Thankful for Thankfulness
A while back, I found myself in a deep, dark, depressive sadness that I could neither explain nor escape. If you know me, you'll know that I'm not the type given to soul-sadness. I'm generally a pretty energetic, happy, passionate guy. But, there I was, filled with self-pity, fear, and anger.
Probably, I'm not the only one with emotions I can't explain. Probably, you've woken up on the wrong side of the bed before — maybe even for weeks in a row. Probably, you've been jealous of others whilst pitying yourself. How do you escape? How do you run away from these emotions which seem to have such magnetism to the hard irons which bind our hearts?
Thankfulness.
Psalm 50:23 speaks of the one who offers thanksgiving to God. He's the one for whom God prepares the way. I've developed a few habits that have really helped me, and I'd like to share them with you:
Let the First Words I Speak be "Thank You." Each morning (though I don't do this perfectly) I want the first thing I say to be, "God, thank you." Nothing has happened yet, but already I'm blessed. I'm alive again. I'm healthy again. I'm in my home with my family. I'm still loved by God. Food remains in the fridge, gas remains in the car, and I remain grateful. This keeps back that seizing sense of anxiety that attacks achievers like me for all the things that we have to do that day. It's also a great moment to grab onto some promises in Scripture with both hands and hold them tightly as I thank God for them.
Let the Last Words I Speak be "Thank You." Before I go to sleep, I'm working hard to thank God for what happened that day — good and bad. He's sovereign over all, after all. He's brought about the affairs of my day for my good. I'm learning that the difference between escaping life through sleep and enjoying life through rest depends on the bridge of gratitude I build throughout the day. This turns the mere unconsciousness of sleeping into true resting.
Instead of Cursing Hardship, Thank God for It. This one is tough. But, when I find myself dealing with something hard — which is frequently — almost nothing good ever comes when I curse it. I'm not talking about four letter words, here. Most of those have migrated out of my vocabulary. I'm talking about my attitude when the phone rings one more time, and all I want to do is ignore it. When I'm trying to do the right thing and the wrong thing is all I'm seeing. Again, God is sovereign, isn't he? He's always working my situation for my good and his glory, right? Why not say thank you, even through tears?
Instead of Worrying, Laugh. This one follows from the first three. I've found that if I'm rising to wake and falling to sleep with a thank you on my lips, and if I'm looking at hardship like grace wrapped in trial, then I'm free to laugh. Not to snicker, but to be marked by the kind of joy that enables mirth — that laughter of the soul.
This is what's working for me. Try it, and let me know if it works for you.
The Genius of Relational Leadership
"Do it!" I said to her. Why did I need to say it again? Why couldn't she simply obey? "Why?" She snapped back. Her big, beautiful eyes glistening with frustrated tears.
"Because I said so. I'm your dad." I thundered.
...
This was my conversation with one of my daughters recently. I'm ashamed and embarrassed by it, but I recall it here because it was the starting point of a revelation.
With my wife away that morning, I began the day with a plan for parental awesomeness. I laid out the plan, and the little people cheered. So, I led my brood of four to the playground. Next came an invigorating walk, with nature lesson included (bonus points). There was laughter. There was learning. All that was left was the walk home, where my pre-made lunch was awaiting us. Slow clap for dad of the year.
And then the wheels fell off. Whining, heat, sweat, scrapes — all results of our little journey — began to take their toll on my beloved brood, and by the time we walked up to the house, we looked less Swiss Family Robinson and more Children of the Corn. Oh, and the lunch I made? No one wanted it. Yeah. That.
My flesh began to show through my garments of grace as I commanded these little creatures to eat. Eat! Then the push back came. Then, the conversation above happened. Finally, I pulled out my big ol' trump card and slammed it on the table. I'm the dad, I'm the boss, eat your food, or it's gonna get unpleasant around here.
But this blog isn't about parenting, it's about leadership. See, I made the mistake I've made a thousand times before, and you've probably made the same mistake too — the error of leading from position instead of relationship.
Positional leadership says, "Follow me because I'm the boss." And, while most of us want to be the boss, leading from the position of "boss" is actually the worst way to lead. The real genius of leadership happens when you don't do what I did with my kids. The real genius is in relational leadership.
