Transparency

I was riding home in my car tonight trying to control the mass of emotions that were (and still are) pounding in my chest. God, in His infinite wisdom, brought this song to mind, and it took everything in me to keep driving through the tears as I listened. I pulled into the driveway an absolute mess. Very rarely will a word, a phrase, or a song so clearly encapsulate my thoughts and prayers. Be careful what you pray for. If you ask for the passion and heart of Christ, God may give you a glimpse of what that means.



My life. My calling. My passion.
Luke 4:17-21
2 Corinthians 3:18

May I never go back to living on my own ability.

Mmm...Poetry

So, I was reading today and stumbled across this poem, and I really enjoyed the passion it sparked within me. I don't agree with every line and stanza, but I do agree with much of it (especially the last 3 lines and those I've italicized). It's worth the read...

What is, therefore, the task of the preacher today?
Shall I answer: "Faith, hope and love"?
That sounds beautiful.
But I would say-Courage.
No, even that is not challenging enought to be the whole truth.
Our task today is recklessness.

For what we Christians lack is not psychology or literature,

we lack holy rage.

The recklessness that comes from the knowledge of God and humanity.

The ability to rage when justice lies prostrate on the streets...

and when the lie rages across the face of the earth-

a holy anger about things that are wrong in the world.

To rage against the ravaging of God's earth,

and the destruction of God's world.

To rage when little children must die of hunger,

when the tables of the rich are sagging with food.

To rage at the senseless killing of so many,

and against the madness of militaries.

To rage at the lie that calls the threat of death and the strategy of destruction-Peace.

To rage against complacency.

To restlessly seek the recklessness that will challenge and seek to change

human history until it conforms with the norms of the Kingdom of God.

And remember the signs of the Christian Church have always been-

the Lion, the Lamb, the Dove, and the Fish...

but never the chameleon.

- Danish Pastor Kaj Munk from the book Exiles by Michael Frost.

Britney

I'd like to thank Mark Helsel for the head's up on the new song "Britney" by Bebo Norman.  Every Youth Pastor, Worker, and Parent should listen to this song and talk about it with their kids.  If this song strikes a chord, check out "Girl America" by Mat Kearney.

Check Out Britney by Bebo Norman

Check out Girl America by Mat Kearney

Kingdom Come...

I apologize as this blog will be a bit disjointed.  I'm still trying to gather my thoughts about the whole thing...

I've just returned from an absolutely amazing trip through New England, and I cannot begin to describe the myriad of ways in which God shifted and moved people and events to speak directly to my heart.  Of course, it's difficult to not think about the creator of the universe while surrounded by the most breathtaking of scenery, but I digress.

I was amazed to the glory of God shining forth from the cracks in Boston and to see His Kingdom breaking out through urban renewal in Williamsport.  His power was strewn across an early morning sunrise in the easternmost of U.S. Cities.  I found His pleasure on the docks and fishing ports, as folks gathered in the most simple of small town communities.  And God was even present in the front of a Police Cruiser, caring for one wounded by His family.

It's amazing where God can be, if we would only take the time to look.

I think that sometimes to truly understand God, we must be taken out of places of comfort.  Sometimes we do this willingly (as I just did with vacation), and other times God rips us away for His glory and our edification (OUCH!).  Regardless, when we are in the unfamiliar and unknown, we search for God.  We seek  Him, and His Kingdom is always able to be found.  Heaven on Earth.  Jubilee.  The Year of the Lord's Favor.

Henry Blackaby says we should see where the Kingdom is breaking out and join in there.  

I was encouraged to see the Kingdom in the most unusual of places.  It challenged me to consider where God may be breaking out in my community.  Perhaps in places I have previously written off?

'Thy Kingdom Come,

Thy Will Be Done,

On Earth

As It Is In Heaven'

Momma said there'd be days like this...

T-minus 3 days until vacation, and I can't wait.  In fact, I'm pretty much counting the hours until I get to get away for awhile.  It's been an interesting past couple of weeks, and some time to reflect and relax is precisely what the doctor ordered.

This year for vacation, my friend Scott (a.k.a el Tigre) and I will be traveling through the sheer cliffs of the northeastern Maine.  Our "goal" is to drive east through Boston, maybe have dinner at Cheers, and then head North to Maine.  After that, God only knows.  We're going to camp, hike, and try our best to get completely lost.  I'd also like to go fishing, and maybe see some whales.

Now, many of you may be asking if we have a plan.  Of course we have a plan.  Our plan is to get to Maine.  And that's about it.  You see, as youth pastors, our lives are about planning, thinking, evaluating, and all that good garbage.  We refuse to do that on our vacations.  We just go and see.  Adventure, it seems, finds us.  And, to be honest, we like it that way.  We have a map, a car, a tent, and a cooler (and maybe some fishing poles).  What more could we possibly need?

Not to make this discussion sound all "theological" but I think a freer vacation really allows for God to have room to teach us a few things.   For example, since we have no schedule we can stop at a beautiful sight and journal for a bit.  Sometimes, on previous getaways, we walked through the forest in silence and ponder why we ever got into ministry in the first place.  And we've even been able to bask in the morning dawn and weep about the kids we feel we've lost.  

