Better Than Esau: The Blog of Jacob Strother

New Blog Site

2007-06-12T16:57:00.000-05:00

Hey there, friends. Due to some on-going issues with my blogger site that just could never be resolved, I've officially moved my blog to www.jaystrother.wordpress.com You can get there by clicking here. I'm going on sabbatical in July, so this will be the best way to keep up with those adventures. I'll look forward to seeing you at my new blog!

Snow Day!

2007-02-02T23:12:00.000-06:00

Since I was a kid growing up in Illinois, I've always loved it when it snows. There's something great about a "random holiday" that frees you from the routine and justifies a couple of hours of laughing, sledding and trying to restore bloodflow to your frozen extremities. And it looks like my girls have inherited my love of hurtling down a snow-covered hill...now they watch the countryside out the van window saying things like, "now that would be a fun hill to sled on!"

Good Times

2007-01-19T22:02:00.000-06:00

=

Unforgettable guys night
(story available upon request)

Maggie the Wonderdog, RIP

2007-01-08T21:37:00.000-06:00

Last Friday, we had to put Maggie, our eight-year-old boxer to sleep. Our girls wanted to invite over the neighbors for a memorial service, so we had everyone over for dinner and then gathered in the living room. Of course, Maggie wasn't going to the vet until the next day, so she was there to hear her own eulogy spoken by Eliza and her friends: "Maggie was a good dog...sob...she played with me...sniff...she liked to go fetch her bone...sob...she smelled kind of funny, but she was really a good dog." It was more emotional than I thought it would be, to here the earnest praises of a bunch of four, five and six year olds. It got me thinking that maybe we do it all wrong; what would it be like if we could hear what is said at our own funerals?

Rest in peace, Maggie (1998-2007).

Jacob Hamilton Strother, M.Div.

2006-12-19T07:59:00.000-06:00

Seven years. That's how long it took me to complete the next step of my theological education. Bill Clinton was President. No one had ever heard of an iPod. 9/11 was just another day in September. And I had no children. That's how the world looked when I first enrolled for classes and New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. But I never felt called away from full-time ministry to just go to school. And I think my experience was greatly enhanced by the reality that I was able to both question what I was taught and put it into practice in real-time. Of course, Hurricane Katrina slowed the process a bit as well. But it was great to celebrate this past weekend with my family, my parents, my brother and the Aaron Bryant crew as well.

Here's to plotting to take over the Southern Baptist Convention (and then the world) late into the night at Cafe DuMonde...Van Force One...Relaxation Exercises...Kaboom! breakfast cereal...learning how to make paper out of papyrus...The Cotton Patch Gospels...driving through Mississippi in the middle of the night with the gas gauge on empty...Deanie's Seafood...a seminary that had already decided to remain in a tough neighborhood in order to be salt and light in a difficult place, now vowing to rebuild along with a broken city...a great group of guys that I got to share the journey with...and the growing conviction that "master of divinity" really means that I've learned just how much more I have to learn.

Hey Everybody...Come Look at the Lights!

2006-12-04T07:40:00.000-06:00

So this weekend I did something I vowed never to do…put up Christmas lights on the outside of our house. I’ve always thought they looked a little too redneck unless done really, really well. And doing things well requires time and money, both of which seem to be scarce around this time of the year. Who needs another chore, anyway? And then there’s the frustration of getting the cheap things to work properly – I struggle enough with the lights for the tree, I don’t need another 200 yards of cords to hang myself with, quite literally. Sure, everyone remembers Clark Griswold’s triumphant “Hallelujah” moment in Christmas Vacation. But what happens next, when they all go out again? It’s a cussing-and-screaming-and-embarassing-kick-the-plastic-yard-Santa rage for the ages. That’s just what I need to celebrate the birth of the Messiah: one more expensive, gaudy, time-sucking, cheesy, and labor-intensive “holiday tradition.” Don’t even try to go there with the “symbolism” of the light – a simple candle lit in a window or at a midnight mass sufficed for hundreds and hundreds of years before Wal-Mart tried to drown us all in cheap plastic indoor/outdoor madness.

So my rant begs the question – why did I do it? It’s actually quite simple. Because my little girls asked me to. Begged me, is more like it. For a month. About a hundred times a day. With that look that only little girls can give their Daddy, the look that convinces otherwise sane and rational men to buy puppies that bark all night, horses that they have no farm for, and trips to Disneyworld so they can stand in line on burning hot pavement all day and pay $6 for a bottled water. My head, my logic, my schedule, my disdain for ledges and ladders and my wallet all said, “no way.” But my heart heard the cries of my little girls – “Daddy, daddy, can we put up Christmas lights this year?”

As a Dad I can’t help it. God hard-wired us to do anything we can within good reason to bring our families a bit of joy. And when Eliza and Lexi stumbled out the door in the late afternoon with the sun fading and the white twinkling lights coming to life on our front lawn, the ear-to-ear grins let me know that my 80 bucks, frozen fingers and hour and a half were a small price to pay for that look of wonder.

That’s why it was so amazing and ridiculous that Jesus taught us to call God by such a personal name, “Dad” – “Abba” was the word of his day. I am compelled to believe it’s one of the ways a father bears the image of the creator – all dads want to both provide for and delight their children. We don’t do it because we have to – we do it because we get to, and it brings us great joy.

For, “which of you, if his son asks for bread will give him a stone? Or if he asks for fish, will give him a snake? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him?” (Matthew 7:9-11).

And the best news is he gives more than we would dare ask: “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom.” (Luke 12:32).

Fact: Clowns Eat People

2006-11-13T08:02:00.000-06:00

Fact: My brother Ben is hilarious. And he may actually get free swag out of this picture, and apparently, you can too if you are brave enough to get your picture taken with a real, live clown.

An Early Christmas Idea

2006-11-06T15:37:00.000-06:00

For most Americans, November 7 will be remembered as "Election Day." But for me and some friends with a keen sense of humor, it will forever be known as the day "Police Squad!" was finally released on DVD.

In addition to the sheer comedic genuis of killing off the guest star in the opening credit and casting O.J. Simpson as a detective, there are moments like this:

Leslie Nielsen, acting undercover as a locksmith, breaks into the bad guy's apartment. The bad guy yells, "Who are you?! How did you get in here?!" To which Neilsen responds: "I'm the locksmith. And... I'm the locksmith."

World Champions!

2006-10-30T22:57:00.000-06:00

What a wild couple of weeks it has been...

My wife laughed at how nervous I got watching the final outs. My girls found out they could talk me into letting them stay up way past their bedtime if they watched the games with me. I neglected various household chores and projects I should have been working on to watch grown men play a boy's game. I was so frustrated after watching the 'Birds pitiful performance in an August showdown with the Phillies that I did something I usually make fun of and I called St. Louis Sports Talk Radio to vent my frustration over the radio airwaves...twice. (Of course, rumor has it the team was listening and that it helped motivate their postseason run).

When it was all said and done, the St. Louis Cardinals won their first world championship (a misnomer, my friends from England remind me, since really only Americans and few Japanese really care...) since 1982!

The best part: I got to watch the game with my dad and 2 brothers from our childhood home 90 miles east of St. Louis. We're all at different points in life, so it's rare we get together, and we couldn't have planned this if we tried. But just an hour or so before Ben turned 20 years old, we got to celebrate together in the family room we grew up in, and that was pretty amazing.

Forgive me for getting sappy and sentimental for awhile, but several years ago I found the following quote from Ken Burns' PBS documentary on "Baseball" and it's stuck with me ever since. For those of you who don't understand how a game can be a big deal, maybe it's because it's not really just about the game...

"It measures just 9 inches in circumference, weighes only about 5 ounces, and is made of cork wound with woolen yarn, covered with two layers of cowhide, and stitched by hand precisely 216 times. It travels 60 feet 6 inches from the pitcher's mound to home - and it can cover that distance at nearly 100 miles an hour. Along the way it can be made to twist, spin, curve, wobble, rise or fall away.

The bat is made of turned ash, less than 42 inches long, not more than 2 3/4 inches in diameter. The batter has only a few thousanths of a second to decide to hit the ball. And yet the men who fail seven times out of ten are considered the game's greatest heroes.

Baseball is played everywhere: in parks and playgrounds and prison yards, in back alleys and farmer's fields, by small children and old men, by raw amateurs and millioaire professionals. It is a leisurely game that demands blinding speed, and the only one in which the defense has the ball. It follows the seasons, beginning each year with the fond expectancy of springtime and ending with the hard facts of autumn.

Americans have played baseball for more than 200 years, while they have conquered a contintent, warred with one another and with enemies abroad, struggled over labor and civil rights and the meaning of freedom. At the game's heart lies mythic contradictions: a pastoral game, born in crowded cities; an exhilirating democratic sport that tolerates cheating and has excluded as many as it has included; a profoundly conversative game that sometimes manages to be years ahead of its time. It is an American odyssey that links sons and daughters to fathers and grandfathers. And it reflects a host of age-old American tensions: between workers and owners, scandal and reform, the individual and the collective.

It is a haunted game in which every player is measured against the ghosts of all who have gone before. Most of all, it is about time and timelessness, speed and grace, failure and loss and impresishable hope - and coming home."

If you still don't understand it, try watching The Natural and Field of Dreams. If it's still eluding you, just celebrate with the Strother boys and Cardinal Nation, and join me this spring for a backyard BBQ and some wiffle ball with the kids in the backyard.

The Cardinals Win the Pennant!

2006-10-21T13:26:00.000-05:00

1982 was a memorable year for me. I entered the first grade at Hawthorne Elementary School and survived a traumatic first day of school when I got left behind in the school cafeteria. My dad signed me up for tee ball and I was one of sixteen kids who played the position "somewhere between first and second base." And my "hometown" major league team, the St. Louis Cardinals won baseball's World Series, igniting a lifelong love for baseball and the Redbirds, not to mention countless re-enactments in the Strother household of catcher Darrel Porter leaping into pitcher Bruce Sutter's arms on the final strikeout. So for some reason, I still feel like a seven-year-old kid inside whenever the Cardinals win in the post season, a tradition I'm passing down to my daughters. 7-month old Ella loves to play with my baseball hat, so I figured I'd let her wear it as we cheer for the 'Birds against the Tigers this week in the '06 World Series!

This Time of Year

2006-09-19T00:27:00.000-05:00

My favorite words out of a weatherman's mouth this time of year: "unseasonably cool." For some reason (a lot of reasons, actually) fall is my favorite time of year. And this picture taken of Lexi on my parent's front lawn under the tree I used to climb as a kid is my favorite fall photo ever. I could point out a thousand words that come to mind when I see it, but I'll just let you see it instead so your mind can be filled with all the joys and moments and beauty and thoughts of fall. Bring on the sweaters, the football and the hot chocolate!

Well there's a feeling in the air * Just like a Friday afternoon * Yeah, you can go there if you want * Though it fades too soon * So go on, let it be * If there's a feeling coming over me * Seems like it's always understood, this time of year * Yeah, I know there's a season for change * Yeah, I know there's a time for us * You think about the good days and you live with all the bad * But there's a feeling in the air, feeling right this time of year.
- Better Than Ezra

Proverb of the Week

2006-08-23T22:31:00.000-05:00

I have just found my favorite Yiddish saying, one that sums up my sentiments at this very moment of time:

"Man plans. God laughs."

Monkeys @ the Zoo

2006-08-07T08:53:00.000-05:00

This past weekend, we made the journey to the city of my childhood memories, St. Louis. Since we grew up about an hour and a half away, it was far enough that it seemed like a big deal and just big enough that it seemed there was always something exciting to do there. So it was fun to go back and introduce my little girls to the places that I remember - like the St. Louis Zoo!

