God Isn't Enough

I've heard several preachers say, "God is enough." I know what they mean but I'm not sure if God agrees. Let me explain.  Yes, fulfillment and peace come from a genuine and intimate relationship with the Father, but getting there requires other people.  Your relationship with God is not an individual pursuit.  It is a team effort.

Take David before he was King David.  In the second half of I Samuel David is running for his life.  His success on the battlefield, his growing fan-base, and his dose of the Lord's favor had stirred up King Saul's competitive spirit.  So Saul plans to protect his throne by putting David on the top of his army's hit list.  Shepherd boy makes Israel's Most Wanted and so David goes Bear Grylls.  He kicks into survival mode: lying to priests, eating holy bread, pulling a Hamlet by pretending to be insane (drool and all), and hiding in deserts - whatever it takes to stay alive.

During this time, David's charisma and leadership rallies a small army of screw-ups 600 strong and King Saul has had enough.  To make sure his servants know he means business Saul kills 85 priests!  (No, these were not televangelists but Israel's priests). He then turns up the heat in his pursuit of David.  While David hides out in Kelilah he hears rumors of Saul's plans to "storm the castle," and so he inquires of God to determine if the rumor is true.  Here is the exchange between God and David (I Samuel 23):

¹¹ Will the citizens of Keilah surrender me to him? Will Saul come down, as your servant has heard? LORD, God of Israel, tell your servant.”

   And the LORD said, “He will.”

 ¹² Again David asked, “Will the citizens of Keilah surrender me and my men to Saul?”

   And the LORD said, “They will.”

Not sure how God spoke to David, but the text suggests the message was clear. Clear enough for David to pack up and "Get out of Dodge.  Yes, David is on the run. Yes, he is having to be a desert nomad for awhile, but God is on his side.  God is his alarm, his adviser (I wish God spoke to me in that way).  That should be enough.  But it wasn't (I Sam. 23:16):

¹⁶ And Saul’s son Jonathan went to David at Horesh and helped him find strength in God. 

It was not enough that David heard from God; he needed Jonathan to help him make sense of God in his current situation.  Perhaps if Jonathan had not come to David's aid at this critical and challenging moment he might have stepped away from God instead of closer to him.  Our relationship with God is not a straight line connecting you to God. It is a triangle connecting you to others to God.

Your relationship with God is not up to "you."  It is up to "us." Unfortunately, at times church is the least likely place to admit that your relationship with God is struggling, that perhaps you and God are even separated.  "Everyone at church seems deeply in love with God; I could not tell them of my difficulties.  After all, it is up to me."  But it is not, the church is there to help you find strength in God.

Do not be afraid to seek help in your relationship with God.  Lean on others' understanding, experience, struggles, confessions, stories, suffering, joys, etc. Be courageous and grow in your relationship with God by approaching and engaging others.

I want to offer my wife's and my help.  If you feel your faith community is unsafe or if you do not have a faith community, our ears are available.  We don't have a lot of answers and, compared to many, not a lot of life experiences, but what we can offer is a non-judgemental, honest, and safe place to wrestle with, celebrate, or question your relationship with God.  Drop us a message on Facebook and we will make sure and get in touch with you.

Gigantor and Teeny: Brief Spew on Friendship

The elders were hiring me as a the Preaching Minister alongside their hiring of a Worship Minister.  The two most visible ministers on a Sunday morning, and outside a brief phone conversation about cable TV (priorities), we met for the first time one minute prior to the start of Sunday morning worship.  The only thing I knew about him, "He's tall and he has lots of energy." So,I'm thinking, "I hope I like this singing giant."  And he is thinking, "I hope I like this preaching Hobit!" It could have been a disaster!

But it wasn't! Kent Rogers became, not only a great colleague, but one of my dearest friends.  I'm short; he's tall. I can't sing; he can. I like to run and eat hummus; he likes to sunbathe and eat Butterfingers (and loses weight).  I'm a sprint eater; he's a pace eater.  I organize visually on a whiteboard; he organizes with lists on a yellow pad.  I like hip-hop; he likes classic rock.  I'm young; he's old-er.  You get the idea, so how did such a friendship grow?

First, we love God, incompletely, but we do.  Second, we love the Church.  Third, we love Michael Jackson and both of us think we can dance.  Fourth, we love creativity and new ideas.  Fifth, we appreciate the arts.  Sixth, our wives love each other. Seventh, we decided to share our crap with each other early in our friendship.  Eighth, we love to eat.  Ninth, we love to laugh.

Some of our best times came working on video intros for Sunday AM worship.  Most people missed them because of the great fellowship occurring around the auditorium, but we had a blast creating ideas and then filming them.  Here's one we did together.

