So I have this sign posted on my office door…

…I am an interim youth minister…
…and I am working on my exit strategy…

It went up this last week with little fanfare. And I don’t plan on removing it any time soon. In fact I hope that this sign, or some variant of it, stays posted to my office door for years.

‘Wait,’ you say, ‘how can you be an interim for years to come?’

It’s a reminder to me that this ministry is not mine. It’s a reminder that if I leave this ministry and it falls apart, or if the person who comes after me has to begin from the ground up, then I have failed.

‘Wait,’ you say, ‘how can you say you have failed? What if students’ lives have been dramatically changed through your ministry?’

The grounding and growth of a student as a follower of Jesus is central to the ministry.

I am not. And it’s difficult coming to that realization.

I say that it is difficult because no matter how many times I might say the words ‘it’s not about me,’ but build ministry structures which center on me, on my gifts and abilities, and which without me would collapse, then it effect it really is all about me. Like in so many other areas of my life I realize that I have been living functionally divergent from my confessed values and aims.

No matter how many years I may serve in ministry, at any church, in whatever capacity, I will always have a successor. The Church has been around for thousands of years and there is no reason to believe that it won’t be around for thousands more. Even if she were to exist for only another 100 years there will be someone who follows me. My love for another brother or sister who must come after me ought to drive me to cultivate a ministry which can exist apart from me. My love for the students ought to drive me to create a sustainable ministry which in my absence will continue on unabated.

Ten months into this thing and I feel like I am just scratching the surface as to what it means to be a minister. If it’s true that every believer is a priest to God, which it is (1 Pet 2:9), then those of us who are in ‘full time ministry’ are simply the ones freed by the rest of the priests in our churches to focus on the job of ministering to others. But if in return we horde the responsibilities of ministry, refusing either through lack of faith in their abilities (we’re the ones trained for this, right?) or desire for praise and recognition (aren’t ministers worthy of a double honor 1 Tim 5:17 ?) to enable and empower every member of the church to use his or her God-given gifts to serve others then we have failed in ministry.

In this regard the ‘staff’ of a church serve as ministry facilitators.

In this regard I have failed to empower those in my church to serve our youth.

And so I’m embarking on the process of creating my exit strategy. I am committing myself to establishing ministry structures and a church culture which will far outlast me. I know that whomever follows will take the ministry in directions I could never have imagined or designed, but I am committed to leaving a healthy and thriving ministry in my wake, one which the next youth minister does not have to build from the ground up. Do with it what they will, that is not my concern. What is my concern is making me dispensable.

That sounds like a stupid thing to say. Especially when in business we are taught to make ourselves indispensible, read: job security. But which comes first, job security or healthy ministry? To strive for the former ahead of the latter is to build a house without a foundation. Yes, I want job security. I have a family. I have bills. To be wanton with my job would be unfaithful to the rest of my responsibilities. To strive first for the latter will inherently bring with it the former. With a healthy ministry comes the job security desired.

It may sound crass to talk about such things, but it’s the truth. And yes, I understand that in certain situations being the prophetic voice that God may call you to be will result in job loss. In that respect healthy ministry negates job security. But here I am talking about ministry in a healthy church.

God help me to become the minister he desires me to be. God help me actualize what I conceptualize. God help me be a good interim for those who come after me.

Giving up for Lent…?

“I’m giving up [blank] for Lent.”

It’s a phrase you hear quite often around this time of year. Given that we here at the Orchard just celebrated an Ash Wednesday service last night (as of this posting) I thought it appropriate to write just a small piece on the purpose of the Lenten Season in the life of the church. If you attended the service last night you would have heard some of these same things, but I also wanted to add my own particular twist. [ed. That's one of the benefits of having this job… ]

Most of us are familiar with the practice of self-denial, shown in the ‘things we give up’ as was mentioned above, but this is not the whole of what the Lenten season means for the church. Traditionally there have been three parts to Lenten observation: prayer, alms giving, and fasting. We Protestants have grabbed hold of the fasting bit, whether it be from food or some other item, activity, etc. But what of the other two activities?

How would our lives look differently if we were to actively pursue all three of these activities? What if during this time of the year we spent focused time in prayer, delving into the depths of God’s promises to meet us there? What if during this time of year we gave over and above what we usually do (do you?) to those less fortunate than us? What if that involved your whole body rather than just your money? And what if, out of giving in those two areas, your self-denial in the form of fasting would actually transform your life?

We live lives of functional materialism. We confess to believe in a supernatural god who works in and through us to effect change in the world. And we confess that he does these sorts of things through the means of spiritual disciplines. And then we reject those disciplines. Or perhaps simply pay them lip-service and then move on.

I stand just as guilty as the next person.

I think I’ll take this time and live it patterned by the rhythms of the kingdom of God rather than the hectic patterns of the blind-led world.

A Character Grabs the Author’s Pen

There’s something compelling about a good story. Whether it be in a book, on a screen (large or small), or on a stage, there is something about a good story that draws you in and envelopes you. Some people are drawn to epic stories in scale, some to epic stories in length. Others, perhaps, are drawn in by the minutiae of life and see worlds opened up in a single glance.

I like the small things.

This is not to say that I don’t care for stories such as the classics The Iliad and The Odyssey, nor even for neo-classics such as The Lord of the Rings or even, in its own way, the Harry Potter saga. There is something to be said for a story with a scope so large as to create a reality all unto its own. But I still prefer the small things.

