The Kingdom, The Kids, & The Cowboys

“Your child is following a mutant form of Christianity, and you may be responsible.”

That’s the first sentence in a recent on-line article from CNN that’s been emailed to me four times this week and seems to be making the rounds. The August 27 article tackles the topic of religion and teens from the viewpoint of Kenda Creasy Dean, a professor of theology at Princeton Theological Seminary and the author of “Almost Christian.” Her book claims that lots of parents and churches are unwittingly passing on a watered-down, self-serving, imposter strain of Christianity to our kids. Our children today see God as a “divine therapist” whose chief goal is to boost our self esteem. God simply wants us to do good and feel good. Researchers for the book call it moralistic therapeutic deism. And Dean says, “If this is the God they’re seeing in church, they are right to leave us in the dust.”

According to the book, Dean’s research included in-depth interviews with more than 3,300 American teenagers between 13 and 17, and found that most who call themselves Christian are indifferent and inarticulate about their faith. Dean says three out of every four teenagers in this country claim to be Christian, but fewer than half practice their faith and only half deem it to be very important at all.

I wonder if those numbers wouldn’t also accurately reflect the beliefs and practices of the adults in our pews.

I haven’t read the book. I’ve only read this article. At least five times now. And the one sentence that keeps coming back to me, the one quote I can’t get out of my head, I think, sums up one of the major problems — if not the number one problem — in our churches and our church programs.

About a third of the way through this article, Dean is quoted as saying, “If teenagers lack an articulate faith, it may be because the faith we show them is too spineless to merit much in the way of conversation.”

Amen.

The good news of salvation in Christ is not a “gospel of niceness” in which faith is simply doing good and not ruffling feathers. The Christian call is to take risks, to witness to the world, to sacrifice and serve others; to die to self and to live in a way that is radically — dangerously — different from the surrounding culture.

Preachers preach safe messages that will bring in more people and/or keep more people from leaving. Elders and other church leaders promise security and comfort and happiness at their congregations. We’re not challenging our people. We’re not teaching them or showing them that following Christ — living in the way of Christ and in the manner of Christ — means doing something to fix what’s broken in the world. Restore something. Cleanse something. Change everything. We don’t call our people to anything that’s bigger than ourselves. If all we’re doing is asking our people to sit in a pew, write a weekly check, and then allow the church to work hard to make them physically and spiritually and emotionally comfortable, we’re guilty of adding to the problem. We’re guilty of teaching and practicing a mutant form of Christianity.

We need to stop telling and showing our teens — and all our adults for that matter — that Christianity is all about following rules and drawing lines and adhering to boundaries. We need to immediately cease telling our members — and the world — that it’s OK to worship in that way over there but not this way in here, or it’s allright to sing that song in that room but not this song in this room, that there’s nothing wrong with worshiping God in that style on this day but not this style on that day. We can’t keep telling our kids that it’s OK for women to pray or read Scripture in our living rooms and classrooms but not in our worship assemblies. We need to stop this vain protecting of our comfort zones and comfort rules by insisting that weddings and funerals are not worship services. When you tell me that an assembly in the worship center in which the gathered men and women sing songs of praise and thanksgiving to God, prayers are offered to God in the name of Jesus, Holy Scripture is read, and a sermon is preached from the Bible is not a worship assembly, it makes no sense. Our kids are not stupid. They see right through this stuff. And I don’t blame them.

That’s not Christianity.

Biblical Christianity is bold. It’s huge. It turns whole towns upside down. It dramatically changes lives. It’s a call to rescue and save. It’s more about what’s happening in your community than what’s happening inside your church building. It’s more about what you do than what you believe. It’s more about how you live than how you sing. It’s about serving; it’s not about being served. It’s about dying in the name and the manner of our Lord. It’s all about doing things that make absolutely no earthly sense because God in Christ Jesus has broken through the barriers of time and space to deliver us from an eternity in hell. We don’t explain the faith; we courageously live the faith.

Which message is your church preaching and practicing? Is it a mutant Christianity of arbitrary rules and comfort? Or is it a Scriptural Christianity that goes out on a limb to make a massive difference in the lives of hurting and sick men and women in your community? Does your church love and serve unconditionally or does it model love and service with exceptions and fine print?

If you’re telling the teens in your church they can clap during the songs just as long as they don’t clap too loudly, they’re going to leave. And I don’t blame them.

