Not sure what to title this post or this poem...

I am moving over to my new place and I found this tucked away in a pocket of my back pack and thought it worth sharing.  Grateful for the process God has me in:

 A few years ago I was giving into lust, pornography, and the rampant objectification of women... It was not much of a battle, more like a pitiless beating and I was asking for more...  I wrote this poem sitting at a table by a pool, feeling sick for the way I had been treating the women there with my thoughts... frustrated that I couldn't seem to stop even though I wanted to.  Out this came...

How my eyes must sear as they burn upon you.

        Lustful. Degrading. 

Fear, that even you won't do.

I didn't mean to make you meat.

Or a pill.

Or complusion.

But, thought by thought, I got

Caught up

Bound up

Swept up in this ever growing ocean

Which swells and breaches

Like waves crushing beaches

Until the salt water reaches

the root of my character...

Making you the object of my sin within

Rather than my sister without

Blemish or wrinkle

Smudge or crinkle

Crack or stain

Named by the Name which is above all names...

A Walking Shame Part 2

Here is the long, delayed part two.  If you haven't read the previous post you need to.  This one won't make much sense if you haven't.

So almost 3 years ago I had this really jarring moment at the rescue mission I preach at.  A guy confused my Tom's with the shoes they issue at Wasco State Penitentiary.  Learned a huge personal lesson from God on that one. Again, the previous blog post should be read to understand.

But I also learned another huge lesson about me, this man, and people in general.  The reason he saw my shoes and identified them as prison kicks is because he still primarily identifies himself as a convict.  This man was no longer imprisoned. In fact, the closest prison is 100 miles away over two different mountain ranges.  No one was threatening to arrest him.  His parole officer wasn't there reminding him of what he had done.  But his primary identification was as a convict, and it was through that lens he viewed my shoes.

Teaching moment No. 1: We all have identities that we cling to.  This guy walked around knowing and being known as a convict, a criminal who had done time.  But what was MORE true in that moment was that he was a free man. That old identity was still the filter through which he experienced that moment.  And people do this all the time.  Past events or experiences create an identity that give meaning to our current moments.  We live out of this identity, out of this thing that we see ourselves as being... That is how we were designed, the problem comes when we latch on to the wrong identity.  God walked with Adam in the Garden of Eden because Adam's primary identity was: an image bearer of God.  God, in revealing Himself to Adam, was teaching Adam about who he was as a human being.  He was establishing his identity as the reflection of God by showing Adam who's/what's/whose' (trinity reference) reflection he was. Because our primary identity IS as image bearers of God, any identity we cling to other than this is DESTRUCTIVE and DEGRADING.  Why degrading? Because there is nothing more valuable than God, and so His reflection is second in value only to Him.  (Think about why the image of a celebrity can be sold for so much money to magazines.  It would be better to be with the celebrity or to have been there with them in person, but we still clamor over pictures of them and the events they participated in... bad analogy but it plays.) So by cling to something LESS valuable, a false identity, we are dragging what is precious down into a lower place.  We are dishonoring it, taking it from the greatest position of honor to a lesser position.

It is destructive because we were made to function best from a certain identity.  If you try to hammer a screw into place, you are more likely to hurt yourself, the project, and the tools than you are to secure whatever you were trying to screw together.  That's because a hammer is not a screwdriver. Genius I know.  It has been wrongly identified, thus used wrongly, thus damage ensues.  Same thing for us and our identity. We must release our grasp on the false identities and cling to the TRUE identity revealed through Christ.

On with the story...

In his worldview, shaped by his identity, my shoes were evidence of me being locked up, not being a well meaning young man trying to fit in with his local church culture.  On the flip side, my identity as a 'minister' gave meaning, in my mind/heart, to his initial comment.  It took "Wasco," a well known state prison, and flipped it around into "Whaz Co.," a non-existent shoe brand.  Both of the identities we were clinging to imparted totally separate meanings to our words and possessions.  It would take more than a passing conversation in a Rescue Mission foyer for us to be able to see that. I would need to know his story.  Then the Wasco I heard would have meant something closer to the Wasco he said.

