The Kingdom, The Kids, & The Cowboys

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Category: Allan’s Journey (Page 18 of 31)

THE Faith

September 4, 2012 / / 1 Comment

As the father of three teenage daughters (OK, technically Carley turns 13 next week), I have a lot to fear. I fear the boys. I fear the proms and the weddings. I fear the drama. I fear the things I don’t understand and can never relate to. And, did I mention, I fear the boys. But I also have another fear. I fear that one day one of my daughters may tell me she’s not interested in my religion.

My religion.

I’m human. Oh, my word, yes, I’m human. And as a father, my potential for failure is great. In my efforts to protect them and shape them and provide for them everything they’re going to need to fully function in this world and, at the same time, deny them the things they want that would ambush that process, I’m scared to death of being too strict. And in my sincere struggles to be open and accessible and relational, I’m scared to death I won’t have the courage or integrity to give them the proper structure and rigid discipline they need. My fear is that some day one or more of my daughters, damaged maybe by my failures as a dad, might see some connection between those failures and my religion. It would be easy to do. I’m afraid they could use that as an excuse to leave the Church. I’m not crazy, right? You’ve thought similar things before, yes?

So, I’m determined to teach my girls that my religion is not my religion; my faith is not my faith. It’s much, much bigger than that. I received it from my parents who, in turn, received it from their parents. The Christian faith in our family is deep and old. It belongs to me because I inherited it from them and didn’t throw it away. I’ve held it in trust for my kids. I’m passing it on.

I tell my daughters that rejecting the faith is not simply a matter of throwing away the tastes of their parents; it’s not just chunking my idiosyncrasies or abandoning my methods of control. Christianity is a long held belief about the nature of true reality. Our faith is a way of looking at life and living in this world. It’s been attested to by millions of very different people over many different centuries in a great variety of many different circumstances in countless different ways. It’s not just mine. The faith is universal and eternal. It’s everything.

Yes, my kids will be free to accept or reject the faith. But I’m doing everything I can to make sure they understand that what they choose to accept or reject is not simply their parents’ religion. It’s an old, old faith. One faith. Just one. The significance of the differences among the Christian denominations is made totally insignificant by the great march of time. This one great thing to be accepted or rejected is not my religion, not my family’s religion, not the U.S.A.’s religion. It is the Christian faith. It’s been passed down for over two thousand years. Each denomination has passed it down and transmitted what all Christians everywhere for all time have confessed. It’s one eternal faith.

Any faith that is Christian certainly has the proper pedigree. If it claims Jesus as the Son of God and the only way to the Father; if it claims salvation through the death, burial and resurrection of the Christ incarnate; if it claims Jesus as the exclusive Savior of the World, it goes directly back to the original apostles who saw and heard everything and to whom it was all revealed by the Holy Spirit.

We can’t say the words “my faith” apart from owning a faith that came from others. We all know that. But I’m not sure we teach it enough. This is not a private thing, or even a familial thing. It’s much more than family or denomination or nation or century or era. It is mere Christianity. It’s ancient and universal. And it’s weightier and more worthy than all the faulty expressions we’ve experienced in our churches or in our parents.

Now, I’m still scared. And I’m still very, very aware of my great potential for failure as a dad. But my kids are all going to know that Christianity is not my faith, nor my religion. It belongs to eternity.

Peace,

Allan

Utterly Disproportionate to Who I Am

July 2, 2012 / / 0 Comments

David Platt, the author of Radical and Radical Together and all the workbooks, study guides, and DVDs that go with it, is like most of us preachers and pastors. He, like us, is completely and totally unqualified for the task that’s been given him by our God. He’s overwhelmed  by the enormity of the challenge, disoriented by the eternal nature of his job, intimidated by the stakes. Yeah, me too! Sometimes it’s just too much!

Like us, Platt finds great comfort and strength in prayer. Like us, he knows that he’s in over his head with this pastoring thing. So, like us, he acknowledges this before God. And I really, really like his prayer:

“Lord, let me make a difference for you that is utterly disproportionate to who I am.”

