Jazz

You are my jazz...

        Heard it as a child

The man still trying to sort it out.

Unresolved Beauty

        Notes suspended between wonder and the blues

               Sainthood and Sex

The ache screams out

        Longing given a voice.

No words...none needed

       Groanings that words cannot express

               Just blood and sweat.

God listening to man's heart

        God talking back

Can't be taught

        manufactured

               canned

Not real jazz

        Jazz is felt

               worshipped

               given...


Like you.


Cannot leave unchanged.

Can never forget.


You are my jazz.

Messy

It's here...less than one week before Christmas day.  Any of you who know me know that I can be a bit of a Grinch this time of year.  Maybe if Christmas was in summer and I could celebrate by going with people I love to the beach it might be different, but as it is, I am not a fan of schlepping.  It seems there is much schlepping when it comes to this holiday.  All of you non-schleppers know what I mean...

Anyway, each year I'm struck by a particular theme of Christmas that seems to capture me. This year I was struck by the concept of a video that a friend of mine made with her youth group. The video was called "He Came to Get Messy".  The concept...as I took it...goes a little like this: God could have - maybe we think should have - come with a little more order.  You know, born in a palace and what not.  He should have had two regular parents instead of a teenage mom and a very confused fiancée.  He should have at least been born in a regular house with a trained midwife...but He came different.

God didn't come into the environment that we think gods should arrive.  He came into chaos...

He came into mud

He came into noise

He came into stink

He came messy

In this week before Christmas my house is full of people.  There is a family friend with her two kids, my brother in law with his wife and three sons, a Korean foreign exchange student, my wife, three boys, three cats, two birds, five fish, two gerbils, and six chickens (yes, chickens...but they aren't technically in the house - I just wanted you to know that I have chickens for greater effect.  I hope it worked).  It's something like living in a reality T.V. show.    

Now, what's important to note about me is that I'm not messy.  In fact...I kind of like order.   As I write I'm sitting by the fire, sipping a glass of wine, and listening to one of my favorite jazz records under the soft glow of the white Christmas lights that are hung on my mantle.  That is the world I created.   What I'm not telling you is that kids keep racing by me - an unlimited stream like clowns from a clown car - playing hide and go seek.  Every few minutes I hear a crash, hear some tears, and try and decide if I need to leave the high back chair that I write to you from.  When I depart from the sanctuary of my little square island of peace, I will see mess. Everywhere.  Toys will be out, snacks spilled, wet boots, animal remains, dirty dishes, and the result of boys with poor aim in both bathrooms.  

Yes, it's messy.  I want to pretend that it's not there.  I want to just talk to you.

But it is.

It's messy.

It's a lot like my life.

Maybe I like the sophisticated because I am SO not.  

I have issues.

Really big issues.

Like many of you, I didn't have the childhood that I think I deserve.  I made a ton of mistakes growing up as a result.  I struggle with things that keep me up at night.  I've made promises that I can't keep, broken hearts, violated trust, and become too familiar with dark places in this world.

But that's not all I am.

I'm also a man who loves.  I appreciate beauty.  I love my family.  I enjoy my friends.  I inspire people to be better.  I really love Jesus and believe that I can change the world.   I have a legacy of people who are better because they know me.

I'm a mess - sometimes ugly, sometimes beautiful, but all mess.

Our usual approach to God is that we don't think He can handle our mess.  We think we need to get cleaned up before we go before we hang out with Him...and we never seem to get cleaned up.  We put our stuff in boxes and refuse to let Him...or anyone...in.  

The house is a mess...and we don't want company.

But take a look at how He came.  

You know the story.  Bethlehem...donkeys...crowds of people...no room.  A compassionate (or opportunistic) inkeeper says you can go sleep in the cave out back with the livestock.

It smells...it's loud...it's scary.

The couple settles in...certainly with animals and maybe a few strangers.  

Then her water breaks.

Really?  Now?  

Wouldn't the Son of God have better timing?

Absolutely.

This is the perfect time.

And the perfect place.

The God who never needed anything or anyone has made a choice.

He chooses to be uncomfortable...hungry...dirty...needy.

God enters our mess...

and cries.

It dawned on me this season that this is what love does.  Love moves into the messy darkness of the ones loved.  A lover doesn't seek to keep clean, but intentionally moves into the hurt - the terrifying pain and confusion - of the object of it's love and gets dirty.  The lover emerges dirty, bruised, needy, and bleeding from the sheer act of love.

