Friday, February 22, 2013
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Friday, August 31, 2012
Recently, one of my friends commented on how he now believes the entire story of Christ is a fairy tale, a “work of fiction” he called it. And my heart literally aches. How one goes from passionately pursuing a God who loves him so much to passionately running away from that same God is beyond me.
And then I’m reminded of Jesus’ words in Matthew 12, when he tells us that a “house divided against itself will fall.” (Matthew 12:25 paraphrased)
When we submit ourselves to our own desires, knowing that those desires are the antithesis of what God wants for us, we have to run. We must run. Because the two cannot occupy the same space. My friends who used to preach, pray and pursue Christ each found themselves divided. They came to a point where the struggle between wanting to follow Jesus and wanting to follow their own desires wouldn’t allow them to stand any longer. For one, it was homosexuality. For another it was porn and sexual addiction. And yet another found himself addicted to drugs. When those things try to dwell in the same temple as God, something has to give. The house will crumble.
I understand why they had to run in this direction. It’s the only place they can feel safe in their sin. You see, if you can disprove God, if you can prove that the whole thing is a made up story then you can justify your actions. What does it matter, after all, to live in sin, if you can prove that the concept of sin is flawed?
Sadly, all of these friends of mine know me too well. So, in the height of hypocrisy, they point to my sins as a way of justifying their own…all while trying to tell me that the concept of sin is irrelevant anyway. “My sins aren’t sins because I don’t believe in the concept of sin. But you…I know your sins. So don’t preach to me about mine.”
So, they try hard to discredit the Gospel. And here, many would simply write them off. But not me. I think it’s a good thing. To me, the fact that they spend so much energy trying to disprove Christ is an indicator of the inner-turmoil that’s going on inside of them. As much as they want to let go of God, they can’t. Because God’s fingerprints don’t wash off easily. And, try as they may, they can’t seem to get the name of Jesus off their lips. Sure, it’s in a negative connotation right now, but that’s a very powerful name. And as long as they utter it—in a negative or positive sense—there’s a chance for that power to once again take hold.
So, if you know someone who has walked away from God, don’t give up. If he/she is working hard to discredit faith it’s not a sign of a lost soul. It’s the sign of a soul that God is still wrestling for. And if you have walked away from your faith but find yourself trying to disprove Christ, ask yourself why. Why must you disprove him? What is it in your life that you need so bad, that it requires God’s story to be false?
My prayers go out to the wandering (and the wondering) souls.
Monday, August 13, 2012
I looked up the word and it pretty much means what you'd expect it to: "a despicable or vile person." I can surely associate with that. But there was a synonym listed in the definition that struck me:
I thought about that word for awhile. Am I the villain in God's story? The answer is far too often, I'm afraid, yes.
When Jonah boarded a boat to get as far away as possible from God's will, he became the villain in the story. His sin brought a horrific storm on a ship full of sailors who were not party to his sin. Consequences of one's sin are rarely, if ever, heaped only on the sinner. I too, have boarded the boat to Tarsus. I have tried to flee from God's guidance. I have seen the consequences of my own sins leave their stains on other hearts.
When David decided that he wanted another man's wife, he became the villain in the story. Consumed by his lust, fleshly desires and greed, he went as far as to commit murder to try to cover up his sin. I too have peered over the balcony and coveted that which is not mine. And I have dug deeper holes to cover the sins I thought could be hidden. Though I have not committed physical murder, how many have I "killed" with my word and deed?
When we first learn of Paul in the Gospel, he is already the villain. His life was dedicated to persecuting believers. He stood by as others stoned Stephen. His life mission was to destroy those who worshipped God. I have been complacent in the destruction of fellow believers. I have watched them stumble, only to throw stones or turn my back as others hurled theirs.
I am the wretch.
I am the villain.
But the beauty of the Gospel is found in that very same hymn that brings us that awful word. The wretch can be saved. The villain's heart can be turned. God's grace put Jonah back on course. It allowed David to go down in history not as a wretch, but as "a man after God's own heart." Grace is what turned Saul into Paul.
