Category Archives: Community

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Atmosphere, Ethos, and Communing with God

My friend Marti left a very thought-provoking comment on my previous post about Creative Chaos or Quiet Reverence that really sparked some memories. I started to share these with her in the comment section, but decided they deserve a post of their own.

First, let me share with you what Marti wrote:

My church meets in an old warehouse, or anyway, the anchor to a defunct
shopping center. It was ugly. The old-timers kind of liked that, as it
harkened back to the day when they moved from one school to another…
they didn’t want things too nice. Nobody EVER got married there. After
we paid off the mortgage, fixed the leakin’ roof, etc, God provided a
major donor who gave a $1 million anonymous gift with no strings
attached. The mission committee got a tithe of it, which was cool, and
a lot of other good stuff happened too. Sadly, giving dropped; this was
about five years ago and we’ve yet to recover. However, somewhere in
there the elders decided to use part of ‘the big taco’ (as the $1
million was affectionately called) to build a new sanctuary inside out
building. It feels like a living room. It has niches for prayer. It has
pretty, ivory-colored walls. I was glad we didn’t spend all our money
on this, but it helps to have a comfortable, attractive environment. It
makes a difference. So does our new worship leader, and particularly,
his adorable wife with the great voice who leads our singing most
Sunday mornings. We sound great with her leading us. And she can do new
stuff, old stuff, in-between stuff just as well. I’m glad God gives us
so many ways to worship.

As I read her comment, especially when she began describing her church’s current set up,  IMosaic_sign was reminded of the last six or so months of our old church plant here in Nashville (before it was decided the plant would merge with an already established Mosaic in town). We
revamped it after a jolting shift in our leadership, and part of the revamp was to completely change our approach to our "service" time. Instead of coming at it from a typical worship service mind-set, formatting it with music and then teaching, we instead approached it as if it were a giant Life Group (small group, or cell group; some now call them Community Groups). This one change in focus changed the whole dynamic and
feel of our times together, and opened the door for God to dwell among and within us at an ever deepening level. (please note this post continues after the jump — see below)

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Creative Chaos versus Quiet Reverence

Los has this series he does on Thursdays called Creative Chaos, where he talks a little aboutBuckhead_worship
what his church (Buckhead, in the ATL; photo copyright Buckhead Church) does in their worship times, or planning times, etc. Then he invites others to post about what creative chaos is happening in their worlds and also provides a way they can link their posts to his on his blog. It’s really cool to read because you get a feel for all the creative madness going on out there in Worship Leader Land. I highly recommend it, even if you’re not a leader.

Today he posted a kickin’ video that you just gotta watch. But do yourself a favor, put your headphones on and crank the sound. It. Is. Awesome!!

Aside from the sound, the visual overload of the video, both from the screens and the constantly shifting camera angles, took me on a little ride. It was good, but I realized something the first time I watched. While I’d love to participate in something like that for a worship concert — where it’s just singing and music and some prayer (accompanied by music); just worship — I’m not sure I’d want to "do church" like that every week.

Small_churchI’m realizing more and more that I long for some of the old — dare I say it? — traditions; the quiet reverence, the sacraments, the sort-of high church feel. I’d probably tire of it after a bit; I don’t think I’m by nature a quiet, calm, traditional worshiper. But for some reason, right now my soul craves that. I crave a chance to sit silently in a sanctuary, get on my knees with others, and take communion in community in the midst of such a holy-feeling place. I will probably shock some with this statement, but sometimes meeting in a movie theatre does, for me, take some of the awe and reverence from the worship experience. If I weren’t such an aesthetic person perhaps that wouldn’t be so, but I am. So I struggle with the environments I find myself in during worship services, and sometimes they just don’t fit with what my spirit is craving.

What about you? What kind of worship services do you like? Is aesthetics, your surroundings, important to you, or doe it not effect you?

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He Gets It

Kevin Bussey gets it. He gets what it means to have boundaries, and to live with integrity. He gets what it means to be a true servant-follower of Jesus. Here’s a snippet of what he recently wrote:

Unfortunately people gauge their spiritual walk with Jesus based on a checklist of all that they have done for Him. But Jesus doesn’t want us to “do” because He has already “DONE” the work when He died on a cross for our sins.

Does this mean we don’t do anything? No. We should serve God because we want to and out of giftedness….

