What I Write About

I write about the infinite number of intersections between every day life and the good news of the God who has come to get us.

Tuesday, September 07, 2010

Reflections on Having Our House Broken Into

So when the family and I got back from a weekend trip to see the grandparents (in between coming back to preach at Bible Church on Sunday) our house had been broken into. My wife's computer got taken, along with a handful of other electronics: DVD player, microwave, cd player, etc.

We were supposed to be headed straight out to a birthday celebration, so some great friends came and took our kids to the party (thanks, Kortus family!) while Kelly and I talked with the police and straightened things up.

It's sobering to get your house broken into--it makes you feel vulnerable. Our room was totally trashed--they went through drawers looking for jewelry or gold bars or loose diamonds or enriched uranium or something. I'm sure they were disappointed to find that my sock drawer contained only socks.

It's funny what they left: our old t.v. was too big and old and heavy to take. Ditto our printers. Some of what they took was in need of replacing anyway--our cd player wasn't working and the microwave was burning the popcorn.

As we straightened some things up and drove to pick up the kids, we prayed. My wife prayed really generous prayers: that the men who did it would know the love of their Father, that they'd repent, that they'd find good work to do, meaningful work to do.

I've felt really gracious towards them as well. Been praying for conviction for their hearts mostly so that they'd come to their senses and end up living a life worth living. And I'm grateful that they weren't malicious. They were looking for stuff to sell and money to take. They could have done much more damage to the house.

Our kids have been a little spooked, but they've been okay. And insurance has been only moderately difficult to deal with.

Over the summer I realized that I was somewhat worried about our stuff--mostly worried that something "big" could break (like a car or roof or plumbing or wiring) and worried that we didn't have the money to fix it.

And so I started praying for the stuff. Daily, I give back to the Lord our cars and our house and our roof and plumbing and electrical and tell him that I trust him with it.

And what I've found over the past 23-ish hours since coming home to a plundered house is that this has worked to root in a new perspective on my stuff. It's God's stuff, not mine. He can protect it. He can allow it to be taken away. Either way, we ask him to provide for us what we truly need.

As I work with insurance adjusters and electricians and window-repair people, I'm trying to honor them as God might. And even as I hit grumpy patches today, I'm praying that God would give me a trust in him--the one who's Lord over my family, my stuff, my insurance company...all of it.

And I'm praying that I might learn to release other things to him alongside our stuff. I'm praying that I might grow up into a man who is surprised to find himself free from the things that would otherwise take up way too much prime real estate in my heart and my soul.

That...and of course I'm praying for continued favor with the good folks at my insurance company. USAA, have I told you lately that I love you?

Monday, September 06, 2010

Overcoming Opposition Pt. 1: The Pre-Game Coin-Toss and Why Opposition Matters

Over the weekend I was given the opportunity to preach out of Nehemiah chapter four with the topic "overcoming opposition." First, we needed to carve out what we meant by "opposition" since next week they were going to tackle "overcoming conflict."

So here's my arm-chair definition for you: opposition is conflict calcified. It is to be in a situation where someone or something is implacably set against you that will not be negotiated with without a winner and a loser.

When there's conflict, you can often work it out. There's room for dialogue in a conflict, maybe even end up with a win-win. But not so in an oppositional situation.

I have a deep love, as I professed last week, for football in all its various forms. And when two teams go out for the coin toss, they aren't meeting to negotiate a peace treaty. There's no settlement being offered. They are opponents. One will win and one will lose.

Opposition is conflict, calcified.

This makes the opposition conversation a bit more difficult because not everyone has faced true opposition. All of us have had conflict, but not all of us have experienced genuine opposition.

But here's why this matters for us and why it's important for us to engage with this topic: opposition is a crucible, it is a deeply visceral experience. What opposition does to us emotionally, psychologically, spiritually and physically is extreme.

For many of us an experience of opposition will be one of the most defining moments or seasons of our lives. It will be a fork in the road, where the trajectory will be radically altered for good or for ill.

For some of you, that's already happened. You look back and you can identify an incident or a season of opposition that was a turning point in your life--again, either for good or for ill.

