Blogging for West Hills

Well, it's official. Now I will be extra terrible at maintaining this blog. At West Hills, we are beginning a blog that will be linked to our new website with what will hopefully be weekly posts to correspond with what we're talking about at our Sunday gatherings. You can check out this blog at westhills.wordpress.com. I just put up my first post on it this week.

But since I don't keep up on things on here the best anyway, this will probably only make it worse. But nonetheless, I'll probably keep more personal things for this one.

Talk to you later and see you around.

Pray for the President-Elect

"First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all people, for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way." First Timothy 2:1-2

As everyone is most likely well aware, Sen. Barack Obama won the election yesterday and is now president-elect. Regardless of where we all stand individually within the political spectrum, I think we can all agree with the need to pray for our leaders and our nation.

We need to begin praying in new ways for President-elect Obama. Pray that as he begins setting up his cabinet and staff that the Lord would place strong believers in key positions around him, formally and informally. As our new president identifies himself as a Christian, pray that his faith would be strengthened in ways possibly not seen in the past. Pray that he would be afresh in prayer, humbly seeking God's direction for our nation. Pray that the stress of the job would not minimize time reading his Bible, but that it would draw him into it more fully. Pray that as Obama seeks to have an open ear to those of differing viewpoints, that he would be especially open to hearing and truly considering those of the Evangelical Christian church. Pray that in these and other ways, God would put his hand of blessing and direction upon the presidency.

I believe that we can agree on all of these prayers regardless of who we each voted for yesterday. Let's join together in prayer for God's favor on our president, our nation, indeed our world.

Let's seek His face...

Where is the Church?

The picture of the church in Acts 2 haunts me. It troubles me because as I look around, I don't see this church today. At least not often.

I'm thinking lately on what it would look like to find this type of people today. A church that is committed to Scripture and to intimate relationships (i.e. "fellowship") and to breaking bread and to prayer--not just to the acknowledgment of the importance of these things, but to actually highlighting them as a people. A church that actually sits in awe, captivated by the work God is doing around them--not just frustrated because he's not doing enough... A church that spends large amounts of time living life together. A church that shares possessions and sells belongings to ensure that none among them are lacking in the least. A church that gathers every day together. One that meets for prayer each day. That shares meals each day. Where its people open their homes each day. Join in communion each day. Take time to express gladness, thankfulness, and praise every day. A church that is on the edge of their seat before God among his people. A church that in the midst of this is seen favorably among neighboring nonchristians and is therefore continually expanding as outsiders become insiders.

I guess the real question is less "Where is this church?" and more "What can we do to daily become the church more fully?" What can we do? What changes can we make? What is my role? How does this set the pace of my day? How does this drive our primary gatherings on Sunday mornings? How does this make sense in our home groups? What does this look like in my living room? In my church building? As West Hills gathers? And as the global church connects?

Post your comments/ideas below if you want. But if you want to be really daring, invite another Christian sister or brother into your home and share face-to-face over a meal. Then pray together, sing together, and do the same thing tomorrow night with a larger group of 10, 20 or 50.

What's My Problem!

I can't believe I haven't blogged since July 22nd! What is my problem? Seriously, I knew it had been awhile... but not this long...

l a z y . . .

Well, I don't know that this will be all that better. Because though I have so much to say, I need to be quick and back on the run. The point of this post is to say... that I want to get back to blogging again very soon.

But lots of cool things are going on (They might be part of the reason I haven't blogged lately):

1. In mid-August the candidating process came to a close, and I began pastoring at West Hills Community Church in the Chicago suburb of Westmont. Very excited! Loving it here! West Hills is a great church. An amazing community of faith. One that has had its share of difficulties over the past years, but one that is eager and vigilant to see things get better.

We're trying some new things, and looking at how we can structure things better. I love the house church model that is in place here, alongside the primary gathering on Sunday mornings. We're exploring what true community looks like. How does it function in the New Testament Church.

This change in ministry also means that I am no longer in the restaurant biz. Love that! Fogo de Chao is a great restaurant and company. But whenever your life suddenly has evenings and weekends off (not that this is totally the case in doing ministry, but by comparison...), it's a great move... But I do miss all my Fogo friends. I need to stop in and say Hello, but on a newly inherited pastor's salary... it's more likely I see them in church than at Fogo.

2. And another cool thing is that I am finishing up (finally) my MDiv from Moody Graduate School. I just finished my last week of modular classes. That's zero time remaining in the classroom. I just need to finish the post-class work and my portfollio and I am a Master of the Divine ... or maybe that's not really what Master of Divinity stands for. Funny thing is that after all this, I'm still not really sure what it is that I am supposed to be a master of... Anyway it's pretty much finished and I'm excited.

And now with the holidays coming up, I'm sure I will have plenty of time to get back to blogging... See you next week...

Thoughts on Divided by Faith

I just finished reading a vastly insightful book by sociology professors Michael O Emerson (Rice) and Christian Smith (UNC). Divided by Faith: Evangelical Religion and the Problem of Race in America, though a bit dry at times, has much to say to the Evangelical American church today.

Most of us white Evangelicals really don't realize how much building cross-racial friendships (as good as that is) is not the key to racial equality in America. There truly are structural issues involved that must be dealt with, and it is the church's place to deal with such problems on a macro-level. No, it is not enough to just love people on as individuals and attempt to be color blind. There are societal structures that must be dealt with before equality (economically, educationally, socially) can be acheived, and the Bible calls the People of Faith to address such concerns.

But this book may also be helpful for many African-Americans in providing what's needed to understand why Caucasians process race and racialization the way they do--in such individualized fashion.

For those of us not too up on our history, chapter two may be of some of the highest value in the whole book as it helps readers gain a bigger picture of how we got to where we're at in America.

But here's what caught me more than anything else in this book. It's what really has me thinking now. What really interests me is how the church is called to respond. How am I as a pastor to lead people to transformation and reconciliation? How do I instigate change?

I have not yet read the follow-up book, United by Faith, so I am still without its contribution. But this book definitely left a high call on the need to foster integrated churches. Divided actually argues that to continue embracing racially homogeneous (i.e. comfortable) congregations is to keep the Black-White gap strong. And if you're nervous at this kind of argument, that is all the more reason why you need to read this book. Their case is cage-rattling for many of us white boys out here. But, again, that's why we need to read it.

Like I said, I'm still processing what I am supposed to do as a prophetic voice--what my role is in this, so I don't have much on answers for you. But I invite you to pick up the book, read it for yourself, and let me know your thoughts. Then we can all walk this thing together.

