i do myself

“I do myself”, says my three-year-old son.

This past Fourth of July we tried something new as a family—tubing.  Great friends of ours have a boat and have been offering to take all of us out on Standley Lake for weeks.  Monday, the fourth, was the first time we could get our schedules to line up.

Our kids were practically vibrating with glee as they ran through the house getting their swimsuits on and gathering up stuff for the lake.  Every 2-3 minutes one of our foursome would run up and say to me, “We’re going to the lake today!”  It is one of my simple and great joys to see unrestrained happiness scrolling across the faces of my children.

Everyone was about to walk out the door when I noticed our three-year-old son whimpering in a corner.  He had managed to pull his t-shirt over his head, but was struggling to get his arms in.  Standing there he looked like some redheaded mini-version of Houdini in a straightjacket.  It was obvious that he was stuck and in need of assistance.

“Here honey, let me help you.” I said.  “No Daddy.  I do myself” he replied.

After watching him struggle valiantly for a little while I finally stepped in and popped his arms through.

“NO DADDY!  I DO MYSELF!!”

Bursting into tears, he ran into my wife’s arms crying as though I had ran over the family dog.  He was inconsolable.  How dare Daddy help him with his shirt?  How could Daddy to so inconsiderate as to take away this small slice of independence?

“Daddy was just trying to help”, my wife says.

Zach isn’t having it though.  From his perspective, I insensitively inserted myself into a situation that he was seeking to control.  He was willing to struggle and suffer rather than give up his independence by asking for help.

“I do myself”, was all that mattered.

How many times have I said the same thing to God?  How many times have I been stuck in a corner, clearly in over my head?  Instead of accepting and calling out for my Father’s help, I defiantly stand with my fist in the air and shout, “I DO MYSELF!”

This July, in addition to celebrating our independence as a nation, let’s take some time and embrace our dependence on our Heavenly Father.  Walk out of our corners.  Take our fists out of the air and declare our dependence.

“I need help Daddy.”

If you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him.  Matthew 7:11

using the whole whale

“Use the whole whale.” 

This was a quote used in a breakout session I attended this week at the National Conference on Volunteerism and Service.  The session dealt with ways that nonprofits could partner with companies to achieve mutually beneficial goals.  The quote was used to highlight a paradigm shift in the way we think about resources.  Historically, when a nonprofit has approached a large company they do so hoping for a “partnership” which mostly means the nonprofit is looking for fresh cash.  Too often the scope of what they propose is narrowly focused on the money needed to achieve one specific goal.  I equate it to looking for a spouse based solely on their nasal features.  A potential spouse is much more than the nose on their face.

“Use the whole whale” comes from the way Inuit whale hunters utilized every part of the animal after a successful hunt.  Nothing went to waste.  This differed from the way commercial whaling fleets operated.  They would take the meat and blubber while leaving the rest.   They were so focused on one or two products that they missed the opportunities afforded by the rest of the whale.

D.C. Central Kitchen is a great example of the benefits of using the whole whale.  They are a nonprofit operating in our nation’s capitol.  Their tag line states, “Changing lives through meal service, culinary job training, street outreach, and the sustainable use of local resources.”  In a nutshell they serve 4,800 meals a day to low and no income families, children and individuals.  They began by offering meals in significantly underperforming schools.  The problem they kept running into was the high cost of quality produce.  Even though the large chains were giving them price breaks, it still didn’t leave much room to keep their heads above the tide of hungry students.  Then they changed their thinking.  They began looking at the “whole whale.”  Doing some research, they identified a few local Mennonite growers known for their savory produce.  Approaching them, they asked the farmers if they would allow their volunteers to glean from the fields whatever was left over after they had brought their crops in.  Since the produce remaining in the fields was slightly over or undersized for the likes of the commercial buyers the farmers normally sold to, it meant a fantastic boon for the D.C. Central Kitchen.  Through the application of this one idea, they were able to cut their produce costs dramatically.  “Use the whole whale” for them meant taking a fresh look at the way an acre of land was used.

