Never in all of human history have we had access to so much information. So many insights.  So many stories.  So many opinions.  So much good stuff (and some, well…) is there for the taking.

Even those of you reading this post right now are ingesting my perspective, my way of looking at the world.  No editor. No filter. No approval channels.  No publisher needed to grant access to our interaction.  My personal revelations directly delivered to your ears (or eyes…whatever).

Powerful possibilities.  Lots of voices.  In my world (of church leadership), the chatter may sound like this:

Real churches own their own buildings.

Your marketing plan is missing a major component.

The best small group formula is ___________.

You don’t care enough about social issues.

You talk too much about social issues.

Church music is trending edgier/louder/longer/less rock-oriented/introspective/shorter/more R&B/Gregorian chant (I’ve actually heard this one, no joke)

The early church was all about community, man (said in my best emerging church hippie-surfer voice)

What’s your church’s Facebook strategy?

All cool pastors have their own blog (this one, of course, is true)

The future of church growth is multi-site.

Are your services online?

Are you investing in Africa? Europe? Southern Asia? The penguin colonies of eastern Antarctica?

You get the picture.  And these voices can be good, even God-ordained. To grant me short-cuts.  Best practices.  Quicken the learning curve.  To challenge my hard-headedness.  Illuminate a blind spot.

In your world the conversation may be different, but the reality is the same:  we have easy and constant access to all the latest trends, concepts, experiments, opinions, and success stories we can put in our arsenal.

So many voices in fact, that we really don’t even need God’s anymore…

At least that’s where I can find myself.  And this little “people-pleasing” virus embedded deep in my soul drives me to respond.  To appear responsible.  Intelligent.  Cutting edge.  Socially conscious.  Technologically aware.  Whatever it is “they” (who are those people anyway?) think I should be.

And then I remember the Israelites.  You know, God’s chosen people who’s stories fill the pages of Scripture?  I’m reminded of a little detour they took – like 40 years of wilderness wandering (and you think you’re bad with directions) – all because they stopped listening. No, not to each other (there was plenty of that).  To the One Voice that had their real instructions:

“For who were the people who turned a deaf ear? Weren’t they the very ones Moses led out of Egypt? And who was God provoked with for forty years? Wasn’t it those who turned a deaf ear and ended up corpses in the wilderness? And when he swore that they’d never get where they were going, wasn’t he talking to the ones who turned a deaf ear? They never got there because they never listened, never believed.” (Hebrews 3:15-19 MSG)

Am I listening?  Am I really listening?  Not just to “the voices,” but to The Voice?

Are you?

I don’t think I was the only Christian to bristle at conservative commentator Glenn Beck’s strong statements this past week against churches that support, or even use the term, social justice.

“I beg you, look for the words ‘social justice’ or ‘economic justice’ on your church Web site. If you find it, run as fast as you can. Social justice and economic justice, they are code words [for Communism and Nazism]. Now, am I advising people to leave their church? Yes!”
-Glenn Beck

I’m a white, middle-class, suburban-raised, Evangelical christian, so you can quickly deduce toward which side of the political aisle I naturally lean.  And while I do understand what’s at the core of Mr. Beck’s concerns, I think he’s wrong.  Or at best misinformed. Although I’m sure I could never out-argue a pundit of his wit and verbal capacity, I at least want to share my own personal awakening as it pertains to the issue of social justice.

People are broken.  And spiritual leaders, unfortunately far too often, fall victim to using their influence to manipulate God-fearing people towards their own human, political perspectives. There’s no doubt that some pastors push social justice, and the ultimate “God-said” trump card, to promote liberal personal agendas.

But so do conservatives pastors.

And rather than digging for God’s truth, we use Him as as circumstantial support for our selfish motivations.  We form sides aimed at protecting our way of life, rather than submitting to The Way that is greater.

Here’s the (probably) overly-simplified way I see it:  Conservatives desire to preserve personal freedom.  Liberals wants to mandate universal fairness. And depending on which side of the equation benefits us most, we go to battle.  But what if there’s another way? A third option?

The Bible unfolds God’s perspective, His ideals, His Kingdom. The way I read it, God is all about freedom and all about fairness. The catch?  What happens when free people willfully choose to use their freedom to serve one another?

