James writes, [3:1] Let not many of you become teachers. He is warning of a stricter judgment on those for whom excessive gum-flapping is a vocation. Over the years, I have had occasion to wonder if I should have taken James’ counsel to heart...
There was the time when I was describing from the pulpit the attire of the High Priest when he went in to the Holy of Holies in the Tabernacle/Temple to offer sacrifice on the high and holy Day of Atonement. Part of his dress included bells attached to the hem of his robe, the silence of the bells being a signal that God had judged him and struck him dead. What I said was, “The people listened for the sound of the High Priest tinkling in the Holy of Holies.” Nice turn of phrase, that.
Or the time just recently when I was describing the empires that had occupied the land mass that is currently Iran, mentioning Assyria and Babylon and the “Peeds and the Mersians.” Nice touch.
More troublesome was the time that I was describing the leadership roles that Jesus’ disciples were to have in the coming Kingdom. I intended to tell the congregation that Jesus said, “You shall sit on twelve thrones...” I got my mords wixed up and said something more like, “You sall sh** on twelve thrones...” Needless to say, I pretty well lost the teenagers at that point. (Shall sit. Shall sit. Shall sit. Shall sit.)
There is no question that teachers and preachers need to be careful about what they say. My propensity for malapropisms prompted me to manuscript sermons many years ago. While not totally eliminating blunders, I can only imagine how I would have mangled things had I not become more intentional about word choice.
However, word choice in messages and silly mistakes in a sermon are not what James had in mind when he issued his warning.
In a number of places in his short letter he writes about using the words we choose to bring blessing to those around us.
Any observer of human interaction could come up with a list of examples of people using words to curse (James 3:9-10). Sadly, that’s easy, like shooting fish in a barrel and I could join the party with a few illustrations of curse-words.
But from the observation deck of serving as a pastor I’ve had the privilege of seeing words bring great blessing, too. I’ve listened in on conversations where someone was blessed because of the words a speaker used, as in the time when:
a recently widowed mother of four knelt at the bedside of another young mom and tenderly urged her to trust the Lord in a season of despair;
a group of Elders prayed in the home of a family suffering from diseases and other hardships, anointing members of that family with oil as they spoke words of genuine encouragement;
a leader of youth used his position to mentor those in a Sunday School class in the things of God;
another youth group leader used her words to bring hope to a hopeless young man;
a woman offered a sincere apology for an unthinking remark that caused pain to someone she dearly loved;
a group of people wisely “ganged up” on a pastor (yes, that would be me) to lovingly confront him about his workaholic ways;
On and on and on I could go and not even scratch the surface of the times I've listened to the power of words bring refreshment to weary souls, exhortation to rebels, and instruction to the naive.
You are aware that there are lots of ways to express love and care. We could offer financial assistance to the poor, help someone with a move, offer the gift of childcare and/or meals when a family is overwhelmed - and more. But we are missing a huge opportunity to bless if we neglect the way we use words.
I take advantage of the time I’ve been given to manuscript the messages I bring on the weekend to the church I serve. But nobody has the freedom to manuscript the chance conversations that come our way every day. What we can do is enter each conversation with a heart eager to bless, with an aim to encourage, with a desire to do good.
Over and over again I’ve proved James comment that [3:2] we all stumble in many ways. (Amen!)
By God’s grace may we all be those who [3:3] do not stumble in what [we say], proving to be agents of grace to those who hear.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Just What We Need - More Drama
We bemoan “drama queens” (and presumably “drama kings”). You know the type. They react with over-emotion to the mundane. Diva (or “divo”) - like, they draw waaay too much attention to themselves. They exaggerate their every predicament, overstate every trial, and embellish every victory.
You see them and think to yourself, “Oh, just what I needed. More drama.”
At the same time, it’s not as if drama is bad...
For nearly twenty years I’ve been enough convinced of the power of drama to incorporate it into the life of the church I pastor.
Several times a year I present a sermon as a full-blown dramatic portrayal of a biblical character. I’ve played the part of Paul and Peter and Manasseh and Jonah. I’ve taken on the role of the Corinthian who was disciplined, repented, and restored, and of the leper who came back to say “Thanks!” to Jesus for his healing.
I have often given these presentations in costume, dressing in long robes complete with head covering to hide my identity a bit so as to better free the congregation to enter into the story. (Once, eight year old Becky told me after the worship service, “I knew it was you all along.”)
I present these dramas for a couple of reasons.
On the one hand, I believe that drama touches a place in our conscious or sub-conscious that normal preaching - at least my normal preaching - often does not.
Maybe like you, I have long been impressed that the bulk of Scripture is story. Not as in, “Once upon a time...” fairy tales. No, true story. Even the parts of the Bible that are not narrative are in the Bible because of a narrative backdrop.
(Here’s a dare: Take a passage that looks like it’s not narrative. Investigate the background to the passage - doctrine from Paul, psalm from David, whatever - and I’ll bet that you’ll find a story. I double dog dare you.)
Nothing draws us in like a story. I often hear from adults after a dramatic presentation, “The kids really like those things.” And I think to myself, “Yeah, and you didn’t go to sleep today like you usually do, either.”
For a Sunday morning, drama is out of the ordinary. It captures our attention. It humanizes a story that we may have spent too long reading in a monotone.
On the other hand, I use drama to get across another idea, this one also delivered slightly below conscious level.
Just as the stories of Abraham and Joseph and Barnabas and Herod are “larger than life”, so you and everyone you know is living an epic quest.
Did Job know, when he was living through his trials and subsequent debates with his three “friends”, that four thousand years later, his life story would profoundly impact me? Surely not!
Did an ancient Parthian magician, traveling to Palestine to pay homage to a Jewish King, know that his journey and example of submission would inspire centuries of Christians to likewise bow before King Jesus. I doubt it.
Could Ruth and Boaz have ever guessed that their romance-and-marriage story would picture for all time the redemption that believers in Jesus enjoy when He rescued us out of the marketplace of sin? Nope.
And on and on and on we could go.
