Low country memories of my father

The ocean. The smell of the marsh and salty air. Charleston. Hilton Head. Family. 

Memories of my father warm me in the summer sun and haunt me in the ocean breeze as I sit reading and reflecting alone with my coffee on the balcony of our beach condo this first morning of our annual beach trip. 

The first midmorning morning beach jaunt is marked by children's giggles filling the air over the chorus of breaking waves with the smell of sunscreen wafting across the sand.

 The annual late morning trip to Hudson's Seafood Market with my brother to acquire provincial fruit del mar, which last night was swimming beneath the trolling shrimper's nets, and tonight will be hungrilly devoured by the Byrd Clan for the first of 5 6pm meals. 

 Early afternoon kitchen preparations and organizations while the children enjoy a respite from the sun then rain watching movies snuggling on the sofa or reading in their room.  Smells of deliciousness: butter, bacon, onions; culinary sounds: chopping, sizzling, dishes clanking, pots clanging, accompanied by laughter as the feast is prepared.

 Six o'clock. The counter is set. Small bits of caprise salad and buffalo dip are nibbled as the family assembles in anticipation of the first of five family dinners. Final preparations are made, shrimp are bathed in steaming pots of seasoned water, drinks are poured, the family gathers young and old, parents, teens, toddlers, all hand-in-hand, eyeing the food in anticipation, yet waiting. The pots are emptied, steaming shrimp heaped onto platters, bread sliced, the meal ready.  A prayer is offered, thanking God for the meal, for the family, for the one who began this legacy 16 years ago.

Throughout the condo and on the balcony the family settles in to dine. Cousins chatter together, brothers and sisters banter, childhood memories are shared, and mom beams with satisfaction and joy.

 Though he has been gone for six years, his legacy lives and thrives on this island, in this place - sacred ground for the family, his heartbeat sounding in the rhythm of the waves, his call in the cry of the seagulls, his laughter in the play of the children, his serenity beneath the live oaks, his smile in the warmth of the sun, his memory in our stories.

 Yes, he is here, in our annual low country gathering. And he is at peace.

The "Like" Generation

I work with the “Like” Generation.

This realization has been slowly coming into focus over the past year, finally solidifying from the haze and mist that has been haunting my mental vision on the university campus where I work. It should be no surprise that one mark of this generation (sometimes known as GenY) is a renewed sense of passion. Among the Christian students with whom I work, discovering the issues about which one is passionate appears to be a mark of collegiate experience as passing English 101 and proudly donning University apparel. Declaring personal passions does not just appear to be a “fad” of nomenclature, such as the use of “hip,” “rad,” “cool” or other such terms. Neither does it seem to be an over-exaggerated statement like the phrases, "I just love it!" or “that changed my life!” The collegians with whom I work seem to maintain their passions for years, most lasting long after graduation, even through marriage, kids and careers.

Perhaps the advent of the term has been driven by the vast popularity of The Purpose Driven Life or the Passion Conferences (and the 286 movement it spawned). In The Purpose Driven Life, Warren suggests that each person should discover their SHAPE (Spiritual Gifts, Heart, Abilities, Personality, and Experiences) for ministry. In his view everyone is uniquely gifted and created for a purpose. Discovering and following one’s purpose - or one’s passion, as it has been interpreted by emerging adults (ages 18-30) - is key to fulfilment in life. Several years ago Louie Giglio initiated an annual Christian conference for young adults titled “Passion.” Since it’s inception the worship and teaching oriented event has grown to more than 40,000 attendees for the annual four day event each January in Atlanta, Georgia. Each year the event planners choose one issue of social justice as a central focus. For the 2012 conference the issue was human trafficking. The young adults that attended the event managed to donate and raise over 1 million dollars to fight the human sex trade - not an insignificant amount of money! Since then there have been a growing number of collegians who suddenly have developed a passion for this cause. But as the students came back to school literally glowing about the event and the amount of money raised, my thought was "what now?"

For many one aspect of realizing or discovering a passion is to declare it to the world. Many young adults do so through the use of social networking - by clicking the “like” button on Facebook, selecting the “+1” button on Google+, by following and re-tweeting quotes from their heroes on Twitter, or by “checking-in” at conferences they attend. Afterward they boldly wear the t-shirts, shoes, bracelets, hoodies, hats, or even shoes they bring home. These items are not so much souvenirs but are artifacts to illustrate and proclaim their new-found or increased like-passion. They are willing to voice their message on Facebook, to forward emails or websites to friends and family members, to wear the clothing, to attend the conference or lecture, to wear the clothing....

But, I have also noticed, most often this is where the passion remains. It is a passion of “like.”

It is a passion of the mind and heart and Internet; It is not usually a passion that moves to compassion.

It does not usually move to action. It does not result in transformation. It is solely an impotent acknowledgement of a cause, a problem, a situation - it is a passion of “like.”

And such like-passion does not result in change for the one who is passionate or for the one who is suffering.

While knowledge can lead to action which can result in change, solely acknowledging or knowing about a cause does not create the needed change.

On our campus we have collegians who are passionate about international missions, who will spend thousands of dollars to travel to the other side of the world for a week or two during a summer break, yet who will not walk across the classroom at school to befriend an international student from that same country.

On our campus we have collegians who are passionate about evangelism, who read books and blogs, listen to sermons, and constantly talk about the need for Christians to witness about their faith, yet who will not share their faith with their peers, even in very comfortable settings, such as handing out free coffee on campus and offering to pray with passers by.

On our campus we have collegians who are passionate about Child Sex Trafficking that is often born of the poverty that plagues inner-cities, yet who will not work locally to learn about and to eliminate poverty in the community adjacent to their campus.

Instead of possessing a like-passion, as Christians we are called to com-passion - a passion that makes one willing to get messy, to get dirty, to endure pain and suffering on behalf of others, or as my late seminary professor John Johnson said, we need a compassion like that of the Samaritan in Jesus’ story who was willing to get down in the ditch to help the injured, beaten, and dying man get out.

Granted, many young adults get it. We have a student who picks up two teenage girls from the nearby community each week and brings them to our worship services. When one of them got pregnant this brave collegian went with the girl to the doctors visits and was in the delivery room to welcome the little boy into the world. She continues to offer her support, mentoring, and unconditional love as the girls grow into womanhood.

