Letting Me In

When I was little I would sometimes watch my Dad listen to his music.

He would sit cross-legged in front of his cool and humongous stereo with these gigantic headphones on his head. They had this big black cord that spiraled out of one side and down to the stereo. He looked like an air traffic controller without his shirt on.

We lived in the Philippines and it was hot and sweaty all the time. Bugs everywhere, and I didn’t like it much. Roaches as big as your foot, when you’re a kid, make you not like a place. Especially when they would fly at you and sound like a helicopter.

But, no matter where we were, I loved to watch my Dad listen to his music.

It was quiet in the house but you could hear he had his music up so loud, listening to the likes of Peter Frampton, the Doobie Brothers, Bachman Turner Overdrive , Jim Croce and Elton John… Steve Miller… Grand Funk.

Good, good stuff.

Sometimes I would bug him. I mean, I didn’t mean to actually bother him, and I don’t think it did… but I wanted to be a part somehow of what was happening. I would come up and tap his hairy freckled shoulder in order to somehow get a glimpse of this good thing going on.

A few times, he would slowly turn to me with these just barely moist eyes and I knew it was something really, really good happening in the song.

And it was in that moment, he would let me in.

He would let me sit with him, and he even let me listen in at times. He talked about how good a song it was… and he would reach up and reposition the needle back at the beginning of the song to listen again.

I can still see his face, I can still hear his voice, smell his aftershave and I can still feel how special those moments were when he was listening to his music, and he didn’t mind me sticking my face into whatever was going on.

While this didn’t happen every time, it sticks with me more than many other things, how special it was to see him, bug him… to be let in to this thing that mattered a lot to him, and that brought him life.

I don’t believe it can be overstated how important it is for the life and love of a father to be spoken into that of his kid.

His kid like me. In those moments, I knew he was for me.

There’s a place in the Gospel of Matthew in the Bible where Jesus has gone out to a man in the wilderness to be baptized. The man instantly recognizes Jesus and says something to the effect of, “I should not be the one baptizing you, we’ve got this all backwards.”

But Jesus won’t relent… He has John baptize Him, and when He comes up out of the water, a voice from Heaven says, “This is my Son, whom I love… with Him I am well pleased.”

Now all of our theological questions about what God’s voice sounds like notwithstanding, I can’t help but also believe this was a pretty beautiful moment for all of humanity… for all of God’s children.

I think He was letting us in.

Not only is it the introduction to end all introductions (I mean God spoke out of Heaven, that’s a pretty big intro)… but He’s also letting us in. Right there at the beginning of things changing forever.

He’s letting us in on the Son He loves. He’s letting us in on some really good news. Letting us in on some really, really good music and a good story.

Some really good music and a story so very close to His heart.

Look, I tell you all this because I believe you and I are meant to bear witness to some really good things, and God… the God who made the world and life and breath and bears and steak and music loves you so very much… so very much.

He loves you so much that He doesn’t mind letting you in on something very special going on, on this very special story and on this really, really good music that brings life.

So don’t you think you are alone.
Don’t you sit there thinking that you are forgotten and that God’s joys are for someone else.
Not for a minute should you believe that you will always hurt.
And you should not give a second to the thought that you deserve the pain you feel.

You have a Father who cannot wait for the big intro, the big ask… for you to tap Him on the shoulder so that He can turn with moist eyes and look at you and take you in.

Let you into His story… after all, it really is for you.

He really is for you.

That my friend, is good stuff. Good, good stuff.

Hold High

It’s hard to think about anything other than the children whom Jesus holds in His arms.

Other than pray and think about the kids, everything else I do right now feels so inadequate. Writing, especially. When I am cried out, I feel pretty numb this way, and don’t know what there is to offer.

And I don’t know how to ever bring light to the unimaginable pain of those who have lost or endured so much, and who’ve held witness to the suffering of those who deserve no such thing. Other than to cry with and for the shattered, nothing else much makes sense. It feels torturous that when we’ve cried it all out, there it all is again.

So I don’t know about you, but I am praying and thinking about them and weeping and mourning and whispering why. Like I said, I don’t think I have much else to offer.

When I’m done weeping, I breathe in and out and remember, and then weep again. Sitting quietly here in our home, we pray and we hold each other very, very close. Every now and then we go get busy with something less important for the simple sake of distraction. It seems unfair that we can do this.

And then once in a while, we’ll remember all over again and then cry again and then somewhere in the middle of all of this… this process of over-and-over… we realize that our prayers and that our hearts and our minds are mercifully finding their way back to one thing that we in our family know.

I want to share with you the one thing. But first, I need to tell you a story.

A friend once talked about a place in the Bible where a man lost it all. He lost his life and his children and family and possessions… dignity… and even his health. His wife told him to curse God and die.

His soul is broken. His life is gone. His sense of what is correct and right in the world is rocked and blurry. It seems in the ebb and flow of heart and mind (much like where you and I can go)… nothing makes sense any more.

He hits the very bottom, and in one last fit of grief, mutters to people nearby, “Pity me, pity me, oh you my friends.”

And then he says this thing.

He says, “Oh that my words were recorded, that they were written on a scroll.”

Right away though, it’s like he almost pauses to rethink it… he wants it to be written on something more solid than a scroll and with ink.

He goes on and says, “… that they were inscribed with an iron tool in lead…”

But even this does not seem permanent enough. He wants for more.

He says, “… that they were engraved in rock forever.” (Emphasis mine)

This is what he wants to write:

“I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end, He will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God.”

He knows that he needs it written someplace strong. Some place long – lasting; permanent. Some place that these words will stand on their own and provide the one thing when it all seems to fall apart and he cannot remember it on his own.

Sometimes when we have nothing left to offer but more weeping, we need this one thing.

Let me share ours with you.

At the end of the Bible… which I believe is less an end and more a beginning… there is this book where John shares these things he’s seen.

He shares about this wild series of visions of what is already, and what is to come. It’s filled with beautiful and terrifying stories that speak of the deep things of souls, and realms we don’t really even have much of a glimpse of yet. He speaks of how all of the dissonance and pain will come to a resolve that we don’t have the hearts or minds to grasp. And he says this one thing.

He says he saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and earth had passed away.

But this isn’t exactly it yet.

He then says he saw a new city descending from Heaven, beautiful like the most amazing bride you’ve ever seen on her wedding day. But this isn’t the one thing either.

He goes on to say he heard a loud voice booming… saying that God will be there with men, and that they will be His people, and He will be their God. And while I believe and know and love this… I think there is even more to it… something special in what He does once He’s with us. And it’s our one thing.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death, or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

A pastor once suggested, and I too believe that Jesus will someday at the end and beginning of all things, look toward us in some crazy and holy supernatural mix of love, strength, joy and “Finally!” and utter two words:

“No more.”