Partly as a result of having served as a pastor, I’ve had the privilege of meeting a bunch of people over the years. Lots of them have been “dull, boring, and ordinary” - UNTIL I GOT TO KNOW THEM. There is not one person I’ve ever come to know well who still fits in the category of “ordinary.”
Every person is multi-layered, complex, and uniquely gifted. Each person has shades of heroism and cowardice, brilliance and dullness, fears and foibles that make them who they are. There are no dull people - and that truism certainly applies to you who are reading this drivel.
Who knows if perhaps, a year from now (or more), someone will hear of your story, your trial, your victory, your passion, your faithfulness in the face of adversity and will find in your epic quest courage to trust God and to be faithful as well.
Well, I’ve got to be off now. Going to church this evening to watch some people portray Mary, Joseph, some shepherds and wise men. Just what we need. More drama.
You see them and think to yourself, “Oh, just what I needed. More drama.”
At the same time, it’s not as if drama is bad...
For nearly twenty years I’ve been enough convinced of the power of drama to incorporate it into the life of the church I pastor.
Several times a year I present a sermon as a full-blown dramatic portrayal of a biblical character. I’ve played the part of Paul and Peter and Manasseh and Jonah. I’ve taken on the role of the Corinthian who was disciplined, repented, and restored, and of the leper who came back to say “Thanks!” to Jesus for his healing.
I have often given these presentations in costume, dressing in long robes complete with head covering to hide my identity a bit so as to better free the congregation to enter into the story. (Once, eight year old Becky told me after the worship service, “I knew it was you all along.”)
I present these dramas for a couple of reasons.
On the one hand, I believe that drama touches a place in our conscious or sub-conscious that normal preaching - at least my normal preaching - often does not.
Maybe like you, I have long been impressed that the bulk of Scripture is story. Not as in, “Once upon a time...” fairy tales. No, true story. Even the parts of the Bible that are not narrative are in the Bible because of a narrative backdrop.
(Here’s a dare: Take a passage that looks like it’s not narrative. Investigate the background to the passage - doctrine from Paul, psalm from David, whatever - and I’ll bet that you’ll find a story. I double dog dare you.)
Nothing draws us in like a story. I often hear from adults after a dramatic presentation, “The kids really like those things.” And I think to myself, “Yeah, and you didn’t go to sleep today like you usually do, either.”
For a Sunday morning, drama is out of the ordinary. It captures our attention. It humanizes a story that we may have spent too long reading in a monotone.
On the other hand, I use drama to get across another idea, this one also delivered slightly below conscious level.
Just as the stories of Abraham and Joseph and Barnabas and Herod are “larger than life”, so you and everyone you know is living an epic quest.
Did Job know, when he was living through his trials and subsequent debates with his three “friends”, that four thousand years later, his life story would profoundly impact me? Surely not!
Did an ancient Parthian magician, traveling to Palestine to pay homage to a Jewish King, know that his journey and example of submission would inspire centuries of Christians to likewise bow before King Jesus. I doubt it.
Could Ruth and Boaz have ever guessed that their romance-and-marriage story would picture for all time the redemption that believers in Jesus enjoy when He rescued us out of the marketplace of sin? Nope.
And on and on and on we could go.
Partly as a result of having served as a pastor, I’ve had the privilege of meeting a bunch of people over the years. Lots of them have been “dull, boring, and ordinary” - UNTIL I GOT TO KNOW THEM. There is not one person I’ve ever come to know well who still fits in the category of “ordinary.”
Every person is multi-layered, complex, and uniquely gifted. Each person has shades of heroism and cowardice, brilliance and dullness, fears and foibles that make them who they are. There are no dull people - and that truism certainly applies to you who are reading this drivel.
Who knows if perhaps, a year from now (or more), someone will hear of your story, your trial, your victory, your passion, your faithfulness in the face of adversity and will find in your epic quest courage to trust God and to be faithful as well.
Well, I’ve got to be off now. Going to church this evening to watch some people portray Mary, Joseph, some shepherds and wise men. Just what we need. More drama.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Reflections from the Plains of Shinar
Premise: Generally speaking, large groups of people, gathered together, are capable of greater mischief than smaller groups.
Proof: The Tower of Babel
Out there on the plains of Shinar, in the land that would eventually be Babylon - throughout time identified by the Bible as the ultimate anti-God empire - the people gathered.
The Bible tells us that the whole human population traveled east to Shinar and settled down. All together. It was a great crowd of people (Genesis 11) that had gathered - and that gathering was a great problem. By settling down together the people were flagrantly disobeying God’s command that they “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” (Genesis 1)
In what may be humanity’s first experience of “group think,” out there on the plains of Shinar the people got a grand idea.
[Genesis 11:3] They said to one another, “Come, let us make bricks and burn them thoroughly.” And they used brick for stones and they used tar for mortar. [4] They said, “Come, let us build for ourselves a city, and a tower whose top will reach into heaven, and let us make for ourselves a name, otherwise we will be scattered abroad over the face of the whole earth.”
The group agreed that it would be better to NOT obey God’s command to fill the earth, but to remain together. Theologians are agreed that the people had determined, together, to exalt themselves above God.
Remedy: Think small.
God’s remedy to the situation created by this massive group of people getting into such mischief was to force smaller groupings by confusing their speech.
At Babel, God created the world's various major language groups. This forced a division of the human race and made more likely the fulfillment of His “fill the earth” mandate. As well, by dividing people by means of the language barrier, God created smaller groups of people, who could, together, get into less mischief. A brilliant move.
Such a move was made necessary because of the broken nature of people in the post-Garden of Eden world. With the coming of sin (Genesis 3), the general tendency of all people everywhere is independence from God, not trust. Left to our own devices, we will choose rebellion from God, not worship.
Yes, this is the consistent teaching of the Bible. But you really don’t have to be a biblicist to come to that conclusion. It is also the consistent teaching of history. If we would be honest in our assessment of human history, we will admit that the general trajectory of an impressive technological upward spike is accompanied by an equally depressing downward spiral by most meaningful, personal metrics. With a few notable and welcome lapses, our race's story is one of harsh cruelty, violence, and injustice.
