worship masquerade

I recently viewed a discussion put on by Lifeway Research entitled Reverence vs. Relevance.  In the discussion, two guys, both employed by Lifeway, discussed two different philosophies on what should shape worship within Evangelical Christian churches: worship expression shaped by a desire to be reverent, and worship expression shaped by a desire to be relevant.

At the risk of adding confusion to the discussion and fire to a flame, let's get a little more clear on what reverence and relevance mean... and don't mean.  When we talk about reverence, we are talking about worshiping God in a way that is reverent of his position and nature.  Musical expressions of reverent worship vary, from majestic hymns that sing about God's nature, to quiet and reflective musical moments... even to some contemporary choruses done in a more reverent way.  The most pronounced sound the ear would hear in reverent worship might be the congregation filling the room with their voices, a choir singing 3 and 4 part harmony, or a soloist/vocal team supported by a piano.  Think: beauty, stately, classic, God transcendent, me humble and in awe.

When we talk about relevance, we are talking about worshiping God in a way that is relevant to a particular culture.  Musical expressions of relevant worship vary as well, most often taking the form of a rock-style band, playing anthems about a God who is near and a humanity that he reaches and changes.  The most pronounced sound the ear would hear might be an delayed electric guitar riff, or a lead vocal line just above the band, perhaps so loud that it competes with the sound of your own voice... and drowning out the voice of the person next to you.  Think: power, expressive, edgy, God immanent, me proclaiming and overjoyed.

From these descriptions I think you can see how the two overlap, how the two are different, and really, how the two are misunderstood or misrepresented:

• Reverent worship often gets labeled "irrelevant," as if people these days can no longer appreciate and no longer desire or need moments of quiet awe or majestic praise.  The truth is this: the soul needs these moments of quiet and awe in a loud and busy society in order to really focus on God.
• Relevant worship often gets labeled as "irreverent," as if allowing culture to influence worship necessitates looking away from God and towards us.  The truth is this: we are to use all the tools at our disposal to advance the gospel, and current music is an unbelievably powerful medium to influence the mood of the heart of both believers and believers-yet-to-be, and to tell the story of how God can change them.

I could spend the rest of this post talking about where I happen to fall on the reverence/relevance spectrum.  Maybe another time.  But what is jumping out to me now is how susceptible worshipers in either camp are to falling away from authentic reverence or authentic relevance and into a masquerade.

Here's what I mean.

If we engage in worship only when the music fits our particular preference, we are masquerading.  If you can't enter in to a hymn sung beautifully from the heart, but you have no trouble shouting along with a screamin' loud Hillsong tune, then you are masquerading.  If you can't sing for joy along with an electric guitar and are only moved by a theologically heavy tune written 100-200 years ago driven by a piano or organ, then you are masquerading.

You may think that you are worshiping when you engage with the music you like.  But I doubt it.

That may sound judgmental and overly simplistic.  And I can understand if you have that impression.  But, here's why I feel like I can confidently assert a statement like that.  I think it is in line with what the Bible says about worship.

According to the Bible, worship, at its deepest and most simplest level, is sacrificial in nature.  It is our sacrifice to God (Romans 12:1).  And sacrifices, no matter what type, always involve us giving up something.  Letting go of something.  Submitting to something.  Putting something else or someone else ahead of ourselves.  Letting the will of another dictate our own will.  It is an act of the entire person - heart, soul, will, mind, body... you name it.  It always - always - costs us something.

A worship experience that costs us nothing is probably worth nothing.

An authentic worship experience always costs us something.

To be sure, a lot is gained from a good worship experience.  We benefit quite a bit.  We experience God, hear him, encounter him, respond to him, and in so doing we become more like him as we are motivated to follow him and obey him on a deeper and more authentic level.  We experience the good things about him - his joy, his peace, his kindness, his forgiveness, his grace, his mercy.  And we love it.

But it is all too easy to seek a worship experience that serves us instead of a worship experience that costs us something.  

So: what costs are you as a worshiper unwilling to pay?

I'm a sand-builder

One of those stories that never quite got reclaimed from Sunday School for me is the one Jesus tells in Matthew 7.

The story goes that there were two men who each built houses - one man built on a foundation of rock, and the other on a foundation of sand.  Jesus says that the man who hears his words and puts them into practice is like the man who builds his house on the rock.  When the rains come, that man's house remains; but the man who builds his house on the sand finds himself with a house that's been washed away.

I remember hearing this in Sunday school - even singing a catchy little choreographed song about it.  When it came time to interpret the story, Jesus was the rock.  And we were to build our lives on him... by reading our Bibles, by going to church, etc.

Ok.  Totally appropriate to keep it simple for 6 year olds.  But tonight I feel like I'm reading it again for the first time, especially in light of the place I am at currently with Jesus.