In my more serious moments of reflection, I see very clearly how ill-suited for this job I really am. I’m still terrified to speak a word from God to our people. To dare to vocalize his eternal truths scares me. I’m truly intimidated by it. Walking into hospital rooms where people are hanging between life and death — they and their loved ones are paralyzed by fear, overcome with the uncertainty — and pretending to be able to comfort or encourage is crazy. I’m not capeable. I’m definitely going to mess that up every time. Telling people what God wants for thier lives when my own life can be horribly out of whack; attempting to teach people who’ve been studying and teaching the Word of God much longer than me; planning and promoting events that are supposed to inspire faith and good works; writing and delivering sermons that are supposed to compel; and, all the while, rationalizing and justifying the inconsistencies in my own life that betray my inadequacies for this position.

“Lord, let me make a difference for you that is utterly disproportionate to who I am.”

I do know that our gracious God specializes in the weak. He’s an expert in dealing with the unqualified. He chooses the last one you’d expect and then works to do the totally unexpected. It’s truly mind-blowing.

If it’s up to me, my congregation dies. My sermons are boring. The sick people I visit are discouraged. Nobody is saved. And I am a terrible waste of everybody’s time. If it’s up to me and my own strengths and talents and gifts and abilities, we’re all in trouble. I can’t do this. I know it. And everybody who’s ever met me knows it.

The Spirit of God must give me every word, he must provide every ounce of strength, he must come up with every nugget of wisdom and drop of inspiration if this is going to work. He must guide my every move. He has to steer me through every hour. He has to show up every single time. I know it. And the One who created me knows it.