“It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don’t use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that’s how freedom grows. For everything we know about God’s Word is summed up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. That’s an act of true freedom. If you bite and ravage each other, watch out—in no time at all you will be annihilating each other, and where will your precious freedom be then?” (Gal. 5:13-15 MSG)

Mandated justice never works. It spirals towards corruption. Even God Himself doesn’t mandate we follow Him (without choice there is no love).  That’s why I love America, because this freedom gives us unbridled opportunity to live out God’s Kingdom calling.  But only if we choose it.  When we willfully submit to serve, we truly become free. We willfully begin to make right the injustices that permeate the world.

Let’s be clear, the Kingdom of God is certainly not only about social justice (if it were, every secular Hollywood mogul and rock star would have achieved sainthood).  But to ignore the justice thread and call to serve the poor woven throughout Scripture is plain ignorance. Dangerous.  Incomplete.  A puzzle with missing pieces.  A stool with missing legs.

So here’s the ultimate question:  Are we building God’s Kingdom or just fighting to preserve a way of life? What are you willfully submitting to?

I don’t always like answering that one either, but it’s worth asking.

Some days the Bible is like a warm blanket by a fire, wrapping me in its promise and assurance, comforting me in times of pain and confusion, pointing the way in the tension and unknown of everyday life.

And some days it’s just flat disturbing.

Hey, just keeping it real.  Try this one on for size:

“If you’re not willing to take what is dearest to you, whether plans or people, and kiss it goodbye, you can’t be my disciple.” (Luke 14:33)

I’d like to tell you that “in the original Greek,” or “according to historical context,” that what you read here isn’t really what Jesus meant.  But I can’t.  So I won’t.  It’s there.  It’s disturbing.

Even after all these years of serving God, pursuing His ways, leading His church, I have to confess something:  I still fall victim to thinking this is all about me. Admit it.  You do, too.  We “love me some me.” (thank you Terrell Owens for that amazing addition to the American pop-culture lexicon).

We long for a God who will strain out the ugly realities of our broken world and leave only the ease, comfort and pleasure we desire to consume.  We want a God committed to elevate the good and eliminate the bad in our little self-oriented kingdoms.

But God isn’t seeking to edit your story.  He wants to give you a whole new script.

Some days I can’t wait to embrace that reality.  And some days it’s just flat disturbing.

Responding to my desires is easy. What’s inside of me just naturally comes out.  It doesn’t take much thought, energy, or discipline to do what I want to do.  My essence just responds. It’s natural.  My desires are formed by my DNA, my culture, my socio-economic upbringing, my life experiences.  Lots of things.  Unfortunately, those “lots of things” also includes my fallen, broken, sinful nature.  In that way, living from what I want is incredibly dangerous.

I have other options, too.  I can live under the weight of obligation. Completely opposite of my desires, living by someone else’s expectations is outside-in, guilt-driven behavior modification. You know what I mean.  Maybe you’re 28 years old with 2 kids of your own, but you still hear the voice of your un-approving mother in the back of your head (or maybe in your actual ears).  Your actions still reflect your desire to please her, and you live under the intense scrutiny of her obligation on your life.

(Incidentally, that’s what religion does, too. It obligates.  Sets up impossible outward-focused expectations while simultaneously offering no hope for actually attaining them.  And I know there are lots of you out there that live under those very real and very guilt-filled religious chains. Some are just afraid to admit it because you’re heritage and your understanding of God are all wrapped up in the lie. It’s OK, you can be honest here.)

What if there’s a third option? A door number 3?

Mark 1:12 says “The Spirit then compelled Jesus to go into the wilderness…” (NLT)

At first glance, the word compel says force (in fact that’s in the actual definition).  But if you look closer, there is an element of compulsion that gives a different vibe.  To compel actually means to exert an “irresistible force.” Almost as if it causes me to drop my defenses and willfully subvert or push beyond what’s naturally in my DNA.

Being compelled is completely different than guilt-ridden obligation.  It’s also very different than surrendering to my natural, in-born desires.  It’s responding willfully, not from desire or obligation, but because I love, and trust, and believe in the One Who is compelling me. He’s an irresistible force.

I may not always want what He wants, but I do want Him.

Do you think Jesus desired to journey into the desert for 40 days with no food?  Doubtful.  But I don’t think He felt obligated either.  He was willfully responding to the irresistible force of the Father’s love. He was compelled.

How do you live? By what just feels natural?  From your in-born desires?  Out of obligation?  Guilty “hoop-jumping” to keep others happy with you (including God)?

What about door #3?