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I need to apologize to Jerry K: you’re right, Cliff Lee is not the savior of the Rangers. I need to retract a statement I’ve made to Whitney: no, watching Lee pitch is not like it used to be watching Nolan Ryan pitch. Sorry. I know Lee says it’s his back. I know he’s getting treatment. But he’s started ten games now for Texas. And the Rangers are 3-7 in those starts. If the playoffs began today, I’d go with C. J. Wilson and maybe even Tommy Hunter in the opener over Lee. Hunter showed more of those gritty guts last night. David Murphy and Nelson Cruz made some unbelievable catches. And the Yankees are taking care of the A’s.

Peace,

Allan

It was never really cool to be from P-Grove.

Until now.

As a kid growing up in Pleasant Grove, a once proud community in the southeast corner of Dallas — I’ve always assumed it was proud at one time, long before I was on the scene —I always knew we weren’t as well off as most everybody else in Dallas. I don’t think I ever lacked for a thing. But it was obvious, especially since my siblings and I went to private Dallas Christian about 15-minutes north, that the cool people lived somewhere else.

I distinctly remember a school-sponsored overnight trip to Camp Deer Run when we were kids. It was pouring down rain and blowing really hard and lightning and thundering and our teachers and counselors gathered us in the dining hall. They told us that a tornado had been reported in Dallas but “it’s OK, there’s no need to worry, the tornado was reported in Pleasant Grove.”

Pleasant Grove has been the butt of the Dallas jokes for at least 35-40 years now, maybe longer. People who live in P-Grove are called Grove Rats. It seems that 90-percent of the shootings reported on the evening news occur in Pleasant Grove. When I’ve driven my kids through the Grove to see my boyhood home, they’ve always reacted with horror. Carrie-Anne clicks the car doors locked as soon as we take the Scyene Road exit.

Can anything good come out of Pleasant Grove?

The Bruton IV theater just west of Bruton Road and Prarie Creek is where I experienced Star Wars, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and Raiders of the Lost Ark. The Pleasant Grove branch of the Dallas public library, on South Buckner Boulevard, is where I checked out all of Beverly Cleary’s books about Henry Huggins and Ralph, the motorcycle-riding mouse. The Pleasant Oaks recreation center, just about two miles down Jennie Lee Lane, is where we played ping-pong and basketball. That’s where dad pushed us so fast around the merry-go-round we thought we would either die laughing or choking on puke. It’s where I played three sets of tennis in that record 113-degree heat of a summer day in 1980. In my blue jeans. The 7-11 at the corner of Prarie Creek and Bruton is where I spent hours playing Asteroids and slurping Slurpees. The Pleasant Grove Church of Christ, on Conner Drive, is where I was baptized into Christ. Our three-bedroom house on Terra Alta Circle is where I learned how to be a family. The old Gibson’s store where I made my first major purchase: an $89 ten-speed bike, with lawnmowing money. Craving the ninety-nine cent hamburgers at Griff’s. Pulling the levers on the cigarette machines at Dairy Queen where my grandmother worked. The Circle Grill at Buckner and I-30. Doorknocking the apartments off Lake June Road. Learning to drive on Military Parkway. Twilight Time skating rink. (Oops. Sorry. I was only going to list positive memories in this paragraph.)

Jim Martin came out of P-Grove. That’s pretty cool. When he and I get together for our monthly meetings in Waco or run into one another in Austin or Abilene, our conversation inevitably turns to something only Rats like us could appreciate. And when Jim told me a couple of months ago that Stanley Hauerwas, the great American theologian and one of my favorite authors, was born and raised in the Grove, I was skeptical.

But here’s the proof. Today’s Dallas Morning News carries a front-page story (below the fold) about Hauerwas’ roots in Pleasant Grove. He’s just released a memoir, Hannah’s Child, that details a lot of his childhood experiences as the only son of a Pleasant Grove bricklayer, faithful members of the Pleasant Mound Methodist Church. From there, Hauerwas has gone on to lecture and write and teach and preach. Yale Divinity School. Notre Dame. Duke Divinity School. He’s one of the great theological thinkers of our time.

My favorite work of his is Resident Aliens. Living as Christians in a pagan land. The Church as a colony of outsiders in the middle of hostile territory. Read it. It’s challenging. Convicting. You won’t be the same after you’ve digested Resident Aliens. You won’t view God’s Church or God’s mission for his Church the same way. His writings have certainly had a profound impact on shaping my theology. Hauerwas is a genius.

