RIghteousness Flows

I’ve been considering the topic of righteousness lately. It is one of those words that doesn’t really register with meaning in my brain. The first image I associate with the word is of an old surfer drawling “RIGHTeoussss!” as an exclamation of approval. The second is of a Puritan preacher in a wig hunting for old-fashioned words at random to fill his homily the next morning. Righteous sounds good, yes? Rightness. Right standing before God. Right action. Who doesn’t like being right?

Maybe the word doesn’t resonate because the stuff is in such short supply. Or maybe it feels too unattainable. What does righteousness have to do with being a human on planet earth? Nice idea for theologians and philosophers. Put it on the top shelf for the philosophers and moralists. It doesn’t ring a bell down here. I imagine an advertising group discussing how to sell a product as “the righteous choice.”

Here’s another layer. A Christian stumbles on the word and catches a whiff of its importance and decides to live a righteous life (whatever that means). Fail. Then he decides this life needs more definition, so he decides to do some specific stuff. He picks a few low-hanging fruit. He starts going to church, volunteers at the food pantry, gives money to a homeless guy, and tries to clean up his life while silently judging those less committed than him. Epic fail.

Finally, he learns that righteousness is imputed, or given by God. What was he thinking, forcing his way into legalistic righteousness? So he listens to some sermons and reads some books about Jesus’ righteousness on our behalf. Our Christian begins to breathe easy. Righteousness is from GOD. He begins to enjoy thinking of himself this way. He is holy because Jesus was holy. He is righteous because Jesus is righteous. He relaxes. This brings joy and a deep sense of peace. Of course, he would still love to behave righteously in a perfect world, and he feels he is growing, but he is trying to come out of law-thinking and embrace the grace life. He is glad God accepts him where he is on his journey. He is learning to accept himself there as well.

One sunny day, he notices his joy is waning. The thrill of imputed righteousness doesn’t quite cut it anymore. God is there, yes. Our Christian knows he is loved and accepted. But his conscience still bothers him. Some of his recent actions don’t seem quite like the Jesus he wants to become. He is forgiven and accepted on his journey exactly where he is... so why do his actions still bother him?

That old prophet Amos said this:
But let justice roll down like waters,
  and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. (Amos 5:24)

Righteousness flows. That’s an amazing thing to think about. Imagine righteousness not as a philosophical virtue, but as a flowing stream—an energetic substance in constant motion, always going from one place to another. A river has never stopped to consider its next move. The moment it does, it stops being a river. We think of practical, lived righteousness as an Old Testament concept. Imputed righteousness is the latest craze: a stamp of God’s approval flowing from the New Covenant grace of Jesus and completely divorced from what my actions—whether good or bad—actually are. This is Paul’s new righteousness, one that “appears” apart from works of the law and is simply “received” by faith. So why do we still live in unrighteousness and internal turmoil? Should we kill our bothersome conscience along with the old man?

Let’s say this: the writers of scripture don’t talk about two kinds of righteousness. Theologians talk about imputed or practical righteousness to help us understand two facets of the same thing, but the reality is ALL righteousness is given. It flows freely from its headwaters in God himself. How silly to think righteousness could ever start in the broken cistern of my humanity! Nevertheless, God expects righteousness from us. Isaiah said God was “appalled” that there was no one working alongside him in his righteous cause. He was surprised that humans were so universally wicked. Didn’t He make them in His image? Of course sin messed it all up, but they were still “made a little lower than the angels and crowned with glory and honor.” Had they so quickly forgotten how to partner with that energetic flow of God’s righteousness on the earth? All the prophets in the Old Testament record God’s dismay at the unrighteousness of His people. This isn’t right! People should be righteous! They ought to do better. There is no excuse given that our nature still bears God’s image.

But seeing how dire the situation was, God made a choice to not just put on a body but to really become a human being. He demonstrated righteousness like a physical therapist teaching you to walk again, or a coach teaching you to play ball. See? It’s easy. Just do this, then this, then that. Now you try it. Got it? No?

This is where he tells his disciples they better display a righteousness that looked and smelled better than the play-acting righteous façade of the Pharisees. My pastor preached yesterday that when Jesus said that, he meant practical righteousness, not Pauline imputed righteousness. I’m arguing here that it is all the same stuff.

I say that because even John the Beloved writes,

“Dear children, do not let anyone lead you astray. The one who does what is right is righteous, just as he is righteous.”

All righteousness is practical. There has never been impractical righteousness. It’s not a filler word for a sermon. It is love in action, justice in motion, a flowing river of grace that manifests itself in a thousand forms through people who know they are bought with a price and no longer have the right to choose their daily action.

I don’t have the right to tell God “no thanks, I think I’ll live for pleasure today. Thanks in advance for your grace.” I’m dead with Jesus in the grave, new with him in resurrected life, expressing my radical freedom in my total slavery to him. Does this old bag of bones have any hope of actually doing the right thing today? Heck yeah. God lives inside here and all things are possible with God. Oh Lord, let your righteousness roll right through me like an ever-flowing, never-stopping stream today!

Here is where I get tripped up so easily. I wake up in the morning, already feeling condemned just because I’m tired, drank too much last night, had a weird dream, and am just not feeling it. But I know I have to get to this place of doing some good in the world, so I start planning. Some part of me feels righteousness would be easier if I could plan it out in advance. At 12:30, I’ll find a homeless person and buy him a hot dog. Check. At 3 p.m., I’ll give a listening ear to a friend and offer to pray for him. Check. At 4 p.m. I’ll keep my cool when I trip over my son’s shoes on the laundry room floor again even though we’ve had this conversation a million times, and patiently instruct him for his own good and not because I’m pissed. Check, check. Woo! Righteousness unlocked!

We both know it doesn’t work that way. Righteousness is a flowing relational process. It requires maintained relational proximity (this part IS a choice) to the source of righteousness, because just as quickly as water finds the lowest ground to flow through, that is how quickly we must choose to do the right thing. Righteousness happens in a split-second choice. Left or right? Decide now or the choice will be gone and you’ll be on to the next thing. Dam up righteousness and it becomes a stagnant pool of entitlement. Let it flow. It wants to work, to water the world and create life.

Practically, what am I suggesting you do?

1. Change your categories. Stop thinking of righteousness as either lived or given. It is both.

2. Stop thinking you’ll never do the right thing. Look in the mirror! God in you. He’s willing and working in you to do the stuff that makes him proud. “Righteoussss!”

3. Lose your mind. Lose your will. And lose your life again today. I don’t care if you did it last night. Surrender again for what Paul calls the “surpassing value” of knowing Christ.

4. Come back to the present. The time to choose a right action isn’t after you finish this cup of coffee. It is NOW. Either it is the cup of coffee, or you are using the coffee to delay what you know you must do. Every moment has value and purpose. Begin asking God what this moment is for.

5. Just do it. Don’t do it because you think you’re so hot. Do it for the right reason—but do it nevertheless. We are saved by grace but judged for what we do. Our actions display our hearts. So why not train ourselves for righteousness through the constant use of it? Sure, it won’t always feel easy. But I’d rather be trained like a dog than sit around like a king who has no earthly clue.

If I decide to enjoy the positional blessings of the Christian life without the actions of the Christian life, I should be pitied as Paul says, “above all people.” If it is all justification without resurrection power, then poor me indeed! If I choose not to really go along with God in my lifestyle choices, I might not lose my spot in heaven, but I’ll certainly lose everything else! 