It’s the sparkle in the lover’s eye, wordlessly full of meaning.

It’s the contented sigh after a struggled fight.

It’s the single tear quickly wiped that betrays the emotional maelstrom inside.

Strip away the special effects, the soundtrack, the talents and abilities of the author and/or actors and a good story will still draw you in. It will still whisper a siren song to your soul, to your psyche that irresistibly engages you. God does something similar with his grace, but that is for another post, where we’re going is far deeper.

Shakespeare famously wrote, in As You Like It, ‘All the world’s a stage.’ But how many know the rest of it?

All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lined,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Upon the lips of Jacques Shakespeare expounds a futile view of life. From birth to death life seems to be a battle against world and self. The closest one gets to ‘the good life’ is as judge against others. Yet, even here, life is a façade kept in appearances.

This fear of life drives people mad.

We all know a good story when we see one. And we often feel the tension between a good story and the story we live in. Something tells us that the story we are living is not good. Donald Miller once wrote, ‘Nobody cries at the end of a movie about a guy who wants a Volvo. But we spend our lives living those stories, and expect our lives to feel meaningful.’ We instinctively know that there is something more to life than living day in and day out. We know that if our daily experiences are nothing more than going to school, doing homework, going to work, and waking up the next day to do it all over again we’ve missed the point.

Those kinds of characters are tragic.

In an instinctual reaction against living a life of tedium and meaninglessness we frenetically grab the pen out of our Author’s hand and try our own at the page. We write plots filled with love and fortunes, power and intrigue. We become the cool kids, those whom everyone else wants to be. We become the beautiful ones, those whom everyone else wants to look like.

And somehow, in these counterfeit autobiographies, our stories always degenerate into battles for power and control. This shouldn’t surprise us, however, for those two things were the impetus for our usurpation in the first place. In the reading of God’s storyline for our lives we judged that plot to be deficient and desired the power and control to be our own authors. Wasn’t this the root of humanity’s fall into sin? ‘God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God’ (Gen 3.4) We desire to be equal with God in power and control, which manifested itself as a desire for God’s knowledge and wisdom in our first parents.

The ancient Greeks had a word for this: hubris. Hubris is an excess of ambition or pride, and in literary terms hubris ultimately would cause the character’s downfall. Sound familiar? Human history is a hubristic tragedy.

Or is it?

Tolkien had a term that he liked to use, eucatastrophe. A catastrophe being a sudden turn of events in a story, typically of a complete failure, Tolkien appended the Greek preposition eu, meaning ‘good’, and in doing so turned an idea of failure into one of unforeseen salvation. He called the Incarnation the eucatastrophe of human history and the Resurrection the eucatastrophe of the Incarnation. Far from being deus ex machina, the God from the machine, a literary device to remove the story’s characters from danger in a way that is entirely out of sync with the rest of the narrative, a eucatastrophe is unforeseen, but in harmony with the narrative arc.

In the Life, Death, Resurrection, and Ascension of Jesus God, as it were, takes back the pen from humanity as a whole and begins to write the conclusion of all stories.

As we confess that Jesus is Lord and believe that God raised him from the dead (Rom 10.9) God, as it were, takes back the pen we have personally stolen and begins to write the conclusion to our story.

God’s literary brilliance is shown, as well, in that he does not erase what we have, unauthorized, written. He takes up where we have left off, broken lives, failed storylines and all and supernaturally brings them all to a wonderful conclusion.

If only from the eucatastrophic moment it were a smooth narrative decline to the end of the story.

God’s promise to us is not one of immediate joy and comfort once he retakes authorship. Just as in so many other stories, the deciding moment, the turning point is not necessarily the end or even close to the end. Whether it be catastrophic moment of Mercutio and Tybalt’s duel in Romeo and Juliet, or the eucatastrophe of Gollum’s attack on Frodo in the heart of Mt. Doom (here the recent movie adaptation departs from the book, where after the destruction of the ring there is an whole other storyline of the destruction and redemption of the Shire), quite often characters find themselves still deep in the plot when the turning point comes.

A more fleshy example of this may be of D-day, the storming of the beaches of Normandy. There is a real sense in which, though the war was not won on that day, the battle was over. The year which past between D-day and VE-Day, from 6 June 1944 to 8 May 1945, was simply a working out of the victory at Normandy. The decisive battle of the war had been won and the remainder of the war was the outworking of that singular victory.

In the same way, the eucatastrophic victory of Jesus has initiated the beginning of the end of all stories. But it has not ended all stories.

Yet.

In the intervening time our great Author is in the process of working in us and through us to bring all things to right. His story arc from Garden to Garden City, from Genesis to Revelation, involves with it the necessary purging and honing crucible fire which produces faith. Any, even cursory, reading of the New Testament will show that one thing which is promised, perhaps more than just about anything else, is suffering and trials. ‘In this world you will have trouble,’ Jesus said. But thankfully he concludes the statement with, ‘But take heart! I have overcome the world.’

God’s story of Life, Death, and New Life is a sad, but hopeful story. We know that in the end ‘all shall be well.’ Whatever plot he has chosen for our lives we can be assured that the Author is good and knows just where he is taking us. Though it may seem in the moment like the world is falling apart, sometimes a little unraveling is necessary to re-sew a cloth.

