When We Can’t Forgive

I have a friend who has been deeply hurt by someone important in his life.  And knowing what happened to him it is very easy to sympathize with his pain.  What she did was very hurtful and his anger was justified in some ways in the beginning. I think anger is a very important and necessary part of the grieving and healing process, for a time being.

But lately we’ve had some conversations about it and he’s still angry.  It been several years in fact since the original events happened.  And now every encounter with her is colored by the original events.  I recently asked him when he would let it go and he said several times, “I just can’t forgive her.”

When someone says, “I can’t forgive that person,” it’s easy to assume that they mean, “I won’t forgive.”  And sometimes this is true.  But I was thinking about times in my life that I have felt that way.  And I now wonder if the statement is more often a truly ironic statement.  I wonder if at these moments when I was essentially saying I won’t, I was really meaning I can’t.

Because how often do we really practice forgiveness?  Even as a church?  When a leader falls aren’t we more likely to crucify him than restore him?  When someone “falls” do we really take Jesus at his word when he said, forgive seventy times seven?

Forgiveness is just not a paradigm in which the world (and often the church) lives in.  We practice saying, “I’m sorry,” but how often is this for expediency because we need something from the other person or we don’t like people being mad at us.  And when the offense is high enough, thus seriously jeopardizing our reputation, it is just as easy to abandon the relationship.

Forgiveness essentially means, “to leave behind.”  But to leave offense behind means abandoning the very thing that allows us to be angry in the first place.  And the anger just feeds our desire to strike back harder the original offense.  And if we’ve never practiced forgiveness, how are we going to be able to do it when it is really required in our lives.  So without the understanding of how to forgive, we are essentially locked in a state of oppression…of our own free will.

Forgiveness requires love.  It requires stepping into our own humanity and seeing with eyes of compassion.  It means letting go of our right to remain wounded for the sake of sympathy.  It means stepping into our own maturity as human beings and seeing the person who hurt us as infinitely more valuable than any harm they could do to us.

And it is so easy for us to say, “Come on. Isn’t that a little hyperbole?  Isn’t that stretching it a little too far? But this is exactly what Jesus did on the cross.  He took the posture that no matter what we could do to him, we were still worth it.

I use to always get bent out of shape when I would read the way Jesus approached forgiveness.  He said things like:

14For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. 15But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins. (Matthew 6:14-15)

That’s just harsh. But what if Jesus understood that if we can’t forgive others we’re creating a standard that we will then use on ourselves.  Or that the standard we are using on others is indicative of the standard we are already using on ourselves.  Doesn’t forgiveness then essentially mean to release the very thing that is killing us?

And so when someone says, “I can’t, is it more restorative to approach them with an understanding that they are truly stuck, that the statement is indicative of something deeply troubling in their life?

Interested in your thoughts.

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An Observation On Relationships

Most of my healthy human relationships are those that have forgiving boundaries of interdependence and mutual respect for dignity.  In these relationships diversity and differences are celebrated in a way that leads to creativity and admiration for the best of that person.

Most of my unhealthy relationships are those that I seek to be validated from or to be fixed by.  In these relationships I am needy, demanding and sometimes a jerk.

I’m trying to live in the former.

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A One Year Reflection

About a year ago I began this blog with the intent of simply journaling my own exploration with this thing called Missio Dei. This is what I have learned so far.

– I really love the relationships that have come from this blog.  These are my explorations and musings but when you participate you give me a great gift of your thoughts as well.  Thank you.  I value these conversations more than you all will ever know.

– I miss people who comment a lot and then disappear.  Kind of like a friend that you have a great beer with and then they move away.

– I am a writer, but it was in the practice of writing every day that I became aware that I am a writer.  Since I started at sixteen, I’ve written two books, six screenplays, two plays, and a thousand essays for school.  But it was this blog that made me aware of how much I love to write.  The discipline has made me aware of my foibles (I hate editing), my joys (I love conversations), the richness of thoughts and ideas, and the blessing that comes from hearing how God has impacted our world.

– I can see how people can really love blogging and really loathe it, or become tired of it.  There are days when I have nothing to say, and days when I can’t stop writing.  Thank God for the scheduled publish date and drafts.  I have too many to count now and when I’m stuck I take a peek back into what I was thinking two months ago.

– Thank God for free photos.  iStock, even thought its much more professional, was beginning to cost me a small fortune.

– There is a cost to thinking out loud.  People can misunderstand me or even jump to significant conclusions that I didn’t say.  I never thought I would have to write this post.

