's work, conduct yourselves in fear during the time of your stay on earth; knowing that you were not redeemed with perishable things like silver or gold from your futile way of life inherited from your forefathers, but with precious blood, as of a lamb unblemished and spotless, the blood of Christ."

I Peter 1:17-19

My stay on earth is short. The easy option would be to plant roots, get comfortable, and gather all I can before the clock ticks down. It is the obedient life that seeks to discover the Father's will. That will foreknown before the foundations of the world this soul now wanders. The obedient life scatters to the holy place of separation wrought by the work of the Spirit. This obedient life follows Jesus closely wherever He may lead.

I am NOT a Poet, But...

2010-03-19T12:00:00.003-04:00

I am the servant running to Elisha,
"Alas my master! What shall we do?"
Fear invades when I have forgotten
that there is nothing under the sun new.

From Aram come legions of troops
poised to take my life and liberty,
"O Lord," prays the master, Elisha,
"open his eyes that he may see."

Chariots of fire arrest my gaze
consuming the mountainside,
A great and glorious army
ready to uphold the will of Adonai.

The battle rages, a battle I cannot see,
yet I know the greatest battle is raged in me.

"The Lord loves justice and
forsakes not His godly ones."
Each day they are stolen away,
husbands from wives, fathers from sons.

A battle against flesh and blood
we do not fight,
but whispers of the enemy
that deceive in the night

On the battlefield in Eden,
his first victory won,
but for the prize of the upward goal
we continually press on

The battle rages, a battle I cannot see,
yet I know the greatest battle is raged in me.

Anger rises at the thought
of good men waiting in jail,
fear at others deported
from which there is no bail.

Intimidation, the beast that
prevents our friends from gathering,
The neck of Christianity
the authorities seek to wring.

Even now it is for Jesus,
to be like him I yet fight,
to have compassion, grace, love
and to eternally shine my light,

The battle rages, a battle I cannot see,
yet I know the greatest battle is raged in me.

Clean

2010-03-12T22:00:00.011-05:00

A crowd had formed. Over the years, he could recall only a handful of times people had gathered this close to his home. When people came outside the city en masse the result was often unpleasant. Still groggy, he jumped to his feet nearly losing balance at the wave of pain that swept over his body. Grabbing an extra tunic, his staff, and sandals, he moved to the small opening of his makeshift tent to spy the coming mob.

Led by a man whom he had never seen, the mob was moving to the large hill beyond the slums where he had made his home. At the sight of this man his anxiety was slightly mitigated, enough, at least, that he could put aside his provisions for escape. He knew well that not long into his escape even this small weight would have proven too much. Since that day, his strength was ever decreasing. The pain of waking every morning was, at times, unbearable. He thought of suicide. Most days this was a passing thought. Others, more. But he could never follow through. There was always this precarious hope that he could not quite place.

The leader ascended the hill. Young and strong, this man moved swiftly. Atop the hill, the man sat, legs crossed, to survey the crowd closing in around him. Eased by the calm of the leader, he left the entrance of the tent making his way for the hill.

Walking gingerly toward the crowd, his pain reminded him, yet again, of the constant inner struggle. What of this hope? As far as he was concerned, hope was nothing more than a burden to bear. Hope remained the only barrier preventing him from ending his pain. Yet, somehow deep within him, he knew there was purpose. Not only general purpose in life, but specific purpose for him. No one else would believe it, and he dare not tell a soul, but he sensed purpose in the midst of this bleak existence. Purpose which he railed against. It was this ambiguous purpose for which he yet stumbled through what was left of his miserable life.

By the time he reached the hill, the majority of the crowd had already been seated. Looking for a soft place to sit, his legs buckled sending him to the ground with a painful thud. Pain fired through every bone and joint of his body forcing tears to his eyes. The pain was too much. Attempting to move himself enough to sit, he labored to first lift his head, unaware of the spectacle he had made. He was met with looks of anger and disgust. Their disdainful eyes penetrated to the very depths of his heart, a pain more excruciating than the white sores that covered his body.

They reminded him of her. He could never put away the bittersweet memories of his youth. She had been his dayspring. There, in the marketplace where he first looked upon her, the first beams of sunlight had wakened his world. Beams pregnant with the full day's brilliance that, with time, would lift the shadows to reveal all the beauty and wonder that life could be. He had wasted no time in speaking with her parents and beginning the wonderful journey of engagement. Nothing in life had been more invigorating, more inspiring than the love they shared. A love that nothing, he thought, could ever separate. She was the first. And many more followed with the pronouncement of unclean. In the blink of an eye, the entire world had turned against him.

And now, he crawled under the weight of their stares. They knew he did not belong here. But so did he. Their attention was soon captured by the man now standing at the crest of the hill. Adjusting himself, he was caught with surprise at the eloquence and force of the man's words. Something about the man's speech seemed to tug at the concealed hope inside him. The man spoke with authority, unlike the scribes and pharisees who had beaten him in the streets. What this man said ran counter-intuitive to everything they taught.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
"Blessed are you when people insult you and persecute you."
"Do not think that I came to abolish the Law and the Prophets; I did not come to abolish but to fulfill."

He was no fool. For years he had been afforded many hours to himself for his own personal study. He learned long ago the cruelty of the righteous, and instead sought to find productivity in his solace. He knew the holy writings well, especially Leviticus. After all, Leviticus spoke directly to him. For years he had slowly become convinced that the scribes and pharisees were wrong. The segregation was wrong. The excommunication that he undeservedly suffered must have been an abomination to a just God. Perhaps he was a heretic, but the holy writings seemed to major on the doctrine of justice. Leviticus was not written for the purpose of which it was now used.

"For I say to you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven."
"You have heard the ancients were told, 'You shall not commit murder.' But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother shall be guilty before the courts."
"You have heard that it was said, 'You shall not commit adultery'; but I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart."
"You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

"Ask, and it will be given to you."

The man spoke to the crowd for hours. The sensation was small at first, but by the end of the sermon, his heart burned within him. His whole life seemed to find its culmination in this one moment. Everything had brought him here. The pain of being a spectacle for everyone who saw him. The physical anguish he had endured for years. The fear. The sorrow. The precarious hope that whispered to him of purpose. This hope that prevented him from killing himself.

Unaware until this point, he lay, face down in the grass, sobbing. He could not be sure how long he had been in this position, yet he remained. He believed every word. This man, this rabbi, understood the Law. This man understood the Prophets. This man understood him. A hush fell among the crowd around him. He looked to find the man standing before him. Gazing up into the teacher's eyes, he found everything he could ever need. Then, weakly, "Lord, if You are willing, You can make me clean."

The man smiled. Love permeated the man's entire being. This love, more real than any he had ever experienced. In this man's eyes was the hope for which he had long waited. Precarious. He now understood why this hope had always transcended his understanding. This hope did not find its source in him. It was not his. This hope could only be found in the Creator of everything. The One that now stood before him.

This Man, his Lord, now did the unthinkable. Before he could understand, the Man reached out to hold his face in His hand. A touch. Only one touch. He had longed for the warm touch of another human. A touch of love. A touch of friendship. A touch of camaraderie. The touch was all this and more. Jesus looked into his eyes and spoke words of power, "I am willing, be cleansed."

And it was so.

In this African culture, ritual washing is essential. The people are required to go five times each day to pray. If the man is unclean, he must wash his head, hands, arms, and private areas three times before prayer. If a man relieves himself, he is unclean. If a man consumes anything forbidden, he is unclean. If a man touches someone unclean, he is unclean. For this reason, it is important to avoid becoming unclean.

This can often be used as an excuse to treat people cruelly or to avoid them altogether. The other day, a beggar walked into a small shop where I sat eating a sandwich. Immediately a customer jumped from his seat, grabbed the beggar, and threw him out of the shop. People will give the required alms to the sick and poor on the street, but will not stop to touch or talk to these. The law serves them as functional savior. And the easiest and least costly path toward fulfillment of the law serves as the new righteousness. This is the new pharisaism.

In Matthew 8, Jesus stopped. He loved the leper. He touched the leper.

Do you love those in need enough to get your hands unclean?
Jesus did.

The End of Innocence (Or, Face-to-Face with Persecution)

2010-03-09T21:00:00.003-05:00

The room was silent. Veteran friends. New friends. Families. Singles. All left speechless. The air heavy, tears came to my eyes. Pain for him. Pain for my friends who knew him. Pain at knowing I would not.

I had been safe. For two months I had learned the city, the culture, the people. My love was growing despite a rocky start. This city had become my home. These people were my people. My friends in the marketplace had come to expect me. The street guard always there waiting to talk when I come home. The hungry boys on the street knew my name and where I would be on a Saturday night. I had begun to belong. There was safety here. Nothing could harm me.

Until that moment. Now it is different. As a young child who witnesses violent crime, my world had been changed in an instant. Innocence stolen. In the world in which I now live, I am one ambush away from an all-expense-paid trip to Europe. Permanently. This is the new reality.

In the past week, there have been many friends exiled from this country. The most notable, for me, came Sunday morning with the news that our friend, Blair, had been sent home. The end of 20 years of living, serving, and loving our beautiful country. There were few friends in the north who had not been affected or known someone affected by the work of our dear friend, Blair. I saw him once, when he preached, in flawless Arabic, at the wedding of two national believers. And though I did not meet him then, I felt like I knew him from the many stories my friends have told.

We are not promised comfort.
We are not promised ease.
We are not promised tomorrow.

Augustine says it well in his book City of God. In book 18, he writes:

"The devil, the prince of the impious city, when he stirs up his own vessels against the city of God that sojourns in this world, is permitted to do her no harm. For without doubt the divine Providence procures for her both consolation through prosperity (that she may not be broken by adversity) and trial through adversity (that she may not be corrupted by [said] prosperity); and thus each (consolation through prosperity and trial through adversity) is tempered by the other, as we recognize in the Psalms that voice which arises from no other cause, 'According to the multitude of my griefs in my heart, Thy consolations have delighted my soul.' Hence also is that saying of the apostle, 'rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation.'"

Silence reigned in that meeting for some time. Finally, one by one, we all came to agreement. "We will praise God in all things."

Pray with us for Africa.

Shame and Beauty (Or, How Sexual Impurity Is No Better)

2010-02-28T11:00:00.011-05:00

She walks streets which do not belong to her. She knows them well. Every contour. Every detail. She knows the stones, the pavement, cracked bricks and muddy sidewalk. To the market she goes with her head bowed. She walks quickly, her steps revealing urgency. An urgency not dictated by time. She is not at a loss for time.

Healed, tan shoes, sides streaked with dried mud. Blue jeans. Tan overcoat. Red blouse covering to the knees what the coat fails to conceal. Matching red covering wrapped to conceal her hair, forehead, and neck. Blue eyes. Eyes that stop me cold. Beautiful blue eyes that I, as a man, may only glimpse as they return to the ground in shame.

Shame.

It is with shame she walks the streets, quickly managing her outside tasks to get home. Shamed when she looks into the eyes of a man. Shamed at the catcalls, whistles, sexual remarks with which she is barraged on the street. Shamed at being seen in a man's world. Shamed at not being home where she belongs.

And there is me. 23 years old. Single. Male. In the same way that marriage fails to cure the age old struggle, neither does living overseas as a worker. Lust. Sexual immorality. Every man deals with this struggle whether or not he is ready to admit it. Every impure thought on which I dwell makes me no better than the men I observe daily. It is here, in the midst of an idolatrous, pagan culture, that I find myself most profoundly confronted with the depths of my very own depravity.

God loves the Arab woman. His heart is broken for her as she lives these lies every day.

"You are nothing more than an object. An object only useful to stay the man's desires. And when it's over, you'll be replaced with 72 virgins. You probably won't even see paradise, because you are less than a man. Maybe tomorrow he'll divorce you. Maybe he'll send you away."

This is the message they hear. Every day. From the men. From the culture. From me.

God's heart breaks. He sees the beauty of what was created that sixth day. He sees the beauty that I corrupt with my mind. He loves the beauty that I and every other man has objectified at one time or another.

No more.

"Be holy, for I am holy" - God

"...we are taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ..." - Paul

Satan uses shame to propagate bondage. But "it was for freedom that Christ set us free." I have as my ambition to be holy as God is holy. To love justice. To love truth. To love beauty.

How to Start a Fire (No, This Is Not a Post About the Band Further Seems Forever)

2010-02-28T10:30:00.004-05:00

Living in Africa can sometimes be compared to living in the stone age... or, at least, pre-industrialized America. In our kitchen, there is a flash-boil water heater. Said water heater is fueled by the gas tank that connects under the sink. We call this tank a "Budagas". For those of you who desire to join me in my stone-ageism, below are instructions for installing your very own gas tank for cooking and water heating!

Step One:
Inconveniently run out of the house without wallet. Halfway to the local market, realize it's at home. Though with said realization comes the thought that maybe he can put it on your tab.

Step Two:
With much struggle, more frustration, and slight delight, carry on a 20 minute conversation, in Arabic, with the shop owner.

Step Three:
Deflect all attempts of the shopkeeper to convert you to Islam. This is fairly important.

Step Four:
Carry the heavy tank, via left shoulder (switching to the right shoulder when necessary and back again if the walk is long enough) back to the house for set-up. Be careful to not drop the tank as it is most likely flammable.

Step Five:
Search the kitchen for a wrench. Unscrew regulator and hose. Forget that the tank had not yet been shut off. As a result of your blunder, open window and leave room for approximately 15 minutes.

Step Six:
Upon return, hook up new tank with wrench. Turn on gas tank and test for leakage.

Test #1: Apply soapy sponge to tank nozzle, regulator, and tube. If bubbles result, gas is leaking and said piece needs replaced before use. In this case, turn off gas tank and replace. If no bubbles, move on to test #2.

Test #2: The final test to ensure a working budagas, simply follow three easy steps:

Step One:
Flip a coin to see who gets to perform test #2. The winner of the coin toss will perform the test. The loser of the coin toss will leave the room for a safe place.

Step Two:
Pray.

Step Three:
Light a match. Apply flame to gas tank at connection point, regulator and hose. If the tank catches on fire, shoots flames, or explodes, this is a sure sign that the tank is defective. Replace, if physically capable, defective part. If nothing happens, the budagas is ready to go.

Step Seven:
Resume shower as the budagas most certainly went out following the application of shampoo to hair. Also, rinse shampoo out of eyes.

The Return of the King

2010-02-15T16:30:00.005-05:00

The streets were crowded with men in uniform.

Some wore bright green vests which reflected the sunlight toward on-coming traffic. With wooden push brooms, men could be found sweeping the city streets and sidewalks. Buckets hanging from their belts, many worked up and down the streets adding a fresh coat of alternating red and white paint to the curbs. Still others stood on ladders at each billboard covering over the many aging ads.

Some had blue uniforms. But not the blue uniforms I have grown accustomed to seeing. These uniforms appeared new. The blue was deeper; the white, cleaner. The style was more elegant. For many of these policemen, I could not decide if today they would protect and serve or, perhaps, abandon their post for a great banquet.

Some had green and brown camouflage uniforms. These carried heavy machine guns slung over their shoulders and wore dark brown boots. Soldiers were out in force on this particular day. To an ignorant foreigner this would be an alarming sight; a possible allusion to an upcoming battle or invasion.

Some had red uniforms. These were the most professional, and best dressed. They were well armed wearing slanted hats similar to those donned by American green berets. Scattered here and there, they took charge giving orders and supervising the final preparations. All of my country knows them as the king's personal guard.

Wet paint, clean streets, and freshly pressed uniforms. This is what happens when the king comes to town. No one knows the day or the hour, but the signs are telling. Not a street corner can be found without a huddle of police officers. Not a billboard stands without a portrait of the king himself. National flags are flown in abundance as far as the eye can see.

The city comes to life in anticipation. From all walks of life, the people work together to prepare, wondering if, perhaps, they may see or even be seen by the king. At the time of his arrival, everything is in order. The traffic parts to make way for his caravan, each paying their respect as he comes in earthly glory.

There is, indeed, a King coming. His coming has been prophesied and promised. It has been said that He will establish His sovereignty over all mankind. This King will come with complete power and authority, even bearing a sword, yet He is rich in mercy, love, and compassion. He perfectly wields both justice and grace. Our King will wipe away every tear. Our King will make right every wrong. Our King will rule in glory for all eternity.

His divine edict: be ready. Prepare the way for Him. The day and hour are not known, but He has commanded that our hearts continually anticipate His return. Let us seek to have clean hearts in preparation of His coming. Let us seek to put off our old and dying self in order to bear His image. Let us live as though He were already here, making disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that He has commanded.

Rainy Days and Mondays

2010-02-15T13:30:00.018-05:00

An avalanche rushing down the mountainside gives its victim no choice but to watch in anticipation. At the point of impact, there is no lack of expectation. Yet the knowledge of impending doom does little to mitigate its shock. Full force it hits and all control is lost.

I made it no farther than the street corner before the wind and rain began to penetrate all my defenses. There was no escape for me; no other option but to press forward. My hair now soaked, I crossed the street, evading taxis, as the water began to trickle down the back of my neck under a long sleeve shirt and raincoat. By the end of the street, my heavy trekking pants had become damp. The next street over, they were soaked down to my boxers; my hiking shoes, soaked through my socks. I ducked under an awning on the street to drip for a few minutes.

I had known. All day I had known. From my seat in Arabic class I had watched the rain drench my world. All day long.

Emerging from the water, he began to climb the mountain of sand. His knees ached under the strain of eighty years of journeying. Staff in hand, he made his way to the peak of the sand dune. The exhausting flight was complete, he was the first of two million to ascend this final hill. Turning to look upon a great multitude of fathers, brothers, children, and mothers, he took great delight as they summited the beach and moved to set up camp on the open plain beyond.