The beauty is in the details.

The littlest things in life can communicate the most profound truths. The small things, like the looks, the sighs, and the lonely tear can reveal more about who we are and who those around us are the often the most boisterous sermonizing.

Andrew Peterson, a singer/songwriter, once penned these words. Each simple line opens up oceans of lifestories. Enter in. What would your line be?

After the last tear falls

After the last secret’s told

After the last bullet tears through flesh and bone

After the last child starves

And the last girl walks the boulevard

After the last year that’s just too hard

There is love

Love, love, love

There is love

Love, love, love

There is love

After the last disgrace

After the last lie to save some face

After the last brutal jab from a poison tongue

After the last dirty politician

After the last meal down at the mission

After the last lonely night in prison

There is love

Love, love, love

There is love

Love, love, love

There is love

And in the end, the end is

Oceans and oceans

Of love and love again

We’ll see how the tears that have fallen

Were caught in the palms

Of the Giver of love and the Lover of all

And we’ll look back on these tears as old tales

‘Cause after the last plan fails

After the last siren wails

After the last young husband sails off to join the war

After the last “this marriage is over”

After the last young girl’s innocence is stolen

After the last years of silence that won’t let a heart open

There is love

Love, love, love

There is love

And in the end, the end is

Oceans and oceans

Of love and love again

We’ll see how the tears that have fallen

Were caught in the palms

Of the Giver of love and the Lover of all

And we’ll look back on these tears as old tales

‘Cause after the last tear falls

There is love

permission for leisure

Here’s a devotional by Charles Swindoll that I found rather refreshing, if not in places convicting. Even now, as I sit here in my living room, the sunlight just newly breaking through the leaves to dance in revelry on my walls, I find myself strangely unable (or unwilling?) to allow myself the space for leisure. ‘There’s always something more to do,’ my mind tells me. In fact, to illustrate the point. I was asked yesterday afternoon over lunch what I do for fun. My knee-jerk response was, ‘what time for fun do I have?’ That is a tragic response to a beautiful question.

What do you do for fun? What do you love?

Give Yourself Permission

by Charles R. Swindoll

Ephesians 5:1

Since most humans suffer from a lack of balance in their lives, our best counsel on living a steady and stable life comes from God’s Word. In Paul’s letter to the Christians in Ephesus, he includes this most unusual command:

“Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children . . .” (Ephesians 5:1 NIV)

Maybe you never realized such a statement was in the Bible. It seems unusual: “imitators of God”! The Greek term translated “be imitators” is mimeomai, from which we get the English word mimic. One reliable scholar says this verb “is always used in exhortations, and always in the continuous tense, suggesting a constant habit or practice.”¹

In other words, this is neither a passing thought nor a once-in-a-blue-moon experience. The practice of our being people who “mimic God” is to become our daily habit. We are to do what He does. Respond to life as He responds. Emulate similar traits. Model His style.

But to do that, to be an imitator of God, requires that we come to terms with the value of quietness, slowing down, coming apart from the noise and speed of today’s pace and broadening our lives with a view of the eternal reach of time. It means saying no to more and more activities that increase the speed of our squirrel cage, knowing God requires that we “be still” (Psalm 46:10 NIV).

To be God-mimics, we must begin to realize that leisure is not a take-it-or-leave-it luxury.

Please understand that leisure is more than idle time not devoted to paid occupations. Some of the most valuable work done in the world has been done at leisure . . . and never paid for in cash. Leisure is free activity. Labor is compulsory activity. In leisure, we do what we like, but in labor, we do what we must. In our labor, we meet the objective needs and demands of others—our employer, the public, people who are affected by and through our work. But in leisure, we scratch the subjective itches within ourselves. In leisure, our minds are liberated from the immediate, the necessary. As we incorporate leisure into the mainstream of our world, we gain perspective. We lift ourselves above the grit and grind of mere existence.

Interestingly, “leisure” comes from the Latin word licere, which means “to be permitted.” If we are ever going to inculcate leisure into our otherwise utilitarian routine, we must give ourselves permission to do so.

1. W. E. Vine, An Expository Dictionary of New Testament Words, vol. II (Westwood, N.J.: Fleming H. Revell Company, 1940), 248.

this time i mean it

i thought i was tall
but seeing you there
sitting so sure
I feel so small

i said before i’d go down with the ship
but this time i mean it
i’m learning to walk on listing planks
but now i’m sure-footed

she made your body
but i lent a hand
gave of myself
i’ll give on forever

i said before i’d go down with the ship
but this time i mean it
i’m learning to walk on listing planks
but now i’m sure-footed

there’s a story here
what part am i
protagonist
or simply a foil
i’ll play the bit part
if it means
i get to see you
steal the show

i said before i’d go down with the ship
but this time i mean it
i’m learning to walk on listing planks
but now i’m sure-footed

the wounded way of Jesus

my friend, Chuck DeGroat, who is a minister at City Church San Fransisco is an amazing writer, counselor, and pastor. we all need more of this kind of stuff…

http://drchuckdegroat.wordpress.com/2009/09/02/drown-me-in-your-waters-why-hope-doesnt-float/

A philosophy of disability

I ran across an article this morning through another blog that dealt with the issues of disability, healthcare, and our societal philosophy of life and death. It was writen by a disabled UK lady to a UK audience, but i think the moral/philosophical questions she poses are trans-national.

