Included?

Everyone knows what it is like to be excluded. You are not welcome at the cool kids’ table. You are picked last for the baseball team at recess. You do not get the promotion to the blowing and going team at work. The love of your life tells you she does not love you anymore. Exclusion hurts. 

Churches should not exclude, but we do. We have a thousand subtle ways of telling you this church is not for you. It can be as simple as a look that says, “That is my seat, not yours.”  Sometimes the message is spoken out loud. A shameful chapter of my own church’s history includes a time when deacons were to meet African-Americans at the door and direct them to the nearest African-American congregation. That was wrong. 

Churches can shame people and chase them away. Church people can judge you if you are divorced, have had an abortion, struggle with sexual sin or identity, have an addiction, or vote for a different political party.   Funny how the very thing Jesus told us not to do (“Judge not, lest ye be judged”) we excel in doing. 

Jesus reached out to people on the fringe. The lepers were excluded; Jesus touched them. The woman with the issue of blood was considered “unclean;” Jesus healed her and told her she was forgiven. The woman caught in the act of adultery (I always wondered where the man was) was about to be stoned; Jesus told her, “I do not condemn you; go and sin no more.”  The blind man was told his sin was the reason he was blind; Jesus healed him. Zacchaeus was excluded because he was a traitor and a collaborator; Jesus went to his house to eat with him. The sinful woman was condemned by Simon; Jesus forgave her.   

Jesus warned us to deal with the logs in our own eyes before we try to point out the specks in other people’s eyes. We are not very good at this. Maybe before we post something on Social Media, we should ask God to show us our own shortcomings. 

My friend George Bullard recently shared his memories of serving as a pastor in a rough section of Louisville, Kentucky. This is what he said:

“When I ponder the people in that church and community, I think of the following things.

·        They robbed our house two weeks before Christmas. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        The police periodically chased people down the alley outside our bedroom window, shooting at them. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        There were drug raids about every two months at the house directly across the street. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        My wife’s jewelry box ended up in the bedroom of the mother of the boys who robbed our house. Just two blocks away. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        We varied our pattern and tricked people who knew someone left our church each Sunday with the offering of mostly cash. Church-offering robberies occurred periodically in the community. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        The teenage boys who robbed our house were the younger brothers of the older teens who stole our church sound system. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        Two teenage girls in the church less than 15 years old had “back alley” abortions. But they still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        A sixteen-year-old girl who was seven months pregnant walked more than a mile in 20-degree weather without a coat to get to our church because she heard we could give her food. The father of her baby had abandoned her. She still needed the unconditional love of God.

·        Vacation Bible School was always in the evenings. A few women who taught in VBS said they would be there to lead their class if their husbands drank enough beer after work to fall asleep on the couch. They still needed the unconditional love of God.”

We might want to only put together “pretty people” to come to our churches. The truth is there are no put-together “pretty people.”  There are simply people who need the grace and unconditional love of God. And the church needs to welcome “All who are weary and burdened.”  Jesus and his church are here to give you rest, to share with you the unconditional love of God, to love you as you are, and to help you find where you need to be.

There is an old hymn l love that says, “Whosoever surely meaneth me…”  When Jesus came to save the world, he had you in mind. Whosoever surely meaneth you – and all the people you judge.

Luck or God at Work?

We are told, “Some people have all the luck.”  The basketball player hits an impossible shot as the buzzer sounds: “What a lucky shot!”  Or maybe lots of practice.  What about all the times when a player shoots the ball at the buzzer, and it bounces off the rim?  Bad luck, or just the odds of making a shot from 60 feet away? 

Luck, we are told, is really just a matter of probability.  A poker player wins four hands in a row.  We say, “He’s on a lucky streak.”  The wise player knows no streak lasts forever, the truth behind the classic country song, “You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em; know when to fold ‘em.”   

On the other hand, the good things that have happened in my life seem to be too specific to be random acts of chance.  When I was a child, riding between my parents in the front seat, a car topped the hill we were climbing, passing another car.  The road was under construction.  In a split-second decision, my stepfather jerked the wheel to guide our car to the one place on the road that seemed to offer an escape.  The other car missed us by less than a foot.  In a cloud of dust, my stepfather put the car back onto the pavement.  It happened so fast; our hearts did not begin to pound until after the danger had passed.  One of my brothers said from the back seat, “We were lucky.”  My mother replied, “No.  We were saved by God.” 

In my seventh decade of life, I see so much good that cannot be luck.  Blessings come I do not deserve.  For starters, my family is better than I deserve.  My career as a pastor has been richer, better, and more challenging than I could have imagined.  I was given a gift for communicating and writing.  Yes, I had to develop those gifts, but standing up in front of people does not frighten me.  During sermons, an insight will come out of my mouth I never thought of before.  “Where did that come from?” my mind inquires.  My only answer is “God.”   

I think about the bigger picture.  I did not deserve to be born an American.  I am blessed to live in a time and in a country where I am free to think, express myself, disagree with political leaders, and not fear retribution.  This is rare in history.  I did nothing to bring about indoor plumbing or air conditioning, or electric lighting, but each of these is a blessing I enjoy every day. 

On my father’s side of the family, the men tend to die young from heart troubles.  I’m still here.  My cardiologist says my heart is strong.  I have some health issues, but I am blessed to live in an age where daily medication helps.   

Could it be that much of what we call “luck” is really God at work?  Could it be that God is better to you than you even notice?  I heard a man say he did not have enough faith to believe in luck.  Probability could not account for the good things that come into his life.   

You may not feel lucky or blessed.  I get that.  If we could sit down and you were to tell me your story, I’m sure I would be amazed that you are able to get through a day.  But if you would let me, I would also ask you to let me tell you stories of people who have gone through horrific pain and loss and, somehow, still saw God at work.   

I might tell you the story of Louie Zamperini, a famous Olympic runner.  His plane went down in the Pacific in World War II; he and one other crewmate survived for 47 days with little food or water.  He was found by the Japanese, tortured, beaten, and mistreated for two years in a POW camp.  Released at the end of the war, he returned to California suffering from PTSD, a condition not well understood at the time.  To cope, he drank heavily.  At the urging of his wife, he attended a Billy Graham Crusade and accepted Christ.  The nightmares of his POW days ceased.  He spent the rest of his life advocating forgiveness and working with disadvantaged youth.   

Hearing his story, there are parts that sound like Louie was unlucky; other parts sound like he was the luckiest man alive.  I don’t think luck was involved; I think God was at work.  To paraphrase the Apostle Paul, God was working good in all things, according to his plan for Louie’s life. 

Pause your life.  Ask God to show you where he is at work.  It might be in the beauty of the day.  It might be in the laugh of your grandson.  It might be the promotion you just received.  It might be in the tragedy that did not crush you.  Open your eyes and see.

Doors, Windows, and Sledgehammers…

People talk about God’s path for life as a series of open and shut doors. The thinking goes that God shuts some doors of opportunity, and we cannot go through them. Other doors are open to us, and that represents God’s will.   

I have seen God open doors of opportunity in my life. Doors opened for me to go to the college that was the right fit for me. Doors opened for me to do graduate work and deepen my understanding of God’s word. Doors opened for our family to buy our first house.   

But God’s will for our lives is not just a matter of open and closed doors. I turned the doorknobs of some doors, and they opened. I went through the door and made myself at home in the new room. Sometimes it didn’t take long for me to realize this room was not a healthy place for me to be. Sometimes I was blind or stubborn and stayed way too long in a toxic environment. Just because a door opens doesn’t mean God wants you to go through that door. 

It is also true that I picked the locks of some closed doors because I had a sense of what was on the other side, and I wanted it more than I wanted to follow God. Having worked so hard to get through the door, I would stay to get what I wanted. Then I wanted more, so I stayed longer. I could hear God’s voice calling me to get out of the room before my soul was misshaped, but I stubbornly stayed. I finally left some of those rooms, but like a coal miner who worked in the mines too long and got black lung disease, I have to live with the soul damage for the rest of my life. I’m also embarrassed to admit in the back corners of my mind, I remember how to pick those locks, just in case I ever want to go back. 

I’ve heard people say when God doesn’t open a door; he gives you a window. I’ve always been a bit puzzled by this. Is the window for escape, or so you can look at something you aren’t supposed to have? No one was ever clear about this. A man once told me, “I never should have divorced my first wife. She was a good woman and a good mother. But I turned forty-six and got a little crazy. I chased a younger woman who loved my money more than me. She got pregnant, I got divorced, and now I’m working like a dog to support her spending addiction.”  His head was hanging down the whole time he was talking, and I could feel his regret. Maybe God does give us a window to say, “This is why that door is closed.” 