Relational Leadership is Strong The strongest leaders are looked up to by those who follow them. How does that happen? Among other things, it happens when leaders are related to their followers. When they can say, "That guy is one of us and I trust him," they will not only achieve their short-term goals, but establish the strength of their long-term leadership.
Relational Leadership is Safe Leaders make mistakes. Only one leader never did, and you're not him. So how can we trust and follow someone who is not perfectly trustworthy and always worth following? When we know them, not just their position. Had I been more concerned about relating to my kids rather than commanding them, I might have cared a little bit more that it was 91 degrees outside, and they'd already walked 3 miles, and that's quite a bit for a little squirt. They would have been safer if I'd leaned into my relationship with them, rather than my rulership over them.
Relational Leadership is Loving Simply put, if you don't care to know the people you lead, you don't care about them. While the CEO can't know everyone in the company, he can certainly know his direct reports. He can be a hero to his VP's wife and kids, rather than a villain. I didn't act in love in my conversation with my daughter that day, I acted in pure authority — something God doesn't do, so why should I?
Relational Leadership is Christ-like Speaking of God, let's talk about how he leads. God doesn't lead us like some despot on a power trip. God leads us — his people — like a great dad. Jesus said, "I only do what I see my Father doing." The Son of God taught us to follow God as our Father, not just our ruler. God cared enough for us to relate to us personally, not just command us with mere authority. We're safe in that kind of leadership because we're known. We're known because we're loved. And because we're known and loved, of course we can follow God's leadership. Who wouldn't want to follow a leader like that?
The good news is, aside from moments like the one I mentioned, I've got a pretty good relationship growing with my kids. I came to them later and repented for my bad leadership. They forgave. And we all talked about the good leadership of Jesus, and how we both — leaders and followers — better be led by him. Only when we're led by Jesus, can we ever be any good at leading like Jesus.
That You May Believe, part 2 (John 1:19-28)
"That You May Believe," part 1 - John 1:1-18 Download the Audio Here
Sermon: "That You May Believe," Part 1 - John 1:1-18
"That You May Believe," part 1 - John 1:1-18 Download the Audio Here
How (Not) to be Creative
I'm fairly creative. I've got a degree in music, like to draw, appreciate great design, and am otherwise an aesthetically oriented guy. As a music student, I came across a distinction that I didn't know existed — that of absolute music and program music. If you'll endure the definitions, absolute music is music for music's sake — it isn't about anything. It's just there as itself, for itself. Program music, on the other hand, is music about something else — a story, poem, picture, etc.
Reflecting on that distinction for a minute, I find that much that passes for creativity these days is absolute. And I find that tragic.
Creativity for its own sake is, well, uncreative. Think about the word creative. That is, creational. Creation has intention. When God got creative, it wasn't for the fun of it. It was for a reason — namely, His glory and our good. When creativity ceases to be about God, it turns in on itself. Looking to art for the meaning of art is like looking to your body for food — you eat yourself. Art about art dissolves into meaninglessness. Art about the great Artist — well, that is abundant with meaning.
(Note: The above video was put together by a team of awesome creatives at Aletheia, for our recent sermon series. I think it's a great example of program art.)
The Sense of Silence
Those who know me well know that silence isn't a thing I "do." I'm a chatty guy. I mean, I talk for a living. You probably can do the math. But, for the last two weeks, I have been (on social media, blogs, and email) silent. Why?
Silence is not about not talking. Silence is about not talking so you can do something else. Listening, looking, reflecting. In my case, my silence meant three things.
Silence Meant Productivity
While I was away, I had the opportunity to do a few work projects in a more focused way. I was writing, reading, and helping the church planting movement I'm apart of assess new planters. My silence online meant I could think clearly about those important, brief bursts of productivity.
Silence Meant Family
It's really hard to enjoy a vacation with a phone in my hand. For you, your phone might mean fun. Maybe you read on it. Maybe you get life from social media. But for me, my iPhone is more of a task master. When it beeps, I work. Like Pavlov's dogs who salivated when the bell rang, I shutter a little when my phone vibrates. In order to enjoy a few days of fun with my wife and kids I completely ignored everyone who called, emailed, tweeted, or otherwise obfuscated a few electrons to get my attention. It was hard for me to do, I'll admit. And it was great.
Silence Meant Rest
I am not good at rest. Part of the reason is because I really love what I do. The other part is because I'm an achiever who finds it rather difficult to do nothing. But neither talking nor listening to the world meant I could listen to God, myself, my wife, and rest. I slept. I read. I played with my kids.