“Lord, let me make a difference for you that is utterly disproportionate to who I am.”

~~~~~~~~~

I’ve generally been pretty luke warm about Bud Selig’s crazy rule that gives home field advantage in the World Series to the league that wins the All-Star Game. I’ve always been negative about it — come on, what commissioner in his right mind awards a competitive advantage in his championship event based on the outcome of an exhibition game played three months earlier?!? — but it never affected me personally because my Rangers were never even close to being impacted. It has never made sense for random players on tricked-up rosters to determine home field advantage in the World Series. Players on teams that had already been eliminated from contention and had no stake in the outcome were determining home field for the World Series. Yes, it’s that crazy. But we never talked it too much because it never hurt the Rangers. Or particularly helped them. The American League won the Mid-Summer Classic thirteen straight years and I always joked, “Good, now the Rangers will have home field if they win the pennant.” Ha-ha.

When the NL broke the streak in 2010, I didn’t pay any attention. When the Rangers beat the Yankees three months later to qualify for the first World Series in club history, suddenly it mattered. During last year’s All-Star game, I paid close attention. When the Senior Circuit won it 5-1, I cringed. It’s not fair. When the St. Louis Cardinals received home field advantage in the World Series — a wild card that didn’t even win its own division over the division-winning Rangers who had six more regular season wins than the Cards— I was livid. And, yeah, it mattered. Game Six at Busch mattered. Harrison starting Game Seven in St. Louis instead of the Ballpark in Arlington mattered. The truth is that in the past nine straight Game Sevens in the World Series, the home team has won all nine times. Look it up. It matters a great deal.

The good news is that Texas is sending a club record seven players to the All-Star game in KC next week, quite possibly eight if Yu Darvish wins the fan voting. Ron Washington will manage with his staff beside him on the bench. Matt Harrison, Major League Baseball pitcher of the month for June, should be the starter and Mike Napoli will be the other half of the battery. Josh Hamilton will play center and Adrian Beltre will be stationed at the hot corner. Elvis and Kinsler will play and Joe Nathan will be called upon to close it out. They can do something about this. They can determine their own destiny.

The American League has scored a grand total of two runs in their past two All-Star Game losses. That can’t happen next Tuesday.

This current Rangers team racked up 50 wins before July. They’re not just winning games, they’re blowing people out. And if Holland and Feliz and Colby and Ogando get healthy, the Rangers are the World Series favorites again.

I’d have to do a lot more research on this — maybe somebody can help me — but this may be the first time since Selig’s rule, with the manager and coaching staff and eight players from a true contender, that the World Series participants actually determine in the All-Star game where they themselves play in October.

Peace,

Allan

On Charles, A Great Man

February 1, 2012 / / 3 Comments

I’ve only heard Charles Siburt speak a couple of times. I’ve shaken his hand once. Just once. But I’m profoundly and eternally impacted by this great man. Chances are, so are you.

Charles Siburt is the “go-to guy” when it comes to healing churches, fixing church leaders, maturing disciples along the Way. He has worked with countless Church of Christ congregations, scores of elders and shepherds, and more preachers than any of us could count. He’s written books and articles, preached and taught sermons and lessons, and in some way counseled and advised almost every church leader I know.

I was blessed to spend three hours with Charles in two separate phone conversations in June last year. I wanted to find out what he knew about this Central Church of Christ in Amarillo. Turns out, he knew everything. And everybody. He gave me some things to consider. He cautioned me about a couple of potential problems. He probed into my own issues and problems like we had known each other for years. He dug deep to find out where I was spiritually, emotionally, mentally. But mostly he just went on and on about how great this church was. How healthy the leadership is here. How unified and focused and committed the elders and ministers are here to lead the church family in living and growing in Christ-likeness.

I remember a preacher friend of mine telling me after my first conversation with Charles, “If Charles says that’s a healthy church, you can know without a doubt it’s a healthy church. Charles knows a healthy church.”

At the end of my second and last phone conversation with Charles — I was sitting in my truck in my driveway in North Richland Hills, Charles was in some airport somewhere — he told me, “I think you and Central would be a perfect fit; you’re made for each other.”

That night I told another preaching colleague what Charles had said. He replied, “If Charles says it’s a good fit, then you know it’s a good fit. Charles knows how to match preachers and churches.”

They were all correct. Charles was correct. I couldn’t be happier. The match couldn’t be better. The fit here couldn’t be more perfect. And I know I went into this next phase of my Christian ministry in Amarillo in a better frame of mind more appropriately equipped because of Charles’ counsel. I read the books he recommended. I answered the questions he told me to ask myself. And I spoke to the people he said I should.

And I’m grateful. Eternally grateful.