A few times in my life, I felt the voice of God calling me from behind a closed door. God was saying, “I want you to come through the door into this new space.”  I tried the doorknob, and the door wouldn’t open. I would say to God, “The door’s locked!”  God would reply, “I know. Look beside the door. I have given you a sledgehammer. Bust through the door.” 

These are not my favorite moments. Beating down a door is not easy, not at all like you see on a home improvement show on TV. It is hard, sweaty work. Sometimes, you have to take a break. Progress can be slow. I think Moses must have felt this way, leading God’s people through the wilderness for forty years. 

When you finally break through the door, you ask God, “Why did you make it so hard? You could have unlocked the door and let me in.”  God smiles and says, “Yes, but you needed to grow your patience and strength, so I wanted you to use the sledgehammer to break the door down.” 

Finding God’s will and doing it is not a formula. God is not limited to doors, windows, or sledgehammers. God reveals his will for our lives in the best way for us to receive it. Maybe that is why Jesus never gave us step-by-step instructions but a simple invitation: “Come, follow me.” 

There is a verse in Isaiah that says, “Seek the LORD while he may be found; Call upon him while he is near.”  If you really want God’s will for your life, get as close to God as you can, and ask him. God will answer you. He may answer you with an open door, or a window, or provide you with a sledgehammer. 

Or God might just grin and say, “Follow me.”

Is the Mike Law Amendment Necessary for the Southern Baptist Convention?

I like steak.  Not surprising, since I grew up on a cattle ranch. I have a few friends, however, who are vegetarians.  When we eat together, I find myself thinking of many jokes I could make, including, “You don’t know what you’re missing.”  But I’ve learned to stop myself.  As my adult children regularly remind me, “Dad, you are not as funny as you think you are.”  I’ve also learned not to make jokes about vegetarians when I preach.  As best I can tell, both vegetarians and steak eaters go to heaven.

What does this have to do with the Mike Law proposed amendment to the Southern Baptist Convention?  Brother Law’s proposal simply reads, “The Convention will only deem a church to be in friendly cooperation with the Convention, and sympathetic with its purposes and work (i.e., a “cooperating” church as that term is used in the Convention’s governing documents) which: Does not affirm, appoint, or employ a woman as a pastor of any kind.”

The Convention has previously amended its Constitution to withdraw fellowship from churches that discriminate based on ethnicity and those that do not follow Convention beliefs about sexual abuse.  Both of these address issues systemic sin in congregational life.

Is it a sin for a church to call a woman staff member a “Children’s Pastor?”  Is it a sin for a church to call a woman worship leader a “Worship Pastor?”

Isn’t there room in the SBC for both those who eat meat and those who abstain from eating meat?  Aren’t there whole chapters in Romans about this?

Set aside for a moment the whole question of whether women should be Lead Pastors.  Brother Law’s amendment, as currently worded, takes a non-essential to salvation interpretation of one issue and elevates to a level of primacy.  What’s next?  Will the Convention dictate what translation you must use in preaching?  Will the Convention tell your church you must have elders? 

I have read Brother Law’s web site explaining his rationale for his amendment.  I respect his arguments, though I do not agree with them.  His interpretation works for the church he pastors, although I notice on his church website they have a woman who serves as a deaconess.  Even though the vast majority of SBC churches do not have deaconesses, I am glad he has the freedom to say, “This works for the flock God has called me to lead.”

Let us respect the autonomy of every church, knowing that God will ultimately judge whether each church is doing what is right in his eyes.  The Law Amendment is not necessary; Baptist Faith and Message 2000 is enough, with the affirming language in Article XIV, Cooperation: “Christ’s people should, as occasion requires, organize such associations and conventions as may best secure cooperation for the great objects of the Kingdom of God. Such organizations have no authority over one another or over the churches. They are voluntary and advisory bodies designed to elicit, combine, and direct the energies of our people in the most effective manner. Members of New Testament churches should cooperate with one another in carrying forward the missionary, educational, and benevolent ministries for the extension of Christ’s Kingdom. Christian unity in the New Testament sense is spiritual harmony and voluntary cooperation for common ends by various groups of Christ’s people.”

This leads me to ask the most important question of all: Will passing the Law amendment bringing anyone to Jesus? 

Let the answer to that question determine God’s will for our convention. 

Possibilities …

Breakfast is my favorite meal. It was my mother’s favorite meal too. Nobody cooks breakfast the way she did anymore. There would be a pot of grits on the back burner, stirred every minute or so. My mother made perfect grits: not too runny, not too lumpy. Her grits were just the right consistency, so if you threw them at the wall, they would stick and slowly run down to the floor. 

Momma would fry bacon, then fry our eggs in bacon grease. She never flipped her eggs, but she would take her spatula and gently flip up some hot grease on top of the eggs. The whites were crispy, and the yolks were firm, with just a touch of yellow liquid spilling out.   

I know there are people who eat their grits and their eggs separately; these are people who were not raised right. Putting a dab of real butter (margarine is of the devil) on our grits, we would slide the fried eggs up on top, then mash them together in a beautiful chaos. Applying salt and pepper, we would mix it all again and have the perfect combination. All that was topped off with homemade biscuits, butter, and guava jelly. After a breakfast like that, you were ready for the day.   

I miss breakfast like that.   

Not too long ago, I went with my children, their spouses, and my grandson out for brunch. To me, brunch is breakfast delayed. There were strange things on the menu, like eggs benedict, vegetarian egg white omelets, and whole wheat pancakes served with turkey bacon. There was even avocado toast. I like avocados, and I like toast, but putting them together was not in my wheelhouse.   

I admit I have eaten eggs benedict. It is pretty good, especially when they go heavy on the hollandaise sauce. I have avoided vegetarian egg white omelets and whole wheat pancakes so far. I have eaten turkey bacon, but I can report it does not taste like turkey or bacon. Turkey is for gravy and sandwiches; bacon is meant to come from pigs. 

Once, when overseas, I was served beef tongue for breakfast. I love beef, but I know where a cow’s tongue has been, so no, thank you. In college, cold pizza was allowed for breakfast in an emergency. Doughnuts do not count as a real breakfast, no protein. Same thing with Pop-tarts.  Pastries are a good breakfast, but only in France, where the pastries not only melt in your mouth, they melt your soul. 

As delicious as my mother’s breakfasts were, there are more possibilities for breakfast in this world than grits, fried eggs, bacon, and biscuits. I have to be wise enough to appreciate what was given to me without judging what other people chose. 

I believe our God is a god of possibilities. He gives us a start with our families, but part of his will for our lives is to take a journey with him, to discover more outside our comfort zones. Growth, especially spiritual growth, is always accompanied by discomfort. When you begin to follow Jesus, you find more beyond your small corner of the world and your small understanding. 

I was once invited to participate in a funeral in Botswana. I was there on a short-term mission trip, and a beloved member of the church had died. No one told me, however, that funerals began in the darkness of the early morning hours, so I had to be up and dressed at 4:30 am. Who ever heard of having a funeral so early? We conducted the service in the pre-dawn darkness, then made our way to the cemetery as the sky began to brighten. When sunrise broke over the horizon, we were standing by the hole in the cemetery, singing songs of praise. I could not help but think, “This is so right. For a follower of Jesus, death is the dawning of eternal life. We should sing songs of praise as the sun comes up.”  My soul opened to new possibilities that day. 

Ephesians 3:20-21 says, “20 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen.”  Pray for God to open your eyes to possibilities. Pray for God to do more than you can ask or even imagine. Ask this for yourself and for your city. God is the God of possibility. 

God might even open you to the possibility that whole-wheat pancakes are tasty.

Legitimizers…

This is a chapter from my unpublished book, The Cowboy Way of Leadership. I would love to hear your reaction…

Number 57 was a crook horn cow owned by my Aunt Neta.  When we worked her cows, Number 57 always made her way to the front of the line.  She was an old cow who had been to the pens many times; she knew the way and the drill.  With her in the lead, the cowboy’s job was easy.  In fact, we had to play catch up.  More than once, Number 57 had the cows in the pens waiting for us!

One year, Number 57 was bitten by a rattlesnake and died.  The next time we worked cows at Aunt Neta’s, it was a disaster.  There was no one to show the way.

Most groups and most organizations have a “lead cow.”  We call them “Legitimizers.”  These are people who give guidance and permission to go in a specific direction.

John Maxwell tells a about a legitimizer named Claude.  Claude was a member of John’s first church.  He had been there long before John became pastor; he would be there long after John left.  John quickly learned that if he wanted something done, he needed to first suggest it to Claude.  If it was a good idea, Claude would take the lead.  If it was a bad idea (and every leader has some!), Claude would re-shape the idea to make it a good one, or help it die a quiet death.

