Stealing My Blog!

There is a thief that I need to expose that has been stealing my blogs! This thief lives by me and is constantly harrassing me to give in and play his little games. This thief steals my creative juices and sucks the energy right out of my life. This thief has a name. This thief is named summer, busyness, outdoors. This thief is unique to this time of year and this part of the world.
Anyone else ever been captured by this devil?

Carrying Me

One particular afternoon my brother Jeff, who is four and a half years older, and I, had been sparring back and forth about who was a better rider. So we decided to race on the road to prove once and for all who the superior mini bike operator was. These were the days before helmet use was a concern for most people including my family. As we headed out to the road for the duel, I was sporting my blue jeans and my short sleeved “Star Trek” shirt, so called because they resembled the shirt the crewmen wore on the famed series. The race started just west of our driveway on Bonz Beach Highway. Jeff was taunting me to ride faster so I leaned out over the handled bars to offer less wind resistance. We were neck in neck as we roared past the Morgan’s driveway. From this point the entire memory is in slow motion. I glanced to my left to see where Jeff was and as I turned my head back to look forward I caught a glimpse of a pot hole the size of Montana that was about to swallow me and my Rupp mini bike whole. My front tire had slipped over the edge of the abyss, suddenly striking the other side of the hole, it jerked and twisted one of the handle bars back into my small forward leaning body. This sudden stop cast me over the front handle bars slowly rotating like a pig on a spigot. Soon the unforgiving gravel road met my then eight year old body, which had spun to my right side. I distinctly remember bouncing like a flat stone on a calm lake. My momentum slowed and was finally halted in the tall grass on the side of the road. Moaning and looking up through the long grass I could see that I had stopped inches short of the Morgan’s barbed wire fence that ran parallel to the road, west of their driveway.

It was at this moment that I noticed it. I’m not sure how much time had passed, or even what had happened to my brother, but off in the distance, back in the direction of our summer home, I saw a figure running. Even in my post crash shock that was beginning to take over my thinking ability, I was familiar with the figure. I also knew that I had never seen that particular man run that fast my whole life. My dad was in full sprint down that road. Not usually known to me for his athletic prowess, my dad was, at that moment, the fastest man alive. At this point the weight of my head overcame my ability to hold it up and I lay there in the grass wondering what had happened, why my side hurt and faintly hearing my brother asking me if I was ok. In my next conscious moment, my father was scooping me out of the grass and carrying me back to our little northern refuge. That image still to this day brings tears to my eyes, as a surge of emotion wells up inside of me. My father carried me. My father rescued me. My father ran to me like the father of the prodigal son ran to meet his once dead child that was returned to life.

I spent the remainder of that particular vacation in bed picking gravel out of my raw right side and my oozing arm around my elbow. My favorite shirt ruined, one mini bike bent and scratched, yet repairable. I also had the distinct picture that I could trust my dad to respond to my train wrecks with love and concern, which is a picture that many have never known.

a unique expression

I really have become quite sick of a few things. First, the way too many pastors who play the “Well how many are you running?” game, meaning: how many units (people) does your church (draw) entertain each week, like the church is supposed to be about that. If your numeric answer is lower than his weekly number, then maybe he can help us fix our problem. Puke. Or, if your number is greater than his he will either offer excuses like; “We’ve just had some huge conflict”, or “We lost a main staff member” or even better “I have a fungus under my left toe nail that is killing me.” What?

I don’t even want to participate in that conversation anymore. What a waste of time. I refuse. From now on I am done answering that B.S. What difference does it really make? I don’t live in your world and you don’t live in mine, so don’t “help” me by trying to fix me from where you sit. Our expression of the Kingdom of God will always be different than yours, because it’s our expression of the living God working in and through us. This isn’t McDonalds where when you walk in, no matter where in the world you are, you know what a cheeseburger will taste like. This is the Spirit of the living God pouring Himself out through us individuals in our individual contexts to reach a dying world. Maybe the conversation should be about how God is revealing His uniqueness to us, not so you can package it up and mass market it, but just so we can celebrate the goodness of God together. I refuse to be ashamed of who we are in Christ!