…I have witnessed people begging and guilting (I know it is not a word) into serving in a position just to get it filled. What ends up happening is the person who fills the position hates it and can’t perform because they aren’t serving out of their giftedness or they just give up. The people they are ministering to aren’t blessed either. I’m amused when someone tells me that God told them I should do this or that. I always say, “well He hasn’t told me.” The better way to say it is I would like you to pray about [this]. That allows the person to say yes or no.

Sometimes the best word in ministry is:

  • here it comes…
  • it is…
  • are you ready…

NO!

When was the last time you served out of the gratitude in your heart and a true desire to do the thing you are doing? Or have you been spending most of your ministry — perhaps even most of your life — saying "yes" with your mouth while screaming "NO!!" in your heart?

This strange new thing you’re looking at is called Integrity. It’s also called Boundaries, and being TrueFaced. And it will save your Life.

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Dear Facebook, What the—???

Facebook, Facebook, Facebook… what are you doing???

The whole reason I stayed and filled out my profile with you is because you promised me everything there is kept as private as I desire. You force us to use our real names, not allowing us to use our typical Internet pseudonyms, with the promise that all our information is completely within our control and will not be released to the general public unless we say it’s okay. And then you turn around and sell us down the river of search bots so all that personal, private information meant only for reconnection with real live friends is now available to any search engine with an unethical bent and a good search bot. Dang, that hurts.

HT: Music City Bloggers

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The Most Important vs. The Not-So-Important

Where do we draw the line on publicly memorializing the dead, or whom do we memorialize? How do we choose who’s honored and who’s not?

My friends KatRose and Marti have brought up some very solid, valid points in their comments about public grieving. I thought to address them in the comment section, but felt they deserve a post of their own.

KatRose hits the core of what I’ve been thinking when she says,

I’m not suggesting we shouldn’t feel for the people directly and indirectly involved. But is it justified to have a national moment of silence for the dead when the vast majority of us have never been to VT, met a single student or even were aware of the college until this happened? I feel badly for the families and friends of the dead. I feel awful that the school has to deal with the emotional, mental and financial aftermath of this gunman’s handiwork. But is flying flags at half-mast (which was happening all over Vegas and LA this week), something that should be done for a localized event?

I have to say I heartily agree. I feel so sad for all involved too. But what was the deal with President Bush ordering flags to be at half staff all week? At first I thought it was just my company, because one of our own had a child wounded in the shooting (and that shows you how much I notice flags outside my own work campus). I thought it was a kind gesture, even though that co-employee lives in Virginia. However, on Friday I noticed the flag at the Post Office also flying at half staff. Shouldn’t that be reserved for dignitaries, veterans, soldiers and true heroes?

I don’t mean to make light of the students who died or were wounded, but I’ve yet to hear any stories of true heroism among them. Most just didn’t have the time to react, or were just trying desperately to escape. What’s happening in Iraq and Afghanistan every single day, that’s heroism. Soldiers going into dangerous neighborhoods in order to root out the enemy and restore peace, driving down dangerous roads littered with road-side bombs in order to provide a fighting chance for those who really desire democracy, and crawling into burning vehicles, risking their very lives to save the life of just one fallen comrade. The VT shootings are tragic, yes, but they are not so tragic nor heroic to warrant our national symbol lowered to the mourning position. if we’re going to do it for them, then why not all the other school violence? Domestic violence every day? Every officer killed in the line of duty every day? Do you see what I mean? Lowering our national flag is supposed to mark a significant national loss, not individual tragedies. 

Indeed, even soldiers are wondering what’s going on. One soldier took the time to write an opinion piece questioning why Bush would order the flags lowered for students of what now looks for all the world like a random act of violence done by a very sick individual, but states will not lower it for the soldiers from their state who die protecting our rights to freedom (and flag lowering) every single day. What gives?

Marti brings up another issue that’s even closer to my heart: people who are hurting, and our international mission/purpose as a Community of followers of Jesus.

…at a church retreat this weekend they had us read out the names of the kids who died. Thirty-some senseless deaths… but are they more tragic than others? I felt the same twinge I’d felt at the office, trying to decide if we needed to pray about the Virginia situation, instead, when I had prepared stuff for us to pray about regarding the significant religious persecution going on in Ethiopia and Nigeria; more believers have been martyred in both places recently. (emphasis mine)

A church has daily updates on the kid with cancer while nobody notices the old woman wasting away in depression. Or worse, bitterness. Not so cuddly.

So: what gets attention, what does not, is not fair, is not even.