I believe God placed Kent in my life for such a time as this... the last sixth months.  He is a man of God, a man of integrity, an extremely gifted worship leader and minister, and he oozes creativity. I owe him so much.  (By the way, Kent is currently in transition as a Worship Minister.  Hire him! You'll get much more than a great worship leader.  His wife Rocks Cleveland too!)

We all want to have a burning bush moment where God calls us by name out of the fire.  But so many times God reveals himself through those he places in our circle of friendship.  I have seen God in Kent.  Look around... do you see God in the faces of those around you?

For when we came into Macedonia, this body of ours had no rest, but we were harassed at every turn—conflicts on the outside, fears within. But God, who comforts the downcast, comforted us by the coming of Titus... (II Cor. 7:5-6)

Embezzling Anti-Semitic Head Shavers

Fallon, "Apparently Herman Cain gave his first press conference since the sexual harassment charges. First, he took a bunch of questions and then he took a bunch of phone numbers." "Ha-ha-ha," goes the studio audience and those of us lounging in our lazy-boy with a bowl of Captain Crunch.  We take our fingers and point at Herman shaking our heads. Is he guilty or not guilty?  I guess that's for the masses, equipped with 'unbiased' information from rating-crazed news programs, comedians, and online tidbits, to decide.  I won't defend Cain and I won't condemn him because I have no idea what happened. Guilty or not he isn't alone... Schwarzenegger, Edwards, Clinton, Lohan, Gibson, fill in the ______________ (there are lots to choose from).  But, this post isn't about Cain or an other tabloid star or rating magnet.  It is about me and perhaps it is about you.

As a human-beings living in an "Under Reconstruction" era we have a capacity to, a tendency toward, a pull toward contributing to brokenness - sin, screw ups, and choosing ourselves over others.  When all these celebs and pseudo-celebs (politicians) prove themselves sinners in the public eye, not only does the media highlight their poor choices with florescent lights and a high school marching band, but I have assumed the role of armchair judge and sometimes as armchair God.  I not only proclaimed the verdict, "Guilty!" but also somehow knew the heart, mind and character of this individual who I had never met.

It is easy vilify.  Sometimes we need someone to vilify. So we take past mistakes of celebs and we destroy their character.  Sometimes we take recent mistakes of celebs and strip them of their humanness.  We laugh at them; we use them as sermon examples; we boycott their products; we define them by their mistakes. Don't get me wrong.  Celebrities make mistakes... sometimes BIG ones with devastating consequences.  I think they should  take responsibility, seek restoration, tackle the consequences head on with class.  Perhaps some even have faulty character...?  But whether guilty or not, remorseful or not, character-flawed or not I have taken off the robe and put down the gavel.

I busted the sin pinata this summer; in other words I committed one of the 'big' ones.  I wake up every day with regret, not guilt or shame anymore, but regret.  I wish people could see my heart and my longings but too often it is overshadowed by the affair.  I'm not upset about this reality; it's part of the consequences.  That's why I breath-pray, "It is God who justifies; it is God who justifies." But, I have walked in shoes I hadn't worn before and it's changed they way I see celebrity screw ups.  My guess is some of them wake up with daily regret too.  Some of them try to cover up their mistakes with lies because they are afraid the weight of public scrutiny would crush them (many lay buried below its rubble).  Some live in great sorrow and pain knowing history will remember them by their mistakes.

They are not victims but they are also not the sum total of their mistakes.  Now. Today. I focus on their humanness: people with legit feelings, people made in the image of God, people in need of redemption, people with the capacity to change, people just like me.

The Gospel According to AT&T

MB and I headed to Big "D" for a Get-Away-Weekend, a weekend bullied by eating - In-N-Out Burgers, Panera Bread, Pinkberry, and Fogo de Chao (I'm still digesting the cow I packed into my gut).  But, we did manage to squeeze in some Swing lessons: triple-step, triple-step, back-step, step and a 60 minute massage!  It was that massage that spurred this post!

As I lay covered with a thin white sheet, staring at the floor through the hole in the table that framed my face, with a stranger pushing, pulling, rubbing, and chopping my body I asked myself, "Why does this work?  Why does it feel so good?  Why do we pay so much for something that seems a bit strange?" Sure, there is something relaxing and healing in a massage. But, I can get a similar effect from a massage chair, a jacuzzi tub, or rolling my feet over a wooden stick and yet it's not quite the same.  The difference is the human touch, literally.  God created us to long for human-human contact.  We need The Other's touch.  

Babies understand it because we haven't yet deprogrammed them.  I often hear people say, as the child cries, "Don't pick her up.  That will just train her to cry for what she wants." That is one way to see it, or perhaps the baby stops crying when you pick her up because because human touch soothes - being cradled and cuddled calms.