I am not posting linking this post so as to prognosticate about the future of the American healthcare system if things go the way the current administration would like them to go.

Let’s get it out of the way, I don’t care about such issues.

What I want you to consider is the ethic underlying the policy. And how the consequence of ideas often draws us down paths we would never have considered walking down otherwise.

http://heresycorner.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-life-is-unbearable-dont-fix-it-just.html

the inbetween spaces

i find myself in the in the inbetween spaces
homeless with a roof over my head
settled but not planted

i find myself in the inbetween spaces
behind is a home that is no longer
ahead is a home yet to be

a journey’s worth is found in moments
some are planned some are caught
some seared and some sought

i find myself in the inbetween spaces
sojourning not homesteading
living not alive

i find myself in the inbetween spaces
waiting, expectingly for good
waiting… waiting… waiting…

meritocracy and youth ministry

- From the box entitled “take others’ ideas and run with them.” -

Having read in a couple of places (here and here) about Tim Keller’s talk on Justification and the Gospel at Campus Crusade for Christ’s ’09 Staff Training, I felt like this idea of America’s meritocratic society, and by association the American church’s assumption of the same, needed to be fleshed out, at least in my own mind, in the arena of youth ministry.

What does ‘meritocracy’ mean? If you did not click through to read the blog posts above, in short a meritocracy is, “a system in which advancement is based on individual ability or achievement.” – American Heritage Dictionary A meritocracy stands against other systems, such as oligarchies, democracies, and ethnocracies, in that the requirements for leadership rest upon the actions taken, both past and present, which entitle the person to positions of power and prestige.

It is no surprise that America is a meritocratic country. The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. The Land of Opportunity. We are a nation where pulling one’s self up by one’s own bootstraps is a badge of honor. The rags-to-riches story is our nation’s central myth. (I use the word myth in the community-forming/guiding sense rather than the fictitious sense; see here.) Our nation was founded, or so the G-rated, schoolbook polished version of the story goes, by religious outcasts trying simply to find a place where they could live out their personal convictions without being persecuted. Leaving aside the racial, ethnic, and social-economic injustices which then became inextricably intertwined with that original postmillenial/puritanical ideal of America becoming “God’s Country,” what the colonists unknowingly did not leave at the door, if you will, was the idea of personal achievement equaling communal success. That is to say, personal achievement is a sure-fire sign of entitlement for public success.

Obviously, here I am making very broad generalizations. (Which is one of the reasons why any writing on “culture,” whether it be in regards to general cultural trends, the interface between church and culture, etc., is by its very nature overly simplistic. One can speak properly of cultural trends, but once one begins to get more specific in definition the appropriateness of that description narrows to a smaller set of people. Moreover, taken to its (il)logical end, the definition and description of a culture will ultimately collapse into a culture of one, which is to say that for every individual there will be a distinctly, definable culture. I apologize for the length of this aside, perhaps it should, and will be, a post of its own, but the issue of church and culture is a hot one now and I find, more often than not, that the definitions and descriptions of American culture claim far too much.) But, with a few modern examples I believe that I can support my claim that this meritocratic ideology is endemic to the American cultural landscape.

• Consider the educational background of our “leaders”: politicians, professors, etc. Do we find many state school graduates, community college graduates, vocational or technical school graduates?
• Consider the perceived hierarchy of employment opportunities. The distinction between so-called blue collar and white collar jobs is not incidental. Among the white collar crowd, as well, there exists a pantheon of desired jobs: lawyers, doctors, celebrities, athletes, etc.
• The last two examples from above only serve to highlight the meritocratic nature of America. That someone’s ability to deliver a line with passion or comedic genius or someone’s ability to play a sport with excellence necessarily gives that person a voice outside of their arena of expertise.

Now this is not to say that a meritocratic system is bad in all regards. Part of the reason why it is so infective to a culture, especially one so influenced by philosophical pragmatism is that in most situations ‘it just works.’ People who excel do so because of their talents and abilities. Where this gets dangerous is when they step into areas where they may not have the same level of expertise and yet are treated as if they do because of their previous accomplishments.

I believe that the American church, at the least, has adopted this same sort of meritocratic mentality. This can be clearly seen when success is defined by church membership numbers, hip cultural engagement, and the like. Or perhaps, on a smaller level we can see this in how we value those in the church. How often have we, whether wittingly or not, placed value judgments on those in the church defined by how much they contribute or how successful they are in their particular spheres of ministry?

Do we look up to certain pastors? certain “worship leaders”? Do we value more highly those people in highly visible roles over those faithful servants who work behind the scenes eschewing any form of recognition?

There must be a distinction made between faithful performance of one’s duties and giftings, and one’s value as a Christian and a person. Meritocracy ought to speak nothing to value.

What is it that Jesus said to the rich man who asked him what he must do to inherit the kingdom of heaven? “Go and sell all that you have and give it to the poor.” The recompense was that this man would then have treasure stored up in heaven, but in order to attain to that he had to humiliate himself in his own eyes and in the eyes of his peers. He had claimed, “all these things I have kept, from my youth” in response to Jesus’ call to keep all the commandments. Jesus knew this was a gross overstatement and a claim to greater righteousness than he actually possessed. So he then called the man do reject the meritocracy of wealth and nomism (religious legalism) and embrace a self-sacrificial love for his neighbor (which is, in fact, one half of Jesus’ summary of the Law found in Luke 10.27). The Way of Jesus is one of self-sacrifice not of self-service.

