Change

I have been thinking about change lately. It has been said that "the only constant is change", but that saying undoubtedly leaves much to be said about the topic. Change is always present, but it is anything but constant. Change is slow and steady, like a stalactite that forms on the roof of a cave from tiny drips over thousands of years. Change is a thunderstorm in June that appears in the middle of a sunny day. Change is fleeting--an ocean tide that comes and goes. Change endures, like a mountain formed from a fiery volcano. Change happens unnoticed, in the mundane events of life. Change trumpets across the headlines of the morning paper, leaving no doubt that it has left its mark on the world.

Change is a fickle friend. The same Change that brings hope to one person brings despair to another. It is the enemy of the comfortable, and the wish of the struggling. Sometimes we try to adapt to Change, so that it will be kinder to us. Other times we try to ignore it, in hopes it will leave us alone. There are many who fall in love with Change in their youth only to turn into its enemies when they become old. There are many who work and strive to pave the way for Change, only to find it has taken another road--and avoided them altogether.

Change is always present, but usually we have to stop and look back to see it. Other times, we see it approaching with inevitability and count down the days. I remember it the night before I left for college--the feeling that all would be new. I remember it the morning I drove to work for the first time. And as I awoke on my wedding day. The eager anticipation mixed with the anxiety of the unknown.

This is exciting to me because I know that God uses Change. He doesn't let us stay in the same place (however comfortable we may be), but calls us out on the high seas of life. Why? So that we trust Him. Change is the tool used to refine, shape, and purify us. And yet the Creator is not touched by Change. The God who led Moses across the Red Sea is the God who is leading me. The Saviour who gave redemption to the thief on the cross is the Saviour who redeems me daily. It is good to have an anchor like that on the sea of Change.


"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." -- James 1:17

A Tale of Two Rivers

As the bus rumbled down the dusty dirt road, a girl with black hair slouched forward in one of the seats that lined both sides of the vehicle. It was teeming with sweaty, grimy people who had just spent the afternoon riding an inner-tube down Wisconsin's Apple River. Some were talkative, but most clutched their tubes tiredly as they rode back to their cars. The girl with black hair was young, but there was no youthful enthusiasm in her face. Her eyelids struggled to stay open as her face bumped against the black tube in front of her. The expression they revealed was vacant and distant -- the bleary haggardness of a woman overdosed on alcohol and drugs. She was sitting just to my right, and as the bus made its turns on the return trip she clutched at her more-sober girlfriend to keep from falling over.

My mind was a bit numb too. Not from alcohol, but from the display of human depravity I had witnessed floating down a dirty river in a tube. It had sounded like a fun trip when we planned the weekend with a few friends. I pictured relaxing while meandering down a quiet stream. Instead it turned out to be a full-fledged illustration of 1 John 2:16: "For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world." I was prepared for a few boozers, but I didn't know it would be Mardi Gras on water. So as I trudged out of the river, I felt a bit sorry for myself and the peaceful lazy float that didn't materialize because I had to put up with drunken debauchery. I felt a bit guilty because I didn't find out what it would be like beforehand. But I also felt a bit of pride creeping into my mind--pride that I wasn't like all those others living their life like there was no tomorrow.

Those thoughts disappeared as I sat next to the girl with black hair. My self-righteousness turned to pity. Here was someone who had drank in all the world had to offer (literally), and where did it leave her? There was no joy, no happiness. Just a blank stare and a splitting head. The promise of the earthly river had come--and left her with nothing. And my heart ached to see it.

I wanted to tell her that there was a better river out there than the dirty stream we had just come from. A river coming down from the throne of God through the holy city. A river flowing past the tree of life which brings healing to the nations. A river watering a land with no night, no death, no sickness, no pain, and no tears. A river filled with the water of life--clear as crystal.

Not that she would have understood any of that, as she sat in the bus next to me with the fog of confusion encircling her. But I pray someday she does understand, and hears the words of the One who would lead her to the River of Life: "Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life."