This summer, as I isolated myself from most of my friends and family in order to cope with my sin, I started having "touch" withdraws.  There were some weeks I was starved for a hug.  One night, in the midst of a "touch" fast, I drove 35 miles to my parents, knowing they did not approve of my current choices, just to beg for a hug.  Another time, while living at my cousins, I was on my way out the door for work when his mom (who just happened to be in town) said, "Are you okay?  Do you need hug?" Earlier that morning, while I primped for work, I couldn't stop thinking, "I really need a hug.  I really need a hug."  She read it all over my face and so as my aunt embraced this 34-year-old man I wept.  I needed her touch.

I've noticed the intentional touch of MB's and my therapist.  She conducts herself in a perfect professional and approprieate manner.  I notice how carefully she maintains strong therapist/patient boundaries, and yet EVERY week as we leave her office she stands by the doorway and gives us both a gentle tap on our right shoulder.  It's simple; it's light, and yet in that touch she says, "I care about you as a person and not just a patient."  Touch matters!

It is in God's design.  Genesis 2 paints a picture of God The Sculptor forming man with his hands - close and intimate. Then the LORD God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being (Gen. 2:7).  

Scripture continues to reveal God's design for touch through the person of  Jesus.  Although able to heal with a word, time and time again he heals with touch:

1. The leper in Mark 1:41 - Jesus was indignant. He reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. “Be clean!”
2. The deaf and mute in Mark 7:33 -  After he took him aside, away from the crowd, Jesus put his fingers into the man’s ears. Then he spit and touched the man’s tongue.  
3. The blind man in Mark 8:32 - He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, “Do you see anything?”
4. Jarius' daughter in Mark 5:41 - He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha koum!” (which means “Little girl, I say to you, get up!”).    

We see it also in Christ's interaction with children.

1.   Mark 9:36 -  He took a little child whom he placed among them. Taking the child in his arms, he said to them... 
2. and Mark 10:16 -  And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.

Someone will cross your path today in need of a hug, a pat on the back, a hand-squeeze, or perhaps to be held tightly as they sob and ache.  So... echoing the 1981 AT&T slogan, "Reach out and touch someone!"

They Rebuild

BOOM! That explosion?  Just my life.  I built the bomb.  I lit the fuse and the blast radius was huge, the shrapnel penetrating everywhere.  I looked around at the carnage, the wounded, the demolition and wondered, "How do I put this back together? How do I rebuild? How do I reclaim?  How do I redeem?"  The answer?  I don't... WE do!  I cannot list everyone who has traveled to Charltonville for disaster relief but here are some of the key players:

 

 A wife who says, "I have never stopped loving you!" A wife who knows how to love, to REALLY love.  A wife, who although unable to trust you at first, says, "I will trust in God and the resurrection of Jesus Christ."  A wife who will risk her heart, her soul and her future again.  A wife who not only understands grace and mercy but who oozes it out her pores everyday.

 Friends who not only like to hang out and laugh together but who are in it for the long haul, who lay their life down in front of you and say, "Walk on me if you have to.  We can take it."  Friends who decide that they'd rather love you like family than acquaintances.  Friends to whom I owe my life.

  

Looong time soul brothers (and sisters) who clear the schedule and reorder their world to clean up your crap...not only because they love you, but because they believe in you, because they act like they need you, and because they celebrate you.

 

Adopted parents who say, "We will carry you right now with hope and joy. We will make sure on a daily basis that you know we are thinking about you and cheering for you."  People who when you think they cannot give anymore surprise you again... and again.

 Parents who love you more than you know, more than they can express, who cry over you, who welcome you home and hold you as you scream out the pain, who fight for you, pray for you, never give up on you.

 

Sisters who believe in you, who know who you really are, who believe in who you are and not what you have done, who hope for you.

 In-laws who set aside the great pain you have caused them, the pain they have seen their daughter suffer and welcome you into their house as a son.  In-laws who will fight for your marriage.

 A brother-in-law who sets anger aside, puts the past behind him, and offers forgiveness with this simple phrase, "Glad you are back!"

 

Friends who, in spite of the massive scar on your face, choose to focus their eyes on the features behind it and say, "We know who you are!"

Second chances don't come from repentance. Second chances come because a community offers it and then serves as the foundation upon which it is built.  There are so many more, so many more... thank you!

Layers

It was my lunch break. I was eating steak... in a city park.  The steak was served in a zip lock baggie, cold leftovers from the night before and I was sticking to a sap-stained park bench.  I hadn't purchased this prime cut of beef because I don't dine on sirloin right now.  One steak and a Coke?  I don't measure that in dollars; I measure it in hours.  That's a half of a day's work.  Dear friends bought Mary Beth and I the grilled cuisine, and they didn't just offer dinner. They talked about paying rent... Layers.

