My chair has no padding in it. Literally, I’m sitting on cardboard. Seriously. I think we bought this chair a year ago. Who knows. I like it. Its a good chair. It doesnt have armrests so I can play guitar without banging the guitar up. But it has no padding, which is a necessity for a chair, in my opinion. You know what I mean, a good chair has good padding. It’s supposed to. You sit in it, and it’s: “ahh, I sank for minutes”. Your butt relaxes in soft chairs. Meanwhile, my butt hurts sitting on this cardboard.
Speaking of my butt, it has sufficient padding. You would think somewhere between the missing padding in the chair and the adipose in my rear there would be a compromise. It makes sense. I should feel comfortable because of my bottom. I should be: “Bring on the concrete”. All I really need is a few couple concrete blocks. The large grey kind. The kind we made an entertainment center out of when I was in college. You would think. But, no.
Somehow my mind focuses on the discomfort of the cardboard I’m sitting on, and somehow I feel uncomfortable.
Isn’t that funny. The human side of us always tends to focus on the negative. The faulted. The broken.
You’ve all seen this. Pretty people who are completely hung up on an inconvenient mole or birthmark, and so they cant see their own beauty. Talented people who are consumed with the talent of another and their proportionate shortcoming. Kind people who fault themselves for moody moments and stressful responses.
Comfortable people who get distracted by slight discomfort.
Think about it. What does comfort achieve for us? Nothing. I mean, when we’re comfortable we don’t move. We don’t modify. We don’t change.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for comfort. I have a bed that you wouldn’t get out of and I love it. My couch isn’t bad either. When you take the back cushions off its almost as good as the bed.
It’s more in life where comfort seems to be such an enemy to, well, life.
Clinically speaking, the classification of an organism that is not moving, changing, or growing is: dead.
What comfort steals is exactly what we think it supplies: it steals real life. It steals our desire to explore, to adapt, to change. While it is so sought out, so envied, and so desired, it is the leach that drains the veins of the heart of life.
Jesus once said that he came that we might have life: a kind of amazing, exciting life that we all quietly want.
I’ve thought about that a lot lately. I’ve thought about how the most dead, robotic, predictable, and boring people I know are trying to follow Jesus. I’ve thought a lot about how we’ve missed it. How we’ve lost it. How we lost the texture of who Jesus really was.
The beauty of Jesus is He was the kind of man who drew attention from drunks and prostitutes. God made flesh apparently had such a blatant disregard for failure, and even sin, that his life was totally bent for loving those kinds of people, no matter the cost: failures & sinners.
That’s far from a life of comfort.
Discomfort added momentum to the early movement of the Gospel.
The scriptures record that Peter was approached by a beggar asking for gold. Peter had no gold. He was broke. Busted. Uncomfortable.
The scriptures record how their conversation ended: Peter replied “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” Taking him by the right hand, he helped him up, and instantly the man’s feet and ankles became strong.” (Acts 3:6-7)
Around 1275 AD St. Thomas Aquinas was visiting Pop Innocent II in Rome. Aquinas was a renegade theologian. His ideas sparked conflict, and he, himself, didn’t keep the peace … He pushed for truth.
While displaying the spenders of Rome to Aquinas, the Pope responded “I supposed the church can no longer say silver and gold have I none.”
The brashness of the church’s comfort had obviously been conveyed. The church wasn’t lacking anymore. They weren’t suffering. In quite the opposite direction, the enterprise of the spreading the Gospel had brought them riches.
Aquinas responded to Pope Innocent II with this harsh, but accurate statement: “True, holy father, and neither can she (the church) now say, ‘Arise and walk.’ “
I hate this cardboard chair and my hurting butt. But I’m thankful that I’m not comfortable in life. I’m thankful that theres a small voice inside my head thats constantly telling me “there’s more”. Im glad that I havent settled. I’m still moving, adapting, changing, and growing.
I’m alive. More than alive.
The next time you hurt, realize that theres more to life than where you’re at. Stop and realize that you’re alive, the kind of life that’s not complacent, cold, and dead. Then go, and live the life that Jesus so desperately wants to give you.
Or … just sit right there and keep complaining.
Not Alone
I dont know how all this happens. Influence is a funny thing.
