Back in Lynchburg

After escaping from the office last Wednesday and crossing the border, Joy and I began an epic trip across the country to the Promised Land (or a promised land at least). Lynchburg is a place that’s near to both our hearts: I, having spent 4 years there and she, less than four weeks.

We went for the wedding of Crystal and Dusty Miller, which was a joyous occasion indeed. During the ceremony, father of the bride Rick Jadin gave a prayer that contained some of the deepest sentiment - as well as truest theology - I’ve ever heard. It brought tears to many eyes as we heard his heart pour out: the heart of a father who loves his daughter and also knows his Heavenly Father.

I don’t remember the prayer word for word, but the gist of it remains in my memory, and one line in particular remains emblazoned in my soul - by writing it down I hope to keep it that way:

“Father, give them enough failure to remain humble and enough success to remind them that you are with them.”

He does this, doesn’t He? How mysterious He is.

He tells us He has plans for us, but that His ways are unsearchable.

He tells us to rejoice, and adds that we will suffer.

He tells us the Kingdom is coming, and that it has already begun.

When I think of failure and success, I recognize that God has done this for me, even now, at Power to Change. I have been met with encouragement and success, enough to know that I am doing what God has gifted me to do. But I have also been brutally corrected in a variety of ways that I previously would not have expected.

This prayer dichotomy shows up again and again:

Give us riches so that we may give them away.

Give us freedom so that we may willfully return to you.

Give us weakness so that we remember you are strong.

All of this compiles into a clause that reaffirms what I already knew: the Christian walk is not shallow. It is not a trite “Jesus club” that ignores the pervasive issues of life. But rather, as I discover this faith, I find that it always reaches deeper than I thought it needed to. There is always more to the good God than I hoped there would be. I am not walking in a man-made construct with holes and hang-ups but instead find myself in the most glorious of treasure coves, fumbling with my little light only to discover how little I knew yesterday.

To be sure, there are those who have tried to bring alien elements into the cove and label them Truth, but these things reek with fraud. What I found in Lynchburg, amidst a large group of curiously happy people, is that love remains. Their love for each other enables unity and dispels dissension. Their love for others causes people to stop and stare and even remark, "I've never seen anything like this."

To which I lean in and whisper, "This is the Church, my friend."

Thanks to those who came all the way from Australia, those who drove hours to make our travels possible, those who reminded us of God's love, those who laughed with us until we hurt, and those who continue to walk alongside of us, despite the many miles.

One day at the DMV

One day at the Department of Motor Vehicles, a clerk named Stacy had a problem.

She looked down at the waiting slip and didn’t know how to pronounce the two names she read.

She looked out into the waiting room, filled with dozens of unfamiliar faces, and nervously tried to pronounce the names she saw.

The first was spelled ‘SHADYNASTY’ and the second ‘La-ia’ so she did her best.

“Shady Nasty and Laya?”

The crowd continued their waiting and no one responded to the call. She was sure that the names were wrong, but what other choice did she have?

So again, she raised her little voice as best she could and called out, “Shady Nasty and Laya!”

Still no response.

Stacy went back into the staff room and asked Greg who was on break what he thought the names said.

“Yup. Shady Nasty and Laya. You got it.”

Stacy went back to her service desk, encouraged that she wasn’t crazy, and leaned over the edge. With as much gusto as she could muster she called out, “Are Shady Nasty and Laya here?”

Over the general murmur in the crowd, Stacy heard, “OH HEEEEELLLLLLL NO.”

Then two large African American women in their fifties stood and turned to face Stacey.

The one in the long purple dress stared down Stacey and lifted one arm to emphasize her point. “YOU BEST NOT BE TALKING BOUT ME GURL. CAN YOUZ READ? NAME’S LADASHIA. THE DASH AINT SILENT.”

Not to be outdone, her friend, adds, “AND MINE’S SHA DYNASTY. COME ON GURL!”

“Of course... my bad.”

Just another day at the DMV.

Captain Red Pants

There once was a fearsome pirate, Aye! Ferocious as can be,
Never was there a pirate, No! As dangerous as he.

One day upon the crow’s nest, there came a mighty cry,
“I see an enemy ahead! Three ships do meet mine eye!”