As we left the bus, I felt a longing for that river and for the day when I will drink deeply from its depths. And I wonder if in eternity I will ever think back to yesterday when I floated down Apple River? If so, I will lift my gaze to the throne--thankful for the One who led me to the heavenly stream.


O Christ, He is the fountain,
The deep sweet well of love!
The streams on earth I've tasted
More deep I'll drink above:
There to an ocean fulness
His mercy doth expand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Emmanuel's land.

The Predicament of Preaching

Every so often I get the chance to speak on Sunday at the church where I grew up, and this coming weekend is one of those. This happens maybe 3 or 4 times a year, and is always a humbling experience for me. James said that "not many of you should presume to be teachers", and when these occassions arise I understand where he was coming from. There is an added weight of responsibility on the shoulders of one who would teach--and when I look at my own heart the weaknesses I see there seem to disqualify me from the job.

It's not for a lack of knowledge that I feel this way. I was homeschooled by Christian parents. I went to church every Sunday morning and every Wednesday night. My two years at Bible college were good ones. I learned Greek. I listened to Dr. McLeod. I wrote a research paper on Daniel's 70th week.

It's not for fear of public speaking either. Though I may have been shaky the first few times out, I have always had generous and helpful feedback. I am grateful for the mentorship of a gifted teacher and Bethel seminary grad who has given me valuable insight on forming a sermon from exegetical study. Others have told me that this is one of my spiritual gifts.

The trepidation I feel comes from a knowledge of myself. I think about my appetite for God, and how meager it is compared to the unfathomable depth of His love. I think about the pure gold of Scripture penned by the ink of those who gave their life for the truth. I think about Reformers who faced the fires of martyrdom because they would not compromise what they held so dear. I think of a guy like Jim Elliott who said "He is no fool if he would choose to lose the thing he cannot keep to find what he can never lose". People like that are qualified.

I, on the other hand, have trouble getting out of bed early to pray. I struggle to show the love of Christ to my next-door neighbors. I am too selfish with my time and money. It is hard to maintain a vision for what God wants that is bigger than the daily routines of life. My thoughts can go on and on like this.

But then God reminds me that I have never been sufficient. And if I have ever felt sufficient, I was merely being blinded by human pride. My need for the cross will never disappear while I live on this earth. To think that God has taken my filthy rags (and continues to do so) is an amazing thing. Even more amazing is the fact that He has clothed me with the bright white covering of Christ.

I'm still humbled by the responsibility of teaching. I can't imagine being a full-time pastor and feeling like this all the time. But I'm also thankful that God uses these experiences to refine me. I'm thankful that He puts my heart under the scalpel of the Holy Spirit. Going through this process is hard, so it's good that God always teaches me so much more than any scraps I may pass along to others.

PS -- I might link to the mp3 afterwards for feedback (positive or otherwise), but I'll see how it goes. I reserve the right to redirect you to a quality offering from John Piper if I see fit.

Alter Ego

I saw the new Batman Begins movie earlier this week with my wife and a few friends. First off, let me say that while I thought the Michael Keaton films were OK, I have never been crazy about them. They were entertaining escapism, but not much more than cool gadgetry and special effects. Of course, the last couple films (Batman Forever and Batman and Robin) aren't even worth mentioning, they are so bad. So I didn't regard the new film with much expectation, and might not have went unless a couple friends recommended it. I'm not going to write a review (you can read plenty of them at Rotten Tomatoes), but this movie is great. Excellent story, acting, and cinematography. I loved it.

And as a bonus to being entertained, something in the movie got me thinking about a slightly deeper topic. Like pretty much any super-hero story, Batman deals with the idea of alter-ego. Just as Superman is Clark Kent, and Spiderman is Peter Parker, Batman is Bruce Wayne. It seems that those who would save the world on a regular basis also need a day job. And this always leads to a necessary question for the central hero: "who gets to know who I really am?". Usually the love interest either knows the truth or at least is suspicious (how Lois Lane could be fooled by the glasses I will never know). And if the bad guys find out, they usually die before they can call the local newspaper.