Teaching moment No. 2: All of us have an identity we cling to, a story we are living by (sounds like the first point I know).  If we fail to identify it in others, we will fail to have fruitful relationships, and we will fail to winsomely and thoroughly put Christ on display to them.  They won't know what we mean, and we won't know what they mean.  We might think we do, but most likely we won't; just like I totally whiffed what that guy was saying because I didn't know his story.  I didn't recognize the identity he was operating from.

And now the application... Our assignment from Christ is to walk with people in the process of taking on their right identity (making disciples... a.k.a those who bear the image of Christ). A huge part of discipleship is breaking down the old identity to make way for the new.  But breaking down old identity is not accomplished very efficiently by blunt force, like shouting a them with theology and truth or beating the old identity with the new one.  Can you break it down that way? Yes. But you are probably going to create new problems.

Example: Go out to your garage, grab two 6 foot 2 x 4's, write your name on one and write "false identity" on the other.  Screw these together using no less than 24 screws (12 on each side, about 6 inches apart).  Now take a claw hammer or crow bar and try to tear off the plank saying "false identity." Will you be able to get it off? Probably, but it will take a long time, lots of effort and I promise it will tear up the other board something awful. But if you simply back the screws out gently....

Getting to know someone's story is also getting to know their false identities and where the attachment points are.  The Holy Spirit will give insight into the right tools to use, force to exert, and the condition of the person... whether they can stand some more work, or whether the need to be given rest. So you've got someone God has put on your heart to love and evangelize (which is DISCIPLESHIP too)? Learn their stories, ask questions about what and why they do what they do, pay attention to who they are, look for the places where false identities have a hold..... you might discover you love them, and they might just feel loved by you for listening ;)

A Walking Shame Part 1

Once a month I have the opportunity to preach at a local Rescue Mission. Honestly, it is my favorite piece of "formal ministry" that I get to do, and I walk away humbled and grateful for the example of the men in the program.  Most of these dudes aren't just looking for their best life now, they are seeking God like starving men looking for bread.  They are parched and dying and seeking water.  And when they get a crumb or a drop they receive it just like a treasure, in gratitude and rejoicing.  I leave every time praying for the same desperation, and find myself uncomfortable with my place in a spiritual palace filled with fine foods and the richest wines available.  I have a leather bound study bible that cost nearly $100. I have access to any podcast by people with names like Keller, Piper, Driscoll, Merrick, Chan.  I have commentaries, both contemporary and vintage.  Spurgeon's sermons, Bonhoeffer's books, the distilled best theologizing of Calvin and Luther. I have a literal feast before me: and in some ways I, in my spiritual gluttony, have come to feel contempt for the table.  The beggar at the feast is a far more appropriate guest than the glutton.  These guys, with their torn up paperback bibles, lack of access to anything outside their daily classes and tasks, feast off every tasty morsel that comes their way.  I am always humbled and inspired by these men who are committing themselves to the discovery of God and His work in the world.

But that wasn't the case when I first started.  I walked in the first day a year ago, nervous because preaching is scary, but super excited to drop all kinds of awesomeness on these guys.  Like most western missionaries, I assumed I was doing them a huge favor by being there. What happened next was truly a gift from God:

I am sitting on a bench in the foyer of the mission, doing my very best to look "street" while maintaining a hipster air (I had non-skinny jeans but still had a plaid shirt on).  This guy rolls up to me, looks at my shoes and asks me, "Hey, are those Wazzco's?" Well, I just happened to be wearing my newly purchased pair of black Tom's, so I took this as an opportunity to dive into the charitable business model of this particular shoe company.  [For those of you who don't know, Tom's shoes donates a pair of a shoes to someone in need for every pair that you purchase.  I love the heart behind it, I love that they have found a way to provide a service while enabling people to participate in caring for the poor and needy.  It is an all-around good idea and I think it has huge implications for the future of both business and charity. It is not a perfect program but I totally recommend it, and finding other venues to copy it.]  So I was feeling particularly good about my answer: here I was preaching the Gospel to the "least of these" while wearing shoes that had provided for even more of the "least of these."  But this tattooed gentleman just gave me an uncertain, slightly condescending, look and said, "Oh... well they look just like the ones we got issued at Wasco." He had said Wasco.... as in Wasco State Penitentiary. And then he walked off, along with the opportunity to discover anything about him (I never saw him at the mission after).  Here was a man trying to relate to me on a very human level, and in my spiritual cloud of holy self-righteousness I had completely missed it... and that is a shame.