Living Sacrifice

Last night I was challenged with some words from a journal entry. Isn't it incredible how often hard-hitting quotes are discovered in other people's journals? Anyway, this one was found in Phil's journal. Most of you reading this, I would guess, are well aware of Phil Penner and his recent death (otherwise, I do invite you to look back a couple posts). This quote was read last night at Encounter, our evening worship gathering. Here it is:

"Living is a chance to follow Jesus...
Suffering is a chance to know him better...
And dying is a chance to see him."

The trouble with these quotes is that they sound so familiar and appear so easy to say. Almost too easy. They sound good and really spiritual. We've seen stuff like this before in other people's journals--you know, famous missionaries and whatnot. We read them, and we're like, "Yeah, that's so true." And how many of us have memorized Philippians 1:20, "For to me to live is Christ and to die is gain." How many times have I seen such words scratched accross the cover of someone's notebook? How many times have I seen Phil 1:20 on someone's Facebook under their favorite quotes? We love these kinds of words. It's like we find a spiritual high in such words (and with good reason) that propels us to live more fully for Christ.

But here's what hits me right now:

That Phil Penner actually lived those words.

That Phil didn't just write about living, suffering, and dying to know Christ. He didn't just put it on his Facebook and call it a day. No, he actually lived it. And this isn't just because he went to a hostile Muslim nation to tell people about Jesus. It's because even while he was here in the States, he devoted every expense of energy and breath of air toward demonstrating the love of Christ to other people. He didn't waste his time on the things I do. He didn't get caught up in the selfish ambitions that I do. No, from every possible angle, it seems that he had no other desire but to give himself fully to the Lord and his work. Though his missionary work is not why he was fully given, it is possibly the natural result of such surrender. In everything Phil did, the truth of his journal entry is evident: "Living is a chance to follow Jesus... surrender is a chance to know him better... and dying is a chance to see him."

The truth is, though I do believe we may be able to serve God just as fully anywhere on the globe, I know we use this fact as an excuse to not go to those certain areas that are dangerous and uncomfortable. Though not all of us are called to a hostile Muslim nation where Christianity is illegal, all of us are indeed called to be willing. The problem is that most of us are not.

I find further challenge in this. As a pastor in the US, I am confident of my calling here. As I look at my skills, gifts, and abilities, I see no more effective place for me to minister than in metropolitan America. At the same time, I do believe that I am willing to go anywhere. I used to want to to oversees work. While working on my BA, I gave serious thought to ministering long-term in Europe. After a ten-day mission to Tegucigalpa, Honduras, I gave some consideration to doing full-time work there. And I have often thought about how I would love to do translation work with Wycliffe or something. Yet at the end of the day, I come down to the fact that I would simply be more effective here. That what I have to offer would go further here at home.

Where, incidentally, it just happens to be a lot more comfortable.

So part of me wonders from time to time if I really am gifted most fully for ministry in America. Of if subconsciously that's just where I want to minister. How willing am I really? How much am I truly surrendered? I do honestly feel like I am genuine in my willingness to go anywhere. I feel sincere and confident as I assess where God's calling rests on my life. But I also feel like we in the States all too easily allow ourselves to assume God's desire for our comfort. We all too quickly buy into the trickery that God's will for our lives is one of success and safety. I think these are questions we all need to ask ourselves. Each of us must war with what we assume God's plans for our lives are. Every one of us must come to grips with the fact that suffering is sometimes a tool of God and not always his enemy.

Phil knew this and as he laid awake at night realizing that his work in Southeast Asia could result in torture and death... or in falling victim to foreign illness, he still followed his understanding that life, suffering, and death are all valuable in how they show us Jesus. So Phil gave up any personal ambition and handed them in for a deeper intimacy with his Lord. Did this desire result in a premature departure from this earth? Most certainly yes, it did. But it also allowed him to "see Jesus" earlier than we have.

May each of us fight the temptations of comfort and security with the perfume of knowing Christ more fully. May the sweetness of such insight tease our nostrils and may we lay aside our earthly cares for heavenly ones. May we follow more fully in the light of a bright Savior. And as we think of Phil and his example, may the Apostle Paul's words come to mind, "Be imitators of me as I am of Christ" (1Cor. 11:1).

The Name Game

Today as Sen. Barack Obama prepared to make what was billed by his campaign as a major address on patriotism, I once more found on a discussion board the baseless name-bashing that has continually crept its way into political discussion. I find it absolutely infuriating. I'm talking about the rant that I've heard too many times to count over the past year--that Barack Hussein Obama's name is evidence of his hidden anti-American, militant Muslim identity.

Disclaimer: Let me assure readers that what I am about to say is not an endorsement of any political party or candidate. It is rather an appeal for reasoned dialogue rather than ruthless bashing via senseless logic.

The argument, though it may be found in several variations, typically goes something like this. Obama's last name is basically the same as Osama bin Laden's first name, simply changing the second letter. It would then seem that there must be some religious or ideological connection between Obama the American senator and bin Laden, the Islamic terrorist leader. This reasoning is further affirmed by Obama's middle name Hussein, which just happens to be the exact same name as the late Iraqi president Saddam Hussein, also a known Muslim. And the name Barack, well that doesn't sound very friendly either. So off the argument goes to verify the shady nature of Obama's name. Put this together with the fact that Obama's father was African and that the senator did not spend all his growing-up years in the States, and we round out a good start to the argument circling that Obama is secretly an anti-American, militant Muslim gearing up to overtake this "Christian"nation. To put the argument in the exact words of those who make it, here is the exact quote I read this morning by a man who calls himself Manolete:

"Obama Osama will say whatever he has to say to overtake the government of the United States of America, so that he and his radical extremists and black supremacists associates can destroy the american values and our way of living.
"Obama, Osama, Osama, Obama,.....there is only one word difference between them.....who is the real Obama?"

Part of me realizes this is such an outlandish argument that there is no point in dignifying it enough to give a response. Does any intelligent person actually put weight in such nonsense? But like the husband who fights with his wife by throwing cheap shots at every opportunity, I have heard this fear-based tactic used more times than I can keep track of. It keeps coming up. And what concerns me further is that I have heard people I know bring it up in conversation. To take it two steps even closer, these are people in my church and in my family. So reluctantly I pick the issue up and ask us to cut right to the chase.

If we are looking to Barack Hussein Obama's name for a clue to his true identity, we must consider his first name ... first. This is especially true since it is a name not just inherited in the same manner any of us got stuck with our last names, be they Johnson, Bekius, Oladipo, or Chavez. Rather his first name is the one his parents chose to define him more than any other. That name is Barack. I'm curious if any of us (especially the Christians in the room) have read our Bibles enough for this name to ring home. Why? Because it's one of those good biblical names--you know, the kind you name your kids after, in hopes that one day their life and character would reflect that of the biblical character.