His whole life had led him to this moment. From an unorthodox childhood to years of shepherding, every experience had proven providentially necessary to prepare him to lead the greatest escape in history. The time had finally come. Had he been a few years younger even this moment would have been but a vapor stolen away by the wind of his own foolish pride. He knew enough about life to understand that Yahweh works to the glory of no man. Everything before him resulted from nothing less than the great and wonderful grace of the One whom he called El Shaddai. Yes, El Shaddai deserved all the praise for the dry passage now covered in endless footprints as far as the eye could see.

Unstoppable. Even under the awning, the wind and rain had singled me out. A swimming pool could have produced a drier result. Everything rushed back amidst the torrent of wet and cold that engulfed me. It was 7:30 when the alarm buzzed bringing to consciousness the cold my body had known throughout the night. Shivering, I had fought to wrap myself tighter, wringing out the last drops of warmth from the blankets. This cold had been far better than what awaited me outside my cocoon. For a half hour I watched my cell phone considering all the necessary factors involved in preparing to go to class. Finally the time came. I rushed to dress hoping to take some edge off the inescapable cold.

For weeks I had been cold. Cold on the street. Cold in class. Cold in my bed.

Far off, a peculiar haze had risen. A cloud of dust in the distance rising to the clear, blue sky. As the people filed over the beach, the afternoon heat was beginning to take its toll. Their pace had slowed significantly. But the dust cloud crept nearer. Could this be some other wonder? From his judgment, this cloud seemed altogether unrelated to the people's wanderings, for it rose from a portion of road they had passed by very early in the day.

A sharp cry caught his attention. Removing his gaze from the horizon, he discovered a sheep caught in the spokes of a wagon wheel. Instinctively, he moved at once to the helpless animal as the rest of the herd stood by in an ignorant daze. Three small boys had gathered to throw pebbles at the defenseless animal. At the sight of him they turned their eyes to the ground before running off to find other trouble. He parted the herd to examine the frantically bleating sheep. His very touch calmed the animal. With a firm hold, he turned the head to the proper angle and safely removed the shivering beast from the snares of the wagon. The sheep stumbled off to join the others soon to forget the whole ordeal.

From the very beginning, this day had looked to be another miserable, rainy day. Cold. Wet. Sniffles. For two weeks I had praised God for good health and asked for that to be the norm. When the stomach pressure hit, everything went downhill. For the past four weeks I have endured a constant onslaught. Stomach cramps. Respiratory infection. Allergy problems. Sick and tired had become the norm.

With his attention free, he returned his attention to the growing cloud. It was not far off now. A commotion began to stir amongst the people as a quiet rumbling came into earshot. Like approaching lightning as it ricochets off the walls of a canyon, the sound seemed to build, surrounding the people. This looming mass began to move faster, now accompanied by faint shouts and curses. The sound of battle cries and horse hooves struck fear into the people as they quickly scrambled toward the camp.

Uncertainty and fear grew inside him, but an unspoken strength left his posture unchanged. Closer by the minute, this new force came, fully prepared to engage every defenseless man, woman, and child in its path. A small army was beginning to gather in the camp; too little, too late. The last of his people now climbed the mountain.

Doubling the pace, I was eager to make the 25 minute walk a few steps shorter. How much easier this would be if we could just find a permanent apartment. The week's prospects had been less than pleasing. To date, our best permanent housing option crawled with the black mold that had given me such problems already. Could it be too much to ask for our own apartment? Could it be too much to ask for a place where I might breathe right again? Where would we go upon our friends return from Spain after having their baby?

Sword drawn, the enemy commander charged forward. Legions followed. Enough to wipe out ten cities. Atop this mountain of sand he remained, boldly bearing the awesome power of El Shaddai. With the last of his people safely over the beach, he firmly held out his staff. A gift from his father-in-law, Jethro, the staff had seen better days. Carved from acacia wood, its sweet aroma often recalled pleasing memories of his family and flock back home. The staff wound a tight spiral from his feet to the natural knot that rounded the top. Gripping with all his might, Moses dropped this knot, and with it towering walls of suspended water, to the dry earth at his feet.

Only in stories of the great flood had anything been comparable. Before his very eyes, two 100 foot walls of water fell top-down. An avalanche drowning the war cries of tens of thousands of approaching Egyptians. Looking out over the waves, the ensuing silence gripped him. He stood, unmoved, as motionless bodies slowly appeared, floating on the surface. Bodies that drifted aimlessly no longer to heed the orders of commanding officers. Victory had been assured.

Paul writes in I Corinthians 9:27, "but I discipline my body and make it my slave, so that, after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified."

How much discipline must one have to not be disqualified? How much grumbling does it take to arouse the judgment of a holy God. Paul ran to win the prize. He was cold, often. He was sick, often. He was frustrated, often. Did he not, a time or two, like Jesus, possibly say "Lord, take this cup from me!" Yet, the following response was always like to "not my will, but your will be done."

Paul then warns the Corinthians, "Therefore let him who thinks he stands take heed that he does not fall." (I Cor 10:12) He points his audience to the example of Israel. Any Jew living at this time had known that 1900 years ago God miraculously saved His people from Egypt. Jewish history is replete with praises for and rememberings of this great saga. But what Paul aims to show is not the greatness of Israel in the midst of God's deliverance. These very Israelites who witnessed the great might of El Shaddai turned to idols, immorality, and grumbling against the Lord.

Paul's warning is as much to himself as to his friends in Corinth. "Therefore let him who thinks he stands take heed that he does not fall." My grumbling gets me nowhere. My idol of comfort crashes before a holy God. My demands for warmth, good health, and stability are disgusting in the sight of God.

By what evidence can I deduce that I deserve to be warm and dry?
Where is it written that I am entitled to good health?
Who am I to grumble when there is no stability?

Paul struggled often, but took his cares to God. He found his solace in the beauty and wonder of a Savior who has provided every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places.

Today was a major grumble day for me. Today I steered clear of my Bible. Today I just wanted to hate the world. Another hard day living in Africa. But that is no reason to give up. There is nothing that should ever come between my Savior and me. It is to Him that I run. It is in His comfort that I find rest.

Today was a failure. And Jesus redeemed all my failures on the cross. There is no standing without Him.

"Therefore let him who thinks he stands take heed that he does not fall. No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, so that you will be able to endure it." - I Corinthians 10:12-13

“Cara, Cara!,” Or, A Match Made in Africa

2010-02-09T06:00:00.003-05:00

From every direction the chattering was directed at me. I found myself standing in the middle of a circle of seven very interested people. As I attempted to talk about Jesus, my primary conversationalist used her broken English to change the subject. I discovered that her name was Pat and she wanted to learn English. This was all well and good, but not what I was seeking.

With plenty of other options, I turned my attention to a young couple next to Pat. After a few experimental phrases, the language barrier proved too firm to move. My new friends could communicate nothing but blank stares. Pat found this to be her opportunity to re-initiate a language learning session. Giving her a brief smile, I looked to my next attempt. I greeted a young girl about my own age hoping to begin a meaningful conversation. Another wall. Through this particular wall passed one lone piece of information; her name was Meredith.

Turning to meet Pat’s incessant pulling on my elbow, I pulled the four of them together to attempt to make hand motions. Gathering my patience, I began climbing air to show that I had just come up their mountain. With smiles they joined this new and exciting game. As I walked in place pumping my hands back and forth to show difficulty, I realized that my partner, Cara, was right behind. “Cara, Cara, can you help me out?”

“Cara! Cara!” said Meredith as she briskly walked in place pumping her fists. The young couple quickly caught on, “Cara! Cara!” Excitedly nodding their heads up and down they joined the dance, legs kicking. Now all four were doing it, “Cara! Cara!” I tried to dissuade them, explaining that Cara was my friend who wanted to share Jesus with them, but my error proved fatal. This was the last brick placed on the already overwhelming wall separating our worlds. There was nothing now that could quench their excitement at learning their first English words. “Cara! Cara!”

Even in the midst of a two month training session to live and work overseas, the barrier of language sometimes seemed insurmountable. Learning language is a difficult task and I now have firsthand experience as confirmation. Pat is also discovering firsthand that learning languages is difficult as she studies a tribal language in Mexico. Meredith is discovering the same truth as she learns Spanish in Madrid. And that young couple has a large task ahead in India learning Hindi.

Luke and I have now completed four weeks of Arabic study. We continually progress, but the process is draining. Monday through Friday we study in class with a native speaker from 9am to 1pm. Each day we make a number of recordings that we are expected to listen to for 1-2 hours outside of class. In addition, there is the expectation that we spend 2-3 hours each day in community learning language and culture. All this together gives us a 40-hour workweek. This is, for sure, a busy schedule. But this is the best way to prepare to be useful to both the business and God’s kingdom.

I am quickly finding that the most rewarding benefit of language learning is the relationships built along the way. As I spend time in the community, I meet more and more people that are willing to patiently help me through my language struggles. What makes these friends smile biggest is to hear new Arabic and progression in my studies. When they get excited about my advancement, so do I.

The other day I returned to a bakery discovered a few weeks earlier. During the first visit, there were no words, just pointing and motioning. Shortly after, I returned knowing the words for bread and money. The next time I brought numbers. This past week I came in and asked politely for a baguette. I asked how much and thanked them. I realized I needed a bag and asked, “Can you have a bag, please?” My friend behind the counter, who is quickly realizing the permanence of my presence here, smiled and corrected me. He beamed even brighter at my second try, “Can I have a bag, please?”

Here, Friday is couscous day. Christians have their Sabbath on Sundays, but the Islamic holy day is Friday. Every Friday the mosques are packed by 11am as the prayer begins followed by a message. During the early afternoon the city comes back to life with thousands of starving Muslims; this Friday hunger is best satiated by the couscous found in any restaurant, baqqal, or street hanuit.

Last Friday I went with my Arabic-proficient friend, Nick, to find couscous at a nice restaurant by the beach. As we sat down, a young woman came to wait our table. Her usual waitress-smile was transformed into a genuine smile as I exchanged the usual greetings with her and politely ordered couscous with a coke. I told her that would be all and motioned to Nick. He completed his order and she made her move back to the counter turning to flash me a big grin en route.

My very friendly waitress was just one more encouragement to continue pressing forward. She came back and I was able to explain to her that I had recently begun learning Arabic. From here Nick took over and my speaking role in this drama ended. Nick had spared me from breaching the border of my Arabic knowledge and afforded me the opportunity to brighten that nice waitresses’ day. I suppose I will never know if she was more into my Arabic mastery or my studly aura.

While language learning will be a long, arduous process, the future is bright for me in North Africa. I am here to learn language and culture. I am here to bolster our mountain climbing and trekking business. But above all else, I am learning language so I can live out my life as the Bible teaches; boldly sharing my faith with people I meet in my daily activities. This is nothing new to my life, but doing it in Arabic presents a slight twist to my daily routine.

West Coast Sights and Sounds: Week 5

2010-02-08T07:00:00.004-05:00

Backstreet’s Back
Walking through the city the other day I almost felt like I was back in America. I found this pimped out black car waiting at a stoplight. This dude had rims, tinted windows, and blue neon lights illuminating the street below him. The goofy haircut he sported easily gave away his age to the late adolescence years. This generation, like any other, often chooses the fashion trends that most easily attract the attention of those they consider elders. With the streetlights shining down and the sun long gone, he gripped the wheel with one hand and closely watched the stoplight through his black sunglasses. The roar of his engine was what first drew my gaze. What turned my gaze to a stare was what I heard after the engine relaxed to a low growl. His blaring music completed this particular experience and complemented the whole of my new life in Africa.

“Tell me why
Ain't nothin' but a heartache
Tell me why
Ain't nothin' but a mistake
Tell me why
I never wanna hear you say
I want it that way”

Rollerblades and Sunsets
Luke and I have made some very good friends amongst foreigners here in the city. Two of our new friends are single guys named Jeremy and Nick. After living here for a number of years, these guys have become very good at Arabic and have now begun to share their experiences and knowledge. We even had the opportunity to live with them for about 10 days between apartments.

One day Nick took Luke and I out of the city via taxi. From the cafe at the top of the mountain we gained a whole new perspective on our home. As the sun set over the water, we were blessed to carry on a spiritual conversation with our waiter, Achmed. Nick was always very intentional to come when Achmed was working. The two had built a special bond founded on their personal relationships with Christ. As Achmed shared his story, we were drawn into a new friendship that will build over the next years.

At the end of the night, we caught a new taxi back to the city. As the taxi turned into the medina, I began to hear laughing from behind. As the taxi climbed the long, steep hill I turned in my seat to see not one, but two small children holding tight to the back bumper. As I watched, a third child jumped onto the back of the train to climb the hill. With this third child I could now see that they were wearing rollerblades. In the moment of this realization the third dropped out of sight as the first two yelled back jeering at his fall. The taxi leveled off and the children began their descent down the hill speeding past us. What a great adventure to be a child in North Africa!

Business or Pleasure?

2010-01-25T08:30:00.003-05:00

As the final beams of light passed from the sun over the Atlantic Ocean, I sat in a harness soaking up the view from 60 feet in the air. Behind me towered the rock face and below waited a forest of fresh adventure. Here, everything bears a resemblance for me, but the differences cause this life to be but a shadow of what I have known until now. These tall, green vegetations that fill the forest are easily recognizable to me as trees, but every one is tainted with a sense of the exotic. These plentiful green sprouts that expand out from the brown arms I know as leaves, but they feel different, smell different, and look slightly different.

Rappelling from the top of the mountain, I could trail the coastline south for miles. Arranged in many small clusters that appealed to my worldview as towns, small homes hugged the sea as far as I could see. These simple, one level homes boasted bright orange-brown roofs descending at 45 degree angles over white cement walls. These houses, I have found, are designed to remain cool during the hot spring, summer, and fall months, but, consequently, provide little comfort in the midst of a very cold, but short, winter.

Luke and I had come to this mountain with Daniel to learn the basics of rock climbing. The first of many weekly sessions, today we were to learn the basics of knot-tying, natural anchors, and rappelling. Living on the west coast, our country boasts three mountain ranges providing ample opportunity to lead our clientele on rock climbing expeditions. By March, Luke and I are expected to be able to aid Daniel, our professional instructor, and at some point, after a few years, we may potential become instructors as well. Not only are we learning rock climbing technique from Daniel, we are learning leadership and cultivating a Biblical view of such.

As we work with businesses, churches, vacationers, and others, the draw for the adventuresome is rock climbing while the professional needs are met with leadership training. This week's homework: learn the figure 8 knot perfectly and memorize Ephesians 6:10-18.

This is the first of many updates. Unfortunately it has been difficult to really put the time into much writing this last month (Friday makes one month we've been here). I have four posts ready to go, so they should be up within the next week. Please pray that Luke and I would manage our time well and give the Lord our firstfruits!

Winter Begets Spring

2010-01-01T14:00:00.005-05:00

Winter seems a harsh beast, untameable. Forcibly succeeding autumn in the deep night, winter invades, covering the land with darkness. In one fell swoop she swallows up the sun with all its vitality. The howl of winter is heard for months echoing from the highest peak to the lowest valley. Her breath, a biting chill dispelling all signs of life. Woodland creatures flee to their burrows, but cannot evade the reach of her icy grip. Trees, once fruitful, are laid bare, asleep beneath sepulchres of weighty mounds of snow. Nothing escapes.

Snow covered the landscape, continuing to fall without end. I stared through the window at a bleak wall composed of millions of individual snowflakes. Sheets of pure white snow obstructed the world around me. This was just the beginning of another long, cold winter. But my winter had begun long ago. In recent months winter had looked as though spring would soon breach the horizon. But just as my Punxsutawney friend from long ago had oft aided the winter with a few last gasps, so my winter had yet delayed the coming spring.

My journey to the peak of winter had been arduous. The process continually uncertain. The trials, in their present state, seemingly unbearable. Too long had I traversed winter's dark shadow. As I walked the same trails and traveled the all too familiar valleys the shadows deepened. The mountain tops seemed higher, every day farther from my reach. For months, I yearned for the sun to shine again. Frozen in an endless winter, I searched the tundra for the meaning of my life. I have longed for the virtue described by Aristotle; virtue to discover and serve the purpose for which I had been created.

Perhaps, winter may not be so decadent as my surroundings suggest. Perhaps, the perceived deadness is, in reality, expectant life dwelling in dormant mystery. Perhaps, comparable to a season of life, winter appears cruel and destructive, but, rather, is pregnant vitality ready to emerge. Just maybe winter is not an agent of misery, but an agent of change. The difficult, painful change that brings forth new life from the womb. Perhaps, winter is a time of reflection and renewal in preparation for a fresh, colorful spring.

The white wall still fell outside my window. Not a bleak, perilous wall. But the last garrisons to fall before the rebuilding of a more glorious city. The walls fell faster. Gravity pulled me deeper into the seat. My body soon lifted as the speeding walls coalesced to appear a white fog. The mechanical drone of the landing gear now ceased. As the plane emerged from the clouds I knew that spring had returned to my life. The sun shone brightly, a banner overlooking the clear blue sky. Light poured into the cabin. Virtue awaited.

Gospel for India, Mexican Kisses, and Belgian Waffles

2009-12-31T20:00:00.003-05:00

What could possibly add more value to 30 hours of traveling, a 12 hour layover, and near exhaustion trying to get home to Africa? Belgian waffles and a kiss from a cute Mexican girl.

It was not long into the voyage that Luke and I made our first mistake. We had set a plan and were to meet at Meredith's gate in the International Terminal at Dulles Airport. With all three planes coming in at the same time, converging on the one location, conceivably, would be simple. I certainly was not thinking that after waiting at the Frankfurt connection for a half hour. Around 4:30, Luke came waltzing by. We waited together another 20 minutes before finding that her flight had been delayed until 5:01.