That same grace is available to me and to you. But, as in each of these stories, it takes repentence. Whether you pray that prayer in the belly of fish, on your knees in your castle or on a dusty road in the middle of nowhere, grace is there. For every wretch. For every villain.
Yes, John Newton was right. It IS amazing.
Friday, July 6, 2012
And no, I’m not talking about Waldo Canyon.
Some years ago, I allowed a sin into my life that was shameful. And while I managed for many years to keep the smoke plume at a distance, the flames were tremendous. And they consumed everything in their path. My heart, my mind, my body. And I wasn’t the only victim. This fire scorched others in my path. Like innocent trees on the landscape—friends, family, strangers and acquaintances were damaged. This sin took advantage of the lack of fertile ground and spread like wildfire through a bone-dry field of starving grass. And before I knew it, my landscape had been forever changed. In my wake, I left ashen remains of who I once was. Those who knew me still stood but blackened, wounded by the flames of my selfishness.
Sin is a lot like a wildfire. All it takes is a tiny spark. One hot ember landing on the right blade of grass can quickly become an unstoppable inferno. The lack of rain—that nurturing that can only come from God’s word, will turn a once-fertile valley into a arid field ripe for burning.
The good news is, scorched earth can regrow. In fact, it can come back stronger, greener and livelier. But not without that rain. Not without nourishment.
I am so sorry for those I have burned in my past. Maybe you too, have some fires to apologize for. Maybe you still have flames that need water. Maybe you need to ask for forgiveness from those you left in the ashes of your folly. I wish I could say I will never allow flames back into my landscape. But that would be a lie. But what I can do is keep the ground fertile. Keep watering the grass with the Word that replenishes. And, when sparks land, ask for help to snuff them out before they ever have the chance to spread.
Maybe, just maybe, the landscape can be changed…and return to its once fertile state.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Can these people sing? Absolutely. Amazingly so. Powerful voices. Beautiful voices.
That's not what bothers me.
What bothers me is that the world is shocked that they can sing...because they're not "beautiful." I actually heard a network morning news anchor introduce the video clip of Charlotte and Jonathan by saying "he doesn't look like he can sing..."
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Like many people in this world, I have dreamed of writing a novel. Well, actually I’ve done more than dream about it. I’ve started a few. But I have yet to finish a single one of them.
Years ago, I started a fiction novel called Prompting the Apocalypse, about a cult that thinks they can prompt God’s hand to start the end of the world—if they just do something horrible enough. I sat it aside and starting working on my life story, growing up an orphan in a small, south Texas town. That turned out to be overwhelming, trying to remember details and honestly wondering if anyone would be interested in that at all. So I put that one on the shelf.
I moved onto another autobiographical piece called Lessons in Failure, which focused on my many missteps in life—and what I learned from them. But that was terribly depressing, so it’s sitting in a folder somewhere. I worked on a devotion piece that focused on Matthew 11. I love the story of John the Baptist sending two messengers to ask Jesus a very important question. More importantly, I love His reply. But, at about 75-percent of the way through, I lost interest. I worked on a short story called The Roaring Gnat. I couldn’t even finish that. A short story!
Currently, I’m writing another fiction piece called Ghosts of the Potential, about a retired travel photojournalist who finds himself living in a slum in Kenya when he encounters something he never imagined possible. I still have no idea how it’s going to end.
And I can’t begin to tell you how many half-songs or choruses I’ve written that have never seen the light of day. For some reason, I just can’t seem to finish these projects.
Why is that?
Part of me wants to say that unfinished products are useless. They are worth nothing until they are completed. What good is a car that sits in your driveway without an engine? What value does a home with no roof bring? But then I am reminded of this verse:
in you will carry it on to completion until the day of
Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 1:6 (NIV)
I don’t know if I’ll ever finish any of these writing projects. But I am learning to see the value of them even in their current state. They are a part of me. They allow me to hone my creative skills. They challenge me. And, finished or not, they are part of my story.
(Hey look! I finished this blog post! That’s something, right?)