Love is anything but safe.

But love is the thing that keeps us safe as we love.

Those of us that have experienced life with love withheld are familiar with the messy places.  But the reasons we go there are much different than why the lover goes.  We go there to fill our need, to stop the pain, to feel - even for a brief moment - like we matter.  We know it won't satisfy our deep pain, but we have no other options...we think.  We emerge with bad information...a false identity.  

The lover moves in because He has been well loved and moves in to heal the mess.  He is wounded, bruised, spat upon, broken, and bleeding.  He doesn't come with judgement...just truth.  He sees me and doesn't blink...even for a moment.  He somehow still believes...

The birth tells me that he comes messy and comes to sing...

He songs comes with the coolest backup singers ever.

His song is one word...

Peace.

"Glory to God in the Highest and on earth...?"

Peace.

"Peace to people on whom his favor rests..."

Peace to the place where His love has chosen to put up His feet and take a load off.

He chose to live here...in my mess.

I wonder if I trust Him enough to let Him into the cave out back...where I keep the messy parts of my life.  I wonder if I'll have the courage this year to allow Him to love me.  Can I open my hand and give Him the key to the closest where I keep my skeletons?

I want to...so badly.

He want's to...so badly.

If I let Him - and let love transform my heart - will I find the strength to go back and love the way I was loved?

I want to...so badly.

Cowboy

So, at the time of this writing I became the proud owner of a truck.  It’s a real, live pick-up truck.  It’s not an SUV or even a mini-truck.  It’s a truck.  I traded my old Toyota Camary to someone who felt that pouring gas into an eight-cylindar engine on a regular basis was a foolish expenditure.  

Sucker.

My motives were purely utilitarian.  Some of the work I do requires the truck along with the great joy I have in dumpster/curb diving.  This is what I tell everyone.  I would never want it to get out that driving a truck gives me the odd emotion of feeling like a man.  There are many who argue that I’m more Prius than pickup, but I can’t deny that I now feel my Y chromosome completely justified.  In order to keep my testosterone is check, I now find myself sipping a grade Latte pondering the relationship between stuff and manhood.

In downtown Nashville there is a boot shop.  Picture Payless shoes meets the OK Corral.  It was amazing.  No boot was the same, each had it’s own character and calling.  My sense of this place was that a man was to enter and then listen for his boots - the ones that were stamped with his soul.  When he finds them, they fit perfectly.  He leaves, grabs a few beers at a honkey tonk and goes back home in his - yes kids - truck.  I was able to wander these sacred isles thinking that there is one undeniable truth of manhood.

All men want to be cowboys.

If you don’t believe me, look closely.  Look into the eyes of the men who live behind the cages of corporate cubicles, manicured lawns of suburban sprawl, or stuck in downtown traffic.  You can see the search for the horizon and the longing to ride into the sunset.  

Believe me, the appeal is not the ride, the wilderness, the work, the bad food, the lack of women, the rugged lifestyle, or anything that is the reality of being a cowboy.  It’s the notion that somehow we’ve missed the essence of who we are and the man selling us Marlboro’s offers an invitation to the calling jailed in our pinstripes.

I wholeheartedly agree that we have fell headlong into a lie.  Most men have agreed to believe that our value is in aquisition.  If we make more money, get more recognition, capture every heart, and conquer on each battlefield then we are men.  I won’t explore the cliche of how stuff doesn’t make us happy, except to say that it’s killing us.  We’ve got it all twisted and in our hearts lies a cancer that slowly eats away at our soul until only the question of “where did it all go wrong” haunts our restless sleep.  There is a great difference between the things I want to have and the man I want to be.  The role of sacrifice in manhood is seldom explored the way it should be.  Men often work on the principle that our happiness is dependent on our power to get what we want - anytime we want it.  It might be career, recreation, possessions, or sex, or a combination of all.  Regardless, many of us would give assent to Woody Allen’s quote “the heart wants what it wants when it wants it.”  An that’s OK.

What’s amazing to me is that the life we deny ourselves we live virtually in our heroes, yet never make the decision to move toward a new definition of what it means to be a man.