And he’s from the Grove.

The Dallas Morning News article mentions that Hauerwas graduated from Samuell High School in 1958. My dad was a Samuell Spartan, class of 1960! Is there any chance? Could they have known each other? Is it even possible? I took my driver’s education at Samuell. But does my dad know Hauerwas?

He doesn’t. I just called. My dad doesn’t even have a 1958 Samuell year book, only a ‘59 and ‘60.

That’s allright. Today, it’s a little bit cooler to be from the Grove.

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The magic number is 26. Any combination of 26 wins by the Rangers and losses by the A’s gives our baseball team their first division title since 1999. Do you realize that there are only 32 games remaining? If the Rangers go 16-16 the rest of the way — no chance since Cruz comes back tonight and Kinsler’s scheduled to be in the lineup by this weekend — Oakland would have to go 25-8 to win the A.L.West.

I remember well those Red Octobers from the late ’90s. Whitney doesn’t. This is fun.

Peace,

Allan

Four weeks ago we spent seven days with our great friends Jim & Mandy Gardner and Jimmy & Elizabeth Mitchell at the Northside Church of Christ in Benton, Arkansas (home of Cliff Lee). They always bring in a guest speaker for the adults during their Vacation Bible School. And I was honored to preach the Word from John 14-16 with a reflective and hungry group of disciples.

Side note: I was walking into our church building here at Legacy the Sunday I returned when Kent and Norma Robinson drove up and welcomed me back home. Kent asked me how it went and I told him it was great, but I was exhausted. I said, “They had me speaking twelve times in five days and I didn’t think I had that much to say.” At which Norma leaned over in the truck and responded, “I find that hard to believe!”

Of course, I had a wonderful time reconnecting with Jim and Jimmy. We were all three on staff together at the church in Marble Falls while I was getting my degree at Austin Grad. Jim always impresses me with his knowledge of God’s Word and the straightforward way he delivers it. He’s very confident and very bold in the way he preaches. And he’s so very kind and gentle with and to the people in his congregation. Always has been. After spending about 30-minutes in his study with an especially cranky brother in Marble Falls one morning, Jim finally stood up and said, “We can do this all day long and accomplish nothing for the Kingdom. I’m going to make some hospital visits. You’re welcome to come with me.”

And the man did.

Jim sees the big picture.

And then there’s Jimmy. I was reminded all over again about why I love Jimmy. He’s a nut. He’s crazy. He has no shame. He’s hilarious. He’s not afraid of anything. He’ll sing any song and do any voice and play any part. He spent all week in VBS playing a ship’s first mate with the voice and mannerisms of a cross between Conan O’Brien and Harry Caray. He’s sensitive. And loving. And every single thing he does — everything! — is motivated by his love for the kids. He loves them. He’s in their faces all the time. He’s at their schools. He’s in their homes. All he cares about is those young people. And they love him right back.

Jimmy sees the big picture.

Ernest Miller is a 33-year-old Harding graduate from New Jersey. He and his wife LaDonna and their two girls just moved to Benton six weeks ago. He’s the brand new preacher at the Johnson Street Church of Christ in Benton, the black church on the other side of the tracks. I had lunch with Ernest that week at a Chinese restaurant owned by a guy named Jerry Jones — not that Jerry Jones! And then I had the honor of Ernest showing me around the Johnson Street church building and surrounding neighborhood. I had the pleasure of meeting and shaking hands with 83-year-old W. K. Hannah, one of the founding members of that church from almost 60 years ago. He was working the food pantry last Tuesday, just like he does every Tuesday. Greeting people with a warm, “How you doin’?” Moving sacks of groceries into the trunks of cars. Praying with visitors. Telling them goodbye with a heartfelt “God bless you.” Ernest moved gracefully around the parking lot and the building, calling people by name, hugging little old ladies and jousting with the kids like he’s been there forever. He encouraged everybody. He smiled at everybody.

Ernest sees the big picture.

And they’ve all three committed to working on the biggest of pictures: reconciling their two churches, bringing together their two congregations, reuniting the brothers and sisters at the Lord’s table. They want to make the white church and the black church one. One Church. One family. One building. One set of elders. One mission. One purpose. One Body.