What is it that causes us to be more moved by students killed in a random act of violence than the thousands killed purposely and specifically because of their religious beliefs? The former is just tragic, while the latter is an abomination that ought to stir some semblance of righteous anger within us. Hopefully enough to do something.

Church, what is it about us/in us that we  are more apt to pray for a boy with cancer than search for, pray for and walk beside the bitter woman struggling with depression? Why are we more apt to pray for people hurting in another state than we are for our own persecuted brothers and sisters in another country?

What are we reminding ourselves of when we "read out the names of the kids who died"? What purpose does that serve, really? Yeah, okay, God can use anything to bring our attention back to Himself. But It seems to me all we’re doing with that is reminding ourselves of our own mortality, rather than turning our attention toward God. Shouldn’t we, instead, be reminding ourselves of our responsibilities before God to the world? Look, I’m not talking about America here. At least not in the America The Nation sense. I’m talking about followers of Christ who by living here in America have been given incredible blessings from God when He determined this time and this place in history for us to be born.

"From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us."  Acts 17:26-27 (emphasis mine)

We, the community of followers of Jesus in the US, have been chosen and determined by God to be Americans at this very time. Appointed by God, ya’ll! That’s huge! Do you get it? He. Chose. Us. Why? Beats the hell outa me. We ain’t nothing special. But here we are. And with great privilege and blessing comes great responsibility.

We have responsibility to speak out about the suffering of our brothers and sisters around the world, to remind each other daily of our blessings and of their need, to do something about it and to pray fervently and continuously for them. It may sound like a piddly, weak-hearted thing, but sometimes the greatest gift you could give someone is your fervent continual prayers. I cannot explain to you how it works – and this post is not the place to try – but I know from experience that prayer really does unleash God’s healing redeeming saving power on those who are the focus of your prayer.

We don’t need to remind each other of our own mortality. That is made far too obvious to all of us in the everyday minutia of our lives. It is so easy for me to get so sucked into picking lint out of my own navel! I don’t need encouragement from my spiritual Family to do more of that. What I do need is continual reminders that there is life outside Lu’s Little World. I need to step into a moment like the one Marti led and hear about my fellow followers of Jesus who are dying because of their unwavering commitment to Him.

And lets step out of religiosity for a moment… I need to be reminded there are children dying every day in Sudan, running for their very lives and praying for just one night of peaceful uninterrupted sleep. There are whole families dying from lack of food and potable water in Ethiopia and Somalia, ethnic groups persecuted and oppressed in China, parents fearing for their lives and the lives of their children in war-ravaged Iraq, innocent people dying in suicide bombings all over the world, women bought sold and horribly abused as sex slaves in Thailand, survivors of the tsunami still struggling to survive in Indonesia, families still living in squaller in New Orleans nearly two years after Katrina… The list goes on and on. I need to be reminded of these things. I need someone to tell me to get my head out of my ass and pay attention to the world, otherwise I will spend the rest of my life contemplating my own colon. And let me tell you, that is not a beautiful, life-affirming, God-honoring thing.

It’s part of the job of Leadership to steer us, focus us, on the Most Important and teach us by example and prodding to let go of the Not So Important. When someone is hurting, to them that is Most Important, and often they feel it needs to be most important to everyone. Indeed, to others around them it rightly ought to be. But as a whole community, whether we speak of our national community or our spiritual community, that individual hurt may not be The Most Important. We need leaders who can discern what is Most Important and can gently but firmly, with compassion for the individual hurts, keep us focused on that. Bush used to be that kind of leader. I think he slipped up here.

But Marti — well in you, my friend and once-leader, I have such great faith and confidence. You are a discerning and wise leader. Grief may cloud your personal vision right now, but God guides you even when you aren’t aware. I have no doubt you were able to determine His desire for that moment, and that God honored your willingness to wrestle with the question of what is Most Important.

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There Are No Orphans of God

Who here among us has not been broken
Who here among us is without guilt or pain
So oft’ abandoned by our transgressions
If such a thing as grace exists
Then grace was made for lives like this

Tonight I went to see a movie starring one of my favorite actresses. Judi Dench has been somewhat a hero of mine for a long time. I don’t know exactly what it is — her inner strength, perhaps, that shines through every performance, her wit, her talent, her striking beauty, especially at an age when many women just start falling apart,  her class, her power to captivate no matter how small a role she’s playing… Perhaps all of it. I want to be like her when I grow up. Or at least look like her.