Every leader depends on the legitmizers.  It may be an executive assistant who has been with the company before you were born but knows where all the bodies are buried.  It may be the “number two” man who has outlasted three “number one” men.  It may be a senior volunteer.  It may be the board member who gives the most money to your organization.  It may be your best customer.  They are out there, and they can make your leadership look brilliant or inept.  One good lead cow is worth about three cowboys!

Discovering Legitimizers

Most legitimizers are never titled that way.  You have to discover them.  Pay attention to who speaks and shuts off debate.  Listen to people talk about who is most admired in your company.  Watch the spheres of influence – who hangs out outside of your work; who gathers in the break room; which class socializes on a monthly basis. 

When I consult with organizations, my initial workshop always includes these questions:

1. “Who are the five most influential people in this organization?”

2. “Who are five people who think they are would be listed as influential, but aren’t on the list?”

I want to know who really influences the way people think.  I want to know who thinks they do, but really is an irritant.  This helps me not listen to the “squeakiest wheel” who turns everyone else off.  I learn to pay attention to people who have real influence.

Relating to Legitimizers

True legitimizers have an allegiance to the organization and its people.  If, as a leader, you have pure motives of wanting to help the organization and its people, you are on the same side as the legitimizers. 

Spend time with legitimizers.  Ask them what they like in the organization.  Ask them what they think needs to be changed.  Ask what they hope to see happen. 

Run ideas by them.  Ask them about positives and negatives.  If you don’t receive much input back, it’s probably a sign they have doubts and are not sure how you will receive the truth.  Mine for the truth!   My goal is to have a face-to-face conversation with every legitimizer in our church at least once a year. 

If a legitimizer has a crisis, I want to be present for them.  This is my way of demonstrating I care about them not just for what they can do for me or the organization; but for them as a person. 

When the Legitimizers say “No”

I’ve seen leaders get in trouble because they assumed anyone who disagreed with an idea was an enemy.  To disagree is not to oppose.

Our staff was trying to fix some issues with our Sunday morning schedule.  We brought our proposal to our legitmizers, who unanimously gave us a “thumbs down.”  Their rationale was it was too much change for too many people.

Some of the staff members had harsh reactions.  Time was needed to let things settle.  About three months later, we got major pushback on another, smaller initiative.  It turned out the church was unsettled and felt like the staff was pushing too hard.  The legitimizers knew what we didn’t. 

If a legitimizer says “no,” assume it is for a good reason.  Find out the reason!

One of the strangest things about legitimizers:  Sometimes they may say “no” but still give permission for you to do what you want.  Legitimizers can be thought of as “gatekeepers;” they may tell you are going in the wrong direction, but they still open the gate for you to go.  They may not support you, but as long as they don’t oppose you, you can make progress.

The Value of a Legitimizer

After I had been pastor for three years, our church voted to re-locate.  A friend told me that the only thing harder on a church than relocation was the discovery that the pastor was having a homosexual affair!  We succeeded, largely because a key legitimizer, Miss Jo, the matriarch of the church, decided relocating was the right decision.  When leaders of an opposition movement approached her about being part of a movement to buy the old building and start a new church.  She replied, “I’ve already paid for this old building once.  I’m not going to pay for it again!”  She persuaded other key legitimizers not to form an opposition movement, but to wait and see how things turned out.  They did wait, we gained momentum, and we gathered the support of almost all of the legitimizers over the next three years.

Before the move was completed, however, Miss Jo was killed in an accident.  It was a terrible blow to me personally – and to the church.  We lost one of our key legitimizers.  There was no one there to say, “I’ve been through this before.  It will be okay.  Just follow me.”

You may walk into an organization that has lost a key legitimizer.  Or your predecessor may have driven out previous legitimizers.  Or your headquarters may have shifted people around so quickly, no legitmizers can be found.  If you can’t find the legitimizer you need, the leaders have to do more careful work.  No one in the herd is helping you. 

In this case, you, as the leader, can draft some temporary people who have the potential to be legitimizers.  Give them a chance to have some influence.  Let them lead a group and get a win under their belt.  See if they can become the person others look to.  If they grow to that level, great.  If they don’t, seek out another person who might be a legitimizer.

I consulted with a church that had experienced rapid growth and had recently purchased a new building.  But the growth was slowing and giving was not keeping up with the need.  When I met with the church leaders, I discovered that two key legitimizers had stepped down because of health.  Another key legitimizer had been transferred.  When church leaders were asked to name the most influential people in the church, they could only name people on the church staff payroll.  There was no one left to help the church find its way and assure people things would be alright.

Jesus and Legitimizers

This worked a little different for Jesus.  He called His legitimizers “disciples.”  Their purpose?  They were witnesses to everything He had done.  They could say, “We saw this.  It happened.  You can trust us.”

When the Jesus movement started, these disciples spent time teaching people about Jesus.  As the movement spread, they were able to make decisions about expanding the movement beyond Jerusalem because Jesus had told them this was His intent.[i]  When conflict arose in the early church about whether non-Jews should follow the same rules as Jews, the disciples again acted as legitimizers and laid out both freedoms and expectations.[ii]

Did Jesus need them?  Probably not.  But He chose to work through human influencers.  They led the way into the pens.  They led the way to the future.

The Final Big thought:  One good lead cow equals three good cowboys.

[i] Acts 11:17-18

[ii] Acts 15:1-29

I Went to Church …

I went to Church last Sunday. 

Not surprising, you might think. After all, one of my jobs is serving as a full-time pastor. I go to church – a lot. I work at the church Monday through Thursday. About once a month, I also have to work on Friday or Saturday. Sunday is game day. I don’t have to be at church as early as some folks on our team, but I do have to preach three services. These are live-streamed out to our campuses and online. But Sunday mornings are also spent in conversations between services. I check in with people: “How’s your son doing with his cancer?”  I pray with people. I hear complaints about how cold the Worship Center is (I do not have access to the thermostat). One Sunday a month, I do a Q&A session for our new member’s class.  One Sunday a month, I have a Deacon’s meeting and a Direction Team meeting. Sundays are full days. 

But last Sunday, I went to Church. 

My wife was out of town for a conference. I didn’t have to preach Sunday. We were working cows at the ranch in Florida. So, I left town on Thursday and didn’t come back until Tuesday. I had unhurried time in my hometown, time enough to visit cousins, to clean out some drawers at the ranch house, and to ride through the pasture without someone saying, “Can we go back now? I’ve seen enough cows.”  For the record, you can never see enough cows. 

When Sunday morning came, I admit I was tempted to stay in bed. But I woke up at my usual time. I left the house to grab breakfast, then came back. Do you know how much time you have on Sunday when you are not preaching at 8:30 and 9:45? I got dressed and made my way to my home church.   

The old oaks still shade the trucks in the church parking lot, though the trucks are much more expensive than they used to be. I walked through the doors right at eleven. Standing in the small lobby (churches in town call them “vestibules”) were the deacons. The faces were different, but ever since I was a boy, the deacons of my home church have stood in the lobby as the service started. Years ago, one deacon confessed to me he served as a deacon so he wouldn’t have to be in the sanctuary for the singing. 

I slipped into the sanctuary and sat on the second-to-the-last pew, right in front of Mr. Wilbur. Wilbur will turn 90 soon; he has been at my home church my whole life. I worried about surprising him; you don’t want to shock 90-year-olds.   

The kids of the church were singing. If you are discouraged by the state of the world, go to a church service when the kids sing. Your soul will be lifted. We sang some new songs, then the old hymns of the faith.   

The preacher, who I have met a few times, preached a good message. He held my attention. Then, they served the Lord’s Supper, or Communion, as some folks call it. It hit me that it had been a long time since I was served the Lord’s Supper instead of officiating during the serving of the supper. Thirty years, in fact. It was good simply to sit and be served. Before we took the bread, the preacher said, “Jesus said, ‘Do this in remembrance.’”  And I remembered. 

I remembered the sacrifice of Jesus. But seated next to the stained-glass window given in memory of my father, I also remembered my brother, my sister, my mother, my stepfather, and my dad, all of them gone from this earth. They had sat in these same pews through the decades. My eyes got misty, and I felt their absence. I miss these people. 

The service ended, and I spoke to Mr. Wilbur. He is still alert, still standing tall. The wife of my cousin came up and talked to me for a while about health and grandchildren, and life. One of the high school girls I know said hi, then rushed up on stage to practice for next week’s youth service. I saw the Music Director and thanked him for a job well done. Before I knew it, I was the last one to leave. That was more like a typical Sunday for me.  

Going to church is a great privilege. Give church folks half a chance, and they will love you. If you listen and don’t criticize, you can get something out of most any sermon. And when the children sing, it will restore your soul.   

Church also gives you time to hear from God. He might remind you, as he reminded me, that I need to be thankful for a rich heritage, for a family that loved me, and for grace, the gentle grace of God that forgives my soul and invites me to follow Jesus.   

Go to church Sunday. It is good for your soul.