So we rode the train. We "kissed" the penguins. We cooled off by playing in the fountains. We voted to name the new baby elephant that was born Wednesday. And we visited the monkey house. From as early I can remember, the monkey house was one of my favorites. It's totally sensory overload for a little kid: as soon as you open the door this terrible smell overwhelms your nostrils. Monkeys are screeching and running and swinging around everywhere. And, of course, monkeys are infamous for "flinging poo," which was both disgusting and hilarious to my seven-year-old sensibilities as a kid. And yes, if I'm honest, it's still funny to me at 30. But there are moments even more awkward than trying to explain to your six and three-year-old why monkeys play with their excrement. And one of those happened today. You can see it by the reaction on Lexi's face. Let's put it this way: when you walk into the monkey house, you never know what a Hamadyras Baboon might do. And as much as we might like to shelter our kids or cover their eyes, when you put them around real nature, life happens.

That's why parenting is such an adventure: as much as you plan, and pray, and prepare, you never know what moment is right around the corner, that finds you fumbling for the right words to say or the right thing to do. But in that moment, you do your best, knowing your child like only you do. And you trust grace to meet you in that moment. What's amazing is that your kids, still full of innocence and honesty and blissfully unaware of cultural norms, aren't ever as weirded out by your explanation as you are by having to be the one to give it.

But I still think they should put a warning sign on the monkey house that says: "Parents, be advised that some crazy and random stuff happens in here. Be prepared for awkward moments, especially with little children who will say, "Daddy, what's that monkey doing?!!."

Chicago Thrift Store Party 06

2006-07-27T15:05:00.000-05:00

And another reason I love these students and our staff: they aren't afraid to hang out in Chicago's loop wearing the most ridiculous outfits you've ever seen.

Proud Papa

2006-07-25T23:55:00.000-05:00

So the day has come when the "first email" is added to the proud lists of other "firsts" in a kid's life. While in Chicago this week, Eliza sent me her first email, typed all by herself (with just a little spell-check help from Mom):

Der daddy I miss you and I Love you.Ella rolled over today.
Love
Eliza and Lexi

Do It Again!

2006-07-24T23:56:00.000-05:00

After months of preparations, a 10 hour journey north, and visions of never-ending cornfields dancing in our heads, today we finally returned to our ministry's "Second City" and the friendly confines of Garfield Park on Chicago's west side.

Today was the 1st day of our service sites and it was a busy, but great first day. It's great to see the park looking better than we remember it being last year (maybe all that trash pick-up did make a difference...) and more importantly, to see how God has blessed the early days of Armitage Church Garfield, as Jamie and the church are now know and respected by many of the people we encountered on the streets today. They are truly "earning the right to be heard" in this community, and it's exciting to get to come alongside them and expand their reach this week.

I spent a good chunk of my time today in the park with a table full of twenty-somethings, hearing them chat and laugh and joke about a world far removed from my own. One had a precious little girl, JaMaya, who came to the day camp. Her energy and smile reminded me of my own little girls at that age, as well as her passion to play with the "Bo-bles" as she called them. "Yeah!" and "again" she said over and over. I finally succumbed and sat down with her in the grass to watch and play and laugh at the never-ending wonder of a two-year-old with bubbles in her hand on a sunny day.

If you think it's funny that a 30-year old guy would blow bubbles with a 2-year old for 15 minutes, let the words of G.K. Chesterton remind you how holy a moment like that truly is:

"Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again;" and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough...It is possible that God says every morning "Do it again," to the sun; and every evening, "do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daises alike: it may be that God makes every daisy seperately, but has never gotten tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we."

Fire v. Ashes

2006-07-19T07:53:00.000-05:00

As we're preparing for our annual mission adventure to inner-city Chicago, I came across the following words by A.W. Tozer, "the 20th century prophet" who for 31 years pastored the Southside Alliance Church there:

"In the early Church they met together on Solomon's porch, and so great was the sense of God's presence that "no one dared joined them" (Acts 5:13). The world saw fire in that bush and stood back in fear; but no one is afraid of ashes. Today they come as close as they please. They even slap the professed bride of Christ on the back and get coarsely familiar. If we ever again impress unsaved men with a wholesome fear of the supernatural we must have once more the dignity of the Holy Spirit; we must know again that awe-inspiring mystery which comes upon men and churches when they are full of the power of God." - Path to Power, p. 11

I pray for the fullness of the power of God to go before us, surround us, and lead us - not just for this journey but for the future of the Church.

Ouch!

2006-07-03T09:11:00.000-05:00

So this past week was my "last camp" as a student minister. And in 11 years of camps and retreats, I've probably been to the ER about 20 times: stitches, allergic reactions to bee stings, broken bones...a concussion from an accidental blow with a putt-putt golf club to face, for heaven's sake! So I begged and pleaded with the students at orientation on Monday: let's a fun, but safe (and ER free!) week.

Fast forward to Wednesday night. We have "family night" that included a picture-perfect baptism service in the lake, as the bright orange sun set right behind us. 8 baptisms; 8 powerful testimonies of changed lives. It was incredible! And then we're washing off our feet at a water spicket as we head in for our evening worship experience, and I'm thinking, "I've got to hurry and get these 8 kids back to their cabins" so they can get cleaned up and back for worship. So instead of waiting I decide to "duck" under the sign attached to the pole; unfortuantely I misjudged the depth of the sharp, metal sign and I slice my head. I'm thinking "no big deal," until a girl looks at the amount of blood flowing from my freshly peeled scalp and shouts:

"It looks like a horror movie!"

So I get a little light-headed. The camp nurse rushes out. Word slowly spreads (and the story gets a little bigger than it needed to) through the worship center that "Jay is hurt and hurt bad" and kids hold a prayer vigil for me in the back of the room. My staff comes out and places bets on how many stitches it will take to put me back together. And the nurse tells me it's official: I'm going to the ER. After I made the big deal about no ER visits. In the middle of nowhere Alabama. The doc implants seven staples into my cranium with no shot to numb; I swear it looked like a staple gun from Home Depot. And my nurse nearly forgets to give me the tetanus shot, telling me "oh, that's what happens when I try to talk and work at the same time: I furget stuff."

Lessons from my little misadventure: Don't ever be in too big a hurry, you never know what you might miss. And don't be looking down when you should be looking up. And don't ever end up in the ER in Alabama.

Raiding Windmills

2006-05-29T10:58:00.000-05:00

Warning: This may be my longest post ever, so buckle up and hang in there…

“It is clear that thou art not yet experienced in adventures.” So saying, he [Don Quixote] clapped spurs to Rozinante, without heading the cries by which Sancho Panza warned him that he was going to encounter not Giants but windmills. For he would neither listen to Sancho’s outcries, nor mark what he said, but shouted to the windmills in a loud voice: ‘Fly not, cowards and vile creatures, for it is only one Knight that assaults you!”

As this morning I watched the sun rise over the snow-capped mountain peaks, the words of Glen Phillips (Toad the Wet Sprocket) echo through my mind: “I spend too much time…raiding windmills.” I have been left disarmed and amazed at how grace and mercy have met me here quite unexpectedly this week on the Continental Divide of my heart. On one side is everything I am right now. On the other is everything God is guiding me to be.

This week the threads of conversation, discussion and experience weren’t about how to write better books or market more small group curriculum, but about the Great Metanarrative – the Epic Story of God. The view from 9200 feet of the plateau below, mountains heaving into the sky, valleys falling out of sight, the relentless and raging fury of the Arkansas Whitewater and being well over a mile closer to the billions of stars in the Milky Way were breathtaking reminders that He is and I am not.

And in the midst of being captured by the glory of creation, God answers my prayer longing for his voice…through a caption on a t-shirt.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I am not a fan of slogans on t-shirts. In fact, I have an utter disdain for what I call “t-shirt theology.” Grab a catchy phrase, rip off another popular shirts design with a few “Christian” design modifications or pluck a Bible verse out of its original context and you can announce to the world how smug you are in your belief. You don’t need to get to know me as a real person, you don’t need to sit down with me and hear my story, because my t-shirt says it all – I’ve got the answer and you don’t. I know the intentions of those who wear “righteous tees” are usually not that hostile, but the problem with not thinking is this: it misrepresents Truth. In fact, it’s not even biblical and it’s even farther from the gospel. The words of Christ were “By this all men will know you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Not “…if you proudly display Christian apparel.” Let’s be as honest as the Scriptures: life, real life, the real adventure is messy, broken and much too complex to be explained away with a silver bullet of verbose evangelical oversimplification. But I digress, because…

It wasn’t even a Christian t-shirt that spoke truth to me, but a cheap marketing tag line designed to sell a souvenir to tourists in the office of a whitewater rafting office. On top of that, it was hanging next to the bold, 96-type font shirt that declared “I love BJ’s” (which of course, means Buffalo Joe’s rafting and nothing else, you twisted people). And I only bring that up so you understand the irony of the moment for me, and the unusual ways in which God grabs your attention when you least expect it, right in the middle of rolling your eyes and shaking your head. The message was simple but in the greater context of my week had no less impact than a cannon blast to my soul:

The journey is the destination.

And with that one simple phrase the Holy Spirit flooded my heart with missives that were painful and beautiful at the same time: “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. Cease your striving and know I am God (Psalm 46:10). Quit overloading your life to the point that you can’t spiritually discern a true Giant from a harmless windmill. This is the third era of God’s epic story, and you have a role to play, real battles to fight for the cause of redemption. But you can’t be ready for the next challenge if you’re worn out and wounded from foolishly trying to conquer everything that moves. Remember, this is my story, my adventure that I have invited you to be a part of. You do have an ultimate destination in a far country far more spectacular than this high country. And you need to live this journey believing with all your heart that the next journey exists. But for you the pendulum often swings too far, so embrace grace: what I’m doing all around you in this life. Look around, breathe deeply and enjoy the ride while you’re discovering who I created you to be. Don’t be afraid to laugh more. Enjoy watching your little girls grow up, savoring each stage that will pass more quickly than you ever imagined, just as I, your heavenly Father, enjoy watching you do the same. Help confused people find their life stories in Mine. Always be more, not less. Cherish the wife of your youth. Drink deeply and live out of the overflow. Live large and love passionately. You didn’t fear the ups and downs of the river today, but you looked forward with anticipation to what new challenge was around the next bend of the canyon wall…so live in that anticipation: that you may not know what tomorrow holds, that it may be a challenge, but that I know where the river runs and just how far it will carry you. So today feel my pleasure and embrace the journey for you are loved.”

“So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life – your sleeping, eating, going-to-work and walking-around life – and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for Him.” – Romans 12:1-2 (MSG)

Stuff to do in Colorado

2006-05-24T18:17:00.000-05:00

Before you die, you need to do this stuff in Colorado...

Have a fantastic cup of coffee at the highest town above sea level in the country.

(Leadville, CO * 10,200 ft)

Stay in this amazing hunting lodge built on the side of Mount Harvard with great friends.

(But drinks lots of water to avoid altitude sickness)

Whitewater raft the Arkansas River with the Fantastic Four!

(And as the Fifth member, my super-power is to always remind everyone that spandex is a privilege, not a right.)

Rocky Mountain Musings

2006-05-23T18:09:00.000-05:00

“This is the adventure.” – Bill Murray in “The Life Aquatic”

“Cease your striving, and know I am God.” – Psalm 46:10

This week finds me in the Rocky Mountains, at a hunting lodge built at 9200 ft above sea level on the side of Mount Harvard, pondering the destination versus the journey. I am supposed to be at a writer’s conference, but instead I find myself finding some space and time in a new setting to wrestle honestly with the things the Spirit has been whispering in my ear but I have been too busy and too chicken to really engage. The thin air is clearing my mind from the recent ridiculously full stretch run of planning, interviewing, meeting and doing, doing, doing. Here are some items I am grappling with in my heart, soul and mind.