With our stomachs leading the way, we found a subway with prime position to eat while watching for Meredith. When she had still not passed by 5:20 we became more curious. Back at the empty terminal for Meredith's connection, we asked the man if she had made the flight. His response? She had sprinted through a minute before we had arrived; we just missed her. That was sad, but not enough to ruin out trip. We will see her in Madrid during our March visa run.

Soon enough we were on our plane to go across the pond. Luke and I were originally separated by 30 rows, but after four or five switches we sat together in the middle of the plane next to an Indian graduate student attending Penn State. Rohan and I quickly found that we had much in common. The conversation had not gathered much steam before the Holy Spirit prompted me to share my testimony. Amazingly, my new friend was very open to the truth as revealed by my personal experience. We had a very enjoyable discussion concerning truth and our personal beliefs. I had a number of opportunities to share truth which spurred questions for him. Before he left to sit a few rows away where his long legs could stretch out, we exchanged emails with the intention of connecting again later.

The sleepless seven hour flight provided the platform by which Luke and I could reconnect after our two week hiatus from fellowship. We talked, read, and tried to sleep. Arriving in Brussels, Belgium with eyes heavy we began to plan out our adventure. We quickly worked through the logistics to store our extra carry-on luggage and find the bus into Brussels (Or, Luxembourg as some call it). Unfortunately, our valiant adventure into the unknown city of Brussels quickly proved anticlimactic. The European quarter where our bus line ended was quaint and devoid of interesting shops or restaurants. We found that the best use of our Euros to get there was to sit on the bus and nap for the next hour and a half before picking up our luggage and heading to the gate that we found would not open for another four hours. We were stuck outside the airport with nowhere to go.

The train had been recommended to us, but it was more expensive and we had already paid for the bus tickets. With both of us lackadaisical and indecisive, a reinstatement of executive decision was the necessary catalyst to set us off on our next adventure. Basically, we ended up just telling each other to suck it up and go. A few obstacles now stood between us and a second chance at Belgian waffles. The first of which required Luke to sweet talk the middle-aged Belgian woman whom we had just 15 minutes ago paid for storing our extra luggage. He was impeccable, it was the performance of his Belgian career. The next obstacle was solving the puzzle of the train situation, in the language Nederlands. I quickly made friends with Robin, the English-speaking ticket guy at the train station. Not only did he save us a few Euros on our tickets, he pointed us in the right direction to get on our train.

Waiting for the train, I met a Belgian-, French-, and Spanish-speaking Italian girl. I quickly struck up conversation as she was more than willing to help me find my way to the correct train and on to find my Belgian waffles. While I talked to her, Luke was making headway in conversation with an older Mexican couple from Guadalajara. As the train was boarded we both lost contact with our respective friends and found ourselves sitting alone, half-asleep, staring blankly out the window of the train.

"Hola, como estas?" Back in reality, two Mexican girls, in their early twenties, stood before us staring at Luke, mostly. Luke, like a champ, carried a pretty impressive Spanish conversation with the two girls who were obviously enamored with his boyish charm and man-of-mystery air. As he wrote down his email address, almost as an afterthought, they asked for mine as well. The next barrier they broke with me first before moving on to my studly partner. As they left, the first, then the second, hugged me and followed with a kiss on the cheek. When they left, my head swelled slightly before Luke explained that this was the custom for saying goodbye in Guadalajara. In the end, there is no sharp disagreement amongst our partnership. I am certain of their obvious inclination to Luke, while he is fairly certain of their unending love for me. The truth we may never know.

As the train pulled into Central Station we quickly rescinded our comments concerning how quaint and uneventful Brussels seemed. We had entered a whole new Brussels full of people, restaurants, shops, and Christmas lights. It was not long before we found the ideal location to satiate our Belgian waffle appetite. Seated on the crowded second floor of a local restaurant we enjoyed our Belgian waffles that boasted little more than a name, but they hit the spot. The hot chocolate syrup that had covered our waffles proved to give enough of a sugar rush to conclude our stay in Brussels with the subsequent crash negating all memory of a three hour plane ride to Africa.

Our Belgian adventure had come to an end. An adventure it was, but tiny in scale to that which it precluded...

Back To The Future

2009-12-20T22:30:00.025-05:00

The city far behind, one last peak was now visible through the break in trees ahead. I pressed on knowing that my legs would soon receive rest while I waited for the others. Only a few days ago had this noon rendezvous been set and, for once, I was early. Soon enough we would be together again with plenty of time to relax and eat lunch before the shadows crept away into afternoon.

Stepping out from the tree line, I was stunned by the hot African sun. Already warm from the trek, I unzipped my outer coat to release the extra heat. Just a few hundred feet away, I could see where may next break would be. Yet, this welcomed rest would come hand in hand with the knowledge that the cold did not linger far behind. At this altitude the sun's warmth would prove to be the only solace from the cold, mountain air. And only that morning had I left home wearing a t-shirt. Thankfully, I had possessed enough foresight to pack warm clothes as well. Four months into the job, the air was becoming warmer with each trip into the mountains. Summer would soon arrive to lighten our packs from the burden of cold weather gear.

Laying down my pack, I leaned against the bulky main sack to enjoy an astonishing view below. Even after making this trip countless times, the valley had still not lost its luster. Given the opportunity, I could sit for hours admiring the creative work of these rolling hills and sounds of far off sheep as they grazed in solitude. Opposite me sat another range hidden in a rain cloud of mystery. All morning rain had threatened from the south, but had not yet overtaken the sun. Enshallah. The Lord wills it. A little rain would not spoil my day or my joy. If there was one lesson I could learn living with Muslims for the past 15 months, it would be the reality of God's sovereignty and its implications for my life and attitude. This is an area of agreement for Christians and Muslims. Jesus prayed in this way, "Abba, Father. Take this cup from Me. All things are possible for You. Yet not My will, but Your will be done."

Soon enough, they would emerge from the trees below. I had not seen my partner, Luke, since leaving for the visa run. A break was good and Barcelona beautiful, but there was much work to do before leaving for our long-awaited vacation to Madagascar. When we left the apartment last week, I set off for Spain while Luke made the trek to Achmed's home.

More than ready to see both Luke and Achmed, I squirmed impatiently as the sun passed from its direct position overhead and began to weave new shadows. Closer than brothers these two had become to me. Luke and I often stayed with Achmed. In fact, this was how the relationship began. That first trip into the mountains had been miserable. The December cold, unbearable. The snow, nearly impassable. Those first villagers, impossible. We had been faithful to spread Gospel seeds broadly while seeking our first man of peace. But the rejection mounted with each new village we entered. After three days of moving from village to village, the Lord led us to Achmed.

Achmed, our first man of peace, after hearing the Message, insisted we stay the night. Then the next. And the next. It was a week of intense Bible study and discipleship. We left Achmed still a seeker, but so very close to relationship with Jesus. We took three days to trek home to rest, make contact with our prayer partners, and submit our regular paperwork before making a beeline for Achmed's small home. This second long, snowy trek we took with joy knowing that the Lord was moving.

Seeing from a distance, Achmed ran to meet us. He immediately sat us down, in the snow, and shared everything. He was elated with joy and more than once we had to ask him to slow down his Arabic just so we could understand. God had used a vision, he explained. Jesus came to him in a dream and simply said, "You can trust them." In two days he had read all the way through his new Bible. He truly believed and wanted to follow in the footsteps of Paul. And Silas. And Timothy. His excitement would prove to translate into action. Achmed began joining us as we traveled to neighboring villages seeking more men of peace.

Soon after, we met Muhammed and Aimen. Just as we often stayed with them, these three would come to the city and spend time studying and praying with us in the apartment. With the help of these three, we had been to every village on this range multiple times. Many new seekers had been identified and three small groups had been started. To this point, Achmed, Muhammed, and Aimen were the only known believers in the area, but the five of us often spent time together praying for God to sweep across the mountain like wildfire.

Faintly, I heard voices. Sure enough, coming up through the woods were Luke and Achmed, and Muhammed had joined them. Today we were moving on to a new work. A new range. A new challenge. The journey ahead was long, but we had determined long ago that every moment of the journey would be to the glory of God. Besides, there was much to talk about. God had been moving while I was gone...

I often find it hard to understand what I can not see, hear, or touch. For you who are faithfully praying, I understand how difficult it is to not fully fathom how best to pray. This story has not yet happened, but your prayers can make it a reality. With day one approaching, December 29th, this is the vision for which Luke and I pray. Please join us as we pray for God to move and to honor the faithfulness of His people whom He has redeemed.

Reconciliation: a Father and son, and father, story

2009-12-18T23:50:00.018-05:00

Breathing heavily, I had hit the peak of my sprint. Though tired, my form remained intact for the final half-mile stretch. Judging by the immeasurable significance this day held for me, the energy boost almost seemed to be by divine appointment. As I rounded the final corner, I could see her. I do not often get worked up over a woman, but she was beautiful. And she was waiting for me.

Drive with the knees. Kick out the stride. Chest out, back straight. Arms loose. Digging down deep, I pushed through the pain and refused to let up all the way through to the end, number 33. Exhausted, I bent over for a brief moment before looking up to receive her inquiring eyes. "Don't close the gate!, please," I managed with a hoarse urgency. Standing there, pulling for breath, I allowed my guitar and bookbag to fall to the hard tile floor of the airport terminal...

17 minutes earlier, I sat comfortably at my gate waiting for the next flight to Cleveland. While engrossed in a thought-provoking book by Dr. Charles Fielding which called for preachers to heal and healers to preach, I had not noticed another afternoon slip away. Once more my mind began racing as I put down the book to rest my eyes. Uncertainty. Joy. Fear. Anticipation. I could not escape the emotional whirlwind as I retraced my steps through the last 16 years...

As a child, sin and divorce had separated me from my earthly father and created a chasm between us for the majority of my life. Malice, slander, and deceit had driven the gulf even deeper. After the divorce, my mother had no intention of allowing him to be a real influence in my life. He fought hard and never gave up on me, but it would be many more years before the truth was revealed. For a child, it is difficult, if not impossible, to love and trust a father who seems so far away.

All too often, the world sends wolves dressed as sheep, and even shepherds, to depict their own stories as truth. For me, the world used my mother. A little lie here. Some small gossip there. Twist these facts just a smidge. This is the way of the world. The world infects, strips away innocence, and forces a faulty paradigm of thinking on fledgling minds. At work are countless cohorts demanding the right to be the sole proprietor of truth for you and me.

This way of life led to anger and bitterness. At the right time, my relationship with the heavenly Father was reconciled. Yet, even with this restored relationship, the struggle remained. All too often, as a young believer, I ran back to the flesh and a prison of anger and bitterness that awaited me. My mind had been infiltrated. I had been given the template of how to think and, therefore, understood my father to be the man whom my mother had continually portrayed to me as a child. The world was so often winning this battle for my mind.

College served as my emancipation; it was here that I was freed from my two masters, anger and bitterness. I was finally enjoying true discipleship and living amongst those whom I knew would challenge and teach me. Then, by stealth, the world crept in once more to influence my impressionable mind. I was learning to let go of anger and bitterness, but the world convinced me that it was easier to exchange these for a new master, indifference. The family that raised me was a worldly trainwreck; I knew this from experience. But, on the other hand, my dad and his family were probably just as bad. As a college student, this is how I lived. Indifference toward the concept of family. Indifference toward the pain I denied. Indifference toward the unknown truth that would probably never come to light.

Reconciliation, like most things in life, is not completed instantly. What is most important in life takes time. By the gracious choice of the Father, the drawing of the Spirit, and the blood of Jesus Christ, I am fully reconciled at the end. As I walk with my Father through life, this process continues to take time and require endurance. With each passing year, the desire for my Father is strengthened as He continues to transform my heart and guide my steps. Reconciling the most important relationship will be a lifelong process, but it is well worth the wait to fully know the Father and His love for me. This life is easily sacrificed in order to be made complete in Christ.

Over the years, I often wondered what reconciliation with my earthly father would look like. I eventually realized that the continual process of being reconciled with my heavenly Father (also known as sanctification) had set a blueprint for me to follow with my earthly father. The process would require true love that can not be known but through Jesus. One day, the Spirit laid on my heart to write a letter. I pondered, for over a year, what words might be contained inside that envelope addressed to my father. The truth of who he was remained unknown to me. But his needs were no different than the needs of any other man who has walked the earth. Just as I desired to be reconciled to my father, I knew he needed to be reconciled to his Father.

Finally, I wrote it. And mailed it one day in March. He should know who I was. He should know where I had been. He should know my intentions. And most importantly, He should know of my Father with whom I had long been reconciled.

The blueprint was completely adequate, as well as the Cornerstone on whom it had been founded. The love of Jesus that had changed my life had also changed my father's life. By the grace of God, our next meeting would be as two new creations. As the process of being reconciled with my heavenly Father continues, the process of being reconciled to my earthly father now begins.

At precisely 3:33 my curiousity was peaked. It seemed odd that I was sitting in a terminal rather than on a plane at that point. I approached the desk and asked when we would begin to board for the 3:50 flight. The news was grim. The correct gate for the connection to Cleveland was not gate C26. In fact, I was scheduled to be at gate F33. And from where I stood, gate F33 was only accessible by taking a tram to the opposite side of the airport. Trusting my Father for the next steps, I sprinted off to meet my father.

Job Number One

2009-12-14T20:00:00.005-05:00

As I find myself at the end of a time of training to live overseas, my mind is swirling in a flurry of emotion, theology, practical insights, and relationships for which I now long. At present, I see the whole two months through a lens tainted gray by the many goodbyes that followed. The impact these friends had on my life remains, but they are all dispersed throughout the continental U.S. preparing for a new frontier. These past few days have been difficult as I process through my time at "the farm". But rather than focus on the grief of breaking away and planting a whole new set of roots (knowing, of course, that they too will be pulled up in two weeks), I choose, rather, to focus on Elbert.

"Whooooaaa!" Let's talk about Elbert. One of the most influential believers to this point in my life, my goal is to give you a glimpse into how God used him to change my life. Furthermore, through this series, I can shore up in my own heart these teachings so as to not lose sight of what is most important over the next few years.

"And He appointed twelve, so that they would be with Him and that He could send them out to preach." -Mark 3:14

I have a very important job to accomplish over the next two years. As an apostle, it is so easy to become sidetracked and to forget or neglect this all-important primary task. Let's begin by defining what job number one is not:

Language learning... learning the heart language of the "Jeb" people is pivotal in my attempts to present hope and new life. But to move straight to language learning would be to take job number one for granted. Job number one is so important that it cannot be simply relegated to the status of presupposition.
Evangelism is essential if people are going to hear the name of Christ, but not my first responsibility.
Prayer touches on it, but is not all-encompassing of what job number one is.
Church planting remains the end goal, but is not the focal point of my life.

If I do nothing else the next two years, job number one is to be with Jesus. And the irony of this statement is that I will do more over the next two years simply being with Jesus than by filling my schedule with ministry.

Job number one is to be with Jesus. Another way Biblical writers say this is to use the verb "abide". Recently I have been pondering what it truly means to abide. Jesus says, "Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in Me." (John 15:4)

John gives some more insights into this life of abiding in Christ in his letter, I John.

"If we say that we have fellowship with Him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth; but if we walk in the Light as He Himself is in the Light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin."
-I John 1:6-7

To abide in Jesus is to walk in the Light. And why? Because He is in the Light, therefore that is where we too belong. This sums up most of John's abiding talk throughout the rest of the book. Walking in the light is equivalent to pleasing Him and keeping His commandments. (I John 3:22,24) Walking in the light is the fruit of being filled with the Spirit. (I John 4:13) Walking in the Light produces fellowship with God and men. This is intentionally reminiscent of the greatest two commands Jesus gave. He told us we are to love God with everything we have and to love others.

"The one who loves his brother abides in the Light and there is no cause for stumbling in him." -I John 2:10

Speaking of love for our brothers, John tells us that this also is part of abiding in Jesus. We know that love surpasses all else, including faith and hope. Because love comes from God (I John 4:7), to love is to take part in who He is, therefore causing one to abide in Him.

"As for you, let that abide in you which you heard from the beginning. If what you heard from the beginning abides in you, you also will abide in the Son and in the Father."
-I John 2:24

We abide in Jesus when His word abides in us. We abide in Jesus when His gospel abides in us. Job number one is to be with Jesus. Job number one is to abide in Jesus. Every day. All day. Forever. Walk in the light, love passionately, and delve into the deep waters of God and His word.

Recently, I wrote the following in my journal:

"Father, teach me to abide. I don't understand this. I want so badly to swim in the open sea of the mystery of You. But, yet, I have not learned to take that last step from the shallow end. I read a little, pray a little, and forget only to repeat it again tomorrow all the while hoping that I can pull together three or four straight days of this pseudo-abiding in You.

"Set my heart on You. Always. I need to abide. I don't want to get by just wading around in the three-foot pool of the American church. I want the mystery. I want the depths. I need You to drop me into the middle of the ocean where I'll swim forever and not become dry. No longer can I be only half wet. No more of this half-abiding in You. Soak me. All of me. All the day long. So wet I'll never be dry again. To truly live, I need to abide in the great deep of who You are."

To not abide in Jesus is to abide in anything else. It is to abide in a negative attitude. It is to abide in judgment of my brothers. It is to abide in anger, malice, and idle talk. John would sum up these other objects of my abiding as "the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the boastful pride of life." (I John 2:16)

Job number one is to be with Jesus and no one else.