We have another student who spends much of his free time downtown, visiting his friends (who happen to be homeless), talking with them about life, and faith, and sharing his food with them. He also takes others to meet them, to hang out, to talk about life, and faith, and to share a meal with them.

We have students who volunteer as mentors in the community, working with their assigned mentees as tutors and life-coaches, demonstrating that education is important and that there is life outside of the limited dead end worldview offered by the generational poverty in which they live.

Passion is needed in Christianity. Passion can be a force to bring about needed change. However, we don’t need a generation of folks who possess a like-passion, we need a generation of folks who have ditch-diving compassion!

Let’s do something.

Let’s push back against the like-passion with encouragement to do something with all of that pent up energy.

Let’s begin to ask the necessary (sometimes annoying) questions when scanning social media “likes.”

Let’s offer options and ideas for action instead of just pressing “like”

or attending a conference

or forwarding a sermon link

or even dropping a check in the mail or into the offering plate.

Let’s raise of a generation of compassionate, ditch-diving Christians who have dirt on our hands and faces, but possess the satisfaction of personally making a difference in someone’s life.

Missions or Ministry?

At a meeting recently someone defined missions as "Taking the Good News where it is actually news." That struck me as rather profound. I then thought it would be helpful to have a similar definition for "ministry". So I quickly defined it as "Helping or serving others in tangible ways." As a result, I have spent a bit of time pondering the difference between the two.
Often we conduct missions trips at the BCM and encourage students to become involved in summer missions projects. We raise money for Send-Me-Now missions and challenge our members to live missional lifestyles. We also challenge students to be aware of others needs and to seek to meet those in tangible ways. We have graduates working in ministry jobs and many others who are missionaries. We have alumni who serve in the Peace Corps, seeking to minister to others and make a difference in this secular world. There are graduates from BCM who seek to share their faith verbally through intentional relationships. There are many others involved in ministries and churches who have servant's hearts and do ministry as a natural outflow of their lives.

But I think we often confuse the two terms - missions and ministry. I have dubbed ventures such as cleaning up after a natural disaster "a missions project" when all we did was work from morning until night clearing debris and never actually talking to anyone. There have been similar clean-up projects where I have spent much of the time building relationships with homeowners while a crew cleared away storm debris. However, such personal interaction is not always the case - the "Good News" is not always shared while being involved in vital "ministry" projects. Thinking over these matters has provided a good reminder that while "ministry" can occur on a "missions" venture, doing "ministry" does not necessarily bring about "missions". Much of it has to do with both the intent of the event as well as what actually occurs.

Thoughts?

Spring is Coming

"I don't think you are depressed, though you are expressing symptoms of depression," my friend and counselor explained after I described the deepening rut I felt I had been in for a while now. He continued, "I think you are moving to a new stage of faith."

It has taken me several months to realize he was absolutely correct. It took so long because faith development is an area of expertise for me. In fact, this time last year I was writing my dissertation on the contemporary processes of faith development for emerging adults, or twentysomethings. My focus was on the transitions that occur during the movement from one stage to another as collegians graduate and move into what they often call "the real world" or the "adult world." I completely missed what should have been very obvious to me: I was in the midst of a transitional period in my own faith journey.

Over the next several months the combination of meeting with my friend/counselor, spending and waiting on God, I realized that I am in the midst of a period of deep transition and change, sort of a winter of the soul. In college I was enamored with Charles Swindoll's book, Growing Strong in the Seasons of Life. That book helped me conceptualize the cyclical nature of spirituality, particularly navigating my calling as a young adult. Lately as a staff we have been reading Brian McLaren's Naked Spirituality and discussing it during our weekly meetings. It has been fascinating to note how different members of our staff have identified with the different "moments" of the faith journey McLaren discusses. In the latter chapters I have been the lone voice of experience among our staff speaking to wrestling with God in times of pain and crisis resulting in deep questioning, time attempting to be mindful & present in each moment, reading (lots of things familiar and new), sometimes doubt, and often spiritual confusion or apathy. That seemed odd to me. I realized that over the past few years I have been in the midst of a spiritual wintertime.

Over the past two weeks the chapters we read together have struck a deep cord within me - almost like McLaren had awakened something in the core of my being with a light strum across some hidden cords of my soul. At first there was an awareness of movement, then the realization of sound. As I have tuned my ears to the growing, yet unfamiliar tune, I am finding it oddly comforting, though I have not identified a song among the sounds. As I am learning to make sense out of the odd formation of notes I am realizing that my heart is trying to sing new arrangements to some very old hymns. What was old has become new again. McLaren would say I am beginning to experience a second naiveté. I am finding profound meaning in simple ideas and truths and don't have any need for complex arguments or discussions. Not only do I find such conversations & diatribes boring, I find they try my patience. What used to capture my imagination and fan my spiritual and emotional passion now seems superficial and silly. As I am talking about God with my six year old daughter, I am blown away by the simple truths that thought I matured beyond. With my first two children, now 14 & 15, when I told them the simplified stories of the bible I mentally worked out complex systematic theologies to explain the hidden meanings and truth beneath the truth. Now I find the simple messages to be all that really matters. I catch myself meditating on them, stunned by them, knowing that I will never really understand the depths contained in these simple, well worn phrases, and believing that I will never need to grow beyond them to be completely content.

"In the beginning God...."

"God created...."

"God is love."

"Jesus loves me, this I know."

God is everywhere.

"Love each other as I have loved you."

In response to these elemental ideas I am overwhelmed with awe. My only response has been stunned gratitude.

I'm not completely out of the blahs yet. The chill of winter still fills my evenings and mornings. But through the gray skies I have gotten a glimpse of sunshine and feel the warmth that will soon fill the coming springtime. I am getting a glimpse of new life as tiny leaves begin to break through the snow-hardened soil and buds appear on the barren branches. And I am filled with hopeful anticipation for the days ahead.

It's going to be a beautiful Spring!

