Maybe It Matters

Keep Out

2011-12-20T09:58:00.000-08:00

When your job revolves around driving to locations that you have never been to before and may never go to again, you quickly come to grips with the benefits of modern technology. There is nothing that has been more helpful in these travels than the purchase of my GPS. If you need to know how far you are from a gas station, you can find out. If it does not seem like there is a chance that you will ever see a restaurant again, you got it. If there is a detour that you should take due to construction, weather, or a T-Rex on the loose-BOOM!-dinosaur avoided. They provide every bit of information that you need short of how many dead animal carcasses that you will pass or crush on your way.

However, there is always the possibility of user malfunction (which is a nice way of saying ‘not paying attention). There was the time that I added two hours to my trip by not watching the screen. Then there are times that I end up in places because I have not recently updated the device. To be clear, no matter how perfect the plan, it is highly possible that we will mess up.

Monday, my GPS kept recalculating how I would arrive at my desired destination after I had missed the initial turn recommended (and the numerous 3’ X 3’ signs with HORNS CREEK RESORT written above an arrow pointing the proper direction). After taking multiple gravel roads, a couple of dirt roads, and two dead ends, I thought I would just wing it. I drove down yet another gravel road that was about the width of 3/4ths of my car. In a world of Escalades, Armadas, and Navigators, I have to be clear-I drive a 2001 Honda Accord. My expectations of the size of this road are far from grandeose.

I did everything possible to make sure that I did not run off of the road completely-I sang ‘Keep it Between the Lines’ and ‘Jesus Take the Wheel’. Eventually, I came to a sign marked ‘Private Property’ with a lot of smaller writing that I did not have the time to read (but, am quite sure in retrospect, said something about my ensuing death).

I noticed two things: An opening head of me where I could turn around and a curious Pitbull-ish canine trotting around a shaggy-headed, beady eyed, little boy.

Based on my calculations, the world is made up of two types of kids: Cute ones and creepy ones(If no one has ever told you that your kid is cute-sorry). This little corn-field dweller eyed me intently as I drove into an opening about three yards behind where he was standing. When I turned my car around, his hand was extended towards me to thoroughly communicate, “stop.” Due to the overall creepiness of the situation, I interpreted “stop” as “hey!” I drove by him and waved.

This is where it gets weird. As I drove by, I heard a voice that was far too deep for his eight year old frame say in a deep, gravelly, hissing snake-style voice, “I SAID STOP!!!” I looked in my rear-view mirror and he was waving his hand towards me, unleashing the pit-bull to pursue my Honda.

As the dog snapped at my bumper, I looked to my left and to my right and noticed an assortment of canines joining him in the chase. There was a collie, a chow that kept running into my car, something that resembled a wolf, and a wiener dog with its tongue flapping in the wind.
I floored it (which means I got over 70 mph), leaving the dogs and the boy in the background. My heart was beating as if I ran 70 mph. I am certain my GPS said something to the effect of ‘Huh?!?’

Were the dogs going to tear me limb from limb if they caught me? Probably not.

Were the dogs really obeying the voice of this kid? I’m quite certain.

Was a grown man a totally creeped out by said kid? Absolutely.

Salon Selective

2011-05-04T09:25:00.000-07:00

My mother was a hair stylist. Some of my earliest memories involve spinning in one of her chairs until I was so dizzy I could not stand up. There even came a point where she added a salon onto the back of our house so that we could be home all afternoon, eat a snack, do our homework, and not have to worry about inhaling an unacceptable amount of hairspray from being in her shop after school.

When your mom cuts hair, that means that you have weird ideas as to how you can wear your hair. Keep in mind, my head has multiple ‘cowlicks’ (salon talk for ‘nothing to work with’) and, if my hair is grown out the slightest bit too much, I bear a striking resemblance to a not-yet-fully-grown Chia Pet. However, I grew up in the 80’s, meaning that I was under the (hair-) stylistic influence of rappers like Kid N' Play (who wore their hair combed to stand completely straight at a bout a foot in length) and Brian Bosworth, who combined a flat-top on the top with lines shaved in the side of his head. To personalize the Boz’s look, I asked my mom to give me a perm in the back. Before I even knew what a mullet was, I had one. I have since destroyed all of the pictures so that my children never have anything in their hands that they can use for black-mail.

It was strange being the kid of a hair stylist. She would always tell me how other kids were scared to get anything done to their hair. They were afraid of the sharp scissors or the buzzing sound on the side of their head. But I never was. She used to tell me all of the time that I would fall asleep when I was really little.

I fell asleep because of my trust in the one who held the scissors. Her control meant more to me than anything I could fear.

Scripture teaches us to:

Trust in the LORD with all your heart,

and do not lean on your own understanding.

In all your ways acknowledge him,

and he will make straight your paths.

(Proverbs 3:5-6 ESV)

The writer of the Proverbs is pointing towards the same idea. We are to realize our need for God’s leadership and guidance and to consider his presence in our lives even when that does not seem possible. Even in difficulties. Even when our thoughts and instincts would tell us to do something else. We trust wholly.

