Wow, it's been a while since I last blogged. For those of you following us on this journey, I apologize for the radio silence. I have hopes and new resolve to be more consistent in my posts.
A small group of us have been on this "church" journey for almost a year now. It seems unbelievable that it has been that long, but it indeed has. I feel like we've finally begun to turn a little bit of a corner. We decided a little while ago that it was time for us to expand our vision and begin to invite new people into our faith community. We've been very hesitant to do so, primarily due to the fact that we really didn't know where we were going, so why would we invite others into our uncertainty?
Yesterday was the first morning of our "growth." We had three "new-to-us" families that showed up at our house for a morning of worship, teaching, communion and prayer. I listened as our children on the "front row" sang at the top of their lungs that "Our God's not dead; he's surely alive." We shared about our wrestlings with grace and forgiveness and service. We prayed prayers of thanks for the blessings in our lives. Whereas for most of my church-going life, I was always concerned about what time it was so that we didn't offend anyone by gathering for too long, I had no idea what time it was, nor how long we had been there. It is a glorious feeling!
We parted ways and then made plans to get back together in the evening for a family game night. After an afternoon of football, we gathered back together at a friend's house for pizza, dominoes, Monopoly, more football, laughter, and community. Our "senior member" schooled us in dominoes. We told stories of mission trips past. We laughed at the Pintrest acumen of one of our male friends. Our kids watched movies together. It was a beautiful night.
I'm not sure we're much closer to understanding our "mission" and "strategy" than we were a year ago. But we've started to spread our wings and try some new things. We've begun to believe that a vital element of the spiritual life is that it is lived together, in community and on mission. And I couldn't be more grateful that God has brought together this little group that we call the 8th Day Collective. At least for one Sunday, it felt like everything was just perfect.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Pray Like a Child
Tinsley, our almost-five-year-old, has become the resident meal pray-er. I think it's mostly because she's so darn cute and fun to listen to. We've gone through our fair share of "interesting prayers," and it becomes a great springboard for conversation afterward.
Recently, she has been in a rut. And it is an odd little prayer. There is some (minor) variance to the wording and word placement, but this is the general form:
"Dear God, I pray we have a super-great day. I pray we never give up and never get down. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen."
Now, before you label me as a terrible father and a worse theologian, I want you to know that we have no idea where she got this prayer. We tend to blame one or more of her teachers at school, but that's only because we can't imagine where else she could have gotten it. And, of course, she's not telling.
Of the prayers she's prayed since the days of mimicking her older sisters, this one has had the longest shelf-life by far -- especially the "super-great day" part.
I'm not sure what response we are supposed to have to "public prayer," but I'm pretty sure that one of the responses we should have to any corporate prayer is that of reflection. So, after hearing the prayer a couple (hundred) times, I stopped to reflect on what T was saying. About that time, Wendy said to me, "You know what? It's actually a pretty good prayer." To which I responded, "That's what I've been thinking." As soon as I realized my wife and I agreed on something, I knew we had discovered deep, deep truth.
Now, before we get into what the prayer is, let's chat for a brief minute about what it is not. It is certainly not a long prayer. For some, that is a negative. For others, that is a huge positive -- especially when said with a warm dinner just beneath the nose. It is not an outwardly-focused prayer. No sicknesses or veiled gossip or lost people mentioned at all. It is also not a global prayer. There is no mention of kids who will have nothing to eat that day -- either in Lubbock or in Africa. It is not a deep prayer. (But it's also prayed by a 4-year-old, with no coaching from her parents and older siblings.)
It IS a horribly self-centered prayer, I will grant you that. Outside of the most popular duo of the Trinity, the only people it mentions is, well, us. But if we were to analyze our own prayers, aren't they mostly self-oriented as well? Prayers for sick people are prayers for sick people who are OUR friends, or at least friends of our friends. Prayers for people making poor life decisions are prayers of manipulation to get them to see our version of right and wrong. And if we were brutally honest with one another, most of our time in prayer is asking for things we want for our own sake.
So, if we're praying selfish prayers anyway, why not make it sound something like the T prayer?