The reason, again, is that individuals are (to use an extremely biblical word) “sinners.” Groups of people gathered together would, thus, be groups of “SINNERS” - hence, more dangerous. Hence, to reduce the danger of the negative AND to increase the likelihood of the positive, reduce the size of the group. That was God’s solution in Genesis 11. I think it still makes great sense today.
Think small.
Rather than think grand thoughts of "megas"...
think of the impact you can have in the lives of your circle of friends when you serve them.
think of the impact you can have when you show love to one, lonely, sad person at the end of his hope.
think of the redemptive influence you and your small circle of friends can have when you join hands to help a struggling family.
“Grand” turned into silly and vain grandiosity on the plains of Shinar. Grandiosity still reigns today, and just look where “big” has gotten us. We are technological giants, tempted to relational dwarfism. We are digitally connected all the time and it is so easy to be regularly disconnected, personally. Sure, “big” is impressive at a distance, but impact is always made "up close and personal."
It’s time to embrace and to celebrate the small. Jesus did and He invites us to join Him.
He applauded the small amount of leaven that leavens a whole lump of dough and the mustard seed of faith that moves mountains.
So, we applaud he the leavening effect of a small group of friends who journey through life together, along with the mustard seed of the family that plays and prays and weeps and laughs together and builds spiritual sequoias, and the church that makes it possible to known and be known, to love and be loved.
Proof: The Tower of Babel
Out there on the plains of Shinar, in the land that would eventually be Babylon - throughout time identified by the Bible as the ultimate anti-God empire - the people gathered.
The Bible tells us that the whole human population traveled east to Shinar and settled down. All together. It was a great crowd of people (Genesis 11) that had gathered - and that gathering was a great problem. By settling down together the people were flagrantly disobeying God’s command that they “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” (Genesis 1)
In what may be humanity’s first experience of “group think,” out there on the plains of Shinar the people got a grand idea.
[Genesis 11:3] They said to one another, “Come, let us make bricks and burn them thoroughly.” And they used brick for stones and they used tar for mortar. [4] They said, “Come, let us build for ourselves a city, and a tower whose top will reach into heaven, and let us make for ourselves a name, otherwise we will be scattered abroad over the face of the whole earth.”
The group agreed that it would be better to NOT obey God’s command to fill the earth, but to remain together. Theologians are agreed that the people had determined, together, to exalt themselves above God.
Remedy: Think small.
God’s remedy to the situation created by this massive group of people getting into such mischief was to force smaller groupings by confusing their speech.
At Babel, God created the world's various major language groups. This forced a division of the human race and made more likely the fulfillment of His “fill the earth” mandate. As well, by dividing people by means of the language barrier, God created smaller groups of people, who could, together, get into less mischief. A brilliant move.
Such a move was made necessary because of the broken nature of people in the post-Garden of Eden world. With the coming of sin (Genesis 3), the general tendency of all people everywhere is independence from God, not trust. Left to our own devices, we will choose rebellion from God, not worship.
Yes, this is the consistent teaching of the Bible. But you really don’t have to be a biblicist to come to that conclusion. It is also the consistent teaching of history. If we would be honest in our assessment of human history, we will admit that the general trajectory of an impressive technological upward spike is accompanied by an equally depressing downward spiral by most meaningful, personal metrics. With a few notable and welcome lapses, our race's story is one of harsh cruelty, violence, and injustice.
The reason, again, is that individuals are (to use an extremely biblical word) “sinners.” Groups of people gathered together would, thus, be groups of “SINNERS” - hence, more dangerous. Hence, to reduce the danger of the negative AND to increase the likelihood of the positive, reduce the size of the group. That was God’s solution in Genesis 11. I think it still makes great sense today.
Think small.
Rather than think grand thoughts of "megas"...
think of the impact you can have in the lives of your circle of friends when you serve them.
think of the impact you can have when you show love to one, lonely, sad person at the end of his hope.
think of the redemptive influence you and your small circle of friends can have when you join hands to help a struggling family.
“Grand” turned into silly and vain grandiosity on the plains of Shinar. Grandiosity still reigns today, and just look where “big” has gotten us. We are technological giants, tempted to relational dwarfism. We are digitally connected all the time and it is so easy to be regularly disconnected, personally. Sure, “big” is impressive at a distance, but impact is always made "up close and personal."
It’s time to embrace and to celebrate the small. Jesus did and He invites us to join Him.
He applauded the small amount of leaven that leavens a whole lump of dough and the mustard seed of faith that moves mountains.
So, we applaud he the leavening effect of a small group of friends who journey through life together, along with the mustard seed of the family that plays and prays and weeps and laughs together and builds spiritual sequoias, and the church that makes it possible to known and be known, to love and be loved.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
The Flexibility Challenge (or “The Parable of the Stiff Joint”)
I have always loved physical movement, the great outdoors, and athletics. A consistent limiter to my enjoyment of these activities, especially in recent years, has been a glaring lack of suppleness, flexibility, and joint elasticity.
And folks, I’m talking serious lack of flexibility!
Due to tightness of the hips, I can’t comfortably sit cross-legged on the floor. I can’t make either of my feet touch my glutes due to knee stiffness. I come laughably far from being able to keep my legs straight and touch my fingers to the ground. I can’t sit in a chair and cross my left leg over my right knee.
Such lack of flexibility has made some of my favorite things less delightful.
Backpacking is among my favorite things, but given my joint mobility issues, downhill movements are killers. And, given that most mountain treks include a combination of uphills (which aren’t all that much fun, either) and downhills, that’s a problem.
The other physical activity that I have greatly enjoyed since 2008 is Crossfit, an exercise regimen that involves a combination of gymnastics, bodyweight exercises (pull-ups, push-ups, sit-ups, etc…), Olympic lifting (snatch, clean and jerk), weightlifting (deadlifts, squats, and presses), along with running, jump roping, rope-climbing and other such fun.
Again, my inflexible body greatly inhibits full range of motion in lots of these exercises, and that, too, is a problem.