Notes on a Scandal gave me a different Judi Dench than I expected; one that disturbed me throughout the film, then left me speechless and in awe of her talent afterward. She plays a discomfiting, complex woman with exquisite deft and with incredibly unflinching humanity. Her character, Barbara, could easily have become a caricature of a crazy spinster, but never does.  She is both frightening and at the same time intriguing. Just about the time you think you’ve got her figured out as the crusty spinster with a soft maternal inside, her behavior turns bizarre and alarming. Just as quickly, she returns to her matronly role, just long enough for you to believe her deviant behavior was an aberration, then she does it again. I’m telling you, disturbing.

I have a struggle with movies like this these days. Being a single-never-married woman in my early 40s, I walk a precarious path between becoming, if only in my own eyes, a truly pitiable old spinster, complete with cat and orthopedic shoes, or grabbing the first man that comes along and settling for a loveless, joyless marriage just so I won’t be alone. It takes a lot of strength, courage and tenacity to stay on the path I’m on and wait for God’s best.  Any film delving into the life of a "spinster" delves into my own fears as well. Barbara’s struggle was with acute loneliness; the agony of a life without true intimacy and human touch. Its a struggle I am all too familiar with.  I’ve felt that agony many times in my life.  It drives many people to seek intimacy through sexual encounters, where ever and how ever they may come.  Thank God it’s driven me into the arms of God, the arms of Jesus, my Beloved. He has met my deepest needs for intimacy, far better than any man could.

There are no strangers
There are no outcasts
There are no orphans of God
So many fallen, but hallelujah
There are no orphans of God

As I drove home tonight, I wept as I allowed my own fears of becoming a spinster to stand up and say their peace. I’ve spent most of my life shoving my feelings down, ignoring them, denying them or telling them to shut up rather than acknowledging them and letting them have a moment.  I’m slowly learning that the only way to deal with my fear is to face it, let it speak, and then to look at Jesus and say, "now what? Help me."  So that’s what I did tonight.

This song, Orphans of God, by Avalon began playing. I got their CD, Stand, yesterday and it’s been playing in my car ever since.  I wish I could play the song for you here, or at least provide a link to an mp3 file you could listen to. It’s a powerful song I first heard at the Women of Faith conference in Charlotte last year.  It’s especially meaningful to me because ever since my parents died in 2003 I’ve felt like an orphan. All my siblings are married with kids of their own. The only real family of my own I had were my parents. With them gone, I feel — well, family-less. I realize that in reality I’m not, but have you ever noticed that feelings just don’t give a damn about reality? They are what they are and they make no apologies and no concessions for anyone or anything, especially reality.

Come ye unwanted and find affection
Come all ye weary, come and lay down your head
Come ye unworthy, you are my brother
If such a thing as grace exists
Then grace was made for lives like this

As I’m listening to this song and pouring out my fears to God, He just wraps His arms around me and listens.  Slowly, quietly I start realizing that the life I saw played out for the last two hours was a life without God. It was a life of desperation driven by our insatiable need for community and intimacy; a life that never responded to the daily brush of God’s Spirit upon her own. It’s what happens to each of us when we choose to ignore those soft, persistent caresses, the whispered "I love you"s. Eventually we stop noticing His touch, we stop hearing His whispers. It just becomes part of the background noise of our lives, while our pain and our lonliness takes centerstage.

Even those of us who are connected to God, who are followers of Jesus, devoted, faithful, even strong –even we can get so wrapped up in our pain that we don’t notice His touch and His whispers. I’ve been in such pain and depression, in such darkness in my own soul that I could not see my hand in front of my face. Sometimes my pain, and often times my fear, was so strong that God’s presence became just background noise. I could barely distinguish His caresses on my spirit from the searing pain in my heart. And His whispers were lost in the roar of agony. I remember one time, Easter Sunday 2004, finally wailing and screaming to Him, "NOW is the time! You said You would rescue me at the appointed time. Well, that time is NOW. I need you NOW. Come NOW. I cannot do this anymore. Come NOW!"