It’s so easy to gloss over messages we’ve heard over and over again. The Christmas story is no different. Even those outside the Christian faith can probably quote at least some of it, if from nothing else their fond memories of the old Charlie Brown Christmas special.  But have you ever thought beyond the pageantry we know and celebrate each December and really put yourself in the context of this overly-familiar story?

The second chapter of Luke is full of action: a road-trip to Bethlehem, virgins having babies, barns and farm animals, angels singing to shepherds (makes me want to pull out the porcelain nativity right now. They’re so life-like, aren’t they?).  But in the midst of all the celebration and lyrics of well-known Christmas carols, we lose a very real fact: it was 30 plus years from His birth in Bethlehem until Jesus completed the purpose for which He came.

Can you imagine getting a gift for Christmas this year and then waiting three decades to open it? Somehow I think it would lose its luster, it’s excitement, the anticipation.  But Jesus didn’t come to provide us a once-a-year emotional reaction.  He came to change the face of humanity, to give life to that which was dead.

In our world of instant acquisition, where we buy things today with money we’ll earn in the future (sometimes years and years in the future), Jesus–the ultimate Christmas gift–was the also the ultimate in delayed gratification. When the angels ascended back to heaven and the shepherds returned to their sheep and their fields, life must have seemed to return to “normal,” even though life would never be the same again.

Jesus was unlike any other gift ever given. Not like the mountains of plastic toys and video games gobbled up on Black Friday.  Exciting today, broken tomorrow, paid for at 21% interest over the next 6 years.  Jesus was a gift that unfolded slowly, methodically, under the radar of mainstream society.  And He’s still unfolding today if we’ll let Him.  Not as one-day-once-a-year event, but as a lifetime pursuit.

Keep unwrapping.

Merry Christmas everybody.

This question plagues me: do our churches better reflect Jesus’ perspective on His Kingdom, or our culture’s infrastructure of corporate America and organizational control?

I’m an organizational thinker by nature.  So before you assume I’m an anti-establishment, VW van-driving, dope-smoking peacenik, you should know I highly value an intentional approach to everything I do (heck, even Jesus had the crowd of 5,000 sit down in groups of 50 before He miraculously fed them with the 5 loaves and 2 fish).  Structure isn’t our enemy, but I do wonder if it’s become our idol.

Check out a few of the things Jesus said His Kingdom is like:

1. A small seed that is planted and grows into a large tree (Mark 4:30-32)
2. A hidden treasure that must be searched for and found (Matthew 13:44)
3. Yeast that’s kneaded methodically into bread-dough (Luke 13:20)

Interestingly enough, He never referred to His Kingdom as any of the following:

1. A Fortune 500 company (although Jesus was hardly unintentional with His actions)
2. An educational institution (although Jesus definitely was a teacher)
3. An NFL franchise (although Jesus is undoubtedly an Indianapolis Colts fan)

God values order and intentionality, but sometimes I wonder if we’ve built structure as a cheap substitute to the messy work of getting personally involved in other people’s lives. Organization centralizes power, makes it easier to point to what I “own” or can take credit for, gives us a system to push people into.  And the dirty little secret, makes it possible to collect the money (you were already thinking it, I might as well say it).

Or maybe it’s even simpler than that.  Maybe it’s just because that’s what we see around us, because that’s how “our world” works.  And it’s easier to respond with what we know, what our culture and history tells us, than to search out what God really desires.

I don’t know if I’m right.  Just something I’m wrestling with.  Have we missed the mark, or is this just a case of unnecessarily taking easy pot-shots at the American church?  What do you think?

“Jesus told them, ‘you’re all going to feel that your world is falling apart and that it’s my fault.’” (Mark 14:27 MSG)

Ever feel that way?  Like the closer you get to God, the more chaos it brings? Not exactly a great church-marketing strategy.  But the reality is our western, capitalistic church mindset wrongly equates God’s peace with ease, and His blessing with comfort, wealth, and the fulfillment of our personal, self-promoting dreams and desires.

The closer Jesus got to fulfilling his ultimate purpose, the less circumstances made sense to those around Him. And we see this reality unfold with uncomfortable clarity through Jesus’ disciples.

These men invested three years following this fascinating, controversial figure.  He added purpose to their normal, everyday lives, set them up with a new life trajectory, with meaning.  And then just as it seemed all their visions and desires were about to be fulfilled, He’s arrested, tried, and crucified. He died.

Chaos. And it almost seemed as if that’s what He wanted, like He willfully allowed it to happen (um, because He did).

