Resolved: No Resolutions

I'm kicking off 2014 with a rebellion against the new year's resolution. That's right, no resolutions in 2014. "Now wait," you might say. "Isn't having no resolutions really a resolution itself?" Perhaps. But what I'm interested in is what the resolution does to the soul. I'm not rebelling against goals, I'm rebelling against the list — the wishes we all make of pie-in-the-sky dreams that would be awesome to achieve but will largely go undone. Don't believe me, though. This phenomenon has been pretty heavily researched, showing that we're not very good at resolving. We make the list, most of us don't achieve it, and then we settle ... or get depressed ... or get cynical ... or worse.

So, no to resolutions.

But for those of you who know me, you'll know that I'm an achiever. I'm a living, breathing stuff-getter-done-er. I can't even relax without planning out how I'll achieve relaxation. So how can I say such a thing as no to resolutions? Because resolutions don't work. But goals, with plans ... they do. In fact, setting goals and making plans works quite well.

So, no to resolutions. Yes to goals, with plans.

Here's how this works for me...

Goal I make a huge list of goals. I pray over it, talk to my wife about it, and edit it. But in about a week, I'll have settled on it. I put those goals in different categories (9 of them to be exact). Spiritual, physical, emotional/mental, marriage, kids, work, financial, educational, and miscellaneous. I write them down, print them out, and put a laminated list in my journal, on my iPhone, and a few other places where I can see them.

Plan For each goal, I make a plan. If I say I want to read my Bible in a year, how am I going to do that? If I want to write a new book, what's the schedule? What are the little goals to get the big goal done? I write those plans down and put the important dates in iCal, with reminders.

Maintenance I have a weekly, 1-hour appointment with myself. Phone is off, computer is closed, journal is open, list in view. I'm simply asking myself and Jesus, "How am I doing? How's the plan going? Holy Spirit, what needs to be added or changed?"

Celebrate When I achieve a goal, I celebrate! Not usually in a big way, but I at least thank God, buy a coffee, high-five my wife, or something. When you win, thank God and throw a party!

None of this is Bible, and none of it is law. But it's been working for me pretty well in 2013. In fact, my biggest goal of 2014 is just to do those four steps above more consistently.

3 Reasons to Invite Someone to Church this Christmas

It's the most wonderful time of the year, that much is true. Christmas music, Christmas trees, Christmas cookies (That last one I'm particularly fond of...) But it's not just a great season live, but for inviting others to find abundant life in Jesus. Why? Here are three reasons...

It's Culturally Acceptable

In our culture, you get exactly zero bonus points for being a Christian. A generation ago, you may have, but not today. BUT, there are two times a year when all that culture-wide mistrust of Christianity is laid aside: Christmas and Easter. Since it's one of the few times a year that you'll get fewer odd looks, take advantage of that and extend a warm invitation to our Christmas Celebration.

The Holidays are Good, and Bad

While the movies and greeting cards show us the fun Christmas cheer of family, food, and friends, for many the reality is much darker. Some of your closest friends and relatives have sad, painful associations with this time of year. Jesus knows what it's like to have those closest to you hurt you. Inviting your friend to church may be the way they meet Jesus, and receive all his abundant love and grace. Time to make a new association with the holidays, like the time you found grace and eternal life.

Jesus Was Born to Die for Us

Jesus wasn't born to just bring peace and goodwill toward men. That idea springs from sub-par translations of Luke 2:14. (You can check out a comparison here). We get true peace when we get God's grace and favor. We only get God's grace and favor when we turn away from the pretty and the petty and turn toward the Perfect: Jesus Christ, the living, dying, and rising Son of God. Your friends don't need Christmas cheer, ugly sweaters, and nicely wrapped gifts. Your friends, and you, need grace — the grace of Jesus. That's a really good reason to invite someone to church.

So next time you're at the water cooler, the bar, or the hallway, remember that awaiting you are people who need Jesus. This is a great moment to invite them to meet him.

O, Great Mystery

In a former life, I had the wonderful experience of singing great music. One such piece of great music was set to the beautiful, ancient poem O Magnum Mysterium. Here are the words... O magnum mysterium, et admirabile sacramentum, ut animalia viderent Dominum natum, jacentem in praesepio! Beata virgo, cujus viscera meruerunt portare Dominum Chirstum. Alleluia.

Which translates to...

O Great mystery and wonderful sacrament, that animals could see the newborn Lord, lying in a manger. Blessed is the virgin womb who was worthy to bear Christ the Lord. Alleluia.

The mystery can get lost in the bows and ribbons, the food and the friends. It's good to take a second and peer through the pretty Christmas and stare, trembling at the mysterious, messy, marvelous advent of our Lord. What humility and mystery that our King wasn't first viewed by dignitaries, but donkeys. Not the important, but the animals. Let the mystery and music help you wonder at the humility of our Savior King.

Finding Time for Jesus

We are busy people. "Can you meet me tomorrow for coffee?"

"Oh, I'd love to, but I'm busy. How about the following day?"

"Nah, that won't work, I'm busy that day."

I can't tell you how many times I've had this conversation. I've got a hard time meeting with people — even people I really like. If you're at all like me, then this same busy-ness can hinder the most important appointment we have — our daily meeting with Jesus. Here are some thoughts on our most important appointment.

Jesus is never too busy. Unlike you and I, Jesus is never too busy for us. He is always waiting for us, never late or held up by another more important request. He's available.

Jesus is worth the effort. If you're honest, many of your meetings are just a pain. We don't want to do them, but we must. Life with Jesus is never like that. He's always worth the effort of rising early, meditating on his word, praying, and waiting.

Jesus gives you something to walk away with. There are those appointments that make you soul-tired. The friend who drones on and on about her problem. The boss who won't cut you a break. Meeting with Jesus is never like that. He always gives you more in your soul than you showed up with.