Here is where I am: I find myself a good part of the time not really wanting to do the "hard work" with Christ.  The hard work of a disciplined life.  The hard work of sitting in silence before him.  The hard work of being cleansed through a fast.  The hard work of living more simply and less busy to see him more clearly and obey him more singularly.  You know... the hard work.  The work that has deep spiritual benefit and reward, a reward that can not be earned, but that nevertheless requires a significant amount of effort.

It's a theme of slothfulness that is just plain in me.

Here's where Jesus' story in Matthew 7 intersects with my story:

I picture myself there in the builder's shoes.  I have an option to either build on the rock, or build on the sand.  Of course, the rock has obvious benefits: more sturdy, longer lasting, safer, and will provide support for a structure that can grow bigger and bigger.

But it has one major drawback: you are going to have to just about break your back building your foundation on that rock.  It won't give easily.  It can't be cut easily.  You're going to sweat.  It's going to go slower than you'd like.  You won't see progress as quickly.

You have to be patient.  You have to be determined.  You have to be strong, and allow your strength to grow as you reach your breaking points from time to time.

You have to keep the big picture in mind as you build, because it would be so easy to let it go in light of the slow, hard, tedious work of building a solid foundation out of solid rock.

You have to not compare your progress to that of those around you who are building mansions right on the beach.  And you can't spend working hours strolling over to your neighbor's mansion on the beach, sipping lemonade, looking over to the work that you should be doing that is now being stalled.

It's hard building a house on a rock.

It's easy, on the other hand, to build a house on sand.

Sand gives really easily.  A shovel goes nicely into the sand.  Work can be accomplished quickly.  And it looks like it's the same work - same veneer, anyways - so it's sometimes hard to even tell the difference.

But you can tell the difference when the rain comes.  One structure - maybe not quite finished, maybe not quite as ornate - remains standing, while the other rushes away under the pressure of the elements.

I have a tendency to build and rebuild my house on the sand.  Then the rain comes.  Then my house is washed away.

But then I rebuild on the sand!

Frustrating.  Stupid.  Isn't that the definition of insanity?  Doing the same thing every time but expecting different results each time?

Lord God:

Make me content building a house on the rock.  Strengthen my resolve.  Teach me what it means to work hard but to not work hard to earn.

Make me someone who loves your discipline.  Make me someone who is willing to be transparent enough to be disciplined in front of others.  Make me someone who is humble enough to learn from those who have been building on the rock for years.

Thank you for your grace and patience with me, God, and sand-builder.

Transform me, God, into being a son who builds his house on the rock!

a prayer

I have journeyed far from You
But not really.
Perhaps better said
I have shut my eyes
Or looked away
Or made my place
For a time
Away from Your warmth
And Your Light.

But You are my Shepherd.
My wanderings do not confuse You
I can not lose You
My paths are familiar to You
And I am surprised to find You
When I was not even looking for You
But You were looking
Ever looking
Ever watching me.

I found You
Because You found me.
How this can be
How can this be
Wrapped up in Your mystery
Of Grace and Kindness
Strength and Sight
Penetrating the darkness
Overwhelming

How skilled You are
With the hearts of men
Softening and healing
Forming and growing
Bringing peace
And stillness.

There is nothing that I could do
To move You to pursue me
Like You do
A beautiful helplessness
A transformative worthlessness
A godly dependence
Is my inability to save myself

You saved me
You save me
Not because of the righteous works
I have done
Or have not done
But because of Your grace
Your never changing
Everlasting grace
Overpowering grace
Relentless grace
Ruthless grace even
Beating back the fall
Crushing my sin
Protecting the seed of the kingdom
Your kingdom
You planted in my heart.

I wonder where I will wander tomorrow?
Or the day after next?
I rest in the knowledge that You will find me
But Jesus
Please help me to wander
In Your steps
In Your Light
Into fields of peace
So that I might lead those
Who follow in my steps
Into Your Light
Your Love that casts out fear
Your grace that will change their hearts
Like You are changing mine.

Preaching

I recently came across this paraphrase of a talk Mark Beeson, Senior Pastor of Granger Community Church, gave at their Innovate Conference last week.  Tim Stevens, the Executive Pastor there, took some notes and posted it on his blog.

Mark was talking about innovative preaching, and made a point that I have found to be very true when it comes to communicating God's truth to emerging generations:

"Many preachers/teachers start with the Bible, then Exegete the text, then Apply, then Illustrate. Nothing wrong with that method. But culture has shifted. Many (maybe most) question the veracity of the Scripture. It is no longer positioned by the majority of Americans as the authoritative guide for life."


"Another way to teach: Start with real life (the human condition), then Exegete life, then go to the Bible to see what it says about the human condition, then Apply/Illustrate."