Think about what T's asking for in this prayer. She is praying that her family (the "we" of the prayer) has a super-great day. What a beautiful sentiment! And I don't know about you, but when I DO have one of those rare super-great days, I want to have another one as soon as possible! And if we draw that out, super-great days cluster into super-great weeks, which make up super-great years, and before we know it, we've lived a super-great life. Who among us wouldn't love for people to say about us that we lived a super-great life?!
She's also praying that we never give up. Prayers for perseverance pepper the Psalms. ("Strengthen me according to your word." - Psalm 119:28; "Deliver me from my enemies, O God; be my fortress against those who are attacking me." - Psalm 59:1). Perseverance doesn't negate the reality of difficulty, but it causes us to overcome. Every four years at the Olympics the networks go to great lengths to highlight those athletes who have overcome some sort of adversity. Perseverance is one of those qualities that we all want to have.
Finally, she prays that we never get down. Whereas perseverance is more of a physical thing, this is a prayer for mental and emotional victory. One of our greatest enemies is our own broken psyche. We talk ourselves into defeat much more often than we actually get defeated. We talk ourselves out of great victories before we ever get started. We mistreat people around us because we are down -- on ourselves, on our friends, on our families, on our country. Staying positive is one of the most important aspects of a life well-lived. No one wants to be around the "woe is me" person. Everybody wants to be around the person who exudes positivity.
We could easily use bigger words and more words to make this prayer sound more like we're used to hearing prayers sound. But isn't one of the purposes of prayer to bring our heart's desires before our Creator and actually expect Him to do something about it? Let me tell you something. Tinsley has probably had more super-great days in her last two years than I've had in 37. She also is one of the most positive, creative, and self-confident little humans I have ever met. Now I admit, it could be because she's 4 years old.
Or it could be because God is hearing and answering her simple prayer.
My prayer for you -- May the God of the universe grant you a super-great day. May you never give up. May you never get down. In Jesus' powerful name I pray this for you. Amen.
Recently, she has been in a rut. And it is an odd little prayer. There is some (minor) variance to the wording and word placement, but this is the general form:
"Dear God, I pray we have a super-great day. I pray we never give up and never get down. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen."
Now, before you label me as a terrible father and a worse theologian, I want you to know that we have no idea where she got this prayer. We tend to blame one or more of her teachers at school, but that's only because we can't imagine where else she could have gotten it. And, of course, she's not telling.
Of the prayers she's prayed since the days of mimicking her older sisters, this one has had the longest shelf-life by far -- especially the "super-great day" part.
I'm not sure what response we are supposed to have to "public prayer," but I'm pretty sure that one of the responses we should have to any corporate prayer is that of reflection. So, after hearing the prayer a couple (hundred) times, I stopped to reflect on what T was saying. About that time, Wendy said to me, "You know what? It's actually a pretty good prayer." To which I responded, "That's what I've been thinking." As soon as I realized my wife and I agreed on something, I knew we had discovered deep, deep truth.
Now, before we get into what the prayer is, let's chat for a brief minute about what it is not. It is certainly not a long prayer. For some, that is a negative. For others, that is a huge positive -- especially when said with a warm dinner just beneath the nose. It is not an outwardly-focused prayer. No sicknesses or veiled gossip or lost people mentioned at all. It is also not a global prayer. There is no mention of kids who will have nothing to eat that day -- either in Lubbock or in Africa. It is not a deep prayer. (But it's also prayed by a 4-year-old, with no coaching from her parents and older siblings.)
It IS a horribly self-centered prayer, I will grant you that. Outside of the most popular duo of the Trinity, the only people it mentions is, well, us. But if we were to analyze our own prayers, aren't they mostly self-oriented as well? Prayers for sick people are prayers for sick people who are OUR friends, or at least friends of our friends. Prayers for people making poor life decisions are prayers of manipulation to get them to see our version of right and wrong. And if we were brutally honest with one another, most of our time in prayer is asking for things we want for our own sake.
So, if we're praying selfish prayers anyway, why not make it sound something like the T prayer?
Think about what T's asking for in this prayer. She is praying that her family (the "we" of the prayer) has a super-great day. What a beautiful sentiment! And I don't know about you, but when I DO have one of those rare super-great days, I want to have another one as soon as possible! And if we draw that out, super-great days cluster into super-great weeks, which make up super-great years, and before we know it, we've lived a super-great life. Who among us wouldn't love for people to say about us that we lived a super-great life?!