– Exposing my thoughts to the public has made me very aware of the cost and consequences of doing so.  I had significant consequences show up in my life because of this blog.  And this has made me ask some very important questions in my life about what I believe and the cost of doing so.  It has grounded my thinking by requiring me to ask if I really believe what I say.  And I do.

– My favorite post was half written while pulling weeds and almost never got published because I wondered if it would be taken wrong.  Then Steve mentioned it and it blew up into my all time post.

– People don’t read blogs on the weekends, at least not mine.  No worries though.  Monday is the biggest day and slowly flows down from there.

It’s been a great ride so far.  I can’t wait to see what this next year brings.

Much love to you all.

Jonathan

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A True Friend

This looks like a movie I want to really see. (ht)  And it got me thinking about what really is a true friend.  Is it someone we’ve known all of our lives, or someone we’ve just met yet seem to connect so well?  Is it someone who blows smoke up our arses when we need it, or is it someone who can bring clarity to our lives?  Is it someone who is just like you, or someone whose contrast reveals your own qualities?  Or is it someone who sees something special within us and works to brings out that?

Who is the one person who brings out the best of you?

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Afraid To Hope

Sometimes it’s really hard to have hope.

Yesterday I got to sit down with one of four friends that I have been praying for for 15 years. Peter (not his name) has been a lifelong drug user, been convicted of a felony and spent a year in prison, and has been homeless a lot the last year. He’s always on the verge of “ending it” wondering out loud so someone will rescue him. His family almost always does, providing him with a warm meal and a bed to sleep on until he finds an alternate. He even has a job that has rehired him, no exaggeration, at least 100 times over the last fifteen years.

His sister told me the family decided to do an intervention and place him in rehab. Peter was cool with this, telling everyone this was the final time, that he needed to get sober. Sad thing is I heard these exact words from him four months ago, and a year ago, and every time I’ve seen him over the last ten years.

His family spent the last two days trying to get him in a county rehab program but they didn’t have an open bed, so he had to wait…and wait…and wait. Two days passed and no bed. But this time ended up being part of God’s plan to get the family together for those two days and just sit and have some painful conversations.

And one sister said, “I’m afraid to hope for you.”

Think about that statement for a second. This is a family that has stuck it out for 44 years with this guy. They refused to give up on him. But every time he came around it stirred up some very painful possibilities. What happens if you are lying to us? What happens if you do this rehab thing and then go back to your crap? You’re asking me to invest in hope, in the possibility that God can show up, and I don’t know if I can anymore.

For some strange reason, his sister decided to bring him over to my house and we got to talk. And I know that this two day pow-wow with his family got him really thinking. If they didn’t believe in him who would? He had destroyed every other relationship in his life. This was it. And for the first time we got to really talk…deeply and honestly. No BS. And for the first time he listened. I don’t know why. God moved. We actually prayed and got to some serious root issues regarding trust and the work of the enemy in his life to produce significant lies about God’s love. Something broke. For the first time, Peter could see that he was worth fighting for. He was released. We cried…a lot. It was the first time I have seen him cry.

And to be honest I almost didn’t get to experience this moment. I knew he was there and almost didn’t come home. I was afraid to hope. I was afraid that if I invested in him one more time he would squander it. I almost missed the amazing gift God wanted to give me by participating in his restoration.

And then I began to realize how God must feel when we walk away. For some reason, he just doesn’t give up hope. He’s the Father who waits on the edge of the porch, with one eye on the end of the road. I need that in my life.

Please know that no matter what the pain, don’t give up hope.

Listening: The Cure For Pain by Jon Foreman

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The Scoreboard

What’s the scoreboard in God’s Kingdom? How do we know that the kingdom is really showing up in our lives?

We want to know the score don’t we. We want to know how we’re doing. We want to know when things are bad and when things are good. We have an adversary. But do we know the score?

And when a scoreboard is involved, we like numbers. And the temptation is to think that the number is people who show up on a Sunday. Some people call this butts in the seats.  But if this is true, if the point is really about the number of people in the crowd, why did Jesus turn up the heat when the crowds got bigger? Why did Jesus let people walk away?  I’ll say it again, Jesus spent three years with 12 people.

I would offer the number to look at is restored relationships. Are our relationships growing and developing? Are they expanding rather than contracting? Are they deepening rather than evaporating? And restored relationships is only possible when we practice love and trust. They are only possible when we engage restoration with our own Heavenly Father, to first be loved.

What’s your scoreboard look like?