John closes his letter of I John with a sentence that seems to be out of place. Upon further reflection it is entirely appropriate. It further clarifies the answer to the question "what does it mean to abide?"

"Little children, guard yourselves from idols." - I John 5:21

Get Out Of Bed Man

2009-09-18T10:23:00.011-04:00

Next to Dorm 12, now a girl's dorm, stands my old reading tree. As a sophomore, I spent many hours in its high branches reading anything and everything. Crossing the parking lot, the sight of Dorm 14 brought a smile to my pensive countenance. Senior year I would often stop by Jessica and Sarah's window to talk on the way to my dorm. With the Keyhole parking lot behind me, I crossed the lamp-lit street to the intramural field and spent a few minutes watching an ultimate frisbee game. The customary light up frisbee spurred memories of freshman year. Night after night, Baina and Jeff would power their light up frisbees the length of the field as I battled with Aaron Meng in the endzone. His athleticism and defensive insticts often triumphed over my amature freshman frisbee skills.

So many memories. Liberty, as I remember it, is a defining part of my life. But as I walked the campus, my Liberty was but a distant memory. Today's student, barely out of high school, walks the campus with his head buried in his cell phone, earphones poking through his hair. I found myself lost in a sea of unknown faces. My friends have moved on. The freshman hall that I led as a senior is now dispersed off campus or in scattered leadership positions. My "enemies" from dorm 16 are now a hall of 70 girls. This Liberty is a great place. But my Liberty now abides solely in the memory banks.

The life that I have come to know and enjoy is amongst Southeastern Seminary students who, on average, are about seven years older than the archetypal Liberty student. The games, pranks, and experiences of my life at Liberty are but a distant, hazy dream to which I may not return. Now awake, this is the dream for which I grasp. I can no more relive those days than a man may resume his place as last night's sleeping hero. Yet, there are some who find themselves still lying in bed striving to gain one last experience of some sub-conscious world. There is no going back. It is time to get out of bed.

"When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things." Every man must accept that the childish will never again be possible. Now, as a man, the future is bright. I will never return to those Liberty days, but they have prepared me well for my life's task. The fruit of that time will always be a part of my life. But for that fruit to sprout other fruit bearing trees I must accept my place in society as a man and follow God's call to go.

The real world awaits. It is time for me to get out of bed.

Retraction: Rick Warren Is Alright With Me

2009-09-17T19:40:00.011-04:00

A few months ago, I wrote the post Rick Warren Is Alright With Me. Recently, I read this article concerning Rick Warren that has made me regret my words. I am not one to go around slamming other pastors and teachers, but I do think the body of Christ needs to confront issues that threaten the Church. At first glance, ministries like Saddleback, Lakewood, and Mars Hill (Michigan) appear to be vibrant and monstrously successful. But the anthropocentrism (state of being man-centered) that pervades the doctrines of these churches must be combated by Bible-believing Christians.

In II Timothy 4:2-4, Paul warns Timothy with these words: "Preach the word! Be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort, with great patience and instruction. For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but wanting to have their ears tickled, they will accumulate for themselves teachers in accordance to their own desires, and will turn away their ears from the truth and will turn aside to myths."

I take the time to write these things not as an attack, but as a warning to a self-destructive American Church that breaks my heart. We need pastors who give the glory to God. We need pastors who will teach the Bible with respect to authorial intent. We need Jesus.

Today I experienced one of the most encouraging conversations I have had in a long time. My good friend, Bear Yarbrough, is raising support over the next two years to begin his life work in Mali amongst a tribal group of 2.7 million people. His team's 35-40 year plan involves four years of diligent language and cultural study followed by years of a systematic discipleship, church planting, pastoral training, and Bible translation ministry. His desire for the end of his life can be summed up in these words, "I want to sit back at the end of my work and watch the people preach, teach, and disciple one another. I will sit under their teaching and marvel at what God has done."

This is the heart of a godly man. This is the heart of a pastor.

Proud To Be An American

2009-09-10T10:43:00.029-04:00

Justice. Representative government. Freedom. Civil rights. Equality. Self-sacrifice. Morality. All in decline. By these ideals the United States constitution was written. This national document America holds up next to the sacred texts. And just as sacred texts are further undermined by each successive generation, so is the constitution. These values upon which the constitution was written to stand are now nearly replaced in American society.

Justice is replaced by greed. Democracy by socialism. Freedom exchanged for bondage. Civil rights for oppression. Equality is being skewed to communism. Self-promotion now rules the political scene. Sex worship has overtaken morality.

Henry David Thoreau writes, "[We] hesitate, and we regret, and sometimes we petition; but we do nothing in earnest and with effect. We will wait, well disposed, for others to remedy the evil, that we may no longer have it to regret... There are nine hundred and ninety-nine patrons of virtue to one virtuous man."

You can point the finger at liberals, but the blame rests on us all. Silence is consent. As the years passed, we have ceded access to justice, legislation, and rule. We permitted the redefinition of life, standing by as infants were slaughtered by the millions and the sick permitted to expire. We watched as family and marriage made the transformation from firm foundation to nebulous concept. We neglected the needs of our own children by allowing them to be brainwashed by hostile education and culture.

They fought against a well-oiled and just system. They fed you lies and over-exaggerated the democratic flaws. They took full advantage of the right to freedom in order to steal yours. They advocated everything the Creator hates. They stole from Christians the idea of education and used it to indoctrinate young minds. One institution at a time they overtook to patiently weed out the defenders of the weak. From Harvard to Yale to Duke, they systematically wiped out the only true moral voice and, consequently, the one that opposed them.

"Down with the bourgeoisie!," they cry. Then, in the night, the unthinkable happens. One morning you awake to a wholly new bourgeoisie. Now, they have the power. Now, they have absolute control. Now, they make the rules. All the wonderful promises are dust in the wind. The very people they once claimed to defend, they now oppress. Yet, hindsight shows that they were oppressors all along. Subtle, coercive oppression that seduced you and teased at your senses. She lured you in with the promise of pleasure, security, and unity. She bound you in chains while you slept. And she left you to die.

When will the revolution occur? Will it take 30 more years of famine or plague or sword to usher in their great and glorious new age? Or, maybe the next great disaster will serve as the conduit to their seizure of power. Perhaps all they need is the panic of a self-induced healthcare crisis. They promise deliverance. They promise peace. They promise prosperity. Money. Power. Control. They even promise freedom. But freedom is just as easily taken as it is given.

"Look to the past!," you say. "What of the great Christian men by whom this nation was founded? We must return to the values that our founding fathers held."

For centuries America has benefited from Christian reforms. The very concept of social justice spurred on a system of checks and balances that leveled the playing field for all. The contribution of hospitals, schools, science, and freedom permitted Christian influence to be tolerated a little longer. A pagan nation, as many other pagan nations, had for a time been tamed for use by the true King. Pragmatism rode the wave of Christian ideals to the peak of civilization at which time Christians themselves were no longer necessary. Do not fool yourself, this nation you love is not a Christian nation. It never was.

From its inception, America has been a pagan nation infiltrated by Christians. Sympathetic deists wrote the constitution in such a way as to allow such an invasion. The truth of Scripture as absent from their Bibles as an utterly transcendent god from his own universe. For the proof of paganism, one need look no further than the nation's sacred temples. Modeled after the greatest idolators in the history of the world, our high places resemble those of ancient Egypt, Helen, and Roma. Men of old immortalized and worshiped as gods. The city centered by a rising obelisk that reaches toward the sun and its god, Amon Ra. Men, women, and children of all colors and walks of life journey to this sacred place to pay homage to the savior, democracy.

In like fashion to Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, men such as Jonathan Edwards, George Whitefield, Samuel Adams, Charles Finney, and Martin Luther King, Jr. served as prophets calling the nation to repent and change its ways. Always an uphill battle, Christians pressed forward against criticisms, slanders, and outright paganism. With the rise of the neo-liberal, the Christian purportedly carries no more value for this society. The difficult soil that Christians have toiled to plow for hundreds of years has nearly completed the process of petrification. These are the very rocks that tomorrow will be used to stone the faithful.

The time is soon coming when all Americans will be united. We'll strap up our boots, throw on our matching jackets, and march to the beat of the one drummer. Our American pride will be evidenced by the insignia worn by all. "Sieg Heil" replaced with a new, more chilling cry born out of the ashes of democracy. In the new fascist state, Neo-Arians will take precedence. Yet, Arians they will not be, but Moors. They will gawk with pride at their people's greatest accomplishment. As democracy yields to sharia law, a message of terror will ripple through the nations.

As has been from the beginning, the ebb and flow of history continues. Countless nations have undergone the Judeo-Christian transformation to the same demise. As the pagan nation weakens, it takes Christianity as its bride. Soon after, the pseudo-Christian paganism emerges from the womb. Weak and stumbling, it is quickly preyed upon by the conquering Muslims, or worse. The message of the past remains unheeded. No government will save. Government is only as perfect as the people that rule.

But is there hope? Yes, indeed. Yet, it comes not from where you may expect.

Amos is an account of the impending destruction of Israel, 8th century B.C. The slaughter awaits. Invasion is on the horizon. Captivity marches west from Assyria.

"Hear this word which I take up for you as a dirge, O house of Israel:

She has fallen, she will not rise again --
The virgin Israel,
She lies neglected on her land;
There is none to raise her up.

For thus says the Lord God,
'The city which goes forth a thousand strong will have a hundred left,
And the one which goes forth a hundred strong will have ten left to the house of Israel.'"

It is at this time that God sends one last call to repentance. This is a call that could save America should she choose to hear it.

"Seek the Lord that you may live.
Or He will break forth like a fire, O house of Joseph, and it will consume with none to quench it for Bethel, for those who turn justice into wormwood and cast righteousness down to the earth."

Amos 5:2-3, 6-7

Outlaws and Fugitives... Or, Law-Abiding Citizens?

2009-09-01T02:00:00.020-04:00

The sound came from far away. An indiscriminate buzz moving nearer as it passed from another world into mine. The beginning and source were utterly unknown to me as I lay there helpless, constricted. Then, instantly, the realization of clucking snapped me to consciousness. Bright rays of awareness burned away the fog of deep sleep. My body was sweating wrapped in the zero-degree mummy bag. My nose, frozen, had become a conductor of the ice cold air from the bag's sole opening. Sitting up, I discovered the source of my re-entrance to consciousness. He stood blankly gazing at me from the doorway. Two bold steps my feathered friend ventured in my direction before fleeing a hungry dog through the entrance into the first beams of sunlight.

Searching my surroundings, I found everything precisely as I had remembered the previous night before sleep relieved me from a hard day of traveling. Piled in the corner of two baked-mud walls were mounds of potatoes. Corn hung from the thick, wooden rafters. Next to me were three other undisturbed sleeping bags. A few yards farther lay the already lit fire on the other side of the hut. Sitting next to the fire was Ewan, our host. He sat reading. Right where we had left him: by the fire, reading.

For hours the previous afternoon he had pointed to nearly every part of his body speaking his people's specific dialect in hopes that we would catch on. While eating potatoes and a mystery stew, we repeated these words and phrases back to him. With every new word, he joyfully chattered on while sporadically laughing at our repeated failures to correctly articulate. Eventually he tired of these games and the onus was left to us to stir conversation. It was at this time that I took the opportunity to begin the mission for which we had come. I presented to him our gift. This gift had traveled thousands of miles and passed, undetected, to where it did not legally belong.

Two days prior, our team of twelve had arrived in an undisclosed Chinese city. In a small, local hotel we piled into a room that we would never again see. It was here that we met our contact. Rosco, as he called himself, briefed each of the three teams individually as the others unpacked boxes of contraband and equally disseminated the materials amongst the twelve. Three hours later, we said our final goodbyes to Rosco and boarded an AirChina flight to a destination 300 miles away.

On the ground, Bear led our team of four to the bus depot from which we traveled four hours to our base city. After fighting through jetlag for a sleepless first night, we packed up our gear and began the trek over the mountain. For five hours, we made our own trail through the pines before discovering a breath-taking view from the peak to the valley and city below. Here the course was decided upon and the subsequent two hour hike took us across the ridge to the first village. It was here that we met Ewan, who now sat enjoying the rewards of our difficult task.

John 3 had been the catalyst to his mostly uninterrupted reading. As I placed the Bible in his hands, I opened it to John chapter 3 and opened my hands in a reading motion. For the rest of the night this book arrested his full attention but for three brief visits by other villagers. Each stayed long enough to experience Ewan's excitement before leaving him to return to his solace by the fire.

After breakfast, we left satisfied, not so much by the Chinese tribal cuisine, but by the first taste of success. We set out for the first of many more villages that scattered the mountainside opposite the valley city. We knew the coming days would be long and demanding.

Two years later, I find myself preparing for a very similar task. This time, my adventure will extend the week to two years. And rather than China, I will be backpacking into the mountains of Africa. One other common denominator is the ethical issue with which I am still faced.

Is it a godly course of action to enter a country and violate their laws by smuggling in the gospel and corresponding materials?

Due to the nature of the question in conjunction with my lack of ethics experience, I have done much research on the subject seeking an answer. The following are the fruits of my labor. These sources include philosophers, both Christian and secular, and theologians, along with an example from the modern era.

At the turn of the 5th century, Augustine wrote a letter to Boniface that we now know as "Of the Correction of the Donatists". The Donatists were an early sect that branched away from the mainstream Christianity of the day. Unlike sects such as the Arians, they held no theological disparities with the Church. This sect simply refused to gather under the umbrella of the Church. Augustine writes this letter to Boniface towards the end of the movement to encourage him to allow reformed Donatists back into the Church. He notes in the letter not only their break from the Church, but the event by which they left. It was false charges this group brought to the government against Bishop Caecilianus of Carthage that marked the beginning of their secession.

It is in this context that he speaks of the ungodly nature of their actions in juxtaposition to what is right according to God. He writes:

"For, morever, when emperors enact bad laws on the side of falsehood, as against the truth, those who hold a right faith are approved, and, if they persevere, are crowned; but when the emperors enact good laws on behalf of the truth against falsehood, then those who rage against them are put in fear, and those who understand are reformed. Whosoever, therefore, refuses to obey the laws of the emperors which are enacted against the truth of God, wins for himself a great reward; but whosoever refuses to obey the laws of the emperors which are enacted in behalf of truth, wins for himself great condemnation."

Henry David Thoreau, the transcendentalist writer, philosopher, and historian, deals with this ethical issue in his famous paper, "Civil Disobedience". He states:

"If the injustice is part of the necessary friction of the machine of government, let it go, let it go; perchance it will wear smooth -- certainly the machine will wear out. If injustice has a spring, or a pulley, or a rope, or a crank, exclusively for itself, then perhaps you may consider whether the remedy will not be worse than the evil; but if it is of such a nature that it requires you to be the agent of injustice to another, then, I say, break the law. Let your life be a counter friction to stop the machine. What I have to do is to see, at any rate, that I do not lend myself to the wrong which I condemn."

The Old Testament holds a number of examples for believers concerning civil disobedience. Two that come to mind immediately are Daniel and David. At the threat of death by King Darius' injunction, Daniel continued to kneel toward Jerusalem three times a day from his balcony. He followed God in direct disobedience to the government and its king. David, too, directly disobeyed the government as Saul unjustly sought his life.

David not only seeks rescue from King Saul in the Old Testament, he comes to God seeking rescue from other nations in Psalm 35:24. Augustine translates and comments on this verse:

"'Judge me, O Lord, and distinguish my cause from an ungodly nation.' He does not say, 'Distinguish my punishment', but 'Distinguish my cause'. For the punishment of the impious may be the same; but the cause of the martyrs is always different."

While the pericopes of the Old Testament shed light on the subject, the teachings of the New Testament bring the truth further into focus. Paul and Peter both teach on the subject of submission to governmental authority. Both command submission to governing authorities. Both advocate the one stipulation that the government must punish evil and praise good.

Romans 13:1-3 teaches: "Every person is to be in subjection to the governing authorities for there is no authority except from God, and those which exist are established by God. Therefore whoever resists authority has opposed the ordinance of God; and they who have opposed will receive condemnation upon themselves. For rulers are not a cause of fear for good behavior, but for evil. Do you want to have no fear of authority? Do what is good and you will have praise from the same."

I Peter 2:13-14, 20 teaches: "Submit yourself for the Lord's sake to every human institution, whether to the king as the one in authority, or to governors as sent by him for the punishment of evildoers and the praise of those who do right... For what credit is there if, when you sin and are harshly treated, you endure it with patience? But if when you do what is right and suffer for it and patiently endure it, this finds favor with God."

The latter passage, in conjunction with Augustine's teaching, suggests that the one who does good despite the government will be punished. The man who finds favor with God does what is right, while receiving government opposition, AND patiently endures his punishment. Earthly laws still carry earthly consequences. But suffering for the sake of Christ has its own set of consequences. Therefore, while you are rightfully persecuted by the government, you are winning praise from God.

Paul's timely letter to the Roman church came from jail. In like fashion, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. also wrote a famous letter from jail. In defense of actions in Birmingham, Alabama leading to his arrest, he pens the well known "Letter from Birmingham City Jail" to his fellow clergymen. The following are a few of his thoughts on civil disobedience and the Christian's role therein:

"I am in Birmingham because injustice is here. Just as the prophets of the eighth century B.C. left their villages and carried their 'thus saith the Lord' far beyond the boundaries of their home towns, and just as the apostle Paul left his village of Tarsus and carried the gospel of Jesus Christ to the far corners of the Greco Roman world, so I am compelled to carry the gospel of freedom beyond my own home town."

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."

"You express a great deal of anxiety over our willingness to break laws... there are two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that 'an unjust law is no law at all.'"