Northside actually planted that Johnson Street church — literally on the other side of the tracks — back in the mid 1950s. Jim’s grandfathers, both of them, were elders at the time. Jim showed me a copy of the church budget from 1962 that lists “colored congregation” as their second largest mission item. It’s not that the Northside church had evil intentions or bad motives 55 years ago. I believe that their motives were pure. They were just wholly misguided. And Jim is working with Jimmy and Ernest and Fernando, their hispanic minister, to make sure that the Kingdom of God in Benton looks like and acts like the Kingdom of God in Holy Scripture.

These two congregations are already working hard to rise above the ungodly distinctions of the artificial boundaries our culture and, sadly, our churches have built between us. They already worship together at monthly gatherings. They eat together at special occasions. They supported each other’s VBS. The ministers from both churches have lunch together once a week.

Christ Jesus came to break down all the barriers, to destroy all the lines, to obliterate our differences. The dream in Benton is that God’s Church there will be an impossible-to-miss example, a living illustration, that in Christ there are no language or ethnic or cultural divisions. We are, together, one body. And all the members belong to each other.

It’s going to take a lot of sacrifice for both churches. It’s going to take patience and understanding and gentleness and kindness. It’s going to require a Christ-like attitude of selfless giving. And it’s going to take time. But it’s a worthy endeavor. It’s what’s demanded of all of us who claim to be followers of our Savior who went out of his way and left everything and gave everything to impartially call everyone to the Father.

I’m excited that tonight Whitney and I are going to join Jim and Jimmy and the Northside youth group at the Rangers game in Arlington. I’m excited that Jimmy is going to lead our worship at Legacy this Sunday, just like the good ol’ days in Marble Falls. And I’m so inspired by what Jim and Jimmy and Ernest and the Church is doing in Benton, Arkansas.

God bless our brothers and sisters there. May they point all of us to greater unity in Christ.

Peace,

Allan

“Lukewarm people say they love Jesus, and he is, indeed, a part of their lives. But only a part. They give him a section of their time, their money, their thoughts, but he isn’t allowed to control their lives.” ~Francis Chan, Crazy Love, p.72

As I consider my own discipleship to Christ, my own calling to deny myself and take up my cross and follow my Lord, I don’t want to be mediocre about any of it. I don’t want to hold anything back. I want to give him and “it” — my discipleship — my all.

And if I’m not careful, it’s easy for me to feel like I’m doing that simply because I’m a preacher.

Hey, look at everything I gave up. Look at all of my sacrifice. Look at the tremendous risks I took. I left my radio career. I sold the house and moved to Austin to get theological training, trusting God to provide. And now I’m preaching the Gospel. I’m teaching Bible classes. I’m ministering to people. I’m promoting church programs. I’ve given it all to God.

The honest truth is that I’m not sure I’ve really given up anything. It’s not really risky or hard, it’s not really a sacrifice to preach at Legacy. It’s a huge upper-middle class church in a suburb just minutes away from our families and stomping grounds in a wonderful part of Texas in the wealthiest country in world history. I get paid tons of money, I have a massive house with a pool, two nice cars, health insurance, a savings account, and an air-conditioned office with a big desk and a swivel chair.

I look at Manuel and Yvina Calderon and the work God is doing through them at Siempre Familia in the Rosemont area of Fort Worth and I see sacrifice. I see front-line Christian ministry. I see people being impacted, lives being eternally changed, by the Gospel. I look at David and Olivia Nelson in Kharkov, Ukraine and I see real risk and hard-core faith for Christ. I see them leaving everything behind to take Jesus to people who’ve never heard.

When I look at myself, I’m sometimes afraid that my discipleship doesn’t add up.

I’m not comparing myself to these missionaries. I don’t think that’s right. And I don’t feel guilty about the house and the cars. I use those to God’s glory and to bless other people in Christ’s name. I just don’t want to become complacent. I don’t want to settle. Yes, that’s what I’m trying to say: I don’t want to settle.

Because it’s easy to settle.

It’s easy for us preachers, I think, to slip into a very un-Christ-like mentality and pattern. Eugene Peterson describes it in Working the Angles (I think, I don’t have time to look it up) as church chaplains, holding the hands of the saved. Just kind of babysitting the faithful. Making life comfortable for the saints. Working to help the Christians feel better about themselves and their church. Religious shopkeeping.

That’s a pretty comfortable life for a preacher, too.

