A Reason To Believe

Today is the traditional day of the Feast of Saint Thomas.  You know, the one who has come to acquire the glowing nickname "Doubting Thomas."  As the story goes, he refused to believe that Jesus had risen from the dead, and would not consent to belief unless, as the Gospel of John puts it, "I see the nail holes in his hands, put my finger in the nail holes, and stick my hand in his side, I won't believe it" (John 20:25, The Message).  To which Jesus replies, upon returning for another post-resurrection visit to his disciples, "Here I am, Thomas. Go for it!" (John 20:27, my paraphrase).  Thomas then proclaims his belief, apparently without going through with the whole probe-the-gaping-wound stipulation.  Probably for the best.  Jesus then closes the conversation with the following famous line: "Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet believed."  It is from point that many well-meaning Jesus-followers have put a moratorium on genuine doubt, interpreting Jesus' final statement as a rebuke to Thomas--one which, clearly, we should all aspire to avoid.

Most of the tellings of this story that I've heard also carry the implication that the other disciples were standing faith-filled on the sidelines of this little interchange.  As if Jesus glanced at them and silently said with a little wink of his eye, "Good job, boys.  Way to have faith.  I know you believe.  Now, Thomas...tisk, tisk."  And thus we have Doubting Thomas.

But as I see it, Thomas gets a bad rap.  Reading the entire story from John, all of the discples got to see Jesus on his appearance--except for Thomas, who was out running errands or visiting a neighbor or something.  As Matthew tells it, "some doubted" (16:17).  Not just Thomas.  Mark seems to paint an even bleaker picture of the unbelief of the rest of the disciples.  First, Mary Magdalene tells them he is risen, but "they would not believe it" (16:11).  Then after Jesus appeared to two of them while they were walking down the road, "they went back and told the rest, but they did not believe them" (16:13).  Not just Thomas.  Luke tells the story with an even more unfavorable light on the disciples.  After appearing to the two on the road, as in Mark, he appeared to the disciples, but they "were startled and  frightened and thought they saw a spirit" (24:37).  That is to say, they doubted that it was really Jesus come back from the dead.  Hardly models of unflinching faith. Jesus, seeing they were having a bit of a hard time wrapping their eyes and brains around all of this, and being the compassionate guy that he was and is, showed them his hands and feet as proof.

We have to ask at this point: Is this the appearance for which Thomas was absent?  When he demanded to see Jesus' hands, was it simply because the others had already been offered (by Jesus himself, no less) to base their belief on the very same thing?  Maybe Thomas wasn't being a weak-faithed little pansy-disciple.  Maybe he just wanted the same amazing encounter with Jesus that his companions had while he was out grocery shopping or whatever he was doing.  Can we genuinely fault him for this?  If there's one thing that true of the Gospel writers depiction of the disciples, Thomas included, it's this: they were normal dudes.  They made plenty of mistakes.  Some of them a little disturbing, honestly.  Buffoonery was common in their early days.  They were not, at least at first, the glowing giants of faith they are now venerated as being.  At first they were as weak-faithed as you and I have ever been.  In fact, in Luke, it seems as though Jesus showing the disciples his nail-scarred hands wasn't even enough--he had to go on to eat a fish!  After all, maybe a spirit-Jesus could have visible scars, but only a living physical Jesus could eat lunch.

"Don't be a Doubting Thomas," I've heard it said.  As if Thomas' entire role on being included in the Bible was to illustrate to us how not to follow Jesus.  As if being honest with our doubts is among the cardinal sins.  Thomas gets a bad rap; doubt gets a bad rap.  Doubt is not a dirty word.  If Thomas hadn't insisted so strongly in seeing his Lord's scars, would Jesus have made that second appearance with the apparent intent to show them to him?  Maybe; maybe not.  If we do not face our doubts head-on, in the light of day, in the company of our fellow Jesus-followers, will he reveal himself to us in ways we so desperately need?  Maybe; maybe not.