In his letter to Ephesus, Paul reminds children that obeying their parents is actually for their good—that they might enjoy long life in the land. If obedience to human parents causes kids to flourish, then what would happen if I always obeyed my heavenly Father who actually has my greatest good in mind at all times? Would my life feel like a bummer, full of self-flagellating sacrifice, letting everyone walk over me like a rug? Or would I find the most delightful and divine peace and enjoyment, knowing whose I am?

As the Father Has Loved

 Last week was just one of those weeks. A backpacking weekend with men from church was providing some much-needed restoration as we rested and connected next to North Georgia’s beautiful Jack River. Around 11 p.m. on the final night, we were all saying goodnight when one guy said, “Hey guys, my phone is forecasting 3 inches of rain at 5 a.m. tomorrow morning.” We took a look at the rushing river 20 feet from us and the canyon walls around us and made a quick decision to hike through the night. We packed up, and I fell into bed at home at 7 a.m. Sunday morning.

Our midnight hike past Jack River Falls

On Monday, Juniper and I flew to Washington, D.C. for the fun trip we gave her for Christmas. Washington is wonderful but also exhausting. We arrived at Dulles Airport on Wednesday to discover our plane had been pulled into security to investigate a strange beeping sound! Five hours later, we boarded the plane and taxied to the front of the runway—when the FAA grounded us, since the crew had been on duty too long. Thankfully, a young family we had been chatting with through the ordeal invited us to their home, where Juniper and I slept in the playroom after a late dinner and were up again at 5 a.m. the next morning.

I came home Thursday, and Levi was so excited to see us. Debra and Annabel had just left for a weekend college visit, and Levi had been home with Debra’s parents on call, feeling bored. That afternoon, he asked Juniper to watch the front flip he had been working on on our trampoline. As he dove headfirst into his flip, he rotated his hands and fell hard on them. I was making dinner just 20 feet away and heard the blood-curdling scream, thinking at first that he was playing around with his sister. By the second scream, I knew he was injured. I opened the sliding door to see Levi looking terrified, his forearms looking like they had developed an extra elbow. “Get in the car right now,” I barked, my brain switching to emergency triage mode.

I drove fast, my heart aching, my mind calculating what I would do if the police tried to pull me over. We got to Piedmont Hospital and, thankfully, were called back quickly. Levi was given morphine and finally relaxed. X-rays showed a clean break of the radius and ulna on both forearms. The right arm was worse, and a dark red spot under the arm showed where the bone almost came through. 

We were then sent to drive one hour through an appropriately dramatic lightning storm to Scottish Rite Children’s Hospital. A team of doctors worked, with little success, to get an IV into Levi’s foot. That was perhaps the most painful part to watch. Then I was graciously kicked out of the room while another team tried, again with little success, to reset the bones. After an hour, I was called back, and the doctor was visibly upset with himself for not being able to reset the bones properly. Nevertheless, they put him in a cast with instructions to follow up with the orthopedic surgeon after the swelling had gone down. The latest news is that the surgeon wants to operate on both arms, temporarily inserting a long rod to scaffold the healing process. This will put him in two long casts for three weeks, followed by another few weeks in a short cast or splint. If all goes well, he will be swimming in time for our family vacation in June!

For the last week, a new normal has emerged in our family. I’ve been home as Levi’s constant companion, helping him eat, bathe, and use the bathroom. Respecting the privacy of a 13-year-old boy while changing his underwear has been an interesting puzzle to solve. My work has given me space to figure out how much I can do, even from home. Levi’s little private school gave him the week off and even helped organize a meal train for us. I was supposed to be in Kathmandu in 12 days, but I’ve had to cancel that. After an intense year of globe-trotting and ministry growth, my world just got a lot smaller. For the next six weeks, Levi’s ability to both heal and finish school will be my main focus.

In the midst of bubble baths and playing phone tag with the surgeon, I remember that yesterday was Good Friday, a day that Christians worldwide celebrate the death of Jesus to reconcile humanity to God. The Father watched as the body of His Son was beaten and crushed under the weight of human cruelty. In the old days, when something terrible happened, you would cry out and tear your robes. When Jesus died, the earth shook, the sky turned black, and the massive curtain separating the temple’s “Most Holy Place” from the rest of the world was torn in two. I suppose the darkness, quaking, and tearing show us a picture of God’s emotion and empathy—having to watch the destruction of the person He loved most.

The day Levi was born, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride. To me, he was perfect. I imagined the bond we might share for many years to come. The next 13 years would invest countless memories into the substance of that bond: the toddler years, the big asthma attack when I was in Ethiopia, the first day of kindergarten, endless fights and reconnections with his little sister, that epic camping trip to the Tetons, and the road trip around Lake Superior... all of it reinforces the growing friendship between me and my son.

If you’ve had those experiences with a child and then had to see their body broken, their brain flooded with pain you can’t fix, or their eyes filled with panic you can’t comfort, you know the feeling in your chest that your heart might physically tear in half. Your stomach becomes a knot of iron, your mind races in a thousand directions while a single thought captures your attention: You’ll do absolutely anything to help this child, and you are willing to destroy anyone who stands in your way. It is a wrathful sort of compassion.

So I can only imagine the Father’s emotions. My son isn’t perfect. He is flawed like all of us. But when I look at him, he seems perfect—just like the day I first met him and felt that profound pride. But Jesus literally was and is perfect. How much can a limitless God love a truly perfect Son? I wonder how, then, this God could stand by while His perfect boy was crushed beneath the weight of other people’s sin—marred beyond recognition—to restore our godlike image. If I were God, I would have scorched the earth, sent in the tanks, dropped the bombs, scooped my son into my arms, and held him close. But Jesus chose this path of brokenness. He chose it not once, but over and over again: before the Incarnation, in the wilderness, on the road with the disciples, at the Last Supper, and in the Garden of Gethsemane. The Son resolutely chose this path. So the Father also chose the path of standing by helplessly. Why? Because both Father, Son, and Holy Spirit wanted the prodigal race of humanity to be restored to their place of dignity, humanity, and connectedness to God. The whole Godhead endured pain that day. And while the Father’s full battalion of warriors awaited Jesus’ command, He kept going, kept enduring, and finally cried out, “Father, forgive them.”

It wasn’t like sin was so impressive that it could triumph over God. Rather, His love was so impressive that He willingly endured the trauma of sin and then overcame it through resurrection. My friend Paul shared his reflection about it with me yesterday. As he reflected on Christ’s suffering, an impression emerged in his mind: “Paul, your sin did not do this TO me; rather, My love did this FOR you.” Sometimes I imagine my sin somehow got the better of Jesus—victimized Him against His will. But rather than being impressed by the power of my sin, I’m feeling more amazed at the endurance of His love.

Here is another layer from John 15. Jesus says, “As the Father has loved me, I have loved you.” That little word “as” is a common word for Jesus. It starts a simile and refers to an exact comparison, a mirrored reality. “As” can mean “same in measure, quantity, quality, and substance.” Jesus doesn’t say He loves you like the Father loves you. That would leave some ambiguity about the strength of the love being offered. Rather, Jesus loves you as the Father loves Him. If you don’t think you deserve to be loved by God, know that you are lovable simply because Jesus loves you, and you are worthy because He made you. This love isn’t exhausted, distracted, reserved, or conditional. It is the kind of love a perfect Father would feel for a perfect Son. That is His love for you.

