2:27AM

2:27AM. My heart is pounding. My stomach is churning. I can barely keep my eyes open but I can’t get back to sleep either. Might be the 4pm cup of coffee, or it could be anxiety. Certainly a lot of anxiety. Sitting in the dark on the floor “crying out” to God. Are you going to come through for us? Are you going to help us? I look at the future and come up with a blank. That’s what the future is from my view after all… a blank. I don’t know what He’ll do in the future. I really don’t know. All I know is what He’s done in the past. And in the past He’s taken care of us.

But it has sometimes come with insane amounts of unsettledness, hard choices, general discomfort. And right now, I’m not sure I have it in me to be waking up at 2:37AM several times a year to crunch numbers, contemplate the near future and ask myself yet again if I’ve completely lost my mind. I’m a train racing down an unfinished track. Do I trust the builders to finish the tracks before I go careening into some ravine somewhere?

When Annabel wants something badly and I’m not able or willing to deliver immediately, she tends to ask and ask with increasing distress. I might say, “honey, I’ll take care of you. You need to relax and be patient. I’ll help you soon. Do you trust me?” Clearly she doesn’t because she becomes more upset and asks louder and becomes hysterical as though her world was caving in. We reach the point where I become firm and say, “I love you. I’ll care for you. But this conversation needs to be over right now because it’s just making you more upset. If you keep bringing it up there will be consequences.” She hates it when I say that. But eventually, the screams turn to whimpers as she desperately tries to get a hold of herself… last week, it was a painful lesson in saying “thank you.” I had to forcefully cut off the conversation when she became hysterical. In the moment she said something painfully cute like “I’m trying SO hard to stop the tears but they just keep coming!” But the next day, she woke up and said, “Daddy, I decided it’s not so scary to say ‘thank you’ after all,” and she’s been saying it religiously ever since.

I kind of get how she feels. And in a sense, I’ve been sensing God say this week, “kid, I love you. But right now, this conversation is not healthy for you. You’ve become hysterical and we need to stop talking about it. I’ve given you my answer. I’ll come through for you. But it may not be when or how you expected. I guarantee, it WILL feel painful and unsettled at times. But I WILL deliver on my promises. So right now, you need to be quiet.”

Screams to whimpers. Whimpers to silence. Silence to contemplation. Not sure if this lesson is ever going to stick. But maybe 2:58AM isn’t the best time to make that assessment. I can only hope that one of these mornings I can wake up and say, “Daddy, I decided it’s not so scary to trust you after all,” and a new habit will be born.

35 Africans in a Musty Minnesota Basement

Today, I picked up my Malawian buddy and we went together to a conference in St. Paul. His friend pastors a multicultural church in St Paul which had (for reasons yet unknown to me) decided to fly several dozen Congolese pastors to Minnesota for a weeklong leadership conference. I know. It’s weird. But really, not much weirder (when you think about it) than sending a whole youth group overseas to paint an orphanage.

Speaking of weird, I just got BACK from Congo. So to be sitting in a musty Minnesota church basement with a bunch of Congolese pastors wearing ill-fitting suits, singing Swahili in 3 part harmony, clapping in syncopation, and all praying loudly and simultaneously… well it was very “out of context” for me.

The teachings were good and I met some good folks. In fact, an older man (incidentally a Ugandan) began inquiring about my work overseas. I told him some of the topics we cover: small groups, mentoring, inductive bible study, pastoral counseling, etc. “Oh we need you guys to come,” he said. “What would be required to get you to Uganda?” I told him a pastor with good connections with multiple churches would be helpful. “Well…” he mused. “I’m in charge of 65 churches!” As if to say, “does that count?” Haha.