So here's the deal: if the God of the Bible and the work and the message of Jesus Christ do not matter here, then they do not matter at all. Opposition matters. And how we deal with it matters. And so if God matters at all, he must matter here or else we should just pack this whole thing up and go home.

The good news is that God has much to say and much to do with how we deal with and address opposition, as we'll see as we look at Nehemiah chapter four.

Friday, September 03, 2010

The Critical Error of the University

We would never just send a bunch of college freshmen into a chemistry lab and tell them to find their own way among the chemicals. That would result in a disaster.

But that is precisely the university's position when it comes to matters of conscience and morality and what is truly the good life. The university doesn't want to help them in the most important areas of their lives.

We foolishly encourage experimentation when there are clearly some paths that are wiser than others and have been proven to help foster the truly good life. But we do not teach these things to our students. And this has disastrous consequences.

We load them up with all sorts of knowledge and information and give them no moral compass to help them steward these things well. We arm them with dangerous weapons and do not bother to teach them wisdom.

And so their lives explode, just as if they were given free reign in the chemistry lab.

This is the critical error of the university over the course of the twentieth century.
-Dallas Willard

Thursday, September 02, 2010

Are You Ready for Some Football?

So this weekend the college football season kicks-off. I rank football a little lower than the automobile and a little higher than the light bulb among the greatest American inventions of all-time.

In football, glory is a zero-sum game. There's a winner, there's a loser. And players who hog the glory are frowned upon by some fans and delighted in by others and occasionally hated by their own teammates...because if one dude is hogging the spotlight, they're not sharing it with others.

This is how it works in the working world, too. If someone in your office is glory-hungry, they're often stepping on or over others to get the glory.

And so when we read in the Scriptures about the centrality and significance of the glory of God, we get a little squeamish. Does that mean that God gets all the attention while we get steamrolled? Do we get lost or overlooked if God is the one glorified? And does all of that mean that God's arrogant and self-centered?

The last question Jesus asks in the Lazarus story helps us navigate these good questions.

Yesterday Jesus wept at the tomb of his friend Lazarus. Today, we see Jesus standing outside the tomb, ready to do the mighty work he's come here to do: raise Lazarus from the dead.

"Take away the stone," Jesus says. "But Lord," says Martha, dead Lazarus' sister, "by now there's a bad odor. He's been in there four days." Jesus says, "Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?"

Here we touch again upon the gospel writer's obsession with the word and actions associated with "belief." And here, as we see throughout the Scriptures, belief isn't simple mental assent. It requires obedience. We cannot say we believe if we will not do what he says. It's that simple.

And Jesus offers a carrot: you will see the glory of God. And what happens afterward helps us sort through our innate conflicted-ness over being "victims" of the glory of God. They take away the stone. Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead.

Ladies and gentlemen, here is what happens when we are fixed on the glory of God: all of our deepest needs are met. Everything that we were made for (love, hope, peace, reconciliation, joy, victory, rest, purpose, power, beauty, wisdom) happens.

God's glory is not a zero-sum game. The glory of God being expressed in your life and mine means that everything about our lives gets caught up in the redemptive story of life. Right-ness replaces wrong-ness. Laughter replaces mourning.

God's glory and our good are intertwined. He has designed it all to be so. Praying for God to be glorified in every area of every situation of our lives, our family, our friends, our nation, our politics, our economy is essentially the most self-serving prayer you could ever possibly pray--in part because of the glorious un-selfing that happens as you pray for God to be glorified.

Seeking our own, raw, self-glorification is suicide. Seeking God's glory for these sisters meant that they got their dead brother back. This is the glory of God: that we are fully-alive human beings--a dead guy named Augustine said this many centuries ago, echoing the words of Jesus in John 10. That's the good news of the glory of God.

And here's some more, slightly less, good news: are you ready for some football?

Wednesday, September 01, 2010

Jesus: The Anti-Drive-By Cliche Guy

So when you're in crisis or times of extreme grief, the worst thing that can happen is a visit by drive-by cliche guy.

Drive-by cliche guy (or girl) shows up in the midst of your grief or crisis and feels compelled to utter a pithy one or two sentence reason why what you're experiencing isn't really all that bad after all and why you shouldn't be so upset about it. He gets extra bonus points if it rhymes.