We’re all expecting Charles to pass from this life to the next in just a few days. Our brother Charles is close, very close, to being in the intense face-to-face glory and presence of our God. How great for him. People who know Charles much better than I do are setting aside this Friday, February 3, day after tomorrow, as a day of prayer and fasting. I plan to join them. I plan to spend a great part of that day thanking our gracious God for blessing so many of us and our congregations with Charles’ expertise and passion; asking God to bless Charles’ wife, Judy, as she experiences the loss of her dearest companion; begging God to raise up others to pick up the encouraging and mentoring and healing where Charles is leaving off.

To read much more about Charles and this day of prayer and fasting please click on these links to people who really, really, really know him. My great friend Jim Martin’s thoughts can be found here. Dan Bouchelle has penned his own thoughts here. And Jordan Hubbard’s reflections are here.

During my two conversations with Charles seven months ago, he never told me that he was a big part of the reason Central is such a healthy church. Charles has been working very closely with this family of believers in downtown Amarillo for many, many years. He has encouraged our shepherds, he’s helped heal some very painful hurts, and he’s counseled our ministers here for a long, long time. It shows. The Kingdom of God is greater for it. The city of Amarillo is blessed because of it. And the new preacher here is grateful. Eternally grateful.

God bless Charles Siburt with his merciful comfort and peace.

Allan

Love the Drake!

January 26, 2012 / / 4 Comments

I hadn’t been preaching at Legacy very long, only a couple of months I think, when I first met The Drake. Chris Drake. “Rob’s Dad.” As I recall, he said something to me like, “Hey, I can tell; you’re trying to move us somewhere. You’re trying to change us. You’re trying to get us out of our seats in here and really following Jesus out there. I can tell. And you’re doing it the right way. Just a little bit at a time. Slowly, but surely. One yard at a time. Just keep matriculating the ball down the field. That’s the right way. One yard at a time…”

And I stopped him.

“Matriculating the ball down the field???”

That’s Hank Stram’s line from Super Bowl IV. That’s old NFL Films lingo. Are you kidding me?

We wound up talking for ten minutes or so about Hank Stram and the old AFL and our great love for NFL Films: the grainy footage, the mud and the antiquated graphics, the authoritative voice of John Facenda. And we became friends.

I learned early on in our friendship about their son, Rob. Chris talked to me openly about the pain he and his wife, Vanessa, endured while they struggled with Rob’s addiction to drugs. They had moved to Aledo, away from all their family and friends, away from school and church, while Rob went through rehab and cleaned up and got straight. Vanessa learned to quilt. She sewed and quilted during every spare moment she had during those dark days, every moment she wasn’t begging God to heal her son and fix their family. No, that’s not entirely true. She prayed while she quilted, too. Chris worked. And worked. He worked a lot. Working through the guilt he was feeling over things he might possibly have done to contribute to his son’s addictions. But all of that was secondary to doing what had to be done to help Rob. They went with Rob everywhere he went. They never left his side. They had been gone for a little more than two years. But now Rob was good — praise God! — and the Drakes were back. Some scars remained. There were some hurts that were going to take a lot more time to heal. But Chris and Vanessa were eager to serve, ready to help other parents deal with those same kinds of struggles, equipped to comfort other parents in their trials with their kids. And they had a new perspective. A much bigger picture of God and his Kingdom and his people. They were overflowing with gratitude to God. And very strong in faith.

After a few more months and a few more sermons, Drake approached me again. “You’re in for some tough sledding,” he said. “You’re calling people out of their comfort zones. You’re telling people that following Christ is more than just showing up on Sunday. You’re telling us that just going through the motions at church isn’t enough. You’re calling us to get involved with each other and with the lost world out there. And that’s hard. People aren’t going to like it.”

And then the Drake told me, “I’m going to be your Daryl Johnston. I’m your “Moose.” I’m going to be your lead blocker out on the sweeps. If anybody gets in your way, I’m going to take ’em out. What you’re doing is right. What you’re doing is exactly what we need. And if anybody discourages you or tries to stop you, I’m going to take care of ’em.”

I didn’t quite know how to take it. Drake is a former Marine. An Aggie. He’s pretty hard-core. Determined. Stubborn. Even aggressive. But he was telling me he had my back. He believed in me and he was going to support me and stand by me no matter what. Love the Drake!

He began signing his emails to me with “#48.” He started addressing me as “Leonard” after the great Len Dawson, the quarterback Hank Stram coached and encouraged and exhorted down the field one yard at a time. I’d be in the middle of a sermon series, building toward something, bringing the church to what I hoped would be an “a-ha!” moment that would change our lives, and Drake would come up to me and say, “You’re about to drop the 65 Toss Power Trap, aren’t you?” That was the play Stram called for the game winning touchdown in those old Super Bowl IV clips. Sometimes Chris would be tracking with a particular theme of mine and say, “I think it’s time for the old 65 Toss Power Trap.” It was time to go for it. It was time to score.