But being around these men (who I’m sure are godly, wonderful guys) dredged up some strong emotion that I had during my Congo trip: deep personal grief over the state of Christian ministry there. Let me explain…

A young preacher in alligator-skin boots welcomes my colleague Dave to the pulpit after an hour of running around the stage, yelling into the microphone between songs. Dave stands up from his chair on the stage where they put all the “important people”. He gets down on the congregation’s level where he stands right before the front row of all elders and deacons (slightly “less important” people). In his characteristically quiet, unassuming voice, he preaches a fabulous little sermon on humility. Personally, I am deeply convicted. Then, young Alligator Boots gets back up. He surveys his congregation with soul-piercing eyes as though the most profound nugget of truth was tucked away just behind his tongue. Clearly, he is about to drop a doozy on them. “Who in this room is prideful?” he begins slowly with almost comedic gravity. “Who is not humble? Raise your hand! We’re going to REBUKE THAT PRIDE TODAY!!!” He reaches a fevered pitch. Strutting around the stage (in an unmistakably avian fashion) and wielding a torrent of zealous, spiritual-sounding words, he draws pride out of their souls like venom from their unsuspecting hearts. He seems quite satisfied that he has so quickly and efficiently changed their lives. I nearly puke.

Next story… In the Congo, a man builds a church with his own hands on his own personal plot of land. Then he is the chief, the absolute monarch of the church. Presumably he has access to all the funds and controls the church’s assets. If the pastor dies, the church disbands. After all, it’s his land, his building, his church. Discipleship is a dicey topic because some have tried to raise up young leaders who in turn divide the church and steal members (and thus tithes) for their own ministries. If all goes well however, discipleship can be seen as a franchise opportunity, as it is appropriate for a pastor to expect his disciples to share their profits with their mentor so that he too can be prosperous.

In Congo, no cross-country bus ride is complete without a rogue preacher standing up to give an evangelistic message. Even if he is subtle enough NOT to elicit cash from the innocent travelers after his oratory, the expectation is clear: here is a man of God. Let’s give him something. So money is passed peacefully to the front and the preacher receives it with a benign smile.

Greed. Pride. Self-centeredness. Ministry with an ambitious capitalistic twist. Is it any wonder that I’m skeptical when I hear of Congolese denominations that want to “double our number of churches in Congo by such and such a date”? How many of these men would preach to a bus full of Muslims? How many would refuse payment for the sake of the gospel? How many would suffer and die for it?

Part of what’s so disgusting to me about these people is they hold a mirror up for me to see (in very unsubtle ways) what I often look like inside. I can talk about humility with the best of ‘em. But if you look at my demeanor, the way I carry myself, you may doubt that I have an ounce of the stuff! I can strut around sounding pretty wise (and congratulating myself the whole time) but does my life display that same wisdom when my mouth is shut and I’m going about my business? Well, lets just say I regularly have moments where I’m glad nobody is watching me.

Confession: I really dislike pastors. When a pastor starts talking, my first reaction is suspicion and cynicism. And the only thing that melts my cynicism is the moment that the pastor first demonstrates his humility. I’m not impressed by the title because I know the trap of pride and hypocrisy is real one, even for seasoned ministers. Even for me. And THAT’S where all the emotion comes from. They are a mirror of what I sometimes am… of what I could so easily become.

Today I’m happy that I don’t have a nifty title, a big ministry, and a whole lot of bragging rights. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t think I could handle it. Not yet. I have too much vision, too much zeal, and JUST enough charisma to fool myself into thinking I can do something really special all by myself. If I ever have any hope of handling that sort of pressure, it’ll only be because God disciplined me now and I let Him. It’ll be a lot of this guts-inside-out kind of feeling. So I’m cozying up to that feeling today and letting it challenge my whole demeanor. Even if it means poverty or suffering or whatever, I just can’t stomach the idea of quietly compromising to hypocrisy. I would just kinda disgust mysef like, all the time.

Okay, so… Book recommendation for you and me:  http://www.pharisectomy.com/

Apparently, God Didn’t Major in PR.