Why am I sharing this with you? Because sometimes you need to close the laptop, put the phone down, and ignore everyone else who really "needs" you to get back them right away so you can actually get something important done. Give it a shot. You might be surprised.
If you're interested, here are some pictures taken by my lovely wife of our restful trip.
Crisis Fatigue, Cowardice, and Christian Genocide
I'm weary of war.
And poverty. And disease. And large-scale crises of any kind, really.
I'm soul-tired of decade-long conflicts — of men from my generation dying in deserts across the globe. I'm exhausted of the internet and cable news which delivers evidence of the fall before my very eyes all the time. In short, I've got an acute case of crisis fatigue. This is a condition that's epidemic, I'm afraid. Its symptoms include increased distraction with trivial matters (Facebook, TV, everything BuzzFeed), terminal shallowness (because thinking and knowing deeply hurts, and we're tired of hurting), Selfies, and worst of all, cowardice.
Crisis Fatigue is making me a coward.
Cowards are those who lack the courage to do or endure dangerous or unpleasant things. I'm so tired of seeing, reading about, and watching really unpleasant things that I simply don't want to endure them anymore.
Actually, I think Crisis Fatigue is making all of us cowards.
Politically, our cowardice shows as the impulse to create "fortress America," and withdraw from the world. Socially, this manifests in the instinct to live virtual lives where we're liked in lieu of real lives where we're loved. Morally, our cowardice rears its ugly head in our flat refusal to call wrong wrong. Spiritually, we're afraid to open our mouths and declare the good news of God's grace either because we're terrified it won't really work or mortified at the prospect of being frowned upon by someone else.
And, then there's Christian genocide. In my increasing and unnoticed cowardice, I was distracting myself with social media. Normally a safe haven for the meaningless mind vomit of other crisis-fatigued cowards, my social streams were overrun with report after report of the genocide of Christians in Iraq, carried out at the hand of ISIS. As I sat next to my own children, I scrolled past pictures of Iraqi children dying in the desert, or worse. As I sat reclining on my couch in my home I read reports of whole families fleeing theirs. Something shook on the inside of me.
That shaking was a grace.
At that point, my reaction was to quickly think about something else. Anything else. I scrambled for another show, another story, another anything ... Like a coward, I tried to run. But graciously, there are some stories — some images — from which one cannot run. That, I think, is the point.
Since that moment I have not refused to watch, to learn, and to hurt deeply at what I see in the world. I'm staring ISIS down in my soul. I'm heaping prayers up for them toward Heaven. I'm coordinating ways to help through our church. No longer running, I've found the courage to fight again.
Am I still Crisis Fatigued? You bet. Do I still hate what I read and watch? Absolutely. But God has given me a grace. He let me see my inner coward — fat on the luxuries purchased by the blood and sweat of men greater and earlier than me. And, horrified by what I saw in myself, He called me to return, readied again to engage.
May it be with us. This will not be the final struggle we see. May God give us the grace to rise up under it, strengthened by love, hardened by trial, and head first to the fight. The battle to pray, to be bold, to give generously, love recklessly, and give ourselves away for God's glory and the good of all.
"...the righteous falls seven times, but gets up again..." (Proverbs 24:16)
Recent Sermon: Credo, part 5 - "The Holy Catholic Church..."
In Praise of No
No has fallen on hard times lately.
With more technology and more competition, we're saying yes to more to stay ahead. FOMO flings us into more yesses than we can take. Where no once stood as a fence between work and life — no calls after 9, no texts at dinner — yes has taken over. Yes to the iPhone everywhere. Yes to one more email when the kids stand longing for father. Yes to the conversation with your forehead when I talk to you, and you talk to the internet as you say yes to other peoples' lives through likes and hearts and favorites and ... Hey, are you even listening to me?
No?
No also once guarded our souls. No was the bulwark keeping us from self destruction. Human flourishing at stake, we said no to immorality, infidelity, and inch-by-inch compromises of our consciences. But the seductive yes has supplanted the stalwart no. Suffering follows.
We used to shout, "Yes!" to those who used no well. They were the heroes — the leaders. They were the ones who said no to so many good things so we could say yes to the right things.
Jesus was great at no. No to demonic temptation. No to law's demands for conformity. No to those who condemned the sinners. No to getting down off the cross as mockers jeered, disciples feared, and angels watched.