Emmanuel in our pain: “Lord if you had been here...” (John 11: 1-57)

This is the text of a message from 1/17 at the UGA BCM:

Karen and I went on our internship in campus ministry after our second year of marriage and second year of seminary. We moved to Mobile, Alabama where I worked as the campus ministry intern at the University of South Alabama. Karen worked at a church daycare with various ages of children. Her favorite group was the babies - especially one little boy named Micheal. For some reason Micheal and Karen bonded. She would awaken at night imagining she was rocking him in her sleep. Yep, you guessed it, we decided that it was time for her to go off birth control pills and see what might happen. However, after three moves and two years nothing had happened. She had talked with her doctor about her concerns and she even went to a specialist and had surgery. Another move, more doctors, more surgery, and still no babies. After 8 years we began to grow desperate. We borrowed money and did a mini-in vitro procedure where they take the needed, um, materials from the man and woman, do some magic in a petri dish and come up with a embryo which is then placed in the woman's womb. A month later we received a call that she was not pregnant. Our world crashed. We had already had doubts and many tearful nights. For Karen her body gave her a month to month reminder that it was broken; that she could not get pregnant. She blamed herself. She blamed God. She blamed me. She blamed the houses we lived in. She blamed God. She blamed the water. She blamed her parents. She blamed God; it always came back to God. Imagine holding your wife, who is rocked with grief, knowing there is nothing you can do to ally her pain or her fears, there is no hope you can offer, no comfort you can give other than your love and your embrace. It is heart breaking.

Martha, Mary and Lazarus were perhaps Jesus closest friends. Throughout the Gospels Jesus retreated to their home just before or after key events in his ministry.

According to Herschel Hobbs, Martha's "response was the greatest confession of faith in Jesus as the Messiah which is recorded in the gospels...." because "she made hers from the pit of despair. She had sent for Jesus in her hour of great need. Insofar as she could tell, He had failed her. Yet she still believed in Him. Hear her confession. 'Yea, Lord: I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world.' (v. 27)"

Like Mary and Martha, we should not avoid the pain that comes with grief and disappointment - even when that disappointment is with God! Read the Psalms. The writers are often not only disappointed with God, but are frustrated and often angry! We need to be honest with God and with each other when we are hurting!

Psalm 22

¹ My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? ² My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest.

Lamentations 3 the writer tells of his pain, feeling that God has abandoned him and his people:

¹ I am the man who has seen affliction
by the rod of the LORD’s wrath.
² He has driven me away and made me walk
in darkness rather than light;
³ indeed, he has turned his hand against me
again and again, all day long.

⁴ He has made my skin and my flesh grow old
and has broken my bones.
⁵ He has besieged me and surrounded me
with bitterness and hardship.
⁶ He has made me dwell in darkness
like those long dead.

⁷ He has walled me in so I cannot escape;
he has weighed me down with chains.
⁸ Even when I call out or cry for help,
he shuts out my prayer.
⁹ He has barred my way with blocks of stone;
he has made my paths crooked.

He ends in chapter 5:20 with a question that we all tend to ask in the midst of pain and suffering:

"Why have your forgotten us completely? Why have for forsaken us these many days?"

It is almost impossible to avoid asking the very real question, "Why?" However, there is no acceptable answer to that question! Just like a three year old asking his parents why, when we get an answer, we only ask again, "but why?" and it goes on and on and on and on.

Look at Jesus' response to the grief surrounding the death of his friend Lazarus in John, chapter 11. Jesus was not initially moved emotionally when talking with his disciples about Lazarus because he knew he would later raise him. He patiently told his disciples that Lazarus would not die, but was only sleeping. Of course they misunderstood him. Jesus explained that Lazarus was dead, but that they were going to Bethany so that Jesus could raise him. However, after encountering his close friends Martha and Mary and seeing their grief, Jesus too is deeply affected. Both Mary and Martha express their frustration and disappointment, each coming to Jesus saying, “Lord if you had been here...” If only....They were accusingly asking, "Jesus why weren't you here!?!"

Here we encounter the shortest verse in the bible, but perhaps one that contains the most comforting message in all of Christendom. "Jesus wept." Herschel Hobbs pointed out that this is too simplistic of a translation - this is one case where we have minimized the emotional side of Jesus. A better, more literal translation of Jesus crying here is, "Jesus sobbed."

Picture this if you will. Here, the God of the universe is so moved with compassion for his friends that he cries with them. Jesus cried with Mary and Martha because of THEIR pain. In seminary one of our required texts was a book called "The crucified God." In it the author delves deeply into the idea that God cries with us in our grief. Folks, this is a game changer. I don't know if you can truly catch the depth of this truth unless you have been racked with grief or torn in two with pain. Jesus wept because of their pain. God weeps with us because of our pain.

When Jesus was leaving his disciples he told them that he was sending along the Holy Spirit - the Greek word is Paraclete - the advocate or helper or comforter. I want to challenge you, the next time you are stricken with pain or grief, picture Jesus, through the Holy Spirit, crying with you. It is the role of the Holy Spirit to be advocate and comforter. God is on your side!

Intercession: A few years ago someone told me that when he prays for others often he does not know how he should pray. So, he began to visualize his prayers. This is what he did, he began to picture himself carrying the person who asked for prayer all the way to the throne of Jesus. Then he placed that person into God's lap and watched as God held and cried with the person. I began practicing that myself. It is incredibly comforting for me to see and know that I have placed those whom I love into the arms of God. Sometimes I listen in to the words the Jesus whispers to my friend as he cradles them in his arms, "I love you. I've got you. You are safe in my arms."

Helen Parks wrote of intercession as "holding the ropes". Her allusion was to those on the boat who throw out life-buoys to those in the rough seas. A beautiful opportunity and responsibility for those of us in the family of God is to hold the ropes for others whose faith has been shaken. Like a family, we are to be there in love and support for others while they are immobilized in their grief and pain. We need to be a safe place.

From Why to What now: As the shock of our grief subsides, we need move from asking "Why" to asking, "What now?" We need to develop an attitude of expectancy, like that of Martha - putting our faith not in the situation, but in God. "God is up to something!" Our hope needs to be in Jesus, not in a fantasy of what-could-have-been or what-could-be. We need to put our faith and hope in God and in the future that God holds. Very often that future is very different from what we could have ever asked or imagined, as Paul prays in Ephesians 3:20 & 21. St our wedding my bride surprised me with an inscription in my ring. She had Eph. 3:4-21inscribed inside the band she gave to me. Paul writes, "Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."