So, on occasion, I try to loosen tight joints with stretches, foam rollers, and hard rubber balls placed at strategically located and notably inflexible spots on my anatomy. I’ve tried yoga a few times. I even bought a very expensive book (BECOMING A SUPPLE LEOPARD by Kelly Starrett - an excellent book, by the way) that includes a physical therapist’s counsel on how to become, well, supple. You know, like a leopard.
I’ve noticed something both interesting and disturbing about this lack-of-flexibility thing. It’s getting worse as I’m getting older.
I’ve never been extremely supple, even in earlier years, but the lack thereof wasn’t all that noticeable when I played basketball, golfed, or ran track in my twenties, thirties and even into my forties.
In my thirties, distance running was my exercise of choice. Putting one foot in front of the other for miles and miles didn’t require tremendous range of motion, so I did fine. (I’m suspicious that one of the major reasons for my world-class lack of flexibility NOW is my inattention to flexibility during the many years when my primary exercise was running long distances at a constant speed. That sort of exercise is a profoundly repetitive process that - without some intentionality to avoid it - greatly reduces range of motion in joints. The problem wasn't running, per se, but my refusal to work to remain limber while running.)
But now, deep into my 50’s, I’m playing with younger men’s activities, and my stiffening joints could end up being show-stoppers.
If I don’t get flexible, I won’t be able to keep camping. If I don’t get flexible, I won't be able to lift well, sprint, or jump high. So, I’ll keep stretching and “flossing” tight muscles for sustained performance for a few more years.
I’m not embarrassed to be so concerned about my physical fitness. We all only get one bod per life, so it’s a good idea to give it care and attention. But there is a grander point to this reflection on the physical than simply the physical. That's why my post's sub-title is, “The Parable of the Stiff Joint.”
Lack of flexibility can be a problem, PERSONALLY, as well as PHYSICALLY.
A willingness to adapt to changing realities, an ability to “bend over backwards” to serve a new generation, and a penchant for doing new things AND for doing old things in new ways is as necessary to a personal life as hip flexion is to an effective squat or a mobile shoulder joint is to a winning snatch or supple knee joints are to a scramble down Rocky Mountain talus.
The process that I’m following to attain a supple physical state is a generally painful combination of stretching, use of resistance bands and foam rollers, and “flossing” the muscles to gain peak range of motion.
Becoming a PERSONALLY flexible person will involve, likewise, a generally painful process. Specifically…
1). Stretching to understand the other person’s point of view. It will mean going out of my way to get to know people with whom I currently disagree and working hard to see how they have come to conclusions different from mine. Personal stretching will involve hanging with conservatives and progressives and libertarians, befriending Muslims and the homeless, and listening to NPR while also reading the Wall Street Journal.
I certainly have no interest in becoming an intellectual bowl of mush, a man without convictions. Not at all! It’s just that meaningful convictions will stand the fire of real engagement with others who have differing convictions - and that kind of engagement is a stretching experience.
2). Trying new things. Intentionally placing myself in situations where I am uncomfortable (what the exercise industry calls “muscle confusion”) will lead to personal leopard-like suppleness.
To combat personal rigidity I’m putting some “soul confusing” lifestyle choices into my immediate future.
I’m planning to explore some personal spiritual disciplines and ministry initiatives that I’ve not tried for a long time. I’m excited about them.
In addition, I’ve dreamed for years of writing a book (and actually have several themes I’d like to develop). Now, I have the makings of a plan to attempt an actual writing project.
As well, I intend to pursue some key relationships in ways that I hope will be revolutionary and transformational.
These new ways of approaching life have the potential of increasing my personal range of motion. Getting out of familiar ruts will require a trust in God deeper than I have known for some time and will hopefully, prayerfully, God-willing (!), change me into a loving man God might be pleased to use more powerfully in the future than He has been able to in the past.
With increasing years comes a tendency to lose flexibility. With Jesus, it need not be so. The Apostle Paul assures us that we need not lose hope for progress, for while [2 Corinthians 4:16] our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.
And folks, I’m talking serious lack of flexibility!
Due to tightness of the hips, I can’t comfortably sit cross-legged on the floor. I can’t make either of my feet touch my glutes due to knee stiffness. I come laughably far from being able to keep my legs straight and touch my fingers to the ground. I can’t sit in a chair and cross my left leg over my right knee.
Such lack of flexibility has made some of my favorite things less delightful.
Backpacking is among my favorite things, but given my joint mobility issues, downhill movements are killers. And, given that most mountain treks include a combination of uphills (which aren’t all that much fun, either) and downhills, that’s a problem.
The other physical activity that I have greatly enjoyed since 2008 is Crossfit, an exercise regimen that involves a combination of gymnastics, bodyweight exercises (pull-ups, push-ups, sit-ups, etc…), Olympic lifting (snatch, clean and jerk), weightlifting (deadlifts, squats, and presses), along with running, jump roping, rope-climbing and other such fun.
Again, my inflexible body greatly inhibits full range of motion in lots of these exercises, and that, too, is a problem.
So, on occasion, I try to loosen tight joints with stretches, foam rollers, and hard rubber balls placed at strategically located and notably inflexible spots on my anatomy. I’ve tried yoga a few times. I even bought a very expensive book (BECOMING A SUPPLE LEOPARD by Kelly Starrett - an excellent book, by the way) that includes a physical therapist’s counsel on how to become, well, supple. You know, like a leopard.
I’ve noticed something both interesting and disturbing about this lack-of-flexibility thing. It’s getting worse as I’m getting older.
I’ve never been extremely supple, even in earlier years, but the lack thereof wasn’t all that noticeable when I played basketball, golfed, or ran track in my twenties, thirties and even into my forties.
In my thirties, distance running was my exercise of choice. Putting one foot in front of the other for miles and miles didn’t require tremendous range of motion, so I did fine. (I’m suspicious that one of the major reasons for my world-class lack of flexibility NOW is my inattention to flexibility during the many years when my primary exercise was running long distances at a constant speed. That sort of exercise is a profoundly repetitive process that - without some intentionality to avoid it - greatly reduces range of motion in joints. The problem wasn't running, per se, but my refusal to work to remain limber while running.)