Drake could tell when I got discouraged. He knew when I was struggling. He would text me or send me emails that said, “I’m turning the corner and I’m looking for contact!” And I would text him back. “No, no. It’s cool. I’m good. Everything’s fine.” I was never quite certain he wouldn’t go after some complaining member or some disagreeable elder if I let on for a split-second that I thought that might be OK. Love the Drake.

Drake gave me the book, “Made to Stick,” that compelled me to keep using personal stories, keep using little handouts and big visuals, keep using group participation in my sermons. He always asked me “Why?” Why does the church act like this? Why do preachers talk like that? Why do small groups function this way? Why do elders think like this? Why? Why? Why? He responded to every answer I gave, without exception, with another “Why?” until I had my own “a-ha!” moment. “Oh! That’s why!” Love the Drake.

None of this is to say Drake and I didn’t occasionally disagree. We had our arguments. I recall a conversation or two at IHOP regarding church politics and programs. I still think he says some things just to get me to jump offsides, just to get a reaction. He likes to stir stuff up, whether it’s at a Tuesday morning Bible study or a Sunday morning class. Like me, his timing is not always perfect. He claims he’s not really a member at Legacy because he’s an Episcopalian. That’s a copout for his not becoming more involved with the more difficult and sometimes ugly part of congregational life. Some church leaders use that same copout — Chris isn’t a real member — in order to ignore him. It’s much easier to ignore him than to pay attention to the challenging way he talks about real sacrificial discipleship.

One Sunday morning Chris was leading our communion thoughts at the Lord’s Table. He used a couple of Ticket references — Ticket Schtick — in his comments. And that upset me. How inappropriate. How wrong. He just said those things to get me riled up. He began comparing the sacrifice of our crucified Lord and Savior to a perfectly turned double play by Ian Kinsler and Michael Young. Are you kidding me? And I stewed in my pew. We’ll never get him to do this again. This is a farce. And then Chris began crying. As he talked about God’s perfect timing and Jesus’ great sacrifice in order to save all of us sinners around that table, Drake choked up. Huge tears. Thin voice. And I saw The Drake’s heart. He revealed his heart to us that morning. His gratitude. His brokenness. His passion. His love for our God and his Church. He laid it out that morning at Christ’s Meal. Love the Drake.

Two years ago he gave me a replica Len Dawson AFL Kansas City Chiefs jersey for Christmas. Best gift anybody from church ever gave me. It spoke to his support of me and my preaching. It reminded of his pledge to block for me, to run interference while I carried the ball one yard at a time. It was personal. It meant a ton. I cherish that jersey. I’ll wear it on Super Bowl Sunday afternoon when I play in Central’s annual Toilet Bowl touch football game between the teenagers and the church staff.

We spent one of our last nights in North Richland Hills last summer before moving here to Amarillo with the Drakes at their house. Chris grilled some marvelous steaks. We talked and cried and prayed. So proud of Rob and what God is doing in his life now. We had been through Chris’ job loss together. Been through some rough times with Vanessa in the hospital. Going through a fairly difficult time with church stuff. And Vanessa gave us a quilt that night. A big, beautiful, hand-made quilt with bluebonnets and wildflowers; one of the first quilts she had made during one of the darkest trials of her life. It was personal. It meant a ton.

Rob’s Dad still emails me regularly. We still text each other during Cowboys and Rangers games. We both think Terrence Newman is a horrible tackler and that Ian Kinsler is a disaster on the basepaths. We both love Jason Witten and Dirk Nowitski. We texted each other through the Game Six loss. He writes on this blog every week. He still encourages me to keep matriculating the ball down the field, he still tries to draw me offsides with random comments about “White Jesus,” and he still signs off with “#48.”

But, Chris, here’s the deal right now: I feel like I’m in a totally different ball game. Right now, here at Central, I see open field in front of me. It’s like a quarterback throwback or something, some trick play that’s been drawn up and executed to perfection, and there’s nothing or nobody between me and the goal line. I’ve got all these blockers out front, and there doesn’t appear to be anybody to mow over. And it’s strange. Wonderful, yes, oh my word! But strange. I feel like Bill Cosby in his “Hofstra” routine:

“I looked up and there… was… a… hole. And I’d never seen a hole playing for Temple. But there was a hole. A big hole right in the middle of the line. And I thought, ‘My God. A hole.’ I turned to the people in the stands and I said, ‘Look at this! A hole! Do you see this?” And they said, ‘Yeah! Hurry! Run!” And I said, ‘Wait a minute; it could be a mirage.'”

Of course, it’s also like seeing my wide receiver open at the five yard line and all the defensive backs have tripped and fallen down. I’m sometimes afraid that he’s so wide open I’m going to short arm the pass and blow it. Pray for me, Chris, that I don’t blow it.

I could write just as much about dozens and dozens of people in my life who have gone out of their way to encourage me, to take care of me, to love me. I’ve been blessed by our God with countless friends who have pushed me and challenged me, stood by me in hard times and defended me to others. But “Rob’s Dad” is special. Somehow we connected. We couldn’t be more different — me and an Aggie Marine TicketHead from West Texas?!? But we clicked. He committed to me, really committed to me. And I needed it. Boy, did I need it. I’m so grateful to our Father that he used Chris to keep me going.