One final amazing thing: Jesus commands His disciples to love one another in exactly the same manner, measure, and quality with which He loved them. That means, exactly as the Father loves Jesus, we are to love other humans. In fact, this is the essence of His “command”: to love others as the Father loved Him and He loved me. That means nurturing an internal greenhouse of positive regard toward others and an eager willingness to work for their good. In some ways, it is easier to remember that one command than to memorize lists of rules. But in another way, that one simple command reveals my heart and shows me how little I understand the love of the Father. I wonder what it would be like to see my neighbor when I’m out for a walk and, instead of feeling scared that they are judging me, feel an upsurge of focused compassion—gladness to be with them and passion for their well-being. I wonder how it would feel if my anger against my enemies was replaced by a hatred for everything that stands in the way of their blessing and belovedness. How would it be if the emotions I’ve felt toward my son were the same emotions I felt toward those who annoy, intimidate, or overwhelm me?

I look inside my heart, and that reality still feels like an alien planet. But much of why it still feels so foreign is because judgment still festers in my heart, choking out the little love seedlings Jesus keeps planting. It isn’t Jesus’ fault. His love is whole. His command is, “Now, remain in my love.” But daily, I go looking for peace, absolution, and justice outside His heart. What if His love overwhelmed me daily? How would that change my capacity to both receive and give that Father-to-Son love that is so rich and so compelling?

Should You "Picture" Jesus?

The following excerpt from my book, Spirit Led Discipleship: Intimacy and Identity in the Training of the Twelve, is an introduction to the practice of interacting with God through mental pictures. For more on this subject and the art of developing a growing relationship of intimacy with God through interactive connection, please pick up a copy of the book from Amazon. Enjoy!

As I have gone on the journey of getting to know Jesus, I have fallen in love with him again and again. I just love His personality. I love the stuff He does. I love the way His voice sounds, the way He does miracles, and the way He destroys demonic strongholds. I’ve been shocked by His tenderness, attentiveness, and compassion. He loves each person individually and He longs to be loved in return. He is so different from the God I grew up hearing about who stands at a distance and only speaks in old English. The God I have come to know is both a warrior king and a tender lover who wants to be known by his creation. He never condemns His children. He cares for our every need. Yes, He demands obedience. But He always acts in our best interest. If such a God exists, I firmly believe it is worth doing whatever it takes to experience Him for ourselves.

One of the most helpful methods I can offer you for experiencing Jesus is to picture Him mentally. By experiencing Him through mental pictures, we can interact with Him directly and get to know Him as we would get to know a friend. Through these interactions, we can build a library of relational data points that teach us what He is like through His posture, facial expressions, wardrobe, words, and actions. By picturing Jesus, we can get a feel for what He actually is like rather than building our relationship with Him on an abstract set of principles and attributes.

This will raise objections in a world where mental imagery has become associated with self-centered fantasy and eastern meditation practices. It may even trigger warnings about the dangers of idolatry and “making images” found in Exodus. Nevertheless, the Bible is full of pictures representing God. The dreams and visions of Ezekiel, John, Daniel, and others demonstrate the willingness of God to be seen in the minds of His people in various forms. The visual representations of Jesus in the book of Revelation as lion, lamb, and Ancient of Days demonstrate that God can appear in different forms that correlate with the attributes He wishes to display in a particular context. My ability to see Him as a lamb in one moment need not hinder my ability to revere Him as a lion in the next. Finally, sanctification in the New Testament involves building a relationship with God through mental sight, leading to inner transformation (Heb 12:2, 2 Cor 3:18).

I will be careful, however, to use the language of perception and picturing rather than that of simple human imagination. Imagination plays an important role in spiritual growth. But to “imagine something” connotes conjuring the image of something which is not really there. Yet picturing or perceiving something indicates that the thing is real. You are not creating the image per se, but simply perceiving what is being revealed to you. It is possible, of course, to construct an image of Jesus based on clever guesses about His appearance. We could put words into His mouth and make Him an accessory to our self-delusion. But a conjured image of Jesus is as recognizable from the real thing as a puppet is from a real human. Ultimately this deus ex machina will not lead to any meaningful relational connection or spiritual growth.

When we “picture” or “perceive” Jesus, our minds are projecting the real activity of the Holy Spirit in a tangible form that displays His character in visible ways. If you believe God is hesitant or unwilling to be seen by His children in this way, then your efforts to see Him will be mostly contrived. If, on the other hand, you believe He is willing and eager to be seen (at least in representative forms), then your perception of Him will be based on His generosity and not on your creativity. This same principle also applies to hearing God and practicing His power. Our experiences with God are not based on our spirituality but on His ability and willingness. When we come to Him in faith, believing that He loves to be known, we will be surprised by just how willing He really is to reveal Himself to His children.

The With God

 “I am with you” seems to be a recurring theme in my life as I grapple with what it means to live well in this world as a man, a dad, a Christian, a leader, etc. The word “with” seems to be the missing skeleton key for everything I’m trying to understand and it is surprisingly missing in the books, sermons, and podcast that try to teach me how I should live. I notice it now more than ever. I keep hearing descriptions of what it means to be happy, humble, holy, free, loving, and powerful all by myself. But most people seem to silently believe this comes through some kind of boot-strapping self-actualization. God provides the narrative framework, or worse; a set of non-relational principles we can use to help ourselves.

Actually, I wonder if in fact I cannot self actualize by myself. Maybe the point is relationship. It’s like… how do I do this with God? Or more like…. how do I let him do it with me?

Sometimes I wake up from a Sunday nap and I hear the voice of Jesus say, “let’s make coffee together.” I feel a warm presence around me and I say, “sure, let’s do it!” I imagine Jesus holding the porta-filter with me as I grind the beans. Our movements are slow and deliberate. We watch together as the creamy espresso drips into the cup, we cut it with hot water, and I sip happily, feeling it warm my body and wake up my brain. It is so much more fun to do things together, to have someone to share beautiful experiences.
It is one thing to “know” that God is with me (because duh, God is everywhere). It is another to feel Him moving through my thoughts and movements, to really feel open to Him.

We have a relational gospel; a gospel of reconciliation, a gospel of intimacy. Relationship with God means becoming one with him. It’s a crazy thought. But it happens as we learn to do everything with him. This is why “gospel” means good news. Let me give a couple examples of how this works:
God seems to have impossibly high standards for people. Forget the law of Moses. Have you read the Sermon on the Mount? He literally says, “be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect.” So how does that work? The problem with the law wasn’t that it was a bad idea. The problem was people tried to keep it all by themselves. They built rules around the rules so they could feel secure that they might not break a rule and become “unclean”. 

But Jesus’ invitation is that if we do stuff with Him, we will hit the nail on the head every time. Yes practice is required. But the heart of God thrills in every earnest attempt to partner with Him. Not because he loves our effort but because he put that idea in my heart and he loves that I let the idea bear fruit in co-laborative action. David’s confidence to kill a giant wasn’t birthed by self-will or desperate desire but by the burning fire of indignation God gave him along with a certainty born of intimacy and experience that God would certainly be with him.