But now, deep into my 50’s, I’m playing with younger men’s activities, and my stiffening joints could end up being show-stoppers.
If I don’t get flexible, I won’t be able to keep camping. If I don’t get flexible, I won't be able to lift well, sprint, or jump high. So, I’ll keep stretching and “flossing” tight muscles for sustained performance for a few more years.
I’m not embarrassed to be so concerned about my physical fitness. We all only get one bod per life, so it’s a good idea to give it care and attention. But there is a grander point to this reflection on the physical than simply the physical. That's why my post's sub-title is, “The Parable of the Stiff Joint.”
Lack of flexibility can be a problem, PERSONALLY, as well as PHYSICALLY.
A willingness to adapt to changing realities, an ability to “bend over backwards” to serve a new generation, and a penchant for doing new things AND for doing old things in new ways is as necessary to a personal life as hip flexion is to an effective squat or a mobile shoulder joint is to a winning snatch or supple knee joints are to a scramble down Rocky Mountain talus.
The process that I’m following to attain a supple physical state is a generally painful combination of stretching, use of resistance bands and foam rollers, and “flossing” the muscles to gain peak range of motion.
Becoming a PERSONALLY flexible person will involve, likewise, a generally painful process. Specifically…
1). Stretching to understand the other person’s point of view. It will mean going out of my way to get to know people with whom I currently disagree and working hard to see how they have come to conclusions different from mine. Personal stretching will involve hanging with conservatives and progressives and libertarians, befriending Muslims and the homeless, and listening to NPR while also reading the Wall Street Journal.
I certainly have no interest in becoming an intellectual bowl of mush, a man without convictions. Not at all! It’s just that meaningful convictions will stand the fire of real engagement with others who have differing convictions - and that kind of engagement is a stretching experience.
2). Trying new things. Intentionally placing myself in situations where I am uncomfortable (what the exercise industry calls “muscle confusion”) will lead to personal leopard-like suppleness.
To combat personal rigidity I’m putting some “soul confusing” lifestyle choices into my immediate future.
I’m planning to explore some personal spiritual disciplines and ministry initiatives that I’ve not tried for a long time. I’m excited about them.
In addition, I’ve dreamed for years of writing a book (and actually have several themes I’d like to develop). Now, I have the makings of a plan to attempt an actual writing project.
As well, I intend to pursue some key relationships in ways that I hope will be revolutionary and transformational.
These new ways of approaching life have the potential of increasing my personal range of motion. Getting out of familiar ruts will require a trust in God deeper than I have known for some time and will hopefully, prayerfully, God-willing (!), change me into a loving man God might be pleased to use more powerfully in the future than He has been able to in the past.
With increasing years comes a tendency to lose flexibility. With Jesus, it need not be so. The Apostle Paul assures us that we need not lose hope for progress, for while [2 Corinthians 4:16] our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
The Least of These
Some time ago, when I created this blog, I decided to name it in honor of an idea that has long captivated my imagination. The idea? Simple. Small is beautiful. “Learning Small” reflects that deeply held conviction.
The thought that small is beautiful is certainly not to imply that big is ugly or that BIG won’t teach lessons. Over the years, though, God has typically done His best work in me through small things, through the seemingly trivial, the unobtrusive.
I serve what is, in comparison to many churches, a small church. Like many (Most? Come on, guys…) pastors of smaller churches, I have wrestled with my small-ish place in the grand scheme of things.
I’ve wondered as I’ve wandered through life in a small place, does God desire to do something BIG through me? Am I doing something wrong that is keeping me at a small place? Is there something wrong with me that is keeping my church under 10,000 (OK, under 1,000; OK, under 500)?
Then, this afternoon, I got a phone call from a fellow our church helped through a terribly ugly divorce back in 1986. He was a young man then. He worked with his hands as a skilled carpenter. His life was wrecked by the divorce, as many lives are. But, in the months following that divorce, lots of people in our church walked him through that valley. He gained strength and stability. He trusted in Jesus - and then moved from San Antonio and out of our lives.
I hadn’t heard from him for about twenty five years when the phone rang today. He still works with his hands. He has been happily married to a wonderful Christian woman for the last sixteen years. He is still walking with Jesus - and he called to say “Thanks” for the help our church provided to him during the low point of his life.
I don’t tell that story to gain bragging rights. No, I tell it to bring a different metric to the table when measuring the success of a life or of a church.
I wonder if rather than measuring success by more typical standards (money, bodies, buildings), we might better measure success by stories, the stories of lives impacted by love and grace.
Jesus’ life and ministry impacted thousands, true. And by His death on the cross and resurrection from the dead He has saved untold millions. But examine the record of His life as found in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and you’ll see a life chock full of one-on-one conversations and small group interactions.
He impacted people - individuals! - up close and personal. In the end, He entrusted His worldwide ministry to a very few people (eleven men and a few women) who knew Him quite well. I think we would all agree that they did quite well with their mission.
I suspect that the greatest impact is always made face-to-face, one-on-one, life-on-life, within a small circle of intimates.
Impact occurs when a mom or dad speaks grace into the life of a son or a daughter; when an older woman lovingly mentors a struggling young mom; when a man who has been “clean and sober” for six years comes alongside the guy who is having a hard time making it to Day Two and says, “You can do it, buddy. Trust Jesus. One day at a time. I’m with you. I’m praying for you.”
There is no sour grapes-ism to this post. I genuinely thank God for the wonderful large churches in my city of San Antonio where God is doing amazing things.
I’m just wondering if, at the end of time, God will turn to each of us and to each church and say something like, “Well done. You loved ________ really well.”
And who is _______?
The homeless person.
The sad person who tried to make a living as a children’s party clown.
The socially awkward older woman who never married and hates men, anyway.
The guy with mental illness.
The high-powered executive who needed acceptance, not for achievement, but for his basic human worth.
The addict.
