First Snow

"To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring."

during orientation for chaplaincy it was presented as a possible scenario.
I hoped beyond hope that winter wouldn’t fall
four weeks in, the beeper broke my slumber
the chill had begun to set

driving to the hospital it echoed in my mind
slowly details of orientation broke through the dread:
lead parents to the plush “family room”
dim the lights
dress the infant, colored gown: blue or pink
had I even dressed a doll before?
carry child into the room
encourage both to hold their still hope
be open, she said

heading for the parents
pink bundle swaddled in my arms
a tension of life became ever clear
though I’d soon deliver winter, spring was a mere two doors down
there, the distinct cries of new life burst forth
there, anticipation and possibility were finding their way
there, is where we want to be
there, it is easy to come alongside
here, I’m not so sure

indeed winter was about to set,
the door was opened. groaning previously unheard.
the words of orientation had eluded comprehension,
but here, in winter's first snow, I began to sense their weight: be open

to complexities, to silence
to tears, to pain,
to anger, to ignorance,
to uncertainty, to tomorrow
Be open to He who governs
each season by His gracious hand.

I share this memory because it stands as one of the first times in my adult life when I sensed the changing seasons. A key requirement of my Masters program was to fulfill a four month stint as a hospital chaplain. Coming out of orientation, the major emphasis that stuck in my head was the phrase “be open”.

Be open. Understanding we’d likely encounter new experiences, our supervisor’s admonition carried a twofold meaning. First, God will meet His people throughout the various seasons of existence; we need only be open and willing to encounter His hand. Second, as those who carry the divine Spirit of God be open to coming alongside the hurting. Be open to being His Presence.

When Josiah was in the hospital, the types of people that I found to be powerfully present were those who had developed an appreciation for the changing seasons. Those who brought life, perspective, and profound ministry weren’t those hopelessly infatuated with spring but those who’d encountered God in the various seasons of life.

These people spoke to me and several months ago in the post Stand By Me I set out to unpack the idea of becoming powerfully present with those we love - no matter the season they may be in. With this direction in mind, I hope to continue this theme by writing from Job 42:3-6.

Until then, I invite you to consider individuals who’ve, in your winter, come alongside. Of those that proved to be spiritually meaningful, what types of things did they do? Maybe it was a word they gave. Maybe it was their silence. Maybe it was their practical help. Whatever it may have been, what did they do that allowed you to sense His presence? As always, feel free to share!

Take Care

Psalm 139...On Surveillance Tape

"Thine eyes have seen my unformed substance; and in Thy book they were written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them."

Those are the words of Psalm 139:16 from the written word, here is Psalm 139:16 caught on tape. What an unbelievable video!

This month, September the 12th, was the one year anniversary of Josiah's accident. Empirically speaking, nothing should have worked out the way it has. As in the video, God guided the exact trajectory of everything that happened that morning. Amen!

On occasion, I do wake up with cold sweats. Distant sirens can make me anxious. I catch myself trying to be more protective. Each of these are distinct reminders of my finality and impotence. We exist solely because of His purposes. Whether the trajectory of a television or a car - He governs everything by his gracious hand. Each time my anxiety is stirred, each time my slumber is broken - each time I'm reminded of my limits, there is also the steady truth that each day is lived under His sovereign grace.

I saw the video and got to shoutin' - no matter, this is certainly the day He has made, it is in His book, so let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Grace and Peace

Good Soil, Part 2

I invite you to spend nine minutes listening to this particular video by Dr. Bob Lupton, The Poor Change Me. With a strong mix of humorous stories and core biblical truths, he will give you reason to pause. If nothing else, a cup of coffee says you'll laugh.

For those interested, I further recommend Lupton's plenary address at the 2000 Christian Community Development Association gathering. Download the file and listen to it at your leisure - http://www.urbanministry.org/dr-bob-lupton-saturday-evening-plenary-session-ccda-2000-audio

Good Soil

'The development of a tree depends
on where it is planted.'

Edward Joyner

Wayne Gordon, John Perkins, Michael Emerson, Ray Bakke, Robert Lupton; I'll say that several years ago these names meant very little to me, yet of late they’ve taken a predominant role.

Though at first seemingly provocative, I've found untold enrichment through their collective expression of the gospel. In accentuating timeless themes of grace, justice, truth, and obedience they've point out good soil to those who care to hear. In an age that hungers and thirsts for authentic expressions of faith - they remind us of the more simple realities of faith, hope, and love.

Time may or may not call for exact articulation of this journey, yet I do feel compelled to share the following. First, an article written by Tim Keller entitled The Gospel and the Poor. While it captures shades of Lupton and Perkins work, it also provides an excellent theological framework for gospel ministry. The second is a 9-10 minute video clip taken from a Lupton lecture, this will comprise a post in the near future.