She's also praying that we never give up. Prayers for perseverance pepper the Psalms. ("Strengthen me according to your word." - Psalm 119:28; "Deliver me from my enemies, O God; be my fortress against those who are attacking me." - Psalm 59:1). Perseverance doesn't negate the reality of difficulty, but it causes us to overcome. Every four years at the Olympics the networks go to great lengths to highlight those athletes who have overcome some sort of adversity. Perseverance is one of those qualities that we all want to have.
Finally, she prays that we never get down. Whereas perseverance is more of a physical thing, this is a prayer for mental and emotional victory. One of our greatest enemies is our own broken psyche. We talk ourselves into defeat much more often than we actually get defeated. We talk ourselves out of great victories before we ever get started. We mistreat people around us because we are down -- on ourselves, on our friends, on our families, on our country. Staying positive is one of the most important aspects of a life well-lived. No one wants to be around the "woe is me" person. Everybody wants to be around the person who exudes positivity.
We could easily use bigger words and more words to make this prayer sound more like we're used to hearing prayers sound. But isn't one of the purposes of prayer to bring our heart's desires before our Creator and actually expect Him to do something about it? Let me tell you something. Tinsley has probably had more super-great days in her last two years than I've had in 37. She also is one of the most positive, creative, and self-confident little humans I have ever met. Now I admit, it could be because she's 4 years old.
Or it could be because God is hearing and answering her simple prayer.
My prayer for you -- May the God of the universe grant you a super-great day. May you never give up. May you never get down. In Jesus' powerful name I pray this for you. Amen.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
A day of remembrance . . .
One year ago today, our family experienced its greatest day of loss. We were expecting our first son to go along with three wonderful girls. It had been a trying pregnancy -- we spent a night in the ER with a torn placenta, thinking we had lost him. Wendy was on bed rest to try and get the placenta to heal, which made things difficult around the house. On the evening of August 19th, after a wedding rehearsal I was performing for two dear friends, we came home to get the girls ready for bed. Faith (our then-8-year-old) came hollering for me through the house, telling me that Wendy needed me.
We didn't know it at the time (well, we probably DID know it, but didn't WANT to know it) but Wendy's water had broken. At 17 weeks. We called a sitter over, loaded up in the car, and headed to triage. A friend flagged us down on the way and jumped in the car with us. When we got to the hospital (they put us right into a birthing room -- should have been our second clue), there was no heartbeat. For whatever reason, Wendy's body had gone into labor. At 17 weeks. She delivered Warner Josiah a few hours later. He was 5 ounces, perfectly formed, and fit in the palm of my hand. I remember being completely worthless to Wendy during the delivery. I just couldn't look. I sat in a chair in the delivery room and just stared straight ahead.
Once he was born, we began to have to do all kinds of things we never thought we'd do. They asked us if we wanted to hold him. They asked us what kind of casket we wanted for him. They asked us if we wanted to have him buried with other stillbirths or of we wanted him in a place of his own. We had to go and sit at a funeral home and talk about arrangements. We had to buy a plot of land in a cemetery. We had to decide which grave marker we wanted for him. We had to make arrangements for a memorial. We had to ask one of our dear friends to perform the memorial -- something only a true friend or a complete stranger would ever do for someone.
We weren't sure we were going to try again for another child. We had three wonderful girls and the stillbirth had been a difficult turn of events. For a while after Warner's birth, I could hear Wendy lying in bed sobbing as she held her now-empty womb.
I don't know that we ever had a formal discussion about it, but we eventually decided to try again. If you've met our four-year-old, Tinsley, you know that the LAST thing she needs is to be a part-time only child. The girl needed a sibling. So we were excited when we found out we were pregnant again. Excited, but cautious. When we found out we were having another boy, we were delighted. Delighted, but apprehensive. When we got past the 17-week mark where we had lost Warner, we were relieved. Relieved, but anxious.
I don't know that Wendy and I really believed it was going to turn out well until last Saturday. At 4:53pm, we welcomed Blanton Caleb Drake into our family. A healthy 7 pound, 7 ounce baby boy. At 21 inches long, he might be able to be something other than a point guard on the basketball team. Up until the time he came out, I don't think Wendy and I were sure that this would work. But he is healthy, has a great appetite, and is doing amazingly well. We are blessed.