If you've ever been through grief, you've had it happen to you. Some of you are that person. On behalf of everyone in the entire world, please stop.

The people we most appreciate during times of crisis or grief often don't say anything memorable at all. They are simply walking with us. They grieve with us. They share in it as best they can. They don't attempt to fix us or our perspective--at least, not overly-quickly.

This is part of what's so compelling to me about Jesus as we pick back up on the questions Jesus asks throughout the Lazarus story in John 11.

Last Thursday we looked at the rhetorical question: "are there not twelve hours of daylight?" The invitation was to walk in the light...and sometimes I like that, sometimes I don't. On Friday we looked at the pinnacle question in John that Jesus directs to Martha smack dab in the middle of her grief: "I am the resurrection and the life...Do you believe this?"

A rather difficult time to be attempting to answer such a weighty question--you could almost call Jesus rude here. But Martha's response is extraordinary, one of the most compelling and humble and bold responses to Jesus in all the Scriptures.

The third question shows that Jesus hasn't just come to be drive-by cliche guy. After talking with Martha, Mary comes out to meet him as well. And after a brief interaction with her, Jesus asks a simple question: "Where have you laid him?" And then comes the briefest verse in all the Bible: "Jesus wept."

This is what friends do when someone dies. They weep. Jesus arrives on the scene, Lazarus is dead, he has already declared that he is coming to raise his friend back to life. But Jesus weeps.

"Where have you laid him?" is a question that invites us to bring Jesus to our saddest places, hardest places, most broken places.

The places where we've buried our hopes and dreams. The places where our lives have forked in ways that to us felt catastrophic: the break-up, the divorce, the rejection, the death of a loved one.

Jesus asks you and he asks me along with this crowd: "Where have you laid those dreams? Where did you bury your hopes? Can I come there and weep with you? True, I have come here to redeem and heal and to raise up new life. But before we get to that, I want to share in your sorrow. I want to walk alongside you in your pain. I love you. That, too, is why I have come."

This is one of the most compassionate questions Jesus asks throughout the Scriptures, "where have you laid him?" And it is good news to all of us as we experience our own seasons of sorrow, crisis, and grief. As things and people and hopes and dreams at times die and are buried. Jesus speaks a word of presence and comfort: I weep alongside you.

That, my friends, is a good and beautiful God.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

The Kirks Go Camping, My Smelly B.O, and True Spiritual Maturity

This past Friday night Kelly and I embarked on something we've been talking about doing for quite some time: our first ever family camp-out.

It was just Friday night. It was just thirty minutes away down at Jordan Lake. We figured if everyone was melting down at 2 a.m, we could come home and get a decent night's sleep.

It actually went spectacularly well. Our kids were satiated with hot dogs cooked over the open fire and s'mores for dessert. We all (eventually) slept and we had a great time wading into the lake and playing in the woods. Score one for getting back to nature for the Kirk family, hopefully we'll be able to do something a little more ambitious next time.

Of course, being a guy, the fire makes the camp out for me. It was a small-ish one, but hey, open fire is open fire.

While I was there, I was surprised at how not-smelly I was. I generally associate camping with serious body odor, soot and ashes and everything smelling like smoke. I assumed that this was not the case on this particular trip because we weren't there that long and that we kept the camp fire intentionally small.

And then I got home. And once I was away from the great outdoors and the constantly smoldering fire, I realized that my previous evaluation of my odor was way off. I stank. Everything we brought with us stank. Smoke-smell permeated all our stuff. But it wasn't until I was out of it that I could recognize it.

And this is how it is with our spiritual and moral condition. Scripture describes coming to Christ as coming out of the darkness and into the light. As we do so, we begin to see ourselves as we truly were. The darkness had hitherto covered up many things. Now those things are exposed.

Often in Christian circles we talk about spiritual transformation as if it were an ever-increasing experience of personal improvement.

But Calvin and other Reformers talked about the Christian life not (primarily) as increasing personal improvement but as perpetual repentance. Spiritual maturity, they argued, was about repenting from our ever-at-work sin as soon as it was revealed to us. Cutting down the lag time between seeing our sin and repenting of it was the goal.