Only by passing through doubt can one arrive at significant faith.  As messy and unimpressive as that may appear, whatever heinous nick-names we may acquire.  But we can take comfort in knowing that in our doubts we are surrounded by good company--Thomas, and all the other disciples as well, and, if we're blessed, a few living, breathing doubters alongside us whom we can call "friends."  And those are good travelling companions to have if one is to arrive at faith.  For my money, I'd rather be in the company of a bunch of Doubting Thomases than hyper-pious know-it-alls.

Year Of Tha Boomerang

Advent.  Although I grew up in church, that word was not even in my vocabulary until only a couple of years ago.   And not until last year did it truly begin to influence the shape of my holiday season.  It was a monumental shift, both for me personally as well as pastorally.  A shift which began in a void.  An empty space in my mind heart that was supposed to be filled with Scriptures, reflections, questions, images, and prayers that were to be crafted into sermons.  But I was coming up dry.  I had nothing.  Fumbling in the dark.  A preacher unsure of what to say.  Oh, snap.

Thankfully, there was light--I have a wife who was raised Episcopalian.  She, with her long history and deep appreciation for liturgy was able to escort me gently into the strange, new world of the Lectionary.  In case you're about as uninformed as I was then, I'll sum up like this: The Lectionary is a three-year-long collection of Scriptures, grouped and arranged more or less thematically throughout the various seasons of the year.  It's a guide, a Shirpa leading us up the craggy edifices of Scripture.  I found it to be such a helpful, guide, in fact, that I tested it out for the first quarter of 2011.  That first quarter turned into the entire year.  A wonderful year.

For me, the Lectionary became another door through which to enter the strangely wonderful world of the Bible.  It felt like being a kid again, another Dukes of Hazard phase when I had to get in and out of my parents' green Plymouth Duster through the window.  Sometimes the old doors get.....well...old.  The window is so much more fun.

So now it's Advent again.  The cycle continues; a new year begins.  Back around like a boomerang.  Whereas at this time twelve months ago I was uncertain of just what reading and preaching through the Lectionary would feel like, this year I'm excited. The edifices are still craggy, but the guide has become such a good friend.

Now down to earth.  Here are a few, briefly stated lessons I've learned from preaching through the Lectionary for a year.  A few reasons why I've loved it.  If you're a Bible reader, maybe this will entice you to try this door out for a while.  If you're a preacher, may I recommend this to you for the inevitable day when you, too, feel empty.

1. It forces me to deal squarely with Scriptures I might otherwise avoid. Let's be honest--the Bible has a tendency to make us uncomfortable, for one reason or another.  Yet there is great reward in allowing ourselves to feel uncomfortable, to accept that challenge, to wade through murky, frightful waters.  "Safety," I'm finding, is actually a value that often points us away from good interactions with God and Scripture.

2. It makes me preach on topics that I might otherwise not even consider.  Again, let's be honest--there are certain topics that we'd all rather not hear a preacher talk about.  ("Don't tell me how to manage my money!")  And as a preacher I can attest that the feeling is often even more dreadful for the preachers themselves.  ("I don't want to sound like a salesman just trying to get your money!")  But listen we must, and preach we must.  The Lectionary steers me away from "pet topics," which are usually, as the term implies, quite domesticated.

3. It connects Scriptures with other often unexpected Scriptures.  Each week consists of a Psalm, an OT reading, a NT reading, and a Gospel reading--all carefully selected for shared connections and themes that might not be obvious at first.  Consider this a form of built-in "cross-referencing." For me, it's just plain fun placing the texts on top of one another, holding them up to the light, and seeing what shines through.