No more pain. Enough of the sorrow. No more of the suffering and tears and shattering and fear. No more of the wounds, broken hearts, fragility and lives His children find thrust on them and each other.

No longer will we thirst or hunger in physical or spiritual ways, and we won’t languish and throw ourselves against rocks and walls of our own brokenness while looking for anything to fill us.

And no one will ever have to be afraid for what the innocent have seen or endured.

Jesus has a message for you and I from what He’s already done, what He is doing, and what He will do. He says, “Behold, I make all things new.”

This is our one thing. He will wipe every tear from our eyes. There will be no more death, or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.

For some, this is no longer their someday. This is their every day. Open fields of joy and imagination and freedom and artistry from the Author of all things… they really do await.

So I will long for this day and I push towards this day with everything in me. I will pray that we and our children will be able to wield the big and small things of God so that His Kingdom would come in as many ways that it can through us while we wait on the timeline of His fullness of His story.

So there is something to offer.

May we take and cherish and hold and embrace and hold high the one thing.

Written on a rock, engraved in stone, etched deeply into our hearts and minds… so that even when we’re shaken, we can look to the left or to the right or up on the shelf above our desk and see it… and we will be able to remember and pass it on:

I know my Redeemer lives.
Behold, He makes all things new.
He will wipe every tear from their eyes.

“Let the little children come to Me, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Oh, amen dear Jesus.








Photo used with permission: http://www.gmcbryde.com/index.html

Thanks, David Johnson, for slicing Job 19 so well. 

Thanks Max Lucado, for helping us all see so much hope in what God is doing. 

It Will Be Different

I think that sometimes its important to simply remember that things will feel differently than they do now, and that things will likely be different than they are now. This, in many ways, is a very very simple definition of hope.

Here's a great post (link below) at Xenogirl's blog about hope... whether the word crossed her mind or not. A letter that she's written from her future self. Talk about someone who is learning through the ebb and flow of life's heartaches, fears, victories and frailties, how to embrace hope in the smallest of places.

Whether your need for hope surrounds writing or career, calling or logistics, brokenness or addiction... the context doesn't matter. The reality is that there is likely a Future Self out there waiting for you too, waiting to write you a letter... a letter that would maybe tell you that all that work and toil and daily grind really does pay off... or maybe that you are right now leaning the ladder you're climbing up against all the wrong buildings and that real hope has always been right in front of you...

Or maybe a letter to you from your future self that says, "Yes, you really do have it in you. Dive in and hang on."

Thanks, Xenogirl, for a reminder that it will in fact be different than the way it feels right now, when I am afraid.

You can read her post entitled, "A Letter From My Future Self" and other gems at http://xenogirl.com/






Photo used with permission: http://www.gmcbryde.com/index.html

Come, Lord Jesus

^{Jn 1:4} In him was life, and that life was the light of men.

^{Jn 1:5} The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.

^{Rev 22:20} He who testifies to these things says, “Yes, I am coming soon.” Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

In the San Luis valley of southern Colorado is one of my favorite places on this planet to be. It’s an old local mission that years ago was turned into a sort of shrine, where folks come from all over to pray. It is so holy to me. Along a rocky path across a hilltop called La Mesa de la Piedad y de la Misericordia (which means the Hill of Piety and Mercy) are a series of statues made as the Stations of the Cross.

Minus whatever breeze is blowing, it is very quiet here. I’m not sure anyone with a level of maturity can walk the path and not be moved to silence… whether it’s for reasons they understand or not.

It’s here you ask questions, whether it forms as a real sentence in your head or mouth, or simply groans more like a feeling inside. I can tell you on that little mesa  overlooking a very small town, it is very hard not to ask a series of “Why?” or “Where were You?”s.

And I can’t explain, but in the middle of staring out at all of the unanswered questions, or at least the ones that God seems so quiet about, I become more convinced than ever of something much larger than me going on.

Weird how the shorter the question (“Why?”) the larger the answer, and somehow when I stand there on that hill looking through this statue image of Jesus being sacrificed for me, I get a sense of how much larger than the world Jesus’ story really is.

I once got into a heated argument (I wonder why folks have to get heated over certain things) with a friend over the question of whether Truth is knowable. A very long story short to what I believe about this is that yes, Truth is knowable, but in this world, not all Truth will be known.

Not yet anyway.

So I’m sitting here watching the news, reading online, seeing my emails and Facebook, and the Aurora shooting is positioned on every screen and window, every audio and visual news medium.

And all I know. The only thing that I know.

Is how much we need Jesus.

I cannot make sense of tragedy, not right now. And I don’t tell you this because I feel some pressure to. I tell you this because quite simply, I want an answer to tragedy myself. But all that I have is that not all Truth will be knowable, not yet… and that this world, these people, that shooter, like you, like me… like every human being who has ever lived or will ever live, desperately needs Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God
.
It seems every single day I personally find more evidence of a singular call in life, that call to which everything should and can be subservient… that all the world needs to hear that Jesus is Lord. Because He came here but the world has not understood it.

Not yet anyway.

There is so much more to do and say. Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

Help us tell the world about You.

Be with us, when we don’t know the way.

Encourage us, when we are frozen in fear.

Be enough for us, when we don’t know the answers.

Not-Listening-But-Pretending-To-Listen-Dad-Mode

So Moriah and I were sitting on the couch together the other morning engaging in what lately is the normal ritual.

I, in zombie-like fashion, am trying to rush to ingest my normal breakfast of peanut butter and jelly toast with proper British tea (splash of milk and some agave included)... all while just trying to dose up on a bit of unencouraging morning news.

I am barely breathing and chewing at the same time.

Moriah on the other hand is in her five-year-old-non-linear and totally fun loving all over the place sort of way... focused on peppering me with comments and questions far too thought or spirit-filled for such an early point in the morning. 

And I'm in not-listening-but-pretending-to-listen-Dad mode. Filled with, "Uh - huh"s and "wow"s and "yep"s. The drool is already forming in the corner of my mouth as I am lost in the headlines of the Today Show and its little intro jingle... "Buh - Buh- Buhhhhh.

I am so spiritual. Dad of the Year.

Needless to say, she wallops me with one huge statement, while climbing on me with all knees and elbows. Somewhere mid-jab, with way too much energy, she says, "Dad, you know... some people... they have nothing."

"Uh huh. Yup. They do."

"No Dad, I mean, they have NOTHING." (every syllable emphasized in dramatic five year old female fashion. Her face sliding over to eclipse my field of vision of Matt Lauer to fully engage me.)