Director Christopher Nolan does something interesting in his version of Batman that I hadn't noticed before. He makes Bruce Wayne a jerk. This is different from your typical Clark Kent or Peter Parker. They are nice guys, and people don't suspect them because they are clumsy or shy or whatever. But they are likeable people. Not so with Bruce. When he is in public, he plays the part of the spoiled, shallow, egotistic, womanizing millionaire to perfection. He feels its necessary, but that doesn't mean he likes it. At one point, he runs into his childhood sweetheart when he is making a fool of himself. In his embarassment, he tries to tell her that he isn't really like that on the inside. "It's not who you underneath," she says, "but what you do that defines you."

The nature of the alter ego in super-hero stories is obviously exaggerated. But the basic phenomenon is very true to life. We all have levels of our personality that we choose to hide or reveal in different situations. Who I am at work is different from who I am when I am with my family. Who I am at church is different than who I am when I am drinking a beer with the guys. Who I am at a football game is different from who I am when I go to a Broadway show.

Have you ever noticed it can sometimes be strange when you mix different groups of friends? Like when a friend from college goes home with you for the weekend to stay with the family. You are joking around with each other and using your college lingo, and your parents are thinking to themselves "what the heck are you saying to each other?". Then you go to hang out with your old highschool friends and you slip into your familiar topics while your college buddy is wondering why you have never talked about those things before. Those situations feel weird and I think it's because we're feeling the pull of alter egos.

This is why it is easier for me to pass out gospel literature in Central Park than mention Christ to the guy in the cube next to me at work. I have my work identity already and it's hard to say something like "oh yeah, you might not know it, but I'm a co-heir with Christ." It's not that I'm trying to be deceptive, hypocritical, or two-faced. But we would rather be like Bruce Wayne. We would rather not mention the fact that when we aren't at work we are out trying to save the world from the devil. Or at least helping with AWANA.

Paul came down pretty hard on Peter and company for this kind of attitude. More honesty and fewer personas is a good thing to strive for. But then I wonder about whether there is also wisdom in not putting everything out there all the time either. There seemed to be aspects of Jesus that He only revealed to his disciples. When the crowds went away He sat and answered their questions about the parables and let them know what He was really saying. By the same token, we all have parts of ourselves that we will only reveal to those who are closest to us.

Or to everyone on the web.

Embracing Foolishness

I have found a tendency in my heart to want to have all the answers. To have my bases covered. To chew up, swallow, and digest truth in a single sitting. To take a complex theological question like assurance of salvation and make verses like Hebrews 6:6 and 2 Timothy 2:12 lie down peacefully with John 10:29 and Romans 8:30. To be able to (as Blake puts it) "pull God out of heaven, and box Him up so we can predict and control Him."

Then this morning I read the brilliant statement from the apostle Paul: "For Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the gospel—not with words of human wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power." (1 Corinthians 1). I love the fact that this verse comes right after Paul finishes scolding the denominational factions of his day, but that's a topic for another day.

It doesn't make sense to us that there is so much tension in the Bible. Tension between Christ's humanity and divinity. Tension between our responsibility and God's sovereignty. Tension between Paul and James. But that's exactly the point. God doesn't follow our rules and He doesn't have a very high regard for human wisdom. He chose something as "foolish" as death on a cross to bring redemption. The Jews wanted miracles, glory, and conquest. The Greeks prized intellect and human philosophy. Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. We know today that it was already prophesied, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't a part of the popular systematic theology of the day.

Not that I think God wants people to raise their hands and say: "God's just too complicated for humans to comprehend, so I won't even attempt to." He wants our minds to be in full pursuit of Him. To thirst for a deeper knowledge of the infinite and never be satisfied. But I think He also wants us to remember that the best of our wisdom still doesn't approach His "foolishness". And that's OK with me.