To sum all of this up, Jesus said it very clearly:

"Go therefore and make disciples of all nations"

Failed Internship? Or, an Opportunity for Growth: Part 8 - New Beginnings

2009-08-26T14:15:00.004-04:00

From the beginning of time, humans of all cultures have recognized certain numbers as having greater significance than others. Some cultures have understood these differences in terms of power. Some see numerical differences in terms of luck. And some cultures view these differences as symbolic, yet potentially prophetic.

Think about our culture. What comes to mind when you see the number 13? Unlucky, right? Due to the superstitions surrounding this number, many buildings do not have a 13th floor and Friday the 13th is a well known anti-holiday. Another number that catches people's attention is 666. This is known to be a Biblical number pointing to anti-christ. Occurrences of this number have, at times, provoked some to fear an impending cataclysmic end to the world. Some cultures do not know or understand the background and circumstances surrounding their symbolic numbers. Joe Plumber can not tell you where or when 13 became an unlucky number. Even 666 may be inaccurate. Due to a possible manuscript error, the number 666 may have replaced the original 616.

In ancient Hebrew and early Christian history numbers played a major role both prophetically and symbolically, and more importantly these cultures understood the significance and background of each number. One of the most well known numbers is 12. There were 12 tribes of Israel. There were 12 disciples. There will be 12 gates by which to enter the New Jerusalem. This number signifies rule and governmental authority. Another important number is 3. This is a number of substance and completion. This is the number of the trinity, the number of festivals in the Hebrew calendar, and the number of divisions of the Old Testament. Other numbers familiar to the Christian faith are 7, 40, and 666 (or 616). But there is one other major number found in the Bible: 8.

This is the 8th and final post concerning my internship with Wormwood Church in Kansas. The number 8 is a very important number in the Bible. This is the number of new beginnings. The flood is a prime example of this idea of new beginning. Early in man's history, God's wrath and judgment was poured out on all mankind in a devastating, worldwide flood. Noah survived the waters with his wife, his three sons, and their wives. There were left 8 total survivors to begin a new era of human history; a new beginning to mankind.

Prior to the flood, in Genesis 1, God created the heavens and the earth in 6 days, rested on the 7th, and the 8th day was a day of new beginning. Day 8 marked the end of the creation cycle and the beginning of man's reign on the earth. Logically, the eighth day of the week stands in correlation with the first day of the week. When day 8 of the week arrives, the new week begins. Christ was crucified on day 6 of the week marking the end of his work, enjoyed heaven with the Father on day 7, and rose from the dead on day 8. The resurrection of our Lord and Savior marks the most important new beginning for Christians.

From post number 8, I move on to a new beginning in my life.

A major period of my life has come to an end. On this day, I celebrate a new year in my life, my 23rd. As I look back, I have spent 22 years learning, growing, and training. After 12 years of school, 4 years of Bible college, a year at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary, and my first official church internship, I am now ready, at the age of 23, to begin the work for which I was made. I begin a new life focused on Arab culture, life, and relationships. I begin studying Arabic and interacting with a whole new world of lost people. This is not to say that I have no plans to finish my masters and work toward a doctorate, but these degrees will be more focused than any schooling that I have done thus far. Jesus and missiology will be the goal of all my education from this point forward.

This is my new beginning.

As the 8th day marks the new week, the 23rd year marks the new epoch of my life.

Failed Internship? Or, an Opportunity for Growth: Part 7 - Forgiveness

2009-08-26T11:00:00.004-04:00

"But if you do not forgive others, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions." - Matt 6:15

"And his lord, moved with anger, handed him over to the torturers until he should repay all that was owed him. My heavenly Father will also do the same, if each of you does not forgive his brother from your heart." - Matt 18:34-35

"Whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father who is in heaven will also forgive you your transgressions. But if you do not forgive, neither will your Father who is in heaven forgive your transgressions." - Mark 11:25-26

"Be on your guard! If your brother sins, rebuke him; and if he repents, forgive him. And if he sins against you seven times a day, and returns to you seven times, saying 'I repent,' forgive him." - Luke 17:3-4

This is Jesus on the topic of forgiving others. Forgiveness is necessary in the Christian life. We, as sinners, have been forgiven a great debt. In view of this great and wonderful eternal forgiveness, we must learn to forgive comparatively minor and insignificant debts though they may seem catastrophic to our earthly lives.

Right now, forgiveness for me looks like this:
Learning how to pray for Wormwood Church and its leadership in a godly manner.

This does not mean putting aside our differences, but praying that God guides this staff into truth. This does not mean asking God for the massive numbers of people they want, but praying for the spiritual growth of those who are there. This does not mean seeking the church's downfall, but that it would move in the right direction. This means praying that the staff would repent of sin, stubbornness, wrong thinking, and unsound doctrine and ground themselves fully on Scripture.

Forgiveness is not spewing gossip and angry talk to everyone I know. But, forgiveness may include a righteous indignation like that of David towards Saul. If you recall, David pleaded to God to deal with Saul. Yet, at the same time, David left vengeance and wrath for God. In a dark, seemingly empty cave, he stealthily used his knife to cut off a piece of Saul's garment rather than slitting his neck.

God will judge. God will carry out wrath. God will change or not change hearts. I accept that. Therefore, I will pray and speak accordingly. And when I do not, I myself must repent and have repented.

Failed Internship? Or, an Opportunity for Growth: Part 6 - Painful Ministry

2009-08-25T22:00:00.009-04:00

The door swung open to reveal a deep, black void waiting just beyond the threshold of dim light cast by the outdoor floodlights. With thoughts and emotions swirling all around my head, I stumbled in closing the door behind me. Dragging my feet along the tile floor, I did not care to turn on the light as my full weight was left to crash to the hard surface. Darkness. Surrounding me. Filling me. the darkness seemed a volatile attack on my entire being. I was, seemingly, alone. Alone with my thoughts.

But, of course, I knew better.

As tears streamed down my face, the pain covered over my proverbial heart. I cried out to God in words I can not now recall. The scene was cast so vividly in my mind. I had gone with the sole intention of hearing him out. Discipline was a non-issue; leveraging my position would be useless at this point. I desperately wanted to counsel him and allow Scripture to speak to the circumstance, but he would hear none of it. "Dude, don't waste your time praying for me. I don't care about you or God."

A former small group leader on the dorm and current worship leader at a local church, he had opened up to me the depths of his double life. Drunkenness. Drugs. Girls. Sin was choking out his desire for Christ. He had bought into the lie that causes so many to devote life to selfish gratification. Confusion and pain invaded me as his hardness of heart strengthened before my very eyes.

Back in my quad, I confessed utter insufficiency to God. This pain was unbearable. If God could take it away. If He could remove me from this responsibility. If He could just... answer me.

Over the past months, I had begun to understand the nature of the task assigned to my life. To shepherd a group of men is to accept the cross-hairs aimed at one's chest. At times, I had embraced my role with joy. But, more often than not, I wanted nothing more than to yield the responsibility to someone else. The pain often seemed to outweigh the joys.

Pain will always be present when a man strives to understand the hearts of other men.
Pain will always be present when a man strives to speak truth with love into every situation.
Pain will always be present when Scripture remains the inerrant, inexorable truth by which a man founds his life and work.

For a year, as a junior at Liberty University, I struggled through the difficult challenge of attempting to shepherd a group of 40 sophomores and juniors who, for the most part, just did not want anything to do with me. This represented my most difficult year of college. But it prepared me for the reality in ministry that most people will hate me and the message that I bring. My responsibility is to love men and speak truth, no matter what.

Three years later, I find myself in Kansas continuing the work of planting small groups, discipling young believers, and training new small group leaders. Little did I know to what extent those hard fought lessons of the past would come back to test me again. I find that God allows His children to go through harder and harder experiences as they develop in spiritual maturity. By His grace, each painful situation prepares us for the next.

Though I Corinthians 10:13 directly applies to temptation, I believe the principle can easily be translated to the painful ordeals of life and godliness. "No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, so that you will be able to endure it."

As an intern at Wormwood Church, my work for the Lord was not attacked by those to whom I was ministering. The Lord had taken me through that battle. I had already been equipped to meet the opposition of those under me. Though, not an easy task, it is now one for which I am always ready. This summer, it was the leadership over me that fired the arrows. It is one thing to discern and correct error in a young believer or an unbeliever, but a wholly other issue to confront sin and unsound teaching with those who are supposed to be the spiritual leaders of the church.

John deals with this in I John 4:1, "Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world." Francis Schaffer taught men to test and question everything. Not everyone in a position of leadership can be followed. Not every pastor can be trusted. Hebrews deals with all Christians as brothers, not separating leaders from followers, when it says "let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds." When it comes to testing the spirits, there are no lines or heirarchies to stand between pastors and laymen. All men are equal in the sight of God and must be accountable for their actions and teaching.

The past four years since I stepped up to be a discipler have been difficult. I have been tested over and over. Some tests were brief confirmations. Others were long and drawn out; these agonizing ordeals have forced me to expand my spiritual pain tolerance. Paul learned endurance through many such trials. He tells the church of Corinth, "For we do not want you to be unaware, brethren, of our affliction which came to us in Asia, that we were burdened excessively, beyond our strength, so that we despaired even of life."

I have not despaired of life. Yet. That day, that trial is coming. But my comforts continue to build. The diversity of comforts the Lord has given me is vast. And there is only room for more. These comforts are not for my sake. Therefore, the painful trials I endure are not wholly for my sake.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ."
- II Corinthians 1:3-5

Failed Internship? Or, an Opportunity for Growth: Part 5 - Kingdom Building

2009-08-24T22:00:00.008-04:00

The year of our Lord 1096 marked the beginning of a 200 year period of Crusades that saw hundreds of thousands of European Christians travel to Jerusalem to take back the promised land. Amidst the cries of Peter the Hermit, men all over Europe left everything for sake of the kingdom of heaven and, of course, to gain even greater wealth and power. Army after army of self-proclaimed Christians traveled to Jerusalem to loot, kill, and claim power and land fighting anyone who could satiate their greed. Many Muslims were slaughtered by crusaders. Many Christians were slaughtered by crusaders. Many innocent men, women, and children were slaughtered by crusaders. Christians built vast empires and gained power and fame during this time. These are kingdoms that will not pass through the fire on Judgment Day.

The second Sunday of August, I met with the lead pastor, Joe, and the two elders at Village Inn Restaurant at 9:30pm. I had gone into the meeting simply wanting to know if I would be leading the week's missions team that had come to help. I was blindsided when Joe and the elders told me that there was no more work left for me to do at Wormwood Church. "For us to just keep making up things for you to do would be a waste of your time and our time." I was told that I had the week to "make arrangements to leave." Furthermore, I was told to tell no one that I was leaving, I was to just leave.

I sat there in shock and silence. When these three had said what they came to say I was nearly speechless. The only words I could muster were a weak "thank you for your time" as I excused myself from the table. As I sat in my room that night, Joe's words echoed in my head, "We want to be completely honest with you, there is just no more work for you to do here." This did not make sense to me, the church had just hired two new interns to come in and help with the youth and media aspects of the church. I was leading three Bible studies a week and sometimes getting together with kids that had questions in between. I was a key leader in the youth group and had just taken on the roll of reforming, organizing, and re-energizing the Sunday morning children's ministry. Not only that, the church paid me nothing! I was free labor.

As I was making my arrangements that week, I emailed Joe five times asking him to meet me face to face. Finally, my fifth email, sent Wednesday morning, provoked a response. In this email, I informed him that I would not book a plane ticket out of Kansas until he met with me face to face. It was Wednesday afternoon when he finally responded via his blackberry that received email anywhere. He wanted to meet that night at 10:30pm at Applebee's.

After sitting and waiting for five minutes, Joe walked into Applebee's at 10:35pm. Behind Joe came his wife and volunteer coordinator, Michelle, the 21-year-old administrative assistant, Amanda, the 21-year-old worship pastor, Jordan, and the discipleship pastor, Rich, a Christian for the past three years. I asked Joe if we could talk alone and he responded by making me aware of how great an inconvenience this meeting was to the church staff. To this I responded by laying out the contradiction between the actual level of my involvement with the church and his words from Sunday night. For the next 40 minutes, I endured a constant barrage of one-sided accusations and Scripture-less rebukes for everything I had done wrong over the past two months. They attacked my character, my discipleship methods, my personality, and my work for the summer. Like a good soccer team, everyone touched the ball multiple times, everyone but me.

Some of my "shortcomings" I shared in my previous posts. These charges included starting four Bible studies behind the pastor's back, taking the youth out to teach them how to do street evangelism, and being "divisively against the church's vision". Some of my shortcomings were valid; I made mistakes as the leader of the childrens' program. But, these mistakes were not the trumped up disasters that the staff threw in my face. These were rookie errors that I certainly would have repented of had they been brought to my attention one-on-one, in love.

What really caught my attention was this statement made by at least three people and agreed upon by all: "We live and die by this vision. We have sacrificed for this vision. Nothing will stand in the way of our vision; anything that does must go."

Everyone is building up a kingdom. Some people build their kingdoms with material things such as stone, brick, and mortar. Some build their kingdoms on immaterial things like fame and a well-known name. Others build onto the kingdom of heaven by faith and hope in what is unseen. The kingdom of heaven has already been founded. This kingdom has Jesus Christ laid down as the corner-stone from the beginning of time.

The kingdom of heaven is not built upon by marketing one's own name and gaining popularity. Paul teaches in II Timothy 4 that "the time will come when [the people] will not endure sound doctrine; but wanting to have their ears tickled, they will accumulate for themselves teachers in accordance to their own desires, and will turn away their ears from the truth and will turn aside to myths."

The kingdom of heaven is not built upon by living according to II Timothy 3, but I Timothy 3. Paul warns, in the former, against men who are "lovers of self, lovers of money, boastful, arrogant, revilers, disobedient to parents, ungrateful, unholy, unloving, irreconcilable, malicious gossips, without self-control, brutal, haters of good, treacherous, reckless, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, holding to a form of godliness, although they have denied its power; Avoid such men as these."

But, on the contrary, these are the qualifications of an elder from I Timothy 3: "An overseer, then, must be above reproach, the husband of one wife, temperate, prudent, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not addicted to wine or pugnacious, but gentle, peaceable, free from the love of money,... and not a new convert, so that he will not become conceited and fall into the condemnation incurred by the devil."

The kingdom of heaven is not built upon by standing firm upon one's own vision, but on Christ as the firm foundation. A man who wants to start a club may do as he pleases, but a church is different. There are parameters for a church and the authority rests squarely on God's revealed Word. When one man begins a church and runs the show his way without yielding to wise counsel or the Bible itself, the kingdom of heaven is not being built, but man's kingdom; Wormwood's kingdom.

John warns against a man named Diotrephes in the book of III John. Diotrephes was a man who started off on the right foot and was placed in the position of leadership in a particular church in Asia Minor. John says, "I wrote something to the church; but Diotrephes, who loves to be first among them, does not accept what we say. For this reason, if I come, I will call attention to his deeds which he does, unjustly accusing us with wicked words; and not satisfied with this, he himself does not receive the brethren, either, and he forbids those who desire to do so and puts them out of the church. Beloved, do not imitate what is evil, but what is good. The one who does good is of God; the one who does evil has not seen God." Diotrephes was building his own kingdom and any man who stood in his way was cast out along with those who agreed with said man.

Now, I myself may not be the wisest of counsel, or the most godly of brethren, but I am one of three staff members who were asked to leave this church. The youth pastor, a College at Southeastern graduate, and his wife were also asked to leave despite the success they had seen in youth ministry. The common denominator between the three of us was:
1. We held to Scripture as the complete and final authority.
2. We challenged the pastor to seek Biblical solutions to major church issues.
3. We followed the great commission to make disciples at every opportunity available.

History and experience teach that not every evangelist, pastor, elder, or deacon builds on the firm foundation of Jesus Christ. What allows these men and their churches to go astray? Lack of accountability. When the church and its leadership maintain a healthy, Biblical accountability relationship, the church will prosper to the glory of God and the advancement of the kingdom of heaven. The Diotrephes' of the faith who dodge and forbid accountability will lead the church into error every time.

In His sermon on the mount, Jesus gives clear teaching on the kingdom of heaven and who belongs:

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

"Blessed are those who have been persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

Failed Internship? Or, an Opportunity for Growth: Part 4 - Life Transformation

2009-08-24T16:00:00.007-04:00

The vision of Wormwood Church is to see a city transformed one life at a time by honoring God and building healthy relationships at the speed of life.

"Father, you alone are good. Thank you for your faithfulness. Thank you for your sustenance and the rest which you provide to the Son of Man. Your kingdom come, your will be done."

"Let us now go to Jerusalem," He said to the others as He pointed west.

Passing through the city gates, He stepped onto the cool, wet grass. The brisk morning breeze was slowly sweeping away the morning mists that yet blocked out the waking sun. Following behind him were the quiet twelve still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Soon John and James would be arguing amongst themselves. The weary Peter would attempt to make peace as Judas instigated from the rear. Today, He could not afford to allow arguments to slow the pace as Jerusalem was His week's end goal. To accomplish this the troupe needed to ford the Jordan before evening prevented further travel. If they could pass through the last portion of Judea to the Jordan by the 6th hour, they would be making very good time.

Accustomed to the disciples' morning lethargy, Jesus often woke before the first hour of the day to spend time alone with His Father. Today, He had woken earlier than usual and now was afforded even more time to think to himself before the disciples fully awoke. The past weeks spent in Judea had drained him of all human strength. He had taught and healed day after day and at night, when he could finally get away from the crowds, there was even more work to do with the disciples. The only strength He had left to rely on was that which came from the Father through daily communion. This journey to Jerusalem would be another tiring test, but maybe, just maybe, once in Jerusalem there would be a day or two of rest. It seems as though...