Finally I caught myself not listening and sputtered out something slightly almost-helpful, while powering down the PB&J. Something Dad-ish. Something American or maybe suburban or maybe Suburbo-Christio-Merican: "Well you know what honey, you're right, some people do have nothing, and we are so very very lucky. We should be thankful for what we have."

Moriah pauses in all her elbows and knees there on my lap.

"Well that sounds mean."

"Well why honey?"

"Because they still have nothing."

(yeah, please re-read that for full effect)

We all say things like, "I was speechless." or "I didn't know what to say." But quite honestly here, this truth hit me so hard, cut past all the BS to such a degree, that there was no wiggle room, no saving face, no making myself feel better by explaining all the good we as a people do.

There was no chance to take this teaching moment (which I did later anyway because I am still Suburbo-Christio-Merican) to explain that this is why we try to make the world a better place by giving and caring and loving and sharing and all of those Christian or Yo Gabba Gabba* things, because Jesus wants us to.

And yep, it's true, and I've said it before: in all honesty, the plight of most of the planet or even folks down Broadway doesn't affect more than maybe an iota of our day to day existence, let alone or current oil or water consumption, the way we eat, or even the way we give of ourselves.

But as usual, this is about more than that.

This is just about how naked I was before the simple truth of Moriah's comment. How it sliced, in all its over-simplistic child-like sense of justice and fairness, directly to a very real and very profound point.

When we really get naked before the truth, we are really, well, naked. There is no excuse, there is no clothing there to cover the stuff that's a little saggy, or scarred, or pimply, or simply not what we want anyone to see... that we don't even really want to see.  In Hebrews 4:13 it says that "everything is laid bare before Him..." and somewhere between a naked body and a barren landscape with no brush to hide in... there we are.

There is a message for you and I that hits me hard this Easter. There is a message as blunt as the truth that Moriah decided to hit me with the other day. And quite honestly, this truth is much more profound, much more urgent.

The truth is that God is calling people to Him. And we have to have the ears to hear that call. And most of the time we're not listening.

In Luke 4, long before the Easter story, Jesus stands up in a synagogue, reads a prophecy out loud, and then tells everyone that today that is fulfilled right there in front of them. Kind of a bombshell. But don't get caught up in people's reactions, where most sermons go. Re-read it and think about what it is saying about what He has to say:

The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to release the oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.


There is a whole lot of voice going on there. A whole of proclamation.

Which means that somewhere on the receiving end, there is a set of ears that message was meant for.

Sometimes I think I am just a little too rich to hear the good news. Or maybe I am just a little too busy being imprisoned to hear that I am free. Or too busy not realizing what oppression really is in order to understand what it means for the Lord's favor to rest on me.

And sure, this line sounds Suburbo-Christio-Merican. Maybe. But maybe its simple truth. Maybe I'm sitting there with my PB&J more naked than I realize.

Today is Easter... Jesus is risen! We focus a lot on it. And it's very good. But today in the midst of the church celebration and the white colors with a little blue and a little green mixed in... beside all the eggs and friends and family and food...

I want to ask you to take a moment to get by yourself and quietly listen to what it is Jesus has proclaimed by doing what He has done: 

That you are His. More than you understand yourself to be. Maybe at times more than you want to be.
That you are free. And that you have much discovering to do about what this means.
That upon you rests God's favor. And this is not a get-out-of-hell-free card. It is so much richer than this.

I can't help but believe that there is an urgency to God's call, to Jesus' voice bearing this news. Because ahead of you and I is a lifetime of discovery of what it all means.

And as you sit there, while God is all knees and elbows nailing you with the truth, just join me in whispering what we so desperately need to be saying: "Lord, give me the ears to hear You."

Be His my friends. He is risen. Hallelujah.

- Jim




*Google it if necessary.

I Am Joe Fan

There are few things that get under my skin more than when there is a "news" piece on celebrities, whether its what they are doing, what they are wearing, where they are going, who they are divorcing, who they are marrying, who they are cheating on, what they are eating, what they aren't eating, what they are or aren't reading or watching, what they are owning and how they are "getting in touch with their roots."

It gets even worse when they do a piece on a specific person celebrity and say something like, "You know, she's just really high on life right now," or "He's just focusing on enjoying himself right now."

If you are having breakfast, join me in resolutely chewing slowly, so it still goes down. 

I'm not one of those people who don't like celebrities because of what they have vs. what I don't... I just think that their lives are, for the most part, a distraction from things that are more important. 

There are some things that are real, and some things that aren't.
There are some things that matter, and many things that do not. 

There are things last forever, and there are things that don't. 

A lot of times it's the don'ts that we see too easily.

This week at Mercy Hill, we're in Colossians 1:11... listening to Paul's desire for us... that we would be "...strengthened with all power according to His glorious might...", which on the surface looks as if it has nothing to do with celebrities. And maybe that's part of the point. 

We hear lots and lots about God strengthening us, God filling us with "the power of His Spirit", making us a way, getting us through, taking us somewhere and working in around and through us. And I utter many of these lines myself. I've taught with them, I've admonished with them, I've encouraged with them. I've whined over how much I can't stand this "Christian-eze" we speak. 

Let's be honest: somewhere deep down (or not so deep down), many of us at one time or another or many many times have wondered: where is all this power I keep hearing about? How real is this power and strength (that is supposedly mine) when the problems I am having, the goals there in front of me, the needs I am having are so very in my face?

And why is that whenever people try to explain to me God's Spirit and all the strength that is mine, I either walk away feeling like I've blown it somehow or that God is just leaving me out to dry?

Back to celebrities. 

This isn't really about celebrities. Don't think I am here to slam on you for that copy of People magazine in the basket by the TV. Celebrities just serve as a great illustration for how we get distracted by the dumbest of things. Not distraction in a confusion sort of way... but maybe more this: what draws my gaze? What sounds capture my ears? What momentum occupies my heart? 

Picture this: somewhere out there in the world, there is Joe Fan sitting there over a bowl of cereal directing their eyes, ears, minds, hearts and lifestyles towards the stars they see on the big screen, or on the field, or in the magazine... Joe Fan has that eager and fully consumed stare wondering about someone else's privileged life. 

He is a metaphor for anyone whose gaze has been pulled away in an unimportant direction. I'm on this list. You're probably on it too. For you, celebrities are most likely not the problem. I mean I say I am not distracted by them, but I am annoyed by the distraction over them, so I might in fact be distracted.

Anyway.

Maybe you, like me are simply distracted:

By how you physically or emotionally feel in the moment.

Or how little you feel. 

Or how much you think. 

Or how wounded you've been in the past.  

Or maybe you are distracted by the details. 

Or by all your fears.

Or by all your accomplishments and how strong you think you are.

Or maybe you are occupied by the thought of what people think. 