“I had to lose a son, a wife and a ministry before I truly found what I wanted to do. I wish I had another 50 years to give to this place and these men.” Last night after dinner I had this conversation with Serendipity founder and septuagenarian Lyman Coleman. This man founded the Christian coffeehouse movement in New York in the 60’s, worked alongside Billy Graham the peak of his ministry, and has been described as the godfather of the modern small group movement in America. He now gives his life to helping broken men heal from their past at weekend retreat facilitated at this lodge that he built for the purpose of “redemptive community.” I hope God can use my life in such powerful ways before I find what I want to do…

“One of the best ways to become interesting in your speaking is to become interested in your living. People aren’t looking for profound life-changing messages; they instead are looking for lives that have been profoundly changed by the message.” – Erwin McManus collides with…
“My religious education taught me how to study, exegete, and break things down to their smallest part. What it didn’t do was equip me to see the big story…Don’t waste your life on a small story, when God is inviting you to a much larger one.” – publisher Ron Keck

So when am I going to get it? When am I going to finally break free of “oh, it will be better when we get to this place,” or “when we hit the next stage of parenting, that will be the best,” or “if we could just get this resource or this person on staff or this facility, then we’ll get there.” I will never get “there” this side of heaven. I will never be able to relax because there is always more to do, another destination after I reach the peak I can see in front of me right now, a new challenge around the corner. So I need to stop asking “are we there yet?” like a bored four-year-old and recognize that where I am at is where God has placed me on the journey; so embrace it, enjoy it, write a book about it, sing about it, laugh about it, hug it, hold onto it, and love it with everything I’ve got, because I have no idea what the next day, or chapter, or turn of the page will hold.

“Go, eat your food with gladness and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for it is now that God favors what you do.” – Ecclesiastes 9:7

SUPERMAN Returns

2006-05-17T18:40:00.000-05:00

…at Brentwood Baptist Church!

Seriously, don’t ever miss a LifeGroup Celebration, because you never know what random sight you might see (like Superman getting tagged out by a 7th grade girl in the Dodge Ball arena…so much for superpowers…but man, do I love kids like Matt Morris who aren't afraid to have fun!)

Eliza's Secret Wish

2006-05-15T18:03:00.000-05:00

This story will tell you much about life in the Strother household.

Eliza’s preschool class “writes” a book about once a month. The teacher has each 5-year-old summon their creative energy, utilize the 64-count box of crayons to make an illustration, and then helps that child write a caption for each page that goes with the “theme” of their book. This month’s theme was “My Secret Wish.” As you would imagine, there were some very creative, but very typical 5-year-old kind of answers:

I want to have a volcano in my backyard!
I want to be a princess and have my own castle!
I want a yacht with a 200-horsepower Dodge engine that will go 56 MPH!

Eliza’s secret wish:
"Eliza’s secret wish is for Lexi to be quiet while Eliza tries to sleep."

Life is good, sleep is better.

Crawfish Bowl II

2006-05-11T18:07:00.000-05:00

For the second year in a row, the senior guys LifeGroup celebrated a great year together with a crazy crawfish boil. This year, we didn’t have to set up orange cones to blockade an entire cul-de-sac, instead making the best use of the back parking lot of the church since the “game sports” track of SACK lunch week of 2003. The sky was stunning, the crawfish a bit spicy, and the celebration of the journey together a perfect ending to a year of ups and downs.

Guys, it’s been a great ride…I affirm the words of Max Baker to of the class of 2006: Don’t go chasing waterfalls.

One BIG Happy Family...

2006-04-03T04:07:00.000-05:00

2,698 Strikes of Lightning...

2006-04-03T03:02:00.000-05:00

...and a sleepless night for one very tired Dad of 3 very young girls. 2,698 lightning strikes - that's what the guy on TV hyped up on 29 cups of coffee (also known as a meterologist) just said. Deep thoughts at 12:45 AM: Why do thunderstorms seem to primarily come at night? Why does cottage cheese have an expiration date? Why do we park on driveways and drive in parkways? Or to ponder Homer Simpson's great metaphysical question: Can God heat up a microwave burrito so hot that even he can't eat it?

You know what's funny? I've always liked storms. As a kid, there was just something about playing baseball outside in the spring or summer and watching huge thunderheads roll in across the corn fields of the Midwest. There is certain smell just before the rain starts to fall in giant drops that look so big that they could drown you. The entire world seems to wait in anticipation. And there is something about the unrestrained and uncontrollable raw power of a storm that still captures my imagination. I think there's something about them that leaves us in awe and reminds us that maybe we're not so big after all.

You know what, I still like storms. Even if I'd wish they'd stop at the moment so I could go to bed.

St. Patrick's Day

2006-03-17T09:50:00.000-06:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day! Now that I've made my pleasantries, my rant for the day is this - "eating the other." Seth Worley introduced me to this phrase a year or so ago, but it's when one culture tries to "import" significant images, themes or stories into its own culture, but in the transfer, the significance behind the symbols is lost and obscured. Such is the case with Americans and St. Patrick's Day. Growing up, my grade school memories of the Day consist of wearing green lest you be pinched, teachers throwing up some decorations on the wall that were shamrocks and cheap imitations of the Lucky Charms lepruchan, and the annual story on the news about how they turn the Chicago River green for the day. I think the only thing I got "right" about St. Patrick's Day is that I knew it was connected to the Irish. And that's like claiming that all I know about Christmas is that once upon a time it might have had something to do with Jesus.

But there is an important story behind St. Patrick, and not the one about him chasing all the snakes out of Ireland (which is purely myth). Its a story that begins tragically: about a boy who was kidnapped from his own British bed as a boy and enslaved by brutal Celts. But it is a story of hope: forced to herd sheep on the lonely Irish plains, the slave-shepherd boy Patricius begins to do what others do in impossible situations: pray. After six years of "constant hunger and nakedness as my constant companions" but being spiritually forged through "at least one hundred prayers a day" Patrick escaped slavery by sneaking onto a ship and returning home. But "home" was not where Patrick's heart was anymore. After a vision in which a multitude from Ireland visited him crying, "We beg you to come and walk among us once more," Patricius, the escaped slave chose to return to Ireland as a missionary - Saint Patrick, apostle to the Irish nation. The first true missionary since the third century, Patrick went to these "barbarians" and taught them that there was a more hopeful story within their own myths and legends. His life and example and incarnational ministry among them saved their souls, their culture, and ultimately, western civilization as we know it.

He wrote a great poem/prayer known as "Saint Patrick's Breastplate," because legend has it that in his most challenging moments it brought God's protection to him. One historian lauds its worth, noting that in it, "the inarticulate outcast who wept for slaves, aided common men in difficulty, and loved sunrise and sea at last finds his voice."

"I arise today * Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity * Through belief in the threeness , Through the confession of oneness * Of the Creator of Creation

I arise today * Through the strength of Christ's birth with his baptism * Through the strength of his crucifixion with his burial * Through the strength of his resurrection with his ascension * Through the strength of his descent for the judgment of Doom...

I arise today * Through God's strenght to pilot me: God's might to uphold me * God's wisdom to guide me * God's eye to look before me * God's ear to hear me * God's word to speak for me * God's hand to guide me * God's way to lie before me * God's shield to protect me * God's host to save me * From snares of devils, from temptations of vices, from everyone who should wish me ill, afar and anear, alone and in multitude...

Christ to shield me today * Against poison, against burning, against drowning, against wounding * So that there may come to me an abundance of reward * Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me * Christ on my left, Christ on my right, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise * Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me * Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me." - Saint Patrick

That, my shamrock-kissing, green-beverage drinking, derby-party-hat-wearing friends, is what St. Patrick's Day is really all about.

Home!

2006-03-11T10:48:00.000-06:00

Coming Home for the first time: Priceless.

1 Meal that is NOT hospital food for a good-looking & hungry mom: $33.27

3 Nights @ the Hospital: $1,000 insurance deductible

Helium "It's a Girl" Giant Bear: $12 (thanks Grandma!)

The Family

2006-03-09T13:18:00.000-06:00

There is no experience like the birth of a child to bring out the colors and great themes of life, all rolled into one breathtaking moment and then the first few gasps of air that hail the inaugration of a life-time on the journey. While gazing into Ella's perfect little face and musing on the wonders of joy, hope, innocence, and creation, I was constantly interuppted by a steady stream of visitors, well-wishers, and cell phone calls of congratulations...and I didn't care at all. Because that reminded me incarnationally of the community of love that God has already placed around precious little Ella.

Our friends and our family are the people that God knew we needed around us, to do life together to laugh and to cry with, to be both human doings and more importantly, human beings with. One of the beauties of the gospel is that it teaches us that we cannot make it on our own, and that even God exists in relationship and so should we. I'm excited for Ella to get to meet the wonderful people around us who are full of life and love and for the future lives that her life will touch. Thanks to a great network of "family" here in Nashville and to a little thing called the internet, people from literally all over the world have already sent their "kisses, hugs and prayers" as Lexi is fond of saying. I wish I had room to post all of our pictures, but I don't - but here are a few that represent our "family!"

Welcome to Our World!

2006-03-06T21:03:00.000-06:00

Almost seven hours of labor. Three incredibly hard pushes. Eighty minutes of sleep in the past forty-eight hours. An endless stream of family, friends, and friends who truly are family dropping by to offer hugs, smiles, compliments and love. And twenty minutes of staring at your daughter's brand-new beautiful face and listening to her tiny little voice "coo" and "hum" as she tries out brand-new vocal cords and sings herself to self to sleep. By the gift of grace, there are some moments in life that you want to hang onto forever. The past day was one of those. Enjoy some photos of Ella opening fresh eyes to a great big world and meeting her very proud and excited big sisters!

It's a (Third) Girl!!!

2006-03-06T08:31:00.000-06:00

Welcome to the world, Ella Claire Strother!
Born March 6, 2006 @ Baptist Hospital in Nashville
6 lbs. 12 oz. and 20 inches long
A gift of God and a testimony to the power of grace, hope, and love.
Thanks for all your love and prayers - Mom and baby are both doing great!
Big sisters Eliza and Lexi could not be more excited!

The Hinges of History

2006-02-04T11:31:00.000-06:00

Embracing a cold, grey, snow-flurried February Saturday morning as an opportunity to do some reading has given me the time and space to chase one rabbit trail to another...

As of late, my personal reading and exploration has centered around Celtic spirituality. Why? I found a little book of Celtic prayers in the Cathedral at Durham last October that I have really grown to appreciate as "centering rhythms" in my prayer life (there's one for every day of the week). But I also recently read a pastor/teacher's thesis that in the institutional "Roman" structure of church that was effective for shaping culture for nearly two thousand years is now giving way. He argues that in a postmodern world, the "Celtic Way" with its emphasis on community, story and prayer is the most engaging way to reach people with the gospel. Since the Romans never bothered to conquer the barbaric Celts, Christianity developed in Ireland without the hierarchical oversight of popes and bishops. Celtic faith not only developed on the Isles in a much more fluid and unstable setting, but it actually took root and thrived - another stunning example of the amazing ability of the gospel to adapt to any cultural setting without compromising its message.

Well that quest led, in turn, to the discovery of a book called "How the Irish Saved Civilization," in historian Thomas Cahill's "The Hinge of History" series. This book recaptures history that feels alive (not the lifeless version taught to text-messaging high schools students) and helps us remember why the world is the way it is. Quite frankly, it has been rekindling my passion for how much we have to learn from history if we would lose our arrogant "nobody's ever had to deal with my issues" posture and cultural narcissim long enough to look at the bigger picture.

In the introduction to the series, Cahill points out: "We normally think of history as one catastrophe after another, war followed by war, outrage by outrage - almost as if history were nothing more than all of the narratives of human pain, assembled in sequence. And surely this, often enough, an adequate description. But history is also the narratives of grace, the recountings of those blessed and inexplicable moments when someone did something for someone else, saved a life, bestowed a gift, gave something that was required by circumstance...these great gift-givers, arriving in a moment of crisis, provided for transition, for transformation, and even for transfiguration, leaving us a world more varied and complex, more awesome and delightful, more beautiful and strong than the one they had found."

And in my mind, the words of this historian collided with those of a pontificating rock star invited to share at the National Prayer Breakfast on Thursday: "I truly believe that when the history books are written, our age will be remembered for three things: the war on terror, the digital revolution, and what we did - or did not do - to put the fire out in Africa."

The stunning conclusion of Cahill's book is that, as Rome fell and Western Europe was overrun with barbarians, small bands of passionate Irish Christians worked unassumingly to rescue and preserve the great classical works of antiquity believing that "all truth was God's truth." Thus this forgotten bunch of unsophisticated and barbaric nobodies saved Western Civilization as we know it and setting the stage for the Enlightenment, in which the re-discovery of truth and beauty and philosophy would finally pull the world out the "Dark Ages."

