God of Power

When I first started traveling by myself, I used to pray - however far You get me from home, Lord, You have to get me back home.

See, I was afraid that I wasn't strong enough to make it on my own. I was afraid that my body might fail, that I might get tired, that my eyes might grow weary of looking at the road, that the grip in my hands might fade, that I wouldn't be able to keep my foot on the pedal. I was afraid I might get nervous or maybe even panic, not knowing where I am or what is around the next turn. I worried about not reaching my destination...and I worried about not having enough left in me to make it home if I did. 

This is the life of someone who lives with a body that isn't perfect. At the time I was praying these prayers, my major affliction was undiagnosed and therefore, uncontrolled. Something was randomly sabotaging my life, completely unpredictably, without my ability to control it or mitigate it, without my even knowing it was coming. So it was a very real possibility that even if I made it to where I was going, I would be too tired or too sick or too incapacitated to make it home. 

Hence, my prayer - I don't care if I make it or don't make it, as long as God gets me home. 

And you know? He did. Every single time. 

It's been many years since I first started praying that prayer. My underlying medical condition has been diagnosed and is properly managed, so I don't worry about that so much any more.

But I still pray those words. 

I still pray those words because I still live a broken life in a fallen world where I don't always know where I am or what's around the next corner. So I'm constantly praying - however far You get me, Lord, You have to get me back.

However disrupted things get, You have to get me back to peace. However hard things get, You have to get me back to rest. However unlike my dreams my life looks, You have to get me back to hope. Over and over again, I pray these words because I know that I'm not strong enough on my own. I know that I'm not capable enough on my own. I know that I'm not good enough on my own. 

And I know that Paul was right - God's power is made perfect in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). 

Because my life is a testimony of both (God's power and my weakness). 

Everything I've accomplished, everything I've done, every time I've done anything good, it's because God has filled the space between what I'm capable of and what this life demands of me. It's because God has created strength where my muscles had already given out. It's because God has poured into a cup that's been empty for far too long. 

And I'll tell you that with every breath I've got - God's power is made perfect in my weakness. Because if it weren't, I certainly would never have gotten this far. 

And of course, now that I'm here, I know there's more still ahead because from here, the Lord who is faithful beyond my measure still has to get me Home. 

God of Authority

Christians have kind of a reputation for being...judge-y. 

The world thinks we're out here just walking around, talking about all the things we disapprove of. And in too many cases, they're right. We have become modern-day Pharisees, focused on the rules and who's breaking them, always looking to catch someone in the act. We like telling others when they are wrong, mostly because it puts us back up on our high horse and lets us look "right." 

Sidebar: when you're being judge-y, you're not right. Even if you are technically correct. 

The thing is, most of the time, we don't have a relationship with the persons we're judging. We're just out here pointing out wrongs without context, putting the world into black and white boxes because we think we can. "But the Bible says..." but does it? What about the 472 other things it says that you're ignoring while focusing on that one? 

What about when it says, uhm, not to be judge-y? 

Imagine how difficult it must have been for Paul, who traveled almost continuously and planted churches across the region, then did his best to continue teaching those churches while he was far removed from them. Imagine hearing about yet another scandal, yet another falling out, yet another sin taking hold in a church that you care deeply about, and you know you have to write them another letter because you're stuck where you are and it's going to be a bit before you can get back there physically. 

It'd be really easy for these churches to look at these letters, read them, and think Paul's just being judge-y. That he's just trying to condemn them whenever he can. That all he wants to do is call out their wrongs and remind them that he wasn't like this when he was with them, so what on earth do they think they're doing? 

Ironically, in his second letter to the church at Corinth, he's addressing judginess that's starting to creep up (again). He's talking about how they seem to like to judge others...even each other. And he reminds them, gently, that even though he's telling them they're going astray, he's not judging them. 

Because the authority God has given him is meant to build them up, not destroy them (2 Corinthians 10:8). 

And, well, I read that, and I think that's a good lesson for all of us. 

See, Paul's authority from God is to build them up, not destroy them, but it's not just him. The authority that the Corinthian believers have from God is also meant to build them up, not destroy them. And the authority that we have today, that you and I have, to speak truth to darkness and to power and to speak love to brokenness and welcome to foreignness and foundness to lostness and life to death...that authority is meant to build up, not to destroy.

The question then becomes: why aren't we doing more of that? 

With all of the amazing goodness God gave us to speak into the world, to witness to, to share...why are we using our energies for destruction? When God called us to build one another up, why are we so content to tear others down? 

What would happen - how would it change the world, at least our little corner of it - if we used our God-given authority for what our giving God intended it for and built each other up? 

The Full 26 (And Staying Off the Bus)

A full marathon is 26.2 miles. 

Or is it?

This year, for the first time, the organizers of a very prominent marathon announced that participants who finish at least 18 miles of the course will still get their medal for finishing. ...a full 8.2 miles short of the actual marathon distance. ...for completing less than 70% of the full distance. There was, of course, an outcry against this. 

We have a local race coming up, one that I have run a couple of times before. Because of street closures and security protocols, like most races, there is a maximum finishing time. A bus drives behind the runners and walkers and anyone who is not maintaining the minimum pace necessary to finish before the time runs out has to get on the bus. 

You don't want to end up on the bus. 

But...once the finish line is in sight, the bus stops and lets everyone off so they can walk across the finish line and get their medal. 

These kinds of things diminish what the medal, what the finish, means for those who have put in the work to go the distance and actually finish the whole race. 