The disciples had a difficult situation where they were sailing (Mark 4:35-40). Jesus was asleep in the boat and the everything was calm. We learn that a terrible storm came out of nowhere and that they feared for their lives. Jesus was still asleep. They went to Jesus and said, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” Jesus stood up, told the water to calm down, and it did. He then questioned their faith, asking “You of little faith, why do you doubt?” And the disciples looked at one another and said, “Who is this guy?”

What may happen is that we lose the full significance of the story in the miracle. Jesus had said “We are going to the other side.” That is what they doubted-the Word of Jesus. And if we are not careful, we miss this all-important fact: Jesus was just as much in control when the waters were raging as when the storms were still.

To live as God calls is difficult. Yet, if we are to trust that Jesus really is LORD over all things and that in Him All things hold together (Colossians 1:15-20), we are to pray that God will help us in those seasons and storms of doubt. As a man said to Jesus in regards to the healing of his son, “LORD, I believe, help my unbelief (Mark 9:24).” We as followers can stand firm in what we believe-yet we pray that Jesus reminds us in those moments of doubt that He has not ceased to give us reasons to hold on to Him-that we trust Him to help our unbelief.

Iniquity

2011-02-03T18:00:00.000-08:00

Kids are mean-and it starts early.

They are mean if you weigh too much. They are mean if you do not weigh enough. They are mean if you have straight teeth. They are mean if you are rich, mean if you are poor. Pretty kids are mean to ugly kids-and vice versa.

They are even mean in church. When I was four, I walked into my children's church class wearing a shirt with an alligator, a pair of Kermit the Frog tennis shoes, and a pair of shorts hand-made by my grandmother that were too short for even the pre-Jordan 80's. A little girl walked up to me, snickered, and said, "Nice shoes"in a very dismissive tone. Mean.

They are mean during the holidays. I was in the 4th grade and it was the day after Easter. I, like any good child of my era, wore my baby-blue and white Easter out fit. Not realizing the extent of my huskiness, I tucked my shirt as to not cause any interference at the four-square table. One of my classmates walked up, pressed his index finger against my tummy, and laughed like the Pillsbury Dough-Boy. It was as if he expected a biscuit, cookie, or crescent roll to squirt out of my ear. Mean.

Middle school is even worse.

I was an average middle-school kid. I played center on the football team, ate too much rectangular pizza, and had a huge crush on my science teacher. I was really good with history, not so good with girls, and terrible with the way that I wore my bangs. The word 'popular' would have never been used in casual conversation about me. Now, 'smart' was used occasionally (Is that not a fun trade for the most narcissistic time in someone's life?).

My friend group was made up of a few football players, those who were forced to sit beside me in class, and the occasional level-3 cool kid. Please don't misunderstand me- I was happy to have this circle to convince myself that I did not live in isolation. Yet, I was a middle schooler. I wanted to upgrade my acceptance and would, by any means necessary, act in such a way to stabilize my all-to-fragile ego.

Keep in mind-this was before Sam Walden had taken over the known world and imprinted a smiley face on all domestic goods and before the phrase 'Great Value' was copy-written. In a world where 'popularity' was defined by the logo on a shirt and the swoosh of a shoe, there was one cardinal sin: shopping at K-Mart. If you shopped there, regardless of the purchase, you were in no way moving up the depth chart of school-wide acceptance. A kid could spot a K-Mart purchase from a mile away-even if it was nothing more than chips in a lunch box or an ink-pen. It was as if there was a blue-light special chasing you into every crevice of your life.

So when Mom pulled into K-Mart one afternoon, I was mortified. I slouched down in the seat and covered my head with the hood on my jacket. I then pulled my math book to cover my eyes. I had seen enough detective movies to remain inconspicuous-even if my detective of choice wore a mask with pointy ears and drove an outrageous car.

As I sat there, I noticed a kid walking in from my class. He was a little taller and a little cooler than me. Because kids are mean, I started to think of how I would let everyone at school know this.

Even at this point in life, I had watched enough Law & Order to be dangerous. . I walked into the cafeteria and sat down for lunch. When the defendant sat down at the lunch table, I began to ask questions about his where-abouts the previous evening. He averted the question, and I pounced with fact after fact. I gave his arrival and departure time. I destroyed his excuse about shopping at the pool store in the same shopping center. As my prosecution continued, my role changed from attorney to judge and jury. In 'The State vs. the discount shopper', it was obvious that he was guilty as charged. I symbolically swung my gavel above my head and sentenced him to ridicule for the rest of the semester.

There was only one problem. Throughout the entire condemnation, everyone missed the obvious.

There should have been two defendants.

The only reason that I knew that this guy was at K-Mart was because I was there, too.

Kids are mean. They are mean about things that, in retrospect, are trivial.

It is funny to me, however, that in the same situation, if the roles were reversed, I would have wanted mercy, yet I wanted to dish out nothing but justice.