Let's bring this home: There are lots of hurting people all around us. Most of them hide behind a facade of make-up and a wide grin. Many hide behind anger or drugs or working too much or.....you know the excesses meant to dull pain. Instead of ignoring the pain around us, or enjoying our ignorance about other's pain, we need to begin asking God to give us his eyes to see the hurts around us. This past weekend Chad Norris challenged us to be open and attentive to the voice of the Holy Spirit, to pray for God to be so close to you that God speaks to us of other's needs. Or, as i like to say, for God to give us his eyes so that we can begin to see what God sees. To see the hurts, to see the needs in others. We need to begin to pray for God's healing spirit to come into the lives of those around us. You never know what kind of instrument of life-change you can be by allowing God to use you as a comforter to your peers.

I'm under no illusion that everything is hunky dory in the lives of everyone in this room. Many of you are in pain too. Many of you are angry at God. Many of you feel like the writer of lamentations....that God is out to get you! I want to challenge you to be honest about your pain. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with God. Be honest with each other. Often healing cannot come until we are willing to admit we can't do it on our own.

After 10 years of struggling with infertility Karen and I hit bottom. One Wednesday evening the minister of music passed out a new piece of music for our choir to sing. It was an arrangement of Psalm 86. As we started this haunting melody began to fill the sanctuary. We began to sing, "Here my voice O Lord when I cry, Here my prayer when I cry to you from the holy place...." (Here is a choir singing the piece: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXY3v7GUC44) And my wife, seated a few rows below me, began to cry. This was not your polite, lady-like weeping, but loud, audible, body shaking sobs. It was rather disruptive to the moving strains of music. Somehow we finished that verse and put the piece away. The music minister was rather taken aback, he was new at the church and did not know our story. He didn't know my wife and probably thought this was going to be a common occurrence. My wife NEVER cries. For her there is no such thing as a "good cry". I don't think we sang that piece again for almost 6 months. That Psalm became one of Karen and my favorites. Especially the last verse:

Psalm 86

⁶ Hear my prayer, LORD; listen to my cry for mercy. ⁷ When I am in distress, I call to you,

because you answer me

¹¹ Teach me your way, LORD,
that I may rely on your faithfulness;
give me an undivided heart,
that I may fear your name.
¹² I will praise you, Lord my God, with all my heart;
I will glorify your name forever.
¹³ For great is your love toward me;
you have delivered me from the depths,
from the realm of the dead.

The next few chapters: A few months later we met a couple on a cruise we had taken to get our minds off of the stresses of life. We hung out with them the entire cruse - they were lots of fun. On the last night we were watching the sunset as we left Key West, they were talking about how excited they were to get back home to their 5 children. The mom asked Karen, "I've not heard you talk about children...." Karen admitted, "I don't think we will ever have any of our own." The girl asked her, "Have you thought about adoption?" To my surprise Karen said, "We'll yes, I think that's the only way we will ever have a family." She said, "Oh my gosh, I have a niece..."

A few months later, in June, we flew to Omaha, Nebraska to pick up our baby whom we had named Blake. The next morning when we called the birth-mom she told us she had changed her mind. We were back into the pit of despair, deeper than ever this time. The plane ride home was the longest in the history of the world. I will never forget the embrace shared by Karen and her father when we reached the airport in Atlanta. They held each other and sobbed for a full five minutes. Everyone who passed by in the concourse stopped to stare.

It took us two months to return to church when we got home we were so hurt and confused. And mad. In August we pulled ourselves together, believing that God had led us down the road towards adoption months before. We thought we might as well follow through with it. We wrote a letter introducing ourselves as potential adoptive parents. I sent that letter to 100 people all over the US. We contacted a national Adoption agency in Atlanta. The next spring break, exactly one year after the cruise, Karen and I had two meetings with women who wanted to place their to-be-born children for adoption. A month later we welcomed Natalie Joy into our family. Six months later we welcomed Nicholas Aaron. Two children. We were blessed beyond what we could ask or imagine.

And the final act of God's grace was the birth of Karlie Nicole, born to us in our 20th year of marriage! Now we are speechless and exhausted! God's grace and provision is profound. He has turn our mourning into dancing.

Since then we have had countless opportunities to minister to others who are going through similar experiences. Our pain has become Gods glory and our joy, a joy we could never had imagined while we were in the throws of despair.

In the story in Chapter 11 Jesus raises Lazarus. Like ours, this story has a happy ending. Mary and Martha got what they wanted - they got their brother back, their grief was cut short. But such happy endings don't always occur in our lives. Lazarus later died again. The grief was still raw the second time around. In our lives, sometimes the boyfriend comes back, but sometimes he marries your best friend. Sometimes we get another job quickly, but sometimes we stay unemployed for months or years. Sometimes our friend is healed, but sometimes she dies. Sometimes we ace the class, but sometimes we flunk and have to change our major, abandoning our childhood dreams of becoming a doctor.

But even in the midst of our pain, if we keep our eyes on God we will gain new intimacy with God, and new insights into ourselves and our faith. We will better understand Paul's crazy talk when he said that when "he was weak he was strong." As a result of the difficult days, the Dark Nights of the Soul, as early Christians called them, we will find deeper faith, deeper comfort, and deeper peace. When we begin to emerge on the other side of our pain and grief we will discover, upon looking back, that God had been with us the whole time. The same Emmanuel, God with us, whom we sang about a month ago, is still with us in our times of grief and pain, crying with us, mingling his tears with our own.

Grace through clinched fists?