"Teacher, teacher!"

He had not seen the young man chasing Him from the city. "Teacher, wait!" he cried as he bent over in front of Jesus to collect himself and catch his breath. Before looking up again to the master, he dropped his knee to the dirt in honor. As he knelt, he breathed heavily and said, "Good Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?"

Jesus, noticing that the disciples were now wide awake and intrigued by the question, replied with his own question, " Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone." This loaded question asked by the young man had necessitated an appropriate response from the Master. Jesus, knowing the young man's heart, wanted to challenge him to move past simply thinking about what he should do.

The young man refrained from answering, still holding out hope that Jesus would give Him an easy answer. He had heard about Jesus and His many miracles. He had even heard that Jesus could be the long awaited Messiah. Because of this, he was prepared to make a commitment to Jesus. Maybe he could provide monetary support, he was very good for that. Perhaps, even, he could house Jesus and His disciples to show his support. There must be something he could do, some next step.

Breaking the silence, Jesus said, "You know the commandments, 'do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not bear false witness, do not defraud, honor your father and mother.'"

His heart leaped at the reminder of his parents' teachings. From youth his parents had taught him to follow all these commands. "Teacher, I have kept all these things from my youth up!" What a confirmation this was for the young man to know that everything he was doing was right! Mother and Father would be so proud of him to know that the Messiah approved of him and his works.

But Jesus had not yet finished. Looking upon this young man in love, He knew what was said next would be painful. For He knew the young man was wealthy and a ruler and had many men who served him. The young man had worked hard early in his life and apprenticed with a good master. After proving himself, he had been elevated to a high position. Even his peers respected this young man and his work ethic. Not only that, they knew him to be a righteous man who held firm to the law and honored all men.

Jesus, spoke the words that needed to be said to the young man, "One thing you lack: go and sell all you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me."

At this, the young man's entire countenance fell. His eyes began to fill with tears at the realization of what Jesus had told him. The cost was too great. Had he not already done enough to earn God's favor? Did the good life that he was already living count for nothing? The young man, crushed, said nothing more. He walked away and never saw Jesus again.

What does life transformation mean? There are two very different understandings of life transformation in the American church. These views are no different than those with which the early church wrestled. In this story, found in Mark 10:17-22, Jesus represented true life transformation through a heart change, while the rich young ruler wanted good outward behavior to be enough.

Let me reiterate the vision of Wormwood Church: To see a city transformed one life at a time.

After two months of working for this church, sitting under the teaching of the lead pastor, and watching the way they do ministry, it saddens me to say that life transformation to them is behavioral change. Sunday after Sunday, the sermons emphasize right living and dos and don'ts checklists rather than the heart transforming message of the gospel of Jesus Christ. An entire month's sermons focused on challenging men to be warriors. Men become warriors by living right, honoring their families, abstaining from bad things, and going to church. Week after week, the invitation consisted of an ambiguous, watered-down gospel of works.

Outreach ministry was focused on spreading the word about the church. Members were encouraged to go out and spread the message, the message of Wormwood Church. The lead pastor, Joe, told stories each week in staff meeting about church members who had shared with people in the community about how Wormwood Church and Joe had transformed their lives. People were stepping away from drugs, quitting smoking, going to church, and living better lives.

How deep does transformation really go when Christ is not the center? AA can teach people to live better lives. Buddhism teaches one to abstain from many things that harm the body. Secularists teach people to live good lives just simply for the sake of living good lives. Purposeless behavioral change does not produce eternal results. The atheist who treats everyone with respect, rarely curses, and abstains from drugs, alcohol, and sex outside of marriage is still going to hell.

No one will enter the kingdom of heaven by following the laws of not murdering, not committing adultery, not stealing, not bearing false witness, not defrauding, and honoring one's father and mother.

What about your heart!

Jesus said these things in Matthew 5:

"You have heard that the ancients were told, 'you shall not commit murder'... I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother shall be guilty before the court; and whoever says to his brother, 'you good-for-nothing,' shall be guilty before the supreme court; and whoever says, 'you fool,' shall be guilty enough to go into the fiery hell."

"You have heard that it was said, 'you shall not commit adultery'; but I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart."

"Again, you have heard that the ancients were told, 'you shall not make false vows, but shall fulfill your vows to the Lord.' But I say to you, make no oath at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is the footstool of His feet, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King."

"For I say to you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven."

The scribes and Pharisees followed the law to the extent of the dotting of I's and crossing of T's. They were good people. They lived good lives. They taught the same. If your righteousness does not surpass that of the Pharisees, near perfection in following the law, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.

Unless your heart is truly transformed, you have not been transformed.

Peter teaches this: "Sanctify (set apart) Christ as Lord of your hearts."

Paul teaches this: "If you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved... Whoever will call on the name of the Lord will be saved."

When Paul came to minister to the Corinthian church, he said this: "I determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and Him crucified."

Failed Internship? Or, an Opportunity for Growth: Part 3 - Sketchy Discipleship

2009-08-14T03:30:00.010-04:00

Having become quite the night owl over the past two weeks, I often roll into the driveway sometime after 11 pm. On my drive home, there is a particular establishment that, while dead during the daytime, seems to hold a greater appeal in the night hours. Jezebel's could be described by its customers as a "gentleman's" club. From this club, I have seen the very same car leaving on at least three separate nights. This vehicle appears to be a 1980-something buick blotched by rust spots on the side door and accentuated by one working headlight.

Sketchy.

A few years ago, when I was a freshman at Liberty University, there was a particular student who enjoyed climbing a particular tree outside of his dormitory. This guy would sit in that tree for hours reading everything from his history textbook to "Mere Christianity". Being a "reading tree", there was never a reason for him to go there after dark. At least, not until one night when he decided to get away to spend some time in prayer. After spending quality time with the Lord, he opened his eyes to realize that his position in the tree was directly adjacent to the windows of the girl's dorm across the sidewalk. Without thought or tact, he quickly fled down the tree falling to the ground in front of a group of girls. Now, obviously, this particular student, yours truly, meant well, but it sure was not taken that way.

Sketchy.

Merriam-Webster defines:
Pronunciation - ske - chee
Function - adjective
Date - 1805
1. Of the nature of a sketch: roughly outlined
2. Wanting in completeness, clearness, or substance: slight, superficial
3. Questionable, iffy

A Sunday night senior high youth Bible study aimed at studying the message of the gospel through the major junctions of the New Testament. A Monday night outreach Bible study aimed at presenting the gospel through studies in key Bible passages such as Gen 3, John 3, I Tim 6, and I John 2. A Tuesday afternoon youth Bible study aimed at digging deep into John and I Corinthians to answer some difficult questions. A Wednesday night youth leadership Bible study aimed at studying Romans in an attempt to understand Paul's systematic theology and the effect it should have, through true life transformation, on daily living.

Sketchy.

Wait. Did I get that right? "Dude, its just really sketchy that you went behind your pastor's back and started four Bible studies. This was utterly disrespectful to him." - the rebuke of a church staff member

"Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age." - Jesus (Matt 28:19-20)

"Preach the word! Be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort, with great patience and instruction." Paul's command to his disciple Timothy who parallels us as disciples, therefore a command for disciples in general. (II Timothy 4:2)

"The things which you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses, entrust these to faithful men who will be able to teach others also." Paul's command to teach men who will teach other men who will teach other men who will... you get the picture, again a command that translates to our very situation today as disciples. (II Timothy 2:2)

"But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God's own possession, so that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who has called you out of darkness into His marvelous light." Peter's teaching that all believers are among the priesthood now and therefore have the responsibility to join in the ministry. (I Peter 2:9)

I praise Jesus for the day when the people I shepherd go out and begin their own Bible studies on their own initiative. I am going to come alongside that leader to support him. I am going to come alongside that leader to encourage him. And I am going to come alongside that leader to offer myself as a resource to him.

The day I rebuke a Christian for starting a Bible study is the day that I have made the ministry about me.

Consider the reaction of Jesus and His disciples at hearing of others working in Jesus' name:

"John said to Him, 'Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in Your name, and we tried to prevent him because he was not following us.'
But Jesus said, 'Do not hinder him, for there is no one who will perform a miracle in My name, and be able soon afterward to speak evil of Me. For he who is not against us is for us. For whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because of your name as followers of Christ, truly I say to you, he will not lose his reward.'" (Mark 9:38-41)

Failed Internship? Or, an Opportunity for Growth: Part 2 - En Gedi

2009-08-14T01:11:00.004-04:00

North Carolina is my En Gedi.

In Song of Solomon, the writer compares his wife to the blessings of a place called En Gedi. In the midst of the desert of Israel, there was a desert oasis called En Gedi. Mark Driscoll paints this picture of En Gedi: "It was this amazing oasis of fresh water, trees, fruit, life. It was a wonderful place to be. It was a place of rest, refreshment, and juvenation."

North Carolina is my Sabbath.

You may not believe it, but it is true. God created everything in six days; on the seventh, he rested. This is an example for us to follow. Following periods of intense and exhausting work, God allows for us to rest and relax. Sometimes the Lord does not move as we would expect. There is a mammoth-sized task ahead of me: two years of language learning and building relationships in the mountains of Africa. Obviously, I am not the all-knowing One. It seems that He who does know all has granted me a sabbath rest preceding an upcoming task.

North Carolina is my next step.

There has been an inexplicable peace in my spirit since yesterday when I made the decision to go home. I find it interesting that there were times in Paul's ministry that God closed the door. God on a number of occassions did not allow Paul to enter Asia. This was probably for his own good. There clearly is a reason why I have not been permitted to continue in my present ministry. As the door has closed, I see the merit in refreshing and re-preparing for the years ahead.

I can not imagine Paul's struggle as he traveled to Troas in Acts 16. Not only did he spend those months traveling 500 miles through difficult terrain, but God was silent throughout the journey. Paul made the decision to take the gospel to Asia and twice God said no. God did not come and explain himself. God did not automatically present an alternative. God did not do what Paul wanted Him to do. I wish Acts 16 was less ambiguous concerning these events, I feel like there is a lot I could learn from Paul as he struggled to reestablish a connection with God.

Just as this time of pain was pivotal in the life of the apostle Paul, so the closing of my own door has been a clear growing time for me. In the end, God knew best for Paul and I consider myself blessed to see a glimpse of God's plan well before I conclude my long journey (though unlike Paul, I am flying by plane).

There is much prayer to be done.
There is much Bible study to be done.
There is much rest to be done.

I now have the opportunity to return to Wake Forest, NC and Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary where I belong.

Two months are an unexpected gift.

Failed Internship? Or, an Opportunity for Growth: Part 1 - Slow To Speak

2009-08-13T11:31:00.013-04:00

The following series is a window into the growth process the Lord has taken me through following my termination as a North American Mission Board summer intern. The Kansas church plant that I served will not be named, but will affectionately be called "Wormwood Church". I write these posts because it is important for Christians to learn to discern truth from error. At the same time, it is not my place to attack this church specifically. Paul writes to the church in Rome: "Never take your own revenge, beloved, but leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay,' says the Lord." I was responsible as a member of this church to hold them to the truth, but as an outsider I cede that responsibility to those who remain.

"This you know, my beloved brethren. But everyone must be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to anger." - James 1:19

I love the book "The Green Letters" and would recommend it to anyone. Miles Sanford uses a fantastic analogy in the second chapter concerning Christian growth. Consider the mighty oak tree. A strong oak tree requires many years of growth. Science has taught us that the growth of the oak tree occurs in phases. For three months of the year an oak tree develops a new ring of pulpy flesh; the oak tree grows outward. The other nine months of the year, this ring is strengthened; the growth solidifies. This is comparable to the Christian life. We too go through cycles of rapid growth followed by solidification.

Right now is a major outward growth time for me. There are multiple conjectures I could make from this statement. One of which is that these lessons will probably be solidified in my life over the next year as I learn a new language in a foreign land.

Growing does not necessarily mean learning new things. In the last few days, the Lord has made the well-known verse James 1:19 (see above) a necessity for my growth. In the midst of countless rebukes the night of my dismissal, I so badly wanted to defend myself. There were so many things that I wanted to say, but at just the right time "be slow to speak, quick to listen, and slow to become angry" invaded my mind. Can I get "Holy Spirit" for 400 please?

By fighting, defending myself, and creating an argument (with five already edgy church staffers, at that), I would have proven myself a fool, according to Proverbs. "Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge, but he who hates reproof is stupid." There is some truth in every accusation, the question is, how much? I will openly admit that part of the rebuke I received contained some truth. For the mistakes I made, I should be held accountable. But in the end, I was an intern. Interns are expected to make mistakes. What most disappointed me in the way my pastors dealt with me, was that they never attempted to discuss these issues. Speaking the truth in love, I was very open about the differences I saw between the church and what is taught in Scripture. But my leadership was not interested in having an adult conversation with me.

I am going to be spending a lot of time praying, consulting God's word, and seeking godly counsel from my good friends at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary over the coming weeks in order to use this as preparation for my two year term in Africa. I know, more than anyone else, that there were failures this summer. But it is difficult to be rebuked for many things that in God's eyes were not failures.

I suppose the reason it was so hard to be "quick to listen, slow to speak, slower to become angry" was because of the nature of much of the rebuke. I know that Proverbs is not meant to be an end in itself and must be read in conjunction with books like Job and Ecclesiastes, but there is great wisdom in what can be found there. Proverbs 18:17 teaches: "The first to plead his case seems right, until another comes and examines him." There are two sides to every coin; two sides to every story. The fact that one-sided accusations were leveled at me made it very difficult to silence myself. I suppose that is why a conversation typically proves more useful than an attack.

But this is certainly not the last time I will come under fire. Grow and move on, right? There is much more growth to take from my summer as I process through everything. I know the Lord will use it to further His kingdom, and I am not just talking in a numerical sense, but also in a depth sense.

I am reminded of the prophet Jeremiah. Yes, I am slightly paralleling myself to the weeping prophet. I can not imagine the pain and anguish he must have felt writing the book of Lamentations. I can see him beginning to formulate his thoughts for the book as he is hauled off to Babylon, tears in his eyes, wondering if God really is faithful. This is a book of God's wrath on a wicked people and their sin. But there is a ray of hope in the midst of Israel's judgment.

"The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail." - Lam. 3:22

As the church of America continues its descent... His lovingkindness never ceases, His compassions never fail.

On a Less Serious Note: Defense

2009-08-03T11:52:00.005-04:00

I love baseball. I love giving 110% and I love seeing other people give 110%. In fact, I'm the guy who plays second base in one of the city's summer leagues that just can't seem to leave a game without bleeding from somewhere. If the ball is remotely close, I'm diving for it. Sometimes my efforts pay off, sometimes not.

A few weeks ago we were in a close game with a rival team. In the top of the third inning they came up to bat. With two men on and one out, the batter hit a line drive that looked as if it would go perfectly through the infield. Playing second base at the time, I saw the ball come off the bat and immediately took a large step out of my ready stance. I planted my left foot and fully extended my body towards left field. At the peak of my extension, I felt the pull of my glove towards center field as I crashed to the dirt. From the ground, I flipped the ball up to the shortstop standing at second base just a second too late for the double play as the runner had been alert and not advanced more than a few steps. As I got up, I brushed the dirt off the front of my shirt and wiped away some blood from my knee. With one out left, there was more defense to be had.

I love baseball and if I'm relegated to playing slow pitch softball or even cricket until I'm an old man, then so be it. But I love the game. And I love great defense. So here are the best defensive plays in the major leagues for the month of July. Thanks to ESPN, here's the video.

When My Head and Heart Don't Agree

2009-07-13T23:00:00.011-04:00

Why is it so hard to live what we know is true?

For example, Paul proves the resurrection of Jesus in I Corinthians 15. He gives five proofs, but let's just look at the first one. Paul uses the first eight verses to establish the resurrection as historical fact by bringing over 500 people to the witness stand. He clarifies this gospel, saying, "the gospel which I preached to you, which also you recieved, in which also you stand, by which also you are saved." Next, he names all those who saw the risen Jesus; the line to the witness stand looks to be at least 512 people long! That would pass in ANY courtroom. "Here's your proof!" he says.

THEN, he applies it to living: "be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord." He begins with what a man can know with his head. A man can possess the knowledge that Jesus Christ rose from the dead. Then he gives instructions for how a man must live out this knowledge. Because Jesus rose from the dead, a man's heart can be free to stand strong on the solid foundation of the gospel. Because we know that the resurrection power applied to Jesus, we can follow him unwaveringly. Because Jesus could not be stopped by the grave, you cannot be stopped by anything!

But do I live that way? Do you live that way? Does the American church live that way? History proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Savior of the world rose from the dead, but do we understand how to know it with our hearts? Why is it so difficult to live out what we so clearly know with our heads? Yeah, sure, its easy to get on a spiritual high and be steadfast for a week or two. Its easy to abound in the work of the Lord in the midst of a missions trip to a far country. But what about today? How easy is it to forget head knowledge when the clouds roll in over the heart?

Often, I wish my inner struggle was not so pervasive. Sometimes, the why of my struggle escapes me completely. I understand my role at this stage of life very clearly, yet I have to fight so hard to keep the line of communication open between this head knowledge and my heart. I am not a senior pastor at First Baptist Church, and for good reason. I am no longer in the season where I hold the position of resident assistant at Liberty University. There is no youth group that looks to me for shepherding week in and week out. My life greatly lacks stability, by design!