Kids are not the only ones who are mean-adults are, too. Words like 'sinful' and 'depraved' could also be used. Far too often, we are quick to acknowledge the wickedness that we see in another while ignoring the evil in our own hearts.

Jesus noticed this. In Matthew, he says, "Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye."

Have you overlooked the wickedness in your own heart because you are too busy worrying about someone else's sin? Unless we are grieved over our own sin, then, evidently, the sins of another is just not our business-even if we have been wronged.

Or we can continue to let the log in our eye blind us. But, if we are being honest, that seems trivial, too.

Forgetful

2011-01-16T19:30:00.000-08:00

I usually do not think about my raincoat.

You see, raincoats fall into the category of 'things you forget you need until you really need them'. Other items that exist in this place are windshield wipers, pocket change, cell phone chargers, extra-strength Rolaids, and the copy of your 'Jock Jams' CD from the 90's.

The rain coat seems a little more important because it directly affects your immediate comfort. And on those days, if it were actually possible, I would give myself a swift kick. I always think to myself, "Why did I forget to grab that raincoat?" (I guess it is good that the swift kick to oneself is impossible here, because not only would I be soaked, I would be limping as well. )

Most days, I just leave my raincoat inside of the car. This is usually not a problem-as long as the rain starts while I am driving. But there are the times that the raincoat is in the car and I am soaked before I remember its location because I did not look at the Weather Channel, my weather phone app, or the sky.

Then there are the days that the raincoat is in the house and I am well on my way to a busy day, halfway across town when the skies open and the floods come.

I always think to myself, "Why did I forget to grab that raincoat?"

One morning, I hurried out of the house, ran to church, and hopped on a fifteen passenger bus on the way to downtown Chattanooga. It was an early start because my friend Kevin and I had signed up to help the Homeless Coalition with a project. Our mission: To shuttle homeless men and women from all over Chattanooga to a convention for the purposes of helping them find good places to stay, places to eat, rehabilitate (if necessary), get hair cuts and hygiene products, and hopefully find employment.

We rode downtown and Kevin and I picked up our first group at a local shelter. Everyone filed into the back of the bus. Conversation was at a minimum (I do remember vain attempts to talk about football with some of the guys). For the first half hour, we were all pretty quiet with the exception of a gentleman who was ever so thankful for what we were doing. He was a guy who most of us probably drive by every day. Nothing really stood out to me about him.

Well, I take that back. I do remember one thing-he didn't bring his raincoat.

Then there was the next stop at a downtown hotel that runs discounts for the local homeless population. The energy in our bus picked up and our we talked about life-normal, everyday life. This crew was pretty open about bad life decisions that had put a hold on everything else. Some shared about drugs, alcohol, children they had not seen. Others talked about losing jobs because of the economy. The reasons for their situation were mixed bag of poor decisions, an inability to 'bounce back', and a recession.

None of them remembered their raincoats, either.

Our third trip was probably the most eventful. Somewhere on the interstate, a conversation started about what they were having for lunch at our destination (no one knew). This evolved into a full-scale discussion between Kevin and the rest of the bus. If this were a segment on a reality television show, it would be called "The Weirdest Thing I Have Ever Eaten." It started with words like 'duck' and deer then escalated to 'bear', 'snake', and 'guinea pig' (I almost inserted 'St. Bernard' and/or 'my nephew', but deemed it inappropriate). One guy kept reiterating that he had also eaten 'raccoon' and that 'turtles have seven different types of meat'( I learned a life lesson in the midst of this-never have a competition with a homeless guy about who has eaten the weirdest food). We dropped them off for lunch and watched them all run inside.

They ran pretty quickly-because none of them had their raincoats.

Finally, a gentleman got on the bus and introduced himself to everyone riding. he then pulled out his harmonica and began to jam before telling us that he had toured with both Bob Dylan and none other than the King, Elvis Presley. He then played a couple more tunes before singing some of Elvis's hits for a crowd that was evidently more drawn towards the Beatles (or the Bee Gees, Jimmy Hendrix, or anyone other than the guy singing). When we dropped him off, he asked a few questions that I did not have answers to about the event, and walked off, leaving his seat soaking wet.

He had forgotten to bring his raincoat, too. Along with countless other men, women, and kids.

It is easy to look at a situation and disconnect yourself with cliches like 'they made their own bed' or 'better them than me.' The difficulty comes when we have conversations with people and look them in the face. Difficult decisions are made when we sacrifice for someone else-when we see those who are less fortunate as people-not a problem. While many of us find verses that are for us that we are happy to put on coffee cups or FB statuses, there are multiple references to the people of God taking care of the poor that have been ignored because we have decided those verses are for someone else. It has been said, "The problem is not that Christians don't see the poor; the problem is that we don't know the poor."