For simplicity, I've included four inserts from The Gospel and the Poor. Each intend to reflect nuances of the thoughts and convictions which have slowly been forming over the last several years. If interested, a link to the entire article has been provided. And while nineteen pages may seem long, I submit to you that it will provide a spiritual boon for those who care to invest.

The church is not simply a collection of individuals who are forgiven. It is a "royal nation", a new society (I Pet. 2:9). The world must see in us the wisdom of God, namely, what family life, business practices, race relations, and inter-personal relationships can be in all their beauty under the kingship of Jesus Christ. We are a pilot plant of the kingdom of God. (See Francis Schaeffer, Pollution and the Death of Man, Tyndale, 1970, pp. 81-93.) The church is to use its gifts and power to heal all the results of sin, spiritual, psychological, social, physical.

The main reason that the city has deteriorated has been because the middle class and able, stable families have left behind the less stable and able. Traditional private charity and government bureaucracy only provide impersonal "commuting" compassion from people who drive in, provide services, and leave.

"It is not difficult to create a ghetto: simply remove the more capable neighbors....We can create a culture of chronically dependent people merely by extracting the upwardly mobile role models from the community....All it takes is for us to pursue our own personal dreams and concentrate only on what seems best for our own families and leave the job of being a good neighbor--neighboring--to agencies. Those left behind...do not need more arm's length social services--government or religious. If social programs were effective substitutes for neighbors, the last thirty years of costly government investments would have eliminated their poverty. Programs do not restore communities--only neighbors do that....they need [once again] educated neighbors to raise the standards of their schools. They need politically active neighbors who will help to organize against crime and drugs on their streets and playgrounds. They need spiritual neighbors to re-open the churches and business-minded neighbors to stimulate legitimate enterprise. They need handy neighbors to help restore the charm of their streetscapes. They need the sturdy strands of neighbors with moral and ethical values..."

Jesus has spoken powerfully about the definition of being a "neighbor" to others (Luke 10: 25-37). We must distinguish "reneighboring" from mere relocation, which can lead to gentrification, which pushes up rents and pushes out the needy from a community. Reneighboring means to come in looking to be an influence on the common good of the community and aiming to do "reweaving" and "reconciliation".

"Spiritual capital" refers to the spiritual and moral influence of the churches in the neighborhood. The weakening of neighborhoods economically and socially goes hand in hand with their spiritual weakening. Strong Christians have left as fast (if not faster) than others. This leaves little leadership for the weakened churches. In addition, another dynamic has created a flow of spiritual capital out of the community.

Grace and Peace

http://api.ning.com/files/
YNRmTqny6RH3UNYGX7PrdDCeuwqi0FLDPvUltmDaeplNSzeSOdfsPGAmdmds
UxTMNBRMlvV7i2h*bhDW0IvZNo01U3rYeCIj/
TheGospelAndThePoorOutline.pdf

"To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state
of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring."

George Santayana

Wrong on so Many Levels!

WICHITA, Kan. - A tender moment in a trash bin went all wrong for a couple who found themselves being held up at pocket knifepoint.

Police said two 44-year-olds had climbed into a dumpster to be alone just after 6 p.m. Saturday when two men interrupted them and demanded their belongings. Officers said the man and woman were engaged in "an intimate moment" when they were robbed of their shoes, jewelry and the man's wallet.

Police said one of the robbers was a 64-year-old man who egged his 59-year-old companion on during the robbery.

Yes, sadly, you just read correctly, "A tender moment in a trash bin went all wrong..." Really? I'm having a hard time determining which is more unbelievable:

1. "Soooo, how about you and me hop in the trash bin?" With four boys quiet spaces and moments are difficult to create, but come on!

2. With a straight face, having the audacity to fill out a police report. "Yes officer, a trash bin" You know the boys in blue had a wonderful time with this one.

Some instances escape commentary, I'm fairly certain this classifies.

For the entire story: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/32863398/ns/us_news-weird_news/?GT1=43001

ADD, the YMCA, and Size 30 Towels

The ball was clearly within reach.

Several weeks ago I began to implement a lifestyle change; regular exercise, doctor’s orders. Everything was going fantastic until my type ‘A’ general practitioner realized a reoccurring trend, I’m a chronic dabbler. It’s escapes official diagnosis but I’ve got some form of ADD when it comes to exercise. I loathe repetition. Treadmills, stair steppers, elliptical machines, jogging - each were met with resistance. Through it all I’ve discovered that basketball remains the one form of physical activity that I care to regularly engage.

One quick maneuver and my YMCA basketball team would retain possession.

Yes, we joined the Y. Regularly throughout the week I wake up at 4:30 and I’m on the court before sunrise. Getting there hasn’t been the problem. My main issue has been realizing that everything has a season, mine has passed. There are certain things that I used to do instinctively that I just can’t do anymore. I see an angle unfold or a play develop but my body is in rebellion. My mind demands a swift cut to the basket, my body responds with weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Inglorious dive for the ball…

Adding insult to injury for some reason the Y refuses to issue normal sized bath towels. I never imagined them providing plush microfiber XL handouts but can we go for something a little more mainstream than size 30 towels? What to do, what to do.

the unmistakable sound of knees dragging hardwood.