Here's what I really like about his statements:


1. It does not do violence to the authority and power of God's written Word.  It still recognizes it as the truth that can transform, and the truth to which we need to connect people.


2. It recognizes the place where most people are coming from today - churched or non-churched.  We just plain don't have this common cultural assumption any more that the Bible is a revered book, and that everything it says is true and valuable for life.  In fact, exactly the opposite is the case a lot of the time.


3. It creates space for communicating God's Word creatively and in a way that actually speaks to a person's life.  


If you think about it, this is almost exactly what Jesus did as he spoke in parables.  He told a story that any one from his audience could identify with, helped them find themselves in the story, and then caught them by surprise with God's truth.  


I think that's what is so amazing about what Jesus did when he spoke in parables.  God's truth was always the biggest, and inspired the most awe.  God's truth informed the story, and not the other way around.  You were pulled in, shocked, moved, or motivated - not by some sentimental human story - but by this radical God who was intervening in it and empowering you to do something and to be something that you knew you just couldn't do and be on your own.


And that is what is most important to remember when communicating God's truth by starting from real life - God's truth is the biggest, and God's truth should inform the story; not simply be captured by it.  The danger when starting from a story instead of from the Word is that you manipulate God's truth to conform somehow to your story - i.e., the story is the thing that is the biggest, or the source of motivation and change.  


But this isn't what Jesus did.  He didn't employ sentimentality or some cute little anecdote ("chicken soup for the spirit") as a way to move his listeners into the reality of God's truth.  In fact, it was often times exactly the opposite.  The pastor was the bad guy and the Middle-Eastern foreigner was the good guy in the story of the Good Samaritan.  The responsible brother reacted wrongly but the disrespectful son reacted properly in the story of the Prodigal Son.  Often times when Jesus would tell a story, God's truth wasn't captured by the story and its expected or assumed outcome and application.  Rather, it stood in opposition to it, and turned the tables on it, to the point where the listener was able to see that they weren't really on God's side, even though they maybe thought they were at first.  They'd have to make a decision, having been confronted with the reality of a God who was real, who was moving, who was bigger than them, who was desiring of their allegiance, and who had the power to change who they were.


So, starting with a story is a great way to communicate the truth of God.  I've done it a number of times when I preach, and when I am sitting across the table from someone who doesn't yet know Jesus.  But it's God's truth, not story, that'll get them.

another dream (!)

So, two dreams that I remember, two nights in a row.

I was talking about this dream with some of the folks on staff at church, and it seems like all of us are having (odd) dreams these days.

Anyways...

In this one I was at a bar.  I can't remember if I was there with friends or not.  But, apparently I had too much to drink.  Don't know why.  Again, not like me.  But this is how it was in my dream.

Apparently it was cold outside, too, because I had my navy peacoat on the back of my chair.  As I walked up to the bar to get another drink (which, of course I didn't need), a girl walked behind me and accidentally knocked over the chair with my coat on it.  I turned around to catch her eye, looked at her, and shouted a name at her that doesn't bear repeating in this post.

Again, not like me.  At all.

But that's not where the dream ended.  The woman scurried off, surprised and shocked at my inappropriately strong and derogatory comment to her.  I felt no repentance in my heart about it, and turned back towards the bar.  After receiving my drink, I made my way back to my table... only to be intercepted by a man who's face I didn't recognize.

Here's what he said:

"Listen... I know that you work at Prairie Lakes and that you've kinda been growing in influence there, but I just want you to know that was totally inappropriate, and that I'll never be coming back."

And that got through to me.

I remember feeling in that moment so ashamed, worried that I had been found out, disappointed in myself, and wondering if my ministry would ever recover from it.

I woke up that morning still lingering in those feelings.

It sounds cliche, but we really all are just one sin away from ruin.  Grace is stronger and bigger than sin, with no doubt... but oh, how much pain we can cause to the body of Christ if we allow it to rule in our lives even for a moment!  How much ground will the kingdom lose if those who advance it submit themselves to temptation!

Fear should not be the main motivator for growth and life with God.  But fear should motivate us to stay away from sin.  There is just way too much to lose, and so much that we could gain if we'd fight it well.

This isn't a call to draw within yourselves, or to hide your sin and think you can privately manage it.

Rather:

This is a call to be transparent, to confess your sin to one another, and to press into one another so that the kingdom does not suffer when one of us is found out to be a sinner and not a saint.  Too much is at stake otherwise.

my dream

I had a dream last night.  A vivid one.

That's noteworthy, because I don't remember my dreams.  I remember maybe 3 or 4 per year.  But this one I remember.

It was vivid, not in the sense that I can remember every detail, but in the sense that I can remember deeply feeling something, and I can remember the reason that I felt that way.  I think that's what is so amazing about dreams... you can get a very real sense of what something would feel like without really having to experience it.