Thanks, Chris. Thank you. God bless you and Nessa and Rob.

Peace,

Leonard

Upholding the Ideal: Part 2

September 23, 2011 / / 2 Comments

In affirming the ideal picture of a diverse community of Christian disciples presented in Scripture and summarized in yesterday’s post and, at the same time, lamenting the failure of most churches to fully understand, grasp, and work toward that ideal, a most loyal reader of this space commented: “Maybe we should leave whitebread land…”

No. That’s not necessarily the answer.

The answer is to keep trying. Keep teaching. Keep working. Like our Sovereign God, keep calling things that are not as though they were. And see it. Live it. Do it. But that can only happen, I know, AFTER a church and its leaders fully understand the Gospel significance and power of a multi-racial, multi-ethnic, multi-generational, multi-cultural, multi-socio-economic body.

As long as we have churches for the poor and churches for the rich, white churches and black churches and brown churches, as long as we refuse to give and sacrifice and bend to one another enough to worship and serve and love and live together, we will be unable to give to the world anything it can’t already get at the social club or the mall or on the internet. I believe that people today are seeking truth. No, make that Truth, with a capital T. People are searching for a Truth that is bigger than themselves. A Truth that means something for eternity, that transcends what we experience on a daily basis, that is gargantuan in its scope and Truth-ness. Real Truth changes lives. It has the power to radically transform men and women and whole neighborhoods and cities. Gatherings of a bunch of people who look alike and think alike, who dress the same and make the same amount of money, can be found anywhere. Organizations that exist to cater to a certain select segment of our population are found everywhere we look. In fact, that’s all there is anymore. That doesn’t really speak a unique word to anyone. It’s certainly not some kind of all-surpassing, history-altering Truth.

The Truth of the Gospel is that God condescended to man, submitted to sinful humans, gave and served and sacrificed for others to the point of dying on a cross, and rose again to destroy eternally everything that separates man from God and man from one another. Christ Jesus destroys all the walls, his death demolishes the barriers, his resurrection defeats the differences. We’re all the same in our Savior. His Church is one body, one people, one eternal congregation of saints for ever. We know these things, we teach and preach these things, we write books about these things and uphold these things as pure soul-saving Truth.

But when we don’t live it, when we don’t show the world what it looks like, why are we surprised that the world yawns and turns away? We proclaim something radically different from the world, but we practice the same old thing that the world sees every day. I’m bored with it, too.

The scandal of the early Church was not that they were worshiping a different God. It wasn’t that they were preaching the Resurrection. The first Church was persecuted because they were destroying the social class systems of the Roman Empire. Greeks and Jews were sharing meals around the same table. Both rich and poor interacted in the same homes. Masters served their slaves. Educated  and ignorant, men and women, slave and free, ruling class and no class, they came together to live and worship and serve the Lord and King who saved them and called them to a better way.

That kind of submission and sacrifice spoke a word of Truth to the world. That kind of living turned the world upside down for the Kingdom of God. That kind of spectacle was so different from anything anybody ever experienced anywhere else that it sparked a global revolution that upset governments and changed the course of human history.

But we want to keep our tidy little lines of demarcation between white and black, rich and poor, English and Spanish, in our churches. We think it’s too hard to integrate. We think it’s too much to sacrifice. We think we’d have to give up too much in our worship styles. In the name of culture and comfort we decide it’s too difficult. We don’t think it’s worth the trouble.

Either we have underestimated the people in our congregations or we have horribly misunderstood the Gospel of Jesus.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon Mark Beilue, a long-time columnist for the Amarillo Globe News, stopped by for an hour or so last week to interview me for the paper. His column came out this morning. You can read it by clicking here. The Garland cop is Jason Reeves. The cross above my computer is the collage of crosses Tracy Sharp did for me when we left Legacy. I was not a kid in suburban Dallas; I was born and reared in the heart of the Dallas hood, man — PGrove! I’m not sure why the color in the photo is so messed up; there’s no way my hair is really that gray. And Jon didn’t use my favorite line: Working for and with the Texas Rangers every day for four years drives most men into twelve-step counseling programs; it drove me to the ministry.

I really enjoyed my time with Jon Mark and the Globe News Photographer, Robert, who, like me, also hails from Big D. It’s a very nice column. And he’s right about this: our God could not have led me to a better church in a better setting in a better city than where we are right now today.

Peace,

Allan

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