Andrew Murray knew something about meeting with Jesus. The great man of prayer knew that conversing and creating time for encounters with Christ. I'll close with his prayer for people like you and me,

Let Thy wonderful revelation of a Father's tenderness free all young Christians from every thought of secret prayer as a duty or a burden, and lead them to regard it as the highest privilege of their life, a joy and a blessing. Bring back all who are discouraged, because they cannot find aught to bring Thee in prayer. O give them to understand that they have only to come with their emptiness to Him who has all to give, and delights to do it. (Murray, Andrew. Lord, Teach Us To Pray (p. 14).

A Good Black Friday Psalm...

If you're like me, you feel tempted on days like today to think that stuff = joy. Keeping up with the Joneses is the great American Holiday tradition. But before you give that lady the flying elbow for the underpriced LCD TV, just have a quick read...

But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled, my steps had nearly slipped. For I was envious of the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked ... But when I thought how to understand this it seemed to me a wearisome task, until I went into the sanctuary of God, then I discerned their end ... When my soul was embittered, when I was pricked in heart, I was brutish and ignorant; I was like a beast toward you.

Nevertheless, I am continually with you. You hold my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

Selections from Psalm 73

7 Things I'm Thankful For

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I thought I'd celebrate the day with 7 things for which I am thankful. I'm Thankful for Jesus No, I'm not just giving you a Jesus-juke. I'm grateful for my savior. He loved me while I was his enemy. He bled to beautify me. I will sing for 10,000 ages about his greatness and not yet have scratched the surface of his kindness.

I'm Thankful for Sanctification Jesus doesn't just save me. He grows me. He challenges me. He slays me. He prunes me. He loves me. He rebukes me. He trains me. This is our relationship. My Savior-Lord wants me to grow up. It hurts — a lot — but it's worth it.

I'm Thankful for My Wife She shouldn't be my wife, you know. She should be someone else's wife ... someone much nicer, kinder, more patient ... maybe someone with more hair. But she's mine. She chose me, and I her. She loves me, and I her. She doesn't let go of me, and I'm not letting go of her.

I'm Thankful for My Kids Kids are a gift. I have four healthy, happy, awesome kids. Being a daddy is great and really tough. I have four little mirrors who show me my need to be sanctified. I have four little people who have the potential to change the world for Jesus. I have four little reasons to fight the good fight of the faith. They're a blast, and they'll be gone before I know it. So, I'm drinking it all in now.

I'm Thankful for My Parents Having my own kids has shown me one more thing ... it must have been tough as nails to raise me. I was not an easy, cheerful, obedient young lad. My mom and dad must've wanted to put me up for sale a time or two. They didn't. They raised me, paid for me, fed me, put up with me, housed me, drove me to school. I'm really grateful for all that.

I'm Thankful for My Spiritual Family The men and women with whom I have the privilege of walking is unbelievable. My spiritual sons and daughters, aunts and uncles, fathers and mothers ... they know who they are. I'm so glad I don't go to a church, but I'm part of a spiritual family. Going to church is boring. Belonging to a family is exhilarating.

I'm Thankful for My Stuff God's given me stuff. Not a ton of it, but enough of it. A bit of money, a car, a house ... everything I need. I don't own it, Jesus does. He lets me hang on to it. I want to steward it. I want to give a lot of it away. I want to improve it. The best part is, I don't live for it. I'm grateful for it, without being beholden to it.

I don't know if you've done it yet, but take a moment. Look over your life for evidences of grace and, be thankful. It's a good day for it.

When our Gospel is Muddy

(I had the privilege of writing for my buddy Trevin Wax recently. This article appeared for him over at his blog for The Gospel Coalition) Missions and church planting is pretty much the only thing I’ve ever done (which means I’ve made plenty of mistakes!). Space doesn’t permit me to share all the occasions where my zeal stiff-armed wisdom. For many in ministry, this is a job hazard.

I’m pretty sure I’m not the only passionate pastor though. Every ministry conference I attend, I find dozens of other wild-eyed church planters, pent-up preachers, and inspired ministers – all adrenalized by visions of revival in their cities.

But lurking behind passion is danger—ways in which we, the impassioned proclaimers of the gospel can muddy the message. If we are truly passionate about Jesus and his Kingdom, then we must become passionate about making the message of that kingdom as clear as possible to our hearers.

Here are four common ways I see us missing the mark and muddying the gospel:

Bad Language I’m not talking about cussing in the pulpit. Our problem is the tendency of the theologically-minded to use language that your neighbor who’s never come to church before doesn’t understand. So cloistered can we become in our own reformed, or baptist, or charismatic, or (fill in the blank with your favorite Christian subculture moniker) language that we’ve lost the missionary edge to speak to everyone else.

I’m not just talking about the pulpit speech. I’m talking about all your language—website, bulletin, announcements, etc. If you’ve got a bad website that can’t be viewed on a mobile device in 2013, you’re using bad language. If your church artwork looks like a poor imitation of Hollywood, you’re using bad language. It’s the essential equivalent to preaching in New York using Elizabethan English. People may understand you if they really try, but you’re not making it easy on them.

Biblical Shallowness Just because you know how to make a few vague redemptive-historical connections in your preaching does not make you biblically deep. We need to know the Bible inside and out. The rays of light which beam forth from the Scriptures burn away the fog which veils our gospel. That’s why we need to more deeply saturate ourselves in it.

Laxity with language is a sign of biblical shallowness. If you read the Scriptures well you can’t help but notice all the great many ways God has set about telling His redemption story. Denying ourselves the richness of God’s literary genius and creative narrative is death to the minister—the sodium pentothal of our preaching.

Why? Because the minister must be more than literate with the Scriptures, he must be fluent. If you’re fluent in the language of the Scriptures, then translating their message into the language of the culture becomes second nature. But if you’re foggy on the Bible, then you’ll fog up the lens of the onlooker, making it impossible for him to see and savor the gospel.

Idolatry of Preference We are masters at enforcing our preferences as if they were biblical norms.