But today was the one-year anniversary of Warner's death. We have this little community of people that we call "church" that meets in our home every once in a while. Since we don't really have a set "church schedule" (which is GLORIOUS, by the way), we decided that the Drakes were going to have church out at Warner's grave. And we invited our community to join us. And they did. Thirteen of us stood and sat around a grave, reading Scriptures about confusion and loss, about redemption and restoration. We sang songs about a God who knows what it is like to experience the loss of a Child. We cried tears of hurt and tears of confusion. We took communion together as a family. We took pictures of our little family of seven. We took pictures of our church family gathered to celebrate redemption.
Redemption's a strange thing. When something is redeemed, it doesn't mean that the pain of the first experience is taken away. It doesn't mean that all (or any?) of the questions are answered. It doesn't give us back Warner. But redemption is a beautiful thing. It's a healing thing. It's a powerful thing.
And it's going on all around us, if only we're willing to see it. Even (especially?) on the anniversary of our darkest day.
We didn't know it at the time (well, we probably DID know it, but didn't WANT to know it) but Wendy's water had broken. At 17 weeks. We called a sitter over, loaded up in the car, and headed to triage. A friend flagged us down on the way and jumped in the car with us. When we got to the hospital (they put us right into a birthing room -- should have been our second clue), there was no heartbeat. For whatever reason, Wendy's body had gone into labor. At 17 weeks. She delivered Warner Josiah a few hours later. He was 5 ounces, perfectly formed, and fit in the palm of my hand. I remember being completely worthless to Wendy during the delivery. I just couldn't look. I sat in a chair in the delivery room and just stared straight ahead.
Once he was born, we began to have to do all kinds of things we never thought we'd do. They asked us if we wanted to hold him. They asked us what kind of casket we wanted for him. They asked us if we wanted to have him buried with other stillbirths or of we wanted him in a place of his own. We had to go and sit at a funeral home and talk about arrangements. We had to buy a plot of land in a cemetery. We had to decide which grave marker we wanted for him. We had to make arrangements for a memorial. We had to ask one of our dear friends to perform the memorial -- something only a true friend or a complete stranger would ever do for someone.
We weren't sure we were going to try again for another child. We had three wonderful girls and the stillbirth had been a difficult turn of events. For a while after Warner's birth, I could hear Wendy lying in bed sobbing as she held her now-empty womb.
I don't know that we ever had a formal discussion about it, but we eventually decided to try again. If you've met our four-year-old, Tinsley, you know that the LAST thing she needs is to be a part-time only child. The girl needed a sibling. So we were excited when we found out we were pregnant again. Excited, but cautious. When we found out we were having another boy, we were delighted. Delighted, but apprehensive. When we got past the 17-week mark where we had lost Warner, we were relieved. Relieved, but anxious.
I don't know that Wendy and I really believed it was going to turn out well until last Saturday. At 4:53pm, we welcomed Blanton Caleb Drake into our family. A healthy 7 pound, 7 ounce baby boy. At 21 inches long, he might be able to be something other than a point guard on the basketball team. Up until the time he came out, I don't think Wendy and I were sure that this would work. But he is healthy, has a great appetite, and is doing amazingly well. We are blessed.
But today was the one-year anniversary of Warner's death. We have this little community of people that we call "church" that meets in our home every once in a while. Since we don't really have a set "church schedule" (which is GLORIOUS, by the way), we decided that the Drakes were going to have church out at Warner's grave. And we invited our community to join us. And they did. Thirteen of us stood and sat around a grave, reading Scriptures about confusion and loss, about redemption and restoration. We sang songs about a God who knows what it is like to experience the loss of a Child. We cried tears of hurt and tears of confusion. We took communion together as a family. We took pictures of our little family of seven. We took pictures of our church family gathered to celebrate redemption.
Redemption's a strange thing. When something is redeemed, it doesn't mean that the pain of the first experience is taken away. It doesn't mean that all (or any?) of the questions are answered. It doesn't give us back Warner. But redemption is a beautiful thing. It's a healing thing. It's a powerful thing.
