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)