New Leaves on a Harsh and Tedious Stretch

“Alright God. Now what?” I prayed this morning. I had just finished a disappointing phone call, which effectively put an end to a month of work and planning on an exciting new project.

I’ve had lots of those this year: “Now whats”. Fits and starts. Sudden ends to exciting new dreams. And when those grand possibilities crumble, what’s left is the everyday plodding; the stuff I just wake up and do because it needs to get done. Yes, I’m growing. And yes, I’m tired of it. Been there?

But today God answered me in a funny way: Now we turn over a new leaf.

“A new leaf huh?” I shrugged, bemused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” God always teases me with these cryptic little Hallmark phrases. But what’s really funny is when at some later moment, these little taglines come into focus with shocking clarity and truth.

The reply came (as it often does) as a disembodied scripture reference: Isaiah 43:19. (I don’t have this stuff memorized by the way. Just following the breadcrumbs.) Here’s what it says...

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” –Isaiah 43:19

Ok wow... Cool huh? I still don’t know what it all means. But for one thing, I think it means that God promises to be a surprising source of life and refreshment in those long arid stretches. I think it means that we can (and should) find comfort and delight in His very tangible and personal presence with us.

Anyway, I’ve been having this uncharacteristic anxiety lately. For various reasons not worth mentioning, I’ve ditched my morning quiet time (which had been such a grounding time of connecting with my Father). These days, I check my smartphone dozens of times a day. I worry about money. I worry about my job. I worry about my health. Even as I type this, I take a break to check on our finances and boom. Worry. We are such fickle creatures aren’t we?

But even while I struggle to focus on this present moment and God’s Spirit living in me during this harsh and tedious stretch, I can sense that things are changing. He is indeed doing New Things.

For one, I booked a ticket to Ghana yesterday.  On March 25, just over a year from the time God told me (back in that camp shower at an Ethiopian retreat center) to take a break from travel, I’m going back to Africa. I’ll be traversing Northern Ghana with an amazing posse of young leaders, teaching on our discipleship approach at a 3-day conference, and trekking through the hot African bush to visit Muslim nomadic tribesmen in their grass-domed houses. I’m hoping it will help me get my bearings on the work we do through Love Nomads Coffee as well as deepen my relationships with these amazing young leaders who are doing discipleship in some really innovative ways.

I’ve also felt a fresh push of inspiration in the work I do with WDA’s international ministry. We’ve been redesigning our whole curriculum and training approach, making quiet shifts away from an event-based conference model toward a relational team-based coaching model. It doesn’t sound like a big deal when I say that. But most days, it feels like a great collective sedition toward something more wholesome, something we all want but can’t put our finger on, something both organic and intentional.

My coffee roasting hobby has had its twists and turns too. For the first time, I discovered a way to put a bean temperature probe in my handmade drum roaster. It allows me to roast with incredible precision and control... In other words, the coffee tastes better than ever. Plus I feel like a mad scientist. :) Then I signed up for my first SCAA expo in April (basically it’s geekfest for coffee freaks and professionals) and I'm beyond excited to check out the roasting class, the brewer’s cup, the barista championship, and all other iterations of brew snobbery. And I’m still dreaming about opening a café of my own someday. Or a mobile tiny house turned coffee shop? Or???

But whatever the twists and turns, God is going to be there with his quiet Presence and zany sense of humor, doing new and wild things, things that I could never guess. I don’t want to get all wrapped up in the significance (or insignificance) of what I might do tomorrow. Life is too short and I want to enjoy today. I want to enjoy God’s simple goodness right now... in this present moment. So while I wait for whatever God is up to, my prayer is that I would just relax in the assurance of surprising paths in the wilderness, streams in the desert.

Near Drowning and New Desires

Part of being a parent, I suppose, is going through really scary experiences, even near-death experiences with your kids. I suppose many parents have those moments where they feel helpless to protect their children. They realize how fragile life is and they wake up resolved to treasure every moment they have. That’s how I’m waking up this morning.