And it's going on all around us, if only we're willing to see it. Even (especially?) on the anniversary of our darkest day.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
New jobs and such
I began a new job this week. As of yesterday, I am the Volunteer Coordinator for Accolade Hospice here in Lubbock. This will be my first non-church career, so it's been quite an adjustment already. Like any job in the medical field, most of this week will be training videos and reading, which makes for thrilling days. But I love the organization that I am working for and get the sense that they believe that I'm the right person for the job, so I'm excited about where this may be going. I really feel like I'm working with a great team of people.
In addition to watching the standard training videos this week, there is also a national volunteer conference for people in my position. So, I have watched a couple of these conference webinars in an attempt to better understand what it is that I am supposed to be doing. Yesterday I watched a seminar on how to approach faith communities about volunteering with a hospice organization. While the webinar is going on, there is a chat window where people can interact and ask questions based on what the speaker was covering.
It was pretty astounding to watch what people's perceptions of churches are. Comments like, "I approached one pastor who asked me why he would let me try to drum up volunteers for my organization when they won't even volunteer for children's ministry." Or "Pastors don't want anyone that can't help out their church." Or "One pastor asked me how much money I wanted. When I said I didn't want any, he told me that they couldn't help me." Over and over again the comments painted a church that was only concerned about itself and what was needed to keep the machine of church running.
It really saddened me, because I think the vision that Jesus had (and has) for his church is so much larger. You can argue with me if you would like (that's what the comment section below is for), but I believe that Jesus expects no less from his church than the redemption of the world. Pretty major vision. Or, as my Twitter friend Bob Goff says it, "God's plan for the world is as simple as it is inexplicable: It's us." When all the world sees in us is that we only care for ourselves, our people, our programs, something has gone terribly wrong.
Something has gone terribly wrong.
Monday, July 16, 2012
softball ministry
This past weekend I got the opportunity to spend a bunch of time with my 9-year-old, Faith, at a softball All-Star tournament. We got up early on Thursday morning and drove three hours south to San Angelo for a weekend of softball. It seemed like all of West Texas and part of New Mexico descended on the town for a softball extravaganza. Every hotel room in the town was booked and they were even housing people at Angelo State University. It was crazy!
As far as softball goes, it was a good weekend. We had a great team of 12 girls, ages 7-9, and an amazing group of parents! We ended up going 3-3 on the weekend and got eliminated in a game where the ball just didn't bounce our way. It was a great introduction to competitive softball for both Faith as a player and for me as a coach.
It was also a good opportunity for me to spend some quality time with my 9-year-old. We ate junk food and watched Disney Channel and hung out all weekend. Wendy (my wife) and I decided that this summer would be a good opportunity for me to spend some one-on-one time with each of the girls before their little brother comes next month, so this was my time with Faith. And we had a blast!
But I think that my favorite time of the weekend was a 2-hour late lunch with the team's head coach and his wife. After our elimination game, we hung around the complex and watched a great game between two of the other Lubbock teams. Then we went to lunch at Schlotzsky's and really had our first chance to have an in-depth conversation.
I've been coaching with this guy for two years now and have a great respect for him -- the way he looks at softball and the way he looks at life. He is in the process of raising three young ladies, all of whom play softball and all of whom are pretty amazing girls. In these two years, we've never really had a chance to just sit and chat. In this lunch convo, we talked about Jesus and church, softball and coaching, parenting and broken homes. I got a chance to get to know who he is on a different level. It really was a blessed conversation.
What struck me most about the conversation was the affirmation of what has been going on in my heart recently -- the notion that ministry is all around us if we only have the eyes to see the possibilities. Every girl that I coach in softball or basketball, every parent that I interact with, every opposing team that I talk to and play against is a chance to show the love of Christ. For some of these girls that played on this All-Star team, this will be my only interaction that I have with her and her parents. Have I made a positive contribution to who they are as unique children of God or has my contribution been less than it should be?
I may never again bear the title of Pastor, but that doesn't get me off the hook of shepherding people. As a matter of fact, it looks like I'll have MORE opportunities to pastor now that I've lost that title.
As far as softball goes, it was a good weekend. We had a great team of 12 girls, ages 7-9, and an amazing group of parents! We ended up going 3-3 on the weekend and got eliminated in a game where the ball just didn't bounce our way. It was a great introduction to competitive softball for both Faith as a player and for me as a coach.