Today, one of the few places no is to be found is in the way respond to this man. In a terrible irony, the only no many of us are comfortable saying is to Jesus — the One who died to say yes to us.
So, here's to no. May this powerful word once more find its proper place in our lexicon. Wielded against all that is wrong, so we can say yes to all that is right.
Figure it Out
I have suspicion. I suspect that we've done something in parenting that is robbing our kids of the ability to figure stuff out. I catch myself trying to give my kids a Nerf childhood. I don't mean one with those cool guns that shoot foam darts. I mean one that has them wrapped in the protective foam of my presence, protection, and wisdom. All the time. To keep them from ... well, everything. Problem with that Lego? Allow me. Your brother bothering you? Allow me to interject myself. You want to make a sandwich? Put that down and let me do it. You're just 9, for goodness sake.
And, I'm sure I'm not the only one.
In fact, I know I'm not, because every time I take my kids to the park, the playground, or any place populated with parents who've drank the same over-involved water that I have, I can spot them. Legitimate fear fills their face when Johnny approaches the slides. Terror when Susie puts the same hand she just touched the sand with in her mouth. But what are we teaching the kiddies when we do this?
That we love them? That we're there for them? Maybe.
Or, maybe that they're stupid? They can't do anything on their own? They should expect their lives to be free of experience, pain, and learning through failure? Maybe that, too.
But is this how God treats us? Is this what God has done for us? It seems not. It seems like He has given us at least two kinds of teachers — Himself, and our experiences of obeying him — and pain, along with the experience of disobeying him. No Nerf childhood for us. The world he made for us is filled with bruises, bumps, falls, and failings.
And yet, do any of us doubt that He loves us? I mean, really? Of course not, because only this God has come out from behind the protection of Heaven and gotten dirty. Only the God we meet in the face of Jesus has felt great, hot tears roll down his cheeks. Only the God we feel embraced in Jesus arms has had those same arms stretched wide in pain, so we know he knows when we run into them.
God has, in his sovereignty, ordered the world to force us to figure stuff out. How to build things, ask a girl on a date, try to plant a church, or just build a sandcastle on the beach. By grace, he's catching us up in the adventure of figuring things out. He's there, mysteriously working in us so that we can will to work for him. And, he's there when we don't, and we scrape our knees against the hard realities of sin and pain.
Oh that Jesus would remind me to let my kids figure it out — how to handle relationships, move past frustrations, learn why untied laces and bikes don't mix. The world he made is a great teacher. I'll be there, of course, just like he is for me, even as I'm here, trying to figure this whole parenting thing out.
God Doesn't Need Me
Most Sundays when I approach the pulpit, I'm prepared. I believe in hard work, study, and spending hours getting ready for the preaching and teaching that I do at church. But, this Sunday I was not. Emotionally, I was a wreck. Mentally, I was clouded. Physically, I was tired. Spiritually, I was dull. "This is going to go terribly," I thought. The music faded, I took the pulpit, I prayed, and I opened my mouth.
What followed was nothing of Adam Mabry. It's a little difficult to explain. I was involved, obviously. I was present, and I was active. But the power of the words, the effect they were having on the people, and the results which flowed from my preaching, were so obviously not from me that I was quite literally dumbfounded. People came to faith in Jesus. Repentance flowed as tears streamed. Sicknesses were healed. It was as though, for a moment, the veil between Heaven and earth was pulled back, and we experienced a small expression of the glory of God.
This experience of my desperate inadequacy and God's gracious sufficiency afforded me a few insights:
God Doesn't Need Me Theologically, I knew that God didn't need me before yesterday. But the experience I had yesterday of being completely at the end of my rope mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually — and God doing so much anyway — solidified what I knew.
God Loves His People How crazy is the love of God for people that he'll simply meet with his people directly?! My preparation is not the pre-condition for God's manifestation.
God Loves Me Again, a fact I knew, but not an experience I walked in. Yesterday, across our three services, we had the best attendance we've had all summer. We had the most response to God we've ever seen. We had the most dramatic experience of worship that our gatherings have ever achieved. I watched it and all I felt was God saying, "See, I love you. I've got this."