There are few places in our lives where we are more self-deceived than in our estimation of our own moral goodness. We will almost always think of ourselves way too highly or way too lowly.

This is why we need the light of Christ. If we're constantly judging by our own internal lights, we'll mis-diagnose the reality of the situation and therefore mis-prescribe what is necessary for healing.

All I needed on Saturday was a good hot shower and to either wash or burn my clothes (Kelly voted for the former). In my spiritual journey, the work is even simpler but more demanding: repentance (literally: "to change your mind" or "turn around") works a cleansing that's much more thorough.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Fight Club's Final Engagement

So I have a theory: most men are relationally stupid/handicapped/ridiculous.

Most men, myself included, have minimal inclination towards genuine relating. We'd rather talk about sports, the stock market, our work, cars/boats/hunting...just about anything other than what's actually going on in our own souls.

Of course, this is most often because we have no idea what's going on in our own souls. Which is perhaps not a uniquely male problem. But our inability to communicate much beyond the surface of events and facts makes it perhaps all the more likely that we'll never get to that level of discovery.

And so it was with great reservation that I sent the following invitation last July to a group of guys from church:

So I’m reading Romans 1 and three things seem to mark Paul’s life: prayer, community and mission. And I’m thinking that I could use help in all three areas.

And I’m realizing that I believe deeply in the power and value of community and that I spend much of my life building it for other people but don’t partake of it myself as much as I need to or should.

And I’m thinking that my life would be much richer if I had a group of guys who (to use Sean Jecko’s wonderful image) served as a sort of ‘board of directors’ in my life, to discern wise decisions from foolish ones, to encourage me in my husbanding/fathering at home to my wife and kids as well as to pray for me in the mission God has called me to on campus.

I’m thinking I’d love a group of guys who shared life together a little more deliberately, recklessly, courageously, humbly, boldly. To remind one another about the gospel when we forget it, to encourage and challenge and push and question and learn from one another.

From this invitation, Fight Club was born. It was six of us initially, then five.

Over the course of our year together, nearly all of us had seismic opportunities, challenges, transitions, and/or family issues to deal with. Some of those were once-in-a-lifetime, forks in the road. Some ended well, others not as we would have liked.

Over the course of our year together, we learned to be a community of guys who cared for each other. For some of us, the question, "how is it with your soul?" was a familiar and easy one to engage. For others of us, the question and the accompanying new language it required was difficult at first.

We listened to one another's stories. We received the different gifts we each brought to the table. We shared about our lives each week and we went to battle in prayer for one another. We stuck it out even after a stretch around December where we didn't meet for several weeks and I wondered if Fight Club was over and done with.

It wasn't. The Lord had significant work for us to do together this spring.

And then, it became clear that the season of Fight Club was over. Several guys are leading new small groups this fall or are eager to do a small group Bible study with their wives. Kelly and I are in a new church and needing to really root-in there.

So we closed out last night. Each guy took a turn in the hot seat. The guy in the hot seat shared how God had used Fight Club in his life over the course of the past year.

Then each of us affirmed the guy in the hot seat, told him what we've appreciated about him. Then each of us exhorted the guy in the hot seat--spoke specifically into what it will look like for that guy to follow the Lord, called them to take off sin and press on towards Christ.

The guys were generous with their affirmation and spot-on with their exhortations. When it was my turn in the hot seat, they encouraged me greatly in my gifts and their warnings and exhortations for what it would mean for me to continue toward Christ were spot-on. We knew each other, loved each other and wanted Christ for one another. A marvelous and rare gift of grace.

I've been in a bunch of small groups over the years. Some have been fantastic and others just sort of average. But I don't know if I've ever had a group of guys who were more willing to talk about the deepest, hardest, most raw places of our souls as I've had with this group of guys.

Thank, Fight Club guys. You've been a tremendous gift to me and my family and my work this past year. Most guys go their whole lives without conversations the caliber of which we participated in nearly weekly. I pray for each of you to continue to grow in your love for the Lord and for each of you to find men who will continue to ask "and how is it with your soul?"

And I pray that for each of you, o faithful blog readers, as well...especially for the guys.