Or maybe you are overwhelmed by desire. Or lust. Or anger. 

Or maybe you just simply believe that you deserve whatever. 

Nearly all the time I need to be reminded: that in contrast to the big story of God saving the universe, up against the backdrop of this God-Man-Savior-part of the Trinity and what He's done for me personally and for everyone who ever lived... I am often like Joe Fan. The attention of my eyes, ears, my heart is easily drawn away from what is real and what is happening around me. 

Very practically. 

And so.

I misunderstand the unexpected ways that He strengthens me. 

I don't see the doors that the power of God opens for me. 

I ignore the sometimes obvious ways His Spirit guides me. 

Our lives are altogether spiritual. So it stands to reason that when the tangible is happening, whipping out the tangible toolbox of tricks that we've always used will only get us to the places we've already been. Which begs some questions:

Has my spiritual life up to this point been nothing more than calling on and waiting for God to fix me, wondering why He doesn't fix me, being wounded because He doesn't fix me? Then maybe it's time to see more spiritually than this. 

Has my spiritual life up to this point been nothing more than seeing the things that I own, have, accomplish, or make for myself as the results of God's power? Then maybe it's time to see more spiritually than this. 

Has my spiritual life up to this point been nothing more than feeling good, cool or blessed by a 75 minute session on Sunday, and then filling my life with everything tangible I can get my hands on, and then calling it God's grace? Then maybe its time I see more spiritually than this. 

Once again, our lives are altogether spiritual. Let's spend some on this at Mercy Hill. 

We can be strengthened by God. 

We can be empowered by Him (though I still cringe when I hear Christian-ese). 

We can be guided by His Spirit living in us. 

We can see. 

We can hear. 

We can sense and live in, through and from Him. 

Not perfectly, but that's the point. 

We're all going to get distracted. 

Even by the celebrities. 

"And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light. For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." - Colossians 1:10-13

A Lot Like Me

Proctor & Gamble spent a whole lot of dough and a whole lot of time creating Febreze. Just ask Wikipedia. I mean, it says it there on the internet, so I believe it. And now I'm sharing it with you on the internet, so quite honestly, its that much more believable.

Anyhoo.

We all know it as this glowing success, because most of us have it in our homes, and at bare minimum, when we are honest in front of ourselves we at least know someone who should have it in their homes, right?

It removes odors, and not just by masking them, but by making them go away. These days it has a very specific scent that we all know and can identify to the product. That smell wasn't originally a part of the product though. It simply removed odors... nothing more.

So when it first came out, it was a massive failure. Sales, "started small and got smaller" (Charles Duhigg).

Which is weird if you think about it. I mean we all have smells in our homes we want to get rid of. Who wouldn't want a product that takes away unwanted smells at the source? Who wouldn't want to stop being plagued by unwanted smells.

Anyone.

Well, except for those who get used to their unwanted smells.

Which is everyone. Most people get used to their own bad smells.

They no longer realize they are there after a period of time. Febreze wasn't selling because there was nothing drawing them to the product other than the fact that it got rid of smells most people don't realize are there. It's one thing to buy a can of Glade for the bathroom for temporary moments of stinky... its a different thing to buy a more expensive deodorizer for a long-term resident smell we don't realize is there.

Sometimes we lose track of our own aromas.

In many places in Leviticus, God explains through Moses how His people are to make offerings to God, identifying themselves as set apart for Him... and they receive many very specific instructions on a series of rituals through which they can do this.

And at the end of many of these instructions, there is this term: "It is a burnt offering, a food offering, an aroma pleasing to the LORD."

It doesn't mean God likes the smell of bacon. I mean maybe He does, and if I, being someone who really really likes the smell of bacon, was made in His image, then it stands to reason...

I digress. Again.

Honestly God likes the smell of us placing Him first in our hearts and letting it practically change who we are and how we do our literal every day.

Keep this in mind.

Later in the Bible, we see Paul draw from this and explain that even though Jesus has now died and risen for our sin and brokenness, to still make an offering or who we are... by saying in Romans 12:1 that we are to "...offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God..."

Though our salvation is not at risk, our eternal security is sealed, God still desires for us to take and run with the spirit of sacrifice for Him by the way we do life, without all the burning of animals, fat etc on the grill.

Though that is a thoroughly enjoyable smell.

Now check out what it says in 2 Corinthians 2:15: "For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing."

God desires for us to be the smell of Christ to the living and the dying. I'm going to take a wild stab at assuming that means everyone.

It is hard for me to picture myself being the smell of Jesus for anyone, because I usually just smell a lot like a dab of Patchouli, my lavender bar soap and some deodorant.

And anger.
And maybe insecurity.
And maybe some jealousy.
Or a touch of wickedness.
Or maybe greed. Impatience.
Or straight up selfishness.

At Mercy Hill, we're slowly going through Colossians 1, and this week we find ourselves at the beginning of verse 10: "And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord..."

There is no way for anyone to word-smith their way out of it. As a follower of Jesus, there is a demand on your life. A confrontation, if you will. For you. For me. To live a life worthy of the Lord. I don't know any other way of putting it.

He wants all of you.

And all of me.

And this is no small task... which is why Paul is praying for them. Not only is it because it is critical, but because we desperately need the help of God in giving Him all of ourselves.

So the question that I wish I had a friendly way of asking myself or you, is this: What do you smell like on a spiritual level? What do I smell like? Am I an aroma pleasing to the Lord? Am I the smell of Christ to the living and the dying, or have I simply been around myself long enough to not realize that I simply smell a lot like... well, me?

More to come. See you at Mercy Hill.

Receiving

There are times we are sitting on the couch together watching TV, and my youngest daughter reaches up to my face, puts her hand on my cheek and just looks at me.

I am loved. It's very moving and reminds me of the wealth in my home. It is truly wonderful to receive.

So I'm sitting here today trying frantically to put together a late email for our church, and she walks in and eagerly asks me if I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Feeling the gurgle in my tummy already from the taco dip I just ate too much of for lunch, I'm about to say no, and I see how very excited she is to make this doggone sandwich. So I say, "Well, I am not too hungry, but if you make me one, I'll take a bite to see how good it is, and maybe we can wrap it up for later before church...?" She nearly sprinted from the room.

Its a few minutes later, and Sara Groves' song, "Honesty" is on.

...Here in the stillness where thoughts are born, 
Here in the frailty, we're tattered and torn. Tattered and torn. 
Here in confession, here in our mess. 
Here in the places we're mostly undressed. Mostly. 
Oh honesty, oh honestly
The truth be told for saving of our soul...