I've been thinking a lot about grace lately. Not because I have been acting particularly graceful, but because I have been reading a lot about how contemporary society feels about Christians, and as a result, how many/most feel about the church and many about God. In working as a "professional Christian" in a college setting I talk with Christian students everyday, seeking to help them become better disciples of Jesus. I also talk with students who are not followers of Jesus - most who have a negative attitude towards all religions. Much of the negativity they harbor is from contact they have had or their friends have had with folks who claim the mantle of "Christian." My conversations with students and alumni has proven Dan Kimball's assessment a few years ago in the title of his book, They like Jesus but not the church. In trying to find a metaphor to capture what I have been hearing from students on our campus, many of us who are evangelistic Christians seem to be offering grace through clinched fists. We hold the grace of God out for others to see, but when we do we also offer so many rules and restrictions for the practice of faith that we make grace seem impossible to obtain. The fingers of our clinched fists prove to be prison bars, holding grace captive - making it ours to own and control and keeping it away from others who need it just as much if not more than we do. Seems to me that such a presentation of Grace is rather Pharisaical, and thus, sinful. I could quote a myriad of verses here to prove my point, but don't want to overstate the obvious: Jesus offered grace to all people. Why we feel the need to convict others and demand wholesale lifestyle changes before they can accept the loving, freely offered grace of God is beyond my comprehension. In case I misread the Bible, conviction is the work of the God.

I've just started reading two books, Sin boldly: a field guide for grace, by Cathleen Falsani and Lost in transition: the dark side of emerging adulthood, by Christian Smith. Both are disturbing my thoughts and sleep this week. As we seek to reach out to the students on campus in conversations about the saving grace of Jesus and seek to lead the students in our ministry to have spiritual conversations with their friends we face an uphill battle. Students on campus have heard too many canned evangelistic pitches that have impossible strings attached. Many are reticent to engage in serious conversations anymore. Students in our ministry are like those discussed in Lost in transition, who have become so influenced by the contemporary postmodern philosophy that they do not want to talk to their friends about faith because they do not want to impose their beliefs on anyone else.

I live and work in what has been dubbed the Bible-belt. Most students on our campuses are at least familiar with Christianity, though many have not experienced nor claim faith in Jesus. +Vic Doss, a local church-based college pastor realized that most students today don't share their faith because they don't know how and because they have not been shown how. He and some of his colleagues decided to begin taking students on campus to engage in purposeful conversations. They have had great success in modeling healthy evangelism. The result has been thousands of conversations over the past few years with students and faculty members. Vic noted that students are not coming to Jesus because no one is having the conversation with them.

Our students have been giving out coffee on campus one morning each week. They have discovered that most folks welcome the offers of prayer and encouragement offered alongside a free cup of coffee. Many conversations have been started and are ongoing because a few students care enough to spend a few hours a week between morning classes loving on their peers with offers of coffee and prayer.

Let's ponder solutions together.
Let's engage this changing culture in conversations about faith.
Let's encourage honest discussions among our Christian students about their faith and about evangelism.
Let's model for our students ways to have healthy, grace-filled conversations about faith by taking them with us on campus, inviting them along when we go out on campus for evangelistic events.
Let's get out of our buildings and onto campus so that we can interact with students in our ministries and students who have had bad experiences with "clinched-fist grace," talking with them about grace found in Jesus.

What are your ideas?

He knows my name!

Last night in our worship service at Tuesday@theB we finished a study of John chapter 6. I had intended on connecting Peter's statement at the end of the chapter with other elements in the previous chapters of John's story about Jesus. However, while I was studying I got stuck on Peter's comment, because John focuses on the conversation in a manner quite different than the other Gospel writers. After the feeding of the crowds with only a few loaves of bread and a few fish, the other writers have Peter's profound statement of faith, "You are the Christ of God" (Luke) or "You are the Messiah, the son of God" (Matthew). But in John's account, when the crowds are leaving Jesus, he turns to his 12 disciples and asks, "Are you going to leave me too?" Peter responds, "To whom shall we go? You have the words of life!"

My plan was to show how this statement traces back through the Gospel. I was going to point out where Jesus was referred to as the Word and where Peter heard Jesus say that his very words gave eternal life. As I was looking through the earlier passages I stopped on this first encounter Peter had with Jesus. It was there that Jesus called Peter by his given name, Simon, and then gave him a new name, Peter, or Rock. From the other Gospel accounts we know that Peter was no rock, put was in fact rather impetuous and loud and usually had his foot in his mouth.

Names are important in scripture. In Peter's case we know that he eventually became what Jesus named him to be, but that it took time. In fact, as we read the stories of Peter we can see when the disciple gets it right because Jesus or the writer calls him "Peter". However, when the well intentioned disciple blunders, he is called Simon or Simon Peter.

I have heard and read many interpretations and explanations of the meaning of the new name Jesus gave to Simon. But I don't think I have ever heard or seen a similar study of the name Simon. So I did what any good scholar would do; I googled it. What I found gave me even more insight into what John was telling us in the first six chapters of his narrative, especially as it relates to Peter - and to us. The name Simon means "to hear" or "to be heard". Peter had been looking for, as the song begs, "Something to believe in." When his little brother Andrew came to introduce him to Jesus, Peter came right away because he needed to hear the word of life offered by Jesus. Like many who are bold and brash, Peter was a natural leader who had no direction, and, as a result, was flailing around trying to prove himself. When he met Jesus, a man who knew his names - who the disciple was and who Jesus wanted him to become -Peter's life was given direction and purpose. He lived up to the challenge of becoming the stock that Jesus called him to be.

The lesson for us? Jesus knows our names. Jesus knows who we are now - the good and the bad. Jesus knows the names we call ourselves and those we are called by others. But Jesus also has a new name for us, a name to which he calls us to become. He guides and leads us to be all he is creating us to be. He gently whispers the new name in our ear, and if we choose to listen to his voice and follow his gentle calls we too can become more than we are. We can, one step at a time, grow into the name Jesus knows us by and calls us to become.

Do you hear him? What is the name he has given to you? What are the words of full, complete, eternal life that he offers to you in your new name? Take a step towards his voice. He doesn't expect you to become the new you immediately, but, like Peter, by taking one step at a time towards his loving, beckoning voice you will slowly grow into who you have always longed to be.

Back to School

This morning I dropped our 5 year old off for her first day of Kindergarten. As she got out of the van I uttered the same blessing over her that I have offered to our children each school day for 11 years now, "God bless you at school today!" I usually add a few more lines, but Karlie was so excited that she practically jumped out of the van when the door opened. She has been ready for school for two weeks, each morning longingly asking, "is summer over yet?" She has packed and repacked her purple Little Mermaid "packpack" multiple times to make sure she has everything in it.