"Oh, you were at that race? Did you do the whole race or did you quit at mile 18? Did you cross the finish line or did you ride the bus?" 

It simply doesn't mean anything if it means everything. 

This is where we are right now as a society, and frankly, it scares me. It makes me concerned for the future. We have an entire generation coming of age who have, largely, been taught that it's good to try hard things, but it's not necessary to finish them. If something is too hard, it's okay to quit. It's "good" to know your limitations. It's "noble" to laugh off your failures and walk away. 

And...you can get a medal just for showing up, just for trying. Just for saying you were going to do the thing, without having to put in any of the work to actually do it. 

If you're paying attention, you will notice a tension between the generations on this point. The older generations really struggle with the attitude of the younger generation that was raised (by the middle generation) to believe stuff like this and encouraged by the same to actually live it. 

Here's what I think the rub is: when you get to justify quitting and pretend that you're just as competent and capable and accomplished as someone who didn't quit, you diminish what it means for everyone who pushed through. 

You diminish the valuable life experience of the previous generations who didn't have "quit" in their vocabulary. The older generations start to talk about the challenges they've faced, the strength they've had to find, the training they put in, the growth they experienced, the way they created the kind of good life that they've handed down...to an ungrateful generation who just looks and them and shrugs and says, "I wouldn't have done it. I'd have just quit. You should have just quit." 

But quitting life is not an option. Quitting work, quitting responsibility, quitting growth, quitting accountability, quitting...is not an option. You can't just "quit" because this life - the life that generations like mine and before mine struggled to achieve - isn't just handed to you...except this generation expects it to be handed to them. 

They changed the rules of the entire marathon, something that's been established for tons of generations. It's always been 26.2. That's the accomplishment. That's what it means. And now, somehow, all of a sudden, 18 is enough. To finish has always meant to take every single step. Now, riding the bus is fine. Hey, however you get to the finish line, right? 

It's frustrating. It's frustrating for me as someone who has put in the work, put in the time, fought the good fight, to hear an entire generation declare that none of that is important and they can just change the rules to meet them where they're at instead of changing themselves to rise to the occasion. 

It concerns me. For real. And not, by the way, just in running.  

God Knows

Every year, I get a performance review at work. For the most part over the course of my life, these have been positive experiences - reminders that I'm on the right track, that I am making good contributions, that my team (and leader) value me. 

And yet, over the course of the year, from the time I get that review around March until the next March rolls around, my insecurities tend to eat away at me. As performance review time rolls around again, I have almost convinced myself that this is the year someone finally says it - I'm not doing a good job any more. I'm not valued. I'm driving everyone crazy. And things would be much better if I could just rein myself in a little bit and be better. 

Based on the number of persons who get a little angsty around their performance review, my guess is that I'm not alone. 

Based on the way that we speak in church, I know I'm not alone. 

We have these really high highs in our spiritual lives that convince us that God loves us, that we are doing a good job, that we're making a difference in our world, and that our presence here matters and makes an impact. 

But none of us lives in the high highs all the time, and as our lives stretch out in the valleys between the mountaintops, it's easy to think that we're failing. That we're falling. That we're not doing as well as we thought we were.

Then, we add in all this talk that we have about "that day" when will stand before God and have our lives judged, and, well, we start to get a little angsty. 

That is obviously going to be the day when someone finally tells us we're not doing a good job any more. That we're not valued. That we're driving everyone crazy. That we mess up more than we get it right. And that things will be much better now that we're out of the way. 

Most of us just get a little nervous when we think about God judging our lives. Judging us. 

Do you know what the Bible has to say about it, though? 

The Bible says - God already knows what we really are (2 Corinthians 5:11). 

He does. He created us. He watches us. He speaks with us. He guides us. He loves us. And He already knows what we really are. 

Paul is saying this in defense of his own ministry, using it as a point to say that he doesn't have to defend himself. He doesn't have to justify himself. He doesn't have to convince the people of Corinth that he is who he says he is because God already knows who he is and God has commended him. 

Not because he is perfect. Not because he is worthy. Not because he is good. Not because he is irreplaceable. But simply because he is God's beloved handiwork, in exactly the place God has put him, doing the work God to which God has called him. God knows who he really is, so he doesn't have to worry about anything else. 

The same, friends, is true for the rest of us, too. 

No matter what our lingering insecurities try to convince us of. 

God of Comfort

We love grace - that we have received what we do not deserve, but we rarely talk about mercy - that we have not received what we deserve. 

And yet, mercy is one of the most beautiful characteristics of God's heart and love toward us. 

It's nice to be surprised by grace, to get that unexpected gift, to wonder what you did to deserve such a thing (hint: nothing). It's nice to be thought of without knowing someone thought of you, of being considered and simply being known well enough to be given something wonderful to you. We all love a little grace; it makes us smile. 

But mercy...mercy lets us breathe again. 

Mercy is waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for someone to find out what you did, waiting to get called to the principal's or the boss's office. It's knowing you've messed up and hoping the price isn't too high. It's regretting your mistakes, but knowing you can't run from them. It's being the bad guy and knowing you're the bad guy and wondering what it's going to do to your life to realize - and for everyone else to realize, especially for God to realize - that you're actually not all that good all the time. Maybe you're not even all that good most of the time. And you've just been found out. 

You wait, holding your breath, twiddling your fingers, looking around from side to side, closing your eyes, praying silently, looking around again and then mercy says...mercy says you're free to go. 

Today, you're not getting what you deserve. 

