Where the Purpose of God is Found

No blackouts today.  No racing buses.  No rock throwing.  No sense of imminent danger.

Today we went to Jorge’s house.

Jorge is the seven year old boy from La Ceiba we began sponsoring through Mission of Mercy last year. He ran to embrace us as we came up the little dirt walkway to his meager home in the Las Delicious slum.  His joy was real.  Contagious.  Proof again that the Gospel transcends culture, geography, and socio-economic status.

We quickly reacquainted with Jorge, su hermanos (his brothers), su primas (his cousins), y su abuela (and his grandmother).  The new soccer ball we brought caused a huge grin, but when I asked him to go down to the field to teach me some moves he got quiet.

No shoes.

(We’ll be remedying that on Thursday)

Amidst the gifts, the stories, and the laughter, we again sensed that something special about Jorge that drew us to sponsor him after our first visit to La Ceiba last year.  I sense he innately knows it, too.  That there is a special place for Him in God’s Kingdom, regardless of what reality appears to be shouting.

He wants to be a doctor.  I’d bet on Jorge.

His only requests for prayer centered around safety for his policeman father (who no longer lives in the home), and help for his mother.  She works long hours in a clothing factory for very little wages, often forgoing her own dinner so her three boys can eat. A far cry from the creature comfort prayers that so often pass my lips.

And far too much weight for a seven year old to carry.

Just part of everyday life in Las Delicious.

Mandy and I weren’t the only ones to meet our sponsor child today.  Andy visited Angel, a 5 year old boy with a love for soccer.  Nathan and Trish re-embraced Anna, the spunky 10 year old who could be the Honduran twin of their own daughter Lauren (seriously eerie).  And Bill met Caroline, the shy, little 10 year old he recently sponsored to honor his own little girl who passed away four years ago next month.  They would have been the same age.

It was a beautifully messy day.

In the midst of this seemingly unnecessary heartache, God’s presence is near. And even though I believe we are bringing something beautiful to La Ceiba, Honduras, we are undoubtedly encountering something supernatural as well.

God lives among the least of these.

We’re not bringing Him here.  He had already taken up residence.

Every great adventure needs an element of danger, right? Well today we got it (unless you’re the parent of one of our younger team members or someone who may want to travel with us here to La Ceiba at some point in the future. Then, uhhhh…I’m just making all this up).

The day started simply.  Sundays are slow in Honduras, so the plan was to use our free hours in preparation for the intensity of the rest of the week. We rehearsed for our programs with the kids, sorted all our supplies, and prepped the crafts.  Then we headed out for an early dinner and a trip to a Honduran church service at one of our partner locations.

The sun sets early here in Honduras, but as the warm rays disappeared over the mountains, we noticed it seemed even darker than usual.  The electricity was out.  And not just for our area of the city, but for the entire country of Honduras.

All of Honduras was pitch black.

This became clearer and clearer as we neared the church in a primitive, poverty stricken slum on the outskirts of the city.  Rick Mitchell, the Mission of Mercy VP travelling with us, expressed his growing concern.  It was too dangerous for us to stay very long in this darkness. A bus full of Americans in these conditions was simply asking for trouble.

We decided to exit briefly with a small number of the team to greet the pastor and packed house waiting for us in the blackness of this one room, dirt-floor church.  The faces of the children glowed brighter than flickering candles.  The singing, cheering, and clapping nearly drowned out the darkness. It was a moment.

Crash!

A rock from an angry neighbor crashed against the tin roof of the church reverberating like a shotgun.  The entire room jumped at the sound.  But the singing never stopped.  Almost as if they expected it.

We did not.  Time to go.

We quickly greeted the beautiful faces hidden in the dark, hot room and then headed for the bus.  “Hasta martes.  Nos vemos en martes.” (we’ll see you on Tuesday).