Several weeks ago I met a guy at a meeting. He has a cool name. Oakley. I wish I was named something cool like that. Oakley has glasses. Not just glasses, but cool, fashionable glasses. He has curly hair too. He glasses and hair would make nice for some kind of caricature. Big head, Big glasses, Curly hair. Thats him.
Oakley is the student ministries pastor at Northside (Northside is Andy Stanlys Northpoint in Columbia, one of the citys largest churches). He just happened to be at the meeting that I was at. He wasnt invited. He just showed. He can pull that kind of stuff off, I cant. Some how, he noticed me there. He called me the next day. Someone gave him my number. My cell, at that. I hate it when people give out my cell number.
So, Oakley wanted to meet me. I went to see him today. We sat in his office, went through his youth building, and ate some Greek food at a little caf down the road. It was nice. But, what shocked me, I guess more than anything, was that Oakley wanted ME there. He actually wanted to talk to me. He was concerned with what I thought, about everything.
And whats really weird is what happened with Oakley, is what has happened a lot since Ive been here.
Over the last several months, my network has grown. Quite frankly, Im really amazed that these guys even spend time with me. I mean, I have like 20 kids in my youth group. Oakley has like two hundred or something. Everyones ministry has more kids than mine. I mean, Im nothing as far as a significant minister.
I took an attitude when we got here that has taught me something about people: it was that I valued other Youth Pastors. I mean, not as ministry partners, but as friends, as people to walk a similar journey with. In a very basic form, I love them because we face similar struggles, challenges, and joys.
And you know what they love me back. I mean they want me in their lives. By invention last night we attended a surprise party with one of my other friends thats a Youth Pastor in our city. Next Monday were having dinner with another Youth Pastor and his family. And here is what Ive seen and learned when you love someone they normally give you a place of influence in their lives.
Let me just say this I didnt and do not want influence in all these guys lives. I never sought that. And honestly, its a little bit much for me to take on. But, you know what, I see in them a desire that may be a tad bit repressed: a desire to be loved and appreciated. And I do that.
So here is where it meets you. You have people in your life. People who are walking similar journeys. People that share the same challenges, frustrations, and joys that you do. Love them and walk the path together. Let the beauty of your life give you a platform of influence in theirs. And then use that platform to communicate the truth of Jesus.
Risk. Reward.
Tonight we watched the new show that is built off of the American Idol principle for inventors: aptly called American Inventor. Theres one distinct difference, the people on this show have sold out to what they believe in. A corrections officer and former soldier names Jerry Westley invented something called the Mobile X Gym, a set of bars and weights that are stored in a back-pack type container and are portable.
Tonight the show was dwindled down twice. I think from 48 to 24 to 12. James made it to the 24 and gave his pitch to the judges. He has invested over 100,000 dollars over a 10 year period in his investment. He started the pitch with this quote, which is not his: Its better to chaise a dream and experience failure than to have a dream and never know its possibility. Im chasing a dream. This dream is a lot bigger than where I am now and who I am now.
About two weeks about I met a man named Erwin McManus. Erwin is a writer, speaker, and pastor (if you ask him, hes a cultural architect I love that term). His message is what challenged Amanda and myself to reach for this. I actually got to spend about 20 minutes with him, asking him questions and getting to know who he was. The one thing that I walked away was hes 50. Yep, that was the most significant thing. Hes had about four years of significant influence. Than means his influence started when he was 46 or so. Thats twenty years away from me. I have time. I will need to continue to take initiative, create influence, and take risks, but in the end I am consumed with the fact that God has a profound calling on my life. I will not be satisfied with anything less.
Tonight, the show showed that Jerry Westley made it to the round of 12 on American Inventor. He received a check for 50,000.00, which half-way recoups the financial losses that he took in development of his product. In that moment, he found out that there is no reward without risk.
In all moments that we face in life, there is a similar choice to make: to risk and reach for something great or to settle for what the moment is giving us. For all believers this is decision that must be made constantly. There is risk. There is reward.
The Technical Pursuit of God (or 'why I like accidents')
Some people are technical. They read manuals and learn from text books. They hook up a home theater the right way the first time, because they looked at the diagram. They think through things, and make lists of pros and cons. They know procedures, the nine-steps to whatever, if you will. Some people do that. I dont.
I hate manuals. I hook up first and ask questions later.