After I watched her skip to the smiling teacher waiting on the curb in front of her school, tears filled my eyes. My emotions were a strange mix of sadness and joy. Driving away my mind slowly shifted and I began to get excited about the busy day I have ahead. A record number of collegians are arriving in Athens over the next few days. Our leadership team just completed four days of training and is returning to Athens today to begin engaging their peers, recruiting them to join "DawgPack" groups and telling them about the new ministry model we will roll out next week at our Open House. Karlie's excitement is contagious. I am beginning to feel the buzz deep in my chest when I think about the possibilities for ministry in the next few days. The first two weeks of school are always crazy and exhausting. We have multiple activities most days this week - from early in the morning to late at night. There are still a lot of preparations yet to be done. But I'm excited!

Let's do this!

Decluttering

I finally managed to find some time today to begin the process of decluttering my office. I was going to start simple - just clean off my desk - it's been quite a while since I have been able to see wood grain or the pictures under my blotter. Alas, as with all of the projects I undertake, this simple task got complicated quickly. After filing a few of the papers on top of the stacks I found a book, and another, and another. Before long I had almost 20 books stacked beside my desk. When I began to transfer them to the one of the four bookcases in my office, I noted that there was no room. In fact, I had other books on the floor in front of the bookcases and slipped in horizontally on top of the rows of properly shelved books. Thus, I began the process of culling the books on the shelves. I stacked the first cull into a nearby chair. Before long that chair was full, so I pulled another over. When it filled up I began putting books on the floor. When I could no longer walk around the room I went in search of boxes, realizing that I was going to have to part with many of these beloved treasures.

Now if you know me very well at all, you will recall that I hate to part with books, unless the parting is "loaning" a book to a student or a friend for a season. Many times I don't get those books back, but that makes room for more on my shelves! Most of the books in my collection were acquired at a specific time for a specific purpose - there are memories tied with many of them. Others were given to me from my father (or "borrowed" from his vast library) or from other ministers. Many are still hanging around from seminary days. Though I have not opened most of the books on my shelves for many years I find it almost impossible to part with them! My wife has gone from telling people that I am an avid reader to "Nathan is an avid buyer of books!" Our finances would confirm that assesment!

I have only culled my books once before, just before I moved to Athens. I gave away many of the books I used in my former job (missions coordinator). When I unpacked my books here many years ago I had lots of shelf space for trinkets and mission trip memorabilia. However, between normal book buying, gifts from friends and colleagues, and the masses of books I purchased during the past five years for my PhD work, I have many more books than my shelves can contain. Thus, this cull was needed (I know Karen, I need to cull at home too!).

I also took the time to reorganize the shelves. There used to be a system in place - a section each for counseling books, marriage prep books, missional books, emerging church books, evangelism books, discipleship books (and materials), leadership books, and general inspirational books. Then on the other side of the room, nearer to my desk, were shelves with sections for theology, commentaries, bibles, and Bible study materials. Before today divisions between types of books were virtually non-existent. It took forever to find a specific book because things were so disorganized. It is beginning to look presentable again. I know, there are stacks of books in chairs and on the floor. Some of these books are going home with me. But most of them are going on a table outside of my office with a sign that proclaims, "free books!" Others will be appearing on Amazon's site. Others will be headed to the local library for the annual book sale. It makes the pain of culling a bit better to think that many will be headed to a good home.

Here and Now

Brian McLaren, in his new book Naked Spirituality, says that one of the initial (and recurring) stages of faith is recognizing that God is here and learning to tune into God's presence in all of our life. Last week when I was in the mountains of Tennessee I sought to let go of my busyness and let the clean mountain air and incredible vistas slowly penetrate into my soul, into the core of myself, into that place that tends to get buried in the act of living (and even in the act of ministering to others). For me the mountains (almost any mountains) are thin places, places where it is easier for me to feel, see, and listen to God. As I've come home, back to the business of prepping for the new year at work, working around the house, and, of course, paying bills, I am trying to keep the windows to my soul open. If you have been reading my last few posts, it is easy to see that I have allowed busyness to get the best of me.

Last night at the BCM I led a discussion of 1 John 4:1-6. We were talking about the essentials of faith. For John, those essentials are acknowledging Jesus as divine and loving others. Peter Rhea Jones deems these two "interrelated convictions" to be "a durable duet" that must exist for a healthy Christian faith (p. 159). I challenged the collegians who were present (a few first semester students all the way up to 4th years) to take their college years to determine the essentials of their faith. For me my essentials vary from time to time. Like John, I divide my essentials into beliefs and practices. One essential that spans both is the incarnational presence of Jesus in my life. This requires belief, but it also required my attention to the presence and activity of God in and around me. It requires me to invoke God's presence into my day when I awaken. It requires me to set reminders during the day to slow down, to pay attention, and usually, to simply be present to God and to others. If I remember to do that life is so much better for me. I have so much less stress, and as a result, do not get nearly as tired or frustrated.

Basically, I am trying to declutter my head so that there is a clear path between God and my soul. So far I'm doing pretty well. Now if I can just get my desk decluttered.....

Home

It has taken most of this week, but this morning as I emerged from the bedroom in search of coffee and looked out over the mountains I felt a deep, inner sigh, a sigh of deep peace and contentment, the sigh of feeling at home, at rest. Brian McLaren, in his newest book, Naked Spirituality, deems this place the experience of "here," one of the early stages in the recurring spiral of spiritual growth, development, and experience. It is the re-realization of God's constant presence and the ensuing peace that such knowledge brings.
For me the experience of "here" is accompanied by a drive to do something. Much like the disciples of Jesus who experienced a mountaintop experience with him wanted to build an altar to commemorate the event, I want to get to work, prepping sermons or writing devotions or talking to students...but I know that what I need to do is rest in this moment, to allow God to minister to me as he did to Elijah (in the Old Testament story after the prophet had successfully battled the prophets of Baal). I need to stay in this place until the reality of God's abiding presence is firmly rooted in my conscience and until God moves me to the next place, like Elijah, with a deeper understanding of who God is and who I am in God's eyes.
And so I rest...and so I wait...and so I listen.

Ah, the mountains!