Convicted by My Own Sermon …

Like most preachers, I pray about what God wants me to preach. Long ago, I realized I didn’t have to do this on Saturday night before Sunday; I could pray months in advance, and God would lead me to a series of messages that stretched over six months.  

When I was planning my preaching for this spring, I felt oddly led to preach a series on the Biblical wisdom of money management.   Most preachers don’t like to preach on money; they feel awkward since their salaries are paid by the tithes and offerings from the church. God cured me of that when I pastored my third church, which struggled financially. I realized if I wanted to get paid, I better preach on generosity.   

This past Sunday, I taught the Biblical principles of borrowing money. The Bible actually says a great deal about this topic, more than I could cover in a 25 (okay, 35) minute message. But one teaching I wanted to bring out: If you borrow something, return it undamaged. If it is damaged, pay to fix it. Exodus 22:14 says: “If anyone borrows an animal from their neighbor and it is injured or dies while the owner is not present, they must make restitution.” 

I explained this message was drilled into me by my stepfather, Lawrence. I heard him say dozens of times: “If you borrow a man’s truck, fill it up with gas before you return it. If that truck breaks while you have it, you pay to fix it.”   

This made a lasting impression on me. First, it made me very reluctant to borrow anything for fear of tearing it up. Second, anytime I borrow a car, I fill it up before I return it. Third, when I tear up something I borrowed, I pay to have it fixed. 

A friend loaned me his car this week while my truck was being fixed. My morning unrolled so much smoother by having transportation. I was on my way to return the car when there was a whisper in my soul: “Remember your sermon from Sunday? How you always fill up the car when you return it?” 

It is amazing the deluge of thought that can run through your mind in two seconds. My first thought was, “But I have only driven three miles, tops.”  My second thought was, “If I stop and fill up, it will take ten minutes, and I need those ten minutes to get things done.”  My third thought was, “I’m pretty sure my friend didn’t hear that sermon. I can get away with this.” 

The fourth thought did not come from me, I’m sure. It was, “What’s up, Clay? Don’t you believe your own sermons?”  That thought hurt.   

There is an old-fashioned word we do not use much anymore: conviction. I heard it a lot when I was growing up. Preachers would talk about falling under the conviction of the Holy Spirit. It meant you would hear the Spirit speak to your heart about your sin. I’ve experienced this conviction many times in my life, especially when faced with the choice of doing something right or doing something easy.   

Did I mention all this ran through my mind in about two seconds? It was the Holy Spirit, reminding me of my own sermon, that convicted me. I put on my right turn signal, pulled into a gas station, and filled up the tank. It was the right thing to do. 

I deserve no praise for this. I’m embarrassed that this simple act is not yet automatic. I do think if you are a follower of Jesus, the goal is to be so immersed in him that your choices automatically are his choices. I have a long way to go. 

By listening to God, I was spared a day of regret (“I should have filled up that car”), shame (“I am a horrible person. I don’t even live what I preach”), and guilt (“I knew the right thing to do, and I didn’t do it because I was selfish”). Doing right feels better than doing wrong. 

Each of us, in our own way, preach our own sermons. We all have standards of right and wrong. Some of our standards align with God’s standards; others do not. The reason I know I am not good enough to get to heaven on my own is I cannot live up to my own standards of right and wrong. The Apostle Paul wrote a long time ago, “It is by grace you have been saved, and that not of yourselves, lest any man should boast.”   

Salvation is God’s gracious gift. Conviction is God’s gracious gift, too. It is God saying to me, and maybe to you, that listening to him is good for your soul.

Courage...

Politicians often declare themselves to be courageous leaders.  Saying you are courageous and being courageous are two different things.

I define courage as willingness to move toward the mess.  The courageous soldier runs toward the mess of battle; the courageous parent has the conversation with their drunk, underage son or daughter; the courageous business leader rejects profit for principle; and the courageous pastor leads a church to face the messiness of reality.

Courage is not picking an insignificant issue and making it a hill on which to die; courage keeps the main thing the main thing.  Courage is not overcoming fear; courage is moving toward your fear, recognizing a mess that must be confronted.  Courage is not following the cheers of the crowd; courage in action is often greeted with silence.

Courage means speaking the last ten percent.  How often do we stop just short of the plain truth that needs to be heard for fear of hurting people’s feelings?  Yet it is in the last ten percent that truth necessary for change emerges.

Why aren’t more people courageous?  We want people to like us, to approve of us.  To be courageous is to know disapproval will come.  If you lead, you cannot make everyone happy.  Courage means you must be dedicated to the mission.  You will incur losses, or as one leader called them, casualties. In church world, casualties are people who leave your church because they cannot accommodate the change required to fix the messiness.  If you are a leader who cares about people, it hurts to lose people you invest in and have done life with. 

Many leaders fear setting up a group who will fight and oppose them.  They believe if they appease instead of lead, these people will eventually drop their opposition.  This never happens.  Never.  When Churchill was in the darkest days of World War II, he faced opposition from members of his own party.  Churchill courageously stuck to his mission: defeat Nazi Germany in the face of internal opposition. 

Leaders face five common issues that require courage.  The first is the courage to address leaders or volunteers under them who are not performing, who are no longer effective, or who were bad hires.  Many leaders hope poor performers will improve over time.  They do not.  In my years of supervising and developing dozens of leaders, poor performers never get better on their own.  Often an employee is with an organization for years and has a constituency of his or her own.  You may need to build alliances and devise a strategy to help that person find a better setting to serve, but have the courage to move toward the messiness, not away from it.

The second common issue leaders face is to have the courage to define reality.  Many businesses and churches are in denial about their reality.  As Lyle Schaller famously said, many churches are perfectly positioned in the event time reverses and it becomes 1950 again.  I knew of one church that was frustrated by their inability to grow.  When I consulted with the pastor, I pointed out the obvious: They had a worship space for 400 and parking for 250.  Their average attendance was - you guessed it – 250.  Have the courage to define reality.

A third common issue leaders face is the courage to call for change.  Healthy organizations grow and change.  I do not run the family ranch the way my stepfather did.  In the twenty years since he ran things, the world changed.  We can’t just throw fertilizer and oil on the trees.  Now, we have to be much wiser about how to apply nutrients and sprays.  Leaders must have the courage to make the compelling case of why the organization can no longer stay where it is and must relocate to where it should be.

A fourth common issue that calls for courage is admitting your mistakes.  As Craig Groeschel says, “People would rather follow a leader who is always real, than a leader that is always right.”  Nobody gets it right all the time.  Be courageous enough to quickly own your mistakes.  Admit to your leadership you made a wrong hire.  Admit an initiative failed.  Admitting failure increases trust instead of diminishing it.

A final common issue that calls for courage is to hold to your mission, values, and vision when you are pressured to modify or abandon them.  People both inside and outside your organization will want to add to or take away from your mission.  It takes courage to face the opposition and say, “No.  We have agreed this is what we are committed to; this is what we value; this is our preferred vision of the future.”  Rick Warren said, “Never surrender your church to the whiners.”  I would modify that to say, “Never surrender your mission, values, and vision to someone else’s agenda.”

Without the courage of the leader, organizations do not thrive.  Maybe that is why God repeatedly says, “Do not be afraid and do not let your hearts be troubled.  Believe in me.”  Faith feeds courage.

Glad He is Gone …

When I was a pastor in Louisville, I stopped by the hospital to see Tom.  I heard he was not doing well.  I had been Tom’s pastor for three years at that point and knew him as a grumpy older man who had married a younger woman.  Though his children were in their twenties, he was over seventy.   

His youngest daughter was in the room when I entered.  I was told Tom’s health was failing, but it didn’t take a doctor to see Tom was not long for this world.  It was obvious Tom could not communicate, so I asked his daughter how he was.  She told me the nurse said he could die at any time.  I went to the other side of Tom’s bed so I could pray with him and took his hand.  It was already cold.  Tom was taking shallow breaths.  Then he stopped.  Unlike other people I had seen die, there was no space between breaths.  He just stopped breathing.   He had, as we say in the South, passed. 

His daughter on the other side of the bed looked at me, her face a question.  “Is he dead?” she asked.  I told her I thought so.  What shocked me was her response: “Good.”   

If you do what I do, being with grieving families is part of the job.  At the time, I had limited pastoral experience.  Most families weep, or they go into a state of shock when their loved ones pass.  My surprise must have been evident, for Tom’s daughter went on to say, “I am glad he is gone.  He did terrible things to my mother and to me.”  There were no tears for Tom’s daughter, just a hard expression as she looked at her dead father.  She told me in a no-nonsense voice, “You stay here.  I’ll get the nurse.  I do not ever want to be alone with him again.” 