Jesus rocks our worldview. He shakes our assumptions and perspectives to the core.  We like power, control, comfort, predictability. Yet we find following Jesus (really following Him, not just making Him part of your culture or weekly schedule or to-do list check-off) requires us to give all that away.  He replaces it with indescribable peace, joy, and purpose, but the cost is everything.  Everything.

And most days I’m just not willing to pay it. Just being honest.

Have I just brought Jesus into the dialog to make my love of self more palatable, justifiable, culturally acceptable, easier to swallow? Or am I really willing to give up control, power, perspectives, my way of seeing the world?

Following Jesus is the most peacefully destabilizing decision you will ever make. He will undoubtedly make you feel like your world is falling apart, and that it’s all His fault.  And although something in you is begging to run away, to keep control, to stay in power, there’s another part of you that longs for the adventure, that wants desperately to surrender to His game plan, that knows stepping into the uncontrollable chaos is actually the way to real life.

“Do good and you’ll be rewarded for it.”
-Proverbs 28:10 (MSG)

I love verses like this. I could camp-out here (if I didn’t hate camping).  Stay for awhile.  Maybe put down some roots.  That’s good stuff.  I like rewards.  Rewards are good.  Right?

There I go assuming again…

As I pondered this verse over the past few days, a sobering question arose.  Rewards are good for me, but who says that rewards always feel good? Am I making some bad assumptions:

Reward = comfort
Reward = notoriety
Reward = riches
Reward = happiness
Reward = my desired outcome

Woohoo!  Bring it on God!  I’m ready for my reward!

But what if God’s greatest reward is my crushing? What if it’s the systematic disassembling of everything I ever thought I wanted?  The loss of my dream so that His dreams can come alive in me?  What if that reward is a closeness to God that can only be obtained by the complete dismantling of everything I am?  What if that reward is the putting to death of all my self-driven motivation? What if it comes full of pain, questions, uncertainty, and gut-wrenching, sleepless nights?

“Well, uh…you can keep that reward God.  Not interested.  I’m happy to leave that one on the table.  Save that one for someone else.  Yeah, in fact I know exactly who you can give that one to.  Want a name?  I’ve got it right here in my iPhone...gimme just a second…”

God’s greatest reward is His presence, His love, His deep and ever-pursuing passion to make right everything in me that I can’t make right on my own.  And all it takes to obtain that reward is…

…all of me.

My reward is His life, but the pathway to get there costs me everything.  Some reward?

Yeah, it is.

It was communist leader Karl Marx that said “religion is the opiate of the masses.“  That quote used to stir such animosity in my American-Midwestern-Evangelical belief-structure.  But honestly, I believe he was right.  Before you unsubscribe, let me at least try to explain.

In the interest of that transparency and vulnerability that my buddy Nathan and I so often wax eloquence about, we’re coming off an unbelievably crappy week (yeah mom, I said crappy…thought about using stronger words, but I’ve already opened by agreeing with a Karl Marx quote.  I thought that was enough potential controversy for one post).  Let me see if I can quickly recount the circumstances for you and then at least attempt to make a coherent point:

TUESDAY: I have a brain MRI in attempt to explain the “abnormal” findings of an EEG.  I recently started having strange, foggy, forgetful episodes (my wife says I’m just using the diagnosis as an excuse for manly irresponsibility, but I do have a real doctor’s note) and have been diagnosed with a “risk for complex, partial and secondarily generalized seizures” (hey, why go half way?).  The good news: the MRI showed no tumor (and a functioning brain…ba dum dum).  The bad news: anti-seizure medication for the foreseeable future.

WEDNESDAY: My beautiful wife of 14 years has a biopsy on her thyroid gland.  Not atypical for the Midwest, she has developed multiple nodules that had to be tested for malignancy.  Twenty-five needle sticks to the neck later, we find the growths are benign (thank you God) but the test takes it’s toll (she wants to have a word with all you doctors who told her the procedure is a “piece of cake.” You should be nervous.  Yes, I’m serious).

THURSDAY: My four-year-old son Austin heads to the eye specialist for a follow up on his infant-diagnosis of optic nerve hypoplasia, an incurable underdevelopment of the optic nerves that in extreme cases can result in blindness and brain defects.  He’s fortunate in that his symptoms are mild, but this day begins long-term patch therapy and a trip to Target Optical for his first pair of glasses (he just wants to be cool like his dad).