Friday, August 27, 2010

John's Obsession, Martha's Confession, And Jesus' Death-Defying Question (Part 2)

So in the three 'synoptic' gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke, all thought to be working loosely from Mark's manuscript) the key question surrounding Jesus is his identity. Thus, the central question out of Jesus' mouth in each is the famous: "Who do you say that I am?" issued to his disciples.

But in John, the central theme is belief. Who believes in Jesus, who doesn't, and what it means to have authentic belief worked out in real-time are something of an obsession with John and how he tells his story.

So it makes sense, then, that the most critical question posed by Jesus in the book of John is not about identity, but about belief.

The second question driving the Jesus-raising-Lazarus story raises just that issue.

After waiting a couple of days and talking to his disciples about walking by light v. walking by darkness, Jesus heads to see his dead friend and his family. Martha, the most kinetic of Lazarus' two sisters, rushes out to meet him.

The dialogue upon their meeting is full of emotion and power. Martha proclaims that if Jesus had just been there, Lazarus wouldn't have died. Jesus offers that her brother will rise again. Martha replies in the affirmative, "on the last day."
Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?
There it is: the belief question. Jesus arrives late to the dead-man's party, he's let him die on purpose and he's arrived to "wake him up." But he's got work to do before he gets there. He's going to press people on this issue of belief: I'm the resurrection, I'm offering you life, do you believe this?

"Our lives run on the rails of our beliefs," Dallas Willard writes. What we believe about human flourishing, personal happiness, the role of state and church and family and employees and employers and God all drive much of our lives--whether we realize it or not. Our lives run on the rails of our beliefs.

Jesus, of course, knows this. And so he presses Martha (and us) to deal with him in relation to the most critically devastating part of our existence: death. If we can trust trust Jesus as we stare down into death, we can trust him anywhere. If we can't trust him here, we will trust him no where.

Jesus has a lot of nerve, pressing a grieving sister to answer this caliber of question at such an emotionally intense time. But here's what matters most. If she cannot or will not trust Jesus to be the resurrection life that he claims to be, she will not know life herself.

And so Mary responds with what I consider to be the most profound and simple confession of Jesus. Uttered, I think, with less bravado and enthusiasm and more of a gently submissive voice, full of faith mixed with a humble resignation:
"Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world."
Would that I would do so well in my times of sorrow as this.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

The Said Dead Man, The Rhetorical Question, and Confessing the Sometimes

I'm coming to the close of my summer in the gospels (well, just Matthew and John, really) looking at questions that Jesus asked. It has been a spectacularly rewarding study.

And right now I'm camping out in one of my favorite stories in the Bible, looking at it through the fresh lens of how questions drive the narrative.

John 11 is the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. I have often thought that if I could choose just one chapter of the whole Bible to have for the rest of my life, it would be this one.

The story in brief: Jesus' friend Lazarus is sick. Jesus hears about it, waits a couple deliberate days. Lazarus dies. Jesus goes. Jesus has intense interactions with sisters of dead man. Jesus raises said dead man from grave.

There are four questions that Jesus asks in the story, I'm going to unpack each one over the next several posts as an excuse to revel in this passage a little bit more!

The first question is one of Jesus' favorite-type of questions: the rhetorical one.

Jesus hears about Lazarus' sickness, waits a couple days, then he announces to his disciples he's going back to Judea (where Lazarus is/was). His disciples freak out: the people there just tried to stone you, dude, you wanna' go back there?

Jesus replies: "Are there not twelve hours of daylight?" And he goes on: if you walk by day light you won't stumble, it's when you walk by night that you stumble because you don't have any light.

A typically esoteric response from Jesus (at least as John tells it), but the question it left me with the other day was clear enough: do I love to walk in the light? And honestly the answer is: sometimes.

Sometimes I love the light, I delight to not be stumbling, I delight to be able to see and follow Jesus into a situation with clear conscience, no mixed motives, no hidden agendas. Sometimes I am glad for the light.

But sometimes I have ideas, plans, schemes, hopes, or dreams that I'm not sure are the Lord's and I'm not sure that I want to find out. It's not always expedient to pray, listen, wait. And I'm not always sure I want to hear God's answer.