God Wants Me This one is the most mind-bending of all. I "love" a lot of people that I don't want to be around much. That's because I'm still selfish and self-preferring. God's not like that. God actually wants to use me. He wants to be around me. He wants to meet with me, and my people. He doesn't need to, that's obvious. The only other option is that, for some reason, he really likes to. And that's crazy.
I've read God's words to the Apostle Paul a thousand times, "My power is made perfect in weakness." But yesterday — yesterday I saw it.
Yesterday I was weak. And God — God was so strong.
Ethnic Unity v. Wishful Thinking
I pastor a multi-racial, multi-ethnic church. That fact, by the way, is a complete miracle. I don't know how it has happened, except for two factors: (1) I prayed a lot that God would make our church ethnically broad, and (2) by grace I actually try, for real, to care about people who aren't from my neck of the woods (as we say where I'm from). God has been pleased to do what I've asked, and I'm really grateful for that.
But in the broader church world, we're not quite as together as we could be. Oh sure, we'll have the odd unity service. The black pastor and the white pastor who've hardly ever met stand on the front row, awkwardly embrace, pretend they have something to talk about afterwards, and the praise then Lord as they walk away that neither one of them has to endure such an event but once a year.
Maybe that sounds harsh. Some truth is harsh.
Then there was yesterday. Yesterday I spent a few hours with a friend of mine who happens to be the leader of a large, fruitful denomination of African American churches. In Ron Burgundy speak, he's kind of a big deal. Ever since I arrived to plant Aletheia, this man has gone out of his way to make me feel welcome. He's invited me to address gatherings of largely black pastors. He's sent me texts encouraging me. He's bought me lunch, prayed for me, given me advice. He's even sent me and my wife cards on our anniversary. We're totally different. We come from very different Christian traditions, different parts of the world, and different upbringings. But, as I sat in his office yesterday, I was struck with the realization, "This is what unity looks like. It's when I love this man, and he loves me."
Our country is beleaguered with racial brokenness. In the church, it's not much better. Sure, we've tried to make it better. We've tried unity services. We've tried ecumenical counsels. We've sworn to be more diverse. But here's the deal — it's just hard. Real love is always hard. Real love is always costly. It certainly was for God, wasn't it?
But therein lies the difference between ethnic unity and wishful thinking. Wishful thinking looks to events. Real love looks to the cross. Wishful thinking thinks programmatically. Real love thinks sacrificially. Wishful thinking doesn't work. But real love ... well I think it does. It's working really well for this man and me.
Maybe that's a start.
A Day with Ed Stetzer
I had the privilege of spending the day with Ed Stetzer on Monday. It was a blast (aside from getting slightly lost trying to navigate through a Boston parking garage...) I thought it would be fun for him to share his insights on church trends in New England. I'll be posting more details later, but here are some of the key facts and trends that are still making me think about the region I'm living in, loving, and trying to reach.
The "Nones" are more prominent here, and they're growing from the squishy middle.
According to Ed, about 50% of the country's self-identified Christians are "cultural." That is, Christmas-and-Easter Christians. This group is shrinking rapidly, feeding the growth of the nones. In New England, that trend is exaggerated.
Non-denominational, Christ-centered churches are growing well.
That made me happy, since I pastor one of those.
We have an obvious mission field and a largely unengaged mission force.
When Ed said that, everything in me drilled down deeper into the commitment to make disciples. We can't afford to just do church, we've got to make disciples. And while making disciples involves doing church, its totally possible to do church and never really make a disciple.
Thanks for the insights, Ed.
Recent Sermon: Credo, part 3 - "He descended into hell..."
A Year After the Bombing, Three Reflections
Last year I wrote on my perspectives on the bombing of my city. A year later, a few reflections seem in order. Everything Changed For many in Boston, everything changed. For the victims, the police officers, the leaders, the marathon runners, and even for the perpetrators of the crime, life would never be the same again. How could it be? At the mention of The Boston Marathon, new associations will dawn in the mind. Athletes and heroes, victims and victory, terror and triumph, mingled together. For me personally, this was the day when Boston finally felt like home — my home.
Nothing Changed There is a good-hearted temptation to believe that tragic events change everything. In face of tragedy, we stand together, unified by our common wound and say well-intentioned things like, "we must be more kind," "justice will be done," and "we must put a stop to this evil." But sadly, the tragic events which expose the resident wickedness in the human heart are not in themselves powerful enough to change our hearts. A year after the Boston bombings, evil still exists, crime still persists, and injustice still resists even our most earnest promises to root it out.
