The text was short and to the point.

“Call me…Safe Family.”

I stepped out of my afternoon meeting to the rapid-fire voice of my wife regurgitating the sketchy details of an emergency situation. Two year old boy. Homeless shelter. Mom starting a 60 day prison sentence. Tomorrow. Can we help?

This is our third placement from Safe Families, a beautiful movement of compassion for children in crisis. And as much as I’d like to paint you a heroic picture of confidence, self-assurance, and flawless motivation, I thought I’d let you inside the veil to see the myriad of real and not-so-holy thoughts that ran through my head during that 3-minute conversation.

I don’t like toddlers, not even my own.

Let’s say no. We can always say no. Let’s tell them to find someone else.

How can we say no? To a boy whose mom is going to prison?

What about my date with Mandy planned for Friday?

During the Holidays? I don’t want to mess up Thanksgiving.

Did I just think that? I don’t want to share the things I’m thankful for with a needy child?

Wait, what if it lasts through Christmas? Thanksgiving and Christmas? That’s too much.

My daughters get way too attached to these kids. There’s gonna be tears. Not again.

My son freaks when an outside child takes his place in the birth order.

What if his mom can’t take him back? What if she’s not allowed to take him back?

What if he doesn’t sleep? We don’t function well without sleep. We need to sleep!

These temporary placements don’t really do any long-term good, do they?

Do we have the financial resources to hold this together?

Were we really called to this? Are you sure it wasn’t just a momentary guilt trip? Bad pizza?

Why is following Jesus so inconvenient.

I guess my point is this: Whenever someone steps up and does something compassionate – an act of service, an expression of God’s Kingdom – the underlying assumption is that they’ve reached some higher plane. Gained control of their motivations. That they’re somehow more together. More holy.

For me, I’ve found quite the opposite to be true.

Honestly, we’re a mess. Terrified. Confused. Angry. Wrestling with selfishness. Battling self-righteousness. Not sure if we’ve done the right thing. Not sure how this will affect our family. Not sure where it all will end. Not sure we want to mess up our lives.

We’re screwed up people.

Good thing confident, put-together perfection isn’t what God is waiting for.

If you’re interested in getting involved in the Safe Families movement, you can find more information a their website, Safe-Families.org. If you’d like to start the volunteer process, you can fill out this short online form and someone will get back with you shortly.

A life of faith isn’t a life of inaction, sitting around waiting for some magic formula to turn our lives into everything we hoped, dreamed, and were created to be.

I confess, some of us Type A’ers have a serious problem. We see a picture, develop a narrative, and head out to write the story. We paint our own pictures. We take everything into our own hands.

Usually a bad idea.

But others treat faith like it’s their butler. Ring the bell, order a turkey sandwich, and faith will deliver it on a covered platter while you catch up on The Real Housewives of Atlanta. Want a burger? No problem, faith will get it (along with a free chiropractic adjustment while you wait).

Maybe I’m defending my OCD, but I don’t think faith is lazy. I don’t think faith is blind hope. It seems to me faith just re-orders the process.

Most of us encounter a problem, and then set out to solve it. We see something we want, and we make plans for how to go get it. If we’re feeling super spiritual, we might ask God to bless our efforts. But that’s backwards.

Faith acts in response.

Faith starts with what God wants. Faith seeks His solution. Faith surrenders to His perspective.

And then faith…waits.

Sometimes God’s answers are gift wrapped. A collision of circumstances only orchestrated by the Supernatural.

But sometimes His answers come as a giant pile of hard work. A game plan. A direction. An opportunity He expects you to get off your butt and get moving on.

Faith isn’t lazy. It’s active. It’s not some Copperfield illusion. Faith lives.

It lives in response.

Issues are simple. Form a perspective. Take a stand. Black and white.

Humans are complex. Layered. Diverse. Shades of everything.

Whether it’s pop culture, politics, or the church, if I can classify you as an issue, you become so much easier to deal with. You’re categorized, labeled, and filed away. Simple.

Big government liberal.

Addict.

Homosexual.