I'm thinking about Paul's comment in Colossians 1 regarding Epaphras' report on the Colossians' "Love in the Spirit." I'm thinking about how Jesus said all of the Law and Prophets hang on this one thing. I'm racking my heart and head, praying and leaning and talking a lot to God about how to communicate what it means for us to "love in the Spirit."

I'm coming up with this series of actions to take... things we have to do and things we must not do... I'm thinking about all of the wielding we have to do.

Just then my bedroom door quietly swings open to reveal Moriah, her two small hands holding a plastic yellow plate with this peanut butter and jelly sandwich that she made by herself... and she has this gigantic-huge smile on her face. Its hard to describe the quiet joyous care with which she walks across the room to place this gift on my desk.

I took a bite and showed how wonderful it tasted, then I asked if I could bag the rest and she burst from the room with the plate and sandwich saying, "I'll write your name on it too!"

A few minutes later, she comes back with the sandwich perfectly situated in the middle of some generic ziploc, with my name written across it... with J capitalized and backwards. It was perfect.

I received love in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with my name misspelled, and it was wonderful. It helps me love her more to receive her love.

Sometimes the deepest ways of loving are about what and how we are receiving it of others.

Isn't this what we are all really doing anyway? Receiving this beautiful gift called mercy from the Author of all things? It seems to me that with all of the focus on doing in Christianity, we forget the receiving we do.

All this purpose-driven everything that we keep reading about and striving for sometimes dances too closely to the output-based doing and consumer-driven mentality of a broken world.

Not always, but often enough.

Often enough to forget that in all honesty, all loving... real loving... starts with loving God. And last I checked, there is one heck of a lot of receiving that we do from Him. And good grief, if I could just learn to stop for a moment and receive from Him in all honesty and love... honesty about myself and love for who He is, I'd probably be that much closer to learning how to love others better.

Maybe even loving myself better.

Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

So pick up your peanut butter and jelly, take a bite, and receive.
You are loved.

So much more than you can imagine.

Worth Dying For

When I was a kid, I had this great paper airplane.

Have I told you this before? Stop me if you've heard this. (No Mrs. Lane, I'm not talking to you. Nor any of you, Lane children. You must re-endure my stories.)

We lived in Utah in this apartment complex with these four huge buildings (this is my memory talking so go with it) lined up across this really big expanse of parking lot and field. 

We lived in the building on one end, and two buildings away was the playground, where I would often play by myself. 

Yes, I know right! Back then you could play as a youngster out of the line of sight of your parents. 

Anyway. 

I had this great paper airplane I had made and brought with me to the playground. I was playing by myself, so there was no risk of it being stolen or stepped on by some goober neighbor kid named Gordy with poop in his pants and boogers in his nose. 

I really don't resent my local sworn enemies of my childhood, I swear. 

My plane could fly so far. Maybe none since have ever flown as straight and long as that piece of Mead paper folded into what I thought was an F-4 Phantom. 

So it was great, that's my point. 

I threw it, and it flew so far that it went straight through a chain link fence near the apartments, landing just out of reach on other side of some prison-style enclosure, clearly designed to keep people out of wherever. 

But I wanted my F-4 Phantom... I had worked hard on it, so I decided to climb over the fence (it wasn't too high, even though it was definitely taller than me) and go get my awesome plane. I figured I was really good on the monkey bars and all the girls had said I was the best boy on those they had seen in a long time (which, in elementary school most likely was like a lot of recesses.)

I imagined myself scrambling up to the top of the fence, looking down victoriously to see my playground sweetheart Heather Waddell watching in awe (she wasn't there but its weird what we think) and clapping as I heroically saved my paper airplane from the clutches of the yard it was laying in. 

Yeah well best-laid plans. 

As I was making my way across the top, I lost my footing and slipped hard, catching my wrist fully on the barbs at the top of the fence. They cut into and got caught deep in my wrist, and for a few seconds that seemed like eternity, I was swinging with all of my weight on this barb that was fully an inch into my arm. 

I think I can spell what was going through my mind at the time. It involves a long string of capital A's lined up with several exclamation points at the end.)

I was finally able to pull myself up enough to free my wrist from the fence, or free the fence from my wrist, and I could see bone and muscly veiny stuff in my arm, and I screamed with all of the blood, pain, etc... 

I walked home very scared and freaked completely, holding my wrist and the flaps of skin, blood all over, screaming at the top of my lungs every step. 

My parents heard me two buildings over, and met me somewhere in between. They held me, rushed me to the hospital, I got stitches, and eventually the world folded over on itself again and it felt safer eventually.

To this day on my right arm is this scar that looks very much like something very broken people have tried to do to themselves. Its smaller and less intense - looking now, so that is a good thing. 

But my scar has really nothing to do with it. I want to get to the part about the screaming, the hearing and the meeting somewhere in between. 

Truth is, I was just a hurt kid... scared and frustrated and angry and hurt and overwhelmed... and I needed to be held, healed, and saved from whatever I had done to myself. 

And my parents heard me from far away and met me somewhere in between. 

We are each in our own ways, scared little kids... frustrated and angry and hurt and overwhelmed... and we're all needing held, healed and saved from whatever we're doing to ourselves. 

In an age when the Gospel is twisted daily into something that makes mega-buildings, talented bands, laser lights, smoke, programs, properly-worded doctrinal statements, well-oiled church services, a budget in the black, smiling people, hometown values and nicely-groomed yards the priority of the church... 

It is this ... the busted-up and scared child who comes running... this is still the good-news-story of Jesus.

Mk 2:17 On hearing this, Jesus said to them, 

“It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. 

I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” 

(And for the love of God, please don't read into that, "come to Jesus and clean up your act"... it is so much more beautiful than this. There is so much more healing.) 

People who come to Jesus authentically, do because they have come face to face with themselves hanging on the fence in the playground alone, wounded and scared... and they witness Him come running even when we've gotten ourselves into this mess chasing paper airplanes. 

He comes running to hold, heal and save us from whatever we've done, has been done to us and/or we are doing to ourselves. I cannot think of greater news to share. 

Which is nothing like the news that says: 

• Your Christianity is best reflected in your politics. 
• It's about how cool a church is.
• You too can be like us!
• God is into behavior management. 
• "There will be a test". (Oh that billboard makes me want to throw up.)
• Your sins are worse than mine.

I believe we are to center Mercy Hill Church on being a place of safety for the broken, the wounded and the not-so-prettily banged up people of our communities. 

I believe that if we can do this for the tired, marginalized, scared and hurting, then we are doing what we are supposed to do. 

He graces me, he graces you. Him and her and all of those in between, the ones who know and who don't know, there is something beautiful waiting... eagerly waiting... to be seen by those who don't believe they are worth seeing or they are worth celebrating or they are worth...

dying for. 