So, in my dream, I remember coming completely undone.  Like sobbing on the floor undone.  And it was public, too.  Like, people were watching me, and I knew that they were watching me, but I had lost all control over my emotions.

And there was some type of build up to this.  Some conversation I was having started out normally... then escalated into an argument, then into a heated argument, ending with me lying on the floor, curled up, sobbing.

I was feeling like I had reached my absolute end.  I was tapped out.  I was tired of fighting.  I completely gave into a feeling of utter desperation and sadness.

Pretty graphic picture, huh?

And it would be very unlike me to ever do something like that, or consider something like that.  You know... there are people that you think might do something like that.  Edgy people, anxious people, people with an extremely artistic disposition.  But it would be so unlike me.

Is it representative of my life right now?  I don't feel like it.  Is there something going on in life that is giving rise to this?  Not that I can think of.  Is it a prophecy or prediction of what is to come if I don't change some patterns?  Maybe.

Maybe.

All I know is that I don't want to feel like that or get to that place, ever.  I'm gonna have to do some praying and asking about what this dream means.

I read a book one time that said that dreams can be a window to the soul - that sometimes our dreams help us to see something going on deep inside of us that we could not otherwise see.  I think in this case that might be true.  Something about it resonates.  I just can't quite place it.

I think that God is using it, too.  It's not giving rise to fear or to anxiety about my future.  But it is causing me to be introspective, and to invite him to enlighten me.  And that's always, always a good thing.

faith, hope, and possibility

I know, I know... I left out "the greatest" item of what would normally complete that list in the title. But right now, that's not what God has put in front of me. What he has put in front of me is faith, hope, and what faith and hope together make possible. So put your theologically argumentative bows and arrows down for just a second.

Let me start with a story. I love this story. It's a great story. And not just great because it makes me look good. It's great because finally, today, I understand how it is a picture of God in me... and really, how it's a just picture of God, plain and simple.

Rewind to my high school days, sophomore year. I'm a gangly, just starting to hit my growth spurt, super skinny, somewhat emotional, super intense sophomore. I'm at basketball practice. I'm the only sophomore who practices and plays with the varsity team. And they don't really like that I'm on the team and getting playing time in front of some of their buddies.

Mind you, the only reason that I made that team and got playing time was because I could play defense. I was too small and not yet mature enough to really contribute a lot on the offensive end, besides the occasional slash to the hoop because of my quickness. But I could defend, at least well enough to back up our primary defensive stopper when he needed a breather.

So we're in practice in the cold gym early one morning. The starting team is running an offensive set. The bench is defending. We're going full strength. And I get the task of guarding the point guard.

The offensive set calls for the center to run from the block up to the top of the key and screen for the point guard. I know it's coming. And yet, I'm aware that the point guard might anticipate me knowing that it's coming, fake like he's going to run the play as called, and then go the other way, straight down the lane for an easy layup, thus making me look like a fool.

Long, detailed story, right? Well, we're not even halfway.

So being the super-intense-wanting-to-prove-that-I-had-a-rightful-spot-on-this-team type of 15 year old kid that I was, I'm on edge, wanting desperately to stay with the point guard regardless of which way he goes. I can't overcommit towards the screen, because he'll go the other way. And yet, if I don't anticipate it at all, I'm going to get screened, he's going to go in for the layup, I'm going to get yelled at by my coach, and all of the older guys are going to smirk at me, the kid who they don't think should even be on the same floor as them in the first place.

The coach gives the ball to the point guard. I get down in my defensive stance. The point guard calls the play. I can see that the center is coming up to screen out of my peripheral vision, but I'm still focused on what the point guard is going to do. What does he do? He ball fakes towards the screen, then jab steps towards the other way, as though he wasn't going to use the screen and go right down the middle of the lane. I jump quickly to stop him, only to realize that he is actually going to use the screen, and that his jab step was simply another fake.

Now he's got me right where he wants me. I desperately try to catch up with him, but I'm already a step behind. And then whaddya know:

Wham! I slam into our senior star center who outweighs me by about 50 lbs. and get knocked to the floor by a completely legal screen. I pick my head up off the floor just in time to see the point guard glide into the lane for an uncontested layup.

I get up. The coach barks a little, and then tells the starters to run the play again.

I'm embarassed, disappointed in myself, shaking my head, and then head back to my position at the top of the key to try and defend this play once again. But I'm scared, really, of it happening again. Of not being able to defend this play. Of not having the ability that I need. Of not measuring up. Of it finally coming out that I really don't belong, that I really can't cut it.

Seriously. That dramatic. Right there in that moment. Told you that I was this emotional, intense teenage kid.

So the point guard saunters back to the top of the key, ball in hand, ready to start it again. And he's got that smirk on his face--the one that I knew was going to show up if I messed up. The smirk that said way more than words could ever say.