It was also a good opportunity for me to spend some quality time with my 9-year-old. We ate junk food and watched Disney Channel and hung out all weekend. Wendy (my wife) and I decided that this summer would be a good opportunity for me to spend some one-on-one time with each of the girls before their little brother comes next month, so this was my time with Faith. And we had a blast!
But I think that my favorite time of the weekend was a 2-hour late lunch with the team's head coach and his wife. After our elimination game, we hung around the complex and watched a great game between two of the other Lubbock teams. Then we went to lunch at Schlotzsky's and really had our first chance to have an in-depth conversation.
I've been coaching with this guy for two years now and have a great respect for him -- the way he looks at softball and the way he looks at life. He is in the process of raising three young ladies, all of whom play softball and all of whom are pretty amazing girls. In these two years, we've never really had a chance to just sit and chat. In this lunch convo, we talked about Jesus and church, softball and coaching, parenting and broken homes. I got a chance to get to know who he is on a different level. It really was a blessed conversation.
What struck me most about the conversation was the affirmation of what has been going on in my heart recently -- the notion that ministry is all around us if we only have the eyes to see the possibilities. Every girl that I coach in softball or basketball, every parent that I interact with, every opposing team that I talk to and play against is a chance to show the love of Christ. For some of these girls that played on this All-Star team, this will be my only interaction that I have with her and her parents. Have I made a positive contribution to who they are as unique children of God or has my contribution been less than it should be?
I may never again bear the title of Pastor, but that doesn't get me off the hook of shepherding people. As a matter of fact, it looks like I'll have MORE opportunities to pastor now that I've lost that title.
Friday, July 6, 2012
reflections from a long break
It has been two months since I wrote anything in this blog. Apologies. Life has been hectic and confusing and out-of-round. But people with lives much more hectic find the mindspace to contribute to the conversation in their "spare time", so I thought I should probably try my hand at it again.
I think one of my primary problems with faithful blogging is that I feel like I have to have something profound and verbose to say. The reality is that a lot of the people that I follow on blogs and twitter and the like just post some thoughts or even just link to others' thoughts.
I have had a couple of days to reflect on life and church and family and employment and kingdom and I think I'm even more confused than when I started. Those reflections are probably better left for another time and another place (3 pm in a Market Street coffeeshop seems a little too impersonal for some old-fashioned soul baring).
But as I look at the little community that God has entrusted to me and I balance that with the person that God has created me to be, I feel like I have abdicated some of my responsibilities to them. I'm not sure exactly what I mean by that, but I can't help feeling that I need some more intentionality and discipline in order to lead in the way I have been gifted. So, while blogging is a small thing, maybe it's the gateway drug to deeper discipline.
Since there's very little profound or verbose in my blogging today, I thought I could introduce some of you to one of my mentors, a theologian named Alan Hirsch, author of several books on missional church and one of the foremost thinkers in this missional conversation. Here is one of his recent blog posts. Enjoy!
http://www.thehousestudio.com/2012/christ-must-be-everything/
I think one of my primary problems with faithful blogging is that I feel like I have to have something profound and verbose to say. The reality is that a lot of the people that I follow on blogs and twitter and the like just post some thoughts or even just link to others' thoughts.
I have had a couple of days to reflect on life and church and family and employment and kingdom and I think I'm even more confused than when I started. Those reflections are probably better left for another time and another place (3 pm in a Market Street coffeeshop seems a little too impersonal for some old-fashioned soul baring).
But as I look at the little community that God has entrusted to me and I balance that with the person that God has created me to be, I feel like I have abdicated some of my responsibilities to them. I'm not sure exactly what I mean by that, but I can't help feeling that I need some more intentionality and discipline in order to lead in the way I have been gifted. So, while blogging is a small thing, maybe it's the gateway drug to deeper discipline.