How do you understand God’s power to heal for instance? Why do some people experience miraculous healing while others continue to suffer? I’m no expert but my working theory is that Jesus wants a deeper relationship with people and that may give us a clue. Belief is relational and it can manifest in both suffering and breakthrough. Unbelief is non-relational but it can also manifest in the same things. What is the tension between radical acceptance of my circumstances and radical belief that God can and will do amazing things on my behalf? I’m not saying that intimacy guarantees results. But I am saying that intimacy with God shows us which way to point our attention because we know that value system of the one we love. So if I know God’s main goal is to love me and to love others through me, then I won’t spend time protecting myself from Him. Instead I’ll get curious about what He is doing because I have a good taste in my mouth about doing His will. This morning I prayed with a friend who suffered from sciatica. It wasn’t because I felt I had any healing to offer or because it was her greatest need (there were probably more pressing needs in her life) but because when she was talking, my mind wandered to God and I got curious about what he might want to do. I felt His beautiful willingness to heal not just her nerves but her heart as well. After I prayed there were tears in her eyes and she told me about some emotional challenges God had been addressing with her and a desire to go deeper with God to find healing in those areas. Healing is God’s playground: it is where he creates and recreates things for better connection to him whether it is bones, nerves, or hearts.

On the other hand, if I am not healed, He is still good. Things get in the way of our healing, but those things are never connected to God’s good heart for us. I’m convinced His desire is for healing (otherwise Heaven would be full of a bunch of really sanctified sick people) but he knows how to work with illness, suffering, and death so that even those things work in our favor. I can accept the mystery of pain, and even appreciate the good things it is doing for me only because he is with me in it. The goal of my life is not to escape pain. It is to be wherever Jesus is. That’s why Paul even wanted to know the fellowship of sharing in Christ’s sufferings. He was not a masochist. He was just a sucker for doing stuff with Jesus. I suppose that is where he felt the most meaning; the most indescribable love in the universe.

I once invited a group of Indian leaders to picture Jesus being with them right now. It was a total experiment but to my surprise, a number of people had powerful physical and emotional encounters with Jesus, describing a warm and cathartic sense of His closeness and love. One woman came up to me later that day looking radiant. She said, "you know for so many years in ministry, I have been working hard for Jesus. I never once had the idea that I could work WITH Jesus!"

I think it is good news that everything comes back to relationship with the Father. He is “With” . The world is a confusing and disorienting place. I never know how I will be treated and often I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing. Should I even be writing this right now? But when I picture the face of Jesus, and say “okay Lord, what’s up?” I get the overwhelming sense that He loves me, that he is delighted to do this with me, and the he is taking care of all the heavy complicated stuff. 

What drives me nuts about Jesus

I want to say that sometimes Jesus drives me absolutely bonkers. The more I get to know the guy the more exasperated I get. But something has shifted in me over the years. Now when I think about Jesus, I don’t just think about someone sitting in heaven waiting for me to figure things out or someone who did lots of cool things long ago. I think mainly about the guy who sits with me in my living room with that knowing look in his eye, listening to all my thoughts and feelings. I think about the wrinkles around his eyes, about the way he cryptically quotes scripture to me or pithy little phrases that carry an ocean of meaning. I think about the way he sometimes invites me to do uncomfortable things, the way he helps me examine my heart without ever condemning me, the way he sends people and circumstances into my life with a smile and a nod just to remind me that he is here. Almost every day I accidentally glance at the clock exactly at 11:11AM. When I do, Jesus just smiles and says, “I love you.”

So I guess what is driving me nuts about Jesus isn’t his judgments or his harsh demands. It isn’t his seeming distance or hesitance to act. Actually what makes me the most crazy right now is his patience with my flaws and the flaws of others. I wish Jesus would just rip the cancer out. I only have one life to live. Doesn’t he know that I really really (read: kinda sometimes) want to live fully sold out for him? Sometimes my mind is shouting, I need you to shoot straight with me Jesus! What am I missing? Hit me. I can handle it. And then Jesus says something insane like, “I’m working it all out. You are doing a good job. I will show you everything you need to know in time. Don’t be afraid.” I suppose he knows I’m trying to medicate that bit of insecurity in our relationship with something I can control (i.e.. “doing my work”). Actually I take it back. I think he just likes me too much to do anything that would hurt me. And I suppose on one level that is extremely healing to me. But the fine print is this: If I believe Jesus offers limitless grace to me, then I must believe that he is extending the same grace to others. That stings. Sometimes it is hard to forgive others. Gosh, sometimes it is hard to forgive myself. But radical grace teaches that both are possible... and required. Jesus alone gets to define your lovability. Spoiler: the outlook on that one is extremely good. But I think right now what is really eating at me isn’t just his patience, or even his grace, but his pursuit. Here, I can prove it with the bible.

After the resurrection, Jesus carefully folds his laundry (Jn 20:7), maybe takes a stroll in the garden or chats with the angels. It seems right that after paying for the sins of the world and securing the keys to death and Hades, he would enjoy a relaxed sunday morning. I would have had a mimosa. Then some of his friends show up. Mary came first. She is someone I imagine he was happy to see. After all, she stuck by his side the whole time, right up to the end. Even in death, she comes to tend to His needs. Here is what I would have said:

“Ah Mary! How good to see you. You are my one faithful disciple. Come sit with me and enjoy this beautiful day. Then let’s talk about what to do with my other unbelieving disciples. You know they really let me down. I warned them they would be tempted and look what happened. Do you know how traumatizing it was to be sweating blood while my best friends slept? But you know, I’ve been processing it a lot and I’ve decided to forgive them. In fact I’m going to give them another chance. I’m going up to Mount of Olives to pray for them. I also just want to make sure I’m in a good place emotionally. When they are ready, just let them know where they can find me. But I hope to God they work through their issues first. I’m not sure how I can trust them again otherwise. You know, I’ve been thinking about the mission I have for them. It is a really big job. And honestly I’m worried they will do the same things to others that they did to me. Please make sure they take a good long look in the mirror before they come find me. I really want this to work out.”

Thankfully, Jesus has a different response. He sends Mary ahead of him saying, “Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Without a shred of repentance from the 11 disciples, Jesus calls them His “brothers.” He goes so far as to assume that His Father is still their Father and his God is still their God. It gets better. That very night, Jesus comes to dinner. His disciples are huddled up in fear, wondering if they are next. There is no mention of remorse or a change of heart. This whole crazy week didn’t grow them. It terrified them. They were triggered, on edge, probably snapping at each other and making anxious plans to save their own skin. But Jesus literally walks through a wall to be with them. When he shows up he has one thing to say to them: “Peace be with you” (Jn 20:19). No mention of their weakness or betrayal. It doesn’t seem to matter. Instead, Jesus reiterates what he had just said. “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” Those trembling, preservation-minded disciples don’t just get a pass. They get a proclamation Peace from Jesus himself. 

The Bible says Jesus, “came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near” (Mph 2:17). This means Jesus didn’t just figure out a way to be “okay” with us. He went to the ends of the earth and walked through any wall to get to every weak and trembling heart to speak a message of Peace to us. There are no locked doors Jesus can’t go through to offer his Peace. As the angels prophesied about Jesus, “on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (Lk 2:14).