But he didn't leave it there. He decided to say something. And he said it so softly that only I could hear it. And he directed it to me with this arrogant, knowing smile on his face:

"You'll get used to that."

You'll get used to that. Here I am, years later, and I can still remember him saying that.

And I can also remember what welled up inside of me.

Honestly, it surprised me, because it wasn't fear. It wasn't worry. It wasn't defeatedness. It wasn't intimidation.

In fact, it was exactly the opposite. His statement had the exact opposite effect on me. His statement drove out my fear. His statement killed my worry. His statement caused me to let go of my defeatedness. And his statement pushed every last shred of intimidation out of every corner of my mind.

The only thing that was left was something that I can describe only as pure abandonment. Come hell or high water, this guy was never, ever, ever going to get around me ever again. I didn't care if Shaquille O'Neal himself was the guy coming up and setting the screen. I was utterly abandoned to stopping him from getting anywhere he wanted to go.

And I believed that I could do it. In fact, I knew that I would do it. One way or the other. Legally or illegally. Athletically or forcefully. He was not going to get to the basket, and I would be the reason why. If I had to jump on this guy's back and punch him in the face repeatedly before he was able to get to the basket--even if that resulted in a royal beatdown by him and the rest of the entire team--then so be it. Either way, that ball was not going to get in the hoop.

For that moment, it was like there wasn't even another option.

And that gave me this weird sense of peace and calmness. Right there in that moment. I wasn't on edge anymore. I wasn't trying to guess where he was going to go, what he was going to do, or imagine what would happen if I didn't anticipate correctly.

And I wasn't worried anymore about how the other guys would respond. I came to grips with the fact that they had made their decision about me, and I stopped caring. If it was my lot to stick it to them the rest of the season and endure their scorn, then so be it. If it was going to be me against them, fine. I was not going to lose. And they lost the ability to win. Right then.

Pure abandonment. All wrapped up in that moment. Because:

I had decided that I would never, ever, ever "get used to it." He couldn't make me, nor could anyone else.

And I decided that "getting used to it" was far, far worse than anything he or anyone else could ever do to me. Way more would be lost if I "got used to it" than if I refused to "get used to it" and paid the price for doing so.

And for a long, long time, I chalked that characteristic up to wiring, or personality, or blood, or whatever. It was in me for some reason, and that circumstance unlocked it. But after tonight, I see it differently.

I see God in me at that moment.

Nothing is impossible with God. Meaning: God decides what is possible, and no one else. God does not respect anyone else or anything else when it comes to the realm of possibility. He decides.

And we either accept that and choose to live by that, or we do not.

And yes, it really is that simple.

We choose to live in that by faith, and our faith is rewarded with hope. Hope comes when we see God reward our faith in him by pursing him determinedly through seemingly impossible circumstances, and then we see him deliver, or overcome, or win.

I've seen him do it too many times now to ever accept any other axiom other than with God, everything is possible.

Sometimes my lack of faith limits me. Sometimes I lose hope, if only for a time.

But I am starting to accept that my imagination can not even come close to fathoming not only what God can do but what God wants to do in us and among us and through us.

And I am becoming abandoned to it. It's almost like I can not even allow myself to consider another option. It's like it can't turn out any other way.

We so easily "get used to it" when it comes to what God can do and desires to do amongst us. In fact, it even seems like it's the "responsible" and "rational" thing to do. Some dreams are off limits, some changes will just never happen, some courses of action or paths are simply forever off the table of consideration.

Well, if God can raise a man from the dead... you fill in the blank.

And if God is raising you from the dead... you fill in the blank.

And because God is in the business of raising everything and everyone from death and redeeming and restoring and healing and glorifying everything and everyone he comes into contact with all the time everywhere... then why the hell would we expect or settle for anything less or anything different?

Why not abandon ourselves to that and only that happening?

Why not endure all hardship and setbacks knowing that this and only this can happen for us right where we are?

Friends:

Let us live by faith so that we can be fueled by the hope that will grow as we see that with God, everything--everything--is possible.

P.S.

I fought through that screen the second time, stayed with that point guard, blocked his attempt at a layup, and shoved him into the wall for good measure. Still makes my heart skip a beat just thinking about it.

resurrection

So I've been taking my own advice lately and have been saying "yes" to the right things first - namely, more intentional time spent with God. I even scheduled and followed through on an overnight personal retreat, which was great. Time reading, praying, reflecting on God's Word.

I read through the book of Acts. One of the things in there that struck me was how often Peter and Paul referred to Jesus' resurrection. They referred to it in a number of different circumstances:

-when they were seeking to encourage others, they referred to it as a source of hope for the future

-when they were seeking to prove that Jesus was the Messiah, they referred to it as a sign from God

-when they would raise people from the dead, they would point to it as the model and forerunner of what God wanted to do with all humanity

The resurrection... something that I don't think we reflect on theologically or practically these days. As in: what is the significance of the resurrection, and how should it be influencing our worship of God today?