Alex Strauch

We need more guys like Alex Strauch. I just finished listening to his message from the 2004 "Iron Sharpens Iron" conference at Emmaus Bible College. Here's the link to the mp3.

Here's a guy who gets it, and this message should be required listening for anyone who has felt pressure to worship according to a prescribed format (especially according to the Assembly Way). He's telling people to stop being chained to tradition, to not be afraid to change things and be renewed in our thinking. Also, in relation to the Holy Spirit, there are some good thoughts related to what Tristan wrote yesterday. Here are a few quotes I enjoyed:

"There is the constant human tendency in every single heart to trust in the outward external forms and rites and formalities we go through. It's in every heart."

"If you focus on your techniques and special style of worship, then you will demean the elements. Jesus gave the elements of the bread and cup--He didn't give a time and place of worship. He didn't give some kind of special technique or science of worship."

And a quote from S. Lewis Johnson too: "In every generation, we need an enlightened purification of our traditions."

Gary Busey

I was a freshman in my first semester at Emmaus Bible College, and was hanging out with my new friend T. We were still in the small-talk stage. Looking back now, I realize what I did not then: freshman at Emmaus can be dorks, and I was no exception. In fact, I think my dorkness factor may have been a little higher than average. Anyways, I had never really known too many other people who came from a PB background, and all the sudden I was surrounded by them, and perhaps feeling a bit giddy about the proliferation of people who were familiar with The Assembly Way. So, in an effort to make conversation and build camaraderie, I said: "So...what assembly are you from?" He looked back at me with kind of a blank stare, and said something like "Assembly? What's an assembly?" Here he was--at Emmaus of all places--and he didn't know what the heck I was talking about. I found out he come from something called a "bible church". When it came to The Assembly Way, he was a mere Padywan, a tender brain just waiting to be enlightened in the ways of The Black Book, Remembrance, and Doilies.

T and I hung out a lot, and he quickly became one of my best friends. We both enjoyed basketball, theology, and the board game Risk. We developed an unbeatable method to study for Marinello tests. One time we were watching some old movie and I was convinced that the main actor was Nick Nolte. He assured me that it was NOT Nick Nolte, but was in fact Gary Busey. We made some little bet about who was right and when the movie was over and the credits rolled, we found out, in fact, that it was Gary Busey. From that point forward, anytime I turned out to be wrong about something and he was right, he would just shake his head and say "Gary Busey".

As my friend continued to attend Emmaus (and go to church at ACC) he became familiar with some of the peculiarities therein, and became fond of telling me how The Assemblies are a denomination. After all, he pointed out, we have our own college, magazine, and speakers of renown. I would counter that we were not a denomination. We weren't like the Methodists, Lutherans, and Baptists, who had non-local government and councils who met to decide how to address the issues of the day. We had independent thought and true non-denominationalism. Every church made decisions for themselves, and no one was looking over their shoulder to see what the "powers that be" thought.

Like I said earlier, freshmen at Emmaus can be dorks. I've been back a few times for DEW and other alumni events, and I see the 18-year-olds running around and wonder "was I like that?" OK, that probably just means that I'm getting old. I love the school and my time there was invaluable in so many ways. But it is painfully obvious now to look back and think about how easily knowledge puffs up. It was good knowledge, but I'm glad I've had some time to let it season in the stew of life experience for a few years now. And I have found out over time that T was right about PBs being a denomination. Gary Busey rears his ugly head again.

People are too focused on "who's in" and "who's out" with regard to The Assembly Way. I suppose there comes a point in every movement where there is a temptation to setup new boundaries of orthodoxy and build walls of religion, and Plymouth Brethren have been no different in this regard from many others who have come before them. But what did Jesus come to do? He came to take us out of the "fold" of religion and bring us into the freedom of the "flock" (John 10). The sheep in the fold are focused on the walls, because that's what keeps them safe from thieves and wolves. The sheep who are running free on the range belong to a flock, and they don't have any walls. How do they stay safe? By focusing on the shepherd and staying as close as possible to Him.