All of a sudden, your lungs fill with air and your eyes fill with tears and this tremendous weight is taken off of you and you kind of almost collapse a little, sinking into the soreness of muscles that have been held too tight too long. You feel the release, and it feels like rest, and it feels like maybe you can get comfortable again after all...but better this time, of course. (We always say we're going to do better...until the next time we realize we're totally messed up and broken still.) 

But that's what God wants you to feel - that comfort. That reassurance. That ability to breathe again. 

Look at the way that Paul greets the church in Corinth when he writes what we know as his second letter to them - 

"God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort" (1:3). 

Paul's not talking about two separate things here, as though he were trying to describe two distinct characteristics of God. No, Paul is talking about one thing - a merciful God who comforts us. His mercy is the comfort. Not getting what we deserve is a comfort to us. 

Grace is an encouragement, but mercy is a comfort. You're known and you're still loved, unconditionally.

Phew. 

God of the Vessel

You've probably heard someone say they're having a "spiritual experience." Living on a mountaintop, totally in touch with the eternal, on fire for the Lord, fully confident in His love for them. In fact, most of us have been there at some point in our lives of faith. These are the restoration weeks, the conferences, the challenges that we don't want to come home from. 

But what if that's not what's going on? 

We think we are human beings who sometimes have these incredible spiritual experiences that draw us closer to the original creation, to who we were meant to be, to the way that God really designed things. But what if, as the old saying goes, we are not human beings having a spiritual experience but instead, we are spiritual beings having a human experience? 

That is closer to the truth. 

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth to hold the experience that He was going to give us. After He filled them with day and night, light and darkness, land and water, birds and animals, He bent down into the dirt and formed the first human being. 

But the first human being wasn't anything; Adam was just dirt. That's even where his name came from - Adam comes from the Hebrew root for "dirt." And the dirt there laid lifeless - formed, but lifeless - until the Lord breathed the breath of life into it, until He filled it with His spirit. 

The body is just the vessel that God created to hold the spiritual (1 Corinthians 15:46).

Think about it for a second. You probably have a number of dishes in your kitchen right now that are named for the kind of food they are intended to hold - a coffee cup, a cake plate, a soup bowl. But if you're anything like me, you're just as likely to drink tea, not coffee; to eat chicken nuggets off the "little" plate; to pour cereal into that "soup" bowl. 

The question then becomes...is it still a soup bowl if it's filled with cereal? 

And the answer, of course, is that it was never a soup bowl to begin with. It was simply a bowl, merely a vessel. Until it was filled, there was nothing else we could legitimately say about it. 

So it is with our bodies. We have these physical bodies, these vessels, but until they were filled, they weren't anything at all. Until there was something spiritual in them, they were just dirt. When that day comes and the spiritual leaves them, they will be just dirt again. 

This human body we live in is just the vessel, holding the true essence of who we are. 

Which means...those "spiritual experiences" we keep having? That's the real life we were meant to be living. That's what we're made of. Those are the moments that really are getting us closest to the original design. It's no wonder we don't want to leave them. It's what we were created for. 

From formless and void to formed but lifeless to the fullness of God's design itself, this is who we are meant to be. 

God of Peace

Relationships are messy. Communities are hard. Trying to accomplish anything with other persons is a challenge. 

Just ask anyone who has ever been in on a group project. 

There's research that says that more and more, we are a people who listen to respond, not to hear, and that we're all just waiting impatiently for our own chance to speak. And in our short-attention-span, 3-second-soundbyte, everything-at-our-fingertips world, it's not that hard to believe. 

But we're not the first generation to be like this. This is a problem that goes way back. 

Check out 1 Corinthians. 

Paul is giving the church at Corinth instructions on how to control the chaos that has broken out in their fellowship. Everyone is showing up and jockeying for position, arguing over everything, speaking over each other, tripping over each other, trying to push their way into the center, trying to shout over the noise, and Paul steps in with his letter and says...this isn't the way. 

God is not a God of disorder, but of peace (14:33). 

Or, put another way, with this much chaos among you, you do not look very much like God's people. 

And here we are, nearly two thousand years later, and in our short-attention-span, 3-second-soundbyte, everything-at-our-fingertips world where we're listening to respond, ready to be outraged, and constantly passing judgment on the smallest glimpses of someone's not-so-private life, we do not look very much like God's people. 

God's people are marked by their love. Or, they're supposed to be. That's what the Bible tells us - they will know we are Christians by our love. (And if you come from my religious tradition, you probably just sang that last sentence.) 

Not just love, but other good things, too - peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. 

Think about these things for a second and think about how often - or how seldom - you see them in many arenas of our postmodern lives. Think about how often - or how seldom - you demonstrate them in your own postmodern life. 

Think about how countercultural these things are right now and think about what you'd have to think, what you'd have to wonder, what questions you'd have to be asking, if you saw them in someone. 

How are you not stressed? How are you not angry? How are you not hurried? How are you not bothered? Where does this peace in your life come from? 

If ever we were to find it, and everywhere we found it, we would have to conclude only one thing: it must be from God. 

After all, this is what He said we're supposed to be like. So He must be the one, then, that makes it possible. 

On Running

When you think about what it means to run, you probably think that it means setting out from a start line and moving at a certain speed until you've either reached a finish line or you simply can't go any further. 

And you would be right. 

In recent years, there have been a lot of attempts to change the definition of running, but it really depends on what you're working toward as to what kind of definition works for you. 

Right now, something called "Jeffing" is increasingly popular. This is the idea that you can accomplish a further distance, usually in a very reasonable time, by actually incorporating walk breaks into your run. A lot of folks will complete an entire marathon by running for a few minutes, then walking for a few minutes. "It's a great way to meet your goal." 