Could it be that we are on the cusp of another "hinge of history" with the dawning of the Information Revolution? Could it be that our greatest hope for the future, and the future of the chuch, lies with a largely forgotten people of the past? Why is it that it is always small groups of passionate people on the fringes and margins of society can often have the greatest impact? Is Bono right, and can a small minority of passionate believers in our generation act on conviction and see God break through to a world in flames with fear, terror, hatred, and pandemics, and by grace leave a planet more beautiful and strong than the one that we discovered ourselves in as we emerged into adulthood?

"History, like God, is watching..."

Snowball Fight!

2006-01-19T20:29:00.000-06:00

I feel for my little girls. Really I do. Everytime the word "snow" is uttered by some sadistic weather man (conspiracy theory: these guys are paid off by the local grocers association, I just know it...), they get this excited squeal in their voice, "Daddy, he said it's going to snow, he said it's going to snow!" I barely have the heart to tell them that it's a 10% chance and it's ten days from now, as they are pulling on their snowboots and digging out their mittens. And then there's the false alarms: a couple of mornings they've looked outside to see a heavy frost, run screaming into our bedroom, only to be broken-hearted to find out it wasn't the real thing.

So tonight, when we had the first real "snowflakes" of the year, I went and pulled the van into the garage. The girls immediately rushed out and started playing with the whopping quarter inch that had accumlated on the bumper and grill. In a moment of spontenaity, I grabbed a mixing bowl from the kitchen, and scraped off every bit of snow I could get into that bowl. The girls ran to put on their mittens, and it was on. For the next 15 mittens, it was a Snowball free-for-all in the garage. Snowballs to the gut. Snowballs in the back. Re-enacting a favorite scene from Dumb & Dumber, Eliza winds up and hits Lexi in the face from point blank range. We gasp and wait for the cry. Instead, my three-year-old laughs and says "Daddy, the snow tastes good." We laugh and duck and pack and throw until the mittens are soaked and our fingers are bright red and numb from the precious little bit of frozen fun we could scrape up.

Moments like this are what being a dad is all about.

Stealing Past Dragons

2005-12-08T09:41:00.000-06:00

So tonight I'm going with 10 friends to see the midnight showing of "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe." I think it's the first midnight premiere I've been to since "Ace Ventura: Pet Detective" my freshman year of college (and that was by accident - Alrighty Then!). Growing up with this book, I'm hedging my expectations, because I know that no movie can match the imagination. But I hope people (and especially church people) will remember what Lewis himself said about fantasy and let the story be the story:

"I thought I saw how stories of this kind could steal past certain inhibitions that had paralyzed much of my own religion in childhood. Why did one find it so hard to feel as one was told one ought to feel about God or the suffering of Christ? I thought the chief reason was that one was told one ought to. An obligation to feel can freeze feelings. And reverence itself did harm. The whole subject was associated with lowered voices, almost as if it were something medical. But supposing that by casting all these things into an imaginary world, stripping them of their stained-glass and Sunday school associations, one could make them for the first time appear in their real potency? Could one not thus steal past those watchful dragons? I thought one could."
- C.S. Lewis in Sometimes Fairy Stories May Say Best What's to be Said

City of Blinding Lights

2005-11-22T09:21:00.000-06:00

I have often repeated the maxim that I am a blessed man, not a lucky one. While grace has brought me more than I could ever ask for, contests, drawings, and other games have chance have always eluded me. I've never won a vacation, had my name drawn out of the hat for a door prize, or been the guy whose seat is randomly chosen for a year's subscription in the jelly-of-the-month club. Never. Not once. I'm not bitter about it, and it's actually been quite comical over the years. Case in point - at my senior post prom every senior was guaranteed to win something at the end of the night if you stuck around. My friends won things like TV's, VCR's, free gas for a year, and CD players. I won an autographed CD. Of a guy reading poetry. Really bad poetry. Poetry so bad it became a joke with my friends that survives to this day - "Every day I came home to my cat Sloopy, my arms full of canned liver and love..."

So when we finally cleared security Friday night (it's apparently much easier to get on an airplane than into a U2 show) I internally groaned to see that we then had to go through a second checkpoint - this one a "lottery" for seats actually inside the ellptical stage set - I rolled my eyes and had no hope whatsoever of getting in. So when my armband scanned "Vertigo!" and others were jumping up and down and screaming and yelling, I was simply in shock. "Aren't you excited?" the lady asked me. "More like stunned...but this is very cool," I told her, trying to recover a bit.

So, yes, my buddy Mark and I were this close to the greatest rock band in the world. And the boys in U2 did not disappoint anyone in that arena, with a show that was equal parts rock, postmodern sensory overload, party, and gospel meeting (What else do you call 20,000 people singing Psalm 40 over and over again?).

The upside: We saw what has to be one of the best shows of all time. 20 feet away. From the inside of the stage.
The downside: We'll never have another concert experience that will top this.

I wish I could tell you more...but my left ear is still ringing 4 days later.

Of Fall Retreats & Fighting Nuns

2005-11-14T09:03:00.000-06:00

"Are there ever times when for some reason you want to cry because of God's greatness? This weekend made me think about what it will be like when we are all in heaven together."

"I was consumed by God. As weird as that sounds, I felt wrapped in His arms after a long time of being lost. I have prayed for that moment for the past 2 and a half years..."

"I don't want this to be just another spiritual high. That's not what this is. This is real...I don't want to be the one standing up anymore just because that's what everyone else is doing. No, I want to dance. I mean it. I mean, I suck at dancing, but...it makes me want to shout, Hallelujah, thank you Jesus..."

"As a leader, it brought tears to my eyes to watch the students during worship and the prayer experience. I am in prayer for this next generation. I am praying and believing that God will bring revival through this generation."

All quotes from the hearts of our students and leaders. I love what God is doing in our ministry. And I love that God has given me the privilege of seeing a culture of love, grace and truth grow in the lives around me. This is Acts 2:42-47 lived out. This is the generation that is going to bring the church back to its ancient-future roots of community, beauty in simplicity, and an unbridled passion for the things of God.

We don't go to church, we are the church.

AND a big shout out to my senior guys, "The Fighting Nuns," who overcame a 5 OT battle, swirling winds off Kentucky Lake, and the Amigas to capture the Brentwood Bowl III title!

Epilogue: A Beautiful Collision

2005-10-21T10:49:00.000-05:00

"When our depravity meets his Divinity it is a beautiful collision." - David Crowder

Maybe because these words were so fresh in my mind, but mostly because I believe they are true, as I sit in my office on a Friday morning sipping Earl Grey tea, I feel "a beautiful collision" is a fitting metaphor for our experience across the pond: Baptist meets Anglican, American culture meets British worldview, post-Christian Europe collides with the evangelical South. There are a million differences between us and the people of Northeast England. And what shouldn't work, does. And out of that comes something, well, beautiful. Beautiful because God has put in us the wonderous capacity for relationships, shared experiences and self-denying demonstrations of grace. While we are undoubtably stained by our depravity, God still uses us, imperfect us, to build bridges, to correct misconceptions, to become verbi divini minister - carriers and servants of the Word of God. The Holy Spirit in us connected with the Spirit in the lives of every believer, and testified that God is alive to those who are not yet.

I was truly awed to see 1 Timothy 4:12 lived out in the lives of our students - Get the word out. Teach all these things. And don't let anyone put you down because you are young. Teach believers by your life: by word, by demeanor, by love, by faith, by integrity. I think the words of Alan Farish, vicar of All Saints Church says it best: "This was the American team that has been here the shortest amount of time, but they have had the greatest impact. Young people are the great evangelists of the church - and we have much to learn from young people like these."

So our week in Northeast England is over for now, but our journey is only beginning. With our new friends at All Saints and in the schools of Eaglescliffe. With our own church and ministry, that longs to see God raise up a generation of students that fan these sparks into a movement of God, a revival that rescues a lost world. With each other, as we truly become partners in the message of hope, "being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it to completion until the day of Jesus Christ" (Philippians 1:3-6).

I close with a Celtic meditation I discovered in the Cathedral at Durham:

Grant to me O Lord
An eye of vision
A sensitive mind
A gentle heart
And make me kind.

Grant to me O Lord
A discerning taste
A life of love
An awareness of You
And hope from above.

Ey, you're in Edinburgh

2005-10-18T02:48:00.000-05:00

Today, I sat upon the Royal Mile in the heart of Olde Towne Edinburgh, with a cup of coffee in my hand, great friends and students all around me celebrating a great week of mission. To my left, the sun set over the Castle which has stood for a thousand years. To my right was the house of John Knox, one the most brilliant theologians of the Reformation. Further to my right, the full moon rose over the Holyrood Place, the Queen's Palace here. I can truly say this was one of the most sastifying moments of my journey so far - not on this trip, but in my life. God's grace is exceedingly good and abundant, that he would bring me so far. Amen.

The Mission-Minded Church

2005-10-17T11:29:00.000-05:00

If you've been checking for updates, we apologize they have been slow in coming, as we have been constantly on the go from dawn until the wee hours of the morning, and often our access to the internet has been limited...so today's entry will be brief, as Amy Burns is coming to 'collect' me as they say here, for our final meeting and then on to Edinburgh!

For those of you have been praying, especially for our team to be used and to see the sparks of revival, God has answered. After last night's service, which our team led, over 40 parishoners responded to the vicar's call to come forward if they felt God leading them to be 'mission-minded' and have a 'fresh anointing for the work of evangelism' in this estate. He asked our team to be the ones to pray over them and with them, and hours later, there were still people praying, face buried in the church carpet, asking God to give them the same passion for souls that they had seen in the lives of our students this past week. What was amazing that the ones who came forward were not just the youth of the church, but many of the older saints as well. To watch one of our 17-year old Baptist girls pray for a 70-year old Anglican, holding each other, weeping as they asked God to breathe new life into this church and this country, was truly a moment I will never forget.

As our friend John Thomas from South Africa says, the sermon is preached but it is yet to be done. Both here and at home, we desperately need God to awaken within us that apostolic ethos that truly is mission-minded, other-minded, and gospel-minded. If we are going to become mission-minded churches, then we must first be mission-minded people, because we, the people, are the church. Coming across the pond, serving, loving, and encouraging another church, our students have realized just how wide the arms the body of Christ truly are. And just how blessed we are as believers we are to join Christ in his mission to seek and save those who are lost. Because what is evangelism, but just one beggar showing another where he found bread? (II Kings 7:6).

Off to Scotland we go...

Dodgeball & Durham

2005-10-15T03:44:00.000-05:00

After two full days in the schools and a full night hosting two youth clubs, I can officially report the following...

First, we have successfully imported the game of American Dodgeball to the UK. What they played wasn't anything like it, and, captializing on the apparent success over here of the rather 'cheeky' American movie, we turned it into a ministry opportunity. 3 continuous hours of throwing, diving, and sweating later, Jared Burke and I ('that big American who throws really hard') had the privilege of sharing why we came all this way with about 14 guys, many of who were in self-proclaimed 'posse' (gang) and came to this church only because of the opportunity to play Dodge Ball. Funny how play, conversation and laughter can break down walls so quickly. So maybe Dodge Ball should be required for international diplomacy...

Second, All Saints is a church on the move. They are, without a doubt, unashamed of the gospel and having an amazing impact on this community. The servant leadership starts from the top (the vicar himself served us tea and hot chocolate upon our arrival) and extends all the way through each host family, all who were so gracious to us. In only a few days, this church (people, not buildings) have made us feel like family. What do Baptists from the South and Anglicans in England have in common? Jesus. And everything else flows out of that to give us the very real and abiding sense that we are truly one family in God.