The woman involved in the sex trade.
The lonely teen.
The child with learning challenges.
The Pharisee who finally found grace.
When Jesus took the time to reach out to the poor, the oppressed, the leper, and the diseased, He was creating a template for His people to follow for all time.
It is as if He was saying, “I never forgot the least and the last and the lost. Don’t you forget them, either. They are near and dear to My heart. Big is fine, but small is beautiful. And guess what? Put enough smalls together and you get BIG. Really BIG - Kingdom of God sized BIG!”
As seen through the stories of Gideon’s army, David vs. Goliath, and the early church, God often does His best work through small things. He has always been delighted to do His best work through small people like me and you.
The thought that small is beautiful is certainly not to imply that big is ugly or that BIG won’t teach lessons. Over the years, though, God has typically done His best work in me through small things, through the seemingly trivial, the unobtrusive.
I serve what is, in comparison to many churches, a small church. Like many (Most? Come on, guys…) pastors of smaller churches, I have wrestled with my small-ish place in the grand scheme of things.
I’ve wondered as I’ve wandered through life in a small place, does God desire to do something BIG through me? Am I doing something wrong that is keeping me at a small place? Is there something wrong with me that is keeping my church under 10,000 (OK, under 1,000; OK, under 500)?
Then, this afternoon, I got a phone call from a fellow our church helped through a terribly ugly divorce back in 1986. He was a young man then. He worked with his hands as a skilled carpenter. His life was wrecked by the divorce, as many lives are. But, in the months following that divorce, lots of people in our church walked him through that valley. He gained strength and stability. He trusted in Jesus - and then moved from San Antonio and out of our lives.
I hadn’t heard from him for about twenty five years when the phone rang today. He still works with his hands. He has been happily married to a wonderful Christian woman for the last sixteen years. He is still walking with Jesus - and he called to say “Thanks” for the help our church provided to him during the low point of his life.
I don’t tell that story to gain bragging rights. No, I tell it to bring a different metric to the table when measuring the success of a life or of a church.
I wonder if rather than measuring success by more typical standards (money, bodies, buildings), we might better measure success by stories, the stories of lives impacted by love and grace.
Jesus’ life and ministry impacted thousands, true. And by His death on the cross and resurrection from the dead He has saved untold millions. But examine the record of His life as found in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and you’ll see a life chock full of one-on-one conversations and small group interactions.
He impacted people - individuals! - up close and personal. In the end, He entrusted His worldwide ministry to a very few people (eleven men and a few women) who knew Him quite well. I think we would all agree that they did quite well with their mission.
I suspect that the greatest impact is always made face-to-face, one-on-one, life-on-life, within a small circle of intimates.
Impact occurs when a mom or dad speaks grace into the life of a son or a daughter; when an older woman lovingly mentors a struggling young mom; when a man who has been “clean and sober” for six years comes alongside the guy who is having a hard time making it to Day Two and says, “You can do it, buddy. Trust Jesus. One day at a time. I’m with you. I’m praying for you.”
There is no sour grapes-ism to this post. I genuinely thank God for the wonderful large churches in my city of San Antonio where God is doing amazing things.
I’m just wondering if, at the end of time, God will turn to each of us and to each church and say something like, “Well done. You loved ________ really well.”
And who is _______?
The homeless person.
The sad person who tried to make a living as a children’s party clown.
The socially awkward older woman who never married and hates men, anyway.
The guy with mental illness.
The high-powered executive who needed acceptance, not for achievement, but for his basic human worth.
The addict.
The woman involved in the sex trade.
The lonely teen.
The child with learning challenges.
The Pharisee who finally found grace.
When Jesus took the time to reach out to the poor, the oppressed, the leper, and the diseased, He was creating a template for His people to follow for all time.
It is as if He was saying, “I never forgot the least and the last and the lost. Don’t you forget them, either. They are near and dear to My heart. Big is fine, but small is beautiful. And guess what? Put enough smalls together and you get BIG. Really BIG - Kingdom of God sized BIG!”
As seen through the stories of Gideon’s army, David vs. Goliath, and the early church, God often does His best work through small things. He has always been delighted to do His best work through small people like me and you.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
THE TRIP (camping with my daughter and her epic dog, November, 2013)
My daughter, Erin, and I have camped before. She first “car camped” with her mother, me and her two brothers as a youngster on expeditions to Lost Maples and Enchanted Rock. Her first backpacking trip (1997; she was nine) was to the Hill Country State Natural Area with me and her brothers, sans Mom.
This post details a trip to the same spot, a sweet sixteen years later. This time, rather than enjoying the company of her brothers, we enjoyed the company of her dog of ten years, Jazmine.
Erin has always loved the outdoors and has always had a heart for adventure. A “study abroad” program that took her to England for a semester of college was filled with travel, adventuring with friends, mountain-climbing in Wales, and, so she tells me, a bit of study here and there.
Her first post-graduation job of nearly two years had her serving a family with four extreme preemies from birth through several near death valleys, to stability, to thriving. Again, high adventure.
Erin’s heart for people and for God has been a consistent encouragement and thrill to me, most especially in recent years, as the churches she has attended have given her wonderful community and been places of grace and fire.
Well, this Erin has this dog, Jazmine, a small-ish black whatchamacallit. Jazmine looks like a miniature Doberman pinscher (but she probably isn’t). And Erin has always thought it would be a GREAT idea to take Jazmine on a backpacking trip.
Some time ago, she bought a doggie backpack for that purpose and had been hiking the wilds near her home of Bryan, Texas in anticipation of THE TRIP.
Erin and I had been talking about THE TRIP for some months and had actually almost settled on a date in early October. That trip didn’t happen (overcome by events) and the post-Thanksgiving weekend time frame was soon set in stone as the “go to” getaway time.
Our plan was to head out to Lost Maples (a reliable site for great hiking that she and I have enjoyed in the past, backpacking there together a couple of years ago) for a night or two of fun in the woods. That proved not to be possible, though, as the Park Ranger told me the week prior to Thanksgiving that all the camping sites - including primitive backcountry sites - were reserved for the time frame we would be there.