The truth about Barack is this. He is a biblical hero. Barack the son of Abinoam from Kedesh in Naphtali lived in the first half of the Twelfth Century BCE, as found in the book of Judges 4-5. When Jabin the Canaanite king and Sisera, the commander of his army posed a dangerous threat to Israel's existence, Deborah asked Barack to lead the army against their enemies. Though reluctant, he said yes. And at the end of the day, Barack is memorialized in Hebrews 11 as one of the great examples of Jewish (and subsequently Christian) faith. Only 16 individuals are mentioned here by name. Right there with Moses, David, Abraham, and Samuel, Barack is lifted up to be imitated as one of great faith. On a side note: the fact that in most of our English translations, his name reads as "Barak" without the C is incidental since Judges was written in the Hebrew language and can be effectively translated "Baraq," "Barack," or "Barak."

So what am I trying to say here? Am I positing that this is the reason Obama's parents named him Barack? That he was raised reading the Bible and being molded in the faith of his Jewish and Christian ancestors? No. I'm not saying this at all. In fact, it seems pretty clear that this is definitely not what happened. I'm simply showing that, first of all, Barack is a great name that brings with it a legacy of faithful living. And secondly, I am demonstrating that just as we can derive Muslim influences from Obama's name, so we can also derive Jewish and Christian ones.

But my real goal more than anything else is to show us the folly of demanding that a person's character, motives, and actions fall in line with their name. Especially in today's world, people are given names for a wide variety of reasons. My birthname, first and middle, is Andrew Joe. My parents simply called me Andy. The "meaning" of Andrew is "strong, manly, brave," but I'm pretty sure that people who know me would not characterize me by these terms. But even if they did, they are not the reason why I was named as I was. When she was pregnant, my mom had a crush on a singer named Andy Gibb, but this is not the source of my name either. Truth be told, she just liked the name Andy (and even considered keeping AndyJoe together as testimony to the Redneck in my line). My parents named me Andrew Joe simply because they liked the sound of it. It didn't mean anything.

And so it is with Barack Obama. Let's stop playing games with his names. If he says he's not Muslim, let's give him the benefit of the doubt. And if the origin of his last name scares you a little, keep in mind the origin of his first. But besides all this, let's keep the debate to issues of substance. To issues that matter. To issues of leadership ability and of policy, be it economy, the Iraq war, abortion, gay marriage, gun control, education, environment, energy, etc. Whether from the Left or the Right, let's keep the debate going, but let's keep it going in a productive direction.

That way I could actually use this blog for something useful.

why?

So I guess I have to write something, but even as I'm typing here, I'm not sure what. Every day since Monday when Phil died, I have thought about writing but haven't been able to. What do I write? What do I say? How do I put into words all that I am thinking, feeling, needing? Where do I begin? Peralisis takes captive my ability to communicate. And few words have made their way past my lips over the course of this week. And for those who may be reading this, but have no idea what I'm talking about, I refer you to Phil and Esther's blog eslip.blogspot.com to read about Phil and Esther's ministry and events leading up to his recent death.

Tonight was Phil's American funeral here in Chicago. There were tons of people there who I haven't seen in forever, including a handful of individuals I went to college with and are now serving in God's kingdom across the globe. It was good seeing them again.

I guess the biggest thing I'm wrestling with in all of this is in God's reasoning for letting Phil die. Phil, as a result of this world's brokenness, contracted a rapidly spreading bacterial infection. Righteous women and men throughout the earth prayed for his healing. And God chose to say no to their prayers and let him die. Why? God's Word says that such prayers are "powerful and effective" (James 5:16). Where was their effect on Monday?

On top of the frustration of unanswered prayers is Phil's unique situation. It has seemed that his entire life and especially recent years have lead directly to his ministry in Southeast Asia. Years of preperation went into his future work there. He and Esther and Anna arrived and barely got started. He finished language school and so soon after went to get certified to teach English, and the weekend he finishes his certification, he dies. For what? It all just seems so futile. So pointless. Was less than two years going through training more valuable than potential decades of ministry here in the States? Was that brief time worth Anna growing up without her Daddy? And Esther without the love of her life? And because I do believe God is in control over all of this, I come back to the purpose of it all... But I can't find one. I just don't understand.

And yet I do believe that such a purpose must exist. God is intentional. And he is in the midst of carrying out a great and global plan. I do believe that Phil's untimely and illogical death somehow (in large or in small) fits into that plan. It's my own feeble inability to make personal sense of it that is so excrusiating.

But I think tonight maybe I saw some of this purpose. At the funeral there was much talk of how Phil's life has motivated, impacted, spurred on the lives of others. Countless more than I ever realized. I knew Phil was loved, but what I found tonight goes far beyond what I ever imagined. Someone tonight (I forget who) quoted an Asian saying that for every soldier that goes down, a thousand more rise up. Normally I would relegate this as optimism at its best in the midst of a grieving community. But at tonight's gathering, I really saw light of this reality. I saw people being challenged by Phil's incredible commitment. I found people who were challenged to live more like Phil as he lived like the Lord Jesus.

I must admit in my weak human state that I really don't know how God will use this past week to impact his worldwide work. I pray that he will use it in astronomical ways that could not have been done apart from his passing. I pray that my life may be challenged in new ways as a result of it. And from all the processing it has forced me to do, I think this impact is evident. I do believe God is at work, and I believe there is real hope in the brokenness of this thing we call life. I believe that Phil stands as an example of what great things God can accomplish in this world. Even if those great things take paths unexpected along the way.

Phil will always be missed. But if there is one thing we can learn from his life, it is the reality of God's faithfulness. Even when we don't understand it.

In an Absence of Comic Relief

I remember watching this movie as a child, but I don't recall the name. I think it was one of those made-for-tv movies. In it was a somewhat classic image of the power-wielding, abusive husband. He was also religious. Christian. I think maybe a pastor. The story's focus was on this abusive family situation. A major component was this husband's spouting of Scripture verses and biblical themes. His beatings were peppered with calls to obedience and commands of submission. As expected (justly), this pastor husband was painted as beastly and even delusional. There was no humanizing of this monster. Not a moment of comic relief.