Since there's very little profound or verbose in my blogging today, I thought I could introduce some of you to one of my mentors, a theologian named Alan Hirsch, author of several books on missional church and one of the foremost thinkers in this missional conversation. Here is one of his recent blog posts. Enjoy!
http://www.thehousestudio.com/2012/christ-must-be-everything/
Sunday, May 6, 2012
A Confession
I got really angry today. Not the kind of angry that causes me to yell at an umpire (that was two weeks ago) or the kind that causes me to take a long walk talking to myself the whole way, but the kind that makes you think you are about to do something irrational. The kind that makes your blood boil. The kind that makes you want to punch someone in the face. And my anger was directed toward a group of Christians.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. This week I have been reading "Barefoot Church" by Brandon Hatmaker, pastor of Austin New Church in Austin, TX. (I would highly recommend that you follow him on Twitter, if you don't already @brandonhatmaker). I had just finished the chapter on partnering with non-profits in his book (that chapter alone is worth the price of the book, especially since I found it for $3 at Mardel). In this chapter he lays out for us just why most non-profits are hesitant to partner with churches. Among the reasons? We come with our own agendas. We think we know better than the experts. We show up once and then disappear. Etc. Hatmaker is incredibly generous toward the established church while still making his point that much is wrong with the church, especially when it comes to serving others. It has been an enlightening read and my plan is to finish the book tonight. Or tomorrow.
So this notion that the church does a great job of imposing our agenda on others' lives is fresh in my mind when I see this thing that makes me angry. The kind of anger that makes your blood boil. The kind that makes you want to do something irrational. THAT kind of anger.
But before I get to that, I need to tell you a little cultural phenomenon that takes place every week in Lubbock. I am not sure the backstory on this practice (if only I had access to unlimited information via the Interweb, I would look it up . . .), but every Sunday, several of our prominent street corners get taken over by homeless friends with newspapers. Our local paper, the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal, has a deal with the homeless community here where the men (mostly--there may be a woman or two around town) sell the Saturday and Sunday newspaper together for $2. When cars stop at the light, these homeless friends are there with their sign and their stack of papers. My understanding is that they are out there until all of their papers are sold. And they have a buuuuuuuuunch of papers to sell. The Raintree children's ministry has stopped by several times to drop off bottled water and powerade to the guys out in the heat, so some of our friends have relationships with some of these guys. They are out in the heat/rain/cold/wind all day, until those papers are sold.
And today was hot. We were pushing 100 degrees today in Lubbock when I saw this thing that made me angry. A blood-boiling, do-something-irrational kind of angry. I had just dropped my girls off at a birthday party and was heading home. As I exited the loop at Indiana, I came up on two of these homeless men selling papers. And there it was -- a group of Christians (I would assume) surrounding one of these men with eyes closed and hands held together. There they were, praying for this man. And I got so angry. Not because they were praying for him. But because there they were, in the 100-degree heat, taking time out of this guy's work day to pray for him in the middle of Loop and Indiana traffic. The stack of papers that the man still had to sell was at least 2 feet high, and it was almost 4:00 in the afternoon. The traffic was stopped because it was a red light, meaning that this guy could have been selling one or two or three of those papers, which would have meant that he could have finished up his work two or three minutes sooner than he did.
I almost pulled my car over to where they were praying and laid on my horn. But that would have been irrational. All the way down Indiana, I was looking in my rearview mirror and swearing under my breath, which was the blood boiling. Why such a reaction, you might ask? This man was doing his job. It wasn't much, but it was something. And this group of Christians, desiring to make themselves feel good/look good/be able to sleep at night, came by to pray for this man, clueless as to his needs. Why not first grab four or five papers apiece and head out into traffic? The sooner this guy were to get those papers sold, the sooner he could have gotten on with his day. And after you help him sell his papers, why not take him to dinner? Maybe to a place like Furr's where he could choose what he ate instead of having to eat what the soup kitchen was serving? Take a minute to hear his story over a meal, pray for him there, in the privacy of a restaurant. Could you imagine a group of Christians in the express checkout lane at Wal-Mart deciding that they wanted to pray for the cashier for 5 minutes? Every other person in line would be hollering and pointing and threatening! But we can do that because this is just a homeless guy, and he's just selling papers? He's doing his job. I was angry!