Well, here are a few of my thoughts.

1. If the God we worship has the power to raise people from the dead, then we should be seeing him do the equivalent today. I think a literal application is more than appropriate here. After all, we shouldn't shrink back from the idea of someone being raised from death to life if we are ok believing in a God who created existence from nothing and that he raised Jesus from death to life.

But as strange as it sounds, I don't think this literal sense would be the most compelling application for today. I think that in our day, age, and culture, we would be so suspicious of a literal resurrection story that it would almost be meaningless. Sad, but perhaps true.

For our culture today, I think a more compelling resurrection application would be God raising people from being dead in their sin to alive in the life of his Son. Addicts, pedophiles, murderers, adulterers, cheaters, pornographers, the gluttonous, the greedy, and the immoral being someone absolutely and positively changed forever and ever--transformed into loving, humble, gentle, passionate followers of Christ. Those are the stories that would grip us and open up our eyes to the reality of Christ resurrection: that God now has the authority and ability to raise men and women from being dead in their sin to life in Christ.

We should be hearing stories like this all the time. We should be a part of stories like this all of the time. We should be experiencing stories like this in our lives on a regular basis: being taken from death to life. Perhaps not momentous, earth-shattering, miraculous, testimony-shaping stories all of the time... nevertheless: God's community should be riddled with resurrection stories large and small. If not, something is dangerously wrong.

2. If the God we worship has the power to raise people from the dead, then our corporate worship needs to reflect our awe at this authentic reality. The songs we sing, the sermons we preach, the environments we create, the transformational moments that we move people into--all of them, all of them, all of them needs to have a little taste of this awe of the One who has the power to raise the dead to life. Of course, this awe can be expressed in a million different ways, ranging the spectrum from quiet reverence to ear-splitting anthems, according to how God is moving his churches to communicate his life-giving message. Regardless of the method, if our corporate worship does not open up the non-churched, unbelieving, unrepentant, deadened eyes of those who do not yet know the resurrecting power of our living God, then what is the point of our gatherings?

Perhaps you might insert the word "edification" here, as though a gathering that didn't help the non-churched see the resurrecting power of God in Jesus may be of some sort of value to those already in the flock. In my opinion, nothing could be further from the truth. This is where the unredeemed and the redeemed come together in solidarity: we all need to be reminded of the resurrected reality of life in Jesus. We all need to be pointed back to the source of our life, Jesus Christ. We all need to be overtaken once again by the presence of the Spirit of the resurrected Jesus who is not dead but alive and working and moving and loving and forgiving and saving and redeeming and freeing and pursuing.

This power works in the same way on those inside and outside of the church. It is the great litmus test, if you will, of whether or not our corporate worship is actually doing anything or worth anything at all: the unbelieving will come to believe in the resurrected living Jesus, AND the believing will believe again as if for the very first time as they are freed from their sin and transformed into the image of the resurrected Son. BOTH of these things must be happening for a local church to be doing its job by the power of the resurrected Son.

saying yes to the right things first

I think it's safe to say that I have had a tough last couple of weeks. Long hours, some battles, some failures, some obstacles, late nights, early mornings, low resources, high demands. Kind of a perfect storm.

Some of it was my own fault for saying "yes" to too many things. Some of it was circumstances that were unplanned yet had to be accounted for by my attention, decision, production, or some other personal resource. Regardless, it was a hard two week push that culminated with a weekend service at which I had to both produce and preach.

I started to lose grip on reality a little bit. It was that kind of push. It was that kind of low.

And I suffered, as did my message. But God was faithful, used it anyways, and rescued me from where I had found myself.

I was debriefing about this with my team today. Here's what we concluded:

1. All of us have the talent and capacity to "lead on empty." Meaning: we can still produce a "killer" service out of the talent that God has given us, and, if necessary, disproportionate to the vitality of our own souls before God.

2. We are able to do this because, quite frankly, the demands have not gotten so great that we are able to meet them only by the power of God.

3. Very soon in the near future, the demands will be so great that the only way that we will be able to meet them is with God's power flowing through us.

4. If we continue to try to lead on empty, we will be crushed by the demands on us.

5. Regardless of the demands: why would we want to live by our own power and not God's in us?

One conclusion we came to was the need to say "yes" to the right things first, before we say yes to anything else. Yes to God, yes to time with him, yes to family and loved ones... and then yes to everything else. Not the other way around.

preaching with power

Here I am, sitting up on a Saturday night, reflecting upon the service, thinking about the service tomorrow. And I am struck with an insight:

Messages are not spoken with power because their speakers are not living with power.