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Laughing At Ourselves

I have a friend in my life who makes me laugh absolutely every time I see him. He’s hysterically funny. And his humor is often centered in making fun of himself or doing some caricature that is hilarious. In a crowded room he can take over, capturing people’s attention.

And I realized that his power is the hidden ability to communicate brokenness in a way that we could accept. He was reflecting back our own absurdity, silliness and humanity in a way that we could laugh at. But he was allowing us to laugh at him instead. It always reminded me of the class clown at school who always grabbed the attention. We all secretly wished we could be him even though we could NEVER do what he did.

Humor has always been man’s best medicine because deep down we know that it’s true.

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Compassion For My Friends Who Were Enemies

Note: This is one of the more personal entries I have ever written but something inside of me said share it.

Yesterday was a profound day for me. I faced what was one of my deepest fears and finally said, “No more.” I said goodbye to a long time friend that I had assumed protected me, when in fact had caused some of my deepest regrets in relationship. His name was Rejected. I know that I couldn’t have done so without my brothers, friends who are part of my missional discipleship group.

We were each doing work around the question of where God is calling us to trust. I was leading a good friend of mine who said it was time to let go of rejection. Something inside of me resonated with this statement but I was more focused on leading and so I let it pass me by. When everyone had engaged the work, I recognized it was time to end the night and move to blessing round. But my brothers quickly stepped in and said, “You aren’t getting out of this one.” I wasn’t purposely dodging anything but I didn’t realize that I was blind to this moment when God was speaking to my heart.

I stepped to the line, where we practice stepping into the Kingdom of God through love and trust. And instantly it hit me that it was time to let go of rejection, like my friend. The pain revolved around an incident with two friends from Junior High. This was my moment and I said goodbye. I knew that there was still work to do in this area and I committed to do it at a later time. Little did I realize that it would be the next morning.

This morning I was running and really began to dream about that day at the park in Junior High. I was playing with my “best friends” Tony and Shannon. It’s a memory that has stuck with me forever and was very easy to imagine. We were playing Frisbee together. I threw to Tony, who threw to Shannon, who threw to me and so on. And then I threw to Tony, who threw it to Shannon…who threw it to Tony…who threw it to Shannon. And Shannon turned to me and said, “We don’t want to be your friend anymore.” It was honestly one of the most devastating days in my life. The pain of that moment has stuck with me forever.

I can easily remember the faces and smells and sounds. The color green of the grass and the location where we were playing at that moment. And for the first time I began to look for the enemy there. He was not longer a part of me, having said goodbye last night, but he was still there. For the first time I felt a deep sense of freedom from him as I danced around the park. I kept grabbing the Frisbee and throwing it in the air in joy, completely free from the pain. There was no anger, no sorrow or pain. He was no longer my friend who protected me from the injustices of what they had done. In the past, with rejection as my alli, I could look at Tony and Shannon and hate them. Now the hate was gone.

And what happened next comes straight out of the movie Troy, with Brad Pitt. There’s a scene in the beginning of the movie where Achilles faces a giant in battle one on one, and in one move thrust his sword downward into his shoulder and through his body. The giant simply crumbles and dies. Well I did the same thing. I was dancing around the park throwing the Frisbee in the air, very aware of the joy that came from releasing my rejection. And then I saw him. He was a black mass standing in between me and my friends. And so I jumped up and thrust my sword into his shoulder and he dissolved into dust. Rejection was gone.

But then something really interesting happened that I have never seen before. I looked around and could see everyone in the playground had an enemy that was tormenting them. It was almost surreal. I could even see Tony’s and Shannon’s. And I can’t tell you how much sorrow I felt for them. At that moment I realized they were just as lost as I was back then.

And I began to wonder how many of my friends who had hurt me or rejected me were simply hurting from their own rejection? How many were broken and looking for love just like I was, yet constantly responding to the whispers to destroy relationship? And at that moment I realized my Father was inviting me to humanize Tony and Shannon. He was inviting me to restore their dignity and have compassion for them, to see them as my Father saw them. With rejection at my side, whispering in my ear, “You can’t let them do that to you,” it became so easy to simply hate them. But with rejection gone, I could now forgive them and have compassion for them.

And as I stood there in that park, freedom was now my friend.