I read Habakkuk today. Crazy book. Prime example of God’s unique strain of attractive, untamable wildness. I think 2:20 sums it up: “The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth be silent.” Here’s my unscholarly paraphrase of the book:

Habakkuk: God, are you seeing this? The bad guys are winning! How can you just sit there and watch while evil prevails? Aren’t you going to do something?

God: It’s worse than you think. I’m personally raising up those evil people to punish Israel.

Habakkuk: How can you do that?! Why would you tolerate these people? You know they’ll only worship their own strength at the end of the day. Answer me!

God: The judgment is coming and the wicked will pay for their crimes. I will have justice. But you must wait. “Though it linger, it will certainly come and will not delay” (2:3).

Pause…

Habakkuk: …I can see that in your timing, you will come with horrible anger, sifting the hearts of people; rescuing the righteous and destroying the wicked. “I heard and my heart pounded, my lips quivered at the sound; decay crept into my bones, and my legs trembled. Yet I will wait patiently for the day of calamity to come on the nation invading us. Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines… yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my savior. The sovereign LORD is my strength” (3:16-18).

God doesn’t pander to people. He doesn’t scramble to salvage His reputation. He is obstinately, unapologetically Himself. I find He is very honest with us when we hit rock bottom and cry out to him. “Yes. Your fears are justified. You are going to lose your house, your job, your loved one… Now what? What will be your response? Will you find strength in me or pursue your own strength?”

When I’m in a season of depression, doubt, and questioning, He usually doesn’t “answer” my complaints in the way I want. Clearly, His motto is not, “The customer is always right.” He doesn’t wring His hands or bustle around pulling together inspirational maxims to placate us. (Sometimes Christians get really self-helpy on each other.) Rather, he speaks the truth and watches to see our response.

If our hearts can accept his sovereignty and wildness, then his brutal honesty will refresh us and give us a painful but sure way out of our spiritual paralysis. Put another way, “The truth will set you free.” (I think the same is true with emotional healing...

But if our hearts will not accept His sovereignty and wildness… if we prefer a tame God who will be our savior but not our Lord, who must answer for all his actions and explain himself to us… Then our hearts will harden and our depression will deepen and perhaps we will find some happiness and strength in ourselves or our other relationships for a time. Maybe we’ll learn to follow our hearts or stand up on our own two feet.

But in the end I think it’s a doomed path; one that gets narrower and narrower for all eternity until our choices are all made for us in the worst way. I think it’s a less-honest path and ultimately a less liberating one, even if it feels liberating now.

And truth be told, I’d rather “risk it” with God than risk it on myself. The God-follower says, “even if my life is dry, and stark, and painful, I have cast my lot with the Lord. I have no other Strength besides Him. Even if all the promises seem to crumble and I am led weeping to the altar to surrender Isaac, the son of promise, I can do nothing else… I will do nothing else but trust the power and promises and character of God.”

“Lord, to whom will we go? You have the words of life.”

I believe it’s a blessed path; a narrow and non-intuitive one that gets wider and wider for all eternity and a more liberating one in the end.

I told a friend the other day, “I’m terrified that this one area of my life will be really difficult and painful for the next several years.” To which my friend replied, “Yes. That area of your life will very likely be painful and difficult for the next several years….” After which I felt a strange relief. “Oh,” I thought. “Well okay.” And in a sense, it felt good to have someone say, “Your fears may be justified. But that doesn’t mean you have to live in fear.” I can’t totally explain it, but somehow it’s liberating and it helps me move beyond the paralyzing dread to a humbler place of relying on God.

I think God just built us that way.

Jesuslife = Still pretty ridiculously simple.

The Jesuslife is so embarrassingly simple. It’s no good for egotistical sages looking for an arsenal of fluffy quips. Because at some point, I stop learning a lot of profound new truths and have to admit that I haven’t really lived the ones I learned 20 years ago. And even when I start to live them, I regress so easily. Maybe we make following Jesus more complicated because we’re uncomfortable with tension, suffering, or plain ol’ tough decisions.