Sometimes, I prefer to stumble around in the darkness in the hopes of finding some sort of personal advantage or getting some gain or pleasure or accolade. Sometimes, I find myself clinging to the darkness and avoiding the light.

"Are there not twelve hours of daylight?"

Yes, Lord, there are.

"Do you walk in the light or do you walk in the darkness?"

Sometimes I love your light. And sometimes I confess that I avoid the light and walk in darkness.

"Those who walk during the day do not stumble....but those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them." (11:9 & 10)

O Lord, give me faith.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Grab Bag: "Precious" Is, Starfish: AA, Wiki, & the Church in China, and Podcast Gluttony

A quick round-up and review of some books, movies and podcasts that I've been imbibing over the past several days...

*My wife and I rented "Precious" last weekend. It was about as intense, disturbing and redemptive as a movie can get. If you can stomach some pretty awful child abuse, it's a pretty fantastic movie: A-

*I'm always interested in reading business management, leadership, and trends-types books--they keep me from getting overly-immersed in the Christian ghetto. The Starfish and the Spider is an interesting look at how leader-less organizations are rather un-stoppable. Cut off a starfish "leg" and another grows in its' place. Cut off the head of a spider, and the spider's dead.

When big record companies go after file-sharing fiends like Napster, all it did was further decentralize file-sharing: Kazaa which morphed into Kazaa Lite which was radically de-centralized by Emule. The big labels acted like file sharing was a spider. But by shutting down one version of it, all they did was further de-centralize it, making it harder and harder to stop.

Other examples of de-centralized phenomena are Alcoholics Anonymous, Craigslist and Wikipedia. As I read it, though, all I could think of was the explosive growth of the underground church movement in China. I wonder if a century from now, one of the most studied "Starfish" organizations in all of history might be the underground Chinese church.

An interesting read if you're into this sort of thing, it's most compelling when it's story-telling rather than trying to draw out the "principles of a starfish organization:" B+

*This past weekend we rented "The Time Traveler's Wife." An average mix of decent plot, decent acting, and a decent (but not great) date-night movie: B-

*Last week I finished listening to the book "Jesus Asked" read by the author, Conrad Gempf, in short 10-13 minute podcasts--half of a chapter in each podcast. The podcast was suggested by my good friend Steve after I shared here about my summer study of in the gospels of questions that Jesus asked.

Gempf (whom I had never heard of before) tackles a potentially dry study of the gospels by an academic and turns it into a thoughtful but delightfully light look at the questions Jesus asked and the questions behind the questions that Jesus asked.

His quirky asides and playful approach to the Scriptures augment his deeply thoughtful engagement with Jesus and the various ways that Jesus questions "work" to engage, expose, and invite his listeners in.

I'd highly recommend downloading these podcasts if you're looking for something to shake-up your own study of the Scriptures. You can listen to it on the way to work and it'll give you food for thought all day long (oh, and bonus: it's free): A

*Upon finishing Gempf's podcasts, I went scouring Itunes and Itunes U for more good (free) stuff. And wow, there is definitely good stuff out there to be had.

In particular I'd recommend downloading Tim Keller's "greatest hits" sermons. Also lots of addresses by N.T. Wright and Dallas Willard (two of my most formidable mentors), some incredible speakers in the Catalyst podcast library, and I've downloaded the Freakonomics podcasts (done by the same guys who wrote the book) but can't vouch for their quality as I haven't listened to them yet.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Trouble Sleeping? Try This: The Daily Examen

One of the most remarkable trends in the world of pharmaceuticals is the explosive growth of sleeping aids. Americans have a hard time sleeping.

And while there are certainly good reasons to go the chemical-route, I would hazard to guess that at least some of the problems us Americans have in getting to sleep have less to do with the chemicals in our brains and more to do with issues of conscience, fear, anxiety and guilt...all at least partially emotional and spiritual issues.

A couple of weeks ago, I led a retreat with some InterVarsity staff where at the end of each day we engaged in an ancient Christian practice from the Ignatians called The Daily Examen.

The daily examen is an exercise that you can do very quickly that helps to review the day, release it to the Lord, and free you to rest a little easier at night...as well as draw nearer to God! Two great things in one!