We Must be Changed These dual realities — that while a great many things changed, many things stayed the same — illustrate the deep need we all share in Boston (and indeed we all share as humans). This is the need to be fundamentally changed. This is Holy Week, a time we remember another great tragedy, the murder of the Son of God at the hands of sinful men. God, looking at the repeating cycle of tragedy, chose to get involved. To step into the tragedy, and rend from it the ultimate victory. The greatest hero, the King of Kings walked into the blast meant for us, from the charges we set in our own depravity, to show us what love really is and how change truly happens. God dying for men — greatest tragedy bringing final victory.
So today, I remember the tragedy of a year ago. But I don't only remember, I hope and pray that this tragedy would cause us to remember the greater tragedy of the cross, in preparation to celebrate the greatest victory imaginable. Jesus rose, after all. I'm believing that Boston will too.
4 Ways the Cross Makes You Clean
This blog was posted over at The Gospel Coalition thanks to my good buddy Trevin Wax. I could tell she felt terrible. I had just blessed and dismissed the congregation, and she headed straight for me. She was convicted. She was guilty. She didn’t know what to do. Her name isn’t important, but her pain is. Hers is the pain we all share because of sin. The story she shared chronicled anger, sexual brokenness, depression, and defeat. “I just feel so terrible, Pastor.” It was heartbreaking to hear, and I hear it all the time.
Deep sadness over sin is something we all feel. We forget, of course, because our cultural moment has moved into the stage of collective depravity wherein we celebrate sin instead of hiding it. We plaster depravity on magazines, billboards, and web ads.
Who’s feeling guilty? Underneath all that puffery, everyone is. Even to those who’ve never heard the gospel, their thoughts still condemn them (Rom 2:14-15).
So what of the atonement is good news to a guilty world, hellbent on assuaging their collective consciences through every other possible means? What of the gospel do we tell them?
We tell them of expiation.
Expiation is that angle on the atoning work of Christ that means we are clean. Clean.
The young woman after church felt dirty. Used. Beyond redemption because of her brokenness. What does the world tell her? “Perk up, you’re just like the rest of us. You need some self-esteem!”
But that’s just it. She knew herself quite well, and there wasn’t much there to esteem. What she needed was the good news that Jesus Christ died not only to forgive her, but to cleanse her.
Expiation Means My Scars Don’t Define Me My pastor in college would always remind us, “we all operate out of our pain.” That’s true, until our pain is healed. We hurt others the way we were hurt by others. It’s pop psychology truth that we are likely to scar our kids the way we were scarred by our parents. That is, unless the scars are removed.
Expiation means that the pain of sin committed by us or by others against us no longer has to define us. He has cleansed us (1 John 1:7), healed us. He got scars to free us from ours.
Expiation Means I Don’t Have to Be Ashamed Because Jesus says we’re clean, we are. The addict is no longer “the addict.” The drunk no longer “the drunk.”
Shame is our emotional response because of sin. We hide in it or we take pride in it (as many are apt to do today), but it’s still shame. Expiation means that Jesus was shamed so I could be accepted. He was sent out so I could be brought in (Rev 1:5b).
Expiation Means I’m Clean If Jesus is truly my expiation, then I no longer bear the marks of my sin. In Christ, neither do you. Neither does the young woman after church. The gift of expiation is a clean conscience. And if Jesus dirtied Himself and took my sin to declare me clean, then clean I am.
Expiation Means I Can Be Bold Because Jesus has clothed us with righteousness (Is 61:10) then we should be bold. Not brash or rude, but bold — secure in our identity as forgiven, restored children of God.
Because of expiation, we can pray boldly (Heb 4;16), live boldly, and speak the good news of the gospel boldly (Acts 4:29) to a world that needs so desperately to hear it.
The young woman left that day beginning to know she was clean in Christ. I wonder, do you?
5 Must-Haves of a Spiritual Family
I love my spiritual family. For me, that phrase has tons of meaning. It goes beyond the church I attend or the denomination I'm in. Spiritual family speaks to the deep relationships that are forged in a family of men and women called to walk out their faith in Jesus together. It's spiritual and family. Here are five must-haves I've observed in my decade walking with the leaders of Every Nation. Unity We must be clear and unified in at least three ways: theology, relationships, and practicals. As God gives us great unity in those areas, almost anything becomes possible. Without unity, almost everything becomes impossible.