We have been so blessed as parents with healthy kids, safe environments, and no major injuries in our family... until this year. In March, when I was in Ethiopia, Levi ended up in the hospital for 3 days unable to breathe on his own. After that, I set aside my international travels for the remainder of the year. And it was a good thing, because shortly after that, Debra was in the same hospital with pneumonia. Then I had a meningitis scare (turned out to be a horrible virus)... not to mention the ramping-up of daily crazy as Levi hit the worst stage of potty training, food anxiety, accident-proneness, and hitting/kicking/biting.... and Juniper became a toddler full of curiosity and a loud, opinionated personality of her own.

Friday night, we were swimming with some friends in their pool. There were 7 kids between 4 adults. Juniper had been going back and forth between the moms in the kiddie pool and the dads in the big pool. Her new favorite game is jumping into a parents arms while squishing her eyes shut against the splashing water. The other kids were either independent swimmers or wearing floaties. Every two minutes, my friend Brent would stop our conversation and do a head count. I remember thinking he was being a bit paranoid. After all, we were in the pool, right next to the kids, and keeping our eyes on them at all times.

But things happen fast and nobody heard the splash. It was only when Brent started counting heads that we both saw it: a small pink object flailing in slow motion beneath the surface of the water 10 feet away. At first I thought it was one of the older kids swimming underwater until Brent started lunging towards it. Juniper had apparently crawled on to the top step of the shallow end at the very moment that all 10 pairs of eyes were off her.  Then she must have stepped out just over her head. My heart dropped when Brent pulled Juniper out of the water limp and blue around the lips. I rushed to grab her and for one endless I didn’t know if she was conscious or not. Then she threw up, coughed, and started to cry a weak, terrified cry. Relief, guilt, and fear all rushed in as I held her bent over to clear the water from her lungs and everybody came rushing over wanting to know what happened.

Juniper was breathing rapidly and her heart was pounding. For a moment, nobody knew quite what to do next.. Then in a flurry, an ambulance was called, but being close to the hospital we decided to take her ourselves. Brent and Heidi took our other kids home for a sleepover... and this is the 5^th time in a year they have kept our kids during a medical emergency!

As we pulled out of the subdivision, we passed two blaring ambulances and a firetruck, but we just kept driving, at every stoplight leaning back to make sure our daughter was still alive. She was staring quietly out the window taking quick shallow breaths, but her color had returned.

At the hospital we were seen immediately. An x-ray of her lungs showed that we had been very lucky. But the doctor said he did see a little streaking and wanted us transferred to Scottish Rite just to be safe. Another crisis quickly arose when they told us they would be putting an IV in our 18-month-old’s hand and the driving 45 minutes while Debra rode up front. All I could imagine was as a pair of bullish EMT’s driving on stone-faced while my daughter screamed her way through her second major life trauma that day and her mother sat captive in the front unable to help or comfort her. More panic, a hold out, a thick AMA (“against medical advice”) waiver thrust toward me by a tearful nurse with the threat of an uninsurable hospital bill to follow, another meeting with the drivers, a negotiation, and finally we caved. Then came an IV without anesthetic. This took some time as nurses searched for a vein on Juniper chubby hand, traumatizing both Juniper and her compassionate but helpless mother. But thankfully, the ride itself was calm and Juniper quietly watched cartoons the whole way.

Scottish Rite is a great hospital, but nurses, doctors, admission, billing, and any other number of employees poked, prodded, and asked the same questions 5 times until 4AM when we all collapsed from sheer exhaustion and slept for 5 hours. The next day, things looked better. A social worker making his rounds was less antagonistic than we feared and the doctor gave us a clean bill of health. After lunch, we were released, bedraggled and still in shock, but grateful. So grateful.

When we came home another shock awaited us. In the flurry of the last couple days, we had forgotten about Annabel’s two bunnies, who now lay in their cage cold, dead, and dehydrated. I was sick and actually cried a little as I walked their little corpses back into the woods behind our house. It was just one more reminder that life is fragile and one inattentive move can take it away forever. It was only my friend’s hyper-vigilant head count that saved my daughters life and it was our neglect (understandable though it may be) that killed the rabbits. “This can never happen again,” I thought to myself.