Greedy capitalist.

Divorced.

Fundamentalist bigot (hey, labels go both ways).

We all have feelings about these issues. Sometimes very passionate ones.

But behind every issue is a story, and behind every story is a human being. Real people with longings, fears, insecurities, dreams, talents, pain, beauty, brokenness, and hope for redemption.

Reducing the complexity of a person to the simplicity of an issue excuses me from the (often uncomfortable) effort of learning the whole narrative. Sharing the journey. Stepping into the experience. And I’m not sure that’s OK.

Jesus spent time with criminals, adulterers, and the arrogant religious hierarchy. He was undeniably clear about important issues, but somehow He never seemed to miss the human story. I want to be more like that.

We don’t have to sacrifice truth to love people.

We don’t have to sacrifice people to love truth.

What do you think? Do we ever default to simply-defined issues to avoid the messy-complexity of real people?

We mask our pain and brokenness in so many different ways.

Alcohol abuse.

Relational isolation.

Workaholism.

Illicit sex.

Prescription drugs.

Illegal drugs.

Emotional numbing.

Fill in your blank ____________________.

Government agencies, fortune 500 companies, and famous college football programs aren’t the only ones that get extremely creative with their cover-ups.

I’m far from a clinical expert, but from my decade-plus experience as a local pastor, I can safely say I’ve never met anyone who struggles with alcohol or substance abuse that doesn’t have some underlying brokenness they need to address. Healthy, confident people at peace with themselves and with God don’t usually find themselves nursing a 12 pack alone on the couch, puking in random trash cans, or waking up in a half-baked haze of regret.

(Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong).

But there’s one way we can cover our brokenness that’s much more stealth. Complex. Scary to call out.

I think some of us tote God around like a fifth of vodka.

I like to call it religioholism.

Religioholics have never allowed Christ to do a deep, transforming work in their lives. They never let Him heal at the core. They simply move their unfaced issues to a new home, a christian culture, and before long the same dysfunctions start expressing themselves all over again. Except now they’re wearing spiritual clothing.

Fears and insecurities, perhaps once managed by booze, can also emerge in God-speak and religious packaging. Control. Dominance. Performance. Self-protection. Judgmentalism. Condescension. Condemnation. They may not land you a DUI, but you’re definitely heading for a wreck.

Dealing with sin at the root is incredibly scary. Incredibly costly. So most of us choose to manage it. Hide it. Tuck it away. It’s easier to pretend than to repent. But be careful. Religion can be as tempting a place to hide as a glass of whiskey. And perhaps more dangerous. (Ask the Pharisees).

Here’s the Good News: Jesus wants to deal with your crap. Eliminate it. Rip it out at the roots. He’s already done the hard work. Not to manage your brokenness in some new religious packaging, but to heal the broken places altogether. If you can just find the courage to let Him. Freedom can be a scary place.

Do you know any religioholics? Are you one?

HIV/AIDS

Extreme Poverty

Ominous as they are, causes like these are energizing. They unite us. They rally our collective weight behind something greater than ourselves. To fight an evil. To right an injustice. To attack together what we can’t change on our own.

Causes are in invigorating.

Kenneth

Ryan

People on the other hand? People are messy. Unpredictable. Ungrateful. They make bad choices. Act entitled. Demand your time. Your energy. Your sanity. They expect you to figure everything out for them.

People are draining.

Causes are vital, and it’s exciting to see so many join the battle against rampant global injustice. But if I can be honest, sometimes I hide from people behind my efforts to take on an “issue.”

In our passion to tackle a cause, let’s not ignore the people around us every day. People aren’t chic, but they’re pretty important to God. I’m certainly grateful for those who have engaged in my life, even when it’s been inconvenient and difficult.

So raise the flag for your cause. Tackle a giant. Care about something bigger than yourself. Do it passionately.

And…

Step into the mess of another person’s life. Get uncomfortable. Care about someone other than yourself. Do it compassionately.

(NOTE: If I used your name in the list above, I’m not talking about you. Promise. Probably.)