You like hymns because “they’re biblical, after all.” You prefer your music quiet because you read in a book it should be that way. You prefer your music loud because you’re pretty sure worship at the head of the Israelite procession was loud, right? You like your pastor in a trendy shirt, or you don’t.

My point here is that when we make dress code, music, style, meeting times, graphics, and carpet color objects of great concern, we elevate them to a status of importance beyond what they deserve. These are preferences that must be subject to the Scriptures and our mission to clarify the gospel to the culture.

We must be vigilant to resist our preferences in ministry. We mustn’t look not to our own interests, but to the interests of others (Phil. 2:4). Jesus did ministry this way. We probably should too.

Moral Duplicity Pastor, you are not called to be edgy, but holy. When our tongues speak too loosely or our eyes wander too freely, we become guilty of moral duplicity.

Test yourself in this. Is there behavior that you engage in regularly throughout the week that you’d be embarrassed to tell your church about? That feeling you’re having right now probably says enough.

The world doesn’t need worldly ministers. The world needs heavenly ministers who speak their language. Jesus is our great example.

Passion for Jesus should translate into a passion for clarity. When we get out of the way, the world can see the Gospel clearly. The simple question is, are we willing to agree with John the Baptist that Jesus must become more, and we (with our preferences, problems, and proclivities) must become less? For the sake of the gospel, I sure hope so.

To Hell with Authenticity

Your bag is burlap. You prefer records to mp3's. Whole Foods is too corporate for you. Everything you own is made by Apple (which for some reason isn't too corporate for you.) You're authentic.

And nothing says "authentic" like an instagram effect on the staged picture of your life you really want everyone to see so they know how great your most recent sun flare'd cup of organic, ethically-sourced tea you tasted. But by the time you were done staging the picture, it was cold. It stinks when authenticity horns in on real life...

Our current cultural moment values with unique ardor the "authentic" individual—everyone being fully themselves. This is a movement driven by my generation. And historically speaking, 18-35 year-olds are great at knowing who they are, aren't they? It's the cultural equivalent of changing my son's name to Iron Man because he's convinced (at 3 years old) that's who he really wants to be. Sound ridiculous? That's because it is. Yet, everything about my generation is connected to this vain endeavor. Gender—which one most authentically fits you? Sex—what most satisfies you? Politics—what best represents your values? Money—what view of economic justice and policy resonates most deeply within your soul? Doug Wilson puts it this way,

We want our jeans authentic (pre-ripped at the factory), our apples authentic (grown locally instead of somewhere else),  our music authentic (underground bands nobody ever heard of), our lettuce authentic (organically manured), our literature authentic (full of angst), our movies authentic (subtitles), and our coffee tables authentic (purchased from a genuine peasant while we were on some eco-tour). In short, we are a bunch of phonies.

I'm convinced that when the history of my generation is written, many will scratch their heads and wonder why we were so fixated on being personally authentic. The reasons for this large-scale psychosis are many... repression, confusion, social dissolution, and many other "_____tion" kinds of words. But at bottom, the most basic reason is clear as day: Ego.

Chasing Authenticity is Selfish "But wait!" You say. "How can being authentic be selfish? Isn't it selfish of you to ask me be something other than myself?" And yes, I suppose you may have a point, if that's what I were saying. But I'm not. No one likes a faker. What I'm saying is that you chasing your essential you is just that... living for number one. We have a word for that in the English language: selfishness.

Chasing Authenticity is Unloving Because the pursuit of authenticity is selfish, it is therefore unloving. Biblical love is pouring out your life for the life of another. It's finding your joy in the joy of another. It's essentially Trinitarian and essentially Christ-like. But did Jesus spend his thirty years before his public ministry living in Mary and Joseph's basement, listening to vintage records, reading Marxist literature and discovering himself? No. He spent his early years preparing himself for his public ministry. He came to love us which meant not living primarily for his own sake.

Chasing Authenticity is Inauthentic Perhaps the most tragic reality about striving for authenticity is that it makes you the most fake, plastic person possible. Becoming who you are is not a goal, but a side effect of becoming like Christ. Jesus said that in order to live, you have to embrace death. Death to self—even the authentic, organic, burlap, Apple, ethically-sourced, self. Only then, when you've died to you and all your precious, nuanced ways you've come to identify you will you truly live.

So I say to hell with authenticity. May the vain pursuit of personal preciousness perish along with all other lesser loves, cheaper joys, and distracting sirens. For if we do not cast this foolishness into outer darkness, then we will very likely be taken there by it in the end.

Fans vs. Friends

In our celebrity culture, obtaining fans becomes the highest possible means of self-actualization. One can literally measure one's cultural value just by checking how many "friends" (scare-quotes intentional) you have on Facebook, followers on Twitter, and fans in the audience of your life. But lurking under the fine veneer of fandom we've painted for ourselves is the void of friendlessness. And woe to the man or woman who has many fans but no friends. So what are the differences between fans and friends? Here are 5 of them: Fans cheer when you're good, Friends cheer when you're not Everyone loves a winner. I don't watch much football, but even I watch the Super Bowl. Why? Because I love to watch the best two teams play. I love to watch the winners. If you lead anything, someone will cheer for you, but who's cheering for you when you fail? Who is by your side encouraging you when the adversaries surround? I'll tell you who: a friend, not a fan.

Fans say convenient truth, Friends speak hard truth Fans acknowledge something true—easy truth. Truth about your strengths. Obvious, happy truth. But what about hard truth? Recently I had a friend tell me some hard truth. It wasn't fun for either of us. It even stung a little. But the sting of truth spoken by a friend is a faithful wound—a sign of friendship, not fandom.

Fans are shallow, Friends are deep Fans don't know you. They know your stage presence. They know your writing. They know your leadership. They know what you're good at. Therefore, they develop a two-dimensional, shallow, false view of you. Friends know you—strengths and weaknesses, gifts and growth areas. They know the deep you. And by the way, you need deep. You can't live on shallow relationships. They will warp your soul from its deep design into a twisted, flaky breakable shell.