As I set up lunch, an older gentleman strolled into the park carrying two suitcases out of a 60's movie.  A blue ball cap, the mesh kind that were dominate in the 80's and that are now making a comeback, protected his sun-scarred face.  He was thin, not a healthy, fit-and-in-shape kind of thin, but the kind that comes from lacking a surplus of food.  He wore Wranglers, although he likely never road a horse or shot a pistol from his hip. He rolled his Wranglers just like a parent does when buying their kid's pants a couple sizes too big in order to save a trip back to the store in a month.  He covered his chest with one of those shirts Middle Aged West Texas Tourists wear, one that would blend into any decade while at the same time be clearly out of fashion.  It's probably one your grandpa wore.  As he set up at his bench, a man dashed out of the office building across the street as if posing for a GQ ad - shimmery suit tapered at the ankle, a single button holding the coat over his well-fed belly, a nicely groomed beard.  He jumped in a car and moved out of the GQ ad into a Lexus commercial.  Only one hundred feet apart...Layers.

Gnawing on my cow remains, I pulled out a Gatorade to lubricate my meat's decent into my stomach.  That's when I noticed, my blue-hatted friend also had a Gatorade.  His flavor was "Fountain Water" and it wasn't a beverage.  It was a washing machine.  He pulled a shirt out of his suitcase and arranged it on the brick sidewalk.  After filling his bottle with water from the fountain he started the pre-soak cycle.  He doused his clothes and then started scrubbing with a barely visible soap fragment.  Then he rinsed.  His dryer was the only park bench managing to sunbathe in the noonday rays.  "Ding! Ding!" An iPhone text interrupted my observations... Layers.

After glancing at the text I moved from the steak remains to a Trix yogurt ("Silly rabbit!  Tricks are for kids).  I pealed back the lid and started to drink my yogurt just as my blue-hatted friend began enjoying a tasty mid-day meal himself.  Fortunately we were shaded by mature pecan trees that had rained down their Fall gifts across the park.  The blue hatted man would gather a few, line them on his bench like a Sushi Chef lines his rolls, and then crack one at a time.  Park pecans for lunch!  After my yogurt I opened my pita chips and scooped up some garlic hummus... Layers.

Lunch was nearly over.  It had been less than one hour and there were layers everywhere.  Layers sitting on park benches.  Layers walking down the street.  Layers smoking in the ally.  Layers dinning on pecans at the water fountain laundry mat, layers in suits, layers in an old pair of Asics and a stained church t-shirt, layers in my head, layers in your head.  Layers everywhere... except in God.

Long Walks on the Beach and a Long John

She's fat... the kind of fat that makes her think twice before bending down to pick up dropped change.  Clinking change won't cut it. We are not supposed to talk about people being fat.  That's right!  We just say it behind their back.

Her face parallels that of a bulldog where the saggy lip gets hung up on the canine. Dentures would help provide some facial structure.  We would never say it, but if she were prettier we would deduct the social strikes of her obesity.  It's true.

She starts off most days with a couple of cream-filled Long Johns and a DP.  Why wouldn't she?  Food is one of the few consistent things in a world where, for some, life is a dull ache at best.  A Long John is sweet and creamy no matter who hit you last night or what jackpot you happened to land.  The Long John loves you unconditionally, so let her have her Long John.

I wonder if it these Long John moments and others like it that empower her to set her alarm each night.  I mean four kids, one with diabetes (she almost died) and a set of twins with a speech impediment so bad that you would think they were imported from Ukraine.  She is a single mom, a good one.  There is no husband.

But there is a man, one she calls the "Love of Her Life."  Although in reality, he's a bum.  He lets her work hard, back-breaking hard and he reaps all the benefits.  She kicked him out, but she'll call him back because they make each other laugh and his body warms an otherwise cold bed.  There's also the fathers of her kids.  Yes, I said fatherS.   One, the ex-husband turned ex-convict and the other... that's a good question.

When she talks, she would make you embarrassed for the South, the kind of person Good Morning America puts on TV for their random on location disaster site street interviews.  But any other circumstance, any other deck of cards, my life and she would be CEO of a Fortune 500.  She works harder for $12/hour than most millionaires do for their empires.  And The Company will keep her at $12/hour because they can.  They know they can.  And she'll keep working hard because the "Dat-a-girls" she gets for her efforts go down just as easily with a DP as do the cream-filled Long Johns.

Someone needs to grab her by the shoulders, look her straight in the eyes, and say, "You are valuable; you are precious; you are adored by the Maker; you are beautiful; you are strong; you are equal to all others; you are amazing!" Not because they should, not out of pity, not out of guilt, not out of a legalistic pull to be good, BUT because IT IS TRUE.