There's no "official" Daily Examen exercise, but here's a format that I stole from someone else and used with my staff team a couple of weeks ago that might be worth copying and pasting and putting on your nightstand:

The Daily Examen

An important Spiritual Discipline is to take a few moments at the end of each day and recall where you saw God’s gracious activity in your life in the day. This is an ancient and simple method of helping you call to mind what you have seen, heard, understood, tasted and touched of God in the day that is drawing to a close. It is a way to help you pay attention.

Take the last few minutes of your day – as you lie in bed – or as you kneel to play before going to bed and …

1. Thank God for the gift of life this day and for all the blessings of life.

2. Ask for grace and guidance to recognize His work in your life this day and to see your transgressions and sin.

3. Slowly review the day -- hour by hour, in sections of the day – morning, afternoon and evening or interaction by interaction etc.. Don’t be too obsessive!

* Wherever you saw God in your day – say “thank you”.

* Wherever you were sinful or non-responsive to His presence – confess that and say ask for forgiveness.

4. Finally, ask for God’s grace of healing in one particular area in which you need transformation. It would be best if this was the same thing night after night -- this will keep you attentive to His work in this area and will keep you focused.

You might want to close by lifting both hands, palms up, toward heaven with a prayer of this sort:

Merciful God, you have delighted in me all day as my good Father and I as your true child. This day is done and I release it to you. All that I did wrong is yours to redeem. Anything that I did well is yours to bless and put to good use for my good and the good of others. This day is fully left in your hands to do with as you will. You are Lord over all my days. Let them all bring you glory and let me walk in your peace. Amen.

This should not take you more that a few minutes. If things come up which you want to explore more thoroughly write them down and prayerfully explore them in the morning.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Time-Out, Spaghetti, and Baby Jesus

[My wife Kelly posted this great note on Facebook and has graciously given me permission to kick this week off with it. Enjoy a little slice of life in the Kirk home!]

A couple of years ago when our oldest two kids were toddlers, their Gram, who had been a preschool teacher in a previous life, thrilled the kids with a sweet Christmas craft. Using Quaker oatmeal containers (and don't all good preschool crafts begin with Quaker oatmeal containers?), they created little mangers for Baby Jesus, filled them with straw, and placed a perfectly-sized baby inside. Little Davis and Zoe had a wonderful season of playing with the baby Jesus and his cozy manger.

When, sadly, it was time to put away the Christmas decorations, I carefully wrapped and packed the mangers for use the following year. The baby Jesus? He stayed in circulation, a decision I have come to regret.

In the years that have followed, "Baby Jesus" (for he retains his name despite his lack of contextual manger), has become fully engaged in the life of the Kirk family babies. And may I digress here to inform the patient reader (hi, Mom!) that our gaggle of babies includes the unfortunately named "Mafen" and "Spaghetti" and "Waddle." I'm highly concerned about the nomenclature of my future grandchildren. But more on that another time.

So, Baby Jesus being an integrated member of the Tribe of Babies, I regularly hear comments such as, "Mom! Look at Baby Jesus doing a cartwheel!" or "Mom! I just dropped baby Jesus in the sink!" or "Mom, Baby Jesus and Mafen are having a cage fight. I think Baby Jesus is totally going to take her."

Humorous, yes, but in that uncomfortable even-though-the-DaVinci-code-was-sort-of-an-entertaining-book-I-don't-think-Baby-Jesus-should-be-marrying-Spaghetti kind of way. If you know what I mean.

Next topic. Emma Kate. She's two, almost three, and boy, has she had a summer. In the span of 14 days, she potty trained, moved into a big girl bed, and gave up her pacifier. The trifecta of change. When a girl can no longer pee in her pants, sleep in a cage, or suck on a binkie, she's got to do something to express her feelings, so express she has.

But wait, there's more. Bye-bye nap. Take two hours of sleep from her life, add exhaustion to the miasma...well, let's just say we have considered some lovely boarding schools for toddlers.

We, being enlightened and veteran parents, have recognized the stress of transition and exercised additional patience with her, at least in our best moments. (Our best moments occur at least once a week. We're good like that.) Despite our sympathies, within appropriate developmental limits, she is expected to obey her parents. It's hard. We know that. She would rather not. We know that, too, and even identify. But, believing it is in her best interest to develop this skill, we have held her to the standard.