Captain Red then turned and said, “First Mate, fetch my red pants.”
And so he ran to do the bidding, with learned obedience.

Red pants armed and snarling, the crew boarded and fought,
And every filthy sailor met the blade or felt gunshot.

A victory for Red Pants’ crew! They pillaged all three boats.
Stole their treasure, drank their rum, and one called for a toast.

“To Red Pants! For his bravery, to lead us into war!
But might I ask, just what, good sir, the coloured pants are for?”

A hush came round the salty crew, as each one leaned in close,
To hear the answer to the question they had wondered most.

“Well good lads, the colour’s red, just when the battle’s nigh,
In this, the blood of my enemies is easily disguised.”

Eureka! Now they finally knew, the secret added awe,
To what they knew in this brave man, more valour they now saw.

The merriment continued, and each drank with their friend
But soon they all did realize, that this was not the end.

For had they yet to clean their blades, but from the crow’s nest came,
A shout, “Ten thousand ships ahead! They mean to sail our way!”

All men watched the captain then, who turned to his first mate
And said, “Quick, get me my brown pants man. Oh! Never mind, too late.”

Embarkation

I don't want to save the world; no, I would never venture to do something so lofty and idealistic.

All I want to do is completely revolutionize it, one small degree at a time.

If beauty was enough…

If beauty was enough then He wouldn’t have spoken.
He wouldn’t have opened His mouth in the garden.

Began creation. Set planets in motion.

Hear this. “___________________.”

Words would not be. But replaced by beauty,
Just an image would do - there. Looking at you.
Stoic in sky, He'd watch us pass by... and leave us... alone.

But that’s not what He did.

He spoke the words and the world woke up and life sprang up.

He made He said “good”.
We hid He said “where”.
The law said to “do”.
And now He says “be”.
“I AM” from the fire and for centuries He spoke to prophets... now me?

He speaks. Yes indeed.
And His words are for free.
And the angels decreed.
"Good news" completely.

He calls us by name.
Can we walk just the same?
He spoke and we woke.
Now we speak so they know.
For it’s always been words that give life when they’re heard.
That’s always the way He’s delivered His grace.
To show us His face, none could live to behold.
So instead we are told. And now we must tell!

Did He not speak of Hell?
Is this not a real place?
Or is justice a fake?
Calvary a mistake?
Crucifixion unfounded?
His death is grounded in actual need for my penalty to be rightly redeemed.

This is justice you see.
But its also mercy.
For I’m not entitled.
And its nothing I’ve done.
I pronounce the Son this the work of the One.

So how about you?

Where do you fit in this?
Is it all brand new?
Confused? Words too few?
Is it something you knew but forgot in the slew of theories and queries: new age philosophies?
If there’s Truth, it’s not new; it’s as old as the moon.

The good news has power,
Right now, in this hour.
In you. As you read and devour these words.
They are light 
Fresh water
Bread
And potential for life.

He is the Word, and He is the Way
And in Him is truth and love and breath.
Trust in the Son, the work that’s been done, and He… will do… the rest.

Note to Self

Don't be so concerned with writing to the masses that you forget to speak to individual people.

Sincerely,

Yourself.

Easter Sunday

I haven't always been proud of Jesus. I haven't always thought highly of the Gospel.

At times, I've wondered why I do the church thing, or am part of the Jesus club. But this Sunday I'm reminded why the Gospel is the undying message of hope, the good news for all people.

I didn't know this until recently, but in Leviticus 25, God commands his people to celebrate freedom once every fifty years. It's called the year of Jubilee or year of the Lord's favour. What happens during this bicentennial celebration? Debts are cancelled, bondage is broken, and people get to go home. Sounds good! The funny thing is, in all the centuries of Judaism, it never happened. They never celebrated. Not once.

I read the words of Isaiah once again, prophesying what Christ would do:

"the LORD has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor" 

Isaiah is saying that the celebration of freedom, which Israel has never participated in, will come... and will come for everyone, through Jesus. That's why Jesus' hometown tried to throw him off a cliff when he said he was the fulfillment of these words.

The fulfillment of freedom.

The cancellation of debt.

Our home restored and everything made new. That's good news. That's Easter Sunday.

I'll have seconds of that, please.