Our heroes are those men who gave of themselves for the good of the weak or powerless.  These are the men that forgo pleasure, comfort, or recognition so that others may have the kind of life ordained for them.  This is the true hero soldier - not the ones that use firepower to wipe out innocents so that we can keep on buying ipods - but the ones that for the sake of the safety and well-being of others gives himself freely.  It will never go out of vogue to honor men who run into buildings as others run out or voluntarily put themselves in the line of fire to protect our neighborhoos.  These men deny pleasures that bring pain to others simply because that is not who they are.

Our ideal man shows up in our stories (specifically, comics written at at 12 year old boy level).  A casual reader of comics understands that an unusual power merely makes a man super.  SuperHERO requires a much different characteristic.  Eventually, every superhero must face a mortal threat - an enemy that could kill him.  These are our favorite issues/episodes.  Superman knows that Doomsday is going to kill him and fights on anyway.  Spiderman knows that having a normal life with Mary Jane just isn’t an option as long as he wears the suit.  

Then there’s Batman.  Batman is the only superhero that has no superpowers. Batman is no more than Bruce Wayne behind a cowl, yet his commitment to the good of others shouts of our call to manhood.  He has embraced a life in the shadows, denying possible happiness with Vicky Vail (or even Catwoman), all for a Gotham that he could never truly embrace and that never could embrace him.  

These tells me less about Superman, Spider-man, or Batman and more about Kal-El, Peter, and Bruce.

This brings me to my ultimate hero.  I can’t say enough about what Jesus teaches me about being a man.  We talk about Jesus the Savior, the King, and the God, but are often unclear about Jesus the man.  Jesus, in his life, shows us what men are supposed to look like.   His whole life was a setting aside of himself and the happiness that, one could argue, he was entitled to.  The earth, by virtue of His sonship, was his inheritance.  With all of his deity to draw from, he was completely man.  He wanted the same things I want.  He wanted significance, comfort, safety, even love. He could have slept where he wanted, eaten what he wanted, wore what he wanted, got the prestige he deserved, and lived out his life with a woman's love and his children on his knee watching unlimited sunsets.  

It’s become part of theology, so it’s significance is often ignored.  St. Paul writes to his friends that Jesus could have had it all - he deserved it all - but chose the cape and cowl (my translation of “becoming man”) to walk into my darkness. (See Phil 2)  Another writer says that “instead of the joy set before him he endured the cross”.  

Do you see it? Jesus’ call to manhood demonstrated itself in the love that fueled him.  It was a call given out to all men - a call to make great sacrifices in a mediocre world.  

At the end of my story, will I be the man who got what I wanted or will I have become the man I am called to reveal?

River

Moving, always moving. Better in some areas than others

        But relentless - the one thing you can say for sure.

Muddy. Taking pieces of where I’ve been

     Colored by the experience of every mile

              Sometimes Irrevocably

At some bends I’m called polluted.

     “Don’t drink the water!”

              As if I polluted myself.

Used
    Not in all places

            Often by people who can’t see downstream.

Beautiful
        Not in all places

   Especially in those places where power and potential are cared for -

Respected.

I’m a River.

       Often diverted

                Distracted

        My shape changed by the places I go and people I meet

Many join me on the journey

                  For a while.

             But I keep going.

                    Relentless.

I influence lakes - adding what I can and moving on.

         Drawn to the crashing sound of waves.

                   It’s where I end - 

                                and begin.

My composition changed

        Transformed.

                 I pour myself gladly into

Your Ocean.

God's Politics

So, we made it through back to back political conventions. Each convention working to excite their base and convince the American people that they have the corner on what the country needs and the other party will crash the U.S. into a guardrail after an all-night frat party. Now, I understand why there are stark differences in what the candidates believe about what direction the country needs to go. All one has to do is take a look at who attends each convention to understand that politics in a conversation in culture and preservation. Each party is populated with people who carry a particular ideology and are fighting to either maintain it or birth it. Two things struck out at me. One is how both parties ride on the idea of change. No one wants to be viewed as a washington insider. All want to be Lincoln, Kennedy, and Davy Crockett all wrapped into one. The second observation - is how each candidate is working to convince the voters that their side is God's side. Maybe that's not the thing that amazes me as much as how well it works. Political rivalries have become holy wars - the "liberals" vs. the "evangelicals". Both maintaining that God is most passionate about the issues of their party. Truth is - they might be right.

God's revelation makes his political perspectives really clear. He loves justice, mercy, life, caring for the poor, compassion, and a culture that seeks Him.