For us, a vacation is not just about a renewal of the body, but also a cleansing of the mind and a refreshing of the Spirit.  Maybe that's why we pick destinations where we'll be the furthest away from people.  It's not that we don't love people, but too many can drowned out the voice of God.  Maybe we'll drive and worship on this trip.  Or just read through scripture.  I have an awesome prayer book I'm looking forward to working through.

If I'm honest, I need this vacation.  My mom always worried that I wouldn't have enough time to be alone.  Mom always had me pegged; she knew I needed silence.  She said there would be days I'd need to get away.  She said there'd be days like this.  

I need some solitude.  I need time away.  I need to get away from the noise of this world. Thanks to the advice of my mother, I hope I'll be able to hear the still small voice of my Father.

An Olympic Reflection (Just for Fun)

In case you've been living in a cave for the past, I don't know, 3 years, allow me to inform you that the Olympics are about to be held in Beijing, China. I don't know about you, but I typically don't get too hyped about the Olympics. Sure, it's great that we can all come together out of love and competition, but I generally don't care how far a guy can throw a pie pan. Really. Don't care. In fact, I haven't really been into the Olympics since Dan Vs. Dave. Remember that marketing ploy? Anybody ever wonder where they are today? Me neither.

However, the Olympics do occasionally produce some wonderful, and dare I say inspiring, story lines. Jesse Owens winning everything and the kitchen sink during the 1936 games in Berlin is just such an example. Or who can forget America's Golden Boy, Dan Jansen, finally grasping the gold after years of tumbling about the ice. I can still see him circling the pond in Lillehammer, his torso draped in an American Flag.

While heartwarming, all of these events pale in comparison to one monumental Olympic moment. Allow me to set the stage. Well, before that, allow me to explain how this whole event came to be. I, being younger than my sister by 2 years, was oftentimes forced (upon threats of imminent death) to relinquish all rights to the television. My parents, being the wonderful and loving folks that they are, devised a system by which we (as their children) could determine (somewhat peacefully) who would control the magic box for the evening. Their solution was that whoever fed the dog that day would have unequivocal rights to television control. Archaic? Perhaps. Effective? Definitely. And so, on this particular night in question, my sister had the remote and I was forced to watch the Olympics. *Sigh* Put a starter pistol to my head.

But, anyway, back to setting the stage. The United States Women's Gymnastic Team held to a commanding lead over the Commies. (Ok, so the Cold War was over, but indulge me. I mean, I was really bored and had to invent some side stories. It was gymnastics for crying out loud. How can it be a sport? There's not even a ball involved!). Anyway, since it was the Russian team (who possibly could have been on steroids), no lead was enough. In order to maintain the lead, and seal the gold, the team needed to nail their vault routine. Enter Kerri Strug, all 5 feet 65 pounds of her.

On her first vault attempt Strug sprinted down the padded runway, nailed the springboard, flipped over the pommel, spun through her routine, and biffed the landing. Yep, totally biffed the thing. In fact, biffed it so bad that she twister her ankle. Not a good thing. Now, if I'm honest, I was a young teenage boy who was slightly immature at the time. Ok, really immature. So, I can remember making some crack about Kerri's misfortune. I can also remember my sister coming at me like a ninja wielding a pillow, but *shudder* we've moved on.

Strug now face a dilemma; should she withdraw from the competition or throw caution to the wind and attempt a second vault. In great American fashion, she decided to go for it. An entire nation held it's collective breath as we all watched this tiny girl prepare for certain death. If I'm honest, I was riveted to the screen. I'd just seen this girl bend her ankle 90 degrees the wrong way. If she had enough guts to do this again, I would gain a newfound respect for little girls doing crazy flips.

I can still replay the moment in my mind. Strug approached the runway, steeled her petite figure, and hurled her body toward the springboard. Total mind over matter. She hit the springboard at a dead sprint, vaulted over the pommel, spun through her routine, and nailed the landing. Absolutely nailed it! The crowd roared, her teammates cheered, I shed a small, but noticeable tear. In a rare moment of complete and uninhibited jubilation, I hugged my sister! And then Strug collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain. The world stopped. We all paused, fearing the worst. Would she ever walk again? Could she recover in time to do the uneven bars?

Her coach, Bela Karolyi, rushed to her side. I can still see him picking up her frame and helping her off the stage to receive medical care. I can even remember him carrying her to the medal stand; her ankle wrapped in an ace bandage. The moment was simply electric. As the national anthem began to play, I can remember thinking about my newfound respect for the Olympics and for gymnastics. It is a moment that I will never forget.

Now, with all of that being said, you may be wondering if I will be tuning into the Olympics this year. Will I be waiting with baited breath to watch this crop of young gymnasts? Will I again be riveted to my T.V. screen, awaiting hours of floor, vault, and the balance beam routines? Will I stay up until ungodly hours to, perhaps, catch history live via the internet? No, not at all. Not unless my sister feeds that dog that day.