And yes, it can be. It isn't always, but it can be. It depends on what your goal is. 

The problem, for me, is that this approach changes the demands that the "running" puts on your body. So if your goal is cardiovascular endurance and long-distance stamina, then jeffing is not the ultimate goal. You don't want to be able to run and walk; you want to be able to run and endure. 

If, on the other hand, your goal is simply to cross the finish line of a long-distance race, then maybe jeffing is what gets you there...and keeps you able to walk the next day. (Actually, if you train correctly, you should be able to properly run even a marathon and still walk the next day.) 

To me, too many folks are selling themselves short on what they are capable of when they let themselves walk during a run. If you train yourself to put easy things in the middle of hard things, you'll never truly know how many hard things you can do. And that might come back to bite you some day when you're stuck in a hard thing you can't get out of.

I mean, we've all been there - in the middle of a hard season when all we want to do is breathe for just a minute but life as we know it won't let us. What do you do when you can't "jeff" it? 

See, that's what I'm really talking about - what does it mean to you to "run"? What's the goal? What are you trying to build in yourself? 

If you're building stamina and endurance and strength and resolve, then you need to run. If you're looking for something you can depend on when you can't control the circumstances, then controlling the circumstances isn't going to help you. 

I've been a runner for 11 years. Some days are harder than others. But over the course of these 11 years, I have trained myself to be able to push through whatever life throws at me...at a pace that I don't always control. And that, to me, is invaluable. That's why I got into running - to build the ability to do this. 

Jeffing can be helpful in the right circumstances, but let's be clear - jeffing is not running. It requires something different in you, builds something different in you, works different muscles (both physically and mentally). 

At the end of the day, only you can decide what works for you and what's getting you to where you want to be. For me, I'm a runner. 

And as ideas like these gain more and more ground, there are fewer and fewer of us left.  

God of Creative Care

Have you ever marveled at the human body? It's truly a wondrous thing. 

For the most part, your eyebrows know to stay over your eyes; they never take over you whole forehead. If you lose your vision, your hearing gets better to accommodate for the loss. When you're sick, your healing cells know just what to attack and what to leave alone. You can live a whole life with one kidney, but you have two for some reason. Just like you have an appendix, but you can live without it, too. 

And this is not specific to you - this is the design of the human being. All the way back in the beginning, when there was formless and void and God had only His incredible imagination, He knelt down into the dirt and crafted this. This body that is bone wrapped in muscle wrapped in skin that somehow knows how to take care of itself and every part knows its function and works together with all the other parts to make us beings capable of, well, worship. 

That's the goal, right? We were created to worship. To glorify and to love and to live and to hope and to forgive and to show mercy and to give grace and to praise and to worship. 

Guess what? 

The same care that God put into creating the human body, He also put into creating the body of Christ - the church. 

1 Corinthians 12:18 says that "in fact, God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as He wanted them to be." 

Think about that for a second. 

Your toes are created the way they are to give you the right balance and to help you move; that guy standing next to you who can't sing a note on pitch to save his life is also there for balance and movement. 

Your liver and kidneys are designed to help eliminate toxins from your body; that woman who doesn't share your opinion of someone else or joins a different small group is also there to help eliminate toxins from the body. 

Your hair is made to cover your head and creates a stunning beauty; that fella over there? Creates stunning beauty in your fellowship. 

There are persons in your church who make you flexible, who make you strong, who make you attractive, who make you clean, who hold you together or build you up or shake you down. And every single one of them was put there by God, just as He wanted them to be, with the same tender, loving, creative care that He used when He first formed the dirt into something living, breathing, and created to worship. 

Because that's what this body is for, too. 

God of Unique Gifts

One of the most frustrating of human experiences is realizing that other persons are not like you. 

You usually run up against this reality when you are in close quarters with other humans - through marriage or family, through work relationships, in community. For me, every time I clean out the refrigerator in the break room at work, I realize how very different others are. (There are other things, too, that remind me of this.) 

At the same time, I am often reminded how different I am from other persons. I will do something that seems very natural to me, like recalling a piece of information or creating a piece of art, and someone will inevitably look at me and say, "How do you do that?" 

I don't know, I always say and shrug. It's just how God made me. 

And that's the thing that is often hardest to remember when we're frustrated by someone who isn't doing things the way we would be doing them - God made each one of us different. 

Most often, when we talk about this in a Christian context, we talk about being complementary, about how we are all one body made up of different parts, and how we need teachers, encouragers, givers, hopers, pray-ers, administrators, etc. among us to function properly as a body. And yes, true. That's all well and good. 

It's just a lot harder to remember when we're trying to do the same task in the same space and those kinds of differences and complements aren't clearly obvious. 

When someone is frustrating me, I confess that I very rarely (okay: never) think to myself, "Gosh, God has created them in a such a beautiful and unique way with an incredible gift that I don't understand right now but I'm sure it's contributing to His glory even as I'm about to pull my own hair out." 

Yup. Never. 

But all of those things I'm never thinking are still true, even if I'm not thinking them. 

Paul actually sums up this human experience quite well in 1 Corinthians 7:7. He says, "I wish everyone were like me, but they're not. They're just the way God made them instead. They each have their own gift."

And that's a good reminder, especially when I really wish everyone else had my gifts so that, you know, they wouldn't do annoyingly dumb things that don't make any sense at all and would instead adopt my awesomeness, efficiency, and logic because it just makes so much more sense than whatever they're thinking right now, if they're even thinking at all. 