As followers of Jesus, we should continue to be about these things. Where it all falls apart is that our hopes in political parties often leaves us in conflict because no party will represent the heart of God because they don't understand the heart of God.

God's policies are driven from his heart. Much of politics are driven from fear or from want. Followers of Jesus approach these things differently. Let me illustrate what I mean.

I remember when I first met Bonnie. It was a cold, wet day in Chicago - as were many days in Chicago. I was with my wife at the McDonald’s at the corner of Foster and Kedzie - a few blocks west of our apartment in the neighborhood called “uptown”. Since we had gotten married, as often happens, we didn’t see our friends from college as much as we did when we were together every day on campus. One of these friends was an Englishman named Gary. Gary was majoring in multi-cultural studies because of a desire to go into mission work. He had this desire since he was a teenager traveling the world on mercy ships. He always had stories of amazing adventures around the world - which to a midwestern boy who was on his first big-city adventure was like talking to some kind of lion-tamer. Now this globe trotting, mission-focused friend of ours was bringing a girl for us to meet.

This visit wasn’t just a happening. It was one of those visits that friends do as they make the rounds introducing the person they are planning to marry. They seek approval and integration. Gary was starting a new life and we were about to meet her.
We liked Bonnie. She had met Gary at a mosque downtown. Visiting a mosque was part of an assignment to better understand islamic culture and muslims in general. As I recall, Bonnie had made the first move. She too was interested in a life of missions - thus creating a natural bond that was about to result in matrimony. Gary was thrilled - and as his friends, so were we.

It was no real surprise the day we got a letter from Gary and Bonnie letting us know they were on their way to the mission field. I assumed they would be heading back to the mercy ships - Gary’s first love - but it seems these ships had no openings. Instead they were off to Lebanon.

The reports I heard from Lebanon were just want I would expect from Gary. He had opened a bookstore and coffee shop in Sidon and spent his days in dialog with people who would come to exchange ideas. He had been able to see a few men respond to the gospel and had the beginnings of a simple church. Bonnie had taken a job as an assistant in a women’s clinic where she cared for women in a society where the needs of women are often of low priority.

It was another cold and wet day in November 2002 when I picked up the newspaper that was lying on the floor at my wife’s parent’s home. The front page was filled with the normal “feel-good” Thanksgiving stories. As I read through the paper I saw the article: “Christian Missionary Killed in Lebanon”. It had a picture of Bonnie and a brief description of the events. It seems that the doorbell rang at the clinic and when Bonnie opened the door she was shot three times. Her husband, my friend Gary, was ushered out of the country and was on his way back to the United States with the body of his wife.

10 days later, at a memorial service with the world press watching, a grief-stricken Gary got up and made the statement:

“I forgive this man, because Jesus has forgiven me.”

There is no one less deserving of forgiveness than the man who takes a life. In one irreversible instant, the gunman took away a future - destroying the lives of family, friends, and anyone who would have been touched by Bonnie’s life. Here is my friend Gary performing an unspeakable act - forgiving the man that robbed him of his world.

I can’t speak for my friend, but my guess is that missions took on a different meaning from that point forward. From his words I hear that his life wasn’t about getting people to agree with his religious viewpoint. Gary’s life was pushed open to reveal the heart of God. As for Bonnie, she wasn't there for politics. She didn't represent the U.S. or democracy. She was there because love pushed her there. Her heart was driven by love for people - and her life demonstrated her actions. She didn't need a law or a society to agree with her. She didn't the political table set to embrace people.

Many who hear Gary's story might assume that he became a leading voice in the war on terror - supporting any policy that brought justice (revenge) to the people who dared do this. He did none of this. Gary continued to give his life away to the people of Lebanon - embracing and revealing a God who want's to embrace them.

Jesus was great at telling stories that would resonate with the people who heard them. He told stories about farming, religious or social gaps, or whatever else moved to the core of the weary ears that heard him. Sometimes there are arguments as to whether or not the Bible’s descriptions of God as Father are sexist. The feeling is that a male deity allows for all manner of chauvinism and abuse. Certainly, those who read the scriptures with an eye that ignores the wholeness of God do tend justify their own brokenness. Yet, in the story that Jesus told to the group gathered before him, the one who was to represent God simply had to be a father.