There are no strangers
There are no outcasts
There are no orphans of God
So many fallen, but hallelujah
There are no orphans of God

He came. With smoke in His nostrils and consuming fire shooting from His mouth, He came and rescued me. I’m not kidding. I saw it as clearly as if with my physical eyes. I saw it. He came roaring out of the heavens and scattered and routed my enemies — those accusing voices, the screaming fears, the blistering agony of abuse and loss — just as Psalm 18 describes. Then He knelt beside me and said, "I’m hear, baby. I’m here. We’ll get through this day." I was raw with pain, but I wasn’t alone. I never was. And I never will be. He walked with me through that day, and every day since. Including tonight, as my fear got in my face and I let it say its peace.

I think of some of the people I know who are in such pain. I think of the hurtful words I’ve read from people in terrible pain, striking out at those who caused their suffering, not even realizing how hurtful their words are. My heart aches for each person involved. There are followers of Jesus all over the world struggling to hear God’s whispers, unable to distinguish between the caresses of God and the searing pain of their own soul, in desperate need for God to come roaring out of heaven and scatter their enemies, who feed on them like vultures. 

O blessed Father, look down upon us
We are Your children, we need Your love
We run before Your throne of mercy
And seek Your face to rise above

Our pain can lead us to believe we are orphans; that God has abandoned us and we are alone in our fight for justice, for peace.  But sometimes feelings lie. They don’t tell the whole truth of what is happening.

God is already at work, fighting for us, scattering our enemies, putting right what went wrong. He longs to spread a healing balm on our wounds, and cradle us in His strong arms until our tears are spent and we finally find rest. But He won’t force Himself on anyone, even His Own.

There are no strangers   
There are no outcasts   
There are no orphans of God   
So many fallen, but hallelujah   
There are no orphans of God   

I wish I could take away the pain I see written in all the words of so many hurting people! But I cannot. They cry out for justice and recompense, and they are ready to fight to get it. I don’t know that their actions will accomplish anything more than creating more hurt and pain, but I could be wrong. Only God knows these things. I only know I cannot give them what they long for. Only God can. All I can do is cry out to my Beloved, "NOW is the time! You said You would rescue Your people at the appointed time. Well, that time is NOW. They need you NOW. Come NOW!" And then watch Him act.

There are no strangers   
There are no outcasts   
There are no orphans of God   
So many fallen, but hallelujah   
There are no orphans of God

"Orphans of God" written by Twila LeBar and Joel Lindsey, sung by Avalon

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Grace Defined — a.k.a. Drenched

For now we are looking in a mirror that gives only a dim (blurred)Thru_shattered_glass_1 reflection [of reality as in a riddle or enigma], but then [when perfection comes] we shall see in reality and face to face! Now I know in part (imperfectly), but then I shall know and understand fully and clearly, even in the same manner as I have been fully and clearly known and understood [by God]. — 1 Cor. 13:12

I think most people have the same problem I do when it comes to understanding grace.  We don’t get it. It’s an enigma, a riddle. We just can’t seem to wrap our minds around it. We just know it is.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, and realizing more and more just how lavishly God drenches me with His grace. And just how unworthy of it I am. I realized grace is so much more than the definition of "unmerited favor" I grew up hearing. That description was inadequate for me as a child, and it didn’t get any better as I grew up.  I’m such a visual person. I needed a picture — or at least a word picture — to help me understand.

So I asked God for help. What I got, originally, was experience. God lavishing me with it, and then telling me, "that’s My Grace."  Uh, okay. How do I put that into words??

Thank God He puts people wiser and more knowledgeable than me in my life! My counselor has a word picture that helped me finally understand what grace is.  And then I stumbled across this web page that had the following definition, which puts that word picture into narrative form:

Protestants usually define grace as "God’s unmerited favor towards us in Christ". Though not incorrect, this definition is incomplete, for grace also includes the divine gifts which flow from this favor, such as our new life in Christ, God’s indwelling Presence and the ability to bear spiritual fruit.

Sacred Scripture says that grace is Jesus’ Incarnation (2 Corinthians 8:9), by which He took on our poor human nature in order to fill us with the "riches" of grace (Ephesians 1:6). Grace is more than mere divine favor, it is sufficient power in our weakness (2 Co 12:8), it strengthens us (Hebrews 13:9; 2 Timothy 2:1), enables us to stand firm (Romans 5:2; 1 Peter 5:12), and helps us in time of need (He 4:16).

The Bible also states that grace is manifold (1 Pt 4:10), that God lavishes "grace upon grace" on us in Jesus Christ (Jn 1:16; Eph 1:7), and that we can "grow in grace" (2 Pt 3:18). It even says that our words can give grace to those who hear them (Eph 4:29), for our edifying words can draw others to God.