Everyday Worship

I'm still chewing on John Piper's series on worship he has going on over at Desiring God. In particular, I'm thinking about what worship should look like to me on a practial, everyday level. We spend a lot of thought and energy thinking about corporate worship. But I'm wondering if a disproportionate emphasis on the "gathering" aspect causes individual worship to suffer.

What I mean is this: when we put undue emphasis on the forms of corporate worship, we get into the mindset that worship is like a recipe. Mix prayer + scripture reading + singing + testimony and voila! You have worship. And we spend so much effort trying to get the recipe just right, because we are thinking (wrongly) that this will lead to better worship. Then there is a real temptation to carry this flawed thinking over to how I worship God daily. To try to find just the right combination of bible reading + prayer + memorization + quiet time so that I am maximizing my worship potential. But it's easy to do all those things and not have a heart that truly prizes and cherises God. It's easy for spiritual "to-do" lists to replace real love and relationship with Him.

I remember hearing a story (whether true or fictional I do not know) about a bachelor who hired a maid to help out around the house. He gave her a list of chores that he needed done: wash dishes, dust, do laundry, etc. And she came to work and did her chores and got her paycheck. Over time, a romance began to develop between the two and eventually they became husband and wife. Do you think the guy still kept the list of chores around? I'm thinking no. But of course the wife didn't need it because she still did the same things (and more) out of love for her husband. Do you think she still expected a paycheck? Of course not. And the same is true of our relationship to God. It is foolish to try to show our Creator love by worshiping with a "to-do list" mentality. We might as well give him an invoice of what He owes us at the same time. He wants real, heartfelt, authentic treasuring of who He is and what He has done.

Romans 7:6 -- "But now we have been released from the law, for we died with Christ, and we are no longer captive to its power. Now we can really serve God, not in the old way by obeying the letter of the law, but in the new way, by the Spirit." (NLT)

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John Piper on Worship

John Piper has a great series of messages going on right now on his radio program (available via the web here.)

In "Worship God! Part Two", he points out that God in his wisdom didn't give us much to go on as far as the specific forms that corporate worship should take because He knew that the gospel would need to be adaptable to thousands of different cultures who would worship God in many different ways.

I plan on posting some more thoughts later this week when I get a chance, but he has some very pointed remarks against linking worship to external forms. This seems to me to be a very real temptation for both traditional churches who don't want to let go of outdated forms, and emergent types who think that new external forms equals better worship.

The Night I Knew

It was New Year's Eve and I was riding in the back of my family's station wagon as we drove home from chapel after midnight. The stars were bright, and I pressed my cheek against the window as I strained to look up at them. I thought about how vast the universe was, and how small I felt.

I remember wondering what God thought about the new year starting, and if the rapture would happen soon. The rapture scared me then and everyone seemed so certain that it was going to be anytime, what with the way things were going in the world. I knew I wasn't supposed to be afraid, but what I didn't know was whether I was saved. I was nine, and remembered praying some kind of "salvation prayer" when I was five with my parents. Then I remember praying by myself other times in case God didn't hear me the first time. But I might as well have been reciting a secret magic code that was supposed to get me to heaven.

I wanted so badly to be sure. To know deep down inside that if I died I would be in heaven. I remember silently telling all this to God that night the best way that I could. I told God I didn't want to be scared anymore, I just wanted to know that He heard me. I knew that Jesus died for me, and I just had to believe. As I prayed, a peace slowly came over me--a growing conviction that I had been heard by God and that everything would be ok. A conviction that no matter what would ever happen, He would always be there and be near. A tear or two fell down my cheek in the dark, and I just kept looking at the stars. The universe seemed friendler. Looking back now, I understand that God always knew me. But that was the night that I came to know Him.