We are in the mountains for a few days of family vacation.  I am realizing that I have needed this trip for quite awhile. We had a week of vacation at the beach earlier in the summer. While it was fun, my soul comes alive in the mountains. Everyone has a place our two that rejuvenates them. For me, God lives in the midst of the mountains. By that I mean I feel more connected in the higher elevations, more alive, more relaxed, and more able to recognize my stresses. Like many ENFP's, I don't often notice when I am stressed until I get sick, have crazy aches and pains, lash out at someone, suffer from insomnia, or forget something important. Though I have only begun to notice, all of those have occured this week. The past few mornings my wife has told me that I had talked in my sleep and/or sat bolt upright in the middle of the night, waking her up. I don't remember any of it.
I guess I need this trip.
As I look out of the big glass windows, I feel my soul beginning to stir. The magic of the Smoky Mountains is starting to have it's expected - and needed - effect.
"Awake my soul and sing....."

Sometimes we all need a vacation

Sometimes it's good to get away for awhile. I usually realize that I need a break long after the effects of exhaustion have set it, and set in deep. There two main ways I know I'm tired. The first is when I have trouble sitting still. I feel I have too much to do to pause, even for a moment, even for a good thing. I hear myself saying, "just a minute" or "let me finish this one thing," way too often. When that ramped up attitude is paired with the second sign - a hyper cynicism - I know i need to step back for awhile and regroup.

It's been a very busy semester. Today I realized just how exhausted I have become. It hit me as i was restlessly sitting in a meeting today, inwardly complaining about every minute detail, thinking, "this is such a waste of time." I was still thinking such thoughts when the director of th camp began his devotional. He rambled a bit, told a story, rambled some more, then read this scripture:

"Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, 'Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.' So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place" (Mark 6:31-32 NIV).

Then he began to say that he believed we were all tired and were in need of deep rest. He hoped that this place, this camp, could provide some restful rejuvenation or each of us. That's when it hit me. I sighed, and realized I have been sighing for months now. I have been bouncing from one ramped up state to the next with a few crashes in between. I have not really rested at all lately. Though my to-do list is not going to shrink, my attention to it can change. I can, and will, determine not to let my lists and activities control me, but that I can and will control them. Now that I have seen my need for rest I am determined to find it, relax in it, and return home in a better state to serve my family, do my job, and cover all of the items piling up on my lists. 

Perhaps that's why Nora Jones' line has been so compelling; "come away with me," she pleads.   That song has been stuck in my head for months. Now that I am away, I'm going to pause, reflect, pray, meditate, write, and enjoy the quiet. 

Conflicted...

This morning I find my muddy emotions of the past few days a bit less murky - at least I am able to see the disparate divisions of thought in my mind more clearly. The posts, tweets, and blogs of others have helped the mud settle back to the bottom. I stayed up on Sunday night waiting for the "announcement" from our President. All the while I was following Twitter and Facebook, speculating like everyone else what the news would be. After the announcement I was shocked at the unapologetic hatred and elation over Ben Ladin's death being expressed by many of my Christian friends. However, at that time I didn't have words to express my thoughts.

I am proud to be an USAmerican. I too am tired of this ten year war we have been waging against terrorism. I too feared the evil plots and schemes of Ben Ladin and the other leaders of terrorist organizations around the world. I too was horrified when the twin towers were attacked in New York and the Pentagon in Washington DC. Part of me was proud that our special forces were able to "take out" this mastermind of terror, or as our Governor deemed him, this "embodiment of evil" in a surgical strike, much like we have grown to expect from movies like Mission Impossible or like we role play in Halo or Black Opps. With Jim Wallis, I am glad this was not another bombing that might have resulted in the death of many civilians. However.....

As I watched Twitter explode with posts of rejoicing, several thoughts and quotes began swirling in my mind. Over the past few days those thoughts have grown louder, while the patriotic thoughts have quieted:

"Love your enemies; pray for those who persecute you." - Jesus

"I've been tryin' to get down to the heart of the matter, but my will gets weak, and my thoughts seem to scatter, But I think its about forgiveness, forgiveness, even if you don't love me anymore. Ah...these times are so uncertain. There's a yearning undefined and people filled with rage. We all need a little tenderness; how can love survive in such a graceless age. Ah the trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness, they're the very things we kill, I guess...." Don Henley, Heart of the Matter

"Joyfully celebrating the killing of a killer who joyfully celebrated killing carries an irony that I hope will not be lost on us. Are we learning anything, or simply spinning harder in the cycle of violence?" - Brian McLaren

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." - attributed to Martin Luther King, Jr.

Perhaps over the next few days and weeks better theologians than I will suggest a "Christian response" to this that will be easy to understand that will end my befuddlement and give me the clarity to easily explain my thoughts to others.

Perhaps mine is not the best, most thought through response. Perhaps it is not the most patriotic reaction. Perhaps it is not the most manly response. But today,

I choose life.

I choose grace.

I choose forgiveness.

I choose love.

Holy Week Reading

Each year during Lent my wife puts away her usual novels and reads non-fiction Christian books. She usually chooses something I've recently added to my library and have recommended to her. This year I took a cue from her. For the past several years I have been stockpiling books that I want to read. However, because of the demands of grad school, most of my acquisitions have gone unread. Stacked not so neatly on my desk, on my bedside table, or stuffed into open spaces on my bookshelves at home or at the office, the tomes have been patiently waiting to be picked up and read. Now that my dissertation is done and done I have a bit more time. After reading "for fun" over the past few weeks I finally made it down in my bedside table stack to Anne Rice's two book Christ the Lord series. I started the first one, Out of Egypt, on Wednesday of Holy Week. I finished it on Good Friday and started The Road to Cana.

I love Rice's writing style. Several summers ago I read all of the Vampire Chronicles (When vampire books were cool the last go round). She is a great story teller. It was nice to be able to immerse my imagination into the first century world of Jesus childhood and then young adulthood as he struggled to figure out the birth stories told about him. The books became my devotional reading for the weekend. Between family activities and chores I nestled into the couch or a chair on the porch and traveled back in time to the dusty roads of Nazereth. As they say, "I laughed, I cried."