Fans run from failure, Friends run to help The rise into fandom is euphoric. The albums are selling, the audience is cheering, the opportunities are opening, and everything seems up and to the right. But then you fail. Then you skid. Then something happens. Where are the fans? Cheering at someone else better than you, that's where. That's because fans run from falling stars. But before the crushing weight of failure destroys you, who comes to your aid? Friends. Fans are scared you'll fail. Friends know when you do, you won't be alone.

Fans will destroy you, Friend will save you You've heard the axiom, "don't believe your own press." Well fans are the ones who print the press about you. And once you start to believe your press, you become untethered from the solid ground of reality and float directly toward the stratosphere of self-deception where the oxygen of truth is thin and suffocation is certain. Friends will save you from floating away. They root you, ground you, and keep you alive.

So what are you? Are you a friend or a fan? Do you surround yourself with friends or fans? Now's a good time to decide before the hall is empty and you stand alone on the stage of your life accompanied only by the cavernous silence of fans who've come and gone.

How to be Encouraged

We must develop the discipline of encouragement. I say this because most of us (me included) find ourselves encouraged when times are good, and discouraged when they are not. We, like little boats afloat out in the sea of situation, are tossed to and fro by the wind and waves of whatever happens to be happening. So what can be done to change this? Developing the discipline of encouragement.

Now I'm not talking about positive self talk. "I'm good enough, smart enough, and doggonit, people like me." Blech. That, and the nonsense on those "inspiriational" posters with pictures of whale flukes that hung in your high school guidance counselor's office, won't get you very far. I'm talking about seeing evidences of God's grace, even in the midst of trial, and encouraging yourself when the waves of life are crashing all over the ship of your soul. Here are few things encouraging me right now.

The Holy Spirit Duh, right? But seriously, I've had a handful of people just walk up to me this week and give me God-inspired encouragement. It was just awesome. If you've got the gift of encouragement, get out there and use it. People like me need it.

Ministry Look, ministry isn't always encouraging. But right now I can see the deep work that God is doing in my people, and it's awesome to watch. There are tons of challenges too. Money needs to be raised for this and that. Plans need to be drawn up. Sermons need prepping. But if Jesus can change the guys I'm mentoring, for example, then there's hope for the rest of it.

My Wife Who you marry reeeeeaaaaalllllyyyy matters. This week I screwed up a couple of times. Instead of rubbing my nose in it, my sweet wife forgave me. She loves me, even when I'm at my worst. She's constant. Steady. That's really encouraging.

Dreams I'm not talking about what happens in my head at night. I'm talking about some of the big dreams that I've got for the future. It's encouraging to think that some of my dreams have come true, so more can too.

What's encouraging you today? Having a hard time thinking of anything. Well, press pause on the pity party for a minute and pray, asking the Holy Spirit to open your eyes to evidences of His grace. You'll be surprised (and encouraged) by what you see.

A Theology of Mom

Since one of the stated goals of modern society is the erasure of gender identity, it comes as no surprise that with Mother's Day approaching, some on the fringes are crying sexism. Normally the fringes don't bother me all that much. Crazy's been around for a long time, and that's not likely to change. But our culture has apparently installed an HOV lane from crazy straight into the downtown district of normal, because normal is changing at a rapid pace. So, here's a brief theology of the glorious gift of mom. It seems to me a wonderful idea to celebrate moms. I have a mom. I'm married to a mom. I pastor a bunch of moms. And since the idea of showing honor to one another is entirely biblical, celebrating our mothers is not only appropriate, but wonderful.

Motherhood is a Created Good This one's no longer obvious, so I'll just state it plainly. God made motherhood, and He made it good. Motherhood is part of the created order itself—what Lewis might call the "deep magic." In Genesis 1-2, God made man and woman and gave them a mandate to be fruitful and multiply. Part of God's intentionality in making everything was to make women who became moms. No, motherhood isn't a form of cultural misogyny, cast upon women to oppress them. Has it been used that way in the past? Sure. But when God made everything, he made motherhood as a good, intentional, beautiful gift. Therefore celebrating motherhood can be worshipful as we say, "God, thank you for your good gift of motherhood! Thank you for the good gift of mom!" To think of motherhood as anything other than a good gift given to women is to think very differently than God.

Motherhood is a Gift of Femininity  I remember going to city hall to register the birth of my first son. I sat down across the desk from the woman in the office of registration. She began to ask me questions. Name. Address. Occupation. "Pastor," I said.

"Your wife?" she asked.

"She's a homemaker and a mom," I said.

She looked at me with one brow lifted, "So, she doesn't have a real job, then?"

"You mean like sitting at a desk at City Hall?" She got my point, I think.

Culture (and by that I mean us) doesn't value women as mothers as much as we value them as bodies and jobs. We'll buy their albums as long as they're super sexualized on the album cover. We'll celebrate them as long as they're fit. We'll sing their praises if they achieve something in their careers, when they dress well, have nice homes, or become sexually liberated (whatever that means). If moms are celebrated all, it's only when they have a baby and get their abs back in two weeks. Somehow, we've dislodged motherhood from femininity. But this is not the picture God gives us. Proverbs 31 gives us an amazing picture of a woman of valor, dignity, and deep beauty. What's she like? She's a mom, a wife, a businesswoman, a lover of God, and loving to others. Her abs, breasts, and fierceness are never mentioned. Not even once.

All this doesn't mean you have to be a mom to be a real woman. It simply means that motherhood is a gift of womanhood. Gifts should be celebrated.

Godly Moms can Change the World It's not hyperbole to say the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. In my own experience, the amount of influence that my wife exercises over my kids constantly amazes me. She is making four little disciples all day, every day. These four little people will grow to be and do something—hopefully something amazing like, I don't know, become mothers like her.