I don’t want that. I want all of my life — every moment, every action, every reaction, every interaction — to be lived not from a sense of self but from a sense of God. I want to hold myself to the high standard of my calling as a disciple of my risen Lord. I don’t want to compromise. When I’m writing a sermon, when people come to me for advice, when I’m teaching a class, when I’m counseling a friend, I want to give it my all from a deep sense of the God who lives in us and whose Spirit is working to transform us from the inside out. If my primary orientation is of my God, then I must be committed enough that when people ask me to do or say something that will not lead them into a more mature participation in Christ I refuse. I don’t compromise.

But it’s so easy to settle.

Not everybody I talk to wants to jump all the way in. Not everybody in our church is willing to go all the way. Chan says I have to “sprint up the down escalator, putting up with perturbed looks from everyone else who is gradually moving downward.” Peterson says it’s hard because the people who would rather we just settle into a nice, comfortable Christianity and Christian ministry are all “nice, intelligent, treat us with respect, and pay our salaries.”

I . Don’t . Want . To . Settle .

But it’s so easy to settle.

Allan

“It is not scientific doubt, not atheism, not pantheism, not agnosticism, that in our day and in this land is likely to quench the light of the Gospel. It is a proud, sensuous, selfish, luxurious, church-going, hollow-hearted prosperity.”

What year do you think the above quote was written?

What do you think about the above quote?

We’re flying through Francis Chan’s Crazy Love in our Tuesday morning men’s study here at Legacy. Chapter four, Profile of the Lukewarm, begins with this quote and then outlines, with extensive use of the Scriptures, a portrait of a Christ-follower who’s not all in, a Christian who holds back, a disciple who hasn’t totally surrendered to our Lord:

Lukewarm people say they love Jesus, and he is, indeed, a part of their lives. But only a part. They give him a section of their time, their money, and their thoughts, but he isn’t allowed to control their lives.

Lukewarm people give money to charity and to church as long as it doesn’t impinge on their standard of living. If they have a little extra and it is easy and safe to give, they do so. After all, God loves a cheerful giver, right?

Lukewarm people don’t really want to be saved from their sin; they want only to be saved from the penalty of their sin. They don’t genuinely hate sin and aren’t truly sorry for it; they’re merely sorry because God is going to punish them. Lukewarm people don’t really believe that this new life Jesus offers is better than the old sinful one.

Lukewarm people love others but do not seek to love others as much as they love themselves. Their love of others is typically focused on those who love them in return, like family, friends, and other people they know and connect with. There is little love left over for those who cannot love them back, much less for those who intentionally slight them, whose kids are better athletes than theirs, or with whom conversations are awkward or uncomfortable. Their love is highly conditional and very selective, and generally comes with strings attached.

Lukewarm people will serve God and others, but there are limits to how far they will go or how much time, money, and energy they are willing to give.

Lukewarm people feel secure because they attend church, made a profession of faith at age twelve, were baptized, come from a Christian family, vote Republican, or live in America. Just as the prophets in the Old Testament warned Israel that they were not safe just because they lived in the land of Israel, so we are not safe just because we wear the label Christian or because some people persist in calling us a “Christian nation.”

Whoa. These are strong words, huh?

Chan says in this same chapter that if you really, really want to live out a full New Testament Christianity, the American church is a difficult place to fit in. Is that true?

How does my life, how does my church, measure up to David who refused to “sacrifice a burnt offering that costs me nothing?” How do I compare with the widow that Jesus observed giving all that she had to live on out of her poverty, compared to the rich who gave out of their wealth? How well do I follow my Lord’s directives to deny myself, take up my cross, and really follow him? Do I, like Paul, truly desire to share in Christ’s sufferings? Do I really consider others better than myself? Do I genuinely see the needs of others as more important than my own needs?

My Savior came, not to be served, but to serve and to give his life.

What about me? Have I totally and completely surrendered to Christ? Or am I holding something back? Seriously.

More on this tomorrow. What do you think?

By the way, the quote is taken from an article in Forum magazine written by Frederic D. Huntington. In 1890.

Peace,

Allan

“The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God…” ~Exodus 34:6

I’m haunted by these words of atheist-author Sam Harris in the preface to his most recent work, Letter to a Christian Nation:

“Since the publication of my first book, The End of Faith, thousands of people have written to tell me that I am wrong not to believe in God. The most hostile of these communications have come from Christians. This is ironic, as Christians generally imagine that no faith imparts the virtues of love and forgiveness more effectively than their own. The truth is that many who claim to be transformed by Christ’s love are deeply, even murderously, intolerant of criticism or rejection. While we may want to ascribe this to human nature, it is clear that such hatred draws considerable support from the Bible. How do I know this? The most disturbed of my correspondants always cite chapter and verse.”