4. It takes the guess-work out of Scripture selection.  My heritage in Scripture selection is this: Listen to God regarding what he wants to say to the people, then choose a text that says that.  ("I want to preach on having faith...how on earth am I going to narrow down that myriad of texts?!")  That's a gross oversimplification, but you get the idea.  Now I'm doing the reverse: Read the texts and ask God what he's saying through them. ("I'm reading James1:5-8...looks like I'm preaching on increasing faith!") This all leads quite naturally to the first three I just mentioned, and paves the way for the last one...

5. It gives me more creative freedom.  The time and energy that I've often spent simply deciding which of the myriad of texts to choose from, I now spend on the art and craft of communication.  The insights, difficult questions, the stories, the metaphors, the visuals--all of the things a preacher employs to make the Scriptures come alive.  It's true that specific boundaries often create more powerful expressions.  And this, honestly, might be the biggest gift the Lectionary has given me, a gift I'm not about to give up any time soon.

Symphony No. 5

Perhaps the richest lesson I came away with from my formal training as a pastor was simple: How to read the Bible.  Don't get me wrong, having been a Christian for quite some time I had already read most, if not all, of the Bible, and much of it multiple times.  But always in tiny portions.  When I finally sat down to read entire books in one sitting (partly because my professors encouraged me to, partly because deadlines demanded I do so), I found myself entering a world that I had never quite visited before.  I had seen post cards, and perhaps even spent a long weekend there, but had never settled down.  I never lived there.  I finally realized--to my horror and amazement--that what I had in fact been reading for most of my life was verses, not the Bible.  I had been taught (quite usefully to a degree) to analyze verses and short passages, to ask fine-pointed questions, to dig deep into the details.  But I had not been taught to read it as it had been written.

"Valley Of Dry Bones"
from the Illustrated Bible by Barry Moser

One of my most vivid memories in this sea change period was of reading the entire book of Ezekiel in one sitting.  It took several hours.  It was, to say the least, a surreal experience.  My imagination was inundated with fantastic imagery, rich scenery, frightening oracles, and Doctor Who-esque visions.  And all one on top of the other.  As fast-paced as any Hollywood blockbuster, and as mind-boggling as the best indie flick.  It was beautiful.  It was frightening.  It was awe-inspiring.

I loved it.

Don't get me wrong.  I didn't retain most of it in an academic, Western sense of the word.  I can't give you a chapter-by-chapter synopsis off the top of my head.  But I understood a little better  what it looks like to be a prophet.  I understood something of the richness of the way God communicates to humanity.  I  understood that this world--God's world, both seen and unseen--is a truly incredible environment in which to exist.

If you've never read the Bible this way--the long way--do it.  Now.  (Although, I might not recommend beginning with Ezekiel...maybe Mark, or John would be more accessible).  It will change the way you think about the Bible.  It will change the way you think about life and God and yourself.  But don't just take my word for it...



"If this the book God meant us to have by the Spirt, then it's important that we actually take that seriously instead of just snipping it down to make it digestible, like sombody with a huge banquet in front of them who insists on going to the back room and just making a peanut butter sandwich instead." (N.T. Wright)

Where Are You Going?

Church planters ask lots of questions.  Being in this kind of role in church, arguably more than many others, necessitates it.  By nature of what we're doing--heading full tilt into the foggy unknown--we have to.  A church plant is by definition more fragile and given to flux than an established church.  Not much opportunity to get comfortable and complacent.  Thankfully.  This unknown is part of the thrill and adventure.  Most church planters aren't doing it because they know exactly what they're doing, and those that I have heard say things at least close to that eventually seem to end up flailing in the pool with the rest of us.  But it's fun.  At least, it's my kind of fun.

And by questions, I mean that we usually have rather practical, yet big-picture, life-or-death kinds of questions:
How do I let folks in our community know we're here?
What sort of outreach events should we engage in?
How should I spend my time?
What should our service look like?
What kind of facility should we meet in?
Who else could/should help pull this off?
How much money should be budgeted for each of those things?
Where's this money going to come from?
Oh yeah, and speaking of money--How exactly is my family going to be fed?