The nurse came in and confirmed Tom had no pulse.  She wrote down the time of death, then asked us to step out of the room so she could clean him up.  Tom’s daughter said, “I will call Mama.  You stay here.”  It was strange to be taking orders from someone my own age, but she had steel in her voice.  Before the nurse finished, she came back and said, “I will tell the nurse which funeral home we will use, but I am not going back in that room with that man.” 

The nurse emerged, and Tom’s daughter gave her the necessary information and then left.  She did not tell me goodbye.  I stood there foolishly for a few minutes, wondering what had just happened, finally realizing I might as well leave too. 

Tom’s funeral was not the strangest funeral I’ve ever done, but it ranks in the top five.  When planning the service, the family shared no sentimental stories, no fond memories.  During the service, Tom’s wife and children shed not one tear.  By the time we got to the cemetery, I was ready to get this over with; apparently, so were they.  I read Psalm 23, spoke a few words about hope, and prayed.  When I said “Amen,” Tom’s family got up and made their way back to their cars, leaving friends and family behind.  Their every action and expression told me they were done with this man.

I stayed at that church for another two and a half years.  I tried to get Tom’s wife and daughter to open up about the pain Tom caused them, but they were not willing to crack that door.  For some folks, feelings are buried at the graveside. 

I thought about Tom off and on for years.  What could he have done that was so horrible?  Did he sexually abuse his daughter?  Did he beat his wife?  Was he condemning and judgmental, tearing down those closest to him?  What makes a man so angry at his own children that he would abuse them?  Why didn’t Tom’s wife leave him and take the children?

 Tom died over thirty years ago.  His funeral would not be the last I did where the family did not cry.  I stood by other caskets and read expressions of relief on the faces of spouses and children.  Their nightmares were over.

 When Tom died, I was the father of one.  Two more children would be born to me.  Tom’s funeral was a lesson for me.  I promised myself that I would do my best to never be the kind of Dad that my kids were happy to see die.

 When you think about it, maybe that was the one good that came from Tom’s death.  How sad.

Many Communicate, Few Connect…

“Many Communicate, Few Connect” is a takeoff from the title of a John Maxwell book.  It is a reminder to every leader that your job is not just to communicate; it is to make sure you connect.

There are two important dynamics to remember.  The first is based on the work of Paul Ricoeur.  In every communication event, there is:

The Communicator -> the Perceived Communicator -> The Perceived or Intended Receiver -> the Receiver. 

The communicator is who you really are.  The perceived communicator is who people perceive you to be.  As a preacher, I must remember every time I get up to speak, people have assumptions about who I am.  People with a limited church background often assume I will be hostile and angry because that is their perception of preachers. 

The perceived or intended receiver is the communicator’s assumption about his audience.  The preacher might assume that everyone in the congregation wants to know the meaning of the Greek.  The real receiver of the message might simply want the pastor or leader to get to the bottom line.

This first dynamic is real to me because communication is part of my role as the Lead Pastor of a church.  But every leader has to deal with this.  A CEO who perceives the employees of the company are eager to view a 15-minute video each week might be surprised that the real employees stop listening after 3 minutes. 

The second dynamic has been known since Aristotle.  Communication involves the head (information), the heart (emotion), and the feet (action).  Many leaders assume the communication problem in their organization is a lack of information.  In fact, people are drowning in information.  We notice that after two announcements in a worship service, people check out.  Information conveyed that is not received is not communication.  Andy Stanley provides a helpful guideline: Go for clarity, not comprehensiveness. 

Communication needs to touch the heart.  A few people are gifted to do this with magisterial language that is half prose and half poetry.  Winston Churchill and John F. Kennedy were masters of this form.  Churchill: “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat…;” JFK: “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.”

The best way to touch the heart is through stories.  Ronald Reagan was perhaps the best presidential communicator after JFK.  He told stories that touched the heart.

One of our staff members regularly challenges me to make sure my sermons have a clear action item: “What are you asking them to do?  Pray? Give? Get involved? Ponder? Repent?”  I’ve sat through sermons that were Biblically sound, inspiring, but lacked a clear call to do something.

The best leaders communicate in a way to touch the head, the heart, and call people to action.  One CEO wrote a weekly email that had three bullet points of information (head), an inspirational story (heart), and a specific call to excellent customer service, such as “Make someone’s day today – smile (feet).”  It was widely read, as opposed to the CEO who wrote five prose paragraphs giving information.   That email often was not opened.

Remember, every leader communicates, but not every leader connects.  Be the leader that connects.

Lament...

It happened again. Just a few weeks ago, it was the school shooting in Nashville. I did not know anyone who was killed, but I knew people who knew people who were killed. That tragedy was mourned, then shelved to make room for the next hot news item. 

This time, the shooting was in Louisville. I lived in Louisville for twelve years. I worked for a time just down the street from where the shooting took place. I was a chaplain one summer in the trauma hospital where the surviving victims were taken. I met the wife of Thomas Elliott, one of those killed, a couple of times during my Louisville sojourn. Mass shootings do not feel distant to me any longer. 

It seems unreal to me that we have come to this. Death by gunfire has been part of American culture since Europeans landed on these shores. Mass killings before the 1920s were larger acts of violence committed by a parent against a family. In 1928, Leung Ying, using a lever action rifle and a hatchet, killed 11 people on a Fairfield, California ranch where he worked. Despite what you have seen in old Westerns, this seems to be the first mass murder against non-family members by an individual. 

A Harvard study found that between 1982 and 2011, a mass shooting occurred every 200 days. Now a mass shooting occurs every 64 days. The United States has more mass shootings than any country in the world. Is this the mark of a Christian nation? 

After every shooting, the needle seems to drop on the same old debate: One side screams, “The answer is to get rid of guns!”; the other side screams back, “We need more guns to protect us from gun violence.”  The truth is most people bent on evil can find the gun they need to make their evil a reality. 

One reason to read the entire Bible is to be reminded the Ancient World was a bloody and violent place. Kings went to war every spring to gain a fraction more territory. At any given moment, a raiding band might swoop in on your village and steal your crops, your gold, and your daughters. The guiding value of the Ancient World was “Might makes Right.” 

The people of God, Israel, experienced this time after time. They would turn away from God, decide in their own hearts what was right, and chase gods of power, prosperity, and sex. God would allow raiding bands to come in to rob them. He allowed foreign kings to oppress his people.   Once, when he had all he could take, God allowed his people to be conquered and put into exile for 70 years. 

It was during these days the people God learned to lament. Laments are prayers of frustration. The classic lament is Psalm 13. The first verse expresses the deep pain of people who feel like there is no answer: “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?”  David says, “God, the only answer to this problem is you. So where are you?” 

Evangelical Christians struggle with lament. We sing, “Jesus is the answer for the world today…”  I believe that is true, but we forget Jesus will answer in his time, not ours. Sometimes all we can do is lament and cry, “How long, O Lord? How long will violence take our loved ones? How long must we suffer under a threat of gun violence? How long, O Lord, until you intervene?”

 To some, this may not feel like a prayer of faith. I believe this lament is a prayer of great faith. A lament brings all our frustration and anger about unsolvable problems and says, “Only you, Lord, can solve this. I do not know how. I do not know when. I can only trust in you. So I look to you not just for answers and action; I give you my feelings, my hurt, and my hope.”

 Can I say my African American brothers and sisters are better at lament than white evangelicals? Maybe their frustration at the unfairness of life and sinful culture is more recent than ours. Most people do not realize that Stephen Foster’s song, “My Old Kentucky Home,” was a lament of slave families being broken apart: husbands would be sold away from their wives; wives and children would be sold away from their husbands. The slave was helpless to determine his own fate. There is a part of the song that is seldom sung, but you can hear the pain in the words:  

A few more days for to tote the weary load,

No matter, ’twill never be light;

A few more days till we totter on the road,

Then my old Kentucky home, goodnight. 

I cannot change the law; I cannot intervene in mass shootings; I cannot force people to stop politicizing every issue. I cannot mandate the peace of Jesus to live in every heart. I can lament. I can go to God and cry, “How long, O Lord, how long?”  I can know he hears me. I can believe that one day, “Justice will roll down like the waters, and righteousness, like a mighty stream.”

One day.

The Day After the Big Day

Two of the organizations I am involved with recently had “Big Days,” even though the big days were very different.

At church the big day was Easter.  For most churches – the one I serve included – Easter is the highest attended Sunday of the year.  For that reason alone, it is a big day.  On Easter we do our best to bring our “A” game.  This Easter, to be honest, I think we did.  The worship music was great, the message seemed to connect, and we had many people show up after the service asking for prayer and seeking spiritual conversations.

I bet your organization has “Big Days” that are calendar events.  I recently consulted with an organization that derives 40% of its revenue from a week-long festival it sponsors.  That is not a “Big Day;” that’s a “Big Week!”  In processing this with them, they confessed that after their “Big Week” they were all exhausted.