Here is the crazy part: Jesus sends the 11 disciples to offer the same unconditional Peace to others that he is offering to them. He thinks they are ready. Well, almost. The only thing they still need is the Holy Spirit. In other words, Jesus knows that when they have a relationship with him through this indwelling Presence of God, that everything will work itself out in the context of that relational connection. That drives me nuts. I suppose it betrays that bit of insecurity in me: do I really trust my simple, relational connection with Jesus to do the heavy lifting when it comes to the quality of my spiritual life? Can I really receive his Peace as an unconditional gift? Will I let him say “I forgive you” before I can even get the apology out of my mouth? If I can accept that, how would that change my internal realities? Maybe I would relax more. Maybe I would pursue people more. Maybe my relational circuits would be resilient even when people hurt me. Maybe my need for other people to “do their part” wouldn’t feel quite so urgent. If I’m honest, I suppose grace still bugs me a bit. Maybe it just doesn’t make sense to me. But the more I think about it, the more it sounds like freedom.

A Happy 5th Rebirthday!

 Today is a special day: my 5th rebirth day! 5 years ago today, I stepped into a healing experience that forever rewired my belief system about God’s availability. Since then my spiritual life has gone from a rollercoaster of mountains and valleys to a steady upward climb into His heart. Man, Jesus is way better than I ever thought. I haven’t missed a day in the last 5 years of physically sensing His presence. Just now, I closed my eyes, and felt warmth go down my head and legs as though love were a liquid substance. The voice behind me says to my mind, “I never left you. You just didn’t know that I was here.” Sometimes the words are wild and uncomfortable. But usually he just says, “I love you. Don’t be afraid.” Sometimes he just sits there, knowing me. But always, always He is there.

Now I’ve done some thinking and listening about this strange experience and I’ve realized it is not all that strange if you talk to right people. Many people have tapped into a tangible interactive friendship with a God. Once they taste it they never want to go back. But many people DO go back to the dry trudging of spiritual aloneness. They do this for a million reasons. But the reasons all boil down to an attack on our willingness to be known in this way. It honestly gets uncomfortable, life gets stressful, we believe so many lies about ourselves and God. We drift away. In the process of drifting, we assign meaning to our deserts: Maybe God is teaching us something by pulling back our ability to experience Him. I don’t think so.

Here is my 5-year assessment of what this experience is, what it means, and what it doesn’t mean...

In my layman’s definition, we experience God’s presence when through a combination of environmental factors, true knowledge, and the practice of our will, our bodies and minds experience the resonance of alignment with our spirts which are connected to Jesus. This alignment might be called surrender. I like the less militant term, “willingness”. When I become sufficiently willing for God to be there (which usually involves the significant removal of false belief systems through emotional healing), I automatically experience him. Worship, which is just the practice of intentionally appreciating God through beauty, often creates a perfect environment for God’s Presence to be felt. The assertion of true facts about God does the job too. Brother Lawrence, the 17th century Carmelite monk who first coined the term “The Practice of the Presence of God” had the simplest practice of thinking about God as often as possible. This constant meditation on the person of God brought him (and countless others) into profound and consistent ecstasies. Maybe you’ve felt it before: someone says something so true it literally gives you chills. You can feel the resonance on the word. God loves that stuff and He wants to give you a life full of it. When I speak warmly about him, I’m sometimes so moved by Him that I physically shake.

I’ve known I can have this experience for a long time. What I didn’t know is that I could intentionally apply my will through specific habits that cause me to experience God pretty any time I want. Well I guess I did know that. What I DIDN’T know is just how simple and rewarding these habits could be. Let me give you a couple examples of easiest exercises that take almost no time but now consistently yield results.

*Taking a deep breath and imagining I am breathing in God.

*Picturing Jesus sitting across from me and sometimes seeing something in His hands for me or just watching how He interacts with me.

*Saying true things like, “I know I can’t get to you in my power, but I bet you would love to be here with me right now. You love me. Your power is perfect in my weakness, etc…”

*Looking, hearing, smelling, touching, and tasting beautiful things and and then mentally appreciating God for them.

*Picturing my mind as a chasm into which God’s thoughts fall gently

*Reading and thinking about the Bible.

*Walking slowly down a hallway or down my street.

*Imaging God’s thoughts towards a person while they are talking.

Of course I do the harder stuff too and I love it. But my bread and butter is the moment-by-moment experience of God’s loving Presence. This, I firmly believe, is not a gift to certain individuals, but a birthright to every person who trusts Jesus with their lives.

What this DOESN’T mean is that the circumstances of life become easy. Some do: for instance, I’ve probably been sick a total of 5 days in the last year. My mental clarity is better. My diet has improved. I don’t entertain grudges or pity parties. So naturally I’m not as susceptible to the things that plague many people. But in the last 5 years I have experienced death, loss of relationship, betrayal, money stress, busy schedules, boredom, distraction, and the pain of raising 3 kids. Some of these things have stretched my capacity, but I’ve never missed a day of experiencing God at least once and sometimes for hours at a time. And in the hardest parts of the dry and painful season, I would describe my life as deeply happy.

In the last five years, I’ve also been dealing with significant areas where I am not yet fully submitted to Jesus. Some of these areas have been profoundly healed. Others he is still chipping away at. At the forefront: I still hate looking stupid and I still hate talking to strangers. Chip, chip. I also struggle with the idea that God’s acceptance of me is truly unconditional. Chip, chip. Could God really love all of me? Is he really as good as I’ve seen Him to be? Am I deceiving myself? Chip, chip. He uses friends and family to bring me along. This week, one of my friends has been hammering away at me, exposing lies, and helping me find new layers of profound growth and healing. But I no longer feel I’m a broken mess waiting to be made whole one day. I AM whole, and there will always be new and increasingly beautiful layers of wholeness when I partner with Him. This doesn’t preclude humility. In fact it takes humility to embrace the reality of what He thinks of us, because none of us did a darn thing to deserve it. The picture I get is of me stepping into the front door of Father’s house. I’d be happy to sit in the security and beauty of His front entryway for the rest of my life. But there are so many hidden little rooms and interesting things to do here if I want to explore.

These last few weeks, God has been tearing down pride and old mindsets in my life. Like shedding scales from my eyes, I find myself thinking in a way I never thought I could think. I’ve cried a lot, felt the deep value for other people (especially the women in my life), loved more than I thought I could… I’m embracing tenderness but can also feel intense power flowing through me when I interact with people. The work is more intense (I almost want to say savage) than usual, as though someone is tossing up my brain like a tossed salad. God is giving me step-by-step instructions throughout my day. He is giving me intense prophetic words through people I’ve never met. People are having dreams about me and waking up in the night to pray. It all points to a really good future in which the healing I’ve experienced these last 5 years will be powerfully used for the healing of many many people. I’m excited! But I’ve learned the strength of a ministry is largely determined by how deep the person in ministry is willing to go in their own personal formation. I’m submitted to the process, because it is far more joyful than painful and I’m so curious about where this is all going.

I think the next five years will be as much outward as the last five were inward. I’m grateful for a lot of space to do my own work, but now I think I’ll find more opportunity to share this gift with others. God will keep doing his thing, challenging my definition of a “normal” life. But every step of the journey will be good because I am certain that I will sense Him right next to me, loving me, carrying me.

Prophets, Presidents, and the Post-Election Reckoning

In November I cast my vote in the Presidential election. My vote was based on a mashup of values and opinions about what is wrong with the world and who was better equipped to address the greatest number of problems while doing the least harm in other areas. But throughout the election season right up to moment I put my finger on the touchscreen to cast my vote, I had nagging thought that bothered me. I wonder what God thinks about all this. I wasn’t asking myself this because nobody had an answer to that question but because everybody seemed to have an answer to that question. On the conservative side, countless high-profile prophets came out of the woodwork to declare the inevitable reelection of Donald Trump. For them, God’s choice was clear and they were willing to stake their reputations on the outcome of this election. It turns out it was a bad gamble.