What does it mean for you and I to “Use the whole whale?”  How does this principle apply in communities of faith?  First of all, it forces me to remember that the local church is not a building.  The building is a tool.  The church is the community of faith-followers seeking after the heart of Jesus through intersecting stories.  Each of those stories represents a life; that represents a relationship; that represents practical resources that could all be placed in service to the King.  Perhaps if we would expand our vision to take in the “whole whale” of God’s resources, we might find solutions to some of our most pressing needs.  How might the Kingdom of God be increased if we creatively expanded our vision regarding the resources of our local church?  In addition to utilizing the buildings and spaces we come together in, how much more could be done if we began to view our homes and neighborhoods as spiritual renewal centers.  There is a lot of whale that has yet to be used for the cause of Christ.

And all the believers met together constantly and shared everything they had. 

Acts 2:44

indelible

Now as they observed the confidence of Peter and John and understood that they were uneducated and untrained men, they were amazed, and began to recognize them as having been with Jesus. And seeing the man who had been healed standing with them, they had nothing to say in reply.  Acts 4:13,14

I love that passage.

Peter and John have been brazenly teaching about Jesus directly in front, and under the noses of the Jewish ruling elite.  Subtlety was not one of the markers of the early church movement.  There were no hidden meeting places or secret handshakes.  Everything the early church in Acts did was bold, simple and open for all to see.

This openness was partly the reason Jewish leaders were going to bed looking for first century versions of Tums or Pepcid AC.  If this new faith had been hidden and private, the Sanhedrin would have dispatched the temple guards to go all "Jason Bourne", on the believers and no one would have ever known.  Unfortunately, they did everything in full view of the public.  And if that wasn't bad enough, they seemed so jolly all the time.

They worshiped together at the Temple each day, met in homes for the Lord's Supper, and shared their meals with great joy and generosity.  Acts 2:46

This left the Sanhedrin in quite a pickle.   They desperately wanted to squash this emerging sect, but public opinion combined with high visibility was making things difficult.  And it wasn't getter any better.

And the Lord was adding to their number day by day those who were being saved. 

Acts 2:47

Enter Peter, John and a 40-year-old cripple.  Walking up to the Temple gate one day Peter and John are hollered at by some random beggar.  Heading over to him, they see that he is crippled.  The passage doesn't tell us how, but it includes an interesting detail about the duration of his handicap—“crippled from birth”.  This man didn't recently come down with some paralyzing ailment.  No.  He has been afflicted with a debilitating situation his entire life. 

It is reasonable to assume that his life for years has consisted of waking up, being hauled by friends or family members to the Temple steps, submitting himself to public humiliation in hopes for a small handout, then clawing his way back to whatever hovel he sleeps in.  Day after day, month after month, year upon year.  His voice and face indelibly etched in the eyes and ears of all who frequented the Temple.

This man calls out to Peter and John, begging for money.  Casting sideways glances at each other, Peter responds by telling the man that he has no money to offer.  He does however offer the person and power of Jesus the Messiah.

In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene--walk!  Acts 4:6

We know what happens next.  We've read the story and know that the man is healed and can now walk again.  But there is an important phrase that we miss.  Three words that reveal the power, redemption and joy of the moment.

"With a leap . . ."

The man didn't slowly and painfully gather himself up as though the miraculous healing slowly reset age old wounds.  He didn't simply stand and start walking.  He leaped.  In full view of all those gathered around the Temple steps he sprung for joy.  Though his handicap had defined his past, the power of Christ now indelibly etched itself across his present.

This was a problem for the Jewish leaders.  Everyone knew who this man was.  He had been begging at the Temple for years.  His story was well known.  Now, his healing and transformation were equally well known.  It would be pointless to try and discredit his story.  It was impossible to argue with the permanent, immediate and indelible change that had occurred.

And seeing the man who had been healed standing with them, they had nothing to say in reply.  Acts 4:14

I love the simple power of this story. 

Painful past + redemptive message multiplied by saving grace = leaping for joy. 

Try as they might, the Sanhedrin could not deny the transformation that had taken place.  Like trying to wash a tattoo off with hand soap; no matter how hard they scrubbed, its wasn't going away.  This man's transformation was indelibly marked in the minds of everyone. 