One positive side of the whole experience (besides a resolve to be more vigilant) was a much stronger bond with my daughter and with my whole family in general. People talk about meeting their child for the first time as a life-changing experience. They talk about a love they never knew they had flooding in to their hearts and sustaining them as parents throughout their children’s lives. That’s not my experience. When I first met my kids, my feelings were awe, adoration, tenderness, and pride. But love has crept in slowly over the course of dozens of sleepless nights, toxic diapers, temper tantrums, tender snuggles, and moments I almost lost them. As I’m stretched beyond myself as a parent into those powerless spaces, my adoration of my kids turns into real compassion (literally translated, “suffering with”), real love.

In my last post, I talked about reading the lectionary as a helpful spiritual practice. It does a good job shepherding me through scripture in a slow, methodical way and enriches my spiritual life in ways that don’t require me to have a monastic life, lots of emotional energy, or theological profundity. Well yesterday after the whole hospital experience, I plopped down to read that day’s lectionary reading. It took me to an interesting passage: David grieves the death of his son, Absalom.

In the story, Absalom attempts a coup against his father and raises an army to fight and dethrone him. Though it was the ultimate betrayal, David’s fatherly heart moved him to order the commander of his army, “be gentle for my sake with the young man Absalom.” Probably seen by his troops as a sign of the king’s weakness, 10 young men disregard the order, surround Absalom (whom they find defenseless and alone in the forest) and kill him in cold blood. So the battle was won but David weeps bitterly over the loss of his son. Though 10 young men saw only a betrayal and the need to right a wrong, the king saw the loss of a son and cried out “Oh Absalom. Absalom, my son. If only I had died instead of you!” 

I’ve got great kids and none of them are trying to overthrow me (though some days I may dispute that) but David’s love is striking. 10 years ago, the story was compelling, but maybe a bit confusing to me. Today I’m a step closer to getting it. Life is precious, a tremendous gift that is so easily taken away. And so much stronger than a life of vision and impact and legacy is a life full of love for family and friends, even strangers and enemies. Love makes you vulnerable. Love opens you to pain. Love makes you look fragile and foolish. And given the choice between the fragile old king (the prodigal’s father) and the strong young men... Let’s just say my existential taste buds are changing.

            

Toddler Terrorists in Light of the Atonement

It’s an uncharacteristically quiet moment in our home. The kids are sleeping or watching movies. I can hear the clock ticking across the room. I just finished a cup of my home-roasted organic Sumatran coffee (pour over per the usual these days) and the caffeine is now kicking in. Bliss.

Yesterday was insane. Levi peed on the couch, got a time out, came back, and peed on the couch again. He smashed a mason jar on the stone outside and then smashed a lightbulb on the screen porch. He bit, scratched, and pushed. He dragged the garden hose inside and decided to give our bedroom a bath. He dumped a full canister of cake sprinkles on the floor. He ripped off all his clothes and ran naked down the driveway. It was a rough day, even for him. And he only represents half of our toddler population: Juniper is developing her own special brand of “domestic terrorism”, though she usually manages to be destructive in a slightly more adorable way.

In the midst of it all, quiet moments like this are rare and treasured, though usually it’s all I can do to just close my eyes and let a thousand scattered thoughts lope haphazardly across my brain... oh the things I ought to do... the things which may never get done.

Before this crazy descended, I used to take some time each morning to read a bit of scripture, journal, and pray. It was incredibly grounding and I often felt God’s presence and direction in those moments. But lately when I get the opportunity, my self-directed bible-readings feel dry. And worse, when I put pen to paper to express my thoughts, what comes out is wearisome and sometimes toxic. In some ways, I’m sick of my own voice, my own thoughts, my own faltering attempts at profundity. Spiritual, emotional, and intellectual originality is highly overrated for me right now.

So I’ve been looking for new ways to relate to God that don’t rely so heavily on my mood, my insight, or the wells of my personal depth. My mentor suggested a life rhythm that has helped him in similar seasons: the Lectionary.

Used in more liturgical churches, the Revised Common Lectionary provides really small chunks of the Old and New Testament for churches to focus on each week. It’s basically a long-term bible-reading plan with bite-sized passages meant to be savored, not just consumed. The passages go together thematically and the beauty of it is, I don’t get to pick them. So I gave it a shot this morning... and I think I love it.