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The Entertained Generation

When I was a child I used to go to my grandmother’s house in Ontario California for a week during the summer.  We’d wake up by 7:00 because there were no curtains in the room we stayed in and the sun used to shine in our bedroom.  The first thing we would do is rush and turn on the television and watch our favorite cartoons.  But once breakfast was served, my grandmother would turn off the television and tell us, “You two should play outside.”  When we used to complain, she would then say, “You kids should be so lucky.  I didn’t even have a television set when I was your age.”
Fast forward 30 some odd years.  I spent a weekend a while ago with some friends at  nice little retreat up in the hills.  It was an absolutely stunning location with so much beauty.  My wife and I have a strict rule of no television until after school during school year.  On vacation we relax that a bit.  But sensing the beauty of the surroundings I turned off the television and told the kids (some mine and some my friends) to go out and play.  My kids are used to this but my friends kids instantly grabbed their hand-held Nintendos and spent the next two hours playing them.  When they had to turn them off the first thing they said was, “I’m bored.”

And now I’m wondering if I’m turning into my grandmother or this generation just doesn’t know how to use its imagination.  Some of my best days were spent with the television off.

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Thank You

If you are reading this…Thank you.

I’ve been in a really great presence of love lately.  And this has made me aware of how blessed I am.  One of the things I am blessed to have is people in my life who dialog with me about what is one my heart.  And the more I learn to share what is one my heart the more I realize it is on other people’s hearts too.  This learning to share and let what is inside come out is not the easiest thing for me but it is worth it.  The sharing and dialog has enriched my life in so many great ways.

So today I want to say thank to everyone who passes by and reads this.  Know that I appreciate what you give to me.

And if you can, let me know who you are and why you read my blog.  Thanks in advance.

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Does Love Need Translating

I live in California. Over the last thirty years it has become increasingly multicultural. We have every nationality in my neighborhood: European, Asian, Filipino, Hispanic, East Indian, German, Russian, and African American. I have several neighbors whose household language is different from mine. And as I drive by their houses, I often wonder how the Gospel is best communicated to them. How do we effectively reach out to those around us who speak different languages than us. And I find it very easy to want to simply dismiss my ability to reach them because of this cultural barrier. I tell myself that I have to learn a new language which I don’t really have time to do. I have to figure out ways to live and breathe their cultural so it will be relevant. But is it really that hard or am I making it hard to give myself an excuse?

And now, in a world of unending and ever increasing complexity (at least that’s what they say), we have to worry about how to communicate across a postmodern cultural barrier. I get this. I have watched first hand the cultural changes taking place in our society and I have watched the postmodern world emerge. I consider myself postmodern in an academic sense. But the thing about postmodern culture is that the person who is postmodern is likely to speak like me, and dress like me but is much more astute about culture, which kind of takes away my excuse a little. They don’t just blindly accept the B.S. that the church is preaching.

And through a round about way this morning I ended up reading a comment about Steve Taylor’s book “The Out of Bounds Church?” The editorial review provides the following description:

“A creative and thorough exploration of what it can mean to be church in a postmodern world. This book posts back from the creative edge of the emerging church. Weaving the life and liturgy of emergent Christian groups with biblical reflection and the riches of the Christian tradition, you’ll start to see whats happening not only in your own backyard, but across the globe.”

A gentleman named Roger Overton provides an intriguing comment with only three stars. He says:

“Postcard 1 really sets the stage for the rest of the book. Mr. Taylor draws out the differences between Frank Zeffarelli’s 1968 Romeo and Juliet and Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 Romeo and Juliet. Each sought to translate Shakespeare’s text into contemporary culture. The implication is that the gospel has not changed, but the culture has, and in order to communicate it effectively we need to re-translate it.”

And I began to think about the gospel is something we tell, yes, but in simply choosing to tell it are we running from something. Isn’t it also something we live. And when we tell the story, we often need a translator to communicate in an increasingly postmodern culture, and even a multi-culture. The language we use has context and specific meaning to individuals. We say something but it’s not what we say that is communicated. It is what people hear that is communicated. And so the need for a translator becomes important.

But I was thinking about Jesus and the adulterous woman. This is the gospel story to me. It is love coming down and invading religious and hateful spaces that condemn and judge. It breaks in with a message of love that speaks how important we are to God. And he’s inviting us into a relationship in a Kingdom that provides life. But Jesus simply loved her by speaking to her dignity. He didn’t need a translator because his actions spoke so loudly.

And I began to really think about the commands to love God and love our neighbor. Could it be that the ability to communicate the Gospel’s message is found in the action of love? Could it be that it is really as simple as communicate with our actions and not just our words? Could the maxim, “Actions speak louder than words,” really be true?