The influence of godly mothers is replete in history. Western civilization wouldn't be what it is without St. Augustine. He wouldn't have been who he was without his mother, Monica. Her prayers and guidance moved him from being a cult-member and sex-addict to the brilliant church father love. America wouldn't be the nation it is without men like John and Charles Wesley. Their mother, Susanna, bore 17 children, losing more than half of them. She faithfully raised her kids and as a result, we got her sons. Susanna Edwards, wife of Jonathan (easily the greatest theologian America has ever produced) gave birth to generations of good, godly influence—13 college presidents, 86 college professors, 430 ministers, 314 war veterans, 75 authors, 100 lawyers, 30 judges, 66 physicians, and 80 holders of public office, including 3 U.S. Senators, 7 congressman, mayors of 3 large cities, governors of 3 states, a Vice-President of the United States, and a controller of the United States Treasury—all from her and her progeny. Moms—diaper changing, boo boo kissing, husband loving, child rearing, working, loving, totally normal human moms—can change the world.

So here's to you, moms. You hold an office created by God for good and glory. Your motherhood is a gift of your femininity. Your influence is unthinkably great upon the future. To fail to celebrate that would be a horrible mistake, one which I mean to avoid by wishing you a deep, profound, and joyful Mother's Day.

Faithing

Yesterday at Aletheia we jumped back into our teaching series in Genesis, having a look at Abram. In the first nine verses of chapter twelve, we found a goldmine of faith. There is some debate these days amongst preacher like myself which asks the question, "Should we preach as though men like Abram are examples to be followed?" My answer to that question is yes ... and no. That is, the story of Abram shows us some powerful principles of what faith does—what faithing looks like (to invent a verb). In fact, here are a few of those principles...

Faith Obeys I find it fascinating that for Abram (the archetype of faith), his faith immediately showed up in obedience. If we really trust God then we'll simply do what he asks—even if it sound crazy. Like moving from your hometown at the age of 75 with all your stuff and your weird nephew and his weirder wife.

Faith Journeys In these nine short verses, we're told three times that Abram "journeyed on." In fact, his whole walk with God was 99% journey. He never actually saw with his own eyes what God promised him. Yet, because God is worthy of trust, Abram journeyed with him.

Faith Goes for the World God made a huge, gracious promise that Abram totally didn't deserve. "I'll bless you and make your name great ... so that you will be a blessing." Abram's journey of faith wasn't primarily about Abram. It was about God's purposes in the nations. Good to remember that our faith journey has more riding on it than our personal fulfillment.

Faith Goes All In When God called Abram out of Ur, he moved. Everything. Out. That is, he didn't keep a condo in Ur. He didn't leave a little bit back, just in case God didn't make good on his promises. He left Ur to follow God. Have you gone all in with God? Or, are you trying to go on the journey without leaving the "Ur" of your former life? Trusting God means going all in with him.

Faith Feasts in Worship The journey of faith is done best when we worship along the way. Twice in these verses we see that Abram stopped to build an altar, remember the promise, and worship God. Worship isn't the duty of the faithful, like some extra burden to carry for the journey. Worship is the feast... the fuel! We worship so we have endurance for the journey.

So back to the debate. Should we preach this story as a "be like Abram," kind of example? Yes and no. These principles are great, but all by themselves they're insufficient. We need something more ... someone more. In Christ, we have a truer Abram. Jesus, like Abram, left Heaven to journey in a land that wasn't his home. Like Abram, his journey ended in death, but not before giving birth to a new line of God's people. But unlike Abram, Jesus didn't just die, showing us what faith looks like. He rose, enabling true and transformational faith. We look back on his life not just to inspire faith, but to enable it. Jesus' life, death, and resurrection is the ultimate example of God's faithfulness. We know we can trust him because he's shown himself to be ultimately trustworthy.

Jesus' life is more than an example, it's transformational.

Loving Dzhokhar

(The following is an article I had the pleasure of writing for Leadership Journal's Blog.) On the way to work yesterday, I was disturbed. As I scanned through the radio stations, more than once I heard calls to "round up the terrorists," to "send those foreigners home," or worse yet, to "eradicate the Muslim threat." Looking for distracting music I was confronted with destructive hatred. When I arrived at my office, I perused a few news sites and found the world of editorial journalism wasn't faring much better. "What does their religion matter?" one editorial asks. Another, "So what if they were Muslim?"

I'm observing two distinct and unhelpful reactions to the apparent Jihadist terrorism that has struck our city. The first is the xenophobic, racial, and even religious hatred of our Muslim neighbors. The other is the willful ignorance of the religious connection to these terrorists acts—the blind assumption that all religions are created equal. Neither are good. Neither are truthful. And more importantly, neither are Christ-like.

It is obvious to the liberal mind that hatred of our Muslim neighbors is wrong. It is not obvious to the liberal mind that one can observe what is immoral in one religion without hating all of its people, being a racist, a bigot, or a backwards fundamentalist—a favorite straw man of our time. This is why the liberal mind (and the conservative mind, for that matter) must experience a change of mind. Christians must have Christian minds. So how are we to think about our Muslim neighbors? About Islam? Even about Dzhokhar Tsarnaev?

Christians Should Believe Christianity is Right To quote Tim Keller (which is almost always a good idea) It is no more narrow to claim that one religion is right than to claim that one way to think about all religions is right. It just won't work to say, "All religions, faiths, and belief systems are equally valid, and if you don't agree you're a bigot." The idea falls in on itself because, in making a claim that exclusivity is wrong, you're excluding the exclusivist. Darn that logic, ruining all our fun.

Christians do, in fact, believe that Christianity is right. And by the way, not believing Christianity is right is not Christian love, it's hate. Jesus is the self-described savior of the world, forgiver of sin, and restorer of humanity. If he is who he claimed to be (and Christians believe he is) then to not proclaim that news to the whole world is twisted and sadistic. Our silence is preventing them from obtaining the cure to what is broken within them and all of us. What kind of love is that? In the name of not wanting to offend anyone we implicitly condemn everyone. I'm glad that Jesus didn't love me like that.