Third, everyone should be required to worship in a cathedral and visit an English pub (restaurant) at least once during their lifetime. Durham today was stunning. A true medieval town, we were drawn to speechless moments of wonder at the soaring vaults and history of the cathedral. We were also drawn to laughter at the sight of Mitch with his Harry Potter scarf in the cloister yard (this is where they filmed part of the first Potter movie). We sampled steak & ale pie for lunch with our British friends, who have not forgotten their manners nor the simple joy of redemptive conversation and story. For the evening meal, we did more of the same at the Londonerry Arms in Stockton, laughing, joking, and talking until late into the night. As we re-connected with Pastor Pete Spence from last year's journey ('cheers'), as our students laughed with the All Saints students about Monty Python movies, and as we shared with all their what God is doing both Stateside and on the British Isles, I couldn't help but think that this is way it is supposed to be - koininia - the fellowship of the believers.

As we lay our weary traveling heads down tonight, the words of the Venerable Bede (the ninth century monk/historian who gave us the system for numbering years that we have to this day and whose grave in found inside the cathedral) are echoing in my mind:
Christ is the morning star who when the night of this world is past brings to his saints the promise of the light of life and opens everlasting day.

Pants, Biscuits and a Boy Named Andrew

2005-10-14T00:14:00.000-05:00

So the first full day serving in the Preston Village neighborhood in Stockton-on-Tees is quickly drawing to a close! Stories of the day...

We led a school assemblies that included games...and we apparently had about 100 junior high student actually believing that Clint Alwahab was the TN state champ at line dancing, of all things, for a few minutes! What was also quite comical was that they had a harder time believing he worked at a fried chicken restaurant.

Kara Bellenfant, in her tired stupor, forgot that the King's English differs a bit from our own, and asked if she could iron her pants. Pants, of course, means 'underwear' here. After her host got doon (yes, I mispelled that on purpose - that's how they say it) laughing, she ironed her entire outfit. At least she didn't repeat Karyn's misstep from a year ago, asking if she could wear corduroy pants to school. That host's reply: 'Well, you can, but I don't think it would be too comfortable.'

While we're on language, the hosts of Eric Griesheimer quizzed him about his breakfast of choice. When he responded with pop-tarts (which the British find horribly tasteless with fresh bake shops in every town center) they gave an awful look, but when he suggested biscuits and gravy, they were down right disgusted. It wasn't until later today, when I told Eric that biscuits are cookies over here, as in the sweet kind, i.e. Oreos or Chocolate Chip, that he realized why they thought him so odd.

But my personal favorite story of the day is a boy named Andrew. Andrew is a year 7 student (meaning 6th grade in the States) who I randomly picked out of our assembly demonstration to come up to the front and do a trust fall into my arms. To give you a visual, Andrew reminds me of a cross between Harry Potter (glasses, uniform, messy boy hair) and Hamilton 'Ham' Porter, from the movie 'The Sandlot.' Needless to say he kept catching himself to the amusement of the other students, which proved my point about the connection between relationships and trust quite well. But thinking that would be the last I would see of an eager 6th grader who has eaten a few too many Krispy Kakes, I instructed the students to give him a round of applause. And then I noticed it. As the students clapped, the biggest grin I've seen in ages spread across this kid's mug. Later, he found me during lunch and wouldn't leave my side. He introduced me to all his friends as if we had been friends all our lives. He started calling me his 'big friend from America.' He even introduced me to his big brother...star football (soccer) player, a full foot taller, and by the looks of it, the big-man-on-campus guy. Needless to say, it's got to be hard for my boy Andrew to live in that shadow. After school, we're passing out flyers, inviting more students to the church this weekend in front of the Tesco (a convenience/market store that is everywhere up here and evidently takes in one of eight pounds spent in the UK) and guess who finds me again? This time, Andrew tells me that he's coming to the youth club we're hosting at All Saints, although he doesn't really go to church, and asks me for my email address. I ask him what he does after school, and he comments that he eats dinner, spends about 3 or 4 hours on the internet (Habbo Hotel and MSN Messenger, mostly) and then goes to bed. I'm tempted to suggest adding sit-ups to the routine, but I resist and give him my email address, telling him to send me a message sometime. He hurries off to catch his ride, telling me he'll send me 3 or 4 emails...tonight.

So I have yet to check my email, but I wonder out loud in prayer and thought: Was it by coincidence or design that I plucked a random student out of the audience...and he was the exact one who was starving for applause, a friend, and a reason to send emails? Would God lead me and 14 others this far for each of us to touch at least one solitary life this week? Does God have to bring me across the ocean to slow me down, to remind me that one individual soul is of immense worth to Him, and that time spent in conversation with one lad who needs to hear the story of Jesus is a worthy calling?

Pray for Andrew...and the 'Andrews' in your world, as tomorrow this story (and countless others here, there, and everywhere) will go on...

Arriving: Newcastle-Upon-Tyne

2005-10-13T12:48:00.000-05:00

After 16 hours, a delayed plane, a mad dash through the Minneapolis airport, and a very crowded red eye flight we arrived at the Newcastle-Upon-Tyne airport bleary-eyed but excited to be here.

Our team spent the rest of the day riding down to Eaglescliffe in Stockton-on-Tees and meeting our host church, All Saints. We knew were in the right place when the vicar himself greeted us with lots of piping hot tea and freddos (small chocolate desserts that are simply 'smashing'). Amy Burns, the youth worker, has done a great job setting up opportunities for us all week. Already I can see how God is at work connecting our students to a place that will challenge them, but that matches their gifts and abilities quite well.

We spent last night in our host homes, sharing our 'Who am I' books and watching England on the 'telly' compete in the World Cup qualifying, during which, apparently, the country stops and everyone, man, woman, child, and corgis, watch 'football.' England beat Poland, 2-1, which is good for us, because it seems that everyone in the entire nation is in a much better mood this morning, despite the typically brutish weather, which spits, sleets and threatens to pour at any moment.

This AM, we're off to a great start, with one team teaching RE classes on moral purity in Middlesburgh, one team doing assemblies at Preston Primary for children, and our team doing assemblies at the secondary school called Eaglescliffe.

Pray for us, that our eyes will be wide open and that we will be in step with Spirit as we go today...

Crossing the Pond

2005-10-11T16:02:00.000-05:00

T-minus 3+ hours before we head off for England. I'm excited and wondering what adventures God has in store for us in the next eight days.

Last week, I stumbled upon this quote and gave it to our students to ponder as we prepare.

"It takes the supernatural to break the bonds of the natural. You can make a community mission-conscious. You can make a community crusade-conscious. But only God can make a community God-conscious. Just think about what would happen if God came to any community in power. I believe that day is coming. May God prepare us all for it.”
- Duncan Campbell, the British evangelist who led what historians call the “last significant revival in the United Kingdom” in 1948

May God use our trip, our ministry, our church, and the churches of our friends in England, as the sparks that will lead to changed hearts, changed lives and a changed world...something the old-timers call "revival."

Turkish Delight

2005-10-04T00:50:00.000-05:00

I was introduced to an album of electronica-acoustic-praise-and-worship-hymns-and-random-yet-pleasing-sounds about four years ago by a friend. Like the guys in the Underground who introduced me to coffee at Greenville College, I now hold this friend responsible for my addiction. This little outfit, better known as the David Crowder Band, has consistently fused some of the most theologically sound God thoughts and inventive sounds in all of Christendom, to the point that I can no longer get their discs out of my player or their songs off my iPod playlist. My goodness, I am even tempted to download “Open Skies” to my cell phone, but I fear God too much to have such a great worship song emanating from the left pocket of my blue jeans. Never before have I promoted a band on my blog, but their latest project, “Collison” is no disappointment. And then today, mostly out of sentiment, I make a sudden emotional purchase of “Music inspired by The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” only to find a stunning cut on the project by the aforementioned band. And just when I think they can’t get more creative, they totally pull off the best sounding disco track this side of Saturday Night Fever, brilliantly and boldly wrapping C.S. Lewis’ classic metaphor for temptation inside yet another metaphor of the hedonism and excess of the 1970’s. Save yourself a few bucks and just download this cut and the Jars of Clay pop brilliance of “Waiting for the World to Fall” from said soundtrack, and it will be the best $1.98 you’ve spent in awhile.

Changing the Routine

2005-10-03T01:43:00.000-05:00

So this weekend, it’s been just the girls and I. Tanya has been away on the BBC women’s retreat, and so we’ve had a weekend of “dad time.” Quick recap: Friday night we go out to eat at McDonald’s and I play the monster on the playset for my daughters and seven of their newest, screaming pint-sized friends. Then my two little cheerleaders accompany me to the Brentwood High-Franklin High Football Game. The game is a good one (props to Tyler Sinclair, for the momentum swinging interception that helped BHS to victory), but my girls keep me busy mascot-watching (they’re freaked by high school kids in silly costumes…but maybe more of us should be, now that I think about it) and begging for dippin’ dots. So I cave, and end up wearing more frozen ice cream balls that we eat, but fun is had by all. Saturday is Eliza’s fourth soccer game of the fall. A lucky goal in practice Thursday boosts her courage, and she mixes it up, scoring her first goal ever on a loose ball in front of the net. A grin from ear to ear shows how proud she is! Now, she’s suddenly David Beckham in the body of a five-year-old girl, and my timid little defender breaks free from the pack for a break-away goal, and almost gets another – a regular offensive machine! She calls every relative in my cell phone on the way home to tell them the news. The bill will be worth it. Sunday morning I get to experience what my wife does every week. Getting up early, fixing oatmeal, getting them dressed in Sunday best, getting oatmeal off of Lexi’s face, attempting to do their hair, getting oatmeal out of Lexi’s hair, etc. It totally changed my routine, but that was a nice change of pace. It made me appreciate my wife more, and I hate it she has to feel like a single mom every Sunday. I parked with the normal people at BBC (now known as “The Church That Swallowed Brentwood,” according to friends of our students), and I appreciate the parking lots guys more. I sat with the Bowman, the Tyler and Matt the Pringle on the north wing of the worship center and from my new vantage point I watched Dennis trying to get spectators to join him in worship, and I appreciated him and all our folks who worship God and not music or performance or self more. I saw a mom put her arms around her teenage daughter and pray with her during the prayer and altar time, and I appreciated holy little moments like that more. So Tanya’s back, and I am very glad for that. But the moral of today’s lesson: do something today to change your routine – you might be surprised how fresh it makes life feel.

Coffeehouse Theology

2005-09-29T13:42:00.000-05:00

On a whim and a conviction, I began a little experiment mid-summer with teaching a sixteen-week course in theology for our students. While our friends in Rome have advocated systematic teaching of doctrine for centuries, we Protestant types, true to our nature, have tried to do things our own way. That’s great when people are intentional, but dangerous when we are not. So we’ve ended up with people really trying to hande snakes, a few naked baptisms, and a little controversy called Landmarkism that claimed Baptists are the only ones getting into the pearly gates, to give a few extreme examples. Point is, if we don’t know what we believe, then we can’t live truly, correctly, rightly. And people, especially Americans, will handle the Bible in all kinds of eccentric and incorrect and self-serving ways if we don’t. So I wanted to empower our students with some solid theology, but do it in a non-threatening, discussion-oriented environment...and I stole the name from a book by the same title by a fellow Nashvillian named Jim Thomas. The results? 3:30 on Thursday afternoon has become one of my favorite hours of the week. George Frazier and It’s a Grind has been a more than gracious host. Our students? They have amazed me with their honest questions, their hilarious and stubborn attempts to find analogies for the three-in-oneness of God, and their hunger and thirst for more. Props to Traci Creason, our sole ninth-grader, who I think has actually looked up every verse I’ve ever put on the discussion guide. So I planned to end this thing after week sixteen, but the students won’t let me. And I don’t really want to, either.
On a related note, in conversation on our date night celebrating our eighth anniversary Tanya asked me what I would see myself doing if I wasn’t a pastor. I landed on teaching in a small university or college setting, because I love pouring my life into students who are hungry for truth, hope, and all things God. So much love to my Coffeehouse Theology Crew – soli deo gloria!

Comments (0)

2005-09-19T13:39:00.000-05:00

For the longest time, I felt like the biggest blog-loser in history, because, in a little over a year, no one, ever had left a comment on my blog. My natural deduction was that meant no one was reading it at all, or worse yet, it was so uninspiring that no one bothered to even comment…ever. Then Scott “Good Game” Drennen e-mails from the Virgin Islands to tell me that my posts from our Chicago Mission Journey connected with him, flooding him with memories of meaningful high school mission trips past, and prompting him to “sign up” as the first volunteer for next year’s trip. So this blog has now served at least some small purpose in history…and now I have to figure out why the dang comment button is broken (help, Seth)!