See? Here I am again. 

The way God made each of us is a gift, even if it's hard for us to remember that sometimes. Which is why, I guess, we need the reminder from Paul that we're not alone. 

I wish everyone was like me, but they're not. They're just the way God made them instead, with their own gifts. 

And that in itself is a gift for all of us. 

God of Wisdom

We often say that wisdom is earned by living, that the older you get and the more experiences you have the world, the more wise you'll be because you have navigated so many things, learned what works and what doesn't work, tried and failed and tried again. 

And maybe that's one way to think of it, but it's not God's way to think of it. 

To God, wisdom has always been there. It's woven into the very fabric of all creation from before creation even began. When there was just formless and void, God ensured that wisdom was right alongside Him as He spoke all things into being. Even as He knelt down into the dust to breathe life into the first man. 

So wisdom is not earned by living; it is encountered by living. At each broken turn, we run right up against it and, if we're paying the right kind of attention, take notice. 

Even Paul says this is the true nature of wisdom when he's writing to the Corinthian church. He says that they are preaching wisdom, but not the kind of wisdom that this world talks about - not the kind that comes from this age or from the experience of just living your life and learning some things along the way. No, Paul says, all the folks who are trying to live by that kind of wisdom are "coming to nothing." 

It's the kind of wisdom that God holds that holds the real key to life and love and faith (1 Corinthians 2:7). 

This kind of wisdom is imparted by the Spirit and nothing else. It is encountered in the wild because it is woven through every fiber of creation. It comes from running right up against it over and over and over again until you can finally see that it's not an obstacle and it's not a hindrance and it's not foolishness, but it's actually a better way. 

The kind of wisdom that exists in creation will demonstrate for you how to handle this world, if you'll let it. On your own, you will stumble and fall and fail again and again and you will try to recreate the wheel to figure out how to get through this life, but wisdom is already winding its way through this life and it will show you the path if only you follow it. 

We're just so stunningly terrible at following it. 

Then, we stumble upon it all over again and think that we have found something. That we have learned something. That we have finally figured it all out. When, in fact, it was already figured out from the very beginning...we just missed it. 

The truly wise among us know that they can take no credit for their own wisdom, even if they seem to have gained it over a hundred years of living. Because they understand that they never really gained anything; they only stumbled upon it over and over again until they finally figured out just to follow it through. It was then they discovered that what they thought was wisdom was, in fact, only leading them to "nothing." 

True wisdom, which was there all along, leads them to life. 

God of the Foolish

God chooses the foolish things of this world to shame the wise, the weak to shame the strong, and the unimportant to shame the self-important (1 Corinthians 1:27-28). To shame them, of course, into recognizing their proper place in the world and hopefully, recognize His. 

This is a popular verse, one that's fairly well-known. And most of the time, to understand it, I need to look no further than the mirror. 

In the mirror, I find both of these things staring back at me - the foolish and the wise, the weak and the strong, the unimportant and the self-important. 

If you were to look at my life from the outside, you would say it is, at best, improbable. I'm not the person you would think would be an example of anything. And yet, the testimony of my life is all of the things - God's goodness, God's mercy, God's forgiveness, God's grace. God has truly done a marvelous work in me and as easy as it would be for the world to write me off because they think I'm foolish, they think I'm naive, they think I'm weak, they think I'm unimportant, I just keep showing up and making the kind of difference, the kind of impact, that undeniable says that something special is happening here. 

To be clear, that something special is God's goodness, not mine. 

At the same time, at the very moment that I start to understand that God really is doing a good work in and through me in the most unlikely of ways, the moment that I start to settle into a little bit of the bigness that God has expanded my life into, someone else comes along and puts me in my place. Someone that I would find easy to write off as being younger, less experienced, more naive, uneducated, or whatever. 

I have 40+ years of experience, to date, of being me and of being truly loved by God and living this miraculous sort of life and being the weak one who shames the strong...and yet, God constantly reminds me that I'm not as wise as I think I am, nor am I as strong or truly important. And He uses folks who have absolutely 0 minutes of experience being me. 

So there's that. 

I remember one time I went over to a neighbor's house where she was struggling to move a piece of furniture, and I offered to help. She looked right at me and said, "You're too small. You can't help." So I picked up that piece of furniture in one motion and carried it where it needed to go. I shot her a small smile in playfulness and said, "I'm small, but mighty." And I've said that a lot over the years - in physical contexts and non-physical ones. 

And yet, here I am also listening to others tell me the very same thing. I look at them and think they cannot possibly be as mighty as I am, have as much life experience, have developed as much resilience and strength, and I'm always wanting to protect them from trying to do things too big for them. And I look over and see the same kind of smile that I'm prone to flash, and I can see it in their eyes - they're small, but mighty, too. 

And all over again, I am put to shame. Mostly because I remember what it's like to be written off and here I am doing the very same thing. 

But then, I smile, too, because God is so very good to all of us, really. He uses our small, broken, weak places to remind the world how big, strong, and loving He truly is. And, well, I need reminded of that just as often as I need to remind others of it. 

Truth and Love

I actually write a lot about truth and love, but this post is going to take a bit of a different turn. Because I've been thinking...even I don't know what's true any more. 

Now, it was just six months ago or so that I played a game of "beat AI" and did, in fact, beat AI - correctly determining which in a series of images were AI-generated and which were real. I scored 100% and totally knocked the guy's socks off. 

What I'm thinking about more lately isn't fact vs. fiction. It's more....story vs. narrative. 