Then somehow, in the rush of people, two of our team members accidentally ran into their sponsored child! Little Anna Sanchez appeared out of the masses of people to shyly embrace the Browns.  As we grabbed for cameras to capture the moment, the pastor suddenly and emphatically insisted, “es hora de irse.” (it’s time for you to go).  They quickly pushed us onto the bus and our driver, a native Honduran, hit the gas like the Dukes of Hazzard outrunning Rosco P. Coltrane.

We’re still not sure exactly what went down, but in these blackout conditions, poverty-stricken areas already more prone to crime, can become very dangerous.  Word spreads fast and there’s no doubt the pastor of this beautiful little church was feeling a spiritual darkness moving in among the physical.

We’re all back safely in our hotel and the power has returned to Honduras.  Thankful for the Mission of Mercy leaders who work so diligently for our safety.  But then again, who said the Kingdom of God was safe?

Bienvenidos a Honduras.

Our first ever missions team from City Community Church started their trip with a bang.  Or perhaps more of a splatter.

After 24 hours in four different airports, a very close call catching a flight out of Miami, and 8 lost bags (which are still lost by the way), the CityCom “crew of 22″ spent their first day in La Ceiba plastering cinder block walls.  Or, well, sort of.

Note to humanity:  learning to spread concrete plaster is an art form that cannot be learned in a few short hours.  I’m “constructionally challenged” to begin with, and this project did nothing to boost my self esteem.

For many, this was a first hands-on taste of abject poverty.  And even with time let me tell you, this is no acquired taste.

In this environment absent of anything resembling our American way of life, this team longs to bring hope. But standing in the middle of a Honduran slum, something that seems so unnecessary, so fixable, you get this uncanny sense that God is near. That His presence is tangible, even in what we would consider incredible discomfort.

And maybe even more so.

So after being here just a few short hours, I wonder what’s more likely this week in La Ceiba.  Will we bring hope into the midst of their poverty, or perhaps find some hope for our own self-sufficiency?

Maybe a little of both?  Time will tell.

If we really had the guts, some of us would have to admit our faith is cheap.

Never tested.

Rarely wrestled with.

Never sacrificed for.

Just handed to us. By our family.  Our surroundings.  Our culture.

Not an encounter with God. Just something we do.  Our lens for thinking about and understanding the world.

And like a leaf being swept down the white-capped rapids of a raging river, our faith is just going where the motion naturally takes us (or sometimes leaves us drowning against a protruding rock).

Cheap faith.

In that context, the question “why?” is an assumption-bucking question.  It’s paddling upstream.  Swimming against the flow.

“Why?” is powerful.  It can also be incredibly dangerous.

In the hands of a cynic it can breed a sense of meaninglessness, contempt, and even less trust (if that’s possible for a cynic).  But asked with the right motive, “why?” can bring strength, deep conviction, and even greater freedom.

This week at CityCom, we launched a brand new series aimed at asking “why?”  (Or in our case, “Y.” You know we just can’t be normal).  Click here to hear the audio of the opening message called “Y Ask Why?”

Jesus loved to ask “why?“  But unlike the religious leaders of His day, His “whys?” weren’t aimed at protecting cultural assumptions.  Jesus’ questions cut His listeners to the core and exposed their motives.  With Jesus, it’s not just the action but the driving force that really matters.

What’s your why?

Why do you believe what you believe?

Why don’t you believe what you don’t believe?

Asked with the right motivation and within the scope of true community (like drinking alone, asking why alone may be a sign of trouble ahead), the question “why” will destroy cheap faith. Because Jesus Christ is not a philosophy to be embraced, He’s a “Person” to be encountered.

And He’s not afraid of your “why?”  In fact, He just might meet you there.

You can get away with a lot in the minor leagues. A little slow off the line? No problem. So is everyone else. Can’t dribble with your left hand? No worries. Neither can your defender. Occasionally caught napping in the dugout? So what? There aren’t any TV cameras at a minor league ballgame.

But in the pros? Yeah. The bar? Higher. The pressure? Immeasurable. The competition? Scary. Your weaknesses?