I am the epitome of single guy. And this will not change for years. That's right, not tomorrow or next week, I will be single until at least 2012. But I fully understand my purpose. My role is to move around and take advantage of any and every opportunity that the Lord sends my way. If I bring no other challenge, I must challenge people with the life-transforming message of Jesus Christ. If I leave nothing else in the wake of my travels, I need to leave a gospel awareness wherever I go. This gospel is for the lost. This gospel is for the saved. This gospel is for my church, my small group, and my life.

I know my role, yet sometimes it is so hard to keep going. I struggle with loneliness. I struggle with this lack of stability. And I struggle with just being constantly worn down. In my head, I know what I want. In my head, there is a destination. In my head, I understand the purpose behind this gospel-focused vagabond lifestyle. But there are occasions where my heart just does not agree. My heart just does not want to hear it. My heart is deceitful and wicked and only wants its own. My heart leads me into pride, lust, and wordly wants.

Paul says, "imitate me, just as I also imitate Christ." With this statement, my head is in full agreement, but my heart is dragging its feet. I love the role that Paul took on; that is the role I want to fill. Paul was the ultimate single guy accomplishing the ultimate single guy's task. Everywhere he went, He worked himself out of a job. He came, he saw, he discipled... and he moved on. I want to be just like Paul.

I wonder if he had to endure the same struggles that I find in myself. I desperately want to sit down with him and have a conversation. I want to know what his heart was saying all along. I know that Paul was just a man, but he's my Clark Kent. Was Paul's heart his cryptonite? Did his heart bring him down the way mine so often does? Did his heart, like mine, lead him astray into pride, lust, and worldly wants? Oh, how I wish I had the same strength, love, and humility that Paul had.

But maybe that is the answer. Paul was not the cause of his strength, love, and humility. It was not because of Paul that Paul could be "steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord." This is a job that only Christ can accomplish. Every ounce of Paul's strength, love, and humility was Christ living through Him. He was fully surrendered to his Savior. Maybe, just maybe, it was his total surrender to Jesus that bridged the gap between his head and his heart. That is not to say he never struggled like I do, but he understood far greater than I what it means to truly surrender.

Man Up or Go Home

2009-07-12T23:00:00.004-04:00

American Christianity is all about the status quo. We can "do church" together as long as you keep what you believe and I keep what I believe. Don't get in my face. Don't challenge me. Don't ask me hard questions. I'm here to do my own thing.

Yeah, because that's precisely what Jesus taught. Jesus taught for three whole years, suffered the worst death in history, bore man's sin, and went on a "vacation" in hell (I Peter 3:18-21; we can argue this one later) so that we could keep our ear-tickling religion to ourselves. Jesus, if he had thought of it before Jefferson, would have added "the pursuit of happiness" to his teachings in the sermon on the mount. Jesus never really wanted to make any changes, but, rather, just wanted to affirm those nice pharisees in their synagogue attendance.

Jesus laid down his life in direct rebellion to the status quo. And by status quo, I mean wearing a bright, cheery smile to church Sunday morning only to place a target on your waitress' back at lunch. By status quo, I mean excommunicating those really excited Christians who just go too far with all that Jesus stuff. By status quo, I mean the habit mankind developed in the garden. You know, the one where we rebel against everything God ever said. Yeah, that habit kills way faster than smoking (both deadly, of course).

This rebel, Jesus, would not fit in with our church folks. He spent too much time serving the people that your church members turn their noses at. This is the guy who brings to your recollection last Sunday's sermon when Monday comes and you've already proven that you slept through the message again. He is the guy who calls you out when you're not doing things God's way. Jesus would not make it in our church.

Call me a rebel. Call me a fanatic. Call me arrogant, if it makes you feel better. Call me whatever you want, but this is the Jesus I follow. Like Him, I want to speak grace when grace is necessary. Like Him, I want to speak the hard truth when the hard truth is what is needed. I move around a lot, but wherever I go I fully intend to challenge the status quo with the claims found in the Holy Bible. Welcome to accountability. In the end, we will all be held accountable. But trust me, you would rather have me hold you accountable now than Jesus later. My authority comes from Scripture to ask you the hard questions. He, on the other hand, has the authority to drop the hammer: "Depart from me, for I never knew you."

So now its up to you, Mr. Church Member. I recommend you man up. Its possible that I am not saying you're wrong, but its possible I am. All I am asking is that you check your heart. All I am asking is that you check your methods. All I am asking is that you check your message. Maybe you're doing awesome; the Bible teaches me to edify you. Maybe there's work to do; are you up to the challenge?

So will you take the challenge? Will you allow iron to sharpen iron? Will you accept a rebuke from a brother or keep looking for kisses from the enemy? We can be friends or you can ignore me until I move on to go somewhere else. You can ignore my greetings, my invitations to hang out, and my inquiries. But the challenge is on the table and I implore you to man up. Man up for your sake. But more importantly, man up for the sake of the body. Man up for Christ.

It's Time to Find Your Own Answers...

2009-06-28T15:00:00.003-04:00

Have you ever answered a question with "so-and-so told me..."?

When I was a kid, I trusted my teachers when they told me that George Washington was the first president, 2+2=4, and that water and the element sodium, when mixed, creates a nasty explosion. When I was a kid (eighth grade), I believed my camp counselor, for the first time, that Jesus Christ was Lord and I spoke in the language of asking Him into my heart. When I was a kid, I believed a lot of things because I was told they were true.

Paul uses an analogy in I Corinthians 13 that I feel applies well here. He says, "when I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child. When I became a man, I did away with childish things." The church is not meant to speak, think, or reason as a child does. The church's job is to train up leaders who will take the gospel to the ends of the earth. I submit that today's church is incapable of accomplishing the Great Commission so long as it stands in the way of spiritual puberty.

For an adult, "my pastor told me so" is not a good enough answer. For a mature believer, this just doesn't cut it. When it comes to important issues such as salvation, baptism, and studying God's Word, it's time the church taught adults to think for themselves. It's time for the church to train its members to find their own answers in the Scriptures. It's time for the church to take it's members off of milk. It's time for meat. It's time for a change.

History advises against Christians placing their faith in the clergy. It shows that when the people place all authority in the hands of mere men, the church becomes a power-hungry animal. Nothing good can come of laymen placing the right to Biblical interpretation squarely in the hands of priests and pastors. The "Dark Ages" stands as evidence for this. For centuries, the Catholic Church banned the reading of any Bible but the Latin version, which could only be understood by priests. This allowed the leadership to take control and drag the church into idol worship, the selling of indulgences, and the unholy crusades.

Through the Protestant Reformation, average people had the opportunity for the first time to read the Bible in their own langauge. This was a hard fought battle and came with a steep price. Many protestants were martyred by the Catholic Church when they claimed that the Scriptures were written for all men. For nearly 4 centuries, people like you and me have had the chance to read and understand God's Word for ourselves. Yet, America has taken this for granted. Not only is our nation Biblically illiterate, our church is Biblically illiterate.

Unless we search the Scriptures ourselves, we are in no better position than those who lived before the Protestant Reformation. Countless men gave their lives at the hands of Catholic persecution to bring more Bibles into print in more languages. If we continue to put the power in the hands of today's clergy, they too will begin to take advantage of the people. And yet it already has begun; today the Biblically illiterate are helpless prey for liberal "Christianity."

We must learn to read the Bible; we must learn to understand what it says. No longer can we lean on pastors and stand on blind faith. True faith is not blind; it was never meant to be. True faith is based upon fact.

We need pastors who will not rape the Scriptures of its truth. We need pastors who will not train men to be blind followers. What the church needs is pastors who understand that they are not a necessity for the growth of the church. The church is in need of leaders who will raise up better leaders. The church is in need of men who will seek revival through a renewed fervor for the Word of God.

And as for the people, our faith belongs in Christ, not in the men sent to be His servants.

The Big Question: Limited Atonement

2009-06-22T09:46:00.005-04:00

I've been questioned on the subject of limited atonement a number of times recently. While I don't know all the answers, I feel like I'm beginning to gain a good grasp on a lot of the questions. Moving through the process of thinking through certain doctrines over the past year, I'm close, but not fully verbally articulate, in my understanding of the implications of Christ's death in place of some but not all. So my thinking in putting this post up is that it would be more beneficial to both myself and a fellow investigator if I wrote out my response rather than trying to bumble through talking about it. Please feel free to ponder through this doctrine with me and, civilly, raise important questions that need to be taken alongside these thoughts.

Here are the two choices:
1. Christ died for the sins of all men.
2. Christ died for the sins of chosen men.

The first option can lead one down two possible roads. The first road being universalism. If Christ died for the sins of all men and all men's sins are covered by His atonement, then all men will be saved. The implications of this understanding are obvious. The second road one may follow leads to an unjust God. Suppose that Christ's atonement was for the sins of all men, but in order to get it, men must choose to accept this sacrifice on their behalf. Most folks who believe that Christ died for all are not going to be universalists, but are going to sit in this second camp. So why is God unjust in this situation?

Allow me to explain this by means of an explanation of limited atonement. No man, in and of himself, is good. "There is none righteous, not even one; there is none who understands, there is none who seeks for God; all have turned aside... there is no fear of God before their eyes." (Rom 3:10-18) Romans 5:12 tells us that "just as through one man sin entered the world, and death through sin, death spread to all men, because all have sinned." We are "dead in [our] trespasses and sins." (Eph 2:1) All men, unless they have been made alive by the new birth, are dead in sin.

But what is sin? Sin is rebellion against a pure, perfect, and holy God. Man is inherently rebellious against God; rebellion is part of our nature since the fall of man. (Gen 3) Crimes committed against earthly laws lead to earthly consequences equal to the offense. Shoplifting, for instance, will lead to a set fine and possibly some jail time. Armed robbery will probably get you a few years in the slammer. These things are punishable, but only to a certain extent. These acts are finite acts committed against finite institutions.

Rebellion against God, on the other hand, is an eternal offense. This is because God is an eternal being who demands perfection. Our entire purpose on the earth is to worship God; true worship cannot be marred by any rebellion. Therefore, any offense against God eternally mars our worship and our entire purpose. A crime against an eternal God is eternal in itself. An eternal crime demands eternal consequences. This is why it is just that unrepentant sinners spend eternity in hell. I didn't say this was a fun doctrine, but this is what is taught in Scripture. Jesus talks about hell more than anybody and He isn't the one I intend to argue with.

For the believer, this eternal offense is negated by the sacrifice of a perfect, eternal being. Jesus, the God-man, was the perfect sacrifice to wash away eternal sin of those within His flock.

It is just that sin is punished. It is just that all sin is punished, even that of the saved. It would not be just for sin to be punished twice. The nature of Christ's atonement prevents this injustice. According to the doctrine of limited atonement, Christ's atoning work was only for the elect, not every man to ever walk the earth. This means that sin is punished at the cross for those whom God had chosen to be His from before the foundations of the earth. For the elect, Jesus took on the punishment for their sin as they took on His righteousness in the sight of God. (II Cor 5:21) For all who are not chosen by God, their sin is punished by an eternity in hell. In this scenario, all sin is accounted for and justly punished. The sin of believers is punished at the cross while the sin of unbelievers is punished in hell.

Now return to the beginning, it is unjust for Christ to die for the sin of all men and give them the choice to accept or reject this sacrifice on their behalf. By Christ dying for the sin of all men, all sin is accounted for and punished at the cross. Those who choose to accept this sacrifice reap the benefits of their sin being punished through Christ. Those who do not accept this sacrifice on their behalf, are punished in hell for eternity for their sin-rebellion against a perfect, eternal being. Therefore, in this scenario, the sin of the unbeliever is punished twice! His sin is punished in hell, but his sin is also punished at the cross by Jesus. This is unjust and our God is not an unjust God.

Limited atonement teaches the justice of God. You may say that a God who works in this way is not loving. But is a loving God unjust? Or, does a loving God prove His love sacrificially AND see true justice served all at the same time?

What I Want (Or, The Abundant Life)

2009-06-10T09:37:00.001-04:00

Scrambling through a thick cloud of darkness, I emerge from the woods into chaos. The deafening boom of canon blasts assails me from all sides, near and far. Bright flashes pull back the shadows as I frantically search for some familiarity. Gunfire and cries of pain drown my attempts to reason as I quickly lose control. Making my way across the field, an unknown destination awaits me. The going is slow as I stumble over endless bodies, some bearing the red uniform, some the blue. My memory alludes me; I know nothing but the throbbing pain that seems to pervade my whole body. A steady flow of either blood or perspiration, maybe both, flows from my head.

A blast knocks me over as dirt rains down on my head. Regaining my balance, I continue toward what seems to be the front line. Soldiers run in all directions, discharging their weapons as they go. The pain in my head escalates. Searching my clothing for a makeshift wrap, a wave of panic sweeps over me at the realization that I wear no uniform, but street clothes. I search my mind for an answer to the now all-important question. A man brushes by me, fleeing in retreat. He stops briefly to turn around and wave for me to follow. Darting off, his tattered red tunic vanishes into the night. Another soldier, this one in blue, violently grabs my coat and drags me in the opposite direction. Before escaping into the night, he orders me to pick up my gun and fight.

The world begins to spin as the violence overwhelms me. Men surround me. They fearfully shove past, running here and there. Gunfire rings in my ears as my vision blurs. The darkness pervades, this fueling the fear now growing inside me. An expectation of doom takes hold as I fight through the clamor and confusion to understand to which side I belong. The battle endlessly rages with no resolution in sight.

I want the pleasures this world has to offer. I want people to know me, to remember me, to love me. I want to be the focus of attention. I want the perfect girl and I want her now. I want to make my name great. This is the side for which I fight.

I want to see God's kingdom come. I want to see His will done on earth as it is in heaven. I want to be a light that pushes out the darkness of this world. I want to offer up my life as a living sacrifice. I want to hallow His name. This is the side for which I fight.

A battle rages inside me.

Day by day, my fight loses ambiguity. The sides become more clear. My role, less obscure. For weeks I fight the good fight and begin to taste the spoils of war. But then on the heels of victory, I arbitrarily rejoin the enemy reasoning that the end justifies the means. At times, my vision blurs so much that it becomes difficult to know what end I really want for myself. I know that it is impossible for the enemy to show me the same goodness. The enemy offers everything that I think I want, but I know this is a set up, a trap. An ambush awaits me, but I ignore the warning signs. Not until defeat is at hand are my eyes opened to understand the nature of this deception.

The apostle Paul fought this fight.

"For the good that I want, I do not do, but I practice the very evil that I do not want." He continues, "Wretched man that I am!" Paul knew this inner struggle well. He knew that battle lines could often be blurred by one's own desires. He knew the difficulty in determining which side was real, which side was right, which side was true. The fight is not easy. This life is difficult. But the sanctified life is the one that presses through the smoke with bayonet outstretched. Though he may fall, there is strength to get back up. Though he may not see through the haze, there is guidance to show the way. Though he may suffer, there is hope for the future.

No man is exempted from life's battles. All have been enlisted in some military force. While courage, valor, and victory are not limited to a particular side, final victory is only for the few. There is one leader who overwhelmingly conquers all. All men must consider for whom they will fight. The world fights for itself. The Christian fights not for himself, but for a King and a kingdom. By Jesus, we find direction to tread the narrow path; He is the way. By Jesus, we persevere toward the truth; He is the truth. By Jesus, we have victory over sin and death; He is the life.

Paul knew he was wretched. But he follows this statement with thanksgiving! He asks, "Who will set me free from the body of this death? THANKS BE TO GOD through Jesus Christ our Lord!... There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." There is no condemnation. By Jesus, there is no condemnation. This is our hope. The hope of glory by the saving work of Jesus Christ. One day, everyone's fight will be revealed for what it really is. On that day, everyone will know whether your battle was for Jesus or whether your battle was for self.

"For the mind set on the flesh is death, but the mind set on the Spirit is life and peace."

We must persevere to set our minds on the Spirit. When the flesh knocks us down, there must be repentance and a turn back to the Spirit. Jesus does not require perfection from His sheep. He requires total commitment. Even the demons believe in God and His Son, Jesus, and shudder. Belief is not enough, but must be joined by true commitment. Peter calls men to "sanctify (set apart) Christ as Lord of [their] hearts."

When Tattoo Artists Cry

2009-05-11T11:46:00.015-04:00

To me, guys with tats have always seemed like a rough sort. If I'm walking down the street toward a big ugly, angry man, he has always been that much more intimidating sporting a sleeve down his arm or flames crawling up his neck. But the truth is, they do cry. Maybe these guys are just softies. Or maybe, the gospel is powerful. Maybe the name Jesus Christ really does carry an otherwordly majesty.

For the full story, you can read Daniel's blog, but we can't take a coffee break from the missio dei (mission of God). There is no retirement, no going on vacation, and no exception for tattoo day. "We are ambassadors for Christ as though God were making an appeal through us." Everywhere the believer goes, he bears the name of Jesus. When an American ambassador enters another country, he goes representing America. But not only is he representing America, he represents America. While on the one hand, he is there to speak for America, he is also a representation of who America is. If someone were to watch him for a day this person may understand better what it looks like to be American. Therefore, when the ambassador takes a coffee break or goes home for the night, he is still watched, still observed, still studied.

Christians too often want to speak for God, but are so rarely willing to adequately represent Him. If we are to tell the lost of God's love, mercy, hope, and truth, should we not also live this out when people are watching, observing, and studying us outside of our jobs or ministries?

Daniel, AnneMarie, and I went to get tattoos on Friday. Upon arriving at the tattoo studio, we discovered that Steve, our artist, could not make it in. His five-year-old daughter, Violet, had become sick at school and needed to be cared for. Timidly, almost anticipating trouble, the receptionist, Kelly, asked if it would be ok for us to reschedule. Little did we know, but another tattoo artist, Lacie, was listening and observing our conversation. Daniel and I graciously thanked Kelly for her time and happily rescheduled our appointment for two weeks later. As we were leaving, Lacie noted her surprise to our reaction as this was atypical behavior.