Vision Where are we going? If we're all going in different directions, then there's not much "we" to speak of.
Strategy How are we going to accomplish the mission God has called us to. If we don't have a good strategy then the family business won't get done.
Diversity Unity is not uniformity. Diversity of gifts, backgrounds, and perspectives make real unity beautiful.
Grace For any movement to stay together, God must be supplying abundant grace.
What do you think? Did I miss something?
Confronted by Jesus
It's a warm day. The smell of dust and animals in the air — the sounds of a small, bustling Palestinian town in the background. Jesus is on his way from one place to the next, when in the distance he hears someone shouting his name. The disciples hear it too. Their sound is desperate, but the disciples are tired. Must they stop again? Soon the shouting prevails as they see their master locating the source of the cries. Two blind men. Two brave, reckless blind men, being hushed by passers-by. But Jesus stops. He asks what they want, as if it weren't obvious. But he wants to hear them say it. They need to speak their needs to Jesus. His answer, "According to your faith may it be done to you."
These words confront me like a fist confronts a jaw. I don't want this to be true. I want Jesus to say, "according to my power, may it be done to you." Or, "according to my mercy, may it be done to you." This word faith disrupts me to the core. I'd much rather live in a world where God just made it all happen, and I, like a floating leaf, meandered down the river. But this verse cries, "Swim!"
But that's not how it works. Not with Jesus. Jesus chooses our participation with our growth. He enables and inspires faith, and then he demands it of us. When I become like the blind men, desperately weary of my own blindness and wholly convinced of Jesus' power to heal, I'll cry out to him in faith too.
The real question is, then, what am I desperate for? Because it seems to me that desperation is the foundation of miracle-enabling faith.
We Give Thanks
(This blog was originally posted at aletheia.org. It's an update on our progress in 2013 at Aletheia) Thankfulness is a discipline. In a society that conditions coolness to mean cynicism, honest thankfulness and hopeful praise is as rare as hens’ teeth (to use a southern expression). But around here, we’ve got a lot to be thankful for.
In 2013, God helped our growing church plant in some amazing ways. Here are a few of them…
Dozens Met Jesus In our services, in our groups, and in our normal relationships, God is saving many. Watching people who’ve never followed Christ repent of their sins and trust him is the reason we planted this church.
Discipleship is Happening We set out a goal to have a community group for every 15 attendees at Aletheia. While we haven’t quite hit that mark, the number people regularly engaging the Scriptures in a group has increased greatly this year.
We’ve Given Away Around 20% of Our Budget to Missions, Mercy, and Church Planting It may sound crazy, but we fundamentally believe that we are given resources to give them to Kingdom causes. This year, we as a church gave away over 20% of all funds we raised to missions, mercy, and church planting. Praise God for such an opportunity.
One Service to Three Services This year, we’ve given our city three different opportunities to join us to worship Jesus. That’s up from just 1 at the beginning of 2013.
One Location to Two Locations This year, we’ve planted a new congregation in downtown Boston. It’s started well and we are expecting 2014 to be a year of breakthrough for this new site.
More Leaders are Leading The group of men and women who lead (Ministry Team leaders, assistants, Community Group leaders, interns, etc.) has increased in the last 12 months.
New Staff are Joining In 2013 we set out a goal to see a few new staff members join our team. First, a campus minister to help us reach and disciple college and high school students. Then, an administrator to help us keep all the plates spinning with excellence. By God’s grace, we’ve added both those staff members!
We’ve Doubled in Size Each year we expect to grow. But to double in size is an amazing grace. The average American church plant does not pass 100 attendees after 4 years. In three quarters of that time we’ve seen 5 times the average. That’s all from Jesus and a great grace to celebrate.
Here’s what this does not mean: we’re awesome. This very clearly means that God is gracious and kind. He loves Boston so much that he’s happy to work with flawed people like us to accomplish something greater than we could ever bring about.
And of course, these are just the church metrics. None of this speaks to the countless stories of breakthrough, life change, miracle healing, provision, and grace in all our people. Those stories are too many for a little blog post.
So, we give thanks to Jesus for these graces in 2013. And, we look forward with eager expectation to see all the graces that are available in 2014. It’s an awesome adventure. We’d love you to join in.