FRIDAY: Our two year old Boston Terrier, Disney, runs across the street in front of my in-law’s house like she’s done a million times before.  Unfortunately, her timing for this innocent adventure intersects with a traveling mini-van.  Two hours later, her little body succumbs to post-surgical internal bleeding.

We’ve definitely had easier weeks, and I’m well aware that many of you have had much harder.  But I noticed something interesting in the hours and days that followed our emotional roller-coaster of experiences.  I wanted an explanation, to understand, to make sense of the events that had transpired.  I had lost control, and I wanted it back.

On my left shoulder sat the skeptic wondering “where has God gone?”  Didn’t He see what we were going through?  Didn’t He know what sacrifices we were making for Him?  How could He allow us to face such difficult circumstances?  Doesn’t He care?  How can a loving God…?  You know what I’m saying.  You’ve asked it yourself (yeah, I know).

But on my right shoulder was the whispering religious zealot.  “You’re doing such a great work for God that the Devil must be on the attack.”  Or just the opposite, “what unknown evil have you stumbled into that is causing God to punish you in this way?”  Here, have a trite quote or an easy answer to dull your pain.  God is good all the time.  Where God guides, God provides. And I bet you can think of dozens of other “knicknack sayings” aimed at eliminating the tension, deadening the pain, and avoiding the heartache that just far too often comes from living in a broken, fallen, messy, sinful world.

The reality?  We want to explain God. If I do A, He does B.  If I say this, He’ll do that.  If I…then He.  We want control, to be in charge.  Go ahead, admit it.  It’s cathartic.  But we really don’t want to serve a God like that.  A God we have figured out.  A God we can throw in our briefcase, in the diaper bag, with the golf clubs in the trunk of the car and just pull Him out when it’s raining, when we don’t understand, when we need to rub the lamp and get our three wishes.

Sometimes God is a mystery.  And we live in the constant tension of despising our lack of control and celebrating that there is a God who is willing to take it. He never said we’d always understand, but He promised to never make us walk through the heartache alone.

I don’t want a belief system – a philosophy – that gives me easy answers I can frame and hang on the mantle, an opiate created to dull my pain.  I need a Savior willing to embody my suffering, to redeem it, to shape me deeply through this far-too-often unexplainable journey, and to both weep and celebrate with me all along the way.

So far, this week’s been pretty uneventful.  I’m OK with that, too.

I’m not one of those guys who thinks there are no absolutes.  You know those people, the ones who are convinced every answer is the right answer and that truth is relative.  They usually wear tie-dye shirts and drive 30 year old vans with couches in the back (you know who you are).  That’s definitely not me.

But I have to be honest, I’m getting tired of the litany of arguments flying around the Church that somehow place unrelated things on a sliding scale with one another.  Seeker-sensitive vs. Bible-based.  Missional vs. Attractional.  Large vs. Authentic.  I think we’re so bent on placing spiritual labels on things that either define our preferences or challenge our natural tendencies that we end up having completely irrelevant dialog.  Have you noticed your own propensity to spiritualize your own personal preferences?  (I guess I’m the only one?)

Who placed these things on a sliding scale anyway?  Why does being cognizant of the spiritual condition and Biblical knowledge of those who find their way into our weekly worship environments suddenly mean we can no longer be Bible or truth based?  (If you want my honest opinion, I think we WAY over-estimate the Biblical understanding of long-time church attenders anyway).  Who decided that having more than 200 people in your congregation suddenly meant you could no longer be genuine, vulnerable, authentic, or effective?  Why does building a weekend worship environment that attracts a crowd automatically mean you can’t missionally care about the city you’re in (or vice versa)?  Where was I when we had the meeting that put these things on a comparative continuum?

The truth is we’re greedy, jealous, broken people.  Yep…me too.  We thrive on comparison and impulsively throw stones at things we either don’t understand or that offend our religious culture or sensibilities.  Those who love the status quo angrily accuse those exploring new modes of expression of leaving “the way.”  And those who have grown tired of bowing to the way it’s always been done often swing the pendulum so hard in the other direction that the baby and the bathwater go spiraling down the drain.  We’ve allowed ourselves to be defined by our worst abuses.

If the goal of the church is to accurately reflect Jesus to the world (the Bible refers to us as His body), I think we’ll find that the answer isn’t in sliding our personal expressions up and down a man-made continuum in search of the one perfect answer, but in truly and completely embracing the character and nature of the One we follow.  He has an uncanny way of messing with my view of reality.

If that means I need to invest in some tie-dye and a ’74 Dodge van, I guess I better get to shopping.