coffee talk

I like Panera Bread.

The music isn't as loud or nearly as terrible as it is at Starbucks.

The breakfast is good, and typically I can get a few things done while sipping back some hazelnut coffee and siphoning wi-fi.

I can pretty well be left alone.

This morning, while trying to catch up on my daily caffeine quota, I overheard two elderly ladies talking from the across the room. When I first noticed it, I tuned it out like I tend to do most things.

I continued working on employment applications and that brochure I have to get finished for Jim.

Before I noticed it, I was staring at my yellow coffee mug...listening to their conversation. I was captivated by their stories of old: jobs their parents wouldn't let them have when supermarkets were new, jobs they did get to have that they hated, and boy troubles.

I couldn't stop listening.

Granted, I tried not to - eavesdropping at Panera Bread is not exactly a normal activity. It's kind of creepy, even.

I pretended to be looking at my laptop, but I wasn't. I was listening to stories of days gone by, adventures planned for the week, and headaches in the night.

They spoke of their children and grandchildren.

Annoyances at the grocery store.

The snow in the backyard.

It was almost like watching a movie. A conversation so natural and mesmerizing, it almost seemed scripted.

I was waiting on the great cinematic finale to this conversation. I wondered what great axioms of knowledge would be bestowed on me.

There wasn't one.

One of them got up, went to the restroom, then they left.

And that was that.

And here I sit, sipping coffee from my yellow mug with a sad, Spanish guitar soundtrack. Fitting. My old friends that I never met are now gone.

Best conversation I've had in months.

what's new?

Well, if those who are “experts” in the study of Mayan culture and calendars are right, this may well be the year the world sees its end. I’m not sure about all of that, but my world is certainly going to be different.

The ushering in of 2012 represents a boatload of change for me.

Prior to leaving, a few of the people close to me remarked that it was amazing that I could just pick up, move away, and start all over – not knowing anyone or much of anything about the place I’m going.

I’m hardly the first. People do it all the time.

It’s not the first time for me, either.

I think it’s my fourth.

It’s never easy to leave the ones I love and the places I’m comfortable. These things don’t always play out like I imagine them – sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.

My 31 years have been littered with missed opportunities and goofy decisions, with failures of all kinds against backdrops of both arrogance and insecurity. I’ve been seduced by the enemy into believing that the forbidden fruit in my hands was indeed too good to pass up. Those are the moments that didn’t quite measure up to the heroic man of God I aspire to be.

My 31 years have also been painted, in majestic fashion, by the hand of a God who loves me.

That statement alone gives my rational side a migraine. God had no reason to love me, yet that doesn’t stop Him.

I think about my mom’s two little dogs – rescue dogs – who love the one that loves them. They still pee on the carpet sometimes, but they are loved all the same.

I was rescued. Adopted. Because a God who had no reason to love me or look my direction chose to pick me up and hold me.

Yeah, I still pee on the carpet and chew on the furniture, but I am loved all the same - and I love the one who loves me. Even when he has to swat me.

I’ve been allowed to take part in so many ministry opportunities and to have conversations and relationships that I could never deserve, expect, or arrange. I look back at situations in life and chuckle, because I could be real proud of some of the good things I’ve done, but I know inside that they had nothing to do with me. It was just a matter of doing what was laid in front of me to do.

In all of my failing, I  have learned the danger of judgment. I’ve been on both edges of that sword. I’ve wielded the wounding blade of arrogant legalism, and I’ve been run through by it.

Grace is so much the better option.

I guess Jesus knew what He was doing.

I’ve said this before recently, but it’s so true for all of us on either side.

God’s mercies are new daily. I want yours to be. Why shouldn’t mine be?

Jesus said every day is a new commitment. A fresh start. Shouldn’t I give you the same benefit? I certainly want you to give me a new chance.

Human nature, though, is a crazy thing.

I justify all day long a thousand reasons to hold a grudge.

I could give you a million reasons to keep to keep talking about me when I’m not around. Lord knows I could fuel THAT fire forever.

For those of you who know me personally, you know that I’m not the world’s most humble person, so it might come as a surprise to you that the mere fact that I have been called to Colorado to continue serving Christ is deeply humbling to me at my core – especially given the timing.

My pride (and common sense) tell me that I simply don’t deserve to be used anymore.

My Redeemer tells me that He’s not only not done with me yet, He’s just getting started.

It’s all crazy to me.

Grace is a weird, offensive, counter-intuitive anomaly to the way my little brain works.

Like Moses or Jeremiah, I could argue with God all day long about why I’m not qualified.

Been there, done that.

No more.

The sun rises every day and the risen Son gives me new life every day.

The metamorphosis of the passing landscape on the trip here is indicative of the changing landscape of life from start to finish.