Worse still, I noticed most of the men could fit the hand towel around their waist. At 17 I could’ve joined them, not so at 34. Maybe two tied together at the corners would’ve done it. Anyway, what’s the chance no one notices I bring “husky” towels from home?

Knees raw, helplessly watching as the ball rolls out of bounds…

Typically I arrive to a quiet house but this particular morning Jaden happened to be awake and waiting in the kitchen. What happened to your knees? Well, Daddy jumped on the ground trying to get a basketball. With more exclamation than grammar supplies and with the bed manner of a haggard nurse, Whhhaaaat did you do that for? Not a good idea.

Big, sweaty mess sprawled out on isle 5!

From the mouth of babes...

Bored Games

Go directly to jail.
Do not pass go.
Do not collect 200 dollars ~

Milton Bradley

Adorned with national flags the university chapel could’ve easily passed for a UN summit. Being full of mandatory meetings, the first full week in January always seemed longer than the rest. Eccentric speakers wore peculiar clothes. Agencies, using a deft display of chocolates and peppermints, lured students to their displays. During my stay in the tiny Midwestern town of Cedarville these signs always meant one thing: Missions Week.

In recent years the Spirit has regularly brought a particular evening to mind and though it’s been over a decade it still feels fresh.

After an impassioned invitation, there was the obvious sound of people moving. With utmost reverence I peeked. A throng of college students were streaming toward the altar. Sitting straight up, I rested both arms across the back of the row. “There is no way.” Practically my entire row had cleared. “Did you not listen to what this man was asking?”

There was no mention of unreached people groups or the jungles of Africa. The missionary was digging deeper. “By faith Moses, when he had grown up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter; choosing rather to endure ill-treatment with the people of God…”

The speaker didn't limit his call to potential missionaries, his aim was much more broad. He knew his audience. He knew our aspirations. He knew the allure of autonomy, our drive for success and influence, our inner craving for security and predictability, our insatiable lust for more. He was speaking to future bankers, politicians, doctors, radio personalities, parents, nurses, salesmen, missionaries, and educators - beware the cultural entanglements that so quickly define and dictate the ebb and flow of life's decisions. That night he spoke to the very root of Evangelical hesitancy, our infatuation with Pharaoh's court.

I watched the students flow forward and I began to feel something rise in my consciousness, immediately the rationalization began…God, of course I’m exempt. Remember we bartered about my future? Just six months ago I switched tracks from Business to Bible. You got me. You know I’m not in Pharaoh’s court livin’ for the lucre.

Given that I serve in the local church context, there is no intent to misrepresent the divine call that leads to parish ministry. It’s just that my infantile faith perceived this option as the only option for me; I could serve the kingdom and keep my standing in the court. The call would not impede all forward momentum. It wouldn’t stymie the acquisition of comfort or predictability and the projected trajectory of the game was relatively intact.

Essentially I had escaped without drawing the “Go directly to Africa” card.

Beneath appearances I was desperately trying to answer the call while still fattened by Pharaoh’s delicacies. There was no framework from which to openhandedly embrace whichever life context God should chose. I demanded certain parameters out of which my life, faith, family, and calling would be lived. My future wife and family will experience and have access to these base demands, anything else – God, feel free to shape and guide.

What happened next is hazy yet it matters little. I share the memory for it accentuates an attitude that I carried in my own heart, one that continued to be fed throughout the various seasons and happenings of life and ministry. One Caringbridge post stated, “For me this circumstance (Josiah’s accident) is in some ways a capstone of the last 3-4 years…shamefully, I’ve even lead others to embrace their own pleasures as they pursue “kingdom work” (September 22, 2008).

In beginning to unpack that post, I’d first say that cultural idolatry is a wicked mistress in that she shapes the secret gravitations of our heart. She fosters staunch preservation of self and family, the unequivocal pursuit of personal well being, and hollow perceptions of God. I assume that His desires for my comfort, wealth, security, and safety mirror my own. This is precisely why the ‘Africa’ card stinks because I crave, even demand, freedom to carve a life of comfort, security, and upward mobility. I care so little for the thought of Africa simply because it would rip me out of Pharaoh’s court and subjected me to perceived loss of autonomy.

I heard the fields were ripe unto harvest but I remained secretively selective as to which fields I would be willing to work.

To point, I share this memory with you as an initial step in flushing out the happenings of life. The missionary brother who spoke from Hebrews 11 brought me to a point of response. In ways I'm a late bloomer. Funny how certain memories from days gone by can still be useful in His hands. Over a decade ago my response was typified by resistance, maybe in my mid-thirties I'll fare better.

May He speak to this. May He grant discernment and grow faith.

Grace and Peace