Finally, grace is the Beatific Vision of the Trinity which we will enjoy for eternity when Our Lord returns (I Pt 1:13; Eph 2:7).

Gracewordpic2 Barney’s word picture is essentially the same. He just takes less time to say it, and usually draws on the dry erase board as he talks. I guess he’s rubbed off on me, ’cause now I’m re-creating his drawings (or drawrings, if you’re British) in Illustrator.   Perhaps we’ve taken this re-parenting thing too far….Huh1_2  Okay, back to the discussion. What I learned from Barney goes basically like this:

In Scripture we learn that God is Love. We can’t think of that description without thinking of Jesus. And we can’t think of Jesus without remembering the Cross, the ultimate demonstration of love. The Cross brings, or rather bought, our redemption from sin and death. Our redemption leads us into Abundant Life. All of that is Grace.

As grace begins to work in our lives we begin to grasp all we’ve been given, it brings us to our knees in humility and repentance.  We realize we aren’t worthy of any of it. That brings us back to God. But it not only reconciles us to God, but gives us compassion and understanding for others, as grace opens our eyes to their brokenness, and to their beauty as God’s dearly loved children, Jesus’ beloved bride.

As with Hope, I think the modern Church, and especially our 20th century cultural Christianity, stripped grace of its complexity and grittiness. Not out of malice or deliberate deception, but rather out of ignorance.  Grace isn’t soft and cuddly, or ethereal and fragile. It’s the robust, earthy, dynamic, powerful, tenacious, never-ending stuff of God. It can take on my ego, and take me down to my knees, then immediately oh-so-gently pick me up and lay me in the Father’s lap. It can tear apart my stubborn legalistic tendencies, then envelope and permeate my whole being.  It’s where my Arms20open20falls11_1capacity to forgive, to love, to have compassion comes from. Its what gives me the ability to weep and ache to the depths of my soul over the pain others experience. It opens my eyes to the humanity of the people around me, so that I no longer see a mean "monster" when I’m betrayed or hurt. Rather, I see a broken, hurting soul just as much in need of God’s forgiveness  and redemption as me. Grace gives me God’s eyes to see the beauty and image of God in even the most irascible, unlovely person. I can’t do those things on my own. I have to have God’s grace to do it. And the more I embrace and own the grace God lavishes on me, the more grace I have to give to others.  –Perhaps that’s what the Bible refers to as "growing in grace".

Me, I just call it being drenched.

Does that make sense?

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What is Grace?

I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I’m wondering if anyone out there has an opinion.

What is grace, exactly?
When the Bible talks about grace, what is it talking about, what does it look like and how does it work?
What Scriptures helped you best get a picture of what it is?

I have some ideas, and I’ve been doing a study on this lately. But I want to know what others think. So if you have an opinion, please speak up. Comments are open 24/7 for your convenience. 🙂

UPDATE: I’ve written my definition of Grace in this post. Please check it out.

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Defaming in the name of Christ?

May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you a spirit of unity among yourselves as you follow Christ Jesus, so that with one heart and mouth you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. — Romans 15:5-6

I came across a blog today that grieves and saddens me. I’ve seen its kind before. Someone, or a group of someones, hurt by the actions of a brother or sister in Christ, or a church staff, or a group within the church, puts up a blog to air their grievances and give others a chance to do the same in the comments section.  Once or twice, these become a place where healing is the goal and bitterness does not go unchecked. But more often than not, these blogs end up as nothing more than a place of condemnation for the pastor or staff member at fault for the pain.  It becomes a chance for anyone hurt by that person or group of people to defame them under the pretense of "telling their story." Sadly, the blog I found this morning is the latter kind.

I know the pain of emotional and spiritual injury at the hands of another, especially injury caused by a friend. Its sting carries venom powerful and deadly. Only the compassionate, gracious, all-consuming love of God can heal that kind of wound and restore health to the soul.  Even then it leaves a scar.

Emotional/spiritual injury by a pastor can be worse. A friend of mine says that pastors are also a "dad" to their church.  It’s not a role they want, or seek. Nor is it a role we consciously put upon them. Its just that we all naturally end up looking to our pastor to fill a father-like role in our lives; leading, guiding, counseling, loving, appreciating, paying attention to us, knowing us. We want to be known by our pastors, and recognized as valuable, valued and worthy of love. All the things we want from our fathers. When a pastor doesn’t live up to that expectation, unconscious or not, especially in a time of need, it feels like the worst kind of betrayal, that of a parent.  If we’re already suffering from major "daddy issues", and most of us are, that betrayal can cut to the heart of who we are and devastate us.