There are everyday things that all of us can do. I am, by no means, an expert. I am consistently reminded of my inconsistencey-where I fall short in all of this, when I am less than caring, overwhelming selfish, and absolutely ungracious. However, where I fall short, my Lord does not. He is gracious, selfless, and caring-and has asked the same of me and empowered me to walk with him in His infinite goodness. In Him, I can do "all things." I can, at the very least, look through my closet or act like the $2 I give to a guy on the street isn't going to cause my head to fall off or take food out of my kids' mouth.

I'm just a guy with a raincoat.

Chances are-you're just a guy with a raincoat, too.

Any questions about what you can do, feel free to www.homelesscoalition.org

Clutter

2010-11-16T11:44:00.001-08:00

Today, I cleaned my office.

Please do not misunderstand me; I have a good bit of work to do. I have retreats coming up. I am working on two sermon-series for the Spring (1 John and Luke). I have to make another attempt at contacting a woman who wants to buy one of Hope's fantastic cheesecakes. And I still have not taken the time to flip out over the fact that we are within three months of the birth of our second (yet-to-be named) little boy. I have plenty that I need to do.

It is not that my office is even all that full of stuff. I look around and there is not too much to distract me. In the place of multiple commentaries by theologians, there is a fantasy football trophy from 2006, some paintings that I used on stage at camp in 2005, an old copy of Spider-Man from 1966, a Dirk Nowitzki bobble-head, and a stuffed Undertaker that one of our secretaries threw at me. These are what fill the multitude of bookshelves that the previous occupant left for me. (There were some commentaries on my desk-just books that have been 'borrowed' from my peers).

When I walked in today, there was an overwhelming urge to discard of the trash and reorganize the things of value. I tried to work on the 'to-do' list first. It was impossible. So I threw away countless papers that had just accumulated over my six months in this office. I found some books that I intend to read (yet had forgotten where I had placed them). Books are now, at the very least, on the shelf.

I guess I used the word 'clean' a little more liberally than some. I should probably have said, 'Today, I did things so that I could see some progress.'

Paul writes about the hard working farmer (2 Timothy 2). If we just think about the example, the farmer diligently worked while completely relying on God-plucking weeds day after day in the hope that God will send rain. He does some things in the hopes of seeing progress. His hope in God is certain because of God's faithful-and he works firmly within the knowledge of that truth.

Early on in Scripture, God lays out for us the Shema in Deuteronomy 6. God provides statutes and laws that serve to show the follower of YHWH how to avoid the trappings of a mundane, self-seeking life for the sake of them loving Him above all else. He reminds us to have constant reminders when he refers to frontlets. Frontlets literally means 'Everywhere you look, I Am there.' God's desire is for His followers to see Him and know Him in such a way that we could teach Him. Christ fulfills this message in that, in Him, these things are now possible.

What things are we doing in the hope of seeing God's progressive work in us?

Fanboy

2010-11-03T22:07:00.000-07:00

It started innocently enough.

I was out of town. Hope told me that she had purchased Shep some superheroes.

My inner dork did a cartwheel. Ever since Hope's pregnancy, I have pointed out anything loosely connected to powers gained through gamma radiation, alien heritage, or accidental bites from a variety of insects. I would casually point to (albeit gaudy) bibs with a man in a mask jumping where milk spittle rests. When Shep was going through his stuffed animal/teething ring/exersaucer stage, I would take a step three aisles over to let him get a feel of Gotham City and the Baxter Building.

So when Hope called to tell me that Shep was now the proud owner of Spiderman, Carnage, a Hand Ninja, and Samurai Wolverine, I realized that all of my hard work was beginning to pay off. Before we knew it, all three of us would be wearing masks and capes and taking care of injured puppies when we were not fighting pedestrian crime.

Thankfully, this all coincided with potty training. What happened when there were no accidents? We could finally look for an Iron Man. If my boy had a successful week, there was good chance that a member of the Fantastic Four was in his future. If he complemented my driving, off to the toy store. He wanted heroes and it was my job as a parent to encourage his inner X-Man.

His collection was growing. The figures come in two packs and, despite the fact that he was the proud owner of 5 Spidermen, 2 Iron Men, and 2 Wolverine, I was able to sit down and begin to have discussions at an early age about how great power comes with great responsibility. We plotted out battles between the heroes and the villains who had oddly taken over the minds of all of Shep's animals (due mainly to a shortage in evil on the retail shelf). He even knew that the Hulk is the strongest there is and would have no problem smashing a T-Rex or an Elmo the size of my son.

We went to the store the other night. Shep asked if he could get some superheroes and had a few extra dollars. I confidently strolled into Toys-R-Us with the boy and we walked straight to the hero section. This is where it all gets a little iffy.

Shep grabbed a Bat Mobile. What is wrong with that? Nothing-well, almost nothing. He only owns Marvel figures. Bat Man is a DC character. My spider senses started tingling. He cannot have 17 Marvel figures and one Batman driving into the fight in his fancy sports car. DC heroes and Marvel characters never overlap except in publicity stunts by the publishers (and it does not take a mutant to realize that those books are non-canonical).

Shep then started to want Toy Story figurines. Next, he wanted the electronic dinosaur (the one with the remote). I kept steering him around the store, hoping that this was not real, just a training simulation like the one's that take place in the X Mansion.