I get that.  I take a nap every Easter afternoon.  But unlikely some churches I know, we do not give the whole staff the day off after Easter.  If you are in retail, don’t close the store the day after the big sale.  The Day after the “Big Day” is the day to follow up, evaluate, and plan for the next “Big Day.”

Maybe you can’t do all three the day after the “Big Day.”  But above all else, do the follow up. If you are a church, call every first-time guest who came Easter.  Write the thank you notes the day after the “Big Day” to the people who made it happen.  Celebrate with your team the wins.  Gather the stories that made the “Big Day” sparkle.

Don’t put off the evaluation.  Did you meet your goals?  Why or why not?  It surprises me that so many businesses rush head long into the next thing, they never evaluate.  Evaluation has a rapid expiration date.  The little details that make a difference fade quickly.  Be sure to write the details down. 

The best time to plan next year’s “Big Day” is within two weeks of this year’s “Big Day.”  The plan doesn’t have to be comprehensive but start while memories of what worked and what didn’t are fresh.  Don’t assume because something was good this year, it will be just as good next year.  Add value to the good things; kill what didn’t work.

The other organization that I serve is our family ranch.  We had a very different type of “Big Day.”  Ironically, on Easter week we got the report on our late oranges.  They were picked and we got paid.  I saw the data on how many boxes of fruit we picked, the sugar levels, and the price we got.  Thanks to a freeze last year and a hurricane, the crop was dismal.  This “Big Day” was a bitter disappointment.  I thought we would pick more fruit than last year, even with the natural disasters. 

When you face this kind of “Big Day” news, you have to ask, “What am I supposed to learn from this?”  What I learned was rehabilitating the ranch’s orange groves has not yet taken hold.  I learned other ranch enterprises will need to support the citrus operation for another year or two.  I learned the grove that looks terrible actually produces as much fruit as the grove that looks the best – go figure. 

Some “Big Days” are like that:  It is the day you learn where you are and where you need to go.

The “Big Day” really isn’t over until you have followed up.  Otherwise you miss half the value of the “Big Day.”

The Stonecutter...

It was a job that required a good eye, a strong back, and a firm grip. He was a stonecutter, one of about a hundred in and around Jerusalem. He learned the trade from his father, who learned the trade from his father before him. 

Being a stonecutter in Jerusalem meant steady work. There was a constant demand for tombs carved out of the hillsides. Being a devout Jew, the Stonecutter understood why Jews from all over the Roman Empire wanted to be buried in Jerusalem: it was their spiritual home. It was the promised place where the Messiah would return. If a Jew did not live to see the promise fulfilled, at least they could be close in death. 

The tombs were all pretty much alike. First, the Stonecutter would chisel a large opening, gradually opening it up into a small room. He would fashion a stone shelf a little longer than a man is tall. The shelf was for the recently deceased. The body would lay there until only the bones and the cloth were left. Beyond this small room, the Stonecutter would chisel another opening and clear out another room. This room would hold the ossuaries, the small boxes that held the bones of those who had decomposed. Their names would be inscribed on the boxes, a reminder of those who lived and died. 

The Stonecutter’s last work was to chisel out a channel for the doorway stone. Then he would bring in a large limestone slab, a tougher stone than the chalk of the hills, but still not too difficult to work with. He formed a flat stone, then with the help of his assistants, he placed it in the channel, made sure it fit snug, and rolled back and forth. Finished, he then demanded his final payment. 

He was almost finished with a tomb he was working on for Joseph, a wealthy Jew from out of town. It was Friday, just before the Passover Sabbath. He was hurrying to get done so he could get paid, pay his assistants, and get home before the Sabbath began. It had been a strange day. In the morning, between the blows of his hammer, he could hear a commotion in the city. About noon, the sky darkened, like a thousand thunderstorms were about to attack. He had just put the entrance stone in place when there was an earthquake. “A riot, darkness, and an earthquake all in one day,” he thought. “What’s going on?” 

He was sweeping out some of the pebbles when Joseph came up, almost out of breath. The Stonecutter smiled and said, “Hold on there, Joseph! You will be using this tomb too soon, running like that.”  Joseph didn’t smile, which was unusual. Instead, he said, “Is it ready?”  The Stonecutter shrugged, wondering at Joseph’s urgency. “It’s close,” he replied. “Good,” said Joseph, “I need it this afternoon. I’m going to bury Jesus, the rabbi, in it. They crucified him this afternoon.” 

The Stonecutter was shocked. He had heard of Jesus, of course, but he had never heard him. He had never even seen him. He knew Jesus had caused a commotion at the Temple Sunday past, but he didn’t pay much attention to such things. Some people said Jesus was the Messiah, but the Stonecutter dismissed that idea. Everyone knew the Messiah would come with an army, and the Stonecutter had seen no army. 

What surprised the Stonecutter most was Joseph using his new tomb for a crucified man. Usually, those crucified were peeled off their crosses and hauled to the dump. Their bodies were burned and left. Some rabbis taught if a crucified man lay in a tomb, it was unclean and thus unable to be used by anyone else. If that were true, Joseph would never use his brand-new tomb. 

He quickly snapped back to reality when Joseph pulled out his money bag. “Get it ready in an hour. I’ll pay you extra,” Joseph said. Joseph counted the agreed amount, then added enough extra to make it worth the Stonecutter to push himself and his assistants. 

The Stonecutter, finished with time to spare, paid off his crew. Then, his curiosity getting the best of him, he waited. Before long, Joseph and a member of the Jewish elite, Nicodemus, came with some other men carrying the body of Jesus. They gingerly brought his wrapped body through the outer opening and laid it on the shelf the Stonecutter had so recently carved. They came back out, looking bewildered and exhausted, like men who had completed an urgent task but weren’t quite sure what they had done. They beckoned to the Stonecutter, and together they rolled the stone across the entrance. Then each man went his way, making sure they were home by sundown. 

The next day, the Sabbath, was quiet. Then Sunday came, the first day of the week. The Stonecutter picked up his tools and headed back to the hillside to carve another tomb. A couple of men ran past him as he walked in the early dawn. He made his way through the gardens, and he thought he heard a woman crying. Probably someone who recently lost someone. He was halfway past Joseph’s tomb when he realized the stone was rolled back. “That’s strange,” he thought. Normally the tombs stayed closed for a few weeks before they were opened again. Something, he thought, must have come up.   

Not something. Someone. The Stonecutter’s work was where history changed, forever.

Trauma …

There was another school shooting, this one in Nashville, TN.  Three nine-year-olds and three adults are dead.  I watch the news reports and read the articles and ask, “How long, O Lord, how long?”  This was the lament of suffering people captured in Psalm 13.  How long, O Lord, until this violence stops? 

This shooting comes in the wake of three children and one adult being murdered two miles from my home last week.  How long, O Lord?  Every day the news brings me tragic stories: Forty are killed in a fire at a refugee center in Mexico.  A Russian missile slams into an apartment building in Ukraine; dozens die.  A college girl is raped. 

Some people feel the solution is to stop watching the news.  I understand that sentiment, but personally, I want to know what is happening in the world.  There is nothing fake about the news of death and violence. 

Edwin Friedman, a psychologist, observed that Americans have come to falsely believe that the world can be a safe place.  Maybe that is why we try to bubble wrap our children, to protect them from harm.  Precaution is not bad, but ultimately, as the parents in Nashville learned, you cannot protect your children from everything. 

The world has always been filled with violence and war.  Perhaps in old times, violence would come, and then there would be a long period of time to absorb the loss and process the grief.  Not now.  Traumatic events happen around the corner.  Cameras are everywhere to give a firsthand view of shootings and war.  In case we are not getting enough, cop shows invite us to imagine rape, murder, racial hatred, and torture.  Like Rascal Flatts, I miss Mayberry, sitting on the front porch, drinking ice-cold cherry coke, when everything was in black and white. 

Trauma, psychologists tell us, is a deep emotional response to violence and loss.  A wise counselor recently shared, “We live in a traumatized world.”  I have few memories of my mother crying.  Two stand out: When she found out her brother-in-law had been killed in an accident; and when she found out her uncle had also been killed in an accident.  Even as a child, I knew she was not just crying for her aunt and her sister; she was reliving her own shock of my father dying too young of a heart attack.  Trauma can be re-awakened by someone else’s pain. 

People respond to traumatic events in different ways.  Shock and anger are two go-to emotions.  All those angry posts you see on social media after a traumatic event are the result of trauma.   

People can disassociate.  Years ago, a woman came to me with a puzzling issue.  She would find herself driving down a road and have no idea how she got there.  I knew her issues were above my skill level, so I referred her to a counselor.  She later told me the counselor had helped her uncover trauma from childhood.  She had learned to disassociate to survive.  Now the memories were coming back, and her brain was responding in the way she knew best. 