This is Tom's shoe.... not mine... he gets all the credit...

The sadness is this: I had been more concerned with what my shoes revealed about me than what the God of the Universe might want to reveal to this man.  Somewhere in my sobriety, ministry, Christian walk, and coming out of brokenness, I had lost the actual ability to speak the language of brokenness.  That is like a western missionary going to foreign country and demanding that the people he meets speak only English. God totally checked my heart in that moment.

The humor is this: I was wearing a pair of shoes that I thought, on some level, broadcasted me as a "good Christian," but the only implication it gave to this other person was that I was a convict that had done hard time.  And honestly, had I been arrested for some of the other illegal activities I has been a part of that would have been absolutely true! Here I was thinking my shoes were special and made me look like something grand, when in reality they were exactly the same ones they give to criminals.  AND THIS IS THE TRUTH OF HUMANITY! No matter how gussied up we are on the outside, no matter what good works we think we are doing, no matter what impression we are trying to broadcast to the world around us, and even to God, we are all just wearing prison shoes...

Part 2 to come...

A Crown of Daisy's

A little girl died about two weeks ago. She drew breath for eight years. Three of those years were plagued by suffering, her little frame smashed by cancer, ravaged by the brutality of surgery, chemo, and radiation. A simple text message from a dear friend heralded her end: “Daisy died last night...” Many wept bitterly, I can imagine none more than her parents. They put her body in the ground on Saturday. In our humanity everything about it screams of injustice, screams that there is naught to be found in the midst of such a tragedy but sorrow.

My mother never met Daisy, but she wept throughout her ordeal, a compassion born from the womb that has seen three children grow into adults. Empathy for a sister whose little one will never see those years. But in the midst of tears she prayed. She prayed more deeply and earnestly than ever before. She would confess that praying for a little girl, a stranger, has changed her relationship with God for ever.

Thousands like her joined in Daisy's memorial. From the corners of the earth, they tuned or flew in. Thousands. Thousands, who represented the thousands of hours of prayer lifted to God on her behalf. Thousands of hours of time with God. Thousands of creatures speaking to their Creator for thousands of hours. Because one child suffered and died, thousands of people had relationship with God. Echoes of the Gospel.

The memorial was beautiful, filled with songs, joyful memories, and the genuine affirmation of the goodness of God from the lips of those who had the greatest reason to be resentful. There, one of the pastors spoke about God receiving those who have received Him with a, “Well done My good and faithful servant...enter into the joy of your Master.” My mind snapped back to the image I received as my mother wept on the night we heard she had passed. (To be clear, I make no claims to fully understand the nature of heaven, the details of how it works after we die, etc. I will only fully know the moment that I die.) This is simply a gift of comfort, given to me upon hearing the news, that I was encouraged to share.  It looked something like this:

Jesus Christ joyfully received Daisy. A King, majestically enthroned above all creation, enthusiastically greeted her. His countenance beamed forth with a smile that spoke, “I am so glad you are finally here, I have yearned to be with you, and for you to be with me.” He yearned because, two thousands years ago, this King had suffered as well, suffered and died under a greater burden. It was the greatest act of injustice in all of human history. And Daisy Love Merrick had shared in, and was His reward for, that suffering. When she entered heaven, Christ got what only He deserved: glory, praise, and honor in the form of His little girl, and He received it with much gladness. And Daisy received Him with greater gladness. God, delighted by her, said “My beautiful daughter, you suffered so well! You endured such hardship! You kept the faith! The Crown of Glory belongs to you! And this Crown of Righteousness, and this Crown of Victory, and this Crown, and that Crown...” and right before Daisy, in her joy of being with Jesus cast down these crowns in worship, God said, “And this Crown... this Crown is yours because by your suffering Daniel's mother came to love and trust Me more... her life, one of thousands, is different for eternity because you endured such difficulty... well done My good and faithful servant!” And there Daisy is, a seed fallen to the ground, planted in sorrow and hope, raised up in incorruptible immortality, and blossoming in the presence of the Lord, the crown on her head the glory and joy of her Master.