So, we shifted fire and decided to go to the old stand-by, Hill Country State Natural Area, site of Erin’s first-ever backpacking excursion, for Jazmine’s first-ever backpacking excursion.
After gorging ourselves on a Thanksgiving feast on Thursday, we loaded up my Ranger on Friday morning for the hour long trip through Bandera to the park.
Once there, we checked in, paid the ranger, and drove to the trailhead. We would soon prove that familiarity need not breed contempt AND that epic adventure can be found in state parks if the expedition leader is willing to make map-reading errors that make Columbus’ “route to India” (aka America) look brilliant.
The day started off chilly, but was delightful for hiking. Jazmine was loaded down with her own food and blanket, our tent, our food and my portable Jacuzzi. Just kidding, of course. But she did carry more weight relative to body weight than either of her traveling companions and did great.
We were hiking toward the Hermit’s Shack, a campsite near the westerly edge of the park. Hiking to the Hermit’s Shack takes you through some of the prettier spots in the Hill Country, and it was a great hike. We stopped along the way for a lunch of Pringles, chocolate (always a staple in my camping diet), and nuts and started hiking again.
All went well until we intersected Trail #1. We weren’t supposed to hit Trail #1!
Erin’s intrepid guide had taken a wrong turn waaaay back there and took us to the wrong camping area, known as Wilderness. Without getting too mopey, we decided that the best thing to do would be to bushwhack our way from the Wilderness area to Trail #4, which would then take us to the Hermit’s Shack.
Like all shortcuts, the idea was outstanding in the abstract, difficult to accomplish in the concrete.
This particular shortcut required that we go straight up a mountainside, off-trail (elevation gain uncertain; two to three hundred feet?) through heavy underbrush. The footing was horrible, even for those in the expedition with four feet!
The climb took us around forty five minutes. Route picking was fun. Less fun was grabbing for handholds and finding agarita, cactus, and pyracantha. Jazmine performed heroically. At one spot, she launched herself up toward a rock shelf about five times before she finally made it up to the next level. Needless to say, Erin also did great. It was never clear whether she was muttering under her breath about her guide, but when we got to the top, among her first words were, “That was fun!”
Well, back on the trail we walked easily for another couple of hours to the Hermit’s shack where we found a campsite all to ourselves. It was a calm and serene, beautiful setting.
We set up the tent, gathered firewood (Note: Hill Country SNA is perhaps the only state park in Texas where fires are permitted in the backcountry - in fire rings only. Sadly, due to the drought of recent years, fires have not been allowed. Due to recent rains, though, the Ranger had told us that we could have a fire. And a delightful fire it was, too…), and prepared to fix dinner.
We had one of my favorite backpacking meals: mashed potatoes with summer sausage. According to Erin (who is exceptionally easy to please), it was quite delicious. Jazmine enjoyed her own gourmet meal of dog food + treat + one of Erin’s slices of summer sausage and seemed quite content.
It was now 5pm. Hmmm...
We both wondered how we were going to stay awake until a decent hour, since the sun would go down at 6 and neither one of us wanted to hit the sack at 6:30! Not to worry. We had the fire to keep us occupied, apple crisp dessert to enjoy, hot chocolate to savor. Most important, we had time to catch up with each other.
This, you should know, was what I had been sneakily waiting for, planning for, and hoping for. Time to do nothing but sit around a campfire and talk with my daughter. Sure, I like to hike and camp. But when I go backpacking, the dream is always to make or maintain or deepen personal connection with my camping buddies.
Well, on this trip, it was “mission accomplished.”
Erin and I talked about all sorts of stuff - mostly heart to heart stuff, God-stuff, life-stuff. She was her usual Barnabas-like encourager. We prayed together easily, at the drop of a hat, just as we have done whenever we have had the chance to talk in recent years.
Before we knew it, I looked at my watch and it was after 9pm. We were both pretty tired and decided that it would be best for her and Jazmine to get situated first, which they did. After reading for a while (camping doesn’t mean that you can’t bring your Kindle and headlamp), I turned in at about 9:45 and didn’t even wake up my camping companions.
I was up early (5:30), as usual. Sadly, my arising early also woke Jazmine, so sleeping in wasn’t an option for Erin, either. She and her dog appeared at 6:30. After re-starting the fire, we had another wonderful meal of dehydrated eggs on tortillas, pan-fried leftover summer sausage, and coffee. Jazmine was satisfied with her gourmet dog food, and, I believe, another slice of Erin’s sausage, and our leftover eggs.
By this time, the trip was mostly over. Yesterday had been a great day of hiking and climbing and eating and talking. Now it was time to hike out. We broke camp and took our time with the three mile hike back to the car. The hike out wasn’t epic in the least, but the talking was, again, rich.
As we got into the truck, I, who am not particularly adept at multi-tasking, had several thoughts swirling around in my mind. One, man my knees hurt. Two, wow, what a great trip. You really can have an epic adventure in a state park! Three, I’ve got one amazing daughter - God-loving, fun-loving, intelligent and articulate, sensitive and beautiful. Four, thank You, Lord, for allowing me the privilege of staying connected with her as I’ve watched her become the woman she is today.
And away we drove, another roaringly successful trip to the great outdoors.
This post details a trip to the same spot, a sweet sixteen years later. This time, rather than enjoying the company of her brothers, we enjoyed the company of her dog of ten years, Jazmine.
Erin has always loved the outdoors and has always had a heart for adventure. A “study abroad” program that took her to England for a semester of college was filled with travel, adventuring with friends, mountain-climbing in Wales, and, so she tells me, a bit of study here and there.
Her first post-graduation job of nearly two years had her serving a family with four extreme preemies from birth through several near death valleys, to stability, to thriving. Again, high adventure.
Erin’s heart for people and for God has been a consistent encouragement and thrill to me, most especially in recent years, as the churches she has attended have given her wonderful community and been places of grace and fire.