Many of us, myself included, cope with trauma using denial.  I held the hands of people who were dying; I saw the bodies carried out of the house; I’ve had to run toward the fire and urge a dazed man to quit spraying water on natural gas tanks and run.  Mostly, I have experienced the trauma of people dying too soon, dying before I was ready to let them go.  My response is usually to kick into high gear, to over-function, to try to be everything to everyone, and then to crash with some bad habits a few weeks after the traumatic event.  That’s denial. 

Jesus lived in a traumatic world.  He had seen other men dying on crosses long before he was nailed to one.  He saw the trauma demon-possession inflicted on people.  In his small village of Nazareth, he would have known about the babies who died in childbirth, about the rapes of Jewish women by Roman soldiers, and about the violence of government suppression of protests.  

When Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid,” he was not speaking of a world of daisies and flute music.  He spoke those words the night before his own death on a cross, where he experienced the greatest trauma of all.   

The great trauma of the cross was not the physical pain preachers like to emphasize.  The great trauma was bringing all the messiness of the world into his perfect soul.  He was filled with every traumatic event in human history, from the ancient wars to the rapes that happened on college campuses last night.  He brought all of this to himself, so the trauma inflicted by evil could be healed, so peace could reign. 

God has not chosen to stop traumatic events.  Instead, he has promised us a peace greater than our trauma, a peace that will drive out fear and anxiety, a peace that will bring us to him.  Bring your trauma to him.  Let his strong arms hold you.  Let his grace be sufficient. 

Tragedy…

This was not the column I planned to write this week. Tragedy interrupts lives, and this week, the madness of tragedy came to my town. 

According to news reports, Charles Slacks, recently divorced from his wife, came to her home Tuesday evening. He murdered Command Sergent Major Carlos Evans, who was talking to Slacks’ ex-wife in the backyard. He then proceeded towards the house, his ex-wife running after him. His ex-wife then realized she did not have her cell phone. She went back to Evans's body to look for his phone and call 911. She heard more gunshots. Slacks had murdered his two children and his stepdaughter in their beds. Then he turned the gun on himself and committed suicide.  

Police officers and first responders described the scene as the worst they had ever encountered. I can’t imagine the nightmares witnessing such a scene will create.   

One person shared with me she woke up at three in the morning, troubled by the shooting. Another person reported to me a sense of helplessness. What can you do for children who are already gone? How do you comfort a mother who losses her children at the hands of a man she loved at one time? 

There is no way to make sense of this. What madness would possess a man to kill his own children? How do you explain to children the empty desk in their classroom means their classmate will not be returning? When the neighbors look at the house on Whitetail Circle, how will they ever not think of that awful night when they heard the gunshots? No doubt many will ask, “Could this have been prevented? Why didn’t we see the signs? How can we help?” There are so many unanswered questions. 

When I face questions that have no answers, I start with what I do know. First, I know we cannot know all we want to know. This is true of every war, of every tragedy, of every unexplainable death. What do you do with unanswerable questions? I find it best to bring them to my Heavenly Father, confess my inability to know, and I leave the questions with him. Or I try to. Sometimes I find after I leave the questions with God, they sneak back into my soul. I must surrender them again. 

Second, I know this world is not safe, and I need to stop pretending it is. Because we live in a country that works to be safe, we can be surprised by this reality. Sin and free will combine to give people the opportunity to hurt and kill people, sometimes even people they love. We will never know exactly what when through Charles Slacks mind when he unlocked the door of his old home and went into the backyard. What I can tell you for certain is what God told Cain: “Anger is lurking at your door like a crouching lion…”  Neither Cain nor Charles locked that door. They both had the opportunity to not sin, but they let the lion in. 

No one has said it yet, but someone will ask, “Where was God?”  Why didn’t he stop this? It is the great question of the human race. Every world religion struggles to answer this. Every religion comes to the same conclusion: Some things about God are unknowable. Events happen that are unexplainable. We know this, but we do not like the tension it creates. To know that God knows and we do not know means we face a choice: we either trust ourselves or we trust our God. I do not say this lightly; trusting God when your heart is broken with great pain requires faith that goes right to our limit. 

So where was God Tuesday night? He was trying to get through to Charles, and Charles would not listen. He guarded that Mom who survived. He wept over Carlos. He welcomed the children to heaven. He stood by First Responders who were overwhelmed.   

I do not know how God deals with all the trauma of the world. He sees more in a day than we see in a lifetime. This is why I am glad he is an infinite God. I also remember to be thankful his love is vast; his grace is enough, even for tragedies like this. 

As this story unfolded, people were urged to hug their children tight. I wish someone would also say, “Work on your issues.”  Whether it is your marriage, your struggle with anger, or respecting boundaries, work on your issues. The temptation to be like Charles Slacks may be closer than you think. God will help you. 

I would add one more ancient word, sacred to many: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; Thy rod and thy staff comfort me.”  Whenever tragedy comes, walk with God. When you try to walk alone, evil can overwhelm you. When you walk with God, there is comfort in knowing even if you do not know the answers; you are walking with the one who does.

It’s Such a Little Thing to Be Right…

My wise wife recently pointed out that I have a thing about being right.  I gave her a list of five reasons she was wrong.   I know this about myself, but I can’t stop. 

I think this goes back to school.  I was not athletic, so I prided myself on being smart.  I wanted to be known for something, so I worked hard to be the kid who knew the answers.  This strategy worked pretty well until I met Algebra.  When I met x, and y, my thought was, “Why is this important?”  I was told it would help me think critically.  It did; I was very critical of higher math and my math teachers. 

It was about this time in High School that I learned I could not be smart about everything.  History and English came naturally to me.  I sought to know as much as I could about these subjects.   

When I went to college and majored in Religion, I was right more often than not, having been at Sunday School my entire life.  Once, I had to take a doctoral-level seminar at Indiana University.  The professor came in on the first day and explained to doctoral-level students that the Bible was divided into books, the books were divided into chapters, and the chapters were divided into verses.  I knew this from what we used to call “Sword Drills” back in third-grade Sunday School.  I made an “A” in that seminar. 

It was odd that the more I learned, the more there was to know.  My field of knowing everything shrank.  By the time I finished my Ph.D., I was an expert on three chapters of the Bible.  It was a lot of school to be the luminary on ninety-one verses. 

I found what worked in school did not work in every area of life.  My mother once told me, “No one likes a know-it-all.”  That explained my lack of dates during certain times of my life.  Insisting on being the expert with my friends meant I drove some of them off.  It is hard to build intimacy when you must prove you know everything.  In one evaluation, I had said, “Pastor, please try harder to be humble.”   

I like to be right because deep down, I am afraid people will reject me if they find out I don’t know.  It turns out people will also reject you if you have to prove how right you are.  

Being right is a way to justify my behavior: “It’s okay for me to act this way because I am so wounded.  I am the victim.”  Being right is a defensive mechanism that keeps us from facing the truth about ourselves. 

I am slowly learning that being right, defending myself, does not bring the people I care about most closer to me.  To paraphrase Craig Groschel, people would rather be friends with someone who is real than someone who is right.  The truth is no one can be right all the time.  Most of us do well to be right over half the time. 

I think about all the damage I have done in the name of being right.  I have gotten my family lost for over an hour because I refused to stop for directions.  I have grown an unhealthy pride that makes me reluctant to hear the ugly truth.  I have damaged my health because I insist on discounting what doctors tell me.   

Do not misunderstand me.  It is important to be right about important things.  Your relationship with God is important.  What you believe about God, about your relationship with God, really matters.   

But is some of what I believe really that important?  Sometimes I listen to the lyrics of hymns and songs and think, “That’s not right.”  Then I get a gentle nudge from the Holy Spirit, saying, “Does it really matter?”   

I wish I was farther along in knowing how to sort out the important from the unimportant.  I hope I have made progress in keeping my mouth shut and not having the last word. 

I think what a better world it would be, what a better nation we would have, if people could simply say, “Well, we see things differently,” and then stop talking.  I might tune in to a candidate debate if they talked like that. 

Jesus very pointedly said, “It is better to tie a millstone around your neck and throw yourself into the sea than to cause one of these little ones to stumble.”  Causing people to stumble by insisting you are right about unimportant stuff must be a big deal to Jesus.   

I think this is why the ancient prophet Micah said, “He has shown you, O man, what is required:  To do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”  Humility means it is such a little thing to be right.  You trust God with that.

The Playground…

We took my grandson to the playground not too long ago. Because of my recent surgery, I could not chase him around the playground. His parents would do the chasing; I did the watching. 