Without surprise, the tormented wife was not religious. And in some respects, if my recall of childhood movie watching serves me faithful, religion was positioned as responsible for the abuse. Clearly this man was misrepresenting the long cherished words of Scripture. He was perverting the words toward his own gain. Yet the movie welled up in me the feeling that the Bible's possession of pervertable commands demanded its partial responsibility. Verses with such dark clouds over them deserve some of the blame. Regardless of context, the verses still said what they said.

I have thought on this movie and similar stories throughout the years since. As a student of the Bible, what it has to say about the relationships between women and men have given me more than my fair share of trouble. And for some of these passages, I still wrestle with how exactly it all works out.

But for one of these passages, indeed the one that speaks the most to the marriage relationship, it would do us all some good to set our assumptions aside and actually look at what the text says. In his letter to the Ephesians, the apostle Paul takes a significant portion of space to explain what it looks like as the Spirit of God fills believers with "submitting to one another out of reverence to Christ" (5:21, ESV). He shows readers what this looks like in three types of relationships (commonly known as a "house code"), and the first of these is marital. So we're all on the same page, I have the entire text here:

Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church, his body, and is himself its Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit in everything to their husbands.

Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body. "Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh." This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church. However, let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband. (Ephesians 5:22-33)

Now I could go on for quite a while in several different directions on the beauty and nuances of the apostle's words here. But what I simply want to demonstrate at this point is how our assumptions mislead us to misapply what is actually being said.

Certain key words and phrases often catch our eye. "Wives, submit." "The husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church." "Wives should submit in everything to their husbands." Let me here begin by pointing out that all of these commands are directed toward the wife-half of the teaching. In other words, the teaching is split in half, with the first directed toward what wives are supposed to do and second toward what husbands are supposed to do. All (as in every single occurrence) of the times Paul talks about wives submitting are in the wife-half of the teaching.

Now, it's true that the women are given a difficult task here, especially if we are careful to not inappropriately water down the words Paul uses. However, I keep in mind that according to 5:21, we are all to submit to one another in the community of faith. I also kind of feel that if God is calling wives to some particular focus in a relationship, that may be more between him and them, as opposed to my responsibility to monitor their following.

I think as husbands (for myself and any others) the need is much more pressing that we make sure we are fulfilling our half of Paul's teaching. But this is where I have seen far too many (maybe even all) expositions on this passage get terribly side-tracked. When we talk about the husband's "role" in marriage, we look at what the wife-half says about husbands rather than what the husband-half says about husbands.

Did you catch that? It seems most rational to me that if we want to see what husbands are supposed to do, we should concentrate on what it says husbands should do. The problem is that traditionally we look more at what the wives' calling says about husbands.

I am issuing a call that we look to what 5:25-33 says husbands should do. It is almost as if men need not even look to verses 22-24, since it is between God and the women anyway.

So what does it say men are to do? How are men to live our their biblical role as husbands? Lord over their wives? Ensure their "headship?" Call wives to submission? Demand obedience? No. No. No. No on every count. Men are never told to demand anything of their wives. They are never told to make sure they do anything. The husband-role is NOT to make sure their wives fulfill theirs. And they are certainly not called to be any sort of lord or master or boss or ruler.

"But they are called to be as Christ over the church," the objection cries out! See, this is where our self-made, culture-forming assumptions haze over the truth of Paul's words. It is true, the husband's role as "head" of his wife is explained as Christ's role as head of the church. However (this is where you lean forward and listen closely), Paul does not say, "Husbands, lead your wives, as Christ leads the church and reigns sovereignly over her on his throne." No this is not throneship imagery. As truly as Christ does reign in that way, it is not the imagery Paul uses to explain the husband's role.

Instead (you're still leaning forward) Paul uses imagery of complete self-sacrifice. Of the highest and truest form of self-denial. He writes, "Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her," i.e. on the cross. That's it. The rest of the verses explain this kind of sacrifice and how a man's self-denial serves as a picture of Jesus' love for humanity. The marriage relationship is designed to be a picture of the Gospel. Nothing about ruling or lording. No imagery of domination. No one saying, "I'm the king of this castle," or "It's my way or the highway." It would do us all good to repeat: Men are NEVER told to make sure their wives do anything!

When Jesus was on his way to the cross, he did not assert his authority. He did not straighten his pose and pronounce his headship. When they attacked him (verbally and physically) he did not retaliate. He stood silent. Silent. When they stole his dignity, he said nothing of roles and responsibilities. When they marched him to his own death, he went. He let them kill him. And this death spoke of his love more than any other act in all of history. This is Gospel.

And this is the imagery the apostle uses to describe how men are to relate to their wives. This is the husband's role. We have much to learn. Much indeed. What would it look like if husbands did not retaliate when attacked? What if they did not feel the need to reassert their headship when he felt their dignity torn away? What if, when husbands felt attacked (verbally or even physically) they simply stood silent? What would that look like? What if husbands, in an attempt to form biblically sound marriages, sacrificed their authority, power, respect, and even their decision-making "rights"? This is to say nothing of truly selfish desires, preferences, and comforts. What if all of these treasured and masculine attributes were laid on the alter of love? I'm not sure I've ever seen such a marriage, but I think it may communicate the love and sacrifice of Jesus Christ in the most powerful way. I think it may bring a message that speaks the Gospel.

So this is my calling. As husbands this is what we are called to embrace. It surely involves much more watching over ourselves than watching over our wives. And maybe, just maybe, wives would find it easier to fulfill whatever marital obligations Paul brings them, if they know and trust and feel that we are fulfilling ours. So I issue an invitation to all men, but especially those who profess a love for Jesus, to follow him in the most fundamental and critical way. To love our wives till it hurts. To love them like Jesus loves us. I issue a call to put our assumptions away and live as Paul has called us. To forget the throne. And to pick up a cross.

A Whirlwind Weekend, part three

More than Friday's meeting, more than Sunday's message, I have been dreading Monday morning's surgery for weeks. It's rather pathetic, I suppose. It's not like I had heart surgery or anything. It was really quite minimal. It was oral surgery. Yet, even the term "oral surgery" possibly makes it sound bigger than it is.

I had my four wisdom teeth extracted. It sounds like such a small thing. They're only teeth. As a child, your teeth just fall out. Others may be pulled for various reasons, but nonetheless... No one sweats over these.

Except me. I have never had a single surgery in my entire life. I've never had anesthesia or an IV shoved into my arm. These are all firsts. And I've been terrified over many a horror story about dry sockets, the condition that occurs by any number of actions that keep the blood clotting to take after the surgery. Dry sockets, I have heard, make you very ill for a up to a couple weeks. All this in addition to the typical dietary restrictions that follow the procedure.