3 Nights in August...in September

2005-09-15T22:40:00.000-05:00

"The rivalry between the Cubs and the Cardinals is probably the oldest and perhaps the best in baseball, no matter how the Red Sox and the Yankees spit and spite at each other. That's a tabloid-fueled soap opera about money and ego and sound bites. That's a pair of bratty high-priced supermodels trying to trip each other in their stilettos on the runway. But the Cubs-Cards epic is about roots and geography and territorial rights. It's entwined in the Midwestern blood and therefore refreshing and honest and even heroic."
- Buzz Bissinger, 3 Nights in August

In the 5th Inning, it's Cards 3, Cubs 0. The Redbirds Magic Number is 2. How sweet it is...

Thirty

2005-08-09T11:17:00.000-05:00

As a boy growing up in small-town Illinios, I remember wondering between Wiffle Ball games in the backyard and gulping down copious amounts of grape Kool-Aid, about the future. I think the year 2000 was as far as my little mind could stretch at the time. What would life be like when I was 25? Would I be married? Would I have kids? Where would I live? Would I be the starting centerfielder for the St. Louis Cardinals, the glorious birds-and-bat logo on my chest as a stepped to the plate as the Dale Murphy of my era, with a smooth swing and even smoother home run trot around the bases? What would the world be like? The Jetsons, with their house-cleaning robot and spaceships that folded up into a briefcase? Or Battlestar Galatica, with humanity fighting for its very existence? Or would we even be here at all? The spectre of nuclear war was a atomic storm cloud that hung over my childhood. I probably thought too much about it, but there was Pat Robertson on the 700 Club my mom watched, always reminding us that the end was near. I think I could see, even then, some of the values, attitudes and habits that would grow in significance to become a large part of my life. I always loved being with people, whether it was riding around in Kevin Watson's Monte Carlo listening to Guns N' Roses or the feasts my mom prepared for Sunday lunch, half the church invited over to share in pot roast and laughter. I loved to read, especially biographies of great Americans. I love baseball, the timeless quality of the game and the way it was a thousand different games within a game, a thinking man's game, a game that gave my dad, brothers and I endless hours of discussion that seemed to be about ERA's and hit-and-runs and stolen bases but was really about life.

But I could not see 30. As a kid, I didn't even try.

I admit, I am in many ways that kid, always that kid, but I don't see the world through the same rose-colored stained glass windows that I once did. As a kid, I had no way to realize how broken the world really is because I had parents who loved me. I could not fathom the courage that it takes to push back against a world that daily tries to manipulate, squeeze, and choke the life out of you because not much "culture" made it to a forgotten little farm town before the days of cyberspace. I could not see the way God was going to move my heart and my life, stretching me on the journey, his disruptive grace shattering my illusions while sustaining me through every twist and turn, peak and valley. I am still very much a work in progress...but I don't ever want to stop pushing out, moving out, challenging, questioning - "semper reforma." By grace I am compelled to confess that if it ended right now at 30, it's been quite the ride. But the rhythms of Scripture also lead me to recognize that much of my life thus far has been introduction, with much of the story yet to be told. And if the minstry of the Great Storyteller was only going public at 30, then with his help and a lot of grace, maybe I can remain true to the calling on my life to tell the story of God and his hope for ragamuffins, sinners and losers to be rescued by love.
***
As a child my favorite story in my "Good News Bible" was David. Not just for the overused and misunderstood Goliath saga - there was something the drew me to this story. So it's fitting that on my 30th birthday I found myself sitting in a silent chapel reading...
"I was always David. I am still David. It's the intent and skill of this scriptural storyteller to turn everyone who reads or hears the story into realizing something essentially Davidic about himself:

In my insignificant, sheep-keeping obscurity, I am chosen."

Good Tired

2005-07-25T14:29:00.000-05:00

Exit 71 has returned from the Windy City, tired but the good kind of tired that comes when you've given your best, left it all on the field, and poured everything you had into the moment. As I sit in my office sipping some "Awake" tea (a shout out and prayers to my friends in England and AJ who is across the pond at this very moment), I am sorting through the themes and moments that made this our most meaningful mission journey to date...

Exhibit A: "Love without strings." Our students and leaders did a great job "washing some feet" in the metaphorical sense this week without asking for anything back. Every vacant lot cleaned up, every car washed, every piggy back ride given was done so selflessly. In doing so, our students were living examples of the greatest give away of all, the love of Jesus, to a city and a people so hardened that they could barely believe anybody would do anything for them without asking for something in return. How fun it was to "flip the script" on people's expectations - and point them to the reason behind the act often without saying a word.

Exhibit B: Out of the Boat. Nothing is more powerful than experience. We can teach on the effects of the fall all we want, but when students walk the streets of the city, and see the consequences of sin in the prostitutes working in broad daylight, drug dealers peddling across from a schoolyard, and a violently drunken man who harasses our group, it is a moment to "get good and angry about." Alcohol is no longer something to joke about on Sunday morning after a Saturday night party, you've now held in your arms the kids who are abused under its grip. Violent rap music and videos are no longer amusing, because you've walked the broken streets that rappers try to glorify and you've seen how unglorious a man passed out in the gutter or how sad the eyes of a lady with no dignity from a life of prostitution truly look in person. You hear the words of Matthew echo in your mind..."so confused and aimless they were, like sheep with no shepherd..."

Exhibit C: Redemptive conversation. Walking the streets and serving unconditionally gave us the right the be heard and to talk to the people. An unmarried father of four, Marc was one of only a few parents who actually showed up to see who was playing with his kids at the park. Having just got out of prison, we talked about how we are all in a spiritual prison as well. I invited him to a journey out of that dark place, and he replied honestly that he wasn't ready yet. I offered to pray for him anyway. And then he said, "but there's one thing I've got to tell you; what you're doing for these kids, it's a real good thing. Most of their parents don't love them this much." And a tear ran down the cheek of this prision-hardened former drug dealer. Another guy was rolling a Blunt (basically a cigar re-packed with marijuana) remarked to a leader, "You know if you were just a bunch of white kids here to feel good about yourselves, I would mock you. But I've been watching. You've been back every day, and I respect that." And a young intern named Bryon with the church plant responded, "And we're here to stay." It didn't feel force or contrived, but it felt natural and relevent for our students to talk to those people about Jesus because they had earned that right...just like we have to here in Brentwood, in our mission field.

Exhibit D: The impact on our students. I think it was best summed up by this paragraph from the blog of one mission ninja (see pix of his thrift-store-ninja-gear and a couple hundred more photos at www.amyjogirardier.com) named Clint Alwahab: I always learn so much more on these trips and discover so many new things about my religion and my own personal relationship with Christ. Chicago is now my favorite city, and if it were up to me the church youth group would be making trips up there every two months. Even more than last have I discovered how much the world needs Christianity, and how much the world wants it. I can't even count how many people we spoke to that thanked us and begged us to stay because we were making a difference to them and cleaning up the city. It's amazing that by just cleaning up beer bottles and crack bags in a park you can have everyone's full attention and they will listen. It's amazing how a church can reach out to people by just washing their car for free. Our church group has helped make a small difference in Chicago only because God lead us to these people. God worked through every single one of us this week, both personally and socially. We have caught the people of Chicago's ear, and we are speaking the word of Christ. It really is a great feeling to do mission work, because this has been going on for centuries now. And though the 'tactics' have changed, we are all doing it for the same purpose, and we are all making a difference.

Now, to borrow from South African Pastor John Thomas, "the sermon is preached but it is yet to be done." Will we continue to see our world as a mission field? Will we find it as natural to look for ways to meet the needs of the community when we are nestled back into the safety of the "golden ghetto" of Brentwood? Will we be tempted to try to share the message before we've earned the right? Will we be passionate about making mission part of who we are, not something we do once a year? Our lives, not our words, will be the answer.

In the words of a Chicago preacher from a hundred years ago, Lighthouses don't fire cannons or ring bells to let people know they are there, they just shine (- D.L. Moody).

Somewhere North of Normal

2005-07-20T03:21:00.000-05:00

...Normal, Illinois that is. Our group is anything but normal, and I am proud of their love for Christ, their hardwork today and their inquenchable love for community and laughs. Although it's really late, I couldn't go to bed without chronicling a few great moments of the week so far...

*Mitch Miller provides a Slip'N'Slide and a great way to laugh and beat the heat with fun in front of the dorm...I want to go back to high school just so I can hang out with Mitch every day. Mitch, may you find your Oprah bobblehead some day, even if the waiter laughed at you tonight when you asked where you might find one!

*I'm so glad that our new friend and college-aged leader Tani Tahiraj has joined us for another week. Tani has a love for life that cannot be quenched, a deep appreciation for all things we take for granted growing up in America and perfect comic timing for quotes like, "It looks like I'm the only Albanian on this bus!" If you haven't heard him croon "Sweet Home Chicago" with a heavy Eastern European accent, you haven't lived!

*Tonight we had our "Thrift Store Prom," and everyone joined in the fun. From gaudy 80's dresses to Tinkerbell to Magnum P.I. (we voted that Brian Coates should keep his Tom Sellick mustache), we not only dressed up, but we road the "L" Train and ate Gino's East deep dish pizza in our incredibly bargain-basement outfits. Comments from awed and stunned bystanders included, "Are you guys part of a play?" to "Where is your party headed, because I don't want to miss out on that!"

*Last but not least, much love to my crew today for not letting me live down the comment from a Hispanic passer-by who was watching me bag trash near Hamlin Boulevard, "Man, what did you DO to get community service here?" about the time that I realized an orange t-shirt might not be the best attire for the day.

May we always take our calling to share the hope of Christ seriously, but ourselves not so much...

In the Neighborhood

2005-07-19T03:01:00.000-05:00

"The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us. Christ didn't commute. There wasn't an ascension every night." - Pastor Charles Lyons

If there was a running theme throughout our first day on our sites it was incarnational ministry. You can read about missions, you can sit in a classroom and talk about "getting out of the boat," and you can give money to Lottie and Annie and every other good and just cause, but nothing can replace moving into the neighborhood, even for a week.

Today our students experienced just how fallen the world is as we cleaned up used up drug packets, hundreds of broken liquor bottles and things much worse from Garfield Park where children play every day. Their usual joking selves were pretty quiet as they worked hard and imagined every story and broken life behind each broken bottle of alcohol that littered the ground. Elizabeth Goldstein told the story of the free car wash done at the church and how most people were absolutely stunned that this was for free, in the name of Jesus, no donations accepted. She told how one man asked several times, "now what's the catch." Even after she repeatedly told him there was none, he slowly pulled away, unable to even fathom that someone anymore would serve someone else for free. Our student and leaders wondered aloud if Elizabeth's disappointment at seeing this man leave could even compare to God's broken heart for those who cannot accept that the way to Him is through a free gift as well. Lynn Torti connected with a lady in Garfield Park whose truck was stalled out. She accepted conversation, prayer, and a little gas to get her on her way, but she stopped first to say that she knew God had sent us that day. A homeless man who sat next to me in church on Sunday showed up as we were preparing to leave for our sites this morning. I asked if I could pray for him, but he insisted that he pray for me and our teams for that day. It was humbly moving to have a homeless man minister to you on the streets.

If you are reading this and you are praying, pray for Jamie Thompson, his wife Andrea and his six-month-old son Peyton. God has called Jamie to reach back out to the streets he grew up on, and he is planting a church in Garfield Park, and has moved his family into that neighborhood to be a light in the dark there. They have been robbed. They have been threatened. But this is God's man to impact this area, and our students have been impacted by his quiet but strong example in just the short time they have been around him. We honored to get to come along side him, as three of our four teams are working in that area this week.

I believe it was Mo Leverett from Desire Street Ministries in New Orleans who said it first: "And the Word became flesh and moved into the neighborhood." There's no other choice, no better way, than to follow Jesus...right into the places where the people are.