And on and on.

Over the past few years of church planting, I've learned one bummer-of-an-insight about myself: I am not a great strategist.  Don't get me wrong, I'm no fool.  Most of the time.  I'm at least competent.  I can make pretty good decisions and plans.  But I'm not great at it.  You're not likely to ever hear my name mentioned alongside certain other acclaimed church planting gurus (or see me advertising on your Facebook or Google side bar).  Most of my great ideas have seemed to come to very little.  And I'm OK with that.

But that's not to say our church plant is failing.  Far from it!  The good news is that there is a goldmine of wisdom to to be tapped into.  Unless you've just headed out from under your rock to start a church (which is far from advisable), you already know at least a handful of individuals who have already done this fairly well.  There's also a ready supply of books, seminars, conferences, and even (some) blogs that can answer a lot of your questions.

I've come to realize, however that asking too many questions can actually have negative results.  After a while of bouncing thoughts off of other seasoned planters and pastors, all their various (and often somewhat contradictory) bits of advice begin to just swirl around my head.  Like one of those playground carousels with the big kid on the block pushing as fast as he can while the rest of us just try to hang on and not lose our PB&J.  And the more books and blogs I read and whose strategies I attempt to implement, the more I start to feel more like a shrewd business man and less like a contemplative pastor (to borrow a phrase from Eugene Peterson).  And my goal is ultimately to be the latter.

So what's a guy to do?

I've learning that there's one fundamental question that I have to have answered upon which all others depend: Lord, where are you going?  In my experience, heading off to chase any other answer to any other question is just going to end up with shaky results if it's not built upon a solid answer to this question.  This is how Jesus operated: "The Son can do nothing of his own accord, but only what he sees the Father doing" (John 5:19).

I'm also learning that the only person who can find out the answer to that question is me.  (As well as my co-pastor wife, I should mention).  No one else can seek out answer that on my behalf.  To assume that God is going to answer that question the same way for me and my church as he did for [insert uber-successful churchman's name here], is, well, insane.  I've heard it said that a good definition of insanity is "Doing the same thing repeatedly expecting different results."  I think that it could also go the other way around: "Doing the same thing someone else did expecting the same results."  If you're not a church leadership person, then you don't get this, but the temptation to try to take others answers as your own is huge.  But there are far too many variables involved (most notably the sovereignty of a creative God) to make it work 100% the same.  And he is indeed creative.  Maybe he just gets enjoyment out of doings things differently with each planter and pastor, with each congregation.  Maybe the severity of the state of human affairs demands creative and varied approaches.

Or maybe the bottom-line reason that this question is so central is simply because it requires me to get close to God.  It requires me to close the books, turn off my computer, and silently listen.  It's one more incentive for the face time that he longs to have with me.  The answer to Where are you going? only comes by focused and frequent times of prayer.  Just me and him--alone.  It only comes via relating, not strategizing.  It only comes by tuning out all the other shouting voices in order to hear the whisper of the Spirit.

Zee Deveel

I had a great question posed to me last Sunday after my message: "So, do you really believe in the Devil?"  It caught me slightly off guard.  I would have expected other questions to be raised based on my message.  But for this young lady, who is very much new to all of this right now, the Devil was the thing I talked about that just didn't fit into her paradigm of reality.

Understandably so.

As we discussed, our caricatured depictions of him have trained us to think of him as a fictional cartoon character.  Our conversation went on about whether or not the Devil (and God, for that matter) is an actual entity, a "person," and not just a personified force.  How he plays into evil we see in the world.  What the scope of his power and influence actually is, etc.

In hindsight, this has really stuck with me this week in the form of a personal question: Do I really believe in the Devil?  Of course I do!  Don't I?  In theory, yes.  Biblically, yes.  But practically?  Well, it's confession time: not always.  I've never wanted to become one of those hyper-spiritual Christians who talks constantly about spiritual warfare, looking for a demon under every rock and behind every sneeze.  However at times, I'm perhaps not as quick as I should be to assume his veiled and dastardly involvement in things that are clearly not in line with what I know of the character of God.