I suppose it is the inconvenience of it all that has peaked the most anxiety in me. Though they say it takes a good four days to recover from the surgery (the second and third are supposed to be the worst in pain, stiffness, and swelling) and begin eating somewhat normally, I am planning on returning to work on Wednesday evening. I want and need to get back to work. On top of that, I have a ton of classwork that has been accumulating. If I got dry sockets and became ill for a couple weeks, this would be an even greater setback.

But now that I've covered all my fears leading up to the surgery, I can celebrate that it actually went very well. Though I could still lose my clotting and get dry sockets, the surgery itself was a breeze. Dr. Zak gestured to the bag of IV solution and said, "This is not the anaesthetic. It will only make you smile and feel good, but that's it for now." He walked away, and BOOM! I was out. The next thing I new, I was sitting on a couch in another room as my wife and daughters joined around me and I was apparently attempting to sign something to my wife.

Piece of cake. No nausea. My mouth didn't even hurt. By that afternoon, I really felt pretty good. And now on day two, I am amazed that this has gone as well as it has. I don't feel sick, yet I am forced to sit, reading and watching movies. These are pretty cool days.


I wonder why I am so prone to fear and worry. I mean, it's not like I am consumed with such things. But all of us: We get so needlessly worked up over things that are really pretty small. I wonder how my fear--be it of preaching on Sunday or of surgery on Monday--reflects my view of God. My perception of his power and his goodness. The problem with me isn't so much how I see his power. I believe he is all-mighty and sovereign and can accomplish anything he wills. My problem isn't even his goodness. I believe he is. At least generally speaking. I guess where I wrestle is in how his goodness manifests itself in my own life. How much his goodness is personal. How much it's for me.

So days like these are really good for my understanding of God's blessings. This weekend has had some pretty incredible and challenging events. And my nerves have peaked in a couple different ways. And yet on the other side of each of them, I have found myself quite thankful. I have found myself standing before a God who is full of both lively adventure and blessed calm.


At least until I get dry sockets.

A Whirlwind Weekend, part two

Okay, I really have to watch myself here. I just don't have much time to write on this, but I know that I have to say something about it. Everyone keeps asking us how Sunday went, so here it is.

Sunday morning Justina and I went to West Hills Community Church in Westmont. I have been in contact with their elders and am being considered as a possible pastoral candidate. So this Sunday I was invited to come out and preach.

The morning before, everything was looking really good. I had my message prepared several days in advance and was just trying to wait on God and go into this thing prayed up with an open mind. However Saturday night as I was looking over my sermon, I realized something just didn't fit. Logically it wasn't working. This is in addition to the fact that I realized it was about 20 minutes longer than my given timeframe. This threw me all in a frenzy. And though it would seem easily fixed, I labored all evening and kept running into roadblocks.

Now you must understand, this is very difficult for me. I like everything ready and prepared. Especially for something really important, like when near-candidating for a church I would really like to pastor. This adds extra pressure to not mess this thing up by not being prepared. Though 24 hours earlier, I was calm, collected, and confident, I had become a bit of a wreck. I don't really get nervous about teaching and preaching, but here, all of a sudden, I was completely terrified. I had visions of blowing this thing. Of getting up there and this thing just exploding in my face. And, of course, of losing a chance at this opportunity to pastor that I would really like to have.

But then the unexpected: As I looked over my notes one last time in the parking lot, it all just snapped back together right in place. I entered the building and felt right at home. I joined the community in some really heart-felt worship (which is often times difficult for me). And as I walked up to the podium, I felt calm. As I spoke, it all just flowed out. And it seemed to flow well. As I prayed and rejoined the congregation, I just felt this overwhelming and divine presence surround me. I felt God's blessing. I felt his peace.

Now I don't' know if this means I will be the new pastor at West Hills. There is much more to the story than what is listed here. This is a church that has nearly run out of people. There are little resources, and the budget-to-income comparison may be in danger. But the people that are left are a great group of individuals dedicated to rolling up their sleeves and making this thing work. Before showing up I wasn't sure what to expect on a number of different levels ... because nearly all ministries have ceased due to lack of resources. I was expecting worship with 80s choruses to a single piano. And we left our girls with friends since I was unsure about children's programming. But to our surprise the worship was really good. Something almost as well put together at Bethel's Powerhouse band. And they did indeed have something for children, so next time (?) we will bring our girls. Anyway, I'm running into the potential of getting off track and making this more than you and I have time for.

I'm not sure what will happen with West Hills. As I said there are many issues to work though. Many questions on both their end and mine. They aren't even sure they are going to take on a new pastor. They may surrender everything to the denomination for a church restart or enter some sort of "merger" with a larger church. But if things keep progressing, you'll doubtlessly hear more. Though I'm sure from what I've told you so far, you are wondering what on earth I would want to take a spot like this. But I see almost innumerable opportunities in this community. And I'm not going to lie: the risk really excites me.

I'm getting off track again. I was supposed to end this thing.

So let me just say this. Sunday was brilliant. I wasn't sure what to expect, and I was more than a little freaked out as it neared. But as I sat in God's presence, he blessed. I guess I just want to testify as to how great it is to be in his hand. And I pray that I will continually learn to yield myself to his care. I look forward to the ride ahead. This journey of faith can be really terrifying and discouraging at times. But it is also really refreshing. I love his freshness.

And then I had oral surgery the next day. Stay tuned for part three.

A Whirlwind Weekend, part one

Wow, what a week this has been! This week has been so eventful, I think I could easily check out the rest of the season and still call it an eventful one. Now for some these events are nothing of anxiety or excitement. But for me, call me a rookie, they most definitely were.

On Friday morning I met to discuss theology with two leaders of Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, otherwise known as Jehovah's Witnesses (Knock! Knock!). On Sunday morning I spoke at a church that I may soon pastor. And on yesterday, on Monday, I had my wisdom teeth extracted, which just happened to be the first surgery in all the history of Drew. Each of these three events appeared quite significant in my mind. And in an ideal world, I would blog on each of them.

Then again, in an ideal world, I would also love to write (1) on Pennsylvania's long awaited primary today (I'm the kind of guy that would love to write on politics, but it wouldn't contribute much), (2) on a couple mind-altering, philosophy-of-ministry-assaulting articles I read yesterday out of the new Leadership journal, and (3) on my virtually unbearable case of "senioritis" as I finish my MDiv. But this is not an ideal world, so I will not write on any of these latter items and only briefly on former.