But, in case you've forgotten, this post is entitled "A Confession." This post doesn't sound very confessional. Confrontational, yes. But not confessional. When do we get to THAT? Well, in the midst of my driving, cursing, fuming down Indiana Avenue, I realized something. Yes, it was a selfish approach to helping this man. Yes, it was an approach that seemed to care very little about what the man's real needs were. And yes, it will probably be a one-time event in the lives of those brothers and sisters. But it might be more. There might be a backstory that even I can't imagine, and who am I to judge them? But more than that, despite the misguided nature of their service, at least they were doing something. I didn't even stop to buy a paper. Shame on me.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. This week I have been reading "Barefoot Church" by Brandon Hatmaker, pastor of Austin New Church in Austin, TX. (I would highly recommend that you follow him on Twitter, if you don't already @brandonhatmaker). I had just finished the chapter on partnering with non-profits in his book (that chapter alone is worth the price of the book, especially since I found it for $3 at Mardel). In this chapter he lays out for us just why most non-profits are hesitant to partner with churches. Among the reasons? We come with our own agendas. We think we know better than the experts. We show up once and then disappear. Etc. Hatmaker is incredibly generous toward the established church while still making his point that much is wrong with the church, especially when it comes to serving others. It has been an enlightening read and my plan is to finish the book tonight. Or tomorrow.
So this notion that the church does a great job of imposing our agenda on others' lives is fresh in my mind when I see this thing that makes me angry. The kind of anger that makes your blood boil. The kind that makes you want to do something irrational. THAT kind of anger.
But before I get to that, I need to tell you a little cultural phenomenon that takes place every week in Lubbock. I am not sure the backstory on this practice (if only I had access to unlimited information via the Interweb, I would look it up . . .), but every Sunday, several of our prominent street corners get taken over by homeless friends with newspapers. Our local paper, the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal, has a deal with the homeless community here where the men (mostly--there may be a woman or two around town) sell the Saturday and Sunday newspaper together for $2. When cars stop at the light, these homeless friends are there with their sign and their stack of papers. My understanding is that they are out there until all of their papers are sold. And they have a buuuuuuuuunch of papers to sell. The Raintree children's ministry has stopped by several times to drop off bottled water and powerade to the guys out in the heat, so some of our friends have relationships with some of these guys. They are out in the heat/rain/cold/wind all day, until those papers are sold.
And today was hot. We were pushing 100 degrees today in Lubbock when I saw this thing that made me angry. A blood-boiling, do-something-irrational kind of angry. I had just dropped my girls off at a birthday party and was heading home. As I exited the loop at Indiana, I came up on two of these homeless men selling papers. And there it was -- a group of Christians (I would assume) surrounding one of these men with eyes closed and hands held together. There they were, praying for this man. And I got so angry. Not because they were praying for him. But because there they were, in the 100-degree heat, taking time out of this guy's work day to pray for him in the middle of Loop and Indiana traffic. The stack of papers that the man still had to sell was at least 2 feet high, and it was almost 4:00 in the afternoon. The traffic was stopped because it was a red light, meaning that this guy could have been selling one or two or three of those papers, which would have meant that he could have finished up his work two or three minutes sooner than he did.
I almost pulled my car over to where they were praying and laid on my horn. But that would have been irrational. All the way down Indiana, I was looking in my rearview mirror and swearing under my breath, which was the blood boiling. Why such a reaction, you might ask? This man was doing his job. It wasn't much, but it was something. And this group of Christians, desiring to make themselves feel good/look good/be able to sleep at night, came by to pray for this man, clueless as to his needs. Why not first grab four or five papers apiece and head out into traffic? The sooner this guy were to get those papers sold, the sooner he could have gotten on with his day. And after you help him sell his papers, why not take him to dinner? Maybe to a place like Furr's where he could choose what he ate instead of having to eat what the soup kitchen was serving? Take a minute to hear his story over a meal, pray for him there, in the privacy of a restaurant. Could you imagine a group of Christians in the express checkout lane at Wal-Mart deciding that they wanted to pray for the cashier for 5 minutes? Every other person in line would be hollering and pointing and threatening! But we can do that because this is just a homeless guy, and he's just selling papers? He's doing his job. I was angry!
But, in case you've forgotten, this post is entitled "A Confession." This post doesn't sound very confessional. Confrontational, yes. But not confessional. When do we get to THAT? Well, in the midst of my driving, cursing, fuming down Indiana Avenue, I realized something. Yes, it was a selfish approach to helping this man. Yes, it was an approach that seemed to care very little about what the man's real needs were. And yes, it will probably be a one-time event in the lives of those brothers and sisters. But it might be more. There might be a backstory that even I can't imagine, and who am I to judge them? But more than that, despite the misguided nature of their service, at least they were doing something. I didn't even stop to buy a paper. Shame on me.
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