What I have found is that the postmodern world is not really interested in what we communicate with our words. We’ve (I say we because I was born into this postmodern culture) learned that promises or words are easy and commitment to good through action is hard. And truth lies in the words AND deeds that remain congruent.

And this is why I think in a postmodern culture, the most powerful communication of God’s story is not going to be in word but in deed. It will be the simple ways we choose to love those around us, speaking to their dignity in a way that allows the kingdom to break into their hearts. It will be more powerful than words because it will be real. And when we lead with love, those around us will begin to ask and listen with ears that are longing for a true story.

Loving our neighbor is not easy but it is worth it. We need to love because we need love. And when we choose to love, we are choosing to believe our own story. We are choosing to show the world that what we say we believe we actually believe. And isn’t that what we really want?

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A Vision of Eternity

A friend of mine recently decided to take God up on His offer to be God.  It was awesome. And in true fashion God allowed him to be tested. But in the midst of a real trial my friend had decided that it was time to stop saying he would trust and really put it on the line to see if God would show up.  And I’m not kidding you, God did. He met my friend at the eleventh hour and let him know that He was trustworthy. He rescued him from a significant situation and provided in a way that was obvious that it was from God. I happened to be one of the first people who was around when he got the news. The look on my friends face was priceless. It was one of those experiences that gave me a glimpse of the divine, of eternity.

And the moment made me realize how many times I’ve doubted God’s ability to show up for me. I’ve taken matters into my own hands and tried to create some kind of outcome that I assumed would be better than what God would have for me. I hate when I do that. I have too many instances that leave me wondering why God puts up with me. I shake my head and say, “Okay God I get it now.” And then not moments later I’m scheming again.

C.S. Lewis once said that when we get to heaven the first words out of our mouths will be, “Ooooh. Oooooooohhh.” It’s the sound of sudden recognition of the obvious. It the awareness of what we should have known all a long but missed and now know.

And in light of Lewis’ words I realized tonight that eternity will be a celebration of the recognition of God’s ability to come through in the end. It will be the recognition of the awesomeness of God’s compassion and love for His creation, His children.  It will be an experience community and beauty and creativity as we look at each other and sit in awe of what we have experienced. A total redemption. It will be everyone saying, “Ooooooh. Ooooooohhh.”

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Dealing With Depression

Recently I’ve been dealing with family issues that realistically I’m not really prepared for.  And these issues have brought to the surface feelings that I’m not always comfortable with, namely depression.  I’m not running from it as much as I am simply trying to get through it.  And it’s funny what happens when you tell people your problems.  They always seem to have the right answer, as if they’ve really experienced what you’re going through.  I get why we do that.  We want to make others feel better.  But sometimes I don’t need the right answer, which makes me ask what I really need sometimes.

My dad is in the hospital after undergoing a serious surgery on his colon. He had to also remove his spleen and his appendix because of complications. My dad is 80 and has Parkinson’s disease.  He’s actually my stepfather but he’s my dad.  My birth father died in 1993 and my mom died in 2005.  The transition to loving a man who I’m not even related to has been a journey.  Not always easy but worth it.  And now that he’s nearing the end of his life I’m reminiscent of what it means to lose a parent again.  And to be honest just writing that last sentence made me cry.  I don’t like it.

To top it all off, my uncle is in the final stages of cancer.  I got a call from my aunt telling me that I should come down to see him very soon.  He just had a two strokes and a major heart attack.

My wife has been asking me why I haven’t gone down sooner.  Something in me doesn’t want to go.  Something in me wants to avoid death.  Something in me doesn’t want to see these two important men in my life hurting.  I want it to go back to how we were as a family ten years ago, all of us sitting around the family dinner table laughing together.  Something in me doesn’t want to hurt again. And these moments are simply seasons that I’m not prepared for.  They are the times in our lives that we can only experience as they come.

I got a call from a friend this morning and I told her how I honestly felt and told her what I really wanted was for someone to just buy me a bottle of wine and sit with me.  I don’t want answers right now.  I don’t want anyone to tell me how the think or feel.  I just want to know that you are there.  Let me sit with this for a bit.  I’m thankful that I have brothers who will do that with me.  But I also need to let myself sit with them.  To be honest and raw in the moment.  I’m not always good at doing that.

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Simple Faith Meme

Aaron at The Colorful Journey invited me to take part in a Simple Faith Meme started by Gary. The question is, “How would you define simple faith in Christ?”

Faith to me is surrendering to the winning side. It’s stepping into trust with my Heavenly Father who loves me deeply and embracing His Spirit. It’s taking the risk to live the life I was created for. It’s embracing love as the defining action in my life. And it’s enjoying the ride.