I have noticed a trend. A dangerous one, I’m convinced. A trend of the technical and the spiritual again combining forces. It’s very dark-force-Star-Wars-ish. I say again on purpose. Again because the combination has reared its head in places and times before now, like the Pharisees during Jesus’ day. We suppose we have killed the beast, but he keeps popping up in previously uncharted water.
I think equations are good for a lot of things. I use the percent equation often. You know the one x over a hundred cross multiplied by whatever fraction and you have a percentage. Thats very useful. Especially if you play sports, which I dont but fantasize often about, so the equation comes in handy trying to figure out what my stats could have been. “I could have shot 83 percent from the field tonight,” I might say. Or theres the occasional “My pass percentage completion of 96 percent makes Peyton Manning look like a” (Ill end it there for decencys sake). Of course these arent true. Its just nice to apply the percent equation to life.
I dont think there are equations with our relationship with God. Oh, I mean we try to come up with them, dont we? A little sin + Jesus’ sacrifice + a repentant heart = forgiveness. Simple. Right?
I have a problem with equations like that. Not so much because it takes something that is SO vastly significant and demotes it to a sequence of operations. And its not so much that it over simplifies things.
My problem with equations and this technical pursuit of God is that it lacks beauty.
Have you ever looked at the cover of a manual? I have. I dont read them often, but I’ve noticed the covers. They’re kind of boring. Normally, the cover isnt even in color. Its more of a: “Heres the necessary information, now you do your thing with it”.
Since when has the pursuit of God had anything to do with information?
The pursuit of God centers on beauty. And beauty is not found in an equation.
Our little forgiveness equation doesnt show the deep enfolded texture of a heart that has broke to accept its futility and embraced the love that Christ showered down on the cross.
You dont see his eyes in that equation do you?
I think most of the really great strides in our pursuit of God happen on accident.
Those moments where truth shoots up out of no where and somehow you see greatness that wasnt there. Those moments when you feel inspired to dance, and you know you cant dance, but you do it anyway and look like a total idiot who is apparently caged in by a distinct lack of talent but who is totally free on the inside. Those moments when a strangers eye becomes more than a strangers eye and you realize that for an instant you looked into the soul of someone else and you deeply cared about them.
Those accidents. That beauty.
Forever theorists have said that there is no equation for beauty. It is an irrational, internal judgment that defies rules and restraints.
That sounds similar to something the bible calls faith.
Faith is beautiful.
Faith is beautiful because it doesnt make any sense. There are no equations for faith either.
A guy named Kierkegaard wrote a long time ago about faith. He looked at the fact that it doesnt make sense, and that he couldnt come up with an equation for faith so he somewhat coined the leap of faith approach to life.
The imagery of a leap of faith scares the poop out of me. I get the picture of jumping into a well. A bottomless well. A well that is filled with rocks. Its gonna hurt.
Kierkegaard is considered a heretic. Mostly because smart Christian preachers want people to buy into the forgiveness equation, and not blindly jump.
Kierkegaard is a heretic. Mostly because faith isnt about where youre jumping. Its who youre jumping to.
The beauty of the redemption story compels me to live centrally inside the message of Jesus.
In the end, its beauty, not equations that sustain that journey.
So, wherever you are, the beauty of redemption is all around. Enjoy that beauty. Let it surprise you, and on accident, one day, you’ll notice that you are being compelled to something much greater than yourself. Something so beautiful, that it has consumed your life. In a way, its taken your life and offered you a new one. Which, really, is the most beautiful thing of all.
A Christmas Reflection (from the Christmas of 2005)
I remember Christmas times long past in which I felt this way. It’s been a while, but it came again this Christmas.
Let me begin this reflection by making a general statement about my current economic status: I’m poor. Remarkably poor. Oh, now I own lots of stuff. Mostly because I worked two or three jobs at a time over the last five years. I got tired. I work one job now, and I’m poor.
The funny thing about being poor is that you want stuff. I know from getting stuff in the past that stuff is never quite the answer that we hope it’s going to be, but I still want it. Something deep inside wants this stuff to hold and have.
It’s troubling.
The trouble really comes because I’m poor and I can’t buy it. Forget the word “afford”. The word “afford” implies an ability to purchase. I’m not even in that category. I can’t make the purchase because there aren’t enough funds in my account to make these purchases (most of the time). I like this experiment in being poor. It’s good for me.