Yesterday, Easter Sunday, was a perfect day. I read before church and after we got home from dinner (at Chef Mings). I read sitting outside on the porch, feeling the cool breezes and hearing the laughter of my children as I read of Jesus walking the roads between Cana and Nazereth. As I got sleepy I moved to the couch in the den. I wandered with Jesus in the wilderness after his Baptism by his cousin John. As the afternoon turned to evening, I journeyed with Jesus and his disciples to the wedding at Cana. When I read the last lines, with tears in my eyes, I could not wait to begin the next chapter. The only question now is which version, Matthew, Mark, Luke or John?

A simple thing....

When I openned Karlie's "pack-pack" after school yesterday I found a treasure. Her "best friend" had given her a letter sometime during the school day. Karlie quickly tucked the note securly into her backpack so as not to lose it or have it "collected" by the teacher for an example of her friend's writing ability. When I asked Karlie about the note, she beamed, "It's from my friend Kim! She wrote me a letter! Let me read it for you, "You are my BEST friend Karlie!"
Such a simple note. Such a tiny chore. Such a treasured gift.
I know the power that words of encouragement can play in the lives of those around us. However, most times, even if I think about how important,
special,
talented,
gifted,
loved,
someone is, it is rare that I take the brief seconds to send a text, jot a note, or write a letter. How silly of me. I hope & pray that Karlie's treasured letter will stay in my mind for a long time, urging me to take the time to do such a simple thing that might make someone's day.

Spring has sprung....

Yesterday afternoon I found myself doing something I have not done in a long time. I was staring out of the window, thinking about - nothing. I had been reading one of the many books-for-pleasure that have piled up on my bedside table, my desk, or my bookshelves over the past six years of school. I paused for a few minutes because I was about to fall asleep mid-sentence. After about five minutes of staring out of the huge plate glass window at church, I noticed that I was looking past or through the most amazing dogwood blossoms. I sat for another few minutes lost in wonder of the beauty that I had not noticed. Then I began to realize that over the past six years there are a lot of things I have placed on the back burner of life in order to stay focused on the added responsibility of school. There are things at work that I have left undone or half done. There are great students that have come and gone that I never took the time to know on a deeper level. There are parts of my kids' lives that I have missed or watched from a disengaged distance. There are seasons, like this one, that I have seen come and go, but have not really noticed them.

The transition to post-graduate student is going to take awhile, but I am determined to rediscover the joys of simple things - like doing nothing. Like letting the beauty of the seasons envelope me with mindless wonder. Like playing simple, silly games with Karlie. Like listening to music with Nick (even if it is rap that I don't understand). Like taking long walks with Natalie and talking about the most recent book she is reading or new story she is writing. Like going on dates with my wife. Like taking out pencil and paper and drawing again. Like posting in this blog on a regular basis.

This is going to be fun!

It doesn't take long to spend the night in New Orleans!

After a full day of work followed by a late night of meetings and worship I've realized that it doesn't take long to spend the night in New Orleans! I need much more sleep than I got last night. In other words, I'm old.
It is inspiring to work alongside these amazing collegians! Not only are we having fun, we are having great conversations as we work. The church construction teams 4 & 5 are working in is Williams Boulevard Baptist. For the past six years this congregation has hosted the State Police, the National Guard, as well as countless teams who have come to NoLa to do relief work. Many rooms have been converted to storage space. We are reclaiming the space by cleaning out, washing walls, painting and repairing, and doing some light construction (pictures are on facebook). It feels good to be doing some physical labor after sitting at the computer for months working on my dissertation.
It will be fun to see what the rest of the week holds!

Reflecting

I'm sitting alone in my hotel room in New Orleans after driving all day with 5 students from UGA for a mission trip. We start work tomorrow. The team I'm on will be assisting a church to remodel after hosting the National Guard for the past 5 years. It's horrible to think that there is still so much work left to do here as we are just starting to get reports of the destruction and loss off life in Japan following the Earthquake there last week. I hope they are able to recover more quickly than NoLa; but the devastation appears much worse, if that is possible.
I feel excited about this week, yet I also am feeling a bit out of sorts, a surreal numbness after turning in my dissertation on Thursday. I won't allow myself to get too excited. I still have my defense in a week and a half. It simultaneously feels like a monkey has jumped off my back while another, unknown monkey has climbed aboard. There is excitement about getting to actually spend time with my family each evening and on weekends & hanging out with students without worrying about writing our reading. It's exciting to be able to read for fun again! I need to take some time for reflection this week, to find a mirror to try to catch a glimpse of the new critter that has taken up residence on my shoulders.
Perhaps it is that old feeling that God is up to something, that feeling of expectancy that I am both doing what I need to be doing while believing that God is at work ahead of me, preparing me for the next thing. Whatever it is, it should be an adventure!

Beauty Salon

Yesterday afternoon on one of my normal "Dad's Taxi" runs I had a cross-cultural experience. Karen had an appointment to get her hair trimmed and decided that Natalie could also use some professional TLC on her blond locks. Karen asked me to bring Karen to the salon to save a bit of time. On the way Natalie and I picked Karlie up from Pre-K. When we got to Bonnie & Clyde's Salon in Watkinsville Karlie was enthralled, looking around at every detail. Karen had not arrived before Natalie was invited to have her hair shampooed. Karlie's interest was peaked as Natalie went around the corner but she was too shy to follow. She wanted to move closer after Natalie was seated in a styling chair. However, when Karen arrived and was escorted back to have her hair washed Karlie could not resist seeing what went on in the next room. She made several trips back and forth between the sinks and the styling chairs until Karen emerged.

"I want to have my hair cut too," Karlie whispered to me. "Only I still want to be able to put it up in a ponytail," she clarified. I laughed. I told her that today only Natalie and mom were getting their hair done. She would have to come back another day for her turn.

At times I felt like an interloper as Karen and the two stylists discussed hairstyles and haircare. Natalie even began to add her two cents. Karlie was a pinball between the two chairs and the one I was occupying off to the side. She was fascinated at all of the attention lavished on her sister and mom. She was learning a culture that I knew I would only observe, that I could never really understand.

Sensing the afternoon slipping away, I told Karen I needed to head home and get supper started. Karlie begged to stay with the girls. As I left the lyrical laughter of my three girls sang to me all the way to my car. That is a sound I will never forget and will treasure always.