I will accept that I’m a bit biased and speaking from my own limited experience. I have never been a mother and have no sense of the heart of one. From my observations the mother/son bond is deep and lasting. Men know how to treat women from their mothers, enjoy great care and nurture from their mothers, and stereotypically enjoy the softer side of life from her. The relationship between a father and son is complex. It’s often misunderstood and misdirected - sometimes resulting in irrelevance or absence.

From the earliest recorded histories, sons were socially understood as the continuation of the father. Kings hoped for a son to be heir to the throne, but even for the rest of us - our boys carry our names to the next generation. Whether it’s nature or nurture - men understand that their sons represent themselves. Boys are the life of the father continuing on beyond the limits of a lifespan.

Jesus' listeners would have been horrified by the insolence of this boy and celebrated the destruction of his life in a pig pen. They would have been waiting with eagerness as Jesus described this wretch crawling home humiliated -begging to be a slave. "Sweet justice" they would have thought - expecting the father to take his revenge and restore his honor.

The rest of the story has become such a part of our cultural cannon that we lose it's impact. The fact that this father was on a constant lookout for sign of his child's return - AFTER that child had humiliated him and squandered his wealth was offensive. Hugging him, forging him, and then CELEBRATING him? That's just ridiculous. Notice the robe went on the boy before a bath. He still stank of his bad decisions - the father was just glad he was home

Our lives, as followers of this God, must be driven by this heart. Our job is not adjust culture so that we can fulfill our call of love - but to love anyway. Whether our society embraces our beliefs or is opposed to them, our platform is the same as God's - reconciliation.

Here is our bottom line, we exist to reconcile people to God (see 2 Cor 5). That reconciliation will result in greater justice, more compassion, care for the poor, and healing to the planet. Let's run, embrace, and party.

Daddy in the Storm

It was one of the loudest storms all year long. Hurricane season down south formed with the unreal heat of a New York city summer to create a thunderstorm over our house of biblical proportions. I laid in my bed with a familiar presence during storms - my 4-year old child, Calvin. I’m not completely sure when he entered the bed. When he was very young I had to go retrieve him from his crib during the storm - his cries revealing his fear of the violence outside. When he graduated to a “big-boy bed” he would come in on his own - this time the cries requesting an invitation to the comforts of mom and dad. Now, I suppose, the confidence of the source of his comfort has put aside all need for announcement. Here he was, curled up next to me, fast asleep as the skies seem to be ripping apart.

Storms this season have collected a grave toll. In the last two weeks of this writing, six people have lost their lives being dragged out to sea from the hidden undercurrent caused by weather hundreds of miles south. The cost to those who live in the heart of the hurricanes has been so much more. Yet, here is my son, fast asleep while the source of the fear of many pounds on the door.

I laid awake for some time pondering all of this. What was it about the proximity to me that suddenly made this violent aggressor suddenly seem as inconsequential as fourth of July fireworks? Maybe he does hold the hopelessly false belief that I can do anything and protect him from anything. I think it’s simpler than that. I think he realizes, on some level, that I know stuff. At least I know more than him. If my knowledge of the situation allows me to sleep - then so can he.

At each loud thunderclap Calvin would momentarily wake, reach out to make sure I was still there, and then fall back to sleep. Me being fast asleep was his assurance that all was still well. He doesn’t for a minute think that I’m asleep because I’m ignorant to the realities of thunderstorms or that my slumber reveals a callous insensitivity to the need around me. He trusts me - and takes my calm to mean that everything is still O.K.

For those of you familiar with the stories of Jesus’ life, you are undoubtedly reminded, just as I was, of Jesus’ calming of the storm. (Mark 4:35-40 among others). In the story we have Jesus and a boat full of disciples - the men he is trying to teach about himself. Jesus, after a lengthy and exhausting period of ministry, chooses to take the time to catch some sleep in the bottom of the boat - probably the ship’s hold where caught fish were stored. A storm rose up in the middle of the sea and the disciples were doing everything they could to keep the ship from capsizing and all drowning.

Then, in the first and only recorded instance of the disciples scolding Jesus, they woke him. They accused him of not caring. What they were doing didn’t seem to be enough. Every hand on this effort was required and Jesus seemed to be acting like a wealthy passenger on a luxury liner. The least he could do would be to help bail.