Friday's meeting was actually part of a project for a class I'm taking. I had to choose a non-mainstream religious group to study and interview. It was to focus on theological points of soteriology, drawing comparisons between an Evangelical understanding and theirs. The primary point of the meeting was to serve as an opportunity to share the Gospel with leaders of the group. This is a different context than what most of us are used to. I'm not Ronald Paul Danatus. I am not much of an apologist or evangelist. But this was a good exercise. I met with an elder (basically their pastor) of the Kingdom Hall (like a local church) where two of my co-workers attend. And, though I wasn't expecting it, I should have: This elder invited his regional higher up to come and "lend assistance." So it was two on one. And while I just had my Bible, they had a library of books that they were constantly flipping back and forth through. Yet I think I held my own. And I challenged them on a few things, which they said they would research, that I am almost certain they will not.

My purpose here is not to give a detailed account of our time together. But what struck me most is their conviction that they know the truth. Their absolute resilience to their beliefs. I have no doubt that they are sincere in their presentations. I see no reason to believe that they are purposefully conniving or manipulative. They really believe this stuff. That this is from God. That it is what the Bible teaches.

And yet they are not allowed to consult any religious or biblical material that is not approved by Watchtower. So when I challenge them to look at some resources for their Bible study, I know they won't ... unless they are willing to "sin" by consulting works blazed in rebellion. They are not allowed to think on their own. And this is evident in the limitations placed on their reasoning.

I admit that sometimes the messiness of church structure turns me off. Part of me longs for one united Church where every congregation agrees on one set of doctrine. It would indeed make it seem more "straight from God." More undeniable and absolute. But after meeting with these two Jehovah's Witnesses, I realize that the cost of such stability is the surrender of free thinking. And Watchtower isn't the first "Christian" movement to seek such stability at all costs. Come to think of it, I think free thinking is more the exception than the norm.

The apostle Paul was definitely one who demanded unity in doctrine. Just one example is seen in the way he writes First Timothy: "Teach and urge these things. If anyone teaches a different doctrine and does not agree with the sound words ... he is puffed up with conceit and understands nothing" (6:2-4). Indeed he even writes, "By rejecting this, some have made shipwreck of their faith, among whom are Hymenaeus and Alexander, whom I have handed over to Satan that they may learn not to blaspheme" (1:19-20). Yet at the same time, even Peter acknowledges the difficulty of understanding some of the teaching in Paul's writings (2Pe 3:15-16). And on top of Peter's vulnerable observation, today we have almost 2000 years of cultural, historical, and grammatical fog to make things a little more difficult, not just with Paul but also with Peter, as well as the rest of the Bible. We may all agree that there is need for correct doctrine, it's just not always obvious what that correct way of understanding the Bible is.

Thus the need for free thinking. Thus the need for each individual leader and group and follower to be able to examine the evidence and the Scriptures for themselves. And for this reason, any movement that forbids its congregants of reading anything un-official is indeed a dangerous one. In so doing they make their "official" interpretive materials on par with the Bible itself. They pronounce their minds (any less flawed than the rest of ours?) inspired by God.

So three and a half hours after our meeting began, I walked away grieving a little. Saddened by the thought that these two men are not allowed to think outside the fence. And there they will remain unless the Spirit of God should motivate them to dare think outside of it.

Yet as I walked back to my van, I was also thankful. Thankful for our sometimes messy faith, which allows me to wrestle with it and therefore take all that much more assurance of it. Believe me, I have had my wrestling match with faith. Nearly two years of wrestling with the existence of God and the validity of the Bible. All while in seminary. I have had my battles, but it is within these battles and their aftermath that my faith has come out all that much more sure and strong. Will these two men ever know that confidence? I pray so.

In case you haven't yet guessed it, I rambled way too long and am forced to write about the rest of my whirlwind weekend later.

A Legendary Experience

Tonight I made good on an adventure I've been planning for some time now. There are a good deal of those whom I associate with that would not be nearly so daring. I accepted an invitation to venture out to the suburb of Arlington Heights for a special event.

A hymn sing. A real hymn sing. Not just an old Gospel favorite or two placed in the midst of a worship service, but a full 100+ minutes of singing the classics and near classics handed down through the annals of time. Or at least over the last hundred years or so. I have heard of such events. The stories of such momentous occasions have fluttered upon my eardrums more times than my memory can account for.

Over the course of three years spent overseeing our senior adults ministry, I have heard many glowing reports on the hymn sings found in past decades and even today ... in other churches. However at our church, we have chosen to use our Sunday evenings (officially the most appropriate time for such activities) for other things. For something we call an Encounter Gathering. Indeed even on Sunday mornings when we hold our primary services, they resemble nothing close to a hymn sing. Now I will readily admit that those of the matured generation have been very supportive of our more "youthful" approach to community worship. But on occasion, our seniors hear of other larger and more "traditional" congregations putting on such singing extravaganzas, and, in such cases, follow their preferences to the host of their worshiping ideals. It is not my intention to ever present this as a bad thing. I'm sure I would do the same if I found myself in a church culture where my music-and-singing-choice and all-that-I-had-known-for-most-of-my-life had become increasingly obsolete. I would readily join them in an evening oasis of heartfelt worship. On top of all this, our senior adults are, as I said, very supportive of everything our church does and the decisions our leadership has made.

But at the same time, their hearts are for the hymns. And so it seemed that the very week I began pastoring this group of roughly a hundred grey haired saints, that the reports began streaming in concerning the rather glorious nature of such gatherings. And as each report came in, I picked up somewhat of an almost legendary status that was attributed to each hymn sing. Eyes opened wide. Smiles so shining they overcame the entire face. Eagerly, the storyteller would recite the name of the guest soloist, the time period reserved for piano prelude, the overwhelming number of hymns that were sang. Stories of ensembles and choirs. Of respect and reverence. Of tradition and that which is familiar. Of lyrics supplied by a book rather than a powerpoint. And of a setting where every line of every song is known by heart. These reports note the absence of the ominous "7-11 choruses" popularized in the '80s. And they almost inevitably lament the days when every church service knew only hymns.

So I finally went. I've been planning on it for three years now, looking for a free Sunday evening in which to go and taste the glory. I love my seniors, and despite the vast cultural differences between myself and them, I have genuinely looked forward to finding the opportunity and taking it. I have even found myself excited. Excited by the thought of going and spending nearly two hours in song. And also excited to learn. To experience the legend first hand.

I found a maximized auditorium that I would guess sat around five to seven hundred people. And despite all expectations, when I walked in I was taken aback by the endless sea of grey and white hair. Somehow I expected that at least ... maybe ten percent of the congregants would be under 60. But this was definitely not the case. When I arrived (ten minutes early) only the back corner was still available for seating, and there were about five families that eventually slid in after me. The parents were in their 40s, and the children were young. But as I walked around and studied the rest of the auditorium, the remainder was all on Social Security.