Christians Should Believe Loving our Neighbor is Right Perhaps you say, "If Christians believe Christianity is right, then they won't love their neighbors. They'll condemn everyone else, especially Muslims." But I would say that if Christians really believe Christianity is right, then we'll be fiercely committed to Christ, who commanded us to love our neighbor. How did Jesus interact with those of different religions? Ask the woman at the well. She was a Samaritan. Ask the Roman official. He was a pagan. Did Jesus have an interfaith worship service, affirming the equality of their own paths to God? No. Did he picket them, getting the disciples to stir up racial or national hatred against them? No.

Jesus demonstrated his unique, exclusive grace by talking with them, loving them, and changing their lives. If our cultural values have drifted so far as to call this behavior hateful, then color me hateful. I'll be glad to be in the same camp as Jesus. Hopefully all Christians would be.

Christians Should Believe in Sin We shouldn't wring our hands and have to qualify our hatred of evil. Jesus didn't. When we see evil in the world, call it evil. When we see evil in the church, call it evil. When we see evil in other religions, call it evil. If Christians, who are supposed to know Truth, cannot identify evil, we merely demonstrate that we are either wrong, ignorant, or complicit with the evil we won't name. This does the world no favors. The ubiquity of evil is part of the gospel. Jesus' life, death, and resurrection makes precisely no sense whatsoever if evil is not real, horrible, and everywhere.

But of course, evil is real, horrible, and everywhere. That's the problem with it. The biblical word for this problem is sin. The horror of sin contrasts the wonder of Jesus' grace. If we refuse to see the horror, then we'll miss the wonder. If we don't help the world see the horror, then we can rest assured they'll miss the wonder as well.

Christians Should Believe in Grace After we name the evil, we must keep talking. Part of the problem with the culture war was that it went about loudly labeling the wrong while much more quietly proclaiming the right. If we believe Christianity is right then we will invite everyone everywhere (including our Muslim neighbors whom we love) to experience the grace extended to humanity by Jesus Christ.

This is not a glib, cheap invitation, by the way. Grace is a costly, bloody thing. The cycle of violence and hatred stops at the cross because God’s justice was poured out on his innocent Son for a guilty humanity. If God has done this for a race like ours, then it shows that we are both totally guilty in our sin and unimaginably loved in Christ’s grace.

Christians aren't better than Muslims. Christians aren't better than Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. We share in the same fallenness they do. We must love them like Christ. We must talk to them like Christ. We must invite them to Christ.

Doing all of that requires that we first start thinking like Christ.

A Pastor's Word to a Hurting City...

This morning, I had the privilege of preaching about the past week's events. I'd like to share that with you here.

The tears of God are the rains which fall on the hard soil of our hearts which bring about new life ... If our theology isn't large enough to imagine a God who sovereignly reigns in our suffering, through tears, then it isn't big enough for the God of the Scriptures.

Hope in Christ (mp4) (iTunes)

The Smoke Clears: On Tragedy and Mission

As I stood and sang with hundreds of other Christians, "It is well with my soul," my heart was filled with hope. I was, along with other pastors, praying for the grace of God to shower our hurting home. In solidarity we were gathered, keenly aware of the presence of God with us. It was a great experience... interrupted. Leaving, I walked through the streets of downtown. An eery hush marked a city known for noise. The place seemed abandoned, except for military and police personnel—like something out of a sci-fi movie. The church meeting felt full. The city felt empty. This contrasting experience caused me to wonder what the church's next step should be. Honestly, I felt something like frustration. "Surely," I wondered, "there must be more Christians can do than pray and sing. Surely we can scatter as powerfully as we gather." I wasn't the only one felt this way. A friend in our church who came from the same event, through the same streets, summed it up by saying, "A simple 'is everyone here okay?' elicited streams of conversation from a shop clerk, a waiter—those who watched hundreds wander through their doors on Monday. Boston is aching and has no idea how to really, truly make it better."

So as the smoke clears, what's the church's move? Walking through downtown I found myself asking, "Lord, show me what you want us to do." I walked. I wondered. After some waiting, a thought occurred. Perhaps it was memory, perhaps divine guidance. I'm not skilled enough to parse between the two. But the thought came as though God himself were saying, "I've already told you what to do. Go." I knew what that mean. For the Christian, "go" is a very meaningful word. "Go" is the standing order that Jesus himself gave to the church which, until he returns, is in effect. We're to go to the hurting, empty streets. We're to go to the aching who can't make it better.

Going, by the way, doesn't mean simply showing up with water, blankets, and medicine. I mean, this is Boston. The best hospitals in the universe are here. It's a world-class city. The people don't lack for much, materially speaking. So when we go, what—or more accurately, who—do we bring? Well, put simply, Jesus. The city doesn't need my stuff, they need my savior.

Tragedy has a unique power to open the human heart to its frailty—to true need. If that is true, then should we not bring truest grace to truest need? The dramatic contrast between the prayer meeting and my street walking shook me. My city is hurting. Could it be that his people have a moment to speak to the pain that we're all suddenly aware of? Isn't it possible that God, in making beauty rise from ashes, is opening an opportunity to speak this truth? I think it's more than possible, it's what God does. The gospel of Jesus' death and resurrection shows us that God is able to make the greatest good arise from the most torturous evil. The emotional whiplash I felt between my two experiences last night showed me at least this: Boston should get a shot at singing, too. The church has to go into this city.

Yes, I will sing "It is well with my soul." And as the smoke clears from this tragedy, I'm going work harder than ever to invite Boston to sing along with me.

A Pastor's Perspective on the Attacks on my City

Today at 2:50pm two bombs went off in my city. These bombs, designed to injure, did their work. At least two were killed, and hundreds were injured. All of this leaves us with questions. Who did this? More desperately, why? The Boston Police will, along with the FBI, launch a full-scale investigation. And the brave and gifted officers and investigators will doubtless find the individuals responsible. After that, pundits and politicians will start to work on policy changes to insure this doesn't happen again. Then, when time has passed, other politicians will use this as an issue to show their side has the answers.