We returned to Raleigh that night to hang out with some friends and watch a dueling piano show. At some point on the way into Raleigh, the Holy Spirit pricked Daniel's heart. In response to this we found ourselves outside the tattoo studio again, the three of us, with a stuffed frog holding a get well card between its magnetic hands with the words "you're special" on them. Walking into the studio ten minutes before closing, we found Steve lamenting to Kelly about how he had missed us earlier in the day. At the sight of our trio and the ensuing explanation concerning how we cared about and had been praying for little Violet, he welled up with tears. This act of love spoke volumes to him.

Steve insisted we stay after closing so he could ink us up. For the next hour and a half Daniel had the opportunity to tell Steve about how his tattoo encouraged him to pray and keep a good attitude and I had the opportunity to talk about how the Greek words for "Jesus is Lord" had impacted my life. The conversation remained on spiritual things all night as we listened, taught, encouraged, and loved on Steve. At the end, we prayed for him, his daughter, and that his relationship with her would model God's for His children. The night ended with a round of bear hugs as emotions flied high on all sides.

Yes, Paul does challenge believers in II Corinthians 5:20 to be "ambassadors for Christ." He does challenge us to urgently beg men, on behalf of Christ, to be reconciled to God. We play a vital role as vessels through whom God speaks words of truth. But this only comes after people see the life transformation that has already occurred in us. Just a few verses before, Paul writes "if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come."

What right do we have to speak love, truth, and grace into someone's life if they have not seen the new things born into our lives through Christ's reconciling work?

Live the truth.
Speak the truth.

"kurios Iasous" - Greek for "Jesus is Lord" or, very literally translated "Lord Jesus". This phrase is used in Rom 10:9 to signify the words that come out of one's mouth at regeneration in partnership with a belief that God raised Jesus from the dead. The word order is significant insofar as what may seem to be the misplaced word "Lord" in English is moved to the front to add greater emphasis. Typically in an equalitative statement like this where nouns are nominative (both act as a subject) a proper noun such as Jesus would take priority to go first in the text. Yes, Jesus is Lord. He is Lord of the universe. This is a truth statement. But the emphasis on the word "Lord" brings to light the place He holds now in the new believer's life. I Peter 3:15 says "sanctify (set apart) Christ as Lord of your hearts..."

Time For Revival... But, I Think I'll Kill Aliens First

2009-05-02T15:20:00.005-04:00

Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of mediocrity. A flood of mediocrity fills my lungs as the fire is slowly choked to death. Day in and day out I live and walk with Christians whom I fear I will become. Is the call of Christ really so easy to put aside for worldly comforts and pleasures? Or, maybe I really am so naive as to think that what I read in the Bible about suffering, counting the cost, and dying to self should be the norm for Christ-followers. All too often I can't help but wonder if youthful zeal and passion will fade as I age. Can I expect to join the ranks of the Christian soldiers around me that seem to be on a permanent leave of absence? At the age of 30, will I spend all my free time napping and shooting aliens on the x-box with my other balding 30-year-old friends?

But on the other hand, why should the fire die?

Paul was an old man when he spoke these words:

"I do not consider my life of any account as dear to myself,
so that I may finish my course and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus,
to testify solemnly of the gospel of the grace of God.
And now, behold, I know that all of you, among whom I went about preaching the kingdom, will no longer see my face.
Therefore, I testify to you this day that
I am innocent of the blood of all men.
For I did not shrink from declaring to you the whole purpose of God."

Paul did not consider his life as dear to himself. Nor did he consider comforts, money, religion, or laziness as worthy of his life investment. Paul gave everything to finish the course and the ministry set before us. Paul was on a mission, the missio dei (mission of God), that was not solely his own, but a mission for all Christ-followers. He lived, suffered, and preached in a manner that made him innocent of the blood of all men he encountered.

I only wish I could say the same, for my hands are stained red by all of the opportunities that I have missed. I have failed time and time gain in my service to the kingdom whether for fear or doubt or, most notably, apathy. Hell is a real place. The truth is that this is the destination for some. My feet are supposed to be beautiful as they carry good news, for "how will they believe in Him whom they have not heard?" Today's church has no urgency. We have an understanding of hell, but, judging by our actions, we don't care. To care would be to do something. To care would be to preach. To care would be to love. To care would be to emulate Christ.

Where is the light? "You are the light of the world."

Where is the love? "By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another."
Where is the sacrifice? "Indeed, all who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will be persecuted."

Where is the power? "All authority has been given to me in heaven and on earth... lo, I am with you always."
Where is the boldness? "As they observed the confidence of Peter and John and understood that they were uneducated and untrained men, they were amazed, and began to recognize them as having been with Jesus."

Where is the revival? This is the question that Christians and churches continually ask, but are unwilling to catalytically spark. There is no time, it is now. "Behold, now is 'the acceptable time,' behold, now is 'the day of salvation' --

When are we going to grow up?

When are we going to step up?

Amazing Grace (Or, God Hates Us!)

2009-03-26T12:19:00.010-04:00

Last July, Mark Driscoll said this to a group of pastors: "I preached propitiation and we grew by 800 people in one week... telling people that God hated them!" Have you ever heard a preacher tell you that God hates you? I imagine it would be comparable to an abrupt wake-up call of ice cold water. Surprise, confusion, and anger all coalesce into one knee-jerk reaction: No he doesn't!

Well, the fact of the matter is this: God is love, but God is just as much a judge. And with God as judge, humanity is under the scrutiny of the prosecution. This is not your usual courtroom situation. Those things that put me in court range from lying (perjury) to theft to murder in our society. Now according to our judicial system the punishment will typically fit the crime. The truth of the matter is that this goes all the way back to levitical law and the Jewish judicial system. Ever hear the phrase "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth"? That's Biblical! You may recall Moses judging all of the cases of the Israelites in Exodus 18 and 19. This phrase was the basis for his judgments. If you steal something, you must repay it. If you kill someone, you must repay with your life. Today we do the same thing. Various offenses deserve various degrees of punishment. If you commit murder, you get what is called a "life sentence".

So the question of hell remains. If hell is eternal, why can man receive it as punishment for mere theft or murder? Every sin man commits is a double offense. Not only do I break society's laws, but at the same time I break a greater law. I breat God's law. The funny thing is that all He really requires is love and obedience. My offense? Rebellion. My finite lawbreaking receives finite consequences; the punishment fits the crime. But my infinite lawbreaking receives infinite consequences. With every sinful act, I rebel against the infinite God of the universe. This was Lucifer's crime and the cause for his eternal punishment. Every single man, woman, and child rebels continually against an infinite God. Every one. Therefore, every single man, woman, and child receives due penalty, infinite penalty for this defiance.

This is where God's wrath comes into play, and oh yes, God carries out every iota of His wrath. This rebellion must be dealt with. In the government of a great nation, the sovereign has various counselors and advisors. These men are chosen for their wisdom, strategy, and insight, but above all else, their task is to aid the sovereign in leading his nation in victory and prosperity. Even the slightest rebellion must be dealt with or it begins to spread and soon the sovereign's rule and power falls into decadence. God, as the perfect sovereign of the universe, must and will judge and remove all rebellion from His kingdom. God hates this rebellion. God hates these rebels. God punishes and destroys every last one. This is His wrath.

But by His amazing grace, an infinite sacrifice was made on my behalf in my place in order to take on all of my eternal punishment. One man was punished for all of my rebellion, leaving me scot free. But how can a finite man be substitute for my infinite rebellion? Jesus Christ was fully man, but he was not finite for He was fully God. This is called the hypostatic union and results in the God of the universe coming to earth incarnate and taking on, eternally, the punishment for ALL who call on His name (Rom 10:13). The infinite God of the universe poured out all of His eternal wrath on my infinite rebellion via His infinite Son. Wrath and grace meet at the cross. All of God's wrath and hate for me were taken out on Christ.

But now for the proof? How do we know that this actually worked? Or, maybe we just have to wait, like the Muslims, until Judgment Day to really know if God will accept us? Me Ginoita!!! This is what Paul said twice in Romans 6 when he exclaimed, "May it never be!!" Our proof came three days later when God accepted the sacrifice and raised Christ from the dead. Romans 4:25 says precisely this,

"He who was delivered over because of our transgressions, and was raised because of our justification."

Christ was delivered up as a result of our transgressions. This was the purpose for which He did what He did. Christ's work was to come, minister for three years, live perfectly to show the way, and then die on the cross in place of the world. Because God saw fit that my punishment was dealt accordingly, that my punishment fit the crime, He raised Jesus Christ from death in acceptance of the sacrifice. This was the first sacrifice in history that God fully, eternally accepted. No other sacrifice was risen from the dead because all other sacrifices were temporal and fleeting. All Jewish sacrifices of the levitical system were made with the express intent of holding off God's wrath until the true sacrifice arrived. This final sacrifice covers all of His people past, present, and future.

Stupid Christian Cliches: Part 1

2009-02-19T14:17:00.009-05:00

"Just trust God..."

Last February, I had lunch with my good friend, Nick, and it seemed like the whole world was crumbling down on top of him. This particular week he had two major papers due. At the same time, he was going through a painful break of friendship with someone close. On top of that, he still had the usual meetings and responsibilities that came with being a small group leader. Classes continued, his job remained, and time was against him. To top all of this off, a well-meaning Christian told him, "Nick, just trust God..."

Just trust God.

Because He is going to write your papers for you. Because He is going to go talk to your friend to resolve all those differences that have been piling up. Because He is going to be your substitution for classes, work, meetings, and He'll even teach your small group this week. Just trust Him.

My mother is a Let-Go-and-Let-God Christian. She has a sign hanging up in the house with these very words. Footprints is on the wall in the kitchen while a framed "Trust God" is sitting by her bed. Year by year, my mother's disabilities increase. With each passing year her depravity grows and any semblance of a spiritual life decreases towards non-existence. For all of my mother's life she has been waiting to "trust God". This is the mantra she repeats: "just trust God".

Trusting God is not a waiting game. You don't wait all your life trusting God and he just shows up one day at your front door.

So what does it really mean to trust God? Sacrifice.

"Are they servants of Christ?...I more so;

in far more labors, in far more imprisonments, beaten times without number, often in danger of death.

Five times I received from the Jews thirty-nine lashes.
Three times I was beaten with rods,
once I was stoned,
three times I was shipwrecked,
a night and a day I have spent in the deep.

I have been on frequent journeys,

in dangers from rivers,
dangers from robbers,
dangers from my countrymen,
dangers from the Gentiles,
dangers in the city,
dangers in the wilderness,
dangers on the sea,
dangers among false brethren;

I have been in labor and hardship,

through many sleepless nights,
in hunger and thirst,
often without food,
in cold and exposure.

Apart from such external things, there is the daily pressure on me of concern for all the churches." (II Corinthians 11:23-28)

Paul sacrificed everything, this was the proof of his trust in God. And guess what, God ALWAYS saw him through.

On the night of Jesus' arrest, He prayed in Gethsemane. He was so distressed about His upcoming death that his sweat poured out like drops of blood. A decision was in front of Him. All of the Old Testament climaxed here in this moment. Promises had been given time and time again by God concerning the coming events of the next 3 days and beyond. Sacrifice on Jesus' part was absolutely necessary for God to pour out the blessings promised from thousands of years passed. Or, Jesus could walk away from it all, preserve Himself, and live out the rest of His life. Because He trusted God and His Word, Jesus made the decision to sacrifice, saying,

"Abba!
Father!
All things are possible for You;
remove this cup from Me;
yet not what I will, but what You will."
(Mark 14:36)

Sacrifice is essential to trusting God.

When I sacrifice my life to God, I am saying, "God I trust You that what you have spoken about my hope, abundant life, and your blessings is true." This is the life that God blesses abundantly, namely, the life poured out to Him.

To sacrifice your time to serve others is to trust that God will transform their heart.
To sacrifice an hour of your day to enjoy relationship with God is to trust God that the other 23 hours He gives will be enough.
To sacrifice your money at church is to trust God to multiply what is left to provide for your needs.
To sacrifice food and drink is to trust God to be the sustaining bread and water of life. (This, by the way, is called fasting)
To sacrifice your comfort is to trust God that what He has given you is enough.
What are you sacrificing on the altar in light of your trust in God?

Sacrifice is our duty. Where we end, God's work begins.
Man is responsible for the natural, God does the supernatural.

One final word on trusting God: this is the means by which we fulfill the Great Commission.

"But thanks be to God,
who always leads us in triumph in Christ,
and manifests through us the sweet aroma
of the knowledge of Him in every place.

For we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing;

to the one an aroma from death to death,
to the other an aroma from life to life."
(II Corinthians 2:14-16)

The sweet aroma of the believer's sacrifice to God results in the gospel being preached everywhere. The chosen are brought in by the fragrant smell of salvation. The doomed are repulsed by the stench, leaving all without excuse.

Now This Is The Story...

2009-02-17T22:35:00.002-05:00

...all about how my life got flipped, turned upside down.

I haven't posted for awhile, but if you tend to read this blog, here is a quick update:

Bear in mind, this is all qualified by "Lord willing", so please pray for guidance for me.

I'm two weeks away from completing the Journeyman application. This gets me into the May 10-14 IMB interview conference and then orientation July 27-September 24. I hope to make one last visit to Liberty University in Virginia and Southeastern Seminary in North Carolina before leaving for my 2 years overseas. At the present moment I'm praying for direction concerning three jobs that interest me:
1. Meknes, North Africa as a church planter
2. Leh, India as a wilderness first responder
3. Sa'ana, Middle East as a backpacking tribal researcher

I hope to return to seminary for the spring 2012 semester as a 25-year-old with a ton more experience. And where I'll go from there is too far into the future for me to really make any claims, but I would like to get my masters and a doctorate before returning overseas.

The most important part of my next two years of ministry will be the prayer support of fellow believers. If you'd be interested in praying for me and receiving updates, feel free to email me and I'll add you to my list. James writes that the prayers of a righteous man are powerful and effective.

Finally, I'll be starting a new blog. It'll probably be a food blog where I catalog dishes that I learn to make overseas. I'll still ponder life and write here and there about theology or philosophy, but the terminology will have to be extremely watered down in order to preserve my cover as a Christian worker in a restricted access area.

Hey, Let's Try This Out

2009-02-17T22:30:00.008-05:00

Imagine a world where young people could learn skills from others with more experience and wisdom. I know its a revolutionary idea, but I think I might call it an internship. You see, this is something that I want to put into practice with my business or craft when I get older. Wisdom and experience, to me, just seem like untapped resources that could be used to better the world and conserve resources.

I know this is on the cutting edge, but take for instance, a plumber. We'll call him Joe the plumber because that seems to be a popular name right now for a plumber. So Joe spends years plumbing; he's pretty good at it by now. With all this experience, he takes on a helper. This young helper is ready to transition his life into adulthood and simply wants to become skilled in a trade. So Joe teaches the young man everything he knows. Soon enough, the young man is skilled and ready to take on his share of the work. Joe no longer does his work alone, but can expand his business as he now has two quality plumbers to share the responsibilities. The men begin to work as equals and soon each takes on a younger man that desires to learn this skill.

This would be a remarkable system. Think about it, what if businessmen and tradesmen took on what I like to call "interns"? Blacksmiths, craftsmen, athletes, and even politicians would take on younger, inexperienced men in order to train them for future service. This system could greatly improve our quality of life. The world would become more productive, more effective, and more efficient. People would begin to better understand their position, learn to respect their elders, and grow in humility.

Now, consider this: what if the church took on these "interns"?

This isn't a new idea, everyone does it... everyone but the church. What happened to the missio dei (mission of God) that the church was/is called to fulfill? How could it fail to train a whole generation of "Christians"? Today, being Christian means attending church on Sunday and getting ahead the rest of the week with a smile. While we may believe that this is a new problem, Paul addressed the same issue in his second letter to Timothy. He warns Timothy, in verses 3 and 4, of the coming time when men with "itching ears" would seek teachers according to their own desires to lead them away from truth.

Discipleship is a fundamental necessity for the Christian faith. The church needs older men to follow the example set out in Titus 2 to teach younger men. The Great Commission itself is founded upon the command to make disciples of all nations. This is the missio dei and its time that we rediscover our purpose as the body of Christ.

Rick Warren Is Alright With Me

2009-01-23T11:49:00.006-05:00

Ok, so I'm not the most patriotic of Americans. It's true that I didn't watch the inauguration the other day. But looking back over the speeches on youtube, I found one video that made me very thankful for the nation that I live in. This opening prayer refreshed a gratitude for not only a free nation that many "reformers" and "protestors" sought in the chaos of the 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries, but for the God who has so richly blessed us. I have not always spoken kindly of Rick Warren and of this I repent. The more I grow in wisdom, godliness, grace, and brotherhood (not to say that any of these areas are even close to being locked down) the more I appreciate men who truly love God even though they may not do things the way I would.

Rick Warren prayed to God on behalf of and before an entire nation. Furthermore, this prayer was not ambigous by any means. He quoted Deuteronomy 6:4, where Moses says, "Hear, O Israel! Jehovah is our God, Jehovah is One!" He concluded his prayer honestly and lovingly acknowledging Jesus Christ. He prayed in the name of the One who changed his life, Jeshua, Isa, Jesus Christ.

I am very thankful for men who stand up in public and declare the name of Jesus Christ. I greatly desire to stand and give glory to Jesus' name whenever called on and before any who listen. God bless Rick Warren and may Jesus Christ richly bless, and transform :), the administration of our new president, Barak Obama.