I’m beyond thrilled about what lies ahead of me, and I am reflective – with varying conclusions – on the days that lie behind me. I’m going to side with Paul on leaving the past where it belongs.

Minute by minute, you and I are given fresh opportunities to be faithful and, as a result, pleasing to God.

When I woke up this morning, I had a new perspective.

New day.

New commitment.

New mercies.

Happy new year, everyone.

What’s new with you?

the silence after

I like to watch movies. As aforementioned elsewhere on this blog, Netflix has been a huge time-waste of mine that I thoroughly enjoy.

I and a good friend of mine routinely would watch movies and critique (and criticize) the plot development of many of the films we watched. Sometimes, there are inexplicable gaps in plot sequencing. Other times, filmmakers include far too much minutia, as if his/her audience is absolutely incapable of arriving at certain conclusions on their own.

Every so often, though, in a movie (or TV show, book, or magazine article), there are scenes or lines that completely capture my attention and send me into a mental rabbit chase.

Since I was a child, I've had a very vivid imagination - so these mental digressions are not all that rare. I'll envision in my head and play out what might be taking place between two minor characters or "finish" a scene in my head that isn't on the screen.

Recently, during a Christmas season sermon out of Luke 1, I had a similar experience. The pastor was delivering riveting sermon about Mary's early encounter with the angel.

After a good deal of justifiable vexation at the task before her and after she suggested to the angel that perhaps she wasn't the one that was cut out for all of this, she finally says these beautiful words (my paraphrase):

"Behold, the Lord's servant, may it come to pass as you have said."*

She humbly accepted what she had been chosen to do and was now being called to carry out. Her response is one of submission to God's will, despite her being perplexed - and no doubt apprehensive.

But these details and the rest of the sermon were lost on me because of the final phrase of Luke 1:38:

And then the angel departed from her.

I spent the rest of the day thinking about those words.

I wonder what myriad thoughts were racing through Mary's mind in those moments.

Did that just happen?

Was that a dream?

Wait, you want me to do...what?

Have you ever had an experience like that? No, not where an angel of the Lord appears to you and announces to you that you, as a virgin, are going to carry the flesh and blood Son of God.

But have you ever heard the voice of the Lord so doubtlessly and clearly?

Had one of those moments where everything fell into place, and even if it didn't exactly make a ton of sense - or any sense - you were going to submit to the Lord and be obedient to that which He had called you?

And then, in the silence after, wondered...

Did I make that up?

Could this be real?

Why me?

I can't do that.

There's no telling what all was screaming through Mary's mind in those moments after her encounter with Gabriel.

I know for me, it's usually the same lot of questions. The same lot of poorly-constructed justifications to disregard what I had only moments, seconds before had heard so crisply and doubtlessly.

I wish I could tell you that I bucked up in all those situations, shook off the doubt, and painted a picture of perfect trust and obedience.

I wonder if Jesus had his moments of the same kind of mental war, like when He was in Gethsemane.

I wonder if the disciples ever looked at Jesus, like when he told him to feed the multitudes and think, How's that, now?

I wonder if Paul, while swimming away from the shipwreck or getting beaten again in some prison by some magistrate trying to shut him up and thought, That really was you on that road to Damascus, right Lord?

Moses argued with God about his qualification.

Jeremiah, too.

We aren't alone when we hear God and, moments later, try to pretend we didn't.

God calls us to hard tasks.

Trust Him.

Then, like Nike said all those years: Just do it.

Trusting Him fully, even when what He's asking seems absurd, is the only way to respond correctly.

Our human reasoning, feeble and selfish as it is, will lead us down a thousand different roads that wind up in one place: disobedience.

You want to see God work? Obey in the calling He has on your life, whatever that is - whether it be a specific task or a lifelong career, a single conversation or a lifetime of change.

The author of Hebrews said it this way, "And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him."

A million different voices creep into the silence after a genuine encounter with God, and they all come from one place.

"Resist the devil, therefore, and he will flee from you."


Father, give us the guts to trust You and trust Your word that this is true. Give us the guts to, in real faith in You (not manufactured 'faith' that we stamp on selfish decisions), be bold and courageous when we are afraid and when we doubt. Heal the place inside of me that turns everywhere else but to You in those moments. Do great things in me, because I know that I am unworthy of the slightest bit of Your attention, but because of your exceeding love, I am called a friend of You and a son and that I am more than a conqueror. Please give me the guts to hang onto those words and to trust in Your unfathomably deep power. Amen.

mind numbing

I've been a professing Christian since I was eight years old. I knew very little about Jesus at that time, I had very little doctrinal training, I hadn't even read very much of the Bible.

But in a few moments that changed my life, my dad explained to me that I needed Jesus. He also explained to me what Jesus had done so that I could have what I desperately needed.