Indelible change is the one thing that an unbelieving and hostile world cannot confront.  As the first century Jewish leaders realized, there is “nothing to say in reply” to an authentically transformed life.

in·del·i·ble 

making marks that cannot be erased, or removed,

that cannot be eliminated, forgotten, changed, or the like

both/and

This April we will be celebrating my youngest son’s third birthday. As clichéd as it sounds I must say, “It seems like just yesterday...” As with all my kids, the events leading up his birth are stamped into my brain. Like for example the day we had the ultrasound that would tell us the gender of our new little sea monkey.

With two boys and a girl already bouncing around our house, we were somewhat hopeful for another girl to balance things out. Yet, like most parents we were mostly concerned with having a healthy human being. Therefore we weren’t particularly invested one way or the other when it came to the sex of our wee one.

Arriving at the doctor's office we were quickly shuttled into our private screening room. Shortly after shellacking Julie’s expanding belly with jell-o they were able to get a picture of our baby. At least that's what we were told. Parents will tell you though that the image they point to looks decidedly not human. In fact what I saw looked mostly like a three dimensional Rorschach test.

“Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, you're the proud parents of an inkblot.”

The doctor then proceeded to point out in specific detail the many physiological reasons we would be having a girl. “If you look here, and here, you will see clearly that you will be having a girl.” His rationale was solid; and not having experience reading inkblots, we assumed he was correct. That was until he left and the lead nurse came in. Walking purposely over to the ultra-sound machine and glancing at the results she declared, “Congratulations on your new baby boy.”

“What?” we say. “The doctor told us it was a girl.”

“Hmm. He did?” she replies. “That’s not what I’m seeing.” “It’s pretty clearly a boy.”

Again, we are taken through the 7th grade health class anatomy lesson detailing all the obvious reasons why we are having a boy. Now we are concerned. Two different specialists have presented clear arguments that are mutually exclusive. Either it’s a boy or a girl. The doctor and the nurse cannot both be right. It’s either one or the other. Both can’t be true.

“Either or” is a big deal for us as humans. Either you are male, or female. Either you are here, or there. Either yes or no. Either you like it, or you don’t. Either you prefer country, or you enjoy actual music.

“Will you marry me?” The options are either yes, or no. There is no middle ground. There is no allowing for both/and. We expect answers with clearly defined edges. We either want the veal piccata or chicken marsala. We don't want both. We want one or the other. Either this, or that. The idea of yes and no is troubling. We generally don't have room in our practical philosophy for things that are "this" and "that". Two plus two is four. It is not four and nine. Interestingly enough though, the concept of mutual exclusivity existing in literal harmony is at the core of who God is.

For in Christ lives all the fullness of God in a human body. Colossians 2:9

Don't let yourself gloss over the craziness of that verse. Too often, we pass through scripture like pushing a cart through a grocery store isle. The products we pass mostly fade into the background until we find the one item we are looking for. Resist the temptation to shuffle by this verse on your way to a "better" one. Albert Barnes' notes on the New Testament says this of Colossians 2:9, "The meaning is, that it was not any one attribute of the Deity that became incarnate in the Saviour; that he was not merely endowed with the knowledge, or the power, or the wisdom of God; but that the whole Deity thus became incarnate, and appeared in human form." The incarnation of Christ confronts all of us with a profound and absurd both/and.

This is one of many reasons why Jesus is difficult to grasp. Was he a man? Was he God? The answers don't fit neatly into our human, four dimensionally cemented minds. How can Jesus, a man whose mother wiped his poopy bottom, also be the Creator of the cosmos? How can the omnipotent, omnipresent God of the universe, be a man who was tired and worn out often from the crowds of people that followed him? Yet it is this duality of his nature that makes him worthy of our service, sacrifice and devotion.

The incarnation proclaims to all creation the worthiness of Christ. He is not like the fictional god's of Olympus. Sitting high, mighty and removed from the dirt, pain and toil of their creations. He is not just a man like countless other men before him spouting high ideals, platitudes and knowledge of the divine.

I and the Father are one. John 10:30

Through the incarnation we a see a God full of love and compassion for his creation, one who taught us how to love and be compassionate to others;  one who unites Himself with us so that you and I can go beyond what we are capable of;  in the Incarnation Jesus has come as both God and Man to lead us to God, to an intimate union with God.

For God in all his fullness was pleased to live in Christ, and by him God reconciled everything to himself. He made peace with everything in heaven and on earth by means of his blood on the cross. Colossians 1:19-20

Dam violence

The Sun breaking through the pine trees.  It begins as a glow, then some rays of light, then it fully breaks through to the sun.  The shadows depart and gently roll away.  Is this symbolic of the resurrection? 