Author and Apologist Ravi Zacharias says that stuff, especially technology, points out a deep search for the things in life that produce awe. Donald Miller writes an exposition on that in the book Blue Like Jazz (which is definitely worth reading). I think the desire for stuff is normally rooted in something deeper. Something deeper than new jeans. Or an iPod. Or a season of One Tree Hill on DVD.
Stuff does not satisfy. Stuff is stuff.
Stuff seems really important today, but while that stuff can seem like breath to our lungs at the moment, months, weeks, or sometimes years from now that stuff becomes irrelevant. This isn’t just material stuff that I’m talking about, like a cup of Starbucks or the new Rolling Stones CD; get bigger.
Sometimes stuff gets bad. Bad stuff can be bosses that don’t understand or care to understand, jobs you hate, towns you want to move away from, fights with your friends, fathers who aren’t speaking to you. That stuff can hurt. That stuff can break you if you let it. But… It’s still stuff, and it will pass. It’s just a season of that “stuff”.
Stuff will one day seem meaningless.
Can we see that day? Normally, no. Our hearts have become so wrapped up in that moment, the moment of today, that stuff swells in importance, takes a life of its own, only to quickly to die and be buried next to thousands of other “stuffs” that didn’t matter either.
I say all that so that I can now talk about how I got lots of stuff for Christmas. 🙂
It was great. You literally have no idea. This Christmas my parents and my “in-laws” treated me. I guess they figured out that I was poor. Maybe they felt sorry for me. Maybe they accidentally caught a view of my financial statements on a visit. Maybe.
My parents have always generous, and I suppose that I could get used to it. You can get used to something good when it’s always been that way. The problem at Christmas has always lied in the things in which they chose to be generous with. Honestly, without guidance, the picks at times have been bad, well-intended, but bad. This year was not the case. They gave great presents which I joyfully accepted and now cherish. It wasn’t just the presents. It was their presence. My parents have always made a decision to be present in my life. I was warmed in my insides returning from the time I spent with them.
The last Christmas gift exchange of the season happened at my “in-laws”.
There were two “stuffs” that I suppose had been pushing on my “stuff nerve”, and my mother in law had some fun with me. She found out that there were two items I had been longing, and got them for me. She wrapped one of them to look like a sweater or something, but it was not a sweater. It was the “stuffs”. The “stuffs” that had been sitting on my Christmas wish list for the last two years.
I cried. Literally, I did. I cried a lot, to be honest.
I am not moved to tears by stuff. But I am by people.
The “stuffs” are quite nice right now. In a few years, I likely won’t care about them. What moved me about this Christmas was the love that drove two families to find every want that my wife and I had expressed and use whatever resources they held to fill that desire. The stuff doesn’t matter. The beauty is found in that expression of love.
You see I have a bit of a twisted view of Jesus sometimes. I see him as angry at me. I mess up a lot. If I were God, I would be mad at me a lot. I mean, I know what to do. I know how to behave. Most of the time, I have a pretty good answer. Yet, my life, more often than not, seems to be a reflection of me and not a reflection of Jesus. All too often I, personally, make the decisions about what is right and good and just. I realize I’m getting it wrong while I get it wrong. If I were Jesus, I would be mad at me a lot.
I suppose this works out in everyday life through me finding it difficult to accept God’s forgiveness and ultimately His love.
Sometimes a picture goes deeper than the surface appearance. This picture did just that. I like to think that Jesus has pursued all of our hearts with this kind of reckless love. He realized that He was the ultimate fulfillment of our desires, so he refused to stay away. That, in essence, is the beauty of the incarnation of Christ. He couldn’t stay away. His love compelled Him to come closer to us, to taste broken humanity.
Once you understand that God being is WITH US is a more than a historical fact pointing to something that Jesus did thousands of years ago, you realize that this reality is for this moment, and it’s a good reminder for this moment. It’s good to know that when you, at some moment, can’t really afford to go to God and buy His love, He chose to come to you.
God comes when you haven’t earned enough points to deserve that today, and on those days, when you feel so far from deserving the love of God, it’s good to be reminded that you are not loved because you deserve it. You are loved because Jesus decided a long time ago that he was going to love you. And he does … He loves you richly, with recklessness and abandon buried in the choice that He made to come close to us.
In those times, in some moments, you get to a place where the meaning out-weighs the stuff. I suppose I found a moment like that this Christmas where, for a second, I was overcome like a child at the thought of being loved, and it was ridiculously beautiful.