In many ways, my little eight-year-old mind grasped it.

In other ways, it very much didn't. But on that day in 1988, my life started. My journey with Christ began.

Now, at 31, I sometimes scoff at the "decisions" of small children to come to Christ.

They don't get it, I think to myself. Sometimes I say it out loud.

My lack of grasp is mind-numbing. I find myself in the shoes of the disciples in Mark 10, who were trying to prevent the children from getting to Jesus. Apparently, they thought Jesus had better things to do.

Maybe they thought he should be teaching systematic theology or attending a finance meeting.

Jesus, however, thought otherwise. He became "indignant" with his disciples (those who were supposed to know him best, mind you) and said to them, "Let the children come! ...the Kingdom belongs to such as these."

What?

The kingdom?

THE kingdom.

To children.

And "such as these."

Skip to Matthew 18. My 31-year-old self is told that my 8-year-old self who longed for company with Jesus might have had it more right.

Then Jesus drops one of those ultra-heavy nuggets that probably screeched all goings-on to a complete standstill.

Get this. Matthew records Jesus as saying "but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a millstone tied around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea."

Whoa.

Millstones are heavy.

Jesus was heavy.

Don't mess with children. They get it. You don't. Be like them.

In today's day and age, I think about the news and scandals that are all over, most currently in the world of sports.

I think about child molesters and sex offenders - predators of helpless children.

I wonder what Jesus would say to them.

I really do.

I know what I'd say. I know what most of you would say.
And do.

We'd happily help tie the millstone.

Would Jesus?

Keep in mind, Jesus wasn't calling for the death penalty here. He said death would be better for those that caused little ones to stumble.

Better than what?

The guilt? The divine judgement on the other side?

Yes, I know Jesus was not talking about sex offenders here, but he did feel very strongly about the spiritual safety of these children.

I wonder if he felt as strongly about their physical welfare. I can only imagine he did. Most people, whether they believe in Jesus or not, seem to agree.

You don't do that. It's not OK.

It's sick.

It's evil.

And in our minds, it deserves punishment.

Maybe in God's mind, too.

And we can make a thousand well-constructed arguments to support that assumption. And so we all start picking up our stones.

And warming up our pitching arm.

Ready or not...

But wait...

Remember that lady in John that all the religious guys threw in the dirt in front of Jesus and started calling for death because of her sin?

Remember what Jesus said to them?

He didn't argue with them that she deserved death according to the law. He just didn't.

In fact, he seemed to agree.

His response was simply, "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone."

He didn't say, "...the one who has never committed this particular sin."

He said he who is without sin.

Oh.

Maybe I should set my rock back down and think just a minute.

Turns out, I don't qualify. Romans 3:23 indicts me, as does a cursory review of life.

But... I've never done that.

I mean, that's sick.

Guess what?

Jesus came for the sick.

I was sick once. You were, too. Maybe we still are.

Jesus came for us, not because we were healthy, but so that we could be.

The legal system will punish Jerry Sandusky if he is found guilty. Dodd, too. Fine. I'm not here to argue penal codes and the American justice system.

In fact, those that commit these acts should be punished legally and will one day have to answer to God Almighty. Who they won't have to answer to: you and me.

I am not turning a blind eye to lives ravaged by abuse. We, Christians, must reach out to them, too. And take them in and be the channels of healing and love and recovery. They are precious children and, left alone, may be lives essentially ruined.

What I am talking about is how we as Christians portray the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Child molestation is not ok. It IS sick. It IS evil. But Christ is bigger than sin and sickness and evil.

His death on the cross and his resurrection ended that battle forever.

How do we partake?

We know that we were wretched sinners and that we needed Christ's sacrifice to bear the brunt of God's wrath. The millstone around the neck. We give ourselves in total humility knowing we could never, ever, ever make atonement for our own sins.

When I treat a child as if their conversion doesn't count but mine does because I'm somehow more educated than them, I lose the heart of the gospel.

When I treat Jerry Sandusky (or anybody else) as though I need Christ ONE IOTA less than he does, I lose the heart of the gospel.

But when any of us, in childlike faith and dependence, fall at the feet of Jesus and give ourselves totally to Him as a response to his sweet offer of otherwise-totally-unavailable redemption, I am nearer a complete understanding than that of a thousand scholars.

Mind numbing.

...to boldly go...

You know how some things just sneak up on you?

Like a deadline...or a birthday.

Tax season, maybe.

The past several weeks have been fairly hectic - packing, cleaning, moving, saying good-byes, traveling for Thanksgiving...

...when all of a sudden, I realized I had become a Trekkie.

Stupid Netflix.

Why do you have to be so convenient?

Needless to say, my phasers are set to "stunned."