That is when it hit me.

I was vicariously collecting action figures through my 2 year old son. Shepherd was not really collecting action figures-I was.

We walked over to the cars. He saw a three pack from the movie 'Cars' that he really wanted. So we bought them. Sally, Red, and (yet another) Lightning McQueen were now his. At least for a few days, Cars had regained there spot in my boy's vivid imagination.

Which reminds me-we still don't have a Batmobile...

Saving the Planet One Can at a Time

2010-05-12T08:47:00.001-07:00

I was in elementary school the first time that I ever heard the word 'recycle.' At that point, I did not know (nor did I care) about the positive impact that recycling had on the environment. I had no clue that you could virtually recycle everything that had ever been 'cycled'. I never walked around the neighborhood with multiple plastic bags sorting cardboard into one, glass into the next, plastic into its own, and aluminum in the last. There was no desire in my heart to take care of my children's children and their children as well. I recycled for one reason: Greed.

My brother and I found out from our dad that the reason the old guy in the neighborhood used a stick to stab aluminum cans and asked us if we had anymore was because aluminum had a monetary value. Aluminum was big (small) business. I quickly realized that this was, for a 7 year old, the modern day equivalent of the poor-man's Midas touch. Every can I could find would be turned into cash money. With my brother at my side, the two of us scavenged the neighborhood (at least the parts within our parents line of vision), looking far and wide for cans. With each can, we realized we were one step closer to Mike Tyson's Punch Out, Contra, or Double Dribble.

In 1985, 2 million collectors earned over 200 million dollars saving cans. While this sounds like the greatest get-rich-quick scheme since door-to-door vacuum sales, it is important to do simple math. Cans were worth around $0.27 a per pound at the time. It takes roughly forty cans to get a pound of aluminum. In order to fully pay for a Nintendo game ($50), we had to collect over 200 pounds of cans! Even with my current addiction to soft drinks, that takes a really long time. As a 2nd grader, I realized with the quickness a simple truth that much of America still embraces: Recycling is a hassle.

Time passed. I grew up, graduated, got a job, recycling... is still not fun. It is more convenient. It is publicized better. It has a catchy, colorful nickname. Yet it still calls for a person to make a decision that involves an extra effort.

The recycler now come by your house and pick up your goods. You no longer have to sort them. Just throw it all in one bag and they will sort it all later. The only problem is that they do not run regularly. It takes someone competent in either quantum physics, logarithms, or philosophy to decode the pick up times for your neighborhood. The recycle truck on our street used to run the first Tuesday after the full moon (if it wasn't raining), but now runs twice a month. I still do not know when those two times will be.

Last Tuesday, I had my neighbor and best friend Kevin jump off my old truck and Hope and I hauled the remaining cardboard in our garage to the recycle center. (I had gotten lucky and placed most of the recyclables on the street. However, I did not want to push my luck for fear of having to carry it all back inside after the defeat of realizing that it was not the right day...again.) As we were driving, a box flew out of the back of the truck. I wanted to leave it. I felt like that it would decompose on its own since we were going the extra mile for the sake of the planet. Hope disagreed.

I parked about 15 feet down the road on the one flat spot I could find to park. I left the truck running because the truck won't start back up when you do weird things like put it in park. I ran quickly because the truck was on fumes. I went running uphill and grabbed the old diaper box box and took off back for the truck. As I sprinted to the truck, a little lady that we will call Edna stepped out from behind one of the bushes. She asked if I could trim the tops of her hedges.

The truck was still running. Hope was waiting. Edna was handing me the clippers (without an answer). I started to make an excuse. "I don't have time" seemed overused. "My wife is waiting" did not seem correlate with Hope's personality or the old ichthus on the back of my truck. ("Feaux hawks are in on bushes" was probably my best bet in retrospect.)

I took the clippers and trimmed the hedges. Edna told me her story. She told me that her husband had passed away from cancer and that she was taking care of her son now because he, too, has cancer. She told me that the Lord was getting her through this difficult part in her life.

In three minutes, I learned about a lady whose house I pass on the way to Target, to Chili's, to get gas, who I would never have even thought about stopping to help.

I got in the truck and Hope and I drove to the Recycle Center. She was laughing hysterically. We continued to laugh at my inability to properly trim bushes. What seemed like a hassle turned into a moment that made an impact on me and made me realize somet things for which I am grateful:

I am grateful for Kevin's forward thinking in the purchase of his jumper cables.

I am grateful for Hope being in the truck with me to watch this debacle.

I am grateful that I don't have to collect cans anymore for video games.

I am grateful that the recycle driver is so unpredictable.

I am grateful for the box that flew out of the back of my truck.

I am grateful for Edna being 5'3.

I am grateful that her bushes are 6'1.