Was the resurrection gradual?  Was it like a light switch or did the Light systematically invade and over come the darkness?  Or was it both?  Perhaps it was gradual.  

Perhaps during that last dark night, the Light slowly and systematically worked its way into and through the darkness.  Like a single crack working it's way through a dam.  One crack becomes two, two become three, three become six.  Exponentially the cracks increase until the power and weight of the water become a force that can no longer be restrained. 

Then at last comes the violent overthrow of the restraining power of the dam.  Lands that were dry, desolate and lifeless are now given access to the redemption of life giving and sustaining water.  The violence subsides and newness of life begins.

Yet just as soon as the dam collapses, the engineers of sin and separation begin feverishly drawing up plans for new and stronger dams.  Though life giving water begins to irrigate a previously parched spirit, the threat of future droughts linger.  Without vigilance, the heavy machines of temptation, insecurity and pride will build anew a blockage of isolation from the life giving water.

Born King

We love Kings and Queens.  They fascinate us.  From an early age our imaginations are captured through the allure of royalty.  It’s why the majority of the outfits in my six-year-old daughter’s “dress up” box are Disney princess dresses.  It’s why when I wrestle with my three sons, we hold each other down and ask, “Who’s the king?”  We can’t seem to get enough of this idea of royalty.  One of the lead stories this morning on the Today Show was about the latest book surrounding the engagement of Prince William and Kate Middleton; it was entitled, Kate & William: A Royal Love Story.

There is something so inherently powerful about the concept of a king or queen.  It carries with it the promise of position, power and prestige.  So strong is the gravitational pull, we tend to glamorize them as existing at the intersection of dignity and nobility.  As though the mere claiming of a title somehow confers the very best of human virtues. 

Of course we know this isn’t true.  History is full of royal despots that captured or retained their thrones through cruelty, oppression and torture.  Yet what unifies both good and bad kings and queens is the process they each went through to grasp their scepters of rule.  There were always steps to the throne.

History tells us that kingship was conferred through marriage, death, deception, revolution, popular vote and victorious battles.  Though the mechanism may have differed, one truth remained—no one was born king or queen.  At best, birth pointed to a royal lineage and the potential for kingship at some future date.  Prince William for example, was not born King of England.  He was born a prince.  To become king, him grandmother and father must both die.  As blue as his blood may be, he is not yet a king.

How unique and interesting it is then when the Magi ask in Matthew 2 verse 2, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews?”  The birth of Jesus is unique for many reasons, I submit though, that is was also unique that he was born King.  There was never a process for Jesus to become King.  There were never any steps to be taken toward his throne.  Neither royal intrigue nor clandestine assassination plot was necessary.  He was born King.  Before his baby hands held a rattle, they held the royal scepter of creation.  Before he cooed in his mother’s arms, He spoke the cosmos into existence.  Being a King is his nature.  He can be nothing less.

For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him.  Colossians 1:19

The babe in a manger that we celebrate at Christmas is also the King of creation.  To overlook this is to miss the point of Christmas.  The Magi did not fall at the feet of the baby Jesus because he was some ruddy-cheeked cherub.  They fell and worshiped because he was King.

 

In the words of the classic carol, “Angels from the Realms of Glory”, I invite us all to,

            Come and worship,

            Come and worship,

            Worship Christ the newborn King.

Truth is irritating.

Truth is irritating.  Or perhaps I should say, Absolute Truth is irritating.  It is annoying.  It is the ever-present mirror pointing out the ridiculous spinach stuck in our teeth.  As a thorn it pricks our Americanized values of diversity, acceptance and self-reliance. 

A few years ago I was living in Phoenix, Arizona.  While taking the risk of offending many of my dear Phoenician friends, everything in the desert wants to hurt you.  Rocks, insects, cactus, and the oppressive heat have one unified goal – to suck the life from you and leave your bones to bleach in the sun.  It was in this hostile environment that I decided to train for my first half marathon.  Silly I know.