In a positive light, the sentence would read like this:

Messages are spoken with power because their speaker is living in power.

And even more complete:

God's messages through his people are spoken with power because his people are living in his power.

Oh God, my God, why do I not choose to live in your power?

Real Crazy It Churchness

Tonight I realized that I'm reading three different books that all coincidentally cover the same topic, written by people who share a similar perspective:

• Crazy Love, written by Francis Chan--a pastor in southern California and conference speaker
  
• It, written by Craig Groeshcel, pastor of the multi-site church LifeChurch.tv and conference speaker
  
• Real Church, written by author, professor, counselor, and conference speaker Dr. Larry Crabb

I'm not far enough in to any of the books to have a firm sense of what each author is suggesting and/or prescribing. And each of the books comes stamped with the author's unique perspective and style. But even just a few chapters in to each of the books, two striking commonalities emerge:

First, all of the authors came to a point where they were dissatisfied with how church was being done, and are now writing about their journey with God through that.

Second, godly transformation in church always begins with godly transformation in someone's heart.

This gets me wondering:

Is my personal walk with Christ so compelling that if the lost saw it, they would want to follow Him?

To me, that question has four parts:

My personal walk with Christ. Just me and Him. Not my work for him, not my service to him, not my public expressions of worship and obedience. Rather, my experience of his love, my listening to his voice, my bending to his will, all flowing from my transformational spiritual journey with him through the spiritual disciplines and practices.

So compelling. First, I'm talking about living a life with God that is compelling to me. I'm talking about a personal awe at what Christ is doing in me. I'm talking about a healthy and abiding feeling of unworthiness (read: humility) that comes from knowing both the depth of my sin and the depth of God's mercy. I'm talking about a high level of awareness of the personal God's handiwork in the past, present, and even future. When I look at my life with God, is it compelling to me?

Second, I'm talking about a life that is compelling to others. Which leads me to the third phrase:

If the lost saw it. This phrase requires a story. I had a conversation today with a guy who does some contract IT work for our church. He wouldn't describe himself as a Christian, I don't think. If I were to label him, I'd label him as an agnostic. Recently he's started attending occasionally, and serving regularly on our groundskeeping teams. Anyways, we had a chance to talk today for a little bit--the latest in a series of conversations, actually, with each getting a little more personal. I asked him today: "Has this church changed your view at all on who God is?" To which he responded, "Not really." Then he proceeded to share about his view of tolerance, namely, "Who's to say who is right and who is wrong? Believe what you want, and worship however and whoever you choose."

And I thought: "Huh."

And then I thought: "Crap."

I mean, it is a good thing that he feels welcome. It's a good thing for him to feel like he wants to be a part of what is going on in our church. And it's entirely possible that in his spiritual journey, this is the first of many steps--that he needs to belong before he believes. I get that.

But at this point he hasn't seen God through our church, whether in corporate worship or personal conversations, in a such a way that he recognizes God for who he is (and maybe just as importantly, who he is not) and responds to him. And as someone who is responsible for planning and executing every single service, even the ones that my friend has attended, that is just plain haunting.

Maybe you think I'm being too hard on myself, or placing too much responsibility on myself, my team, and my church for this guy's (and others) spiritual growth. You might be right. Certainly each person's spiritual journey is unique, and certainly God is the only one who can save. I know this. But the question still remains:

Are lost people seeing in me a compelling picture of a personal and transformational God? If not, how could they possibly see it in what I create?

So that they follow Him. Here's where the rubber meets the road, so to speak. I know it's about disciples and not just conversions. But blah, blah, blah... no more pseudo-theological debates that result in no action. When it comes down to it in this life, I have to ask myself: for how many people has God used me to snatch from the darkness and usher into the Light? How many people see me and say: "You are the one who introduced me to Christ" or "You are the one who guided me into a deeper intimacy with God?" How many? How many are following because of me? How many are walking with God because I was walking with him first?

These are the questions that God is stirring in my heart. It feels like their consideration is long overdue.

leaders are busy

Busy doing good things. Managing conflict. Casting vision. Managing projects and workflow. Training. Having hard conversations. Adjusting, tweaking, evaluating. Hiring. Helping others transition well. Networking. Bridge building. Planning.

Retreating. Traveling. Team building. Conferencing. Budgeting. Purchasing. Proposing. Learning. Reading. Developing. Challenging. Teaching. Coaching. Advising. Counseling.

Of course, such is the life of a leader... at least, the life of a good leader. These are the things a good leader does, and does with excellence.

But my gosh is it a busy life.

Here's what I've noticed in myself over the past two months...

...and let me hit pause before I continue, and just camp on the phrase "the last two months" for a moment here. I've been absolutely deluged during these last 8 weeks. I've been exposed to so much, trusted to execute so much, leaned on so much that I haven't even had space to pause and reflect, much less had the energy to capture my thoughts and be motivated to write about them.