What is interesting is that I see this in my children. They don’t worry about things the way we do as adults. A friend of mine relayed a story to me that illustrates what I’m talking about. Another friend of ours sent out an email with a devotional that talked about a verse in Luke,

But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a child will never enter it.”—Luke 18:16-17

My friend was reading the devotional very early in the morning and uncharacteristically his seven year old daughter, who doesn’t usually wake up that early, walked into his office at that moment. My friend was intrigued by the idea that children don’t worry. So he asked his daughter, “Do you every worry about tomorrow?”

She looked at him with a funny face and said matter of factly, “Why?”

I look forward to the day when I can say, “Why?” I look forward to the moment when trust is just a way of life. I look forward to the day when surrendering is not the issue, but embracing the simple truth that He loves me more than I can possibly imagine.

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Love As A Transforming Agent

“Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” (Matthew 19:14)

I’m in a very interesting conversation with a few friends about the nature of God’s love and judgment. It’s not easy to have these conversations because what inevitably ensues is misunderstandings that can, but not always, lead to hurt feelings and assumptions. Doing it in posts and comments is even worse. Talking about what we believe means putting certain assumptions on the line, which can be a delicate process. We read what we hear, not what the other person says, which is often a recipe for disaster.

During one of these conversations, a friend mentioned that she was responding in light of the culture in Seattle, which could give Portland a run for the postmodern capital of the United States. And in light of this our conversations took on new meaning. My friend was responding from a predominantly postmodern culture. I grew up in a strong Baptist/non-denominational/Calvinistic background. We both realized that these histories colored our perceptions and we were responding to them. Her response was to defend truth. Mine was to defend love.

We are often a product of the culture we live in. We can’t avoid it. Where we live and the conversations we engage in these cultures plays a role in how we see the Gospel. I think this is why I love the Internet and blogging. It allows me to get out of my own culture and engage other cultures that are different.

I grew up in San Jose, which for the last twenty years has been a predominantly multicultural, agnostic community. I also grew up in one of the first mega-churches  in California that possessed a decidedly Baptist bent.  But by the late 90’s San Jose looked nothing like the place I grew up in. It has been transformed by the Internet boom and bust into the epitome of suburban consumer culture.

But just around the corner was Santa Cruz, which was the home to Dan Kimball and his book, They Like Jesus But Not The Church and The Emerging Church. Santa Cruz was a microcosm of Portland or Seattle. I grew up going to Capitola and spent many summer days on the beaches of Santa Cruz. And one thing that has always stood out to me is that within these cities, which are often havens for what we think of as hippies, is what can be characterized as a free love culture. The assumption I often hear is that these cultures are not open to the truth. And as Dan points out and I have found, this is just not true. Those within these cultures are actually very open to the truth. Just not a judgmental truth. Why, because they don’t see love. What they predominantly see is a forceful argument masking condescending judgment.

And I began to wonder if we as a church have taken the easier route resorting to truth at the expense of love. Truth is easier. It’s propositional. It can be defended. And if the person doesn’t agree, it’s easy to assume they just don’t get it. The smarter we are the more we can win. I get all of this because for so long I tried to be the smartest guy in the room. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get people to hear my version of truth.

But love is hard. It requires the Holy Spirit working through us to be produced. And that would mean letting go of control. It means letting God really love us when we don’t feel very loved. It means we can’t change people.  Love brings up images of Jesus with the children.  He didn’t resort to harsh criticism demanding that they know their total depravity.  In fact Jesus rarely spoke to people this way at all.  The more broken they were, the more he picked them out.  And when it was in his right to stone the adulterous woman, he…

resorts to love.  Is it possible that He knew love was a more powerful transforming agent?

Now that I’m in ministry I have the opportunity to engage these conversations on a constant basis. The more I listen, the more I find that what has driven these people away is self righteous, judgmental Christians. My heart bleeds because of this. But I’ve also become increasingly aware that I myself have encountered this culture. In fact it is the reason I identify with the emerging church. I have come to the conclusion that I don’t need condemnation as a mechanism for change. In fact it produced a downward spiral of debilitating shame.

It took me a long time to come to this place. I grew up in a predominantly Baptist background. Historically the message was always about “not sinning” and the separation of secular and sacred. But over time, the dissonance of this way of operating produced an intense doubt. And as I began to embrace love I realized that the pendulum has been predominantly on the side of judgment for too long. My own heart needed a balance of grace and love. Did I lose the truth? No. In fact love made truth more real than ever. Being loved allowed me to love in ways I never thought possible.