But behind all of that work, much of good, lies the why. Deeper than culture. Deeper than religion. Deeper than policies, nations, kings, money, and every other reason we will hear in the coming days to explain this act of violence lies the reason truest of all: sin. All of us—friends and enemies, kings and peasants—are touched and marred by this realty. We are all alike fallen from grace. And now, having our visions skewed, perpetrate actions of sin against one another from a cloudy heart which all the while believes itself to be in the right. The broken breaking the broken.

And yet, tragedy like this shows us another aspect of ourselves. It's the part we see when perfect strangers run headlong into the smoke of fresh explosions to help their fallen neighbors. We see it when a man removes his shirt to dress a wound. A doctor manages his ER in the face of overwhelming injury. A citizen opens his home to those without one tonight. We are all alike fallen, this is true. And yet there's more to us. We are also image-bearers. There's something of God—his likeness—which comes out even in the darkest of moments. Especially in them.

And this duality should tell us something. We are fallen, but not merely. We are a race of insurgents against God made in the image of the very God against whom we've rebelled. Love, art, charity, grace—these are ours because they were given to us by Him. So what are we to make of it all? What are we to think when tragedy mingles with beauty? When pain accompanies grace? When blood spills with tears? We could start by calling to mind the cosmic event wherein this happened first and finally.

There was one who not only showed us the image of God, but was His exact likeness. He, shining like the sun, brought grace and truth, kindness and undeserved mercy. And... He also experienced the deepest and darkest violence humanity has ever accomplished—the destruction of the image of God, Christ himself. There, tragedy mingled with beauty, pain accompanied grace, and the blood of God himself spilt along with his tears. The gospel shows us that, in Christ, darkness, selfishness, terror, sin, and depravity can be and will be once and finally overcome. That's the hope—the only hope—for the deepest why of pain.

Tonight I'm praying for my great city. I'm praying that the image of God within her will rise above the brokenness which marks her. But, cosmically speaking, there's only one way that happens—and it's not when we simply look within. The deep problem lives within too. The image of God within us must connect—or reconnect—with the likeness of God sent for us, Jesus himself.

Yes, tonight I'm praying for my city. I'm praying for the victims. I'm praying for the first responders. I'm praying for families. But most of all, I'm praying for that grace which comes from God alone to overcome all that besets her.

Please, pray with me.

Sunday Post-Game (April 15, 2013)

Last night I tweeted that I am amazed at what God seems to be doing before my eyes. Amazed is a good word to describe how I feel about what I see. And I'm not just talking church size. While I am encouraged by our numerical growth (which is somewhere between 6 to 8 times the national average) I'm more encouraged by the stories I see God writing in our little chapter of redemptive history. A Harvard grad student gets radically saved and discipled and begins reaching his friends. Young men are led to real freedom from sin. The scriptures are being studied each week in a dozen-plus groups, often for the first time. And there are more stories. What do stories like this do for us? First, they should cause to thank God. Worship should always be the outcome of blessing. Second, they should inspire us to work harder than we ever have. If God has really opened a vein of gold in the granite of our city, then we'd better dig with all our might.

From yesterday, here are a few more thoughts...

Boston = Babel Maybe that sounds too simple. Or maybe our need for nuance is just symptomatic of our misunderstanding of each other, proving the point. I think we're just like the people of Genesis 11. (1) We've run from God, just like them. (2) Absent God's presence, we now build towers to get us up out of the muck of our situations. Success, intelligence, authenticity, or even religious obedience... we attempt to rise above our fallenness and return to heaven on our own. (3) God, knowing that such an enterprise is doomed, has come down to us. He's shown up in history in his Son. He's shown in up in Boston by his Spirit. (4) Just like the people of Babel were scattered out, he means to break our little towers and send us out into the world, too.

Tower Building is Tempting My how I do love to build my towers. I love the sense of accomplishment. My flesh likes to rise above others. It's good news to my soul that Jesus didn't come to help be build a better tower of self-sufficiency. He came to free from from the Sisyphus-like meaninglessness of self-helping myself (forgive me for that sentence, grammarians...)

We Need Practical Training If we're serious about taking the gospel out of our church walls, then we've got to be trained to do that. Evangelism, changed lives... these aren't things that come naturally. The leaders and I must put some practical tools together for living out this commitment. Got ideas? Great. Send them along.

I am amazed, but I'm also challenged. We must beg God for more grace to see more truth change more people for more joy for us and more glory for God.

So Lord, give us more.

Easter Sunday Post-Game (April 1, 2013)

This was an absolutely amazing weekend. Such awesomeness can't possibly be covered in just one heading, wo we'll use three. Here we go.

Good Friday

For all the effort that we put into Sundays, it was really sublime to come to Good Friday's service. Simple, quiet, and deep. We came together to remember the beautiful tragedy of the cross. Beautiful because in God's design, we came to be saved by it. Tragic because it was necessary in the first place.

What it Was and What it Does The cross is an historical event with a metaphysical significance. So it's important that we understand both what it was and what it does. The cross was a real, physical, historical instrument of sadistic torture and murder. In modern times we've made it into a piece of jewelry that confers style and a bit of luck on the wearer. Everyone from rap stars to porn stars bedazzle themselves with the jewelry of torture, divorced from its history. The cross means murder and death. And knowing this allows us to move from what it was to what it does. Jesus died so we can live. We wear the cross, sing the cross, preach the cross, and glory in the cross precisely because we didn't have to go to the cross. Jesus' death means our life.