When the injury is at the hands of a friend who’s also our pastor, the pain is unimaginable. This is what I found this morning.  What grieves me most about it is that it involves people I know, respect, and love deeply.  I discovered it because I keep getting multiple hits on this blog from people Googling the blog author’s name and finding it here, in a post from two years ago.  As I read the ensuing comments, the vitriolic tone of many pierced my heart to its core. I knew there had been hurt, I lived through the experiences they described, but it didn’t occur to me that some six to ten years later people would still be carrying around such rancor over it all.

Forgiveness is the hardest thing on earth to do. Our souls long for retribution, for repayment for all the pain we’ve had to endure.  I know. I’m the worst when it comes to forgiving. God has had to walk with me through each and every injury, sometimes carrying me, in order for my heart to finally let go and forgive.

It’s important to remember that forgiveness is a process. It’s a choice you make. And make. And make again. Until the hurt and anger lessens, your heart stops making an automatic left turn into dark places, and your thoughts stop running down avenues of revenge. It doesn’t happen overnight. And it often doesn’t even happen within a month.  Depending on the level of pain inflicted and the measure of trust that had been placed in the person who hurt you, it could be years before forgiveness truly flourishes.

Matthew 18 spells out the steps Jesus expects us to take to resolve things when we are injured, the last step being to treat the offending brother as if he were an unbeliever if he refuses to listen to even the church’s rebuke. How many of us actually go through with these steps? How many times to we just give up and just walk away from the relationship when the hurt and anger grows too big for us to handle? I know I’m guilty. Its just easier to tell ourselves, and anyone else who’ll listen, how horrible the other person was and how grievously they wronged us, rather than to screw our courage to the sticking place, and go face-to-face with the other person for as long as it takes us to understand their side of the story. No, it’s easier to just cling to our own side and ignore the rest; to never confront the person in the presence of fair-minded witnesses, if we even confront them at all.

But what Matthew 18 never tells us to do is to air our grievances before the world; in the town square, or the main boulevard, or even in a city park.  Yet here we are, blogs all over the virtual town square/boulevard known as the Internets, airing grievances of brother-in-Christ against brother-in-Christ. Defaming our brothers and sister in the name of Christ and claiming a Matthew 18 mandate to do so.

Yikes!  No wonder so many reject the very idea of becoming a follower of Jesus. We eat our own.

"To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you." C.S. Lewis 

Go ahead and be angry. You do well to be angry—but don’t use your anger as fuel for revenge. And don’t stay angry. Don’t go to bed angry. Don’t give the Devil that kind of foothold in your life…  Make a clean break with all cutting, backbiting, profane talk. Be gentle with one another, sensitive. Forgive one another as quickly and thoroughly as God in Christ forgave you. — Eph 3:26-27,31-32

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Divine Moments, or Who I Want To Become

I ran across Debbie’s blog this morning, and found this post. It was exactly what I needed to read. I’m re-printing a letter Debbie says is from Beth Moore in 2005. I’ve had many moments like the one Beth describes, where God nudges, prods, and even gets in my face and says, "I want you to do_____ now." The difference is, I rarely step into those moments, and I miss so many blessings because of it.

Erwin said in his book, Seizing Your Divine Moment, that you’ll never know if a moment is "divine" or just ordinary until you step into it. They both look just the same from the outside. For the most part I agree. But I have also found in my own life that God makes it pretty clear at times that this particular moment staring you in the face is divine. Sadly, my fear gets the best of me more often than not, and I don’t step into those moments. Instead, I just watch them pass, never to know the amazing God-moments I could have been a part of. Beth didn’t do that.

This is who I want to become. A person who steps out of herself and her own comfort zone and into the lives of others. Someone who doesn’t allow fear to keep her from to seizing every moment that presents itself.

Beth Moore At The Airport

April 20, 2005

At the airport in Knoxville waiting to board the plane, I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was doing. I’d had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say this because I want to tell you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up doing some things you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons not the least of which is your ego. I tried to keep from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humped over a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that obviously fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger was still in his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veins and bones. The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy gray hair hung well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His fingernails were long, clean but strangely out of place on an old man.