After all, this is a war.  Maybe I need to wake up and smell the napalm.

What's more, does my church really believe in the Devil?  Practically and not just doctrinally?  While he's not deserving of a disproportionate measure of our attention, we must be continually "sober-minded" and "watchful" as Peter warns us since our "adversary the Devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour" (1 Peter 5:8).

Which brings us back full circle to the comment I made in my sermon--something along the lines of "The Devil hates church plants and small churches."  Churches of any size, really.  We are the someone he wants to devour.

Here's is why I believe this question really, really matters:

If we believe wholeheartedly in the Kingdom of God, then we must believe in the counterfeit Kingdom of Darkness.  If we place everything we believe and do (as a Vineyard) within this context, then we must believe and act within the equal reality that God's Kingdom is actively opposed by the Devil's.  If I believe as much as I say I do that our church plant is one little strategic part in the advancement of God's Kingdom, then I must be continually aware of the opposition.

As any military professional will tell you better than I can: Lose sight of your mission or your enemy for even a moment and disaster is certain.  Sure, that might sound a little mellow dramatic, but I dont' want to be the one to test that theory.  (Feel free to do so and give me feedback if you dare.)  I'm gonna trust that Peter (and countless others with him) knew exactly what he was talking about.

Based on my experience in the context of small churches, there are a few ways in which I think the Devil is particularly strategic and, too often, effective:

1. He breeds a communal inferiority complex.  Like being the littlest kid always picked last for kick ball in elementary school, the church feels like it just sucks and will never be very good. Eventually, it comes to believe that's actually true and gives up playing altogether.
2. He sows seeds of jealousy.  It's far too easy to look around and see all the great things other churches are doing and wish ours was doing the same--only better.  There's a reason that covetousness is listed in the 10 Commandments: it will kill you from the inside out.
3. He talks us into trying to do too much.  This one is sort of the practical out-workings of the first two.  While there is no end to the good things our church could be doing, it is impossible that they are all the best things that we should be doing.  In doing too many things, we do nothing very well.
4. He tempts the church to grow inward.  After all, if we think we're not gonna grow, we might as well just guard what little we do have, right?  In keeping with some of the war-language floating around this post, this is what is often referred to as "the bunker mentality."  A bunker will keep you and your friends relatively safe for a while, but then it just starts to get boring and stinky.
5. He makes the pastors and leaders second-guess their calling and gifting.  I'm 100% positive that pastors of large churches wrestle with the same thing, but they also have an infrastructure to help support the church and carry on the ministry even when they're having dark days.  Small churches depend much more on the health and ministry of the pastor; even if the pastor has strong support from outside relationships, there is still daily work to be done that largely rests on his or her shoulders--and that work is dang hard to do when you're just not sure you're any good at all.

Consider these as you pray for and serve your church.

Give It Away

If there's a character trait that all church planters share it's this: we're over-achievers.

We're able to to a lot of things (at least moderately well), willing to do them (because we believe so strongly in our calling), and the general lack of staff and volunteers demands that we do so. Starting something from scratch is no small task.  Our dirty little secret is that we actually get some amount of enjoyment out of all this. Some might call us workaholics...we call it passionate. TomAYto, tomAHto.

That's not all bad. If no one was wired like this, no one would have a church to go to. Seriously. That's just historical hindsight. Someone had to start the one you go to--and the one that person went to before.  But being an over-achiever certainly has its downside as well, just like being an over-eater, an over-exagerator, an over-spender, or an over-anythinger.