This then means that one’s station in life has nothing to do with their personal value. Whether a person is wealthy or poor, influential or marginalized, multi-talented or lightly gifted, etc., they are called to self-sacrificial living.

Turning from this, how does our meritocratic system affect youth ministry?

Who are the “good kids”? Who are the student leaders? Do they tend to be the hard workers, the outgoing, the popular, the ones’ whose parents are leaders of the church? Do we measure a kid’s worth (to us, which is itself a self-serving rather than self-sacrificial move) along these lines? If so, we have capitulated to the meritocratic system.

From another angle, and one which I feel is endemic to upper-middle class America, how do we as parents view our children? How is their worth/value defined in our eyes? Are our kids “good kids” if they keep out of trouble? If they don’t do drugs? Don’t hang out with “bad” people? Are they “good kids” if they do all their homework? Do it well? If they excel in school, athletics, music, etc.? Of course we want our children to do well in life, but what defines the term “well”? Do we allow society at large to define it or do we all Jesus to? [ed. I will grant that this is a rhetorical dichotomy. We cannot so neatly divide things in real life. We are always affected by both extremes and this, in some ways, not a bad thing. If, however, our interaction with society at large is not reciprocal, that is, if we do not affect society, only allowing it to affect us, then we have failed. But to answer this problem would require a post all of its own.]

Do you believe that your child has succeeded if s/he does well enough in grade school to merit entrance into an elite class of universities? If s/he graduates and gets a “good” job? What is a “good” job? Is it defined by pay grade? Levels of influence? What if God’s “good” plan is for him/her to have a minimum wage job for his/her entire life? What if God’s “good” plan is for his/her life of struggle to picture, in miniature, the sufferings of our savior? Who’s dreams are shattered? Yours or theirs?

I find myself in that position. Having been extremely gifted in many areas (Please hear me, this is not a boastful statement. In fact, it is quite possibly a judgment on me for my unfaithfulness in using those gifts.) I look at my son Nolan and want the good education, the position of influence and power, and all those things which I am decrying.

Our goal, mine as father and youth pastor, is to inculcate in the next generation the values of our Christian faith. We are to tell them the stories of our faith and work for the development of their character. Hard work, faithful service, striving for excellence, all those things which we want for our kids will still be there, but they will be found in their proper place. Godly character, biblical wisdom, and all those things which truly matter will lead our kids in the way of righteousness far better than the American meritocratic work ethic. We will, in the end, produce children who are self-sacrificial rather than self-servicing. We will have children who desire Jesus’ name to be great, rather than their own. And they will look not to others for their own self-worth, but to the only one who is able to truly place a value on a person.

Jesus’ statement at the end, “well done, good and faithful servant,” emphasizes our place. Servitude. And this is a “good” thing.

a song everyone needs to hear and sing

From Sojourn Music

this song destroys me

listen and read

a novice['s] prayer

[if you haven't already done so, please see this previous post first.]

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

Today is the first day of the next stage of my life. I sit right now in my office. My office. It feels a touch weird to say that, if for no other reason than it connotes some sort of ‘adulthood’. I’m not sure at what point one passes through that ephemeral veil that separates child from adult, or if that is even a proper analogy, with the truth being closer to a series of small steps that looked back upon reveal a lifetime’s worth of travel. Perhaps there is not time at which one ‘flips the switch’ to adulthood. Perhaps you simply wake up one day realizing that you are one, have been for some time, and yet have simply not realized it until that moment.

Adulthood entails responsibility. Youth ministry entails responsibility. Responsibility entails faith, hope, and love. I say that because of the sign that has been hung over my desk. ‘These three remain,’ the apostle said once. After all has been stripped away and we are left with eternity, ‘these three remain,’ and you have called me to be a conduit for and participant in a ministry of faith, hope, and love.

You know I can’t do this job.

You know that apart from a supernatural working of your grace in my life I am going to thoroughly thrash this thing to pieces.

I hate that I struggle with the universal male issue of passivity and complacency. These things are antithetical to the call of the gospel. You have called us as believers to be salt and light in a world of darkness and death. I need your help. I need your forgiveness. Every day. I know myself. I know that I will do everything in my own power to try and force things to happen. I know that, given my faithless nature, I will look to the approval of others before I look to you for approval of my ministry. Even saying ‘my’ ministry sounds so like me. It is your ministry in which I participate. Orchard Christian Fellowship does not exist for itself, for the betterment of its own people, nor even simply for the betterment of those around it. It does those things, and rightly so, but its primary purpose is to glorify you in the world. When we worship you rightly, when we place our own desires down and pick up your own, when the name of Jesus is made great and our own names made small, then we are truly participating in the ministry of the gospel in southern New Hampshire.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Father, Son, Holy Spirit

Please guide me in all that I do. Please show me the vision for youth ministry at the Orchard. Please give me a heart that loves these kids as they deserve to be loved. Please give me a heart that breaks when the effects of sin and the attacks of the evil one and his crew tear through them as individuals and as a community. Open my eyes to the ways in which they are not currently following hard after you. Break their hearts for the sin which is ensnaring them. Help us become a community reaching a community. That students will feel free to allow others into their lives. That Orchard Youth will be a safe place for hurting people.