For example, we currently have a space shuttle in orbit with four humans on board. It has been in the works for a long time and they have been up there 9-ish days or so already. They have successfully orbited the moon and sent back photos of "earth rise" and all the cool things that we want them to be doing in space. 

Then, suddenly, over the last day or so, I've been seeing all kinds of stories pop up about former astronauts "sounding the alarm" over potential heat shield failures. About NASA memos, secret NASA memos, expressing concern about the same. About science-y folks claiming we should never have put humans on this shuttle with its "known" heat shield issues. About how the re-entry, which is coming up later tonight, is almost indefensibly dangerous. 

And it just strikes me as strange that this is the story now. I mean, to me, that's the kind of story you blast everywhere before you supposedly put four lives in mortal danger from a problem science is supposed to be smart enough to solve. 

So it raises the question in my mind: are there really problems with the heat shield? Or are there problems with NASA and space flight and public buy-in that they need to create a narrative that entices more persons to "tune in" to watch the landing, to talk about it, to celebrate it? 

Actually, that's a question I've been asking myself a lot lately - is this the story that's unfolding before me...or is it just a narrative that's being told? 

Honestly, in today's world that is all about marketing, it's really hard to tell sometimes. Especially with the limited perspective we are often given. And it's enough to turn any one of us - maybe every one of us - into a cynic. 

That's why I think love is so important right now. 

In love - real, Christ-like love - I'm not crafting a narrative. I'm telling a story. His story. A story about how beautiful, wonderful, treasured, cherished, noticed, honored, and known you are. That's it. It's the one pure thing that we have left in the world because no matter how much we tarnish it or twist it, real love cannot be tarnished or twisted. When you've really been loved, you know it. 

And so if the only thing I do today is love someone, really love them the way that Christ would love them, then I've done something that all the narratives in the world could not possibly spin. I've told the Story. 

And that's good news.  

God of Life and Death

There is a place where, if you're not paying close attention, it seems like the Bible contradicts itself. 

In the Old Testament, God tells us that He is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and then uses this to say that He is the God of the living, not the dead. He, too, is alive and active and this is a reason to worship Him. 

Then, we get to Romans, and we are told that Jesus died and came back to life so that He could be the Lord of living and the dead (14:9). 

So which one is it? 

The answer is that it's both and that these statements are not contradictory. 

When God names our ancestors and says that He is the God of the living, not the dead, He is referring to the relationship He had with those who have formed the foundations of faith in us. Their legacy lives on in the way that they passed faith into us, and in that sense, it is a living faith and they are living witnesses - through our lives. 

When Paul says that Jesus died and came back to life so that He could be the Lord of the living and the dead, Paul is saying that Jesus's death reached back across time to gather together those who died before the promise was fulfilled, even before there was a promise at all. At least, before there was a promise they could understand. So God has become the God of the dead who died in faith when faith meant something different than it does on this side of the Cross. 

These two truths about God work together to create a beautiful story, one that continues even today. 

You see, God is still the God of the living and not the dead. His story is still passed on through those of us who have the legacy passed down into us, whether that was from our blood relatives or from the intentional ministry of someone who helped to establish it in us. We carry the living and active God in our witness, in our lives and our love, and we demonstrate how it is that this God of the living changes the lives of the living. 

At the same time, our Lord still crosses the lines of life and death to gather to Himself those who died without the promise. Those who didn't know what they were looking for. Those who hadn't heard or whose hearts hadn't grasped or whose lives hadn't held onto the living testimony of faith. 

Because Jesus is for everybody and God delights in all of His creation and He seeks to restore everyone to Himself. 

So God is the God of the living. And the God of the dead. And the God of life. And the defeater of death. 

And we, who are doing our best to live while we're dying, can only be tremendously thankful for this. 

God of Mercy

There's a parable that is perhaps the most difficult for many of to swallow. It's the parable of the hired workers. 

This is the one where the owner of the property goes out in the morning and finds some workers and agrees to pay them a day's wage to come and work for him, so they do. Then, a few hours later, he goes out and finds some more workers and agrees to pay them fairly, so they come, too. A few hours later, he does the same thing. Finally, an hour before quittin' time, he goes out and finds even more workers and agrees to pay them fairly to come and help finish up the work, so they come. 

When it comes time to pay them, he starts with the guys who have been there for maybe an hour or so, and he gives them a full day's wage. And then the guys who have been there a little bit longer, they get a day's wage, too. All the way down to the ones he first hired, who also get a day's wage and start grumbling, but he reminds them - that's what you agreed to work for. His generosity to others is none of their concern. 

And yet, we are concerned. Aren't we? 

We are concerned when the drug addict wanders into the church off the street and a few weeks later is adding his voice to the praise band. We are concerned when the single mom starts serving in the nursery. We are concerned when the poor family who doesn't have two cents to their name starts working as greeters. We are concerned when the things that we think we've "earned" by investing our lives in faith and in the church are suddenly open to everyone. 

We're concerned when the Pharisee who was trying to kill all of us, who threatened our way of life, becomes a leader in the church and claims to have a message of hope and good news. 

We like to say that the church is open to everyone, but we really mean like...persons like us. Nice persons. Good persons. Clean persons. Not this riff-raff. 

Then, we have this parable. And we have passages like we find in Romans 10, where Paul says that to God, there is no difference between persons. Everyone who believes has a place with Him. He chooses who He gives mercy to, and those persons He chooses don't fit in our categories all the time. 

And we wrestle. And we struggle. And we question God's wisdom because how could He? 