Halloween Dance

2009-10-31T10:34:00.000-07:00

It is safe to say that, around the age of 12 or 13, there is a huge difference in the way that your child will look at life. Your sweet baby no longer goes over to a friend's house after school to 'play'. If you even use the word 'play,' they will shrink down in the chair or shush you. Why? The reason is very simple. Kids in middle school do not 'play'. They 'hang out'.

It is also around this time that kids fully embrace the idea of relationships. They usually have the first case of 'puppy love' (and to think, you bought all of those Valentine's cards during elementary in vain.)They begin to wear cologne or perfume. They worry about their hair a little more. They even communicate with their girlfriends and boyfriends on the phone.

When I was in middle school, I dealt with a little of this myself. I had a young girl that I talked to on the phone. (It is so weird to think that we used to actually talk into the phone. On top of that, they were plugged into the wall.) We decided very quickly that we were going to 'go' together. As middle schoolers, this consisted of walking to classes together and occasionally carrying tray at lunch. We were 'going' together, but we really did not have anywhere to 'go.'

Then the flyers were placed around school for our Halloween dance! We finally had a destination-a place to 'go.'

It did not start off too great. I showed up wearing a hockey mask in an attempt to be Jason from the 'Friday the 13th' series. The attempt was half-hearted at best because, while Jason wore cover alls, carried a machete, and was covered in fake blood, I simply wore a button down shirt, carried a coke, and was bathed in Polo cologne.

I had my mom drop me off a good distance from the dance to keep from being embarrassed by the mere thought that I, a 12 year old boy, could not find my own way to the school cafeteria. I ended up being embarrassed because the distance of the walk caused me to break a sweat. Luckily, the strong aroma of the cologne completely overwhelmed the nostrils of anyone who stood within five yards of me.

The second problem proved a little more difficult. In all of our conversations, the two of us had never discussed costumes. I aimlessly walked around asking everyone if they had seen any resemblance of my girl. Eventually, I found her. She was dressed as a football player. Her costume was complete with eye black, shoulder pads, a helmet, and cleats. She was taller than me anyway. The cleats made dancing with her as difficult as sitting on the front row of a movie theater. Combining her uniform with my hockey mask made it seem like we should be on the Sports Center's Top 10 plays.

Mid-dance, I was a little disappointed with the whole evening. So, as we stood in the middle of the dance floor, I did what middle schoolers do-I broke up with her. Upon completing this task, I took off my hockey mask and went and did what chubby kids do. I went and sat beside the Booster Club table that was selling popcorn and cokes.

Moments later, a friend of hers came over to me and told me that my now ex-girlfriend was crying on the the other side of the room. I was more into the Little Debbie in my clutches than the conversation. I asked a question that made logical sense to me as a 7^th grade boy, “Why?” The friend replied, “Because you broke up with her, dummy!”

In a moment of nothing besides sheer brilliance, I uttered said to her, “Go tell her that I was just kidding.”

So she did. And the girlfriend bought it! We ended up dancing for the rest of the evening. She was happy because she had her dance partner back. I was happy because I realized that, if I did not want to deal with the strains of middle school love, I could break up because she would take me back. My commitment to her was really a commitment to my own happiness. I could walk away if I wanted and come back with 'I did not mean it. It was just a joke.' It was just a luke-warm, half hearted commitment.

Many of us are living out our journey with Jesus in very much the same way. We are committed when it is good for us and then stuck in the monotony of self absorbed living three weeks later. We stand on a spiritual peak singing promises that, too often, end up just being words. Our commitment to God is half-hearted at best.

The problem with this line of thinking is the Bible. Nowhere in scripture to we find God viewing this approach to Christ and His kingdom as something that we have the right to treat so flippantly. Christ says for us to love him whole heartedly (Mark 12: 28-31) and that His glory belongs to no one else (Isaiah 48:9-11). Too often, for the sake of our own desires and pleasure, our commitment to God translates as a vain, half hearted treatment of His love and a cheap view of His grace. When God is taken for granted and treated like this, our commitment translates as 'half-hearted'.

It does not take a hockey mask to realize that half-hearted commitment is not commitment at all.

The Gospel and Chicken Nuggets

2009-08-19T09:25:00.000-07:00

I have a friend who is a devout meat eater-a steak and potatoes kind of guy. A few months ago, he decided that he was going to only eat a vegetarian cuisine for forty days. However, vegetarian in 2009 is not what it was in 1987. To my surprise, he was able to pick up vegetarian hot dogs, hamburgers, barbecue, etc. At any moment I half expected him to extract a T-Bone steak made solely of ground squash and zucchini.

Hope and I were at the store the other night and, for whatever reason, decided to buy Shepherd (our little boy) some vegetarian Chicken nuggets. Thinking they would be healthier and lead him into healthier, herbivore bliss, we gave them a shot.

He would not touch them. We tried everything. We tried cheering for him. We tried acting like the nugget was an airplane coming in for a landing. We tried me eating a nugget to make him jealous. We even tried ketchup. Nothing.

Here is the difference. My friend had conditioned himself to accept the shortcomings of the vegetarian cuisine for his experience. Shepherd, who loves real chicken, wanted nothing to do with our sloppy substitute made of cauliflower.