You Need Quiet If our worship is always only loud and happy, then our worship isn't real. Good Friday reminds us that we can still sing when the news is hard. When Christians sing about the horror of the cross, they show its power. Jesus' death is something that we worship God through. We need the quiet of those moments. We need sometimes to gather as a body and hush, pray, weep, and meditate. When we don't, we make Christianity look glossy, polished, and fake. We need the quiet, and the world needs to see us quietly worshipping sometimes.

The 3rd Annual Easter EggStravaganza

This event blew. my. mind. It was hugely attended, enormously fun, and even covered by the Boston Globe. Here are my highlights...

We Love our City Many times I'm asked, "Yeah, but Pastor how many people actually show up at church on the back of these events?" Answer: not many. But, that's not the primary reason we do them. We do them because we love our city. Easter shows us that God loves us in a way that's free for us but very costly for Him. It's good to model that. It was expensive, time-consuming, and a mad rush to pull of. And it was totally worth it.

I Love our People You people bless me like crazy. You're the volunteers that arrive early and stay late. You show up, pay for stuff, put candy in eggs, pick up trash, talk to people about Jesus, and so much more. I've got nothing but love for you. You know who you are. Thank you.

More than We Imagined We basically doubled our attendance this year. Estimates range from 2,500 - 3,500 people walked through our Egg Hunt. That's awesome. What a privilege to show some love to that many.

Resurrection Sunday

Our attendance exploded. We set a new record by hundreds. But way cooler than that was the joy that lit up our celebrations. Jesus is alive, and that fact is simply more important that me, us, our numbers, or anything else. Celebrating that is a privilege of the church.

Love Your Volunteers Seriously. Two Services. Two full-service Aletheia Kids experiences. A bajillion cups of coffee. Approximately eleventeen thousand bulletins stuffed. Show some love to the vols and the leaders, people.

Resistance is Futile Paul says that our battle is not against flesh and blood, but against demonic forces. Guess what, sometimes they show up to church too! We encountered some real, present, spiritual resistance on Sunday. Call it thickness. But we prayed, we praised, and we preached the resurrected Jesus. Resistance against that message is futile. We know how the story ends. Jesus won, and Jesus wins.

Resurrection Means Peace and Power When Jesus appeared to the disciples while they were cowering the upper room, he gave them peace and power. Peace because he won the victory, so they needed fear no longer. Power because they (and we) were commanded to go make disciples. We can't do that alone. We need power for mission. So, lower the drawbridges, church. The resurrection means we've got something to say out there in the big bad world.

Fruit Requires Focus Okay, congratulations church. We've exploded in spectacular growth. Let's all be happy about that. For a moment. Then, let the startling reality of what that means hit you. Now, let the happy turn to focus. We're called to make disciples who bring the truth, grace, and changing power of the gospel for the glory of God and the good of all people. Big meetings are a part of that, but they themselves aren't that. So, let's roll up our sleeves, open our homes, start dozens of new community groups, and get to work. We've got fruit to bear.

Can it Be?

A few hundred years ago, Charles Wesley wrote the following words, meditating on the cross of Christ. Today, on Good Friday, I wanted to share them with you.

And can it be that I should gain an interest in the Savior's blood! Died he for me? who caused his pain! For me? who him to death pursued? Amazing love! How can it be that thou, my God, shouldst die for me? Amazing love! How can it be that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?

'Tis mystery all: th' Immortal dies! Who can explore his strange design? In vain the firstborn seraph tries to sound the depths of love divine. 'Tis mercy all! Let earth adore; let angel minds inquire no more. 'Tis mercy all! Let earth adore; let angel minds inquire no more.

He left his Father's throne above so free, so infinite his grace!, emptied himself of all but love, and bled for Adam's helpless race. 'Tis mercy all, immense and free, for O my God, it found out me! 'Tis mercy all, immense and free, for O my God, it found out me!

Long my imprisoned spirit lay, fast bound in sin and nature's night; thine eye diffused a quickening ray; I woke, the dungeon flamed with light; My chains fell off, my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed thee. My chains fell off, my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed thee.

No condemnation now I dread; Jesus, and all in him, is mine; Alive in him, my living Head, and clothed in righteousness divine, Bold I approach th' eternal throne, and claim the crown, through Christ my own. Bold I approach th' eternal throne, and claim the crown, through Christ my own.

The Cross of Christ

Let us pause on the words of greater men.

...we are spectators of a wonder the praise and glory of which eternity will not exhaust. It is the Lord of glory, the Son of God incarnate, the God-man, drinking the cup given him by the eternal Father, the cup of woe and of indescribable agony. We almost hesitate to say so. But it must be said. It is God in our nature forsaken of God. The cry from the accursed tree evinces nothing less than the abandonment that is the wages of sin ... There is no reproduction or parallel in the experience of archangels or of the greatest saints. The faintest parallel would crush the holiest of men and the mightiest of the angelic host. (John Murray, Redemption—Accomplished and Applied, 77-78)

It cannot be emphasized too strongly that God's love is the source, not the consequence, of the atonement ... God does not love us because Christ died for us; Christ died for us because God loved us. If it is God's wrath which needed to be propitiated, it is God's love which did the propitiating. (John Stott, The Cross of Christ, 174)

The very form of the death embodies a striking truth. The cross was cursed not only in the opinion of men, but by the enactment of the Divine Law. Hence Christ, while suspended on it, subjects himself to the curse. And thus it behoved to be done, in order that the whole curse, which on account of our iniquities awaited us, or rather lay upon us, might be taken from us by being transferred to him ... For the Son of God, though spotlessly pure, took upon him the disgrace and ignominy of our iniquities, and in return clothed us with his purity ... Of this the cross to which he was nailed was a symbol, as the Apostle declares, “Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us: for it is written, Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree: that the blessing of Abraham might come on the Gentiles through Jesus Christ,” (Gal. 3:13, 14) ... Hence it is not without cause that Paul magnificently celebrates the triumph which Christ obtained upon the cross, as if the cross, the symbol of ignominy, had been converted into a triumphal chariot. (Calvin, Institutes, II, xvi, 6)