It’s only by your grace that this ministry can be fruitful. And fruitfulness is measured in soul care and life change, not by numbers and hype. Please keep this in the front of my mind. Please help me to rely on your strength every day. May the name of Jesus be made great and not my own.

Κύριε ἐλέησον, Χριστὲ ἐλέησον, Κύριε ἐλέησον.
[Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.]

a return to the blog

So, it has been a while since I last wrote on this blog. In the intervening time my family and I have relocated from Orlando to Londonderry, NH so that I could take the call as the Youth Ministries Director of Orchard Christian Fellowship. There is a whole ton of stories that I could tell about what has gone on in the last month and maybe some day I’ll tell them here.

But for now, what I really need to do is to think…

I think better with my fingers than strictly in my head. This is why this medium is so beneficial for me. I can type, mull over ideas, and submit them to others [read: you] for further consideration. Yeah, perhaps sometimes the subject matter might get a touch personal. And, yeah, there might be times when for the sake of propriety I don’t disclose all pertinent information for confidentiality’s sake. But this job that lies before me is a massively important one. It is one that I cannot come at unprepared, nor in an inconsiderate fashion. And so, I begin. Following this post will be two others today. The first will be a prayer (Yes, I need to plan and write this one out. My life is so crazy I need the discipline of writing for this one.) and the second will be further musings on life as a youth minister.

Thanks for caring.

the liminal edge of worship

So my friend Greg Willson and I are contemplating a new worship album project. Here’s the concept:

• Musically eclectic, in the vein of Arcade Fire, Anathallo, The OaKs
• lyrically poetic
• congregational singing focused

The issue that I’m wrestling with is the balance between lyrical specificity and ambiguity. I feel as if much of what passes for congregational worship is boring. I use the word boring purposefully. This is not to say that these songs are not lyrically true, musically sound, or even great vehicles for worship. It is to say, however, that they are “uninteresting, tiresome; dull.” Many of the words, metaphors, chord changes, and melody/harmony lines are tired and worn out.

I’m not the only one to think this way. The problem is in execution. There are several directions this could go. The first is what I like to call the “add crunchy guitars” method. You see this a lot when people try to update older songs/hymns. The thought goes something like this: “The melody line is familiar so we don’t want to mess with it. What we’ll do is add some guitar distortion to make the song seem more modern.” Songs tend to follow traditional CCM worship trends. The second is what we’ll call the “lowest common denominator” approach. In this method the songwriter/worship leader panders to the hypothetical lowest common denominator. It’s the belief that the melody lines and instrumentation must be simple. Now simple is not entirely a bad thing. In fact, simple can be excellent. But this method errs in saying that the necessity is simplicity, therefore the melodies will be very repetative, the musical arrangments either paired down or repetative in chordal structure, and the lyrics simple and to the point.The third possibility is what we’ll call, for lack of a better term, “indie-kid worship” approach. In this approach the songwriter/worship leader seeks to make the worship more ‘modern’ by copying the latest music trend. Indie-kid worship is headed in the right direction, but whereas “add crunchy guitars” dressed standard songs with distortion, the indie-kid worship leader in trying to be creative crafts/plays songs which tend to be either overly personal or lyrically ambiguous.

So here’s the rub. How does one overcome these pitfalls? It’s possible, but difficult, which is why I think that I’m tempted to try (masochism anybody?). Though from a somewhat different genre, the song “Warrior”, out on the new Sojourn Music album “Over the Grave”, is a great example of a well crafted song. The lyrics are a tad straightforward, but the way they walk around the theme is catchy, to say the least.

While this example is moving in the right direction I think that our particular project is going beyond this. But to do so we’re going to have to be very careful. Congregational songs cannot be too vague or ambiguous lyrically, overly personal (by which I mean to say, the lyrics cannot be so specific to a situation that they are difficult to apply universally. I understand that some say the Psalms do this, but since I’m not Holy-Spirit-Inspired, I’m not sure how much we can transfer over. Though I’m willing to dialogue on it.), nor musically obtuse (that is, overly complex in either instrumentation or melody). Where does this leave us? I’m not sure, but we’ll see how this all plays out. There won’t be work on it for a bit, I’ve got to move and buy some gear first, but I just needed to get some ideas out of my mind and onto (digital) paper…

D.A. Carson kicks my butt… again

In reading Carson’s The Cross and Christian Ministry I ran across this quote:

We have become so performance-oriented that it is hard to see how compromised we are. Consider one small example. In many of our churches, prayers in morning services now function, in large measure, as the time to change the set in the sanctuary. The people of the congregation bow their heads and close their eyes, and when they look up a minute later, why, the singers are in place, or the drama group is ready to perform. It is all so smooth. It is also profane. Nominally we are in prayer together addressing the King of heaven, the sovereign Lord. In reality, some of us are doing that while others are rushing on tiptoes around the “stage” and others, with their eyes closed are busy wondering what new and happy configuration will confront them when it is time to take a peek.