Have you ever considered that maybe the Christian emails you forward or the Christian petitions you sign or the Christian bumper stickers on your car actually violate the character of our God? Have you ever wondered if the Church itself is fueling the fires of atheism by the ways we interact or don’t interact with our community? Have you ever thought about the ways your words and actions at work or at the grocery store or on the airplane or in your neighborhood might turn people away from God?

What if the ways we defend God and stand up for Christian values and promote Christianity are giving the world a distorted view of the Creator and Savior we claim to follow?

Our God is a compassionate God. He’s compassionate. That’s who he is. And if the world knew about our God’s eternal compassion, they would fall in love with him. But how will they comprehend our God’s compassion if they don’t experience it in God’s redeemed people? How will they know the great compassion of our God if God’s Church is not reflecting it?

Peace,

Allan

We live differently when we live in the Risen Lord of Heaven and Earth. We act differently. We speak differently. And it’s obvious to those around us. Things of this world don’t matter as much. The fact that Jesus is alive today guarantees that we will defeat death, too. And it changes everything. Everything.

“The Resurrection addresses those who insist on protection and security of the individual, institutions, and country. Such persons set up mechanisms of defense along economic, racial, and national lines.

In sharp contrast, the life of the Spirit, with its hope in the Resurrection, does not, indeed cannot dwell on preservation of the flesh — personhood, institutions, nations. Rather the corporate life of the Christian becomes one of risk. A Christian hospital can accept more welfare patients than economically advisable because it knows God’s love for the poor does not depend on its continued existence. Christians can call for total disarmament in the midst of a cold war because they know the future of the world does not depend on the survival of their nation. A Christian can risk his or her life because a Christian knows this life is not the end.”     ~Graydon Snyder, 1992

A Christian church can take bolder risks in evangelizing its neighborhoods, bolder risks in giving to children’s homes and homeless shelters, bolder risks in denying self and sacrificing self knowing that the salvation of the world and the salvation of my soul is in the powerful and loving arms of the God who promises and delivers a Resurrection.  

The Resurrection of Jesus is at the heart of every sermon preached in the New Testament. The reality of the Resurrection is the cornerstone and proof of the divine goodness of the Kingdom of God. The Apostles preached the Resurrection boldly and joyfully even at the cost of their very lives. The Resurrection of Jesus is so strong. It’s so powerful. It’s our hope. It’s our trumpet call. It’s the compelling force behind our Christian lives and the imperative push driving our Christian mission.

The Resurrection of Jesus is a big deal in the Bible. And it’s a big deal today.

If we embrace the Resurrection, if we claim the power of the Resurrection as our own, it will radically impact the way we live. When we understand that the glory of the Resurrection and eternal life with the Father is what awaits us after death, then we have no problem risking our lives or our well-being for the Gospel. We don’t think twice about our feelings or our fate, our reputation or status or power or popularity, when we invite people to church or talk to them about our Lord.

May our God overwhelm you today with the peace and grace that comes from our Risen Lord. And may he grant you the blessings of an eternal perspective grounded in the Resurrection.

Peace,

Allan

“I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some.” ~1 Corinthians 9:22

There are stumbling blocks in the Gospel message. Big-time stumbling blocks. The cross of Christ is a huge one. The call to sacrifice and service messes people up. The Resurrection can get in the way. The requirement to surrender is a problem. The directive to die is another one. The Lordship of Jesus can be a real issue.

Those are all certainly necessary components to the Good News. But if we’re not consistently preaching and teaching and living those things, then it’s not Christianity. It’s another religion, entirely.

Our mission as God’s Church is to remove each and every unnecessary obstacle, to strip away the things that would prevent an unbelieving world from accepting the grace and forgiveness of Christ. That doesn’t mean running away from our traditions or carelessly discarding our practices. It doesn’t mean we treat our heritage flippantly.

It does mean we are constantly evaluating the things we do and the reasons we do them. It means we are always thinking and reflecting. And we measure our message against the will of our God and the mind of our Christ: not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.

It means that when we consider a change, we don’t ask, “How will this affect me?” or “What if this upsets one of our members?” We ask, “How will this reach someone on the outside?” And if it might, we take the risk and we do it. Boldly.

We need to be less concerned with our own congregations and church structure and organization and worship practices and much more concerned with understanding our culture, getting inside the heads of the people around us and determining what makes them tick. We should be eaten up with trying to figure out their access points to the Gospel.