The rest of the story has been told countless times to demonstrate the power of Jesus. Even the disciples commented “who is this man - even the wind and the seas obey him?” In their defense - this isn’t something to be expected. It’s not every day that you survive storms by shouting down the wind. This being true - I don’t think that the power display was Jesus’ point. Notice what He says about the situation:

“Why are you so afraid? Don’t you have any faith?”

The faith in this passage has been the subject of sermons and debate since the words were written. What exactly does that mean? Does it mean we have the power to shout down the storms of our life? Does that mean instead of panic we need to simply ask Jesus and he will calm our life storms? I don’t think the storm is the point at all. I think the story is about Jesus asleep.

We work so hard in life to escape storms. The weekend of our storm I was violently sick. Out of all the regular sick you can get - I hate stomach illnesses the most. The helplessness of expelling the contents of your stomach over and over, long after there is nothing left to expel is torture. I would do anything to make it stop. The only thing that allows me to get through it is constantly telling myself that I will make it, that soon it will be over. That doesn’t stop my from trying to avoid it. I try meditating, drinking pepto, applying cold cloths to the back of my neck - whatever scheme I can find on the internet. None of it works. Only time. If I could find something to stop it I would.

I wonder how many of the storms in life we work so ferociously to avoid are simply designed to be gone through. While Jesus obviously has the power to stop them, I think we are meant to learn from how Jesus went through them. That is what Calvin was doing by checking to see if I was next to him. He knows that I’ve been through these before. He knows that I know storms. Enduring storms is what he was learning from me that night. People who panic in storms do so because they haven’t made it through one.

It’s a regular joke on late-night TV during storm season. There is the clip of the poor reporter who was sent down to the most violent part of the hurricane or flood or whatever storm is reeking havoc and does his piece live - outside in the storm. Usually you can hardly hear the report over the sound of the wind and rain. The comedians laugh at the person being buffeted by 70 mile an hour winds and annually raise the question of why this person has to stand in the storm to convince us that there is a storm. I used to agree with the observation until I realized that only a person who has stood in the storm is qualified to inform me about the storm. I know that reporter has been there - so I trust him.

Jesus has been in the storm. Jesus’ message of hope to us is reported live from the storm.

Enduring storms is what I need to be learning from Jesus. When the storms come, I want to learn to reach out my hand and see what He is doing. As long as He is O.K., I will be too.

Hassidic Christianity

Dude, I don’t understand your family.” Vin sat with me on my front stoop as I played catch with my young son. I had met Vin through a teacher at the high school that was worried about him. In a lot of ways, Vin was your typical fringe kid - short, with long blonde hair and a black wardrobe that made his pale skin seem downright goolish. Which I think was the point.

There were lots of kids at the high school who looked like Vin, but Mrs. Kurtzer was particularly concerned for him because he seemed to take it to the next level. Vin was advertising a deepening participation in the occult and was starting to show up to school with his face painted al la Brandon Lee in “The Crow”.

Mrs. Kurtzer called me and asked if we could take Vin to camp.

Vin jumped at the opportunity and assumed he would terrify the church people by showing up to the bus in all black with his “Satan is Cool” shirt. He was a stark contrast to the guys in long, white tees and fitted caps and girls in their summer pastels. Most of them knew Vin and was surprised to see him on the trip…but everyone went along.

Vin was a bit disappointed that the proclamation on his chest didn’t really freak anyone out – so he upped the ante with face paint. Still, no one really noticed. People still talked to him and accepted him. By the end of the week Vin told us that even though he wasn’t ready to do the whole “Jesus” thing, he told us “I know for the first time that I am loved and that I can love back.”

I’ll take it.

Vin became a regular feature at my house that summer. Now, sitting with me he said “I want to make it my life to study your family. You seem to love your kids. You spend time with them and play with them. I just have never seen that before”. I was honest with him and told him it wasn’t because I was a particularly good guy, but knowing Jesus in an intimate way has changed how I think about life. Truly, it changed how I think about Vin.

Kids like Vin assume that they don’t belong with church people. Many inside the church have hijacked the idea of holiness to justify their isolation from people they don’t like or understand. The scriptures are clear that God calls us to be separate and God’s people have been getting it twisted since day one.

The Pharisee’s question in Matthew 9 is a fair one. Jesus has just asked a tax collector to be his disciple and is now at a party with a whole lot of tax collectors, prostitutes, and all kinds of people on the fringe. The Pharisees want to know why Jesus would eat with them when we are supposed to be holy.