Here’s a snippet from that encouraged me today from Jeremiah 23...

I will raise up a righteous descendant
    from King David’s line.
He will be a King who rules with wisdom.
    He will do what is just and right throughout the land.
And this will be his name:
    ‘The Lord Is Our Righteousness.’
In that day Judah will be saved,
    and Israel will live in safety.

Just skimming the surface here... I see this passage as a big fat neon finger pointing right to Jesus. The main reason I say that is the identifier, “The Lord is our Righteousness”. I’m not saying that Old Testament theologians wouldn’t identify God himself as the ultimate source of human righteousness, but if anything distinguished the life and mission of Jesus, it was stripping down the rabbinic formulations of human righteousness through rule-keeping (how do YOU respond when someone says to you, “be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect”?) and a promotion of righteousness (“right-ness” with God and others) through identification with the perfect righteousness of Christ... a way made possible through his death and resurrection. Hundreds of years before Christ was born, Jeremiah caught a glimpse of him and said, “the trademark quality of this king is that through him we will see that God himself is our righteousness, and NOT our busy rule-keeping.”

For me the whole idea of righteousness in Jesus is both refreshing and desperately needed right now. Because in a really stressed and needy season (living closely with other stressed and needy people), my track record for making “good Christian” decisions, having a “good Christian” attitude, and doing all the things “good Christians” are supposed to do... well let’s just say I won’t graduate top of my class. In fact most days I feel like I’m flunking “Righteousness 101”. I’m not flagellating myself here. Just ask my wife! I am often bitter, judgmental, lazy, passive-aggressive, and downright mean.

But while I keenly feel the need to take appropriate responsibility for my own behavior and make healthier choices, a very anchoring thought is that nothing I do good or bad has any bearing on the righteousness I have before God. His total love and acceptance toward me is secure... because when he looks at me, what he sees is Christ... his perfectly righteous son. That’s what Jesus is about: relieving the impossible standard of “being good enough” and giving himself to become goodness on our behalf, so that we can access the limitless grace and acceptance of God.

“It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God--that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption” (1 Cor 1:30)

I'll take some of that please.

Beatitudes as Revolution

Two things really strike me about the “Beatitudes” in Matthew 5... that’s the “blessed/happy are those that” passages.

1. They are among the first things Jesus teaches his disciples. And they are FOR the disciples (the crowds don’t seem to be around for that episode).

2. They fly in the face of every belief and expectation the disciples likely had about living a good and blessed life.

Blessed are the poor? The disciples likely believed that prosperity was a bi-product of righteous living. Poverty was anathema, not blessing.

Blessed are those who mourn? Sure, the Hebrew were good mourners, but sorrow and mourning were for those cursed with a tragedy or afflicted by guilt. A pleasant life was the goal.

Blessed are the merciful? Blessed are the peacemakers? Peace and mercy were the furthest things from the heart of a colonized nation. Rather, let’s talk about an eye for an eye, just war, winning back the nation for God’s people, forcefully laying hold of God’s kingdom and instituting it on the earth.

Yet in spite of all this, Jesus inaugurates his ministry with some of the hardest teachings he can muster. He wants to demonstrate right off the bat that his ministry will run crosscurrent to all other Rabinic ministries around. He is distinguishing his message over and against all other available religious dogmas. We don’t see the disciples reaction, but I imagine there was a lot of squirming and confusion. Yet the must have been strangely attracted to this upside-down kingdom ethic.

They continued to have an uncomfortable love/hate relationship with Jesus’ hard teachings throughout their time with him. It’s like when you marry someone who has exactly the qualities you need in your life to balance and complement your personality, and yet it’s those same qualities that drive you crazy and cause the most fights in your marriage.

But Jesus never backed down from the hard stuff. He stood strong. But his obstinacy was totally different of the obstinacy of most Christians today. Many Christians today are passionate about “standing for righteousness”, which in most cases means being vocal in defending and promoting a limited set of moral values based loosely on biblical teachings. But Jesus never told his disciples to lobby for a “10 commandments” monument in the Roman forum or to write editorials bemoaning the loss of prayer in school. Rather he commanded them to be courageous in generosity, to forgive outrageously, to be innocent like small children, to lead by becoming servants, and to fight tooth and nail against self-reliance and works-righteousness.