In Exodus 18, Moses is hard at work being a shepherd--not of animals any longer, but of the nomadic nation he's leading. He's taking care of them on an individual basis, hearing their concerns and difficulties, settling disputes, etc. A noble endeavor, sure. He loves his people; he loves caring for them. But the task is well beyond the scope of his abilities. So, wisely, his father-in-law Jethro calls him on it: "What is this that you are doing for the people? Why do you sit alone, and all the people stand around you from morning till evening?  ...What you are doing is not good. You and the people will certainly wear yourselves out, for the thing is too heavy for you.  You are not able to do it alone."  The choice was pretty black and white: stop being an over-achieving workaholic, or else stop being a sane person. (I'm willing to bet a large sum of money that Zipporah was somehow behind all of this...)

As with Moses, so with you and me.  Despite all that our Super Man / Wonder Woman culture tells us, none of us can do it--whatever "it" may be--alone.  Most of us are more like the Mystery Men, and that's a good thing. Which helps underscore one of the most fundamental rules of leadership and ministry: give it away.  There are a number of good and Biblical and practical reasons, to do so. Most notably, it's a survival tactic.

I don't know about you, but more than anything I want to survive.

Top 10 Things I'll Be Bummed About Missing If Jesus Comes Back Tomorrow (And That I'll Be Jazzed About If He Doesn't)

10. The silence following the death of all the 13-year cicadas

All several million of them.  As a friend recently said, imagine all of your neighbor's house alarms going off 24/7 for 2 weeks straight.  It's kind of cool, but also kind of maddening.  I'm really looking forward to the normal living-in-the-woods ambiance.  Oddly, this does seem like the kind of plague that should precede the end of the world.

9. Preaching on Sunday

To be honest, this is mostly just because I've put a lot of hard work into it.  (As you might guess, I'm not too convinced any of this is actually going to happen, or I wouldn't have bothered preparing, right?)  Ironically, the sermon is called "Why Easter Still Matters: It Empowers Us To Face Evil," which is exactly what Jesus is going to do once and for all when he comes back.

8. Reading Love Wins by Rob Bell

I just wanna get in on the action before all the drama dies down and Christians in America find something else to get hysterical about.

7. Homegrown tomatoes

Love 'em.  Angela just planted them today.  I'm pretty sure they're gonna need more time.

6. Watching the Lord Of The Rings Trilogy one more time

The extended director's cut edition.  I just get a hankering to re-watch them at least once a year, and haven't done it yet.  By my calendar I've still got almost 7 months left.  And yes, this is incredibly nerdy.

5. Strange Negotiations

This new album from David Bazan drops this week.  He's one of my favorite song writers ever.  If you've never heard him, you need to.  Before tomorrow.  However, now that I think about it, considering that his last album, Curse Your Branches, was described as "a break-up album with God," maybe this one will actually be one more reason for Jesus to stay on schedule--well, at least on Harold Camping's schedule.

4. Getting to play my mandolin

My birthday was yesterday, and this was my present from my family.  Awesome!  I've never owned one, so I'm really looking forward to learning. The bummer is that it's waiting for me to pick it up in Georgia next week.  (I promise, Lord, the first thing I'll play will be a worship song!)

3. The season finale of Dancing With The Stars

And not just missing it, but spending the rest of eternity not knowing who would have won.  Or maybe God in his omniscience can clue us in.  (If my vote can count in advance, Lord, I'm rooting for Chelsea).

2. Our cruise next week

Seriously!  I've always wanted to do this!  By all accounts, the hereafter is gonna be pretty awesome, but there's also not going to be any sea (Rev. 21:1), so this is my one shot at living on a boat for a week.  That said, it only seems right to make the offer that to anybody left behind with a fake ID that looks like me, you're welcome to take it.  You embark at 12pm on Monday out of Jacksonville.  And then the reason for the cruise...

1. Celebrating our 10 year anniversary

The thing I'm most proud about pulling off in all my 33 years on planet earth.  Best 10 years yet!  We're gonna party like it's 1999--which, ironically, didn't end as apocalyptically as everyone thought.