Salt and Really Bright Light

2005-07-17T09:11:00.000-05:00

This week our team chose the theme of salt and light for our mission journey focus. Two memorable themes from Jesus, our students will experience opportunities to the be both. As we prepare on this Sunday for our week of hitting the streets with God's story in our actions and our words, I've been thinking about this...

E=P/4(pie)4_<

No, I don't love math or formulas, I'm usually more of a history/story/social science kind of guy. But I ran across it in a book recently, and it's the formula for illumniance. What gets me thinknig and praying for our students is a lot more significant than just numbers and symbols - it's the reality that the closer an object is to a light source, the more illuminated it will be. As I saw the moon rise in the hazy, hot summer night sky last evening during our church group devotion on the back roof-deck of a dorm I was reminded that we have a lot in common with the moon. It's made of dust, and we're made of dust. It doesn't actually generate light of its own, but it can only reflect light. Likewise, we can't generate enough light on our own to do anything, but we can reflect the character and likeness of Jesus, so that "they will see your good deeds and glorify [read: illuminate] your Father who is in heaven" (Matt. 5:16).

So we're off to join our new friends at Armitage this AM, so that we can start our week closer to source than we are now.

Chicago Hope

2005-07-17T01:40:00.000-05:00

It's official...after 600 miles, 3 bathroom stops and two meal breaks, we have returned to the Windy City. The Exit 71/Brentwood Baptist partnership with Armitage Baptist and its new church plant in Garfield Park is moving into its second summer and we're excited to see what the week will hold. I spent much of my first day with bus driver Bob, as we navigated the corn fields of Illinois and moved into this city as week-long missionaires, the most unchurched major city in the country.

My prayer for this week is captured in the words of Christ in Matthew 9:35-38: "When he looked out over the crowds, his heart broke. So confused and aimless they were, like sheep with no shepherd. 'What a huge harvest!' he said to his disciples. 'How few workers! On your knees and pray for harvest hands!'"

I pray when we see the faces this week and hear the stories, each of us, students and leaders, new to the journey and seasoned disciples, will be broken for this city. Pastor Lyons told us that in the '60s and '70s almost 2,000 churches either died or left this city for the suburbs. We will not raise up a generation that is naive to the reality that God seems to be gathering more people in the cities than ever before - what if it was so that we expand our reach to the world by reaching the people in our cities?

Words Cannot Describe

2005-06-09T17:03:00.000-05:00

...the experience of becoming a Dad for the first time. Today as we saw Silas for the first time, I remembered the words of the doctor who delivered Eliza like it was yesterday: "Two things will never again be yours, your heart or your checkbook." So far, he's right on both counts. But that's the great thing about becoming a parent: your priorities change, for the better. Suddenly, this little life becomes the nexus of your thoughts and you can't wait to get home at the end of the day. Oh, it's scary to think that you're responsible for such a needy little bundle of hopes and dreams and expectations. But it's an adventure of its own.

Amy, he's beautiful. Aaron, you're going to make a great dad. Silas, welcome to our world...you're already off to a great start!

Comfort Food

2005-06-07T23:11:00.000-05:00

I preface this post by noting the claim I am about to make will make every chain restaurant, strip mall chicken place and most human beings who have acquired tastes for artificial things cooked in microwaves for ridiculous profit angry, but I am simply compelled to make this outrageous statement: for the best food in Nashville or the surrounding vicinity you simply must visit Barbara's Home Cooking. I am forever indebted to good friend Brent High for kidnapping me from my church office hobbit hole one afternoon for such an adventure. I will now share this secret with you.

From the entrance of Brentwood Baptist Church turn left, or east, trying to avoid the onslought of soccer moms who floor the pedals of their ridiculously oversized SUVs after the traffice light turns green just to the west of your starting location. Turn right on Franklin Road gawking at the lavish homes on your left, but more captivated by the rolling meadows to your right. At Murray Lane, turn left. Travel past Brentwood High & Middle, where one Aaron Bryant formerly displayed his craft both on the football field and in strange but funny incident with a bottle rocket, and where one Amy-Jo Girardier was mistaken for a student in one awkward run-in with a principle. Do not take the temptation of turning north on Granny White Pike past more houses to gawk at or leading to the quick-fill temptation of a Joey's House of Pizza or Chez Jose, respectable in their own right; but remember my friend, good is not great. Murray Lane will dead end into Holly Tree Gap Road. Turn left and know that our good friend Ron Camacho is watching over you from his abode high on the east, the Last Dragon hiding away with him on the moutaintop. After a few hundred yards, you will find Manly Road. Turn right. Manly Road is filled with many distractions, beautiful vistas, and random stop signs. Do not be deterred, you have almost reached your goal - stay the course and follow the road markings. You will come out just north of Grassland Middle School, where one Matt Worley once had a remarkable junior high football career, a certain game of which Aaron and Amy Bryant came to see him and one fresh-faced intern eager to make a good impression as well, but alas - his visit was sadly forgotten. After stopping where the road dead ends into Hillsboro Road, take a left. At the next stoplight turn right. The third house on the right has a hand-painted sign that lets you know that your journey over vale and hill has been worth it all - Barbara's Home Cooking.

Pull right up into the yard, survey the "family reunion" atmosphere in the front yard with picnic tables and folding tables scattered about. But for a more pleasant experience on a warm summer day, make your way into the first floor of Barbara's home - that's right, this is really her house. Make your way to the right, past the autographed photos of celebrities who are unabashed in their near idol-worship of unassuming Barbara (you'll likely meet one, as Chris Rice ate in our little room that day...but don't act like you're letting on, because, well, this place is their secret too...), and into the hallway and back to your left, where a coverted carport now houses perfectly comfortable furniture purchased from an office supply wholesaler or an auction, I can never tell which. Settle comfortably in your chair, you're going to be here awhile. Homemade rolls arrive and...well, you really must experience the rest. But like a Sunday lunch social in Beaver Creek, Illinois, you will not go home hungry or disappointed. If you absolutely must know, I recommend the fried chicken, with sides of fried okra, mashed potatoes and gravy and macaroni and cheese. Akins get behind me! This is Barbara's we're talking about here! I saw a tear glisten in the eye of one faithful intern as the culinary feast was spread before our eyes on the plastic picnic tablecloth of red and white checks.

It's nice to be reminded of your roots and eat a good meal with good friends.

There's Moonlight in our Cocktail Sauce

2005-04-23T15:35:00.000-05:00

Today I am trying to get my soul to catch up to my body. I am in the middle of a wild six week span in which I am traveling all over the place. I love to travel, meet new people, experience new places, serve in new ways. But I feel so disconnected from home and students and staff that it almost drives me crazy. And so far, all my experiences have had their ups and downs...

New Orleans - Final seminary class ever, good. Insomnia from trying to get too much work done while I'm away from home, bad.

Chattanooga - Church staff bonding over Sticky Fingers BBQ, good. Student ministry staff bonding over Panera Bread, even better. Chattanooga Choo-Choo and all related experiences, not so much.

Destin - Youth Minister's Metro Conference (4 days of relational interaction with 50 guys I respect and love with no cheesy speakers and no bad seminars), good. A perfect spring Sunday with my wife by the pool and dinner on the beach and relaxed conversation with great friends, even better. My wife has to come home after 2 days to get a root canal, bad. A great friend gets news that his childhood buddy and ministry partner is killed in a motorcycle accident and I spend the next 4 hours doing grief counseling, worse.

So what will Chicago and St. John, USVI hold in the next two weeks? Stay tuned...

"Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." - Leonard Cohen

A New Hope

2005-04-06T09:43:00.000-05:00

Last night I'm sitting there, totally distracted, tired and barely conscious...when I hear the music. The Imperial Death March from Star Wars to be exact. And while I'm extremely skeptical after the debacles of Episodes I and II, I was caught off guard and for a moment I was five again as I watch the first trailer I've seen for Episode III...

I loved Star Wars. Han was my hero, Leia my first crush and Wookies were just plain cool. I talked about it, I dreamed about it, my dad and I even made a movie about it using an old 8mm movie camera. My best friend Chuck had the Imperial AT-ST Walker and we would spend hours in the field behind my house pretending that the Evil Empire was taking over my hometown and only we could stop them. Before I knew anything about themes like revenge, spirituality or redemption I loved Star Wars. It had heroes I could relate to (Luke really just a farmboy), villians who wore the blackest of black (my mom threatened to take away my toys because I kept have nightmares that Darth Vader was in my room) and stuff that blew up. Some kids grew up playing cowboys and indians - I grew up playing galatic cowboys and storm troopers - take that for cool, the Lone (Loser) Ranger!

And so at the young age of five I proclaimed myself the world's foremost authority on all things Star Wars. I would unleash my encyclpedic knowledge on anyone who would sit still long enough to listen. My parents, in a clever ploy to embarass me as a teenager years later, decided to pull out the old reel-to-reel cassette tape recorder from Radio Shack and record my litany of praise for a parallel universe and my commitment to someday run off to the stars, train with Yoda, and join the rebellion as a young X-Wing pilot. I still have that tape - although I say "actually" 324 times in 30 minutes, I am confident and convincing - especially when I declare with the zeal of an evangelist that "The 'Lineum Falcon is the fastest ship in the entire, actually, universe, actually."

David Crowder's "Praise Habit" reintroduced this idea to me, actually (old habits die hard). That as a child, we don't have to be told to praise things, that we just do it. We don't worry about what others think, we aren't inhibited by our desire to conform, we just simply proclaim: "Look, Dad, Look!"

I want to praise like that again. I want my teaching and my ministry to be full of that kind of authenticity. I long for spontaneous moments that are not contrived. I want to sing a song I made up unhindered by my own ridiculous expectations and the critical eye of others. I think that's the way God intended it from the beginning. But then we, fallen fools that we are, fill up words and concepts and ideas (even holy ones) with so much baggage that we can't even decide what they mean anymore, let alone just let go and praise.

I want to praise God like Eliza and Lexi dance. "Turn up the music Dad!" they cry out with an urgency that would make you think this was the most important thing in the world. Then they dance and laugh and giggle in their most lavish dress-up costumes, twirling and singing and doing plies and holding hands until they collapse in a pile of smiles on the floor.

Life Means So Much

2005-03-31T23:57:00.000-06:00

This week has found me...
Smiling at the "finished with seminary display" constructed upon my office door
Catching up with a college student who was transparent about his spiritual journey
Consuming the firecracker bowl at Genghis Grill with two of the oddest best friends you'll ever meet
Grieving with a friend and fellow minister over the death of his wife
Spending too much time in the Greek text of Luke chapter 24 in preparation for Sunday's sermon
Holding my two daughters at 12:32 AM because of the storms outside and trying to sleep
Laughing out loud at the silly little insertions into the Library of Congress title page of David Crowders book...for the record, my love for penguins is a 7.1
Blogging to remind myself in a busy week that all is grace and gift. And tonight I will hold my wife just a little tighter and hug my girls for a little longer.

King of New Orleans

2005-03-22T23:41:00.000-06:00

So this week finds me in New Orleans...taking my last seminary workshop ever. The class isn't great. But the quiet time I'm finding this week is. And this city itself has become an odd and unique affection for me. It's old, flithy, smells terrible, you can't make left-turns, and a dark presence hangs over this place like a musty old blanket. But it's also one of the only places in the U.S. that makes you feel like you're in a different country, the seafood is amazing if you can avoid tourist-traps, and it's in the places of greatest darkness that the light shines brightest, a metaphysical contrast that grips me more every time I'm here. As a professor once said, this place is "a hole in the buckle of the Bible belt" and its true - there's little "middle of the road" cultural Christianity here. I would rather see that anyday than experience the lukewarm french-fry (I hate lukewarm fries...) spiritual climate of Nashville, for here people are not inoculated to the true power of the gospel.

So tonight while listening to Better Than Ezra and sitting in a coffeeshop with no one to distract me other than an obnoxiously kind barista who kept striking up a conversation because she was bored as she rotated the coffee mugs, I reflected long and with great thought on the following sentence, which was the best I've read in awhile...

"The early church wrote its theology in prisons, deserts, homes, and ships. We write ours in academic institutions and brick and mortar churches. Perhaps that's part of what is wrong with the church today."