Jesus was no wimp. But the kingdom he stood for had to invade hearts before it could pervade societies. The “hills” that Christ was willing to die on weren’t gay marriage and abortion: they were forgiveness, peace, the inversion of human power structures in the kingdom, heart-righteousness, and grace. Not a warm fuzzy grace, but a kind of grace that reaches out when everyone else has given up. It’s a grace that stands militantly against its opponents (self-righteousness and legalism), battling them in the strongest possible terms.

I’m trying to imagine how Jesus might teach the beatitudes if he were a pastor in small town America. How would Jesus purposefully challenge OUR assumptions and beliefs about a good and blessed life? I imagine him inviting his friends over for a meeting: a couple folks from Third Baptist Church, the town drunk, a couple lawyers, a housewife, a farmer, and the guy from the local garage.

“Thanks for coming,” he says. “Let’s get started. There are a few things I want to talk with you about tonight. This is a little message I’ve titled ’8 tips for a happy life.’ Ready?

“#1: Don’t look down on the poor. They’ve got it made in God’s kingdom! In fact, you’ll be happy if you have less money, a smaller house, and a crappier car. Why not sell your stuff and give it to charity? Then it won’t weigh you down and you’ll inherit God’s kingdom.

“#2: Give up entirely on the American dream, on the “pursuit of happiness.” Let it die. Frankly, you’ll be happier if you cry more. Seriously. Grieving is wonderful. How else will you be comforted if you don’t get comfortable with pain? Don’t run from it! Stick with sorrow. It’s not weakness. It’s a blessing.

“#3: You’ll be happy if you have such a meek and lowly demeanor that everybody thinks you’re small and insignificant. Look for chances to demote yourself, to be a “nobody” in the eyes of the world. Be confident instead that you are God’s ‘somebody’! Don’t give a second thought to what kind of legacy you are leaving or what kind of monuments they’ll build for you when your gone. If you can you that, you will inherit the whole earth.

“#4: Be hungry and thirsty to please God, to do what he says, and to practice justice. Pray for more that hunger. God loves to answer those prayers and he’ll fill your hunger for righteousness.

“#5: Be known for showing mercy, even to those who don’t deserve it. Stop to talk with hurting people, even if you don’t have time. Give 20 bucks to the homeless guy even if he might use it on alcohol. Bring a sack of groceries to the undocumented immigrants living next door. It’s not just for them. It’s for you. Because you are just like them and you really need God’s mercy.

“#6: Want to see God? Have a pure heart. Not a pure theology, or a pure lifestyle, or a pure esoteric religious life, but a pure heart. Don’t worry about the outward stuff so much. It’s what’s inside that matters more.

“#7: Advocate for peace. Peace in your home. Peace in your church. Peace between nations. Be someone that builds bridges rather than fighting back. You’ll gain a reputation as child of God.

“#8: You’ll be happy and blessed if you are accused, attacked, and insulted... not for being a jerk or for doing wrong, but for following me, for demonstrating mercy and justice in your daily decisions. I’m going to challenge the status quo and turn everything on its head. People will hate you, say untrue things against you, and ridicule you for associating with me. That’s good! Don’t fight it. Take it. If you can do that, you’ll inherit a big bonus in heaven. THAT’S something you can be happy about.”

Can you imagine that message being taught in some of our churches, small groups, and communities... Not just taught, but actually lived out? It was revolutionary then and it still is today. It messes with everything we think and believe, even in the church. We often worry that the word of God isn’t more deeply shaping our culture. But has it invaded your life? Has it invaded your church culture? So how can it invade our broader culture? Protesting moral decay won’t change the culture. But being courageous in leading weak and humble lives defined by grace.... that just MIGHT change things.

Moral and spiritual influence in our homes, churches, and governments will ALWAYS look different than we imagine. It will never happen the way we think. It comes through meekness, mercy, and powerlessness... through the “foolish things” of the world, and NOT through misguided power-grabs, false confidence, or external “righteousness”. It begins in our hearts. It always has.