And then we hear that we aren't in everyone else's categories, either, and we think that must be yet another problem with them and another reason why they don't deserve God's mercy...because look at them, over there judging us. Of all people! US! We've been doing this faith thing for a long time; they're the newcomers. 

Therein proving yet again that God does indeed give mercy to whoever He chooses, to everyone who believes. 

Even us. 

God of More

A few days ago, we said that God doesn't need the law. Now, just a few pages later in the Bible, Paul tells us why: 

Because God does more than the law does (8:3). 

Because the law is limited by our flesh. That is, it can only do what we are capable of doing. It can hold us accountable for the places where we fail, but it accepts that we will fail. It can teach us how to atone for our wrongs, whether they be against persons or against God. It can give us guidelines for how to live with one another. 

But it can never put our broken pieces back together. 

The law does not eliminate our brokenness. It does not eliminate our sin. It does not make us whole. 

It can never redeem us. 

That's why God is so far above the law. God does what the law cannot. 

The law makes us pay for our failures; the Lord washes us clean. The law teaches us to make up for our shortcomings; the Lord makes us whole. The law requires payment, atonement on our part, some kind of sacrifice; the Lord took the sacrifice upon His own shoulders. 

In this verse, Paul even says the law is powerless. And he's right. 

But the Lord....the Lord is powerful. The Lord loves us into doing things the law could never convince us of. 

All things considered, I'd rather have the Lord than the law. And I think that's what Paul was getting at. 

For so long, the law guided the lives of the faithful. The law taught them how to live. But in the life of the Lord Himself, Jesus, all of that changed because the ministry of Christ, the sacrifice of the Son of God, the resurrection and the empty tomb, it doesn't teach men how to live; it teaches men how to love. 

And love is better. 

God of Good Works

One of the things we struggle with the most is faith itself. What does it mean to believe? What does believing require of me? 

We think that if we believe, then we should act in certain ways. And we're absolutely right. Having faith in Christ should change the way that we live our day-to-day, the way that we respond to the challenges in this world, the way that we love one another. 

But the more that we let our faith change the way that we live, the easier it is for us to shift our minds to believe that the way we're living justifies what God should give us in return. In other words, slowly over a life of faithfulness that produces good works, we are drawn into the temptation that our good works are our faith. 

We start to believe in the good things we do. 

The New Testament spends a good amount of time refuting this kind of thinking. In Romans, Paul says that if you work, it's easy to think of your wages as compensation - this trap that we're all so prone to falling into. It's easy to think that if you work, God owes you for that work.

But, Paul continues, without the works, it's faith itself that is credited to you as righteousness (4:5). That is, faith is what really matters before the Lord, who looks at the heart of a man. 

And on some level, don't we know that this is true? 

Look at Christ Himself. 

In His ministry on earth, He did many good works. He did them because He believed in the One who does such things - who gives sight to the blind, sound to the deaf, voice to the mute, movement to the lame, washing to the unclean, life to the dead. His faith told Him these things were possible, but His works put them on display. 

Yet, the greatest example of Christ is not His good works. Yes, they are great. Yes, we are thankful for them. Yes, we would love to go into the world and do likewise. But the testimony of the life of Christ is the testimony of incarnation, of relationship, of trust, of hope, of faith. 

The example Christ set for us is not one of doing miracles; it's one of believing in miracles. It's one of sneaking off and stealing quiet moments to pray. It's one of knowing the Scriptures and studying the story and entrusting yourself to something bigger than you. It's one of knowing the Father and being known by the Father. It's one of surrender and acceptance, of humility and embrace. It's one of walking softly, speaking tenderly, proclaiming boldly, and being unafraid. 

You don't have to cast out demons to demonstrate your faith. Your faith is shown when you stand your ground and cause the demons to flee. Do you see the difference? 

Just believing is the work. Just believing is the manifestation of faith. 

And this, Paul says, is credited as righteousness. 

And it's what makes us go and do good in the world in the first place. 

Ignorance and Stupidity

This week, man launched a new mission to the moon. Many are excited about the possibilities of such an endeavor. 

I'm...concerned. 

I'm concerned because of the way that our attitude toward science has changed, even in my short lifetime. Because our confidence in some things has grown, but so has our arrogance. Because we are now certain in things we do not know. And I think that's dangerous. 

Sixty years ago when we were looking at the moon, we were ignorant. We didn't know much about the moon, if we knew anything at all. We didn't know what it was made of. We didn't know what kind of gravity it might have. We didn't know what kind of surface it might have. We didn't know what might happen if we were to approach it. 

But we knew that we didn't know. 

Our ignorance sparked our curiosity, and we approached the moon with more questions than plans. More exploration than intimidation. More wonder than domination. 

Today, we're in all of the other categories. We're back at the moon because of the plans we're trying to make, because of the ways we want to shape it to meet our own needs, because we're ready to dominate the moon and turn it into our launch pad for further space. 

We aren't ignorant any more, we tell ourselves. We know things about the moon. 

But do we know as much as we think we know? 

I don't think we do. And that changes our ignorance into stupidity. We are going to do some very stupid things in space because we're too arrogant about things we don't know. 

Science has a bad track record in this. Take, for example, the practice of carbon dating. Scientists studied for a very long time the way that carbon works across time, and they determined that by looking at the carbon in a thing, they could figure out how old it is. Which sounds really neat. Except that scientists also tell us that the world has changed dramatically in its history - in periods of great temperature fluctuation, in the movement of land masses and bodies of water, in the creation of mountains and valleys (so...changes in elevation), and all kinds of other things. And when they're looking at carbon for dating purposes, they do not account for how carbon must have acted under other circumstances. There are so many unknowns - when was this place hot? how hot? when was it cold? how cold? for how long? how much has its elevation changed over time? how much has it migrated closer or further from some other landmark, like the equator? 