Our house was on the edge of the city nestled into a loving lunar landscape of rocks, cactus, a few more rocks followed by more cactus.  Many mornings I would head out and log a few miles of training before heading in to work.  It became a consistent pattern.  Wake up, pull on my shorts, lace up my shoes, take a t-shirt and dunk it in a bucket of water, put it on, take a ball cap – dunk it in water, put it on (if you have questions about my pre-run process please refer to the previous paragraph).  Once properly equipped for my surroundings, out the door I would run.

More often than not I would find myself slipping into a run induced delirium.  I’ve heard this described as the elusive “runner’s high”.  It’s the point at which conscious thought about running ceases.  You enter a strange state of cruise control; no longer are you making any real choices about the world around you.  Legs pump, arms swing, feet strike the ground; repeat, repeat, repeat.  There is no longer any decision to run – you just do.

Then, Ouch!  What was that?  I keep running – it keeps hurting.  First it’s distracting, then irritating, then finally painful.  Somewhere during the ten miles of my morning run I had picked up an obnoxious cactus needle stowaway.  It had lodged inconveniently under the soft fleshy ball of my foot.  Step, ouch! Step, ouch!  Each stride sent this offensive piece of vegetable matter deeper and deeper into the nexus of nerve endings in my foot.  Any semi-intelligent mammal with opposable thumbs would have stopped running; taken off the shoe and removed the injurious spike.  I, however, am far from semi-intelligent.  No sir.  I would not be stopped.  I would not succumb to the inconvenient truth shooting like a hot knife through my foot with each stride.  My plans for my morning run would not be altered, no matter how painful.

As I limped through the front door, my wife asked, “Honey, what’s wrong?  Did you hurt yourself?”  Crumbling onto the couch, I removed my shoes and took out the offending spear.  “Yeah, I got a needle in my shoe.” I say.  Looking at the needle, my blood stained sock and me, my wonderful wife furrows her brow, cocks her head slightly and asks a deeply penetrating question, “Why didn’t you stop and take it out?”  So offensive and hurtful is the question that I shrug it off with a grunt.  “No, seriously.  Why didn’t you stop and pull that thing out?”  Frustrated and slightly chagrined I reply, “Because I didn’t want to.  I was hitting a good stride and didn’t want to stop.”  Mustering up all her compassion, mercy and wifely grace, she replies, “Man you’re dumb.” and walks away to go get the hydrogen peroxide.

Why didn’t I stop?  Because I didn’t want to.  Because my plans would have been disrupted.  Because holding on to what I wanted to do outweighed the potential value of stopping and taking the needle out.  No matter how intense the pain of each foot strike, I refused to accept the reality jabbing through me.  I choose instead to accept repeated and increasing pain rather than adjust to the truth of the situation.

So often I respond to Truth in the same way.  I ignore it.  I struggle through in spite of it.  I make excuses for why it does not need to be “my” truth.  As the pain and discomfort rise, so do my rationalizations and excuses.  I willingly hold tight to lies rather than surrender to offending and uncomfortable Truths.  Truth is, my lies—that I’ve built plans, systems and fortresses around—are far more destructive and disruptive than the time and effort necessary to align myself with Truth. 

My stubborn unwillingness to stop and remove the needle from my shoe had lasting consequences.  I developed an infection that sidelined me for a few weeks.  Ignoring the truth cost me much more than the time it would have required to accept reality and respond accordingly.  So much pain would have been avoided if I had stopped, acknowledged the truth and dealt with that offensive spike. 

Truth is so often like that cactus needle. It is placed as a holy splinter nudging us toward transformation.  It is meant to be irritating.  If not, it would never grab hold of our fallen, sinful sensibilities.  Embracing Truth and making the necessary course corrections—though difficult and sometimes painful—protect us from greater harm.  

God places Truth in the souls of our lives to grab our attention.  Can it be ignored?  Sure.  Can we put off dealing with the Truth?  Yes, but it prolongs the pain and increases the scope of the consequences. 

I’ll bet Jesus has placed an irritating piece of Truth in your life.  I would also bet that often you do your best to ignore it.  Choosing instead to push through the discomfort while pursuing your own plans.  This must drive Jesus nuts.  He patiently pursues us and we doggedly hold tight to our plans.  Choosing a lie over His Truth.  I wonder if in His infinite love and compassion Jesus’ response is like my wife’s response to me—“Man you’re dumb.”

Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. John 8:32