I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my face. As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I found myself wondering if I’d just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then I remembered that he was dead. So this man in the airport…an impersonator maybe? Was a camera on us somewhere? There I sat, trying to concentrate on the Word to keep from being concerned about a thin slice of humanity served on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All the while my heart was growing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him. Let’s admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than true concern, and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for this bizarre-looking old man.

I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall. I’ve learned that when I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen. And it may be embarrassing. I immediately began to resist because I could feel God working on my spirit and I started arguing with God in my mind.

"Oh, no, God, Please, no." I looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight through it into heaven and said, "Don’t make me witness to this man. Not right here and now. Please. I’ll do anything. Put me on the same plane, but please don’t make me get up here and witness to this man in front of this gawking audience. Please, Lord!" There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness, "Please don’t make me witness to his man. Not now. I’ll do it on the plane."

Then I heard it…"I don’t want you to witness to him. I want you to brush his hair."

The words were so clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair? No brainer. I looked straight back up at the ceiling and said "God, as I live and breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this man. I’m on this Lord. I’m you’re girl! You’ve never seen a woman witness to a man faster in your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if he is not redeemed? I am going to witness to this man."

Again as clearly as I’ve ever heard an audible word, God seemed to write this statement across the wall of my mind. "That is not what I said Beth. I don’t want you to witness to him. I want you to go brush his hair."

I looked up at God and quipped, "I don’t have a hairbrush. It’s in my suitcase on the plane. How am I supposed to brush his hair without a hairbrush?"

God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to walk toward him as these thoughts came to me from God’s word: "I will thoroughly furnish you unto all good works." (2Timothy 3:17) I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking I could use one myself.

Even as I retell this story my pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies. I knelt down in front of the man and asked as demurely as possible, "Sir, May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?"

He looked back at me and said, "What did you say?"

"May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?" To which he responded in volume ten, "Little lady, if you expect me to hear you, you’re going to have to talk louder than that." At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, "SIR, MAY I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?"

At which point every eye in the place darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room looking more peculiar than old Mr. Longlocks. Face crimson and forehead breaking out in a sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on his face, and say, "If you really want to."

Are you kidding? Of course I didn’t want to. But God didn’t seem interested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed on my heart until I could utter the words, "Yes , sir, I would be pleased. But I have one little problem. I don’t have a hairbrush."

"I have one in my bag," he responded. I went around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands and knees and unzipped the stranger’s old carry-on, hardly believing what I was doing. I stood up and started brushing the old man’s hair. It was perfectly clean, but it was tangled and matted. I don’t do many things well, but must admit I’ve had notable experience untangling knotted hair mothering two little girls.

Like I’d done with either Amanda or Melissa in such a condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of the strands, remembering to take my time not to pull. A miraculous thing happened to me as I started brushing that old man’s hair. Everybody else in the room disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments except that old man and me. I sound so strange, but I’ve never felt that kind of love for another soul in my entire life. I believe with all my heart, I-for that few minutes-felt a portion of the very love of God. That He had overtaken my heart for a little while like someone renting a room and making Himself at home for a short while. The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had to be God’s.

His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant’s. I slipped the brush back in the bag, went around the chair to face him. I got back down on my knees, put my hand on his knees and said, "Sir, do you know my Jesus?"

He said, "Yes, I do." Well that figures, I thought. He explained, "I’ve known Him since I married my bride. She wouldn’t marry me until I got to know the Savior." He said, "You see, the problem is, I haven’t seen my bride in months. I’ve had open-heart surgery, and she’s been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking to myself, what a mess I must be for my bride."

Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine moment when we’re completely unaware of the significance. This, on the other hand, was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I’ll never forget it. Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane. I was deeply ashamed of how I’d acted earlier and would have been so proud to have accompanied him on that aircraft.

I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, the airline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She said, "That old man’s sitting on the plane sobbing, Why did you do that? What made you do that?"

I said, "Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!" And we got to share. I learned something about God that day. He knows if you’re exhausted because you’re hungry, you’re serving in the wrong place or it is time to move on, but you feel too responsible to budge. He knows if you’re hurting or feeling rejected. He knows if you’re sick of drowning under a wave of temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you as an individual. Tell Him your need!

I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how many opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way…all because I didn’t want people to think I was strange. God didn’t send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me.

John 1:14 "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth."

Life shouldn’t be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather, to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly shouting, "Wow! What a ride! Thank you, Lord!"