Even as I write this, I am picturing a young woman I know miles and miles east of me who needs to know that she was deemed by the Author of all things to be someone worth dying for. 

Still she stands frozen there next to the fence, afraid to look at her wrist, at the blood and the muscles and the veins because the ways that she's wounded really really scare her. She stands there looking around afraid to scream because somewhere inside she has accepted the the message she received from what was once her church: what you do to yourself is not worth Him running to.

What an unfathomable lie. 

It is time to form a church of these people that know these people... because we are these people. It is time to form a church that runs to. Because many of us remember what it's like to see Him running to us. 

With grace.

With mercy. 

With acceptance. 

With love. 

With dignity.

With forgiveness and with celebration.*
With healing.

Moreover, with Jesus. Let's offer Jesus to the broken. 

He's better than whatever airplane folks have been chasing anyway. 

*last week at MHC we talked about the celebration surrounding the prodigal son's return! so much grace. 

A Scoop of Ocean Floor

All over the world this gospel is bearing fruit and growing, just as it has been doing among you since the day you heard it and understood God’s grace in all its truth. - Colossians 1:6

My iPhone is so cool.

I can set it to make special rings for me when I get new text messages. And for a guy who just got or sent near 3000 last month, this is fun.

Currently, my text alert is the sound that the lovable robot R2D2 makes in the movie Star Wars when he is getting shot by lazer beams... "Weeeooooow!" (I guess that's how you spell that robot noise.)

Shockingly, a text alert noise is a daily part of life for many... for some of you, this makes zero sense as you get like three per year. Like I said, I get and send 3000 per month.

I'm not sure some of you could care less.

Let's shift to something deeper.

I wonder: what if God decided He was tired of how we miss the opportunities that He gives us every day... the opportunities to embrace a deeper life with Him?

What if He was tired of "scattering seed" that hits us in the head, bounces to the ground, never takes root in our hearts... and worse yet, we simply never see? What if He was tired of us missing so many chances to get closer to Him, or He was tired of us whining, thinking we never have any?

I think it would be great if God could just treat me like the village idiot and give me a special Seed Alert Tone that goes off loudly in my 15 foot perimeter.... that would ring so everyone could hear every time one of His seeds either took root in my life, or bounced off of me.

A pleasant "DING!" when He casts a seed of life and it takes root.

An annoying "BUZZ!" when I miss a seed... when it is bouncing off my head,  heart and life.

I'd be racking up way more alerts than 3000 per month. I believe this. Because I believe the Gospel of Jesus Christ is not static.

It is growing.

Remember when Jesus said, "the harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few"? I believe He meant it. This means that no matter how many churches there are, there will always be room for more.

This means that no matter how much you know, or how long you've been walking with God, you've got room for more of Him.

This means that no matter how little you know about God, how little you've been walking with Him, it is still possible and easy to get swept up into His amazing and beautiful story for you.

I would imagine if God would paint a picture that represents one singular day of you walking through your life, that image would contain dozens of opportunities, both seen and unseen, that were standing right before you. Opportunities for you to embrace a deeper and greater life with Him... a chance to live out Jesus in the world around you.

The picture on the top left of this blog shows the amount of life that is contained in a single scoop of ocean floor. Pick the most remote and dark looking place at the bottom of the ocean. Pull out your ice cream scoop. Take a sample and sift through it and this is what you'll find.

God is growing life even there. Imagine then spiritually, how much life He is growing and offering in and around you and I all the time.

"All over the world this gospel is bearing fruit and growing, just as it has been doing among you since the day you heard it and understood God’s grace in all its truth." 

It's true. All around us, God is doing more growing and creating and forming and seed-scattering than we can possibly imagine. Kingdom life is everywhere around us, waiting to be embraced.

So today, may you see the life. May you see and embrace the seed.

May you and I see that God is scattering all over the place, giving us a million chances to lean into Him, to choose Him... to embrace what is better. The gospel is about so much more than fire insurance... it is about bringing life to places where there is none.

He is giving us a myriad of opportunities to live out Jesus in our own lives, and in the lives of others. To offer more life than what we'd find in a scoop of ocean floor.

Sometimes we'll miss it, and thankfully there are no buzzers.
Sometimes we'll embrace it... and let me tell you Heaven rejoices.

That is so much cooler than my iPhone.


Image used by permission: Craig McClain/Deep Sea News

Like You. And Me.

(This post is brought over from my blog on www.mercyhilldenver.com, written circa Sept 2011)

For the broken.

For the frail. For those who have messed it all up.

For the frustrated, and for the one who struggles.

With anything.

For anyone who has helplessly watched the pieces of a relationship slip through their fingers.

And for anyone who is to blame for it.

Or for those who are not to blame for it.

For anyone who has ever whispered through tears, “I’m so sorry.”

And for the ones who are too scared to, but know they need to.

For the ones who are waiting.

Maybe for a miracle.

For anyone who at times has trouble making eye contact with the person staring back at them in the mirror.

Because of disgust over what they do. Or don’t do.

(And again, for anyone who is frail.)

For anyone who needs to be rescued. From others… from themselves.

And for anyone who knows that they can’t save themselves.

For the ones who cannot seem to anchor their peace to anything but understanding or control.

And for those who feel as if they have neither.

For anyone who has spent years trying to believe in themselves.

And for those who feel as if it isn’t any closer.

For people who walk around with a tumor of regret living in the back of their mind.

And on the tip of their tongue.

For those who have thought too much of themselves and found out the hard way.

The really hard way.

For anyone who is ashamed of all the broken hearts they’ve left behind. For those who hate themselves for it.

For anyone whose best just did not measure up.

And who then believed the naysayers were right.

For anyone who has desperately waited for a “Yes!”

Only to find that the answer was “No.”

Again and again.

For anyone who find that their lives have been built on proving wrong the people who did not matter anyway.

Or for those who believed what those people said or implied.

For those who believe they will probably be wrong before they ever even begin.

For those who have a hard time accepting grace.

For anyone.

Yes, for the broken.

The Christ, the Son of the Living God, is for you.

And His church is built upon people like you. And me.

In Matthew 16, Jesus asks the disciples who people are saying that He is, and they give Him a variety of answers… because people are calling Him a variety of things. So Jesus asks further, “But what about you? Who do you say that I am?”

Simon says, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.”

Jesus’ response makes a powerful point: “Blessed are you, Simon, son of Jonah, because this was not revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in Heaven.”

Simon (who we know as Peter) didn’t come up with it, because he was made of flesh and blood. No one else walking around came up with it, because they were made up of flesh and blood. It came from God. This was about what God was doing. God is breaking through the world with something, and what a human doesn’t know isn’t going to slow this thing down.

Jesus goes further.

He says, “And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church…”

“Peter” means “rock” by the way.