Obvious.

Visible.

Exposed.

(like one of those dreams where you’re out in public in your undies…yeah, you have them, too).

One of the best pieces of advice I got before my buddy Nathan and I launched City Community Church was “deal with your crap.” All the issues and brokenness you were able to keep hidden from others (and even yourself) will come screaming to the surface when you jump to the big leagues. Boy was that good advice.

Saul, the first king of Israel, had some crap he never dealt with. Some see these verses as a sign of humility. To me, they scream of unfaced insecurity. An early sign of the disastrous future that was in store.

“But I’m ONLY a Benjamite, from the SMALLEST of Israel’s tribes, and from the MOST INSIGNIFICANT clan in the tribe at that. WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO ME like this? (1 Samuel 9:21 MSG)

Classic self-protection. A sign of rot at the core. And this crap that was never dealt with would torment King Saul, ravage his closest relationships, destroy his kingdom, and ultimately end his life.

Tragic.

Avoidable.

Courage. Honesty. Vulnerability. Relationship. True community. All these things could have helped King Saul expose his raging insecurities. And repentance and accountability could have healed them.

Yet many seem to think they can just jump to the next level, head to the pros, and skip over shoveling the crap. The next level doesn’t fix you, it exposes you.

Marriages, business partnerships, even church pulpits (honestly, especially church pulpits) are full of people hiding from their stuff. Ignoring their brokenness. Running from their pain. And leaving a holocaust in their wake.

The next level will always expose. It’s inevitable.

But dealing with your crap is hard. It costs. Sometimes more than we think we can pay. But the bill for hiding our junk will come due. And it may have eternal consequences (and not just for you).

Repentance is liberating. Grace is free. Admitting we’re broken is the expensive part.

Is it time to deal with your crap?

Shame comes in all shapes and sizes:

A big zit on your nose.

A past full of brokenness and abuse.

A rip in the seam of your pants.

A failed marriage.

Silly or serious, we’ve all felt it. The exposure of a vulnerability or apparent shortcoming that drives us to run away. To cover up. To hide. And unfortunately, The Church (my church, even me personally) can foster environments of shame, even when we’re not intentionally trying to.

It makes sense. The Church, a place of grace, hope, and unconditional love, is also an environment full of expectations. Standards of behavior naturally emerge in any culture, but engaging in Church culture comes with a built-in assumption of moral superiority. We profess faith in God and innately feel our lives should reflect that (even if we don’t).

And while some shame is understandably innate, some is undeniably overt. We’d be lying to ourselves if we didn’t admit there are many in the Church who willingly use shame as a means to control. To maintain power over people. To protect their personal preferences. To manipulate others towards their desired outcomes.

Innate or overt, when we fall short (which we always do), shame moves in. Becomes a constant companion. And shame is a horrific house guest.

God deals in conviction, not shame. Shame is based in condemnation, in pointing out deficiencies with the intent of rejecting, judging, or looking down on another. And Jesus didn’t come into the word to do that:

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. (John 3:17 NLT)

Yet in so many church environments shame is still a primary motivator, filling our sanctuaries with guilty people. Hiding people. Manipulated people. Self-righteous people. Frightened people. Fake people. Or in more and more cases, empty seats.

So how do we know when God is convicting or when shame is condemning? Here’s some thoughts:

Shame is an ego-protection mechanism that focuses on how we appear to others.
Conviction is an inward re-alignment with who God is and has called us to be.

Shame conforms us to man-made expectations.
Conviction leads us to repentance.

Shame causes us to create false perceptions of reality.
Conviction leads us to openly face who we really are.

Shame manipulates and imprisons.
Conviction heals and frees.

Shame misuses aspects of truth to manage and control.
Conviction reconnects us to absolute truth.

Shame formulates outward behavioral modification.
Conviction births true inward transformation.

Shame pushes us towards self-protection.
Conviction pushes us towards Christ.