Too often in the life of a follower of Jesus, we accept substitutes for the gospel. Today, when we can have our Christianity in every size, flavor, and with cream on top, we deal with a multitude of false doctrine. There is the prosperity gospel which states that if we ‘blessed’ by God, then our financial endeavors and our joys in earthly life will be exponential. This theology being made popular by certain television networks and toothy grins.

There is also what is called the Social Gospel, which is consistently being reinvented. The long and short of this theology is that the main focus of the believer is to have an impact on society ONLY in the here and now and make up for the sins of humanity. The kingdom of God is merely an earthly Kingdom. The person of Jesus simply sets the standard for this goodness. His death on the cross was not in the place of our sin, Christians are to be morality driven do-gooders who try to put a band aid on the deep, infected cut that has been left on our world by sin.

The problem with these two ‘gospels’ is the Bible. If the prosperity gospel is true, then the stories of Job, John the Baptist, the disciples, and Stephen as well as numerous missionaries throughout history and around the world (not to mention Jesus) are pointless. To ascribe to a purely social gospel and simply focus on the here and now is to dismiss Paul’s longing for heaven and consistent Biblical theme that only in the presence of God will our view of Him cease to be distorted. Both of these focus on the actions of man outside of the work of Jesus. To paraphrase a pastor in Dallas, any time we put an adjective in front of the ‘gospel (social, prosperity, etc.), then that ceases to be the gospel.

Even personally, we distort the true gospel found in the Bible and orthodox Christianity. When we stand satisfied in our own good deed with no connection to Christ, then that is not the gospel. If, in our weaknesses, we blame God instead of depending Him, that is not the gospel. To act like God exists for us rather us existing for Him is to dilute the overwhelming Biblical message that all things exist in order for God to be made much of (Psalm 24). The problem with misunderstanding does not end with misguided theologians. It is propagated by the fact that the message of the Bible is, at best, considered for only an hour a week.

The gospel is this. We were created to be in perfect harmony with God. As a result of the fall, we no longer have that harmony; rather there is enmity between God and man. God sent Christ as result of His rich love and mercy to reunite us with himself and has therefore given us the ministry of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:16-21). If that Gospel has penetrated us, it will overflow and impact those we come in contact with regardless of their lot in life because, in Christ, we are a New Creation through Jesus (Eph. 2:8-10). Christ will shape the way that we view our place at work. He will define our role as we take our kids to practices. He will impact our marriage and give us a Biblical view of parenting. In retirement, the Gospel is the our desperate need for Jesus and satisfaction found in Him will spill out into the way that we live rather than what we define as our ‘beliefs’.

How have you been affected by Jesus? How has Christ shaped the way you treat others? Is your life defined by gospel rooted in the truths of Scripture? Or have we conditioned ourselves to accept the shortcomings of these heretical treatments of Christ and his message?

Are you settling for chicken nuggets made of cauliflower?

Let the Battle Begin...

2009-03-15T21:08:00.000-07:00

I am not much in the kitchen. One of my greater feats was telling a friend to grind up Reese's Cups and put them on top of a chocolate cake with peanut butter icing. While the actual work was going on, I was throwing the excess Reese's Cups at her boyfriend to see if he could catch them in his mouth.

With all of this said, I watch just enough food network to be dangerous. I made a vain attempt to cook Cornish hens one time because of the Neelys' show. However, the competition shows are the only network productions that I can really watch. And the granddaddy of all food network competitions is Iron Chef-more specifically for us, Iron Chef America.

However, i was a little concerned when asked to judge an Iron Chef competition as part of a Disciple Now. While I enjoy both the show and food, I also realize that cooking is not the easiest thing in the world and to expect 7-12 graders to create culinary masterpieces is a bit much. Furthermore, when you judge a contest, you have to at least taste all of the items, otherwise your judgment is a bit skewed. And even if the students were providing their very best efforts, I was a little nervous about the secret ingredient. Secret ingredients are a little scary when you have accomplished chefs. When you have an eighth grader who can jack up a Hot Pocket, a secret ingredient may put you in the hospital.

The youth pastor had prepared the students ahead of time and they had showed up with everything save the secret ingredient. Some of them brought raw chicken. Others brought eggs. I was a little nervous, half-expecting some kid to roll around in contaminated peanut butter. They were shaking and baking up ideas when the youth pastor announced the ingredient. I was about to be part of Battle Ham!

Ham is not easy to work into anything that is not a sandwich. I have to make an overt effort to eat ham; I never say, "I think that I will eat ham today." This ham was not even sandwich ham; it was 'fresh off the hock' kind of ham. And this ham was presented to me in every way that you can imagine.

I ate a ham pot pie. I ate a hamburger, complete with ground ham. I ate some twisted macaroni and cheese with ham. Lots of breakfast type ham presentations crossed my path; some of the ham wrapped around chicken and fried. This really posed an enormous threat to all things safe and edible, in my humble opinion. There were 'hambrellas' placed on cookie nuggets. One group even ground up ham in a red velvet cake batter.