Fast forward a number of chapters in the Bible, and Peter is seeing Jesus being captured, taken, tortured, beaten and accused. And Peter denies being with or knowing Jesus:

“Then he began to call down curses, and he swore to them, “I don’t know the man!“

And the rooster crows.

Betrayal. Desertion. Especially when Peter had only recently declared his unending devotion to Jesus. You probably know the story.

I wonder what, in that very moment, Peter thought about himself. Do you know what I mean? I think of the way that we react to ourselves when we fail in a big, big way. We are rattled. We are broken. We call ourselves names in our head or even out loud.

Imagine your own failure. The big one. The one you don’t want anyone to know about. Or maybe the one that everyone knows about. What have you said to yourself about yourself? What names have you called yourself in the shadow of your own shame?

Did Peter call himself names?

Liar. Betrayer. Pathetic excuse for a friend. Whatever. I’m not calling him these things, I am just sure that the judge and jury of Peter’s own mind had him permanently condemned.

The Messiah’s life hangs in the balance and he is deserted by me, one of his closest companions. He had only loved God, loved and healed people, and always moved towards redemption. How could I? What have I done?

He saw through me, and told me I would do this.

(For the broken.)

Oh, God. He was right.

(For the frail.)

And He wanted to build His church on me?

(For those who have messed it all up.)

“On this rock I will build my church.”

Do you remember what happened after Jesus’ resurrection? I don’t know about you, but after the moments of sheer joy in seeing Him alive again after all that had happened, I would have been devastated and in tears, ashamed and broken in knowing that He knew what I had done. And not done. I don’t know how I would be able to look at Him.

But Jesus doesn’t use this opportunity as a teaching point. Or a place of rebuke.

He doesn’t say, “Peter, if you’d only had more faith, been more courageous, or read Scripture or prayed more…”

He doesn’t say, “Of all the people, I thought you would have been different.”

He doesn’t ask, “Why, Peter?”

No.

In John 21, Jesus asks Peter a simple question: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

In response to Peter’s “Yes”, Jesus gives Peter what I believe to be a fundamental directive of that church He was talking about.

“Feed my lambs.”

The dust has barely settled on Peter’s failure, the echoes of his shame probably still ringing in his own heart and mind… and against the backdrop of Peter’s frailty, Jesus gives Peter direction on what His church is to be about.

Do you see the point here?

Peter was now in the greatest position to be a builder of God’s church… by recognizing that it wasn’t the power of His own hands doing it, but the strength that comes from knowing that Jesus is our only hope.

There is power in knowing that it isn’t about you.

That it isn’t about me.

That it isn’t about pedigree.

That it isn’t about what we can muster. Or the image that we portray.

What good would a church be to the broken if it was built on the backs of the accomplished, the polished, the ones who work hard to appear they have it all together, and who act as if they have all the answers?

What if all the power that was ever needed, what if all the food the lambs need is to know that all our hope rests in Him?

The Christ, the Son of the Living God, is for you. No matter what you have done; no matter who you have been.

And His church is built upon people like you. And me.

A Little More, A Little Less

To exercise more.

To eat less.

To read more.

To work less.

To do more gardening.

To do less drinking.

To be on time more.

To smoke less.

I heard today that the average date that we abandon our New Year's resolutions (For those of you, like me, who annually and proudly murmur that you do not make New Year's resolutions, please consider making a resolution with me to no longer annually and proudly murmur that you don't make New Year's resolutions) is February 18th.

Seriously. We "resolve" to do something... we are "resolute" in it, and the average point at which the wheels fall of the wagon is somewhere near the middle of February?

Yup. Sounds a lot like me.

It feels a little old hat to even talk about New Years resolutions here on this blog... because the discussion is all over the news, browser home pages, the radio and on three or four newsletters from churches I receive in my inbox. And I'm sure its at our offices where folks joke about their resolutions, and some people proudly murmur that they don't make them (please see above) and many people quietly, in their hearts and heads wish that they could summon the courage and the discipline to change their lives for the better... even when their lives are pretty great anyway.

So in spite of this feeling a little cliche, a little old hat... I want to mention New Year's resolutions, because I want to suggest one for you. For me.

In the middle of all of the more resolutions, and less resolutions... "do more of this, and less of that"... I want to suggest an alternative. Or maybe something larger... something longer lasting, and I want to be very very direct to you: it can do more to change your life than these other petty things we put so much stock in and worry over.

I want to encourage you, this year, to resolve to bring a little more Kingdom, and a little less earth. To everything you do, to everywhere you go, to everyone you meet and everything you know.

(That Suess-ish rhyme was fully unintentional, but cute so I kept it in there. Maybe it can stick in our heads.)

I find it profoundly symbolic that in Matthew 3:1 it says that John the Baptist brought the message that "the Kingdom of Heaven is near" to the Desert of Judea. The Kingdom of Heaven coming near (through the life of Jesus) brought unfathomable love, mercy, grace, humility, but also showed unquenchable power to a people living in a spiritually dry and thirsty climate.

When we're honest with ourselves, we normally tend toward just bringing things of earth to everyone and everything around us. I mean it's hard not to redistribute to others the stuff we're hit with all day... the broken wisdom and carnal messages of this world... even in the context of church: Anger. Judgment. Wrath. Malice. Greed. Selfishness. Manipulation. Lust. Control. These leave the spiritual, mental and emotional land dry and burnt in the lives of so many, including followers of Jesus.

But to bring a little more of the Kingdom of God, in the form of the love and grace of Jesus, the peace that comes in knowing the extent of your own mercy and the mercy others are heirs to because of what Jesus has done... doing this brings something profoundly good and life-giving to a spiritually dry and thirsty land.

So here's a scary question: What if John the Baptist was also referring to us?

I mean after all - we are called by God to be Kingdom-bringers, right? Yes, John was referring to Jesus coming near... but we are to be a part of this story as well. Jesus passed the call on to us to continue, through the help of God's Spirit living in us, to bring the Kingdom of Heaven to others, to earth.

"In those days John the Baptist came to the desert of our hearts, preaching...


...to the one who wonders if they will always be alone. 
...to the family who sacrifices everything to keep up with the Joneses.
...to the one who feels so inadequate. 
...to the one who failed. Badly. 
...to the outwardly successful, but inwardly wounded.
...to the angry. 
...to the housewife who just wants to be seen, known, loved and cherished. 
...to the spouses who don't know how to love unconditionally. 
...to the sexually broken. 
...to the one who is ashamed of how much they've squandered. 
...to the one who is frozen solid with fear. 