Which brings me back to the conversations I’ve been having. I’ve beens studying the church for about 15 years and what stands out is a strong tendency to fight for truth. I get this. But is it possible that cultures like Seattle, Portland, and even Santa Cruz are a response to this imbalance. And my own heart knows that what truly changed me was love, which is truth personified.

And as I engage love as a transforming agent, I am beginning to see fruit that I never saw before. I am beginning to have conversations that were previously never open to me. And I find that when I love, people begin to see Jesus in a way that they never could before. They may know they are broken, but love sees beyond the brokenness to their dignity.  I don’t need to remind them of hell because as I listen to their story I find they’ve already lived it. And it is love that draws them out to something better.  Love restores them and lets them know they are worth it to the Father.

The interesting thing in all of this is that truth is most real in love. I can engage people in propositional constructs that bend their minds but these conversations rarely produce real change. But when I show up with a helping hand because of love, it captures their attention immediately. My hope is that we as a church can embrace love as a change agent like never before.

What I keep coming back to is Jesus inviting us to love and not judge.

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New Blogs

A couple of friends of mine have new blogs.  Check em out.

Sacred Sideways

A Mending Shift

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Postcards From The Edge

Grace sent me a postcard from the edge with a very good question.

“Which is better, to be happily deceived or disillusioned, yet aware?”

What’s your thought and why?

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Why We Need The Father

I had an amazing conversation with a friend the other day over some really great sushi. He is in the midst of one of the greatest challenges in his life and I wanted to let him know that he was worth fighting for. I wanted to communicate to him that he was loved. When I looked into his eyes, I knew that he knew he wanted to believe it but so much in his life has told him the opposite was true. And as he stood at the doorsteps of the what the future would mean, he needed hope.

The lunch gave way to a conversation about why people don’t fight for their own dignity. Why do they cast off as worthless what God has given us, even at great cost to themselves? Why couldn’t He see what God saw when he chose to send Jesus for our sake? Why couldn’t my friend seem to find the maturity to step into his own fight. The obvious answers included the enemy and the possibility that he just lazy. But something didn’t sit right in this case. My friend was deeply interested in his own restoration. He had obvious evidence to the fact. He just couldn’t seem to identify the obstacles in the way. He was stuck and I couldn’t seem to get him out.

And for a brief moment I began to put myself in his shoes. I imagined what it meant to live under a Father that was deeply broken in ways we can only imagine. I began to image the frightening reality of a Father that did terrible things to my friend. It was not good.

And then something hit me. What if my friend’s understanding of what it meant to grow into an adult looked like his earthly Father? What if he had somehow bought the lie that if he were to grow he would end up like the man who has produced so much pain and suffering? Why would he want to do that? And then I realized why reading the whole story in Scripture first hand is so important. We need something to replace those images that distort our picture of what we are meant to become. And if we’re really made in the image of God, we need a whole image of God the Father, the one that loves us more than we can imagine. We need a true image of the Father that is fighting for us, validating us and holding us, letting us know we are worth it. We need this image so we can begin to step out of the oppression and into what it means to grow.

And so I ask, what do your images of the Father look like?

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My Friend the Pagan

For the September Syncroblog.

I have a friend who is a Pagan. It’s not something you really hear about much, at least in Sacramento, although it is growing. I really wouldn’t know he was pagan unless he told me, and that he has Wiccan book in his briefcase. To be honest I really am not an expert on paganism and how it plays out in his life. I know enough to be dangerously misrepresentative of it. So I don’t say much. If I were to say anything about my friend, it is that he is remarkably like me about ten years ago. He’s in wonder about the future, very broken in relationships, and desperately wondering if he can make anything out of this life.

And on the days we have met, as with any day, I am not reminded of what he believes but what I believe. And sitting across from him I want to see him the way Jesus would see him. I want to show him that he is worth it to God and that the cross was equally meant for him as well as me. Am I being love to him across the table. Am I speaking to his dignity or am I shaming him? And I’m asking myself questions in these conversations. Have I earned the right to be heard? Have I given him an experience with the Gospel, not just what is in it? Have I shows him he is worth it to God, not just told him so?