Example 1: Chatting with a friend yesterday who works in prison ministry, he told the story of an inmate who had been shot by another inmate. “The guy came to me and told me his story. He had been unsure whether or not he should confront his attacker and fight him. He told me, ‘I asked my Christian friends what to do and they told me the bible says I should forgive him. So I just decided to forgive him.’” Simple right? Now I’ll be the first to say that forgiveness is a long and multi-layered process. But sometimes because of what we believe about our position to God, we don’t feel we can “afford” to forgive. But sometimes we just need to make a simple choice. But lacking the resolve to grow or to obey (for a zillion deeply-rooted personal reasons), we make forgiveness a more complex and weighty issue than it already is! I’m a huge fan of looking deep inside and admitting what’s there, even if it isn’t pretty. We don’t do any favors by lying to ourselves and each other. But self-awareness is one step on the cyclical journey of growth. The point for us has to be Christlike maturity that makes the Father happy. Not acceptance, or inner peace or, well-adjustedness, but God-focused growth, “until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ… Speaking the truth in love, we will in all things grow up into him who is the Head, that is, Christ.”  

Example 2: Yesterday I spent 6 hours with a new Ethiopian friend I met on the plane ride home from Africa. (Consequently we decided, with significant nudging from the Holy Spirit, to organize a 2-week WDA teaching trip in Ethiopia this January. So yes! I plan to be in Ethiopia in January! Stay tuned for more info.) This guy was a pastor for 12 years without a salary. Yes, he’s married (no kids) and he worked full-time without pay for over a decade because God “called” him.

“So what how the heck did you survive?”

“Oh well, we just trusted God to take care of us.”

“That must have been unbelievably stressful!”

“When you’re poor, you don’t have many choices. You do what you can. So I’d go do ministry in one place, maybe stay with a friend, then go to another place. If someone wanted to feed me, I’d eat. I wouldn’t ask, but people would often give me different things: some food or a little spending money. But I can say that God always provided for my needs.”

“Wow. It’s easy to say God will provide, but it sounds like you really lived it!”

“Oh sure. And he’ll provide all your needs too. I’m sure of it.”

The guy seemed genuinely unconcerned about money. He paid for our lunch without flinching and told me of his plans to travel back and forth to Ethiopia… with what money, I still have no clue!

Maybe I’m setting a bad precedent with that story. I mean, I believe God sometimes calls people to work their butts off, make the smart choice, pay off the student loans, save every penny, or plan for the future. And sometimes he calls people to throw their “future” down the toilet and just ask for daily bread. Each has their own path.

But I’m convinced that it’s not necessarily irresponsible or bad stewardship (though it can be) to pursue a calling and live hand-to-mouth for the Kingdom. But I can say that it is definitely irresponsible AND bad stewardship to waste your time, mental energy, and physical health worrying about tomorrow’s provision.

And that’s where I’m at right now: circling around from anxiety, to apathy, to trust, and back to anxiety about the instability of our lifestyle and income as missionaries.

Truthfully, I have enough (MORE than enough) for today. I even have enough for tomorrow and next week, and next month. And given my friend’s lifestyle, I’m a little embarrassed by the things I consider “needs”. But add a mortgage and moving expenses and suddenly, I’m coming up short. 

But is it any of my business to know today what I’ll have tomorrow? I mean really! When did I “outgrow” the birds and the flowers and start demanding guarantees for the future? Is it my birthright as a member of the middle class? Tomorrow, I could lose  everything or get a million bucks and in my work, that’s not unheard of. But God has given me some specific promises about the near future that now feel improbable. Will I keep believing them or start making other plans? Will I settle my heart in God or will I settle it in the bank? 

I’m drawn to stability but I gotta stop looking for it in the wrong places.

As my new friend prayed for me he said, “I see you sitting out on the water and there’s a big rock in the middle of the water. As long as you sit on the rock (that’s Jesus), you’ll be secure.”

Well….

Duh. Simple right? So what’s the hang up?