The funniest part to me was that one group decided to do a medley of Mexican. They did ham and steak fajitas, complete with ham salsa and a sopapilla with ice cream chocolate sauce and a ham garnish. I realized that their food would have been the same with or without the ham. They made fajitas and said, "Throw some ham in that!"
They conjured up salsa and someone slapped some pig in and said, "Boom! Ham!" And ham on ice cream-that had to be an accident.

When it was all said and done, the contest was an 'other white meat' filled success. But I did leave with a few prevailing questions about myself. Are my faith and the actions that my faith generates something that deeply rooted in me, or just something that accentuates me? It seems like it easy for all of us to 'do what we're supposed to do.' Yet when we look at the life of Jesus (not to mention the Old Testament prophets), we see that doing the right thing for the wrong reason is a reprehensible act.

If nothing else, this weekend gave me something to chew on...

Rainy December

2008-12-13T20:10:00.000-08:00

It has been raining in Chattanooga for a month. And not just here and there. Big rain. Rain coat rain. 'It looks like the Amazon in my backyard' kind of rain. 'Be careful not to get depressed' kind of rain.
It's raining a lot.

We are sitting in our living room about a week ago with Shepherd. Hope noticed a girl, probably fourteen or fifteen, walking down the street with nothing covering her from the rain but a fleece hoodie. It does not take a very an REI employee to know that fleece is not what you would call 'rain gear.' Hope told me that she had just bought an umbrella and wanted me to take it to her.

I walked through the house looking for shoes. Hope told me to hurry. So I threw on a pair of flip flops and ran outside with jeans, flip flops, and a white t-shirt that had shrunk a little too much to be wearing in public. I was halfway to the street when I realized how far down the road the girl was. I took off running and yelling at the girl. As I ran, I accidentally pushed the umbrella extend button.

I had not really thought about how to get her attention. So I just started yelling whatever came to my mind. "Hey you!" I blurted out first. I saw her look over her shoulder with concern. "Hey, come back here!" I yelled, waving the umbrella above my head. She picked up the pace. "Stop!!!" She started to jog briskly. Because I don't jog, I walked faster.

It hit me. This kid had an overweight, seemingly angry man running after her with what probably looked like a club of some sort.

I finally yelled, " I'm not going to hurt you! I want to give you an umbrella!" She was almost out of sight. I turned around to walk back to my house. In that instant, I heard a voice from up the road asking loudly, "What kind is it?"

It took a whole lot for me not to reply, 'The kind that keeps you dry!'

Bad Ideas Really Sting

2008-10-17T07:50:00.000-07:00

Youth ministers are some of the most entertaining people on planet earth. They design interesting T-shirts. They order mass quantities of pizza and frozen lasagna. They can tune out all the noise on a fifteen passenger bus for hours at a time. If you look up 'multi-task' in the dictionary, there should be a picture of a youth minister. I have the incredible opportunity to spend time with at least one youth pastor each week. And, if nothing else, my sermon illustrations are better for it.
Last October, I was with a group of students from Chattanooga. We were somewhere in the middle of Tennessee. We were doing an event based on 'The Amazing Race' where the students were in cars with adults racing from place to place, trying to find clues so they could move to the next location. One of my youth minister friends (we will call him Joe, because that is his name) had forgotten to place a clue in the woods. This was the area where I was the moderator.
When Joe realized this, he came screaming in his Toyota Corolla to our location. Joe took off sprinting into the woods. He then moved to his next location, because, as most youth ministers, his schedule was a little off kilter.
The hunt was competitive, as most youth scavenger hunts are. The event was more intense because on the line was a free ski trip. This intensity culminated before my very eyes as every group showed up within seconds of one another (except for my buddy Mike's group, which was lost.) I quickly gave them their clue. All four groups, within seconds of one another, took off sprinting into the woods. Moments later, all of the groups were sprinting back. This made no sense, because they could only read the clue one team at a time. Then I noticed there was a cloud above their heads. A flying, buzzing cloud. Due to his frantic hurry, Joe had not realized he had placed the clue below a hornets' nest. Due to me not wanting to walk into the woods, I did not notice either.
One boy had his shirt off, swinging it above his head like a helicopter. Another boy was yelling, in a voice many would consider too deep for his size, "We have to go back in there! My brother did not come out!" I reassured him that it was a trip into the woods, not World War II, and that Hitler and the Axis Powers were not going to hold his brother hostage. I also comforted him by reminding him that his brother wouldn't even be stung that much, because he had on a long-sleeved paint ball shirt with a spider on it. I reminded him that hornets were afraid of spiders, especially spiders that play paintball, and he calmed down a lot.
The retreat was a lot of fun. There were a few stings, but nothing that some Benadryl could not handle. And some kids did get to go to Colorado for free. However, they hid some clues by some grizzly bear/polar bear hybrids. And Bears are not afraid of spiders. Or paint balls.