The hymns and "special music" numbers were all about what I expected. Though I did think that the reported time-frame was one of the legendary and exaggerated elements: of 1 1/2 to 2 hours of nothing but singing and listening to others sing. I was surprised to find it not the case. The sing really did go for 105 minutes. And I must admit that closing on about 85 minutes, I was sick of singing. Yes, even though I was singing to God. I began checking my watch every two or three minutes. But that said, I was glad I went and am thankful for the experience.

I left with two primary impressions. To begin, I feel like I had experienced a prized component of this generation's spirituality. As a pastor I feel like this is valuable experience that will inform how I understand their needs as I lead them in following Jesus. I feel like it is my responsibility as a pastor of a generationally diverse group to create a venue for them to fully express their hearts in worship. According to their natural and heartfelt culture.

Secondly, I see more than ever the difficulty of worship in a setting that is not your own. As I sat there, I felt more and more frustrated with this style of celebration. I longed more and more for that which is natural to me. And I realize that this is the case for seniors as they are forced to sit in worship gatherings that are fully oriented toward younger people. Maybe to an even greater degree. I see all over again, in a whole new light, the difficulty this generation faces in trying to worship alongside those that consider them irrelevant.

I am trying to wrestle anew with how I as a pastor am held responsible to create venues for all elements of the congregation, where each person has a place to turn to express the fullness of their hearts in worship. I've thought on this in the past, and I'm thinking about this more again now. I don't claim to have any answers. I'm not bold or enlightened enough for that. But I do have ambition enough to try. And I certainly feel at least a little responsibility.

I would love to hear back from any who have a thought or two along this line. I heartily welcome your comments. Would love for you to post your feedback.

What does worship look like in the local church where a diverse group of people meet together? How do old and young, black and white, rich and poor come together and worship with their hearts and in a way that is culturally relevant? What does this look like? Is it a blend of ancient hymns and '80s choruses? Of Gaither and Crowder? Of urban Gospel and Reformation marches? In Spanish and English and Korean languages? I've kind of looked to such a blend as the ideal.

I'm just not sure that ideal is realistic.

From 06/21/2006: Monday, O Monday of Jubilee

I really didn't write much or often when I had a Xanga. I think I only posted maybe six or eight times and only three of those posts were anything that could even represent an attempt at substance. But my blog on Jocelyn's healing has an unbelievable degree of significance in my heart. It is a celebration of health and God's goodness for today, written on June 21, 2006. So to keep from losing it and so that I can continue to keep coming back to read it, it is reposted below. Some of you who know us very well maybe have no idea what Jocelyn has gone through physically. May you join in our celebration. Enjoy...

These are good days. Not that all days aren't good in a sense. At least they are all good to some degree, for someone. Somewhere. But then there comes along a really good day. Something extra special. One of jubilee. A day when God reminds you that he not only intends to eventually bring us goodness and glory in eternity, but that he also seeks to show us his kindness in this life. Even in the muck and mire of this world.

Monday my youngest daughter Jocelyn had the latest in a series of regular appointments with her specialist. The latest of checkups in response to a mysterious and undiagnosed illness that began surfacing in April of last year. In her brief 18 months of life, she has spent more than 40 nights in the hospital, met weekly with two different therapists, faced countless tests like MRIs, CT scans, spinal taps, sweat tests, x-rays, etc., and has endured two months on a feeding tube that had to be reinserted through the nose almost daily by my wife and me. We have been told at various times that she may have cystic fibrosis, or a brain tumor, or any of many other less common but more terrifying diseases. And they've made it clear at least a couple times that her life was never guaranteed. We have prayed. And countless tears bear testimony to our fears. To the faith that was forced to grow in the mud of life.

I could write about that demand for faith. But instead I have something much more exciting to proclaim...

In February, Joci's health began to strengthen. Over the next couple months, it seemed we could possibly witness a turn around. We began to wean her of her checkups and close medical supervision. And on Monday, Dr. Lysternick said there is no need to schedule another appointment. Just go home and stay home. Enjoy her health... Enjoy her health...

Though her health has been steadily increasing for the past few months, complete mystery still clouds the darkness of the past year. We still have no answers. Probably never will. I suppose I'm still not guaranteed her health. None of us ever are. But Monday stands as a testimony of God's goodness for today. Just yesterday we were preparing for cystic fibrosis and a lifetime of pain and illness. Today we rejoice. God has taken the almost lifeless body of my little one and renewed it in a naturally unexplainable way. He healed the sick. Gave life to the dead. Joy to the broken. He provided a glimpse of eternity right here on earth. And reminded me of the freshness of his care. He really is good, isn't he.

"Search me, O God, and know my heart/ Test me and know my anxious thoughts/ See if there is any offensive way in me/ And lead me in the way everlasting" (Ps. 139:23-24)

Once Upon a Unisex In-Class Restroom

Well, it's started already.

My five-year-old daughter Janett came home from pre-kindergarten on Monday afternoon with a bit of a story to tell. So when I called my wife, Janett got on the phone, spilling the details. Earlier that day she had been punched. By a good friend. I'm sure it is needless to say this, but she was a little upset. Yet her love for a good story moved her to tell me about her adventure with such excitement, her frustrations were nearly lost.

Apparently her friend invited Janett into the unisex in-class restroom to share something she wanted to tell her. After closing the door behind them, this friend turned and punched Janett square in the head. Startled by this joke, she began to laugh, but after the other girl landed two more fists across the side of her head, the comedy began to sting. And it's somewhere around this point that the joke faded. Confused and more than a bit perturbed, Janett excused herself, saying that she was going to go tell the teacher. At this, her fighting friend blocked the door and, with fist clinched and held to Janett's face, asked her what she's "gonna do about it." Janett, not knowing what to say or do next, just stood there and in a still-quite-confused-sort-of-way mildly muttered that she didn't know. Somehow around this point both of the girls made it out of the restroom alive.

After telling me all this, Janett admitted that it really hurt her feelings that her friend would punch her like that. But then she paused on the phone and explained that her friend was doing this because she was really sad. Her uncle had died. Earlier in the afternoon it turns out, as both girls arrived at school, her friend stuck her tongue out at my daughter. A few minutes later she apologized and mentioned her family tragedy. So when Janett was later punched by this friend, she said she knew why her friend did it. She was sad.

When my wife called the teacher later that day, the facts had been confirmed. In actuality, the death was a cousin, but an increase in abusive behavior had been observed of the student in the wake of the tragedy. Janett's teacher was great, apologizing for the incident and explaining what would be done in the future. She was truly great and supporting of us and our daughter.