Jesus gives them clarification on the theology of holiness. He quotes Hosea 6:6 and tells them to go figure out what it really means. The Hosea verse uses the word “hesed” that is translated all kinds of different ways in English. It is the word that describes what God really desires of his people. It means commitment to God on the deepest level. It’s the word used to describe the highest order of modern Judaism – Hassidic.

As with many words God gives us, it became a word used to cut off hurting and broken people from the warmth of God’s presence.

When Jesus grabs the word and couches it in the backdrop of dinner with sinners He is inciting a revolution. He is saying that holiness doesn’t mean running away from people, but embracing them. It means living a life transformed by love in front of and within people.

It means being the kind of man that God is making me to be and doing it with a psudo-satanist kid from New Jersey who sees in me the man he wants to be.

Father's Day

In our family we simply have no ability to wait when it comes to gift giving. Christmas usually comes to our house around the 20th and our "birthdays" usually fall on the day after gifts have been purchased. As a result, it was no surprise when I was sat down to receive my Father's day gifts last SATURDAY.

Each child lined up to present the gifts they had for me. My kids are still young, so gifts are all made at school. A very stressed out Jack was first. He was working hard to hold his gift together since he had wrapped it with a giant piece of construction paper and had overlooked the use of tape. I was grateful of this gap in his process as the paper was an elaborate art project on it's own. One side had Jack and I walking through a field holding hands. I'm tall and thin with an abnormally large head (Jack is a realist) and he with his orange hair. The other side was a detailed battle between the world's greatest superheroes and some unnamed baddies. He knows what I like.

I have failed to mention the gift. A highly decorated Frisbee that followed the immediate request of a "Frisbee appointment" later that evening. I was happy to oblige.

Calvin was next. He had a flawlessly wrapped gift. It was a small, red, cube-shaped package that had Father's Day wishes written in printing that shouted "I was done by the teacher!". Offering the traditional "Cal, what did you get me?" his reply was an excited "I don't know, I can't remember!" It seemed that me opening this gift was filled with anticipation for both of us!

As I opened his gift he saw the blue sparkly paint of the little box and laughed excitedly "I remember! It's a box" and re-presented the expertly painted, assembled, and again printed box to me with great pride. It was obvious that he might have picked up a paint brush during the creation of this gift - but little more. He was thrilled.

Taylor's gift was still coming. Emerging from the basement (where my printer resides) I was presented with a certificate. It seems that I am a #1 Dad (sorry to all of you who thought you were in the running). It was designed and printed by him and signed - in cursive! He was proud of his work and I was touched - and taught.

When Taylor handed me his gift I had a dawning moment. Each of my children had used their strength and gifts in order to honor me. Taylor is a tech guy. He isn't particularly artistic, but he can do computers - and write his name in cursive.

Jack is our resident artist. He spend hours perfecting his craft. Even as a young child he was a perfectionist when it came to expressing himself. It is what he is best at doing.

Cal on the other hand...he isn't particularly artistic and at four has limited computer ability. What he does have is an uncanny power over people. It is no surprise to me to recieve a gift that someone else produced. I picture his preschool staff burning the midnight oil to make sure that Mr. Calvin's project was done by the deadline and up to his standards (which as of now included gluing a dump truck to the lid). I wouldn't be surprised if my life is a series of gifts produced by assistants.

What I discovered is that each of these gifts meant the world to me because it represented the best of each of them. As a Father, I celebrate who they are far above anything that I might "like".

I think God feels this way. He is a Father after all. We work so hard to try to offer God all of the "churchy" things because we think those are the only gifts He wants. Truth is, I think He wants us to use our gifts to the best of our ability. When we act in who we were created to be - we honor Him.

Ministry to people means that we help them discover their unique gifts and then introduce them to a Father who celebrates the use of their uniqueness. He doesn't need another preacher or more songs (unless of course that is who you are). He needs you to be you.

The world is waiting for what you have - and maybe He is as well.

Jesus and the Infinate Sadness

So, this might not have much to do with youth ministry, per se, but it has been my reality in the past couple of weeks. I've given it the title "The Infinite Sadness" with apologies to Smashing Pumpkins. See, the world I grew up in is all falling apart and there is nothing I can do about it.

Truth is, it was falling apart my entire life. It's funny how the way we live is - no matter how broken - simply normal. My family's obsession with themselves has caused small fissures to become scars the size of the grand canyon. In the last few months I have been watching the tragedy of human choice some to the natural consequence - that of total isolation and death.