We should never ask, “How many Church of Christ people live within ten miles of our building and how do we get them here?” We should ask, “How many lost people live within ten miles of our building? And how do we win them for Christ?”

Yes, we need to be faithful to our past. But we also need to be faithful to our future. That’s a God-ordained responsibility, too.

Paul says “by all possible means.”

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More empty tomb “tags” from around our community:

 How about that “tag” on the grave marker there? Paul Brightwell’s dad died almost a year ago. He sent me that picture last night with these words: “I laughed; then I cried, thinking, someday, because of the empty tomb, we will see each other again; and then I rejoiced.”

That’s what Resurrection Conversations are all about. That’s what the power of the Resurrection and the hope of the Resurrection is all about.

Keep applying those decals. Keep dropping those cards. And when people ask, tell them that the tomb is empty. And tell them that means death has nothing on you. And neither does sin.

Peace,

Allan

I was flipping through the TV channels a couple of weeks ago and accidentally landed on a news station. I stayed. Shame on me. This particular network was airing a 30-minute program about one U.S. political party that was claiming the other political party’s ideas and agendas were like Hitler’s. The anchors and reporters were refuting those claims by attempting to prove how, in fact, the first party’s thoughts and plans were actually more like those of Hitler.

The “demonization” of the other side is a disease that’s taking over the entire world.

And it’s killing us.

It happens in this country’s politics. It happens in our social settings. And it happens in our religious life. If we don’t see exactly eye-to-eye with somebody on something — anything — we have a real tendency to vilify that person from head to toe. That person is evil. That person is bad. That group is wrong. Through and through. There’s nothing good or redeemable about that person or that group of people because we have these one or two disagreements.

All conversation stops. All outreach stops. Love stops.

And it’s killing us.

I don’t have to actually talk to you because I know we disagree about this one thing. I’ve already labeled you as bad. You have this one certain viewpoint so I already know exactly where you and exactly where you’re going. Why would I spend any time or effort to get to know you?

Talk radio and talk TV are increasingly about this attitude now. Every other channel or station, every other show host and program, yelling and arguing, demonizing and vilifying the other side. It’s not just accepted as standard behavior or the expected response, it’s being promoted as virtuous!

You’re not involved in any of that, are you?

May we be a people who receive one another as Christ receives us, who forgive others as we’ve been forgiven by God, and who love God and others as fearlessly and unconditionally as he loves us.

Peace,

Allan

Church business is busy. Kingdom busy-ness can be overwhelming. Sermons and classes. Emails and texts and blogs. Counseling. Programs and people and prayers and planning. Reports and committees and meetings and talks in the foyer. Hospital visits.

Ministry is never-ending. I never once get home at the end of the day and feel like I accomplished every thing I had intended. It doesn’t stop.

And I have to be very, very, very careful to maintain my focus. I have to be disciplined. Deliberate. I must continually guard against being driven and motivated by people’s expectations and my own sense of worth. I have to be driven and motivated by the Holy Spirit of God who resides inside me. I must be moved by my Father’s love for me, by his plans for me. It’s bigger than me. It’s higher than me. I can’t be directed by what I want to do. I must be directed by what God wants me to do.

Romano Guardini (1885-1968), a long-time professor of philosophy and theology at the University of Munich, wrote about this focused-following in his book Power and Responsibility:

“All around us we see activity, organization, operations of every possible type; but what directs them? An inwardness no longer really at home within itself: which thinks, judges, acts from the surface, guided by mere intellect, utility, and the impulses of power, property, and pleasure.

Man’s depths must be reawakened. His life must again include times, his day moments of stillness in which he collects himself, spreads out before his heart the problems which have stirred him during the day. In a word, man must learn again to meditate and to pray.”

It’s said that John Wesley spent the first five minutes of every single waking hour deliberately reflecting on the hour just passed — what opportunity did God give me, did I respond in a Christ-like manner, what should I have done differently to better reflect his glory?

Spending the first hour of every morning in Scripture and prayer, communing with our Triune God in holy relationship, is the most important thing I do. It reawakens my depths. It compels me to spread my heart out to my Father in confession and dependence. It convicts me. It challenges me. It reminds me that I’m not in any of this for myself. Not even for my family or my church. Not even for others. Not as much as I’m in it for the God who calls me and saves me and equips me to join him in redeeming the world.

Peace,

Allan