Shame asks us to do the work.
Conviction drives us towards the One who already did it all.

Which one is driving you? What is being fostered in your environments? What do you think?

Sometimes I live like Jesus is a giant, inflatable bubble. You know, like something you’d see on that ABC summer smash-hit series Wipeout (yes, I know they jump on top of the big red balls, just roll with me here).

If I can figure out the rules, contort myself just right, and gain the assistance of a fully trained production crew with a human-sized shoe-horn, maybe (just maybe) I can squeeze inside.  Sure, it’s exhausting.  But it satisfies my sense of self-righteousness and desire for control. After all, I want a God I can define, and today I’m defining him as a giant, inflatable bubble ball.

Only problem?  Jesus isn’t an oversized sphere (Seriously. I’ve read the whole Bible. Prince of Peace, Lamb of God, Lion of Judah. No inflatable ball references anywhere).

He’s not asking me to squeeze my way in.  He asking to be invited in.

It stands to reason, doesn’t it, that if the alive-and-present God who raised Jesus from the dead moves into your life, he’ll do the same thing in you that he did in Jesus, bringing you alive to himself? When God lives and breathes in you (and he does, as surely as he did in Jesus), you are delivered from that dead life. With his Spirit living in you, your body will be as alive as Christ’s! (Romans 8:11 MSG)

I’ve been following Christ for a long time now, and still every so often I realize it’s happening again.  Slowly and subtly, life becomes all about my effort to squeeze in. To fit the Christian culture.  To Perform well for all who are watching.  Including God.

To climb inside the Jesus bubble.

When all along Jesus is waiting to come alive inside of me.

To do the work.  That I can’t do.  His Spirit.  Inside-out.

Elementary?  Maybe.  New revelation?  Not really.  But I bet every one of you wrestle with the same temptation: trying to climb your way into God’s good graces. It’s natural.  Like water flowing downhill (or boogie boarding into a pool full of breakfast cereal…for real, click here).

Are you trying to climb inside the Jesus bubble?  Why not invite His Spirit to come alive in you instead?

It actually works.  And you look a lot less silly.

As a parent, I long for my children to embrace Biblical values.  My values.  I even pray they’ll become inseparably grafted into their DNA.  Good things. God-things.

That they’ll be drawn to the right kind of friends.

That they’ll do well in school.

That they’ll have wisdom to make good decisions.

That they’ll connect to the local church.

That they’ll be smart with their money.

That they’ll discover their God-given gifts and an expression for them.

That they’ll find a God-fearing spouse.

That they’ll save sex for marriage.

That they’ll stay away from drugs and never abuse alcohol.

That they’ll learn to talk to God and gain regular insight from the Bible.

That they’ll love Jesus.

As strange as this may sound, I think it’s possible to become everything on the list above and completely miss becoming true followers of Jesus Christ. Yep.  Really.

I even believe it’s possible to “love Jesus” without truly following Him. We see it throughout Scripture.  Crowds surrounding Him.  Pressing in on all sides in ways that would make the Jonas Brothers jealous.

For inspiration.  For healing.  For food.  With needs (and some very legitimate).  With hopes that Jesus would come alongside the picture they had painted for their lives and give it a boost, fill in the gaps, create some magic.  They loved Him (at least in their understanding of what it meant to love).

But few followed.  Really followed.  It just cost too much.

So if I really want what’s best for my kids, I think I it might be time to change my prayers to different things. More difficult things.

That God would crush them.

That pain would refine them.

That they would dream God’s dreams and not just an American one.

That they would be willing to give up everything to follow Jesus.

That they would completely die to themselves in order to find true life in Christ.

That they will be alive and not just “good.”

Scary stuff.  Radical.  Dangerous.  A loss of control.  Counter-culture, even within the church (maybe especially within the church).

But longings I need to pursue, and not just for my children, but for myself as well.  Maybe you do, too?