Ok. Unpause. Here's what I've noticed in myself over the past two months:

1. I have more capacity to do more things for a longer period of time without getting burned out.
2. Sometimes #1 is a good thing, and sometimes it is not.
3. I need to learn how to build a team of people that is strong where I am weak, rather than simply try to improve my weaknesses or manage them.
4. I like leading.
5. I am still very much emerging as a leader. A lot is being developed. A lot is rough.
6. The same things that serve me well as a pastor serve me well as a leader. I don't feel like I have to be a different person than who I am. I just feel like I have to keep growing into who I am... if that makes any sort of sense at all.
7. I still need to be led.

Not quite sure what to do with any of that, or even if there is a point. At this juncture, I'm just content to say "I'm new at this," capture these thoughts, and laugh at them by this time next year.

I got a new job.

So I just got a new job at Prairie Lakes Church. Third one in 3 years. College Pastor, then Worship Pastor, and now... well, my title stays the same, but my responsibilities have changed. Whereas I used to report to the Program Director who headed up Programming and Production (music, tech, and everything weekend services), now I'll be heading up that department, reporting to the Executive Pastor, working with the Senior Pastor to develop sermon series, and the Programming and Production team to brainstorm, create, and produce services.

This is another new chapter for me. A new set of skills to learn. Management of people and departmental projects. Human resources processes. A [big] budget. Hiring. Tracking and metrics. Networking. A higher level of visibility, accountability, and expectations.

And, to be quite honest, when I think about all of that at once, I get more than a little anxious. One night it was even hard to get to sleep, thinking about all of it. Feeling like I'm in over my head before I begin. Wondering if I'll measure up, if I'll fall flat, if this will be the time when I really bit off more than I could chew.

But then I looked again, and this time not with my own eyes.

I desperately want to avoid sounding hyper spiritual on the one hand, and cliche on the other. But as I felt the anxiety grow, the Lord brought to my mind a lesson that I learned when I was a kid.

When I was a kid--junior high--I worried all the time. All the time. And severely. Over everything that had to do with expectations--what teachers expected of me, what parents expected of me, what coaches expected of me, what I expected of me, what I thought God expected of me. One time I remember worrying so much over registration for a spelling bee--that's right, registration for a spelling bee... not performing... not performing... but a mistake in registering, and whether or not I'd be let in--that I literally threw up.

And I never could get to sleep at a decent hour. Still can't. But those were prime worry hours. Just laying there in my bed, in the dark, alone with my worrisome pre-teen/early-teen thoughts. Item after item. List after list. Tomorrow grew burdensome and heavy, becoming my master before it even unfolded.

Then one day I learned how to gain access to a power greater than worry, and how worry used fear to grip me:

I confessed it as a sin to God, and pleaded with him to forgive me.

I pleaded--not just asked, but pleaded--with him for two reasons:

1. Without his help, I was going to be overtaken. When your anxiety manifests itself physically, it's pretty much got you. I needed help, being utterly unable to help myself or overcome my circumstances. People who are desperate don't simply ask for help; they plead.

2. I saw my anxiety for what it really was: a deep and insidious challenge to God's faithfulness to me. That might sound harsh, especially given the context (come on... how insidious can a spelling bee be?). Nevertheless, God had proven himself to be nothing but capable, near, and present in my life. Why should I entertain a reality that was anything different? Why would I exchange the truth for a lie? But that's what anxiety tempted me to do, and that's what I indeed was doing. It was like a friend deciding, against all other evidence to the contrary, that his best friend no longer cared for him. That's what I realized I was doing to God. And so I pleaded, if only to get my Friend back.

And that turned the tide in my battle against anxiety. And I remembered that lesson. Well... with God's help.

And so I followed the same tried and true path two nights ago, when, after a day of hunting turkey in Kansas I was lying in my bunk at the cabin in the middle of a mudfield, again just with me and my anxious thoughts. As it turns out, the Spirit of the Living God dwells even in Doug Wood's cabin a few miles north of Delia, Kansas.

So I prayed to see this new task not through my anxious and fearful eyes, but through the eyes of faith that he has so graciously grown in me. Again I confessed and pleaded for forgiveness, throwing myself not dejectedly but boldly down at his feet. I love that place. I know what happens there every time. And it happened again two nights ago, just like it did 15 years ago.

Which takes me back to another aspect of a new chapter. It's not just about learning a new set of needed skills; it's also about applying old lessons.

So this is why I'm closing down my old blog, and starting this one. Here's what I think God is up to: he's teaching me about how to lead, and how to lead as a shepherd, applying the lessons that I've learned as I've followed the Good Shepherd.

Thank you for leading me like a shepherd, Jesus. I am prone to wander. Glad that your rod and staff extend across a few states.