If you are depressed, I recommend you visit a playground on a Saturday morning. It is hard to believe children can have that much energy on the weekend. They were climbing on, over, and under all the playground equipment while their parents sipped at their Starbucks. There was laughter and cries of “Mama, watch this!”  The kids took turns; there was no shoving or pushing other kids out of the way. One little boy fell down; an older girl stopped her play to help him up. 

One set of grandparents chased a little girl around for an hour. They looked tired. The little girl did not. She ran from slide to slide, from climbing rope to ladders. Another couple, who I judged to be older parents, pursued their two little girls. One was the tomboy; the older daughter wore a dress but soon put away her ladylike behavior to run after her sister. 

I’ve always admired the way kids can make friends so fast. “You want to swing? I want to swing too! Let’s be friends.”  There was no inquiry about which church they went to or who they voted for. It was just, “Let’s be friends.”   

Two or three kids simply played in the wood chips. They seemed fascinated by the sticks and leaves. Where I saw something that needed to be raked, they saw objects of awe. Another little boy hung on the fence that enclosed the dog park. No climbing or running for him; he was taking in all the dogs playing and chasing tennis balls. His Dad stood behind him, just looking at his son, enjoying his canine fascination. 

Sometimes the kids would wear out for a minute. They would amble over to Mom, get a snack or a drink from a backpack, and then bound off again. One girl took her Cheetos bag up to the highest spot on the slide and then proceeded to polish off the bag. I’m not sure if the height enhanced the taste or if she was protecting her treasure from her siblings. 

None of the kids seemed worried about the economy, the war in Ukraine, or the increasing military might of China. Those worries were left to the adults. The kids ran from place to place, doing whatever caught their fancy. 

In the midst of all this was my grandson, the most adorable of all the kids (naturally). I could not help but grin at him. It was amazing to see him figure things out, which muscles to move to get where he needed to go. He is the most amazing child. I think I smiled for a solid hour, just looking at him and taking in all the scenes around him. 

I am often asked what heaven is like. Some people imagine it as a big family reunion. The Bible does not describe it that way. The main event of heaven is not reuniting with your loved ones; it is meeting Jesus. In heaven, we will finally understand the depth of his love and the full extent of his grace. That is why we will praise him. 

Heaven is also not full of leisure activities. We will not spend our time golfing or fishing. We will spend time marveling at how good our Heavenly Father is.   

But as I surveyed the playground, I wondered if heaven might be a little like the playground. Maybe we will experience an indescribable joy of being secure, of being safe, of knowing our Heavenly Father has taken care of all our anxieties and has defeated our greatest enemies. Maybe our Heavenly Father will watch his children play while he smiles upon them, simply delighting in them.   

Jesus said unless we become like little children, we cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Scholars speculate about what Jesus meant, but I don’t think they were at a playground when they wrote their commentaries. Perhaps Jesus meant to tell us we need to learn to accept our Heavenly Father’s love and forgiveness and discover how much our Heavenly Father smiles as he watches us.   

I think the children have something to teach us: live life in the security of your Heavenly Father, for he delights in you. Maybe you should visit a playground and imagine how God adores you like a grandfather adores his grandson.

Unequal Relationships

“Your relationship with another person is not the same relationship he or she has with you.”  I heard Andy Stanley say this in his recent message series, “The Weight of Your Words.”  I wish had heard it decades earlier.  It explains so much of my life, my frustrations in friendships, and my frustrations as a leader.

The truth of Andy’s statement is obvious when we think about our relationships with our parents and with our children.  These are not relationships of equals.  Most of us start our marriages by believing we can be equal partners.  The truth is I don’t want my wife to be my husband and she certainly doesn’t want me to be her wife.  We try to keep power dynamics out of our marriage, but we have a different relationship to each other.

I have been in several relationship triads.  Three of us were close friends, but there are times when I felt like the third wheel. Our relationships were not the same.  The other two in the triad had been friends longer and had more shared experiences; I was the newcomer they let in, but was always having to hear about experiences they had before I knew them.

In the first church I served that had staff, I thought we were a team and I would be first among equals.  It took me about fifteen years to learn that would never be the case.  As the pastor, I was the leader.  I often felt left out of the social moments on staff retreats.  I would walk into a room for a meeting and the laughter would stop.  I was not one of the guys.

I made the dynamic worse by trying to be “one of the guys.”  I would cut up and joke, and then get mad when everyone wanted to keep joking around and I was ready to be serious.  That was my fault. I didn’t help matters by getting mad when the staff didn’t respond to my agenda swings.

Our executive pastor reminds me my words weigh more than anyone else’s on the team.  I might make a sarcastic comment in some attempt to be funny, not realizing I just wounded someone.  A flippant idea might be taken seriously when I meant for people to simply think about this as a possibility and report back if it feasible. 

I often see this with Student Pastors.  They want to be “Buddies” with the kids they lead.  If a person takes this approach, they will fail.  Students need leadership.  Yes, you have relate to the kids, but kids can sniff out a phony faster than a pig can find a strawberry.  A student pastor’s relationship with his or her students is not the same as their relationship with him.

Edwin Friedman reminds leaders they are different than the people they lead.  He calls this “the self-differentiated leader.”  You do not depend on others for your sense of self.  You cannot expect others to understand what it is truly like to sit in your chair.

Jesus understood this.  When James and John asked to sit at his right and his left when he came into his Kingdom, Jesus responded, “You do not know what you are asking.  Can you drink from the cup I am about to drink from.”  They responded, “We can.”  Jesus, maybe with a smile on his face, said, “You will, but to be seated at my right and my left is for my Father to decide.”  I think that was Jesus’ way of saying, “ You will experience the thrill and pain of leadership, and it won’t be like you think.”

If you are a leader, own it.  Your relationship with the people you lead is not the relationship they have with you.

When You're Flooded...

It was one of those uncomfortable moments in the store.  A young mother with three small children was trying to get her shopping done.  The middle child by size (about two, I’d say) was not happy.  She was ready to go home.  I understand that feeling.  After about thirty minutes in a store, I’m ready to go home, too. 

Two-year-olds have surprisingly big voices in little bodies.  This little girl started to tear up and scream, “I want to go home!  I want to go home!”  Everyone in the store heard her.  Everyone within a ten-mile radius heard her.  Everyone knew she wanted to go home. 

Her mother tried all the standard techniques: “Shhh!  Be quiet.  We will go home in a few minutes;” “If you stop crying, I will buy you some candy (that would work for me);” and, as the mom felt the stares, “Will you stop crying!” 

None of the strategies worked.  The little girl upped her decibels.  Dogs began to howl outside the store.  I think I saw a jar of pickles start to vibrate.  More people were coming around the corner in search of this child in distress. 

The young mom had reached her limit.  She pulled out the nuclear option phrase: “If you don’t stop crying this instant, I will give you something to cry about.”   

The two-year-old looked at her mother with non-comprehending eyes.  You could read her thoughts on her furrowed forehead: “I already have something to cry about!  That’s why I’m crying.  What part of ‘I want to go home, Momma’ do you not understand?”   

My heart went out to the little girl and to her overwhelmed Mom.  How do you reason with a two-year-old whose emotions have torn her away from whatever reasoning ability she has? 

I have lived those intense moments of emotion when my soul was flooded, and reason left me.  I have felt the loss of someone I love so deeply that it seems all I can do is weep.  I have been filled with anger and said words that are mean, and I meant them, yet I didn’t mean them.  I have been so afraid I was paralyzed, not knowing what to do or say.  But sadness and grief is the emotion that floods my soul the most. 

Jesus once encountered people who were weeping because their friend Lazarus had died.  Jesus, who could have healed him, hadn’t come in time.  Now Jesus was on the scene.  He could feel the accusing eyes and read their message: “He was your friend.  Where were you?  You could have done something.  You could have healed him.”  Jesus does not tell them, “Don’t cry.”  He does not tell them he will give them something to cry about.  Instead, he joins their grief.  In the shortest verse in the Bible, we told one of its great truths: “Jesus wept.”   

This is the grace of God: he weeps with us.  Jesus understands the moments in your life when you are overwhelmed with emotion.  Jesus, with infinite patience, stops to feel with you.  He shares your tears.  But he also will share your joys, your anger, your anxiety.  To your joy, he brings song; to your anger, perspective; to your anxiety, peace.   

The theological word for this is “Incarnation.”  It means God dwells with us; he has taken on flesh.  God so loved the world that he became one of us so we could know that he knows us. 

I give the young mom credit.  Realizing what she said and how it sounded, she stopped her shopping, picked up the two-year-old out of the buggy, and held her while she cried.  She let her daughter cry out her frustration.  Then she tickled her and made her laugh. 

I think that is what Jesus does.  He holds us when we are flooded with emotion.  He cries when we cry.  Then, when we least expect it, he brings something good; he brings joy.  Jesus is the God of the morning when night turns to joy.  Whatever your tears, he will hold you.  And joy will come.