Well, this Erin has this dog, Jazmine, a small-ish black whatchamacallit. Jazmine looks like a miniature Doberman pinscher (but she probably isn’t). And Erin has always thought it would be a GREAT idea to take Jazmine on a backpacking trip.
Some time ago, she bought a doggie backpack for that purpose and had been hiking the wilds near her home of Bryan, Texas in anticipation of THE TRIP.
Erin and I had been talking about THE TRIP for some months and had actually almost settled on a date in early October. That trip didn’t happen (overcome by events) and the post-Thanksgiving weekend time frame was soon set in stone as the “go to” getaway time.
Our plan was to head out to Lost Maples (a reliable site for great hiking that she and I have enjoyed in the past, backpacking there together a couple of years ago) for a night or two of fun in the woods. That proved not to be possible, though, as the Park Ranger told me the week prior to Thanksgiving that all the camping sites - including primitive backcountry sites - were reserved for the time frame we would be there.
So, we shifted fire and decided to go to the old stand-by, Hill Country State Natural Area, site of Erin’s first-ever backpacking excursion, for Jazmine’s first-ever backpacking excursion.
After gorging ourselves on a Thanksgiving feast on Thursday, we loaded up my Ranger on Friday morning for the hour long trip through Bandera to the park.
Once there, we checked in, paid the ranger, and drove to the trailhead. We would soon prove that familiarity need not breed contempt AND that epic adventure can be found in state parks if the expedition leader is willing to make map-reading errors that make Columbus’ “route to India” (aka America) look brilliant.
The day started off chilly, but was delightful for hiking. Jazmine was loaded down with her own food and blanket, our tent, our food and my portable Jacuzzi. Just kidding, of course. But she did carry more weight relative to body weight than either of her traveling companions and did great.
We were hiking toward the Hermit’s Shack, a campsite near the westerly edge of the park. Hiking to the Hermit’s Shack takes you through some of the prettier spots in the Hill Country, and it was a great hike. We stopped along the way for a lunch of Pringles, chocolate (always a staple in my camping diet), and nuts and started hiking again.
All went well until we intersected Trail #1. We weren’t supposed to hit Trail #1!
Erin’s intrepid guide had taken a wrong turn waaaay back there and took us to the wrong camping area, known as Wilderness. Without getting too mopey, we decided that the best thing to do would be to bushwhack our way from the Wilderness area to Trail #4, which would then take us to the Hermit’s Shack.
Like all shortcuts, the idea was outstanding in the abstract, difficult to accomplish in the concrete.
This particular shortcut required that we go straight up a mountainside, off-trail (elevation gain uncertain; two to three hundred feet?) through heavy underbrush. The footing was horrible, even for those in the expedition with four feet!
The climb took us around forty five minutes. Route picking was fun. Less fun was grabbing for handholds and finding agarita, cactus, and pyracantha. Jazmine performed heroically. At one spot, she launched herself up toward a rock shelf about five times before she finally made it up to the next level. Needless to say, Erin also did great. It was never clear whether she was muttering under her breath about her guide, but when we got to the top, among her first words were, “That was fun!”
Well, back on the trail we walked easily for another couple of hours to the Hermit’s shack where we found a campsite all to ourselves. It was a calm and serene, beautiful setting.
We set up the tent, gathered firewood (Note: Hill Country SNA is perhaps the only state park in Texas where fires are permitted in the backcountry - in fire rings only. Sadly, due to the drought of recent years, fires have not been allowed. Due to recent rains, though, the Ranger had told us that we could have a fire. And a delightful fire it was, too…), and prepared to fix dinner.
We had one of my favorite backpacking meals: mashed potatoes with summer sausage. According to Erin (who is exceptionally easy to please), it was quite delicious. Jazmine enjoyed her own gourmet meal of dog food + treat + one of Erin’s slices of summer sausage and seemed quite content.
It was now 5pm. Hmmm...
We both wondered how we were going to stay awake until a decent hour, since the sun would go down at 6 and neither one of us wanted to hit the sack at 6:30! Not to worry. We had the fire to keep us occupied, apple crisp dessert to enjoy, hot chocolate to savor. Most important, we had time to catch up with each other.
This, you should know, was what I had been sneakily waiting for, planning for, and hoping for. Time to do nothing but sit around a campfire and talk with my daughter. Sure, I like to hike and camp. But when I go backpacking, the dream is always to make or maintain or deepen personal connection with my camping buddies.
Well, on this trip, it was “mission accomplished.”
Erin and I talked about all sorts of stuff - mostly heart to heart stuff, God-stuff, life-stuff. She was her usual Barnabas-like encourager. We prayed together easily, at the drop of a hat, just as we have done whenever we have had the chance to talk in recent years.
Before we knew it, I looked at my watch and it was after 9pm. We were both pretty tired and decided that it would be best for her and Jazmine to get situated first, which they did. After reading for a while (camping doesn’t mean that you can’t bring your Kindle and headlamp), I turned in at about 9:45 and didn’t even wake up my camping companions.
I was up early (5:30), as usual. Sadly, my arising early also woke Jazmine, so sleeping in wasn’t an option for Erin, either. She and her dog appeared at 6:30. After re-starting the fire, we had another wonderful meal of dehydrated eggs on tortillas, pan-fried leftover summer sausage, and coffee. Jazmine was satisfied with her gourmet dog food, and, I believe, another slice of Erin’s sausage, and our leftover eggs.
By this time, the trip was mostly over. Yesterday had been a great day of hiking and climbing and eating and talking. Now it was time to hike out. We broke camp and took our time with the three mile hike back to the car. The hike out wasn’t epic in the least, but the talking was, again, rich.
As we got into the truck, I, who am not particularly adept at multi-tasking, had several thoughts swirling around in my mind. One, man my knees hurt. Two, wow, what a great trip. You really can have an epic adventure in a state park! Three, I’ve got one amazing daughter - God-loving, fun-loving, intelligent and articulate, sensitive and beautiful. Four, thank You, Lord, for allowing me the privilege of staying connected with her as I’ve watched her become the woman she is today.
And away we drove, another roaringly successful trip to the great outdoors.
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