What does a house Church look like? How in the heck do I know? I know some things that will more than likely be present. But after that, my expression/experience will be different than yours. Seek the Spirit of the Living God and let Him guide and explain how to love people in your context. And that concludes todays rant! Peace.

Kingdom of Heaven

Friday afternoon I went to see the “Kingdom Of Heaven” with Connie after she got out of work. I have been somewhat looking forward to the movie for a couple of month’s. I wondered how the crusades would be portrayed through the eyes of the director.
I walked away not sure what to think or feel.
The main character (Orlando Bloom), who becomes a knight through his dying father’s blessing, is racked with guilt over the suicide death of his wife who took her own life after the death of their infant baby. This guy, who is looking for forgiveness for himself and his wife, is finding no comfort or hope from those who are leaders of the Church, so he travels to the very hill that Christ was crucified on and determines that God has abandoned him. In this hopelessness he simply seeks to live out his days serving the king to which he was pledged.
One thing that turned my heart was that so many people throughout this movie are dressed in the Christian garb, going to the Christian events, and are so far from the Jesus they claim to be acting on behalf of.
Has anything changed in the last 900 years? Am I the same way?

Passion

"There are many things

in life that will catch

your eye.

But only a few will catch

your heart --

Pursue those."

Author Unknown To Me

encourage remembering

"See to it brothers that none of you has a sinful, unbelieving heart that turns away from the living God. But encourage one another daily." Writer to the Hebrews 3:12-13a. Our natural inclination is to turn away from the living God. As I read again the Old Testament we can see this sick pattern occurring over and over. (read Judges) The people got fat and happy and then forgot everything that God had done for them. It's so easy when things are well with our soul to forget. Even Jesus understood this about our nature, when during the first celebration of communion he told his followers to "do this in remembrance of me." What a great encouragement is the celebration of the death and resurrection of Jesus our Saviour. Maybe the Catholics have it in the place it belongs, at the center of every week is the mass and at the center of the mass is the Eucharist. Hebrews says to encourage each other daily, that is very hard when we are so extremely isolated from each other. We don't need deeper, intense, real, authentic community just for hanging out sake, but primarily for the encouragement to remember the Lord in our everyday lives.

What If Church

What if Church was less like an event attended and more like healthy family living?
What if the leaders were more like an older brother that walked along with you?
What if the meeting was a simple meal served among friends and laughter?
What if relationships were the most important pursuit?
What if prayer was as natural as talking to a friend?
What if communion was love poured into your life?
What if friends were welcomed and included?
What if you were accepted as you are?
What if you were loved deeply there?
What if a message was a discussion?
What if the Bible sprung to life?
What if love ruled?
What if?
What if this was the Church?
What if your home could be a place for this kind of Church in your neighborhood?

Hotel Port Huron

My bride and I rented Hotel Rwanda last Friday not knowing much about it. I hadn’t read reviews or ever seen it advertised on previews or "at the movies".
I had no expectations.
What a great film. I won’t give it away and the thrust of the movie is that no one came and helped the people of Rwanda when a genocide was taking place in the mid 1990’s. No one in high places cared enough to make a difference. The Americans, the Brits, the French, the Russians, the Chinese are all guilty for inaction. The U.N. had troops on the ground that stood by and watched over 1,000,000 people get butchered, literally. The weapon of choice were machetes (long knives). I appreciated the filmmakers discretion in limiting the displays of violence, in what could have been accurately painted as a bloodbath, because it was.
I had to deal with some anger and personal guilt after watching this movie and yet it draws me back.
The question for me is:
Who do I commonly overlook in my everyday life?
When is the last time I even prayed for the SONS ministry that reaches out primarily to young black men in our area?
Have I ever eaten a meal, on purpose, with a human that has black skin? At work doesn’t count.
Am I alone in this predicament?
God, help me not only see "the least of these" but to love them well.