Over the last month, some of these prophets have dug in or pivoted. Others have apologized. Perhaps the best-known of these prophets was Kris Vallotton of Bethel Church, who publicly apologized on social media saying, “I was completely wrong… there’s no excuse for it. I think it doesn’t make me a false prophet but I think it does create a credibility gap.” Likewise prophetess Kim Mass apologized after prophesying Trump’s reelection in a public letter saying, “When all the prophets began to prophesy a Trump re-election, I allowed their voices to be my confirmation. Not God. That is what I truly and humbly repent for.”

So on January 25, Dr. Randy Clark hosted a public conversation with Vallotton and Maas along with others to discuss not only the failure of so many prophets to accurately predict the election but the future and credibility of all prophetic ministry in the light of such a high-profile failure. I tuned in and found it valuable for many reasons. If you’ve scratched your head with me about the operation of Christian prophesy in this election, I highly recommend you check it out. It is relatively unfiltered and very educational.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhs0Fol-oX8&feature=youtu.be

Here are a couple things I took away from the conversation...

1. Prophetic involvement in a national election is serious business. The influence of these prophets can not be understated. Because I respect some of these people’s ministries, I was admittedly influenced by their prophesies. Other friends were entirely swayed by them. In some ways I think the fevered pitch of manifest destiny this created contributed to the January 6 capital insurrection. So Vallotton is right when he says this creates a credibility gap. This should not be glossed over.

2. Nevertheless, the willingness of Vallotton, Maas, Shawn Bolz and others to publicly apologize is healing to some degree and is a significant step towards repairing the credibility gap.

3. Wrong prophesies don’t equal false prophets. We should judge prophesies. But when we judge prophets on the merits of one prophesy we are in dangerous waters. Not only do we miss the blessings of legitimate prophetic ministries, we risk the judgment of Matthew 5 associated with quick condemnation. I don’t know these people personally, but I follow their ministries closely enough to appreciate their hearts. I may disagree with their politics but I can still learn from them.

4. Prophets are human. Go figure. Many of them are feelers. And often they run in a pack. We should honor prophetic gifts but we should not put prophets on a pedestal of infallibility.

5. Wrong prophesies don’t equal NO prophesy. Paul commands the church not to despise prophesy (1 Thes 5:20). Prophesy is a legitimate gift. Many people steward this well. It is designed to build up the church. Dealing well with false prophesy is part of the job description of the church. We don’t do this by shutting down prophesy altogether. We do this by weighing each word carefully against scripture, circumstance, and corporate discernment (1 Cor 14:29). This is only difficult if nobody in the church has a robust knowledge of scripture, the character of God, and what His voice sounds like. If this is the case, then you have a much bigger problem.

6. Fear is a killer. Kim Maas observed that she found herself feeling a little scared about the trouble she believed our nation would be in if we did NOT reelect Trump. She allowed this fear to inform what she thought God was saying. This helps me understand how so MANY prophets got it wrong. Fear has been the soup d’jour for a long time. We’ve been dogged with countless conspiracy theories and worst-case scenarios designed to make us afraid. If millions of conservatives sincerely believe that Biden = some version of doomsday, then it makes sense that their prophetic barometer would be thrown off by the fear in the air. In my own conversations with the Lord, I found it very difficult to hear from him accurately about this election for this very reason.

 
7. Operate in your own discernment. This is what Maas regretted most in her experience. She let other people confirm what she thought God was going to do instead of God himself. This is the very reason I didn’t base my vote solely on other people’s prophesies. I considered them but then I had my own conversations with God. While God never told me who was going to win, I DID hear him say, “I will never ask you to go against your own conscience.” He assured me he had a plan. He helped me understand His values (which as it turns out are a bit different than mine) but at the end of the day he was gentle and encouraged me to vote my conscience. So I did. I suppose this is a bigger lesson on discernment for all of us. It’s not bad to ask others to help us listen to God. But God’s goal is to have a personal conversational relationship with every one of His kids and not to constantly have to speak to them through others. When we trust-fall into the prophetic words of other human beings, we shouldn’t be surprised when we hit the ground sometimes.

8. It’s okay to swim in your lane. Maas reflected that she had never given a political word like this before. Her calling was to strengthen the gifting of other believers, not to divine elections. This is also the observation my mentor gave me in 2016 when I began dabbling in political commentary on Facebook. On reflection, I might have been spot on in my observations but it didn’t really matter because I was operating outside of my calling. My calling is to promote Jesus and strengthen believers through discipleship and healing. But at some point I was more interested in being right and speaking truth than I was in doing what God told me to do. I had to course correct. I hope many many prophets are doing the same thing right now.

Kudos to Randy Clark, Kim Maas, Kris Vallotton and others for hosting the conversation. As Randy observed, this a critical moment for reflection, even reformation within the prophet movement. All prophets need accountability. They need best practices. They need to work in community while not just relying on the discernment of others. They need to recognize together that Jesus’ Kingdom is not of this world. I am certain that God cares deeply about politics and I do think Christians should participate in government. But we need to guard against the temptation of Christian nationalism and Christian dominionism which make the world the servant of the Church instead of the other way around.

Say yes to Love

Today I pictured Jesus standing at God’s throne and He seemed to be the very embodiment of Love. I heard Him gently inviting me today to “say yes to love.” I sat quietly for 30 minutes or so: not praying or reading the bible, but just sitting completely still and trying to mentally hold Him in my gaze, feeling His love coming at me in waves. It melted me. It always does.

I felt sad for how limited my capacity to love is. I hear about people in serious need and my heart goes numb. I know that a few dollars, an encouraging word, or a loving prayer on their behalf could actually make a world of difference. I thought of the two cute orphan kids in Bangladesh my friend showed me pictures of yesterday whom he was trying to help with a little food and clothing. My heart softened and I said “yes” to them. But too often in the past I’ve said “no” because of the messiness of getting involved. I don’t want to feel manipulated into something and I just don’t have the emotional of physical resources to care about all the hurting people out there. Where would I draw the line? But maybe it’s not about the line. Maybe it’s just about the direction the heart is pointing. Somehow in the Presence of Jesus my capacity grows a little. Sure. I can say yes to one more person. After all this is family. I feel a simplicity in His invitation to say yes to love. It doesn’t have to be complicated. He loves me. What’s the worst that can happen?

After this, I had the most amazing string of personal phone calls: Kenya, Gambia, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, India. I heard amazing stories from my friends: a dream of a new counseling center, a marriage frustratingly delayed by Covid, an illness caught from a goat, a new leadership class starting in January, a pastor friend falsely accused of being a muslim terrorist and held for 23 days last month in a tiny cell where 15 of his cell mates gave their lives to Jesus. I got to share in people’s lives for a few minutes, mostly listen, pray for them, help some of them. I could do this every day, but most of the time I just feel apathetic and I make lame excuses. I’m too tired, too poor, out of cope, wary of being misused, just not interested…

They say the opposite of love isn’t hate. It is apathy. So I might as well say it bluntly: Apathy is sin. It is the polar opposite of God’s nature. I’m really not that busy or important. I can give you what I have when you need it more than me. But where can I find more when I run out? I know where. I find it in the smile-creased face of a man who loved me with every resource at His disposal and is still tangibly with me through the Holy Spirit. Somehow when I look at Him, I find I can say “yes” one more time.