We guess, but we do not know, and so we don't account for the things that even we say are true because we can't account for them because it's all theory and conjecture and guesstimations made off things observed in a relatively short period of time. Then, we say with "confidence" that a thing is such-and-such years old based on the carbon, but...what carbon? 

We're setting ourselves up the same way in space. One of the proposed uses I have heard for the moon is that it will become a waystation and a launch pad for further exploration to Mars. Which, if you're into that sot of thing, sounds really neat. But we do not know whether it's possible to launch something so powerfully off the moon. We don't know if the combustibles will work in the atmosphere of the moon. We don't know if the gravity that holds the moon in tandem with earth is strong enough to withstand such a launch. We could absolutely, worst case scenario, try to launch a rocket off the moon and change its trajectory by mere thousandths of a millimeter and end up throwing our entire planet into chaos. 

And all that science will tell you right now is "that's not going to happen." How do they know? They actually don't. They learned a few things about the moon a little more than 50 years ago and since then, they've been claiming they know more than they do. We have moved from ignorance, which inspired us to approach with questions, to stupidity, which inspires us to approach with arrogance. 

Even when we can't get space toilets right. 

I'm not saying that I'm hoping for a mission failure for Artemis II. Failure at these magnitudes is catastrophic. But I am hoping that we run up against something that reminds us how ignorant we are...and how stupid we're being. 

We all need the reminder sometimes. Myself included.  

God is Lawless

When we read the Old Testament, we read a lot of rules. Laws, they tell us. Everything about what to eat, what kind of fabrics to wear, how to deal with mildew in the house, what to do about your neighbor's donkey. And on and on the list goes. And our interpretations over the many years have told us this is "God's law." 

But it's not. 

It's not God's law because 1) God doesn't have a law. God doesn't need a law. These are not the rules that we follow because these are the rules God follows. God doesn't need rules about fabrics or mildews or biological human realities. 

And it's not God's law because 2) God doesn't need the law to save us. There's not some magical amount of following all of these rules that suddenly makes us acceptable to God. 

Paul says, in his letter to the Romans, that through Christ, God's righteousness has been made known to men apart from the law (3:21). Which means the law might have taught us something about God once upon a time, but the Son of God taught us more. 

It means that even if we had never had the law, Christ still would have shown us what we were missing. Which, by the way, we were still missing even with the law. 

It means that God's righteousness is enough to reveal Him to us. Without a bunch of rules. Without a bunch of regulations. Without us tiptoeing around a bunch of do's and don'ts. 

In fact, there is no tiptoeing with Christ. There is lining the streets and shouting out amidst the crowds and cutting holes in strangers' roofs and bursting into dinner parties uninvited with jars of nard and pushing unclean through the crowds for a chance just to touch Him. 

All of those things (and more), by the way, that would completely not be allowed by the law. 

But again, the law was never the thing. 

Love was. 

So if you're stuck in a faith that's trying to do things "by the book," there's nothing wrong with starting there. But flip a few pages forward and find the greater revelation. 

Because God's righteousness is even more revealing than His rulebook. And that's the kind of thing you can truly build a life on. 

God of Nations

The resurrection is for both the righteous and the unrighteous, and that's a tough pill to swallow for many Christians. If we're all going to be resurrected and restored, then what's the point of living the life of a believer? 

But then again, God's never been quiet that this is His plan all along. 

When God first called Abraham, all the way back in Genesis, He made it clear that all the nations would be blessed through him. That he would be the man whose descendants would make God's name known for all persons in all places across all time. 

The prophet Isaiah, in one of his prophecies, referenced both Assyria and Egypt as God's possession and people. 

Then Christ comes along and says that He's come to give life to all, and He spends His entire ministry erasing the lines that men have drawn and making the circle bigger - with women, with the unclean, with the deformed and defamed, with the outsiders, with the Gentiles, even with the Romans. 

And in case you've been missing it through the thousands of years leading up to this point, it's the end cap in Acts, as well - the first book to talk about evangelizing the whole world with the Gospel of Christ. God sent His salvation to all nations (28:28). 

All. 

Period. 

This becomes a great rebuttal to those who cannot fathom a God who destroys even one speck of His creation, who would send anyone to Hell, who decides what is good and what is bad - and who is good and who is bad - in the world and treats those things differently. It's the common objection: how can a loving God even have a place outside of His love for anyone or anything? 

Yet here we see, again, that He doesn't. His entire plan was the entire world from the very beginning for the entire eternity. 

Does it make it harder for us? Sometimes. It can be easy to sit back and ask what the point is, then, of being an "insider" - of being the faithful, of being a believer, of trying to live God's way - if everyone from all nations is welcome and will be restored in the end. 

But the question that we have to ask ourselves is not whether it's worth it in the eternal sense, but whether it's worth it today. Is God making your life better today by being an active part of it and by you being an active part of His plan? Are you better off as a Christian - are you more happy, more generous, more loving, more joyful, more merciful, more gracious? Do you have more rest in your life - real rest? Are you able to let go of more things? Do you have a place and a plan for the anxieties of this world? 

Jesus said that He came that we might have life and life abundant. Not eternal, but abundant. This life. Right now. 

Salvation is for everyone, but the abundant life...that's for the faithful. So, then, is it still "worth it?" 

As for me and my household, the answer is a resounding yes.