OK, so I'm confessing (but there is a point - keep reading) to you that I am 31 years old and have just now become enthralled by space - the final frontier. It's sort of strange and completely comical.

I am too young to remember the original Star Trek series, though I do recall watching a few of the movies when I was very young.

(Note: I have since re-watched them. They're still mostly bad.)

The Next Generation is the series I am most familiar with. Starting in 1987, this series was the one on TV during much of my childhood and adolescence. While I wasn't very "into" Star Trek during that time, I did watch it occasionally. I've now seen every episode, all four TNG movies, most of the original series, the 2009 re-boot 316 times...

Without spelling out for you exactly HOW MUCH time I have "spent" watching Star Trek in the past few months, I can tell that it's been a little (ha) too much.

There's something about media that moves me, though. I am moved by acting (even really bad acting, such as sometimes exists in Star Trek) and by the drama, the soundtrack, the heightened senses.

Good storylines, strong plot twists, and deep characters can trump poor acting (and subpar special effects).

In the series The Next Generation, a member of Captain Picard's senior staff is an android named Data. This particular android is a sentient being, able to learn and develop as an android.

In what were often contradictory plot elements, Data was often without his removable "emotion" chip, yet often spoke of desires and aspirations. A goal of his was to be as completely human as he, being an android, could be.

This particular ambition of Data's was one of the show's more well-developed themes over the years which finally culminated in the final movie made by the The Next Generation crew - Star Trek: Nemesis.

Early in the movie, Data - who is fiercely and unflappably loyal - attempts to use a one-man transport device to "beam" Captain Picard out of danger. Picard, realizing Data would be left behind, assures Data that they "will find a way out together," which they promptly do.

Toward the climax, with his clone dead and time running out to shut down the Thaleron radiation weapon, a weaponless, entranced Picard stares at the cataclysmic weapon about to be unleashed.

Enter Data (watch the movie), who walks up, looks Picard in the eye, and tags him with the aforementioned one-man transport device.

Picard is gone, beamed away to safety aboard the Enterprise.

Data says to no one, "Good-bye."

Sacrificing himself, he aims his phaser at the radiation weapon (now, of course, in its final five seconds) and lets rip, demolishing the ship, the weapon, and his little android self.

Why am I telling you this? You probably aren't even reading any more.

Jesus said in John 15:13 that a man cannot possess a greater love than that which ultimately leads him to lay down his life for his friends.

Data's quest to be as human as he could be was complete. It was more than a duty as an officer - he expressly disobeyed orders to helm the Enterprise while Picard destroyed the weapon. Instead, he immediately handed over command to Counselor Troi and rushed off to the rescue.

There was never any question in Data's android mind what he was going to do. Captain Picard was his friend, and he was not going to let him die out there.

Granted, Data and Captain Picard are just fictional characters.

But Jesus wasn't. And Jesus wasn't full of hot air. He Himself laid down his life for those he called "friend."

You aren't fiction, and neither are the people around you.

I think at some level, we all say we would lay down our lives for our friend, our wives, our kids, some cause....

Would you?

Do you?

Is your life more important to you than those around you?

Sure, we can all envision ourselves being the hero if something tragic and highly dramatic were happening (bank robbery, burglar, hand grenade on the ground).

I think most of us would end up hiding behind a counter or running away.

I know that because I watch us live our daily lives.

Too scared to confront clear wrong at work.

Putting our own lives/interests/schedules/conveniences ahead of our wives/husbands/kids/friends/etc.

Letting filth and crap exist in our lives and relationships because we're too afraid to deal with it, too afraid of the consequences.

Afraid of a little discomfort.

Afraid to lay yourself down for those around you.

Not just when there's a bomb threat.

But every day.

And there are those who seem like those who are unselfish and will give and give and put everyone else first, but deep inside they want the recognition and the satisfaction of human approval and admiration. Guess what? That's a me-first way of thinking.

For Jesus, his sacrifice was ultimately for the glory of the Father.

For the disciples, their sacrifices were ultimately for the glory of Christ.

They had nothing at stake for themselves.

Take five minutes and list everyone around you with whom, by your own estimation, you are close. Could be friends, brothers, spouse, anyone. Your list might have 3 people. It might have 30. That's OK. No one is seeing this but you, so be honest.

Got your list?

Spend a few minutes thinking about each one of those people and ask yourself this question:

Is this person more important to me than I am to myself?

Be honest with yourself.

If you journal, journal your thoughts about each.

Boldly go into the depths of your relationships. Be the catalyst for change. Why are you "close" with the ones you listed? Do you benefit from the relationship?

Does that person benefit from the relationship? Do you strive to make sure you give as much or more as your receive?

Think about it.

For whom are you laying down your life?

Sadly, the answer for too many is, "no one."