Any Given Thursday

2005-03-10T17:06:00.000-06:00

So after a crummy past few weeks of sickness beseiging my family like a hostile rebel force, I am sitting in my office enjoying Jars of Clay's "Redemption Songs" and reflecting on one of the best and most unexpected compliments that I have received in quite some time - "What I appreciate about you is that you are in the Matrix but you are not part of it, and that's the hardest thing to do of all."

Stupid

2005-03-02T09:56:00.000-06:00

Every now and then I get a longing to hear some "Toad the Wet Sprocket." So on my AM commute to the church I put in "Dulcinea" and the fourth track "Stupid" instantly takes me back to Tuesday nights on the campus of Greenville College, sitting in the monthly coffeehouse the guys on my dorm floor organized on the second floor of the student union. Strong coffee, music all performed by students, people lounging all over couches and the floor, telling inside jokes about pogo sticks and hairy backs...there was a fun innocence to that time and those relationships.

So my thought of the day way this...I spend a lot of time not in the present. Usually I'm thinking about the future and making plans and setting goals and doing whatever it takes. And sometimes, when I hear a certain song, or catch a certain smell or hear a voice or see a picture, I become wistful about the past. But the thing about the past is that then, too, I was always making plans for the future, dreaming of what it would be like when I would be married, have kids, working or serving in only-God-knows-where. I've spent a lot of my life chasing windmills. Not that I would trade a minute of it, because it is how I am hard-wired and who I am. But in order to not feel trapped in the race, I need to simplify. And Today I want to live this day.

"Go eat your food with gladness and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for it is now that God favors what you do."
- Ecclesiastes 9:7

I'm a Blog-Loser...

2005-02-16T12:29:00.000-06:00

Apparently I have failed Blogging 101...

An old college buddy of mine googled my name and ended up on this blog. But after reading my posts, he wasn't sure if it was really me or not. I understand that the entire point of a blog is to be real and authentic, so it was apparent by both my inability to be everyday-transparent and my lack of entries (because "filtering" my thoughts is "work" and not "fun" leading me to not want to post), that I'm missing the point.

While talking with my friend Seth the other day, I realized that much of my stress and demise in life has been because I simply try too hard...as is the case with this blog. I.E. I was a good, but never a great athlete growing up because I overanalyzed every play, I examined every game film in ridiculous detail and I tried too hard to please every whim of the coach...rather than just relaxing and doing what came naturally. I'm trying too hard to be poignant, significant, and meaningful while not recognizing that sometimes the "snapshots" of life are the most poignant, significant, and meaningful moments. "Take God seriously and everything else lightly" was once spoken to me by a wise friend.

So I repent of my blogging sins...and I'll try to be more fun and random, and only pensive if the moment demands such a response.

"Seize life! Eat bread with gusto,
Drink wine with a robust heart.
Oh yes - God takes pleasure in your pleasure!"
- Ecclesiastes 9:7

Stuck in a Moment I Can't Get Out Of

2004-11-23T15:32:00.000-06:00

So just exactly how do you dismantle an atomic bomb?

"With love."

"And a lot of care."

The King's English

2004-10-25T04:14:00.000-05:00

“The Americans are identical to the British in all respects except, of course, the language.” – Oscar Wilde

Today was simply “smashing” as we shared with the fellowship at Portrack Baptist Church, experienced British Premiership football at its finest at Middlesbrough, and took the train ride to London (note to selves – never travel on an English School Holiday weekend)…

Not only has our sojourn been missional, it has been educational as well (Who knew the name Randy could be so, well, Randy!) Since it is so ridiculously late, in lieu of deep thoughts tonight, we choose to present a little of the King’s English we have learned in our time across the pond thus far…

Amy-Jo: Those randy lollipops always push to the front of the queue when I need to pop to the loo…simply brilliant!

Karen: Bum (rear end)…Biscuit (Cookies!)…Engaged (i.e. “I’m currently engaged in the bathroom!)…Let (rent)…Pants (underwear…that’s why I got some strange looks when I asked if I should wear my courdory pants to school..)…Way Out (exit – as get me the way out from between AJ & Brian’s constant bickering like a brother and sister)

Jay: (Learned at the football match as the teams were coming onto the pitch)

MIDDLESBROGH FANS: Go Old ‘Brough Go On! (What 39,996 lifelong fans lagered up on about 5 pints apiece sounded like: goasdhfdoldasdfiopbroughzxygosa@%$@#*!)

PORTSMOUTH FANS: Tra-la-la-Tra-laaaaa Come on Portsmouth! (What 96 lagered up fans sounded like who were surrounded by an entire division of Scotland Yard watching their every move (no hooligan-schenanigans going on here): Well, honestly, I could hear over Amy-Jo’s heaving sobs at the beauty of a stadium full of people for the first time in her life who love soccer as much as she does…)

Brian Coates-of-Arms: [No Comment] Brian is still recovering from an international incident he instigated when he flashed what he previously believed to be the international sign for peace to a young lady he was “witnessing” to on the train and found out his gesture to be something quite other than what he originally believed…

So there you have it…lots of culture advancement and only one minor setback for US-British relations…Good night and cheers!

A School, an Abbey, and The Three-Legged Mare

2004-10-23T03:14:00.000-05:00

The past 48 hours on the other side of the pond have been a blur of experience! Yesterday we spent in Norton Secondary School in Stockton, England, sharing mostly with students in small groups in their Religious Education courses. They don't have tourists often in this region, so it's interesting to be a novelty, just by the way you speak. Our British friends seem to think America is violent, that we live just like the movies, and that Jerry Springer and Elvis are our two greatest citizens ever...yes, we have a long, long way to go here. The school experience was challenging but amazing - challenging questions, the opportunity to connect on a personal level with students, and the chance to bring a smile to their face when we tell them we came all this way just to meet them. The need here is great...there is a heaviness to their hearts that hangs like the fog rolling in off the North Sea. They are looking for anyone who cares and anything to do...and any hope to hang on to. Out of 60 students maybe 5 shared that they were Christian. For the rest church is something ancient, for old people, that doesn't matter (all their own words). But their is hope for this place...an evening meeting of a brave trust of a few hearty souls demonstrated that there is a group of believers in this place who are mobilizing across denominational and traditional lines to reach out together and are quickly earning the right to be heard in this region, from everyone from Prime Minister Tony Blair to the little blonde-headed girl named Lucy whose face lit up when she saw "Americans!" had arrived.

Today was the chance to further build relationships with our British and US counterparts here as we toured two medieval cities and attending an evening meeting in castle together. Laughs were plenty as we commented on Brian's distrust of anything but chicken and pizza, planted the well-traveled Krisy Kremes for yet more photos, and walked through European lanes packed with shops and pubs carrying unique history and names such as the three-legged mare (quite a story there...). The Minster of York was breath-taking as one of the finest medieval cathedrals and the drive across the Moors was simultaneously stunning and depressing as the landscape is bleak yet retains a simple beauty all the same.

But it was Whitby and the Abbey ruins there that captured my heart today. There was something powerful about standing in the shell of the once-great cathedral there that was a metaphor for the spiritual condition of this nation. And looking out in the mist across the North Sea, it is fascinating to think that for thousands of years Saxons, Normans, Vikings, and missionaries have all sailed into this harbor with hopes of a new life. And there, among the eerie tombstones on the hillside next to St. Mary's was the marker of the legendary resting place of Saint Caedmon, his marker towering about the others, bearing the inscription: TO THE GLORY OF GOD AND IN MEMORY OF CAEDMON, THE FATHER OF ENGLISH SACRED SONG WHO FELL ASLEEP HARD 680. Apparently Caedmon, much like the son of Jesse, was a shepherd who played the harp. And on this hillside, almost 1400 years ago, he was given the gift of writing music for God, and that legacy has lasted to this day.

What in 1400 years will they remember about us? About our generation? What will be the lasting remnants be of our efforts? What are we giving our life to that matters?

Today, Amy-Jo shared a new Matt Redman song with me on her iPod...it was about God rescuing this land...bringing revival to this place...using people of passion and prayer to turn hearts toward him. And that connected the experience of the last two days for me. What if that is why we are here? What if God is going to allow us to play a small part in a massive spirital awakening on this shore, a revival that would begin in seemingly the unlikeliest of places on the planet - the forgotten North East of England?

If a three-legged mare can become a legend, surely the God who once moved upon these shores can again capture the heart of a generation.

Now it is time for me to fall asleep hard...cheers!

Stockon-on-Tees

2004-10-21T09:30:00.000-05:00

3 planes. 2 trains. 1 crying baby. [No, I'm not referring to Brian here...] And , severly sleep deprived, we have finally arrived @ the fine home of Pete Spence, pastor of Portrack Baptist Church, Stockton-on-Tees, England! It's blustery, cold and spitting rain up here on the NE coast, but what else would you expect from the weather here?

Tonight we try to fool our bodies into thinking its time to go to bed. And then in the morning we lead an assembly and teach Religious Education classes at Norton Academy. This may sound impossible, [we know otherwise] but pray that we will be able to connect in 15 minutes with a group of students that we have ever met and that likely we will never meet again in a way that at least leads them to think about things that matter!

The church we're working with is a small but God-loving band of hearty and passionate souls. They have about 15 asylum-seekers worshipping with them for the past 2 years who have fled religious persecution in Iran. The government is cutting off their funds soon, leaving many homeless. This pastor is keeping all he can here at his house - what a great example of love in action. And it's a beautiful picture of the church's adopted "mission verse" from Luke 9:11 -

We aim at trying to continue what Jesus began when "he welcomed them and spoke to them about the kingdom of God, and healed those who needed healing."

We're All Beggars...

2004-10-07T10:17:00.000-05:00

"Wherever he went, village or town or country crossroads, they brought their sick to the marketplace and begged him to let them touch the edge of his coat - that's all. And whoever touched him became well." (The Gospel of Mark, chapter vi, verse 56)

In all of my experience, one thing I'm sure of is this - we are all beggars reaching out for a touch. We all have need for something greater than ourselves. Most of humanity wallows around in the depths of their depravity and the life-sucking consequences that being broken brings. Most lives are reaching out for something, anything, that will fill the void they feel in their souls. Acting self-important by staying on a cell phone all day. Wallowing in an on-line fantasy world because life is painfully dull. 68,000 people fill the Coliseum to cheer madly for a game played by grown men in spandex pants who are paid obscene amounts of cash because we would rather be entertained than enlightened...

We are all on this sinking ship together - saints & sinners, rich & poor, healthy & sick, famous & forgotten. Why does Mark note that "all who touched him were healed" and not "all who he touched were healed?" Because their is honesty in the effort. There is confession in the act. The simple act of admitting you are broken, and that you don't where else to find that help but Jesus, is the humility that moves the heart of a Savior. There is freedom in this simple confession - mocking stares and bitter stubborn pride aside. Even a few fibers from the worn outer cloak of Jesus are better than all the medicine, therapy or level of distraction the world has ever dreamed.

So we reach out in our soul-bearing confession as ragamuffins, beggars and losers - it is us who need to reach out to touch you, Jesus.

Overcoming Blog-o-Phobia

2004-10-07T10:06:00.000-05:00

The creation of this blog was a 29th birthday gift from my friend and favorite barista Seth. And while I love the idea of the blog and enjoy reading others, up to this point, I've actually made little use of my gift. While I've journaled since a teenager, I wasn't so sure about sharing my silly thoughts and random moods with the world - or wondered why anyone would like to spend their valuable time reading my musings in the first place.

But then it hit me - it was fear that was keeping me away.
Fear of letting people inside my world.
Fear of being "cool enough."
Fear of the unknown conversations that might follow.

So today I'm stepping out there. I won't share everything, because I believe in a world of excess that less is more. But if life is journey, then you need to be able to reflect on where you're at on the trail every now and then, to step back and look at the themes God is weaving into this chapter of your life - and share that with others, with the prayer that maybe you will connect with something in their soul, something common to the human experience, something that will lead to a greater ability to embrace this mystery of paradox that we call life. So, for better or for worse...I blog.