Has the smoothness of the performance become more important to us than the fear of the Lord? Has polish, one of the modern equivalents of ancient rhetoric, displaced substance? Have professional competence and smooth showmanship become more valuable than sober reckoning over what it means to focus on Christ crucified?
– pg 38-9

There are any number of things that I could say about this quote, and any number of directions I could take these present ramblings. But the thing which stands out to me the most is that first sentence. We’ve become so compromised to the idol of performance that we cannot even see it in our own churches. Now, don’t get me wrong. I think that there ought to be a stellar level of “professionalism” to the church service (in saying professionalism, I’m seeking to use the term with out the negative connotations), but how many times have I stood on stage and either turned red with embarrassment or kicked myself because I “made too much noise entering or exiting the stage (or even making some noise at the wrong time while on stage) on a Sunday morning.” The feelings I had were not because I ruined someone’s worship experience, but rather because I was not as smooth as I could have been. I had trangressed my idol of performance’s standards.

I’ll just let this stew. Maybe I’ll pick up this theme again in another post. But I think we all ought to take a long hard look at ourselves. Has this particular idol silently worked its way onto our private shines? In possible attempts to clear out other idols have we overlooked this one? Maybe nothing externally will change about our churches, but at the very least we will have investigated our own hearts and made room for God to judge our worship and not an idol.

strung haiku

unknown i step out
in faith i wait for your word
it comes in whispers

it brushed by my ear
though it seemed i was alone
i knew you were there

the holding, the waiting, the wanting more
the calling to greater things than i’ve ever done before
yet for now all i have is hope, selah

action i’m taking
though blinded by my frailty
i act with confidence

with peregrin speed
my life flies by unfettered
yet hemmed by your hand

a flash from the past

Perusing my Google Docs page I ran across this essay I wrote a couple of years ago. I found it to be thought-provoking enough to warrant reposting its link, it is far too long to post here.

A word of background. This essay was written for my family’s website. There was a discussion ongoing about immigration, politics, and the economy. If I remember correctly this was from the summer of 2007, thus some of the predictions about economic collapse may seem a tad prophetic. Parties from both sides of the debate have been/are being proved right about their assumptions. The persons referenced are two of my uncles, Jack and Tim, and my mom, Leah. Apart from that the essay stands on its own. Enjoy.

Essay on immigration, politics, and the economy.

waiting for change

Tom Petty spoke rightly when he said, ‘the waiting in the hardest part.’

All I can say is that the next couple of days are going to be very, very long indeed. Waiting for word from the Orchard. Even though I pretty much know the answer, the official word will make me breath a huge sigh of relief. It means that the next steps can be taken and this season of waiting will be over.

Yet, I’m torn, at the same time, because of the thought of leaving all of our friends. Yesterday at church, discussing recent trips and God’s possible plans, this wave of ending swept over my soul. Orlando has always been a place of transitioning. From the moment we stepped foot out the open door of our then-too-expensive moving truck until now, looking a cross-country move in the face, we have been in transition. Orlando has never been a place which we’ve thought of as ‘home,’ in a long term sense.

Now, in the short term it has definitely become home. Having only been married 9 months when we moved from Safety Harbor we were still very much newlyweds. Ten jobs, five years, four moves, three cars, two degrees, and one child later, we are very different people. We have friends, a church and a family here. Our roots have been planted deep into their soil, the rending of which will leave indellible marks on all. But I know it’s time to go. That feeling from somewhere southwest of the spleen whispers words to heart that the time is right. To stay would be to take the easy way. To go requires faith. And faith has the pesky habit of requiring us to do things we don’t believe we either can do or should do. In our case the former seems the mountain we are called to climb. In either case faith calls us out of comfort and complacency into a life of movement, a life of transition.

Whether it is the small transitions we face everyday, the amalgam of which we call ‘living’, or the larger ones we might call watershed moments, we are unnaturally transitory beings in search of permanency. In a world of change our souls cry out for stabilty.

I’m still waiting for stability. I think I’m waiting for it to come with words this week. I know that it won’t. I may live some measure more into it, but stability, ultimate, unending, certain, stability still lies… just… out… of… reach……

thoughts on providence

I find that my life is a pasticcio of one ‘coincidence’ after another.

What do I mean by this? For some, it seems as if they have everything planned out and have the ability to follow through with those plans. For others, it seems as if they are free-spirits, floating on the wind of what ever may come their way. For me, I so want to be the first, yet experience some strange confluence of the two. For all my best efforts to the contrary I am dragged along, sometimes kicking and screaming, by the inexorable draw of providence. It is a feeling hard to describe, but one that I am sure everyone with eyes to see inherently knows.

Like I wrote in the previous post, there is a lie I believe which is ‘I can control my life’. I’m not entirely sure as to why I continually return to this idea. It’s never proved itself right. Even in those times when things go exactly as I planned there is always some wrinkle whispering the truth of the matter. Sometimes I can hear this whisper. Sometimes I’m sitting and listening like Elijah. Most times I’m running like Peter, all good intentions poorly placed. “Peter said to Jesus… He did not know what to say…”

Thank God I’m not in control.

The music playing, mixed from here and there, weaves a story of one who’s path is laid down already. Some might call this fate, I call it providence. Is there a difference? You better believe there is. The one is an impersonal, immovable set of events into which one falls without fail. The other is a dynamic, vibrant relational interaction between persons. Even at the etymological level providence implies personality, which is to say, having foresight or precaution requires the ability to interact with varied and varying situations. Though providence does not prove the Christian god, it does provide a context within which to discuss his interaction with ourselves, others, and the world. Providence could be considered the score with which our God is directing the symphony of creation.