To Be Found

  Boy oh boy, our world is falling apart. Disease, division, divorce. Alternative facts and the overturning of our concept of reality. The net effect is that so many people just feel lost. And this lostness crosses every boundary. White people feel lost. Black and brown people feel lost. Old people feel lost. Kids feel lost. Religious people feel lost. Irreligious people feel lost. We comfort ourselves with hopeful platitudes but on Wednesday morning, we wake up feeling foggy about everything. What is certain in the world? We look for health and find sickness. We look for truth and find lies. We look for freedom and find a cage. We hunt for light and find darkness.

I hate feeling lost. Once as a teenager I visited Kenya and decided to take a walk into the hills near the college where I was staying. Walking several miles, I sat on a rocky peak looking at a beautiful golden sunset. As I climbed down, I realized what I had done. On the equator, the sun sets and then everything goes black at an alarming rate. I tried to hurry back to the college but there was no trail to follow and I had no light. The gray haze quickly gave way to total darkness. As I marched through the tall grass I started to wonder what wild safari animals might live out in this tall grass. I wondered if I would have to spend the night on the ground. Then a thought hit me: if I could find the lights of Nairobi in the distance, I could orient myself. Seeing a bit of light over the next ridge I hurried towards it. But when I reached the vista my heart sank. They were only a couple farms far down in the valley. I began trekking aimlessly for what seemed like hours in near pitch darkness. I was probably walking in circles. As I was about ready to lie down and wait for sunrise, I found a little four-wheel road and followed it, feeling tremendous relief when the college came back into view. I stumbled back into the guesthouse where my dad and sister waited worriedly for me and I enjoyed the comfort of that bright little house with its four comforting walls and soft bed.

    I’m glad I didn’t have to spend my night in the open. But it would not have been the first time. When I was 16, I ran away from home and spent a night on a cold Minnesota beach with a girl who was not my girlfriend. I was trying to break away from the restrictive environment of my home and religious upbringing. To hell with it all. I was doing what I wanted and living my life. I expected to feel a sense of liberation and pleasure. What I felt was very very cold. I was only wearing shorts and a t-shirt and the night air was frigid. We hardly slept on that cold gritty sand. Eventually the black horizon turned pale and the golden rim of the sun streamed across the water. As we walked along the shore, half asleep, the light of the sunrise hit the broad edge of a thousand-foot ore boat in harbor and began radiating a rich copper glow. The scene was stunning. But I couldn’t enjoy the beauty or the warmth of the sun. I felt caged in by my self-imposed homelessness, by the bitterness I felt towards my brother and parents, by the shame I felt about so many things. So much for freedom. That night I wandered around the town and spent another night on the hard wooden planks of a boarded up hockey rink penalty box. I was lost.

Today I’m thinking of many friends and family who feel some version of that feeling. You medicate it with family, or work, or substances, or political outrage, or religion. There were some things that happened to you way back when or maybe just yesterday that you couldn't quite worked through and part of you got stuck in that place. There are some things happening now that totally baffle you and it’s hard to know which way is up. You try to be kind and understanding but the cruelty and stupidity of people beggars belief. Isolation makes it easy to believe the worst in people and sometimes you hardly recognize yourself. I want to reach in and speak to that feeling.

There is, I think, a universal answer to this lost feeling, a home to return to, a path back to joy. But the answer is not a long solo trek out of the dark jungle of your own thoughts. The answer is a single warm touch from a loving friend who knows the way. Restored connection puts pain and confusion in a new light. A relational encounter with someone who is both caring and wise provides the context by which darkness peels back like a curtain. It provides the perspective to see that all the things which disqualify or disconnect you are just a smokescreen covering the radiant solidity of love and the sense of Home. Love is the realest thing. But not many people know how to receive it, much less live in it.

To mention the name of Jesus here risks evoking a familiarity which can breed contempt. You’ve tried all that and it doesn’t work, right? Besides, have you seen how the people who use that name behave? Anything that smacks of religion evokes pain, or apathy, or contempt. And I’m not suggesting a religious solution, though I am suggesting a relational one. If Jesus is real (in the sense of being a living embodiment of love and wisdom as the bible describes him), then he would be the best kind of friend and guide for the lost. Didn’t he say, "the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost?” One touch from him could change the context of our persistently overwhelming daily reality.

Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep… I know my sheep and my sheep know me— just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” What would it be like if Jesus was your shepherd and your best friend? What if you could ask him all your questions, if he could keep you company during lonely nights, and advise you in all your relationships? If he walked into the room right now, would you feel scared that He might condemn you, or mess up your life, or expose you, or make you forgive people you don’t like? What if you felt totally assured that he would never condemn you and that anything He asks of you will only lead to your happiness? I can’t talk you into it, but I can invite you into it. I’m so sure that Jesus is real that I’m willing to bet that if you ask Him to show Himself to you, He will. Why not say something like this: “Jesus if you are real, I’d like to know you. Please show yourself to me.” What do you have to lose?

Jesus is sitting in the yellow chair across from me and His face is kinder and more intense than I could have ever imagined. He kind of reminds me of that ore boat, blazing and warming in the light of the sun. It feels like he completely accepts me. There is not a wisp of disappointment or condemnation to be found on his face. I’m fairly certain He feels the same way towards you too. When I go back to the night on the beach, I can see him there too. He is wearing a crinkled, concerned face and trying to lay a blanket over me to keep me warm. That’s the first thing on His mind. The second thing on his mind is the goodness of relationship and covenant. Morality and ethics are about number 27 on his list. I can also see him in the dark boarded-up penalty box holding an old camping lantern. He quotes a scripture: “The LORD is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger, rich ABOUNDING in love!” He grins as he emphasizes the word “ABOUNDING” and bright purple flowers seem to explode from his belly and cover the room.

I haven’t felt truly lost in a long time. Life still confuses me sometimes, but my best friend is always there to talk me through it. At this point I just trust him. I know he won’t break me when I’m bruised or snuff me out when I’m smoldering. He’s not like my parents or my teachers or my friends. Those relationships are shadows, but He is the truest relationship. Mother, father, brother, shepherd, gate, light, bread, power, word, sacrifice, lover, rest, home, hero, friend. He is the highest form of the best gifts life has to offer. He is all good things in every good way. He is out to get you in the best way possible. He is looking over your fence, peeking through your window, knocking on the door. His heart is not to invade your privacy or rearrange your furniture but to simply come in and share a meal with you. Maybe then you’d like to invite him to move in. It’s up to you. In the mean time a simple expressed desire to know what He is really like is all the invitation He needs.

Our Anchor, His Presence

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf. -Heb 12:19-20

I stared at this verse for a few minutes before I got it. The author of Hebrews is discussing the encouragement and certainty available to those who cling to God's promises. The hope of a promise’s fulfillment is like an anchor for the person who has it. The greek word for anchor is used 4 times in the New Testament, and only in this one instance is it used as a metaphor. But what an apt picture. A person with an anchor can use it in harbor, at sea, or in a storm. And if the anchor is secure, the sailor knows he will only ever be a short distance from the place he has lodged it. In the case of Abraham, he lodged his anchor in the certainty of God’s unchangeable promise to multiply his descendants. But a promise like that takes a lot of patience and Abraham knew he would not see the completion of the promise in his lifetime,

Abraham walked in faith, anchoring his hope in the word God spoke. But Abraham saw only glimmers of fulfillment in his lifetime. But the situation we find ourselves in coming into 2020 is so much better than Abraham’s. We have the joy of seeing 4,000 years of promises fulfilled in the lives of those who anchored their hope in God’s certain promises. And most importantly we have Jesus who has forever marked our history and our future by entering God’s presence on our behalf to broker reconciliation between God and human beings.