I have often sat across from the table and have been tempted to think that I can change his life. I have the answer to his problem. And something inside of me reminds me that what this is really saying is, “Look at me. See what I know.” I don’t want that anymore. Only my Father’s Spirit can change a life. And he gets that through Jesus. But I do want to be love. I want to be part of God’s process to restore his life, if this is what my friend wants. I recognize that in love, God is not interested in controlling my friend, indoctrinating him with a belief system that is reminiscent of religion. What he’s interested in is restoring my friend’s heart, so that he may be love to the world around him.

Others in the conversation

Matthew Stone at Journeys in Between
Christianity, Paganism, and Literature at Notes from the Underground
Heathens and Pagans and Witches … oh my! at Calacirian
Sam Norton at Elizaphanian
Erin Word at Decompressing Faith
Chasing the Wild Goose at Eternal Echoes
Visigoths Ahoy! at Mike’s Musings
Steve Hollinghurst at On Earth as in Heaven
Undefined Desire at Igneous Quill
A Walk on the Wild Side at Out of the Cocoon
Observations on Magic in Western Religion at My Contemplations
Tim Abbott at Tim Abbott
Spirituality and the Zodiac: Stories in the Cosmos at Be the Revolution
Rejection, Redemption, and Roots at One Hand Clapping

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What Do You Really Want?

What is the cost of restoring a heart?

I had a conversation this morning with someone who shares my interest in Missio Dei and engaging God’s mission of restoration and reconciliation. She was recounting the cost of missional discipleship and the cost of staying within the mission. To engage someone in the heart means we have to deal with all the junk and the pain. In certain cases we fight for people even when they don’t want to fight for themselves. And the person we’re fighting for turns on us because they somehow misunderstood us. And we even know that they are blind to what they are doing. We know they can’t see the lashing out and running away, or the apathy is their own well established defense mechanisms at work. But we can see it. We can see the cost all of the drama is having on those around them, and within us.

And the wounds we encounter in discipleship can sometimes bring out the worst in us. We somehow lose our capacity to respond from a place of love, rather a place of dodging the B.S. Rumors fly and the gossip mill gets running at full speed. People we thought we knew well begin to wonder with a tilt of their head and a furrow in their brow, all from the grandstands.  We have to spend the time picking up the broken pieces left by those who left, never allowing us the space to reconcile, much less defend ourselves. And our own hearts begin to wonder if it is all really worth it.

At certain points we encounter those moments when it would just be so much easier to just stop fighting for people’s hearts and let them go.  And in a lot of cases it means letting people completely go, out into the world and out of relationship. We experience the messiness of our wounds and junk and sometimes just want to give up. This is the temptation within the mission, that the cost is just too high, the enemy inviting us into the comfortable places of the sideline.  And mind you, these are all people within the body of Christ, working out the winter chill of confrontation.

And in this space, I begin to wonder if it is easier to restore someone’s front yard than it is to restore a heart? Is it easier to serve as an usher and pass the plate? Is it easier to simply sit in the pew and listen, never speaking anything more than the company line. Because there is a right answer that allows us to hide. There is a right answer that allows us to live in the safe confines of our plastic self, never experiencing any fear or pain. We’ve had enough of that, haven’t we? We can spend lifetimes listening to the Gospel and never really experiencing the Gospel.

And the more I follow Jesus, the more I realize that He is inviting me into a painful journey. My mentor often says, “Its like surgery.” But in the mystery of the Gospel, the pain is restoring my soul. It’s inviting me into facing my fears so they don’t define me. It’s removing the junk that keeps me locked in isolation and loneliness. It’s removing those things that keep me from being the beautiful reflection of my Heavenly Father. And He did it because I’m worth it to Him. But in that very principle, he calls me to see my neighbor, good friend, even my broken enemy as worth it. My restoration is then intimately tied to restoring those around me. The more I step into who I really am, validating the dignity of those around me, the more I validate my own.

I’ve been following Jesus for a long time, and the longer I do, the more I begin to see that the cost of restoring a heart is worth it, which is why I need community. I need people around me on the journey reminding me why I do this. I need people who can help me when I fall, and restore me to wholeness and how He sees me.

And then I am reminded of why I do all of this. I want to know. I want to know what it means to love deeply, and not from a place of co-dependence or searching for validation, but of restoration. I want to know the love of the Father that would allow me to go to the cross freely in trust, to give up what He is asking me for. I want to see me as He sees me, His beloved child. I want to live my life, not defined by what Adam did, but by what Jesus did. I want to know the wisdom of what it means to take up my cross and follow him. I want to be part of something bigger than just me. I want to see the look on my friends faces the moment they allow a simple truth to penetrate their hearts, that God really, really, really does love them more than they can imagine.

So, I ask, what do you really want?

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