So, why do I tell you all of this? Please know that it's not to excuse my absence over the last couple of weeks. It's to remind us of our calling. We are agents of healing in a world that we made. Human pain comes from our attempt to control our world. Whether we are the predator or the victim, mankind is on an insatiable quest to fill out the image of God that is stamped on our soul. It is the condition of all of us. I fear what I cannot control so I refuse to trust God and His infinite love. My choice to drive my live ALWAYS ends in isolation and death. It's not "judgment" in the way we think of it, it's just the natural consequence of not living in love - the way we were designed.

The kids we serve - and every adult that surrounds them - are in this cycle of fear. Each has their own "Infinite Sadness" that they hide with clothes, sex, substance abuse, violence, technology, or whatever they put between their fragile heart and other fragile hearts.

Fear drives people to do horrible things that have become so pervasive that we have accepted it as normal. Watch 30 minutes of BET or MTV through the lens of the deep love of God. People are being abused 24 hours a day. Men think that their role in life is to be tough and to have as much sex as possible. Sexuality and violence are infecting themselves in the lives of our young women who advertise their sexual availability and call it being "strong". This generation celebrated Beyonce for her strength in a song that proclaimed she was getting rid of one loser man to get another who will "be here in a minute".

Even our "church kids" think that following God simply means doing good in school. God forgive us.

Sin isn't really a religious word. In fact, we have made all of the Bible words religious by taking them out of real life. Sin is an archery term that simply means "you missed". Kids are aiming at life and miss. Kids want life and love. They want to be whole. I want to be whole. Without turning the entirety of our being over to God to become enraptured by the Spirit they (we) will continue to miss.

This is what I suggest. Ask God this week to wipe the scales from your eyes. Ask Him to wipe away your perceptions of what is normal and let your soul see with His love. Allow yourself to really look at what is happening to ourselves and our kids through our choices. Not with the eyes of judgment, but with the brokenness of compassion.

I invite you to write your insights here. We must understand what is broken if we are to be agents of healing.

May God give us His heart as we journey into honesty.

Did you hear about Boo?

Did you hear about Boo?

Monday I was sitting in the Plainfield train station waiting for the 8:38 to New York when the conversation turned to the local gossip. There was normal conversation about local politics or neighborhood personalities - until someone said "Did you hear about that kid that got shot?"

It had happened the day before. A young man - in his later 20's and out of jail only recently - was ambushed and shot three times in the chest. He was dead at the scene.

Of course, the discussion turned to an analysis of the "why". Was it a rival gang thing? Did he sleep with someone's girl? Was it an old beef? People love to be sociologists in these moments when the person is just "that kid that got shot".

The young man cleaning the station jumped in and informed the group that he had known him. He had gone to high school with him. I asked for his name. "I didn't know his real name - he went by "Boo".

Then I realized I also had known him.

As a first-year youth pastor I had what most would consider a highly successful youth ministry. Over 100 kids - mostly from the neighborhood - came to our Wednesday night meeting. They played basketball, hung out, played in our "game room", and heard the gospel. Boo was one of those kids. He wasn't a "core" kid - he was the sometimes boyfriend of one of the girls who came every week. I knew him enough to say hello...but that was about it.

In those days - if I was honest - I thought that my youth program was enough. There were a ton of kids and the gospel. They had fun, I worked hard on the program and room, and occasionally I went somewhere outside of the church where kids were.

Somehow a kid, a kid named Boo, came into my ministry and left without ever having developed a relationship with a man who loved Jesus and loved him.

We have the power to rewrite the story of kids' life. Boo's story (though there is so much more) will ever be one sentence "that kid that got shot". God had a different story. God wanted him to be "Boo - man for whom love has replaced fear, who loves a wife and children, who is working to change his community, who lives at peace with his God and neighbors." His story could have been different.

I wonder how many kids like this are in our ministries? Maybe we won't have such a dramatic story - but there are kids for whom you are going to re-write their script. Our job is to help them see that the version of their life is a tragedy when God wants to write an action-adventure with a dose of romance.

This week ask God to make Boo's life matter by allowing us to never let kids come and go when it's in our power to walk with them and make a difference. May we never be satisfied with our programs when God has called us to ministry.

Be blessed this week.