Our anchor does something that Abraham’s could not: it goes through the “curtain” that separated the people of God from the Presence of God in the Holy of Holies. Jesus went there first to offer atonement for sin. When he did, he left the door ajar as it were so that we could enter ourselves with confidence and a clean conscience... and so that we might be able to anchor ourselves in the real, manifest presence of God. Because of this stunning reality, we can live anchored in heaven—in the presence of God—and we will know that wherever we go, we will never be far from the Presence into which we have cast our anchor.

As a Christian walking through daily life, it can be easy to think “I’ve drifted away from God”. But if we have put our hope in Jesus, who has opened the way for us to anchor ourselves in a better hope, we only need to tug on our rope to realize that we are still anchored in God and that his Presence is always available to us no matter what the ocean surface looks like. It is easy to build whole systems of thought and theologies around the subjective experience of “not feeling” God. We call them valleys, desserts, or dark nights. While this language is meant to comfort those who experience pain, they can also become self-fulfilling prophecies. Sometimes I’ve found myself reflectively pondering “am I in a dry season?” rather than remembering where I put my anchor and letting the reality of God’s constant nearness shape my present experience. 

Over time I’ve come to trust the resilience of the Presence of God in my daily life more than whatever I’m feeling on a given morning. I can’t count the number of times I start to think “boy I’m really far from God right now” and the simple mental exercise of asserting the truth of God’s nearness causes that nearness to be felt and experienced in my present reality in a way that forces me to say, “well I guess God wasn’t as distant as I thought… hey maybe I’m not in a dessert season after all!” I’ve practiced this discipline daily the last 3 years and I haven’t seen a true dry spell yet spiritually. This experience of God’s presence is not abstract or philosophical: it is a distinct physical/mental/spiritual experience. It is as real as tugging on a rope and recognizing you are still anchored. Christians who have seen real transformation in their lives will tell you that the experience of God’s closeness is everything to them: the conviction for sin, the power for repentance, the assurance of His love, the pathway to holiness, the strength for prayer, the confidence of belief, and the motivation for good work. His Presence is all we have: it is the inheritance we have begun to enjoy through the first fruits of his Spirit. 

Because our hope is anchored in the Holy of Holies, we truly can live from heaven, presenting a different reality than what the earth is familiar with. Wherever we go,  and no matter what we are experiencing, one tug on the rope reminds us of where (and in whom) we are anchored. The constant reminder of the security of our tether will progressively and invariably transform our experience of life on earth.

Leadership Lessons from a Blueberry

I love fruit plants. I grew up with a giant raspberry patch and know the pleasure of eating fresh berries throughout the height of summer. Debra and i have an acre of old pine forest in Georgia with a spot cleared in the back of it for our house and tiny back yard. I that small oasis of sun, I’ve planted apples, pears, peaches, raspberries, blackberries, grapes, and blueberries. As I said… I like fruit. But I don’t exactly have a green thumb. I can get the plants to grow. But getting them to actually bear abundant, delicious fruit requires knowledge that feels unattainable. Maybe I’m a fruit agnostic.

But Jesus has been telling me the last couple years that gardening is a spiritual discipline. He’s been saying I won’t know how to grow people until I learn to grow plants. So I’ve been trying to garden in prayer: a little bit each morning. I’ve also been researching, listening to podcasts, and trying to learn how to coax my dinner from the dirt. But mostly I’ve been trying to listen to God as I garden, knowing that as he talks to me about plants, he’ll also be speaking to me about myself and how I shepherd the growth of others.

I have one blueberry bush that has grown so explosively the last couple years, I was convinced it was a weed. I couldn’t remember planting it and I debated tearing the whole thing out to make room for other plants. I saw plenty of leaves, but no berries! But I had enough faith that this leafy bush was actually a blueberry deep down inside that I let it be. Then last week, I saw a few clusters of tiny green orbs emerging under the branches. I nearly squealed, “It’s a blueberry!!”

Today, the Lord told me to go prune my fruit plants with him. I was intimidated. I’ve read a little about pruning but I still worries I will over-prune, or prune the wrong branch, or not prune enough. But I knew my plants were big enough to handle pruning and that the only way to encourage fruitfulness was to clip back some growth. I also felt like God would show me what to prune and how. I actually heard Jesus say, “i’m a master pruner. My father showed me how and I can show you.” So I went to town on my big leafy blueberry. And in the process I learned a few things about plants, about myself, and about leadership…

1.) “Clip the leader. Clip the leader.” This phrase rang through my head as I cut the new growth emerging from the tips of the branches. As I did, I saw the strong supporting branches underneath: fruit-making machines. I knew the water and nutrients being used to send out new shoots would now be used to make the existing branches bear delicious, healthy fruit; fruit that would be enjoyed by the gardener and could even create whole new plants.

Young leaders create new possibilities. Young leaders open the way for whole new growth options. And as those branches grow, the root structure is also strengthened. Until the plant is established, you want to let the leaders run: they are creating the scaffold of the plant. But once established, new options can be cut so growth can be consolidated on the supporting branches (the now-established leaders of  yesterday). Those young leaders are not responsible for forcing fruit to grow on the branches. Sometimes the best thing they can do is get out of the way, trusting the life in the plant is viable in and of itself.

This hits home for me because I’m a leader in a pruning season. In some ways, my ability to manage the organization and people I need to connect with has been greatly reduced as I’m pressing into the needs of my family and the growth the Lord is working in my personal life. I’m unable to pursue new leads and nurture new partnerships. In some ways, I feel clipped. I have to confront the belief that in my absence, the whole ministry will go belly up. But it hasn’t gone belly up! It has grown! And this is teaching me that the life of the ministry is viable with or without me. The roots are established and the branches are spreading far and wide. As I step out of the way, encouraging the branches to do their thing, those branches will find new resources from the bottom up to bear real lasting fruit. On a personal level, I feel like my leading talents have taken a back seat the last couple years so that the sun can shine on emerging abilities. Some things I was known for in the past have been clipped and the branches which have been growing beneath the canopy are now bearing fruit.

Ok, I’m out of time for this post. But quickly, here are a few other insights I gained from pruning this morning. Apply it to your personal growth or to your ministry as the Lord speaks to you…

2.) Crowded branches bear limited fruit. There is a limited amount of resources for multiple branches trying to make fruit in the same space.

3.) Dead and diseased branches HAVE to be cut off. It feels heartless because I want to believe those spotty brown leaves will magically turn green again if I give it time. But it is evident to everyone their time on the plant is over. At some point, they are a liability to the whole plant and threaten other branches with disease and must be removed with decisiveness and precision.

4.) Small shoots that stay too close to the trunk in the shadow of the other branches might look pretty, but they’ll never bear fruit. They have to branch out or be cut off.

5.) Pruning should always be done in moderation. You don’t want to become overzealous or you’ll destroy the plant.

6.) Pruning should be done at the proper time. There is a season for everything.

There’s a lot of deep stuff in there that Jesus was talking to me about. But I gotta go now so I’ll let you sit with it and see what comes out. Regardless, I hope this little chat was… fruitful! (womp womp)