Over the past couple days, I've been thinking a lot about everything. Some whom we've talked about this with have jumped on reasons for not sending our children to Chicago schools (yes, Janett goes to public pre-school). This is just the pre-K version of what is sure to follow as she gets older. That may be true. I'm sure that it is to at least some degree. But I guess this was not my primary concern. Maybe it should have been, but it wasn't.

What I was struck by was Janett's response in all of this. Though she was confused, frustrated, and I think a little humiliated in all of this, her primary concern seemed to honestly be over her friend's well-being. "She was sad. It was because her uncle died." She told me she wanted be a good friend for her, and that evening she prayed for her friend. She prayed that she wouldn't be sad anymore. And that she wouldn't punch her again.

Maybe I'm easily amazed. But I am taken aback by her other-centered attitude as a five-year-old. Now I'm not trying to portray this other-centeredness as necessarily characteristic behavior. But nonetheless I am moved by Janett's clear concern for her friend despite her own expense. I wonder what my concern would be in a similar situation. If a good friend of mine attacked me physically while in a state of grief--or better yet, took my credit card on a spending spree, how concerned would I be with their welfare? In my mix of frustration and pain with compassion and concern, which would dominate? Would my anger overwhelm my empathy? Would I be able to put myself in his shoes? And how much would my days be lined with prayers for my friend?

In his letter to the Philippians, the apostle Paul urges, "Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus" (2:3-5). An even more penetrating question asks me how concerned I am for others when they do NOTHING to harm me. On a normal day, when it costs me nothing, how much do I love those around me? And as Paul writes here, how much do I count others as "more significant than myself"? Do I EVER count others more significant than myself?

So this is what I've been thinking about lately. I find in my daughter an example to imitate. She stands as a challenge for me to more fully live in light of the Gospel. Her concern calls me to be more aware to the needs around me. She invites me to care more. And yet in all of this, she sits completely unaware that she has challenged me so. She's too busy playing and learning than to transform friends into bullies or to think much on her father's ramblings. May I learn this kind of humility and true concern for others. And may each of us in the church learn such community. May we learn to not only get along, but to truly love and care for one another in a way that puts the other first--regardless of how the other acts. And especially when the other is facing a particularly tough time. May we learn the depths of such friendship.

I didn't realize I have so much to learn from a five-year-old.

Hesperocallis Undulata

Now I'm not much acquainted with flowers. But I know enough to expect an abundance of the Easter lily variety on such a weekend as this.

Sure enough. As we gathered to celebrate the Resurrection at 11:00am this Easter morning, many a lily were present to lead in procession. Though the lily is a guest of honor, it is hardly alone in its privilege. The aura cast by pastels pink, yellow, and blue are worn, if only once a year, by necessity on this day of the year. Polo shirts and khaki pants have transformed into suits and ties. Knit tops and simple skirts exchanged for frilly dresses with bows. Attendance extends to its yearly high as vaguely familiar faces take their seat to fulfil their yearly vows. The row of toddlers tumbles across the platform to cheer the congregation with learned phrases like "I'm just a little angel, but I'm here to say: 'Happy Easter day!'" A photographer is stationed to encapsulate the memories. Smiles abound. Check your troubles at the door.

Now don't misunderstand me. I'm right there with them. I joined my daughters and my wife in the pastel. I noosed my own neck with a properly occasioned tie. My toddler joined her friends on stage and said, "He is no longer in the tomb." I enjoyed the Easter lilies. And maybe I even smiled a little more than normal.

But I also noticed, I think more than anything else this morning, just how much some of these things seem an attempt to mask the reality of our lives. We put on our Sunday Best and do up our hair. We go out and buy dresses just for today. We take photographs. We expect compliments. We frown on those who don't follow in our self-polishing with a questionable glance. We force smiles and handshakes. Many who come, come because that's what a person does on Easter, while caring nothing for the Savior it celebrates.

I'm not saying it's all bad. I love my church, and the celebration was really great. I do actually think that having our young children reciting lines on the platform is a way to make us all feel a little more like family and give even the youngest of our congregants a role in which to bless others. The Easter lily really is a great picture of beauty and life found in Jesus' resurrection and triumph over death. It's not all pretending and air-brushing. There really is beauty and life in much of what we do.

But let me suggest the desert lily.

I was reading about the desert lily this evening. Hesperocallis undulata. Like I said above, I'm really not a flower buff. I just happened upon this on accident. I'm not sure where Easter lilies grow, but I would bet that it is a place of holy perfection. The desert lily, on the other hand, grows, you guessed it, in the desert. Arid. Dry. Sweltering. The Desert. Yet like its cousin, the desert lily is quite beautiful. I read that Native Americans used to eat the lily's bulb as a source of food. And that the bulb will often sit underground for years, waiting for enough moisture to awaken its presence above.

I find hope in the desert lily. This world--the reality most of us live in--is a dry and rugged landscape. If you're not careful, you'll get caught in a sandstorm or something and never be found again. You'll die of thirst or get lost and never find your way back. Just when you think you've found a water hole, you next discover the mirage. Call me a pessimist, but this is the reality of this ugly hate-filled world. Yet--call me an optimist--I do believe there is beauty in the desert. I do believe in things relegated to fairytales and myths. I do believe in desert lilies. And myself like the desert lily, I often feel as a bulb simply waiting until I have collected enough moisture to break the surface and find beauty in this desert life.

This is where I wonder if the desert lily is really the Easter lily. And if the beautiful blossoms leading the procession in churches across the nation this morning likewise came from the desert. Maybe this gives hope to those who don't feel quite at home in the Easter morning crowd. Those who don't feel self in ties and pastels. For those for whom the smile is not so natural. There is life in the desert. There is life to be found in this world. There is life, and it is beautiful. And I am convinced that this desert lily is found in the life, the resurrected life, of the Messiah Jesus.



Welcome to my blog. This is my first posting. Please forgive me, as I'm not really sure what I'm doing here. I've been told that I need to do this, so I guess that's why I am. But I do think that it may be enjoyable as well. You may find that I am quite a pessimist. But the optimist comes out in the redemptive hope I have. Though this existence is filled with ugliness and pain, I do believe their is opportunity for great beauty. I think that this may be one distinctive of my ramblings. Hope and beauty and breath. But not just breaths of air. This does not satisfy nearly enough. I have known plenty of people who have breathed much air while plotting their own deaths. No, air is not enough. Join me in this journey for life and breath. I think it may be an enjoyable one.