I sometimes wish I could know what instrument I play…

I’d like to think of myself as a timpani or first-chair violin, either laying the tempo or leading the melody. But I get the feeling like my part to play is the fourth bassoon, a vital part but never noticed. I should be ok with that. During the interview process for a job I might possibly have in New Hampshire I was asked “Do you think you could be content in a small town place like…?” It was a question which I had thought about, but when asked point-blank by a member of the search committee it took me aback. I answered yes, which was true enough then as is now, but it made me stand up and stare providence square in the eyes. Who’s design for life will I accept? Will some self-wrote, 3 chord lullaby win out over the possible magnum opus? Will the amateur have contempt for the virtuoso? Is there really an option? The theological concept of ‘irresistible grace’ speaks just as well to every choice one makes as it does to the doctrine of salvation with which it’s usually associated. When given a choice between providential grace and our own mud-slung construction we are, thankfully, often gently prodded along by the Spirit. And by gently prodded I mean, grabbed by the collar and lovingly dragged in the right way.

I wonder what the next movement might sound like… something with a bassoon solo perhaps?

a cacophanous orchestral

You see, I’m convinced that idolatry is not merely an attempt to seek justification elsewhere, requiring immediate repentance and belief.  That’s theologically satisfying, perhaps, but psychologically simplistic.  No, I’m convinced we need to listen underneath, to give voice to those parts of us that crave and ultimately enslave.  So, I’ve often told my clients to do this:  Take a pen, and give a voice to that idol or that part of you, for example, that finds security through money.  What’s it saying?  Is a part of what it is saying legitimate?  (I suspect some of it is, because normally our idols are perversions of things that God created good).

If so, do something else (…and this part will really make you think I’m a nut).  Write or speak back to that part of you.  Thank it for desiring something good, and ask if it would be willing to let go of some of its power (repentance), to play its instrument a little lower and in tune with the rest of the orchestra, or perhaps even a little louder and in greater harmony if need be.  Tell it to re-focus its eyes on the Conductor, who wants it to join in the chorus of faith, hope, and love, of an un-divided heart, of shalom.

Dr. Chuck DeGroat

What are my idols saying right now?

• you’re not good enough to hold your relationships together
• someone will find out that you don’t work hard enough
• you don’t/can’t love enough
• it doesn’t matter what you do, you’ll screw it up
• run away
• do whatever it takes to keep the peace

I don’t know whether these are multiple idol voices or simply one multitonality singing its own harmonies. Whichever the case, I find it tragically ironic that the points in life where one finds the clearest expression of who one is are often those times when the cacophanous orchestral reaches a crescendo. I’m not sure why this happens. Perhaps because those areas in which we excel are often those which are the areas of greatest weakness as well. What then are the voices saying? What is it, which Chuck has said, that is legitimate and what is straight up the lie spoken to my heart by worthless idols?

Legitimate:

• things worthwhile in life take hard, dedicated work
• I, as a sinful human being, am incapable of holding all things together
• peace is a good thing

Illegitimate:

• I can successfully run away from my problems
• I am a failure at those things which desire most
• I do not have what it takes to be the man I’m supposed to be
• I can control my life

God help me

thoughts that come in the middle of the night

One of the great things about having a little baby is that you don’t get much uninterrupted sleep. Yeah, that may seem to be a downside to the whole baby thing, but I try to view it as a positive: it gives me more time to think.

Last night, or should I say early this morning, I had a fair amount of time to think, as Nolan decided to have wicked bad gas. I had fed him at 3:30, early enough as it is, and he woke himself up an hour and a half later with wicked gas. After Becky got up and fed him, to see if that might “move things along,” she headed back to bed and I decided to stay up to make sure that he didn’t wake her up again.

In between bouts of nodding off with mini-me in my arms I got to think. I got to pray. i got to do all the ‘spiritual’ type things that I want to do during the day but somehow find an excuse to put off for more ‘important’ things. At one point I woke up with this Drive-By Truckers song in my head. It’s an anti-war song from the vantage point of a soldier. A gutsy move, yes, by the band, but more than that, it got me to thinking about how, in a broken, fallen, and complex world, everything that we do is riddled with uncertainty. There is not one second of any day in which we don’t feel the tension between the poles of sure:not-sure.

The ultimate end of such uncertainty is death. If one does not find ways to deal with the tension then it will in the end consume them. You see, uncertainty breeds fear, fear breeds despair, and the logical end of despair is death. Without hope that there is an answer to the tension we give up. It doesn’t matter how large or small the perceived issue is, if left to wallow it will, like the black hole in the new Star Trek movie I saw yesterday, consume everything around it. When one reaches the event horizon of despair the only answer is death.

If that seems to be a rather morbid thought to have while holding my boy in the new morning light, with is soft breath gently gliding over my arm, and his arms wrapped around my chest, then I guess you’ll have to get to know me a little better. Those kinds of thoughts are never far from the front of my mind. Sin has corrupted everything and, apart from the good news of the world’s renewal brought about by Jesus, there is no answer. “I am making all things new”

Our world is drowning in despair and we have the only answer. Thinking about being a pastor to a world of death is frightening, but I’ve got to keep it on my mind. To forget the pain is to enter into the happy Christian bubble. To forget the hope is to become like those I am trying to help. Faithfulness is a fine line.