...repent (metanoia - change your way of thinking), for the Kingdom of Heaven is near. In fact, it is standing next to you right there... and is breaking through in fits and spurts and bits and pieces... sometimes in huge victories and other times in small breaths of grace, love and mercy.... through him... through her... through this one and that one and oh yep that one over there. The Kingdom is closer than you think, and oh, what you will find there."

So join me.

Join me in being a part of what John the Baptist was talking about when he came to the Desert of Judea preaching, "The Kingdom of Heaven is near."

Join me in making our resolutions about something bigger... something larger than the aesthetics of life. They're good and all... a little push back against your own flesh isn't so bad... but let's talk about larger things... eternal things... things that change our lives and influence those in the deserts around us.

Only you, with God's help, can know where He's pushing you, stretching you, growing you... challenging and maybe even rebuking you. Maybe you, like me, have much "more" and "less" to bring:

Maybe a little less angry.
Maybe a little more forgiving.
Maybe a little less driven by money.
Maybe a little more driven by mercy.
Maybe a little less comfort-worship.
Maybe a little more comfort-ing.
Maybe a little less desire-for-me.
Maybe a little more give-to-you.
Maybe a little less fighiting.
Maybe a little more grace.
Maybe a little less accusing.
Maybe a little more defending.



To everything you do.
To everywhere you go.
To everyone you meet.
To everything you know.
Bring a little more Kingdom, and a little less earth.

(I really do like the rhyme)

I cannot think of a more powerful way to begin the process of spreading the good news of Jesus.

Be His, my friends.
Happy New Year.

Like You. And Me.

For the broken.
For the frail. 
For those who've messed it all up.
For the frustrated.
And for the one who struggles.


With anything.


For anyone who has watched the pieces of a relationship slip through their fingers.
And for anyone who is to blame for it.
Or for those who are not to blame for it.


For anyone who has ever whispered through tears, "I'm so sorry."
And for the ones who are too scared to, but who know they need to.


For the ones who are waiting.
Maybe for a miracle.


For the ones who wanted to serve the church, and to whom the church said, "No."


For anyone who at times has trouble making eye contact with the person in the mirror.
Because of disgust over what they do. Or don't do.


(And again, for anyone who is frail.)


For anyone who needs to be rescued. From others... from themselves.
And for anyone who knows that they can't save themselves.


For the ones who only have peace when they have understanding or control.
And for those who feel as if they have neither.


For anyone who has spent years trying to believe in themselves.
And for those who feel as if it isn't any closer.


For people who walk around with a tumor of regret living in the back of their mind.
And on the tip of their tongue.


For those who have thought too much of themselves and found out the hard way.
The really hard way.


For anyone who is ashamed of all the broken hearts they've left behind. 
For those who hate themselves for it.


For anyone whose best just did not measure up.
And who believed the naysayers were right.


For anyone who has desperately waited for a "Yes!"
Only to find that the answer was "No."
Again and again.


For those whose lives are built on proving wrong the people who never mattered.
Or for those who believed all of their lies.


For those who believe in their own failures before they even try.


For those who have a hard time accepting grace.


For anyone.


For the broken.


The Christ, the Son of the Living God, is for you.
And His church is built upon people like you. And me.

In Matthew 16, Jesus asks the disciples who people are saying that He is, and they give Him a variety of answers... because people are calling Him a variety of things. So Jesus asks further, "But what about you? Who do you say that I am?"

Simon says, "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God."

Jesus' response makes a powerful point: "Blessed are you, Simon, son of Jonah, because this was not revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in Heaven."

Simon (who we know as Peter) didn't come up with it, because he was made of flesh and blood. No one else walking around came up with it, because they were made up of flesh and blood. It came from God. This was about what God was doing. God is breaking through the world with something, and what a human doesn't know isn't going to slow this thing down.

Jesus goes further.

He says, "And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church..."

"Peter" means "rock" by the way.

Fast forward a number of chapters in the Bible, and Peter is seeing Jesus being captured, taken, tortured, beaten and accused. And Peter denies being with or knowing Jesus: "Then he began to call down curses, and he swore to them, “I don’t knowthe man!"

And the rooster crows.

Betrayal. Desertion. Especially when Peter had only recently declared his unending devotion to Jesus. You probably know the story.

I wonder what, in that very moment, Peter thought about himself. Do you know what I mean? I think of the way that we react to ourselves when we fail in a big, big way. We are rattled. We are broken. We call ourselves names in our head or even out loud.

Imagine your own failure. The big one. The one you don't want anyone to know about. Or maybe the one that everyone knows about. What have you said to yourself about yourself? What names have you called yourself in the shadow of your own shame?

Did Peter call himself names?

Liar. Betrayer. Pathetic excuse for a friend. Whatever. I'm not calling him these things, I am just sure that the judge and jury of Peter's own mind had him permanently condemned.

The Messiah's life hangs in the balance and he is deserted by me, one of his closest companions. He had only loved God, loved and healed people, and always moved towards redemption. How could I? What have I done? 
He saw through me, and told me I would do this.

(For the broken.)

Oh, God. He was right.

(For the frail.)

And He wanted to build His church on me?

(For those who have messed it all up.)

"On this rock I will build my church."

Do you remember what happened after Jesus' resurrection? I don't know about you, but after the moments of sheer joy in seeing Him alive again after all that had happened, I would have been devastated and in tears, ashamed and broken in knowing that He knew what I had done. And not done. I don't know how I would be able to look at Him.
But Jesus doesn't use this opportunity as a teaching point. Or a place of rebuke.

He doesn't say, "Peter, if you'd only had more faith, been more courageous, or read Scripture or prayed more..."
He doesn't say, "Of all the people, I thought you would have been different."
He doesn't ask, "Why, Peter?"

No.

In John 21, Jesus asks Peter a simple question: "Simon, son of John, do you love me?"

In response to Peter's "Yes", Jesus gives Peter what I believe to be a fundamental directive of that church He was talking about.

"Feed my lambs."

The dust has barely settled on Peter's failure, the echoes of his shame probably still ringing in his own heart and mind... and against the backdrop of Peter's frailty, Jesus gives Peter direction on what His church is to be about.

Do you see the point here?

Peter was now in the greatest position to be a builder of God's church... by recognizing that it wasn't the power of His own hands doing it, but the strength that comes from knowing that Jesus is our only hope.

There is power in knowing that it isn't about you.
That it isn't about me.
That it isn't about pedigree.
That it isn't about what we can muster. Or the image that we portray.

What good would a church be to the broken if it was built on the backs of the accomplished, the polished, the ones who work hard to appear they have it all together, and who act as if they have all the answers?

What if all the power that was ever needed, what if all the food the lambs need is to know that all our hope rests in Him?

The Christ, the Son of the Living God, is for you. No matter what you have done; no matter who you have been.
And His church is built upon people like you.
And me.