Because it’s all too possible to embrace Biblical values from the outside-in, without ever truly becoming a follower of Jesus Christ from the inside-out. To embody, or retrain behavior, without ever truly submitting the will. To be “good,” without ever truly being alive.

For the record, I still long for that first list.  I just want it to grow through the soil of the second. Never at the expense of it.

So what do you think?  Is it possible to embrace the values of the Bible and completely miss Jesus in the process?

After a week to reflect on my Israel journey, I’ve summed the adventure into three takeaways. Takeaways you can process yourself, even if you’ve never stepped foot out of your own hometown:

A STATEMENT:

Standing in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I watched lines of people stop to touch, kiss, and pray on a giant rock slab. This stone, according to tradition, is the place Jesus body was prepared for burial after He was taken from the cross (we later found it was placed in the entryway during a 19th Century renovation of the church, but who really cares about details?).

After days of watching buses of tourists pile into these “holy sites,” and realizing my own propensity for getting caught up in the drama of these historic locations, I heard God make a clear statement from the vestibule of this Gothic church that will stay with me the rest of my life:

“Many people want the blessing of being where I’ve been, but so few want to pay the price to follow me where I’m going.”

A QUESTION:

From the ruins of this Capernaum temple on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus spoke some of His most difficult words. Just days after He fed 5,000 people on a Galilean hillside with 5 loaves and 2 fish, He challenged many of these same people to embody the essence of Who He was, not only the blessing of what He could do for them.

Jesus loved to create unresolved tension.

After hearing these words, Scripture tells us “many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him.“ It’s easy to look backward and wonder how anyone could have stood in the physical presence of the Messiah and walked away. But standing in these temple ruins where Jesus Himself had stood, I heard Him ask me the question:

“If you had been standing here in this temple that day, would you have stayed with me or left like so many others?”

A PERSON

I grew up in a charismatic church movement. And honestly, over time I grew to resent it. Because of what I experienced in many “spirit-filled” encounters, I pushed the Holy Spirit away. I despised the manipulation. The abuse. The emotionalism. All with little evidence of truly transformed lives.

So I rejected the Spirit, too. Not overtly. Subtly. In my heart.

But standing in the Upper Room, the ascribed location for Acts 2, I realized my prior experience was mis-informing my current reality. What I was rejecting was the man-made charismatic subculture, not the Holy Spirit Himself. That would be asinine!

Jesus promised the Spirit to bring transformation, power, and the miraculous into our lives. The desire and ability to follow after Him. He is meant to be a normal reality of everyday life, not some crazed, event-driven emotional pursuit.

Why would I allow man’s abuse cause me to reject that offer?

A statement. A Question. A Person. This is what I brought home from Israel. How does it resonate with you?

Everyday in Israel has been a unique experience.  I’ve never seen such a small land mass with such a plethora of different geography (yes, I said a plethora).

Ruins, deserts, mountains, lush hillsides, beaches, modern cityscapes.  All in a landmass similar in size to my home state of Indiana.  It’s easy to see why this was called the “Promised Land,” and why there is still so much conflict over who owns the rights to it.

There’s nothing like it.

We spent this morning back in Jerusalem’s Old City at the Upper Room (the location of the Last Supper and the events of Acts chapter 2), took one last walk past the Western Wall, and then spent the afternoon at a vineyard in the Judean Countryside.

Another day to add to a list of unforgettables.

The day I left to come here, my 4 year old son asked me if I was going to see Jesus (like He’s an amusement park or my long-lost Jewish uncle Epstein that lives just east of Nazareth).  A funny question.

But honestly, as speechless as this land has consistently rendered me all week, I really didn’t “find Him” here.

While I undeniably understand better who Jesus was (and how Israel plays into the story of God), what I personally found is a deeper passion to follow who He is (insert subtle reminder here: He’s alive).  He’s invited me (and you) to participate in His Kingdom. Not in history, but right now.  Today.  And going forward.

If we’re willing to surrender to it.

Tomorrow: home.