Thus, she's spent about 1/3 of her waking hours in time-out, carefully and deeply considering, (even though it may appear to the untrained eye like she's just yelling her head off) ye olde fifth commandment about honoring her parents so that she may live long. I really like that last part.

Now, our dear girl is a non-stop talker. As the summer has worn on, her primary topic of endless one-way conversation to to all those under her domain: the importance of obedience. There aren't many that fit the category of "under her domain", but if you do, chances are that you, too, have been relegated to time-out on the bottom step recently.

Today, the pool toys were all given firm discipline and were sent to the pool-equivalent of the "bottom step of doom." (We don't really call it that. "Hell" has a much zippier ring to it.) Fascinating stuff as a parent, to see your words and actions reenacted and directed to the pool noodles and plastic sharks.

It has actually been encouraging and amazing to watch her begin to process this obligation she has to obedience. In the midst of this, be not concerned. We delight in her and laugh with her and read to herand play with her. She is joyful and chatty as ever, fearless as she jumps off the diving board, overjoyed to be a ballet student in her sister's "class", curly blond hair now long enough for a little ponytail, endlessly playing CDs, singing songs, and doing the hand "lotions." So she's a happy, loved girl. She's learning.

Now for the moment you've all been waiting for, the magical moment when I bring these diverse threads together. It happened this evening as we were preparing for a quick errand, the whole family to pile in the car for an exciting ride to the auto repair shop. All of the children had chosen a companion for the car ride. Davis had his Chickie, Zoe had her Mafen. Emma Kate was in a tight spot. She had a recalcitrant subject to deal with.

Finally she announced, "Well, Baby Jesus obeyed me so now he is allowed to go for a ride in the car."

Lighting flashed. I'm thinking Baby Jesus better get back to the manger, and on the double.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Fight Club: How Being Brad Pitt Revealed My Discontent (Part 3)

Quick background for those of you who are new to Piebald Life: I've spent the past fourteen years working in campus ministry with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. I spent nine years working at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, Va and the past five at UNC-Chapel Hill, which is where I got on this IV merry-go-round to begin with as a student.

This summer I've taken a new position with InterVarsity as an Area Director for the Central Carolinas. Instead of working with students, I'm working with campus staff who work with students at UNC-Charlotte, Davidson College, Elon University and UNC-Chapel Hill.

This transition has gone relatively smoothly in terms of the outward circumstances: my first big "test" was a four-day meeting with all ten of the staff that I supervise from all four campuses--it went about as spectacularly as I could have dreamed.

Like any newbie, I'm learning my way around the parts of the job that are ne--like understanding insurance and employment forms. And I've enjoyed talking with each of my staff weekly and being a sort of consultant as they gear up for the start of the fall.

All this left me wondering a couple of weeks ago: why am I so churned up internally?

I was talking about this at Fight Club a couple of weeks ago-- the name of the guys small group that meets at my house every Sunday night. One of the wives coined the name and I figure that since I lead it that makes me Brad Pitt. Definitely Brad Pitt.

I was verbally processing my inner-angst when I stumbled upon a realization. In my new position, I do not yet know what "success" looks like. Over the past fourteen years, I've more or less developed my own schema for how to measure success: X numbers of students involved or seniors at senior night sharing how they've grown and matured while in college.

Having clear pictures of what it means for me to be successful are very important to me. I am realizing that all the more as they are taken away.

And what I'm realizing is that most of that was deeply unhealthy anyway. And so I've been internally angst-ridden because in the transition the Lord has removed the un-healthy sources of my identity.

This is, of course, a gift if I can get there emotionally. To be free from the tyranny of numbers and of the pressure to perform in order to feel that I am a worthwhile human being would be a tremendously wide-open place to live.

And soon I'll replace those old measurements of success with new measurements of success, and I will again be in the same place of fighting those same battles.

But in the interim I have a tremendous opportunity for personal growth: to be stripped of my external props and to lean into Jesus alone for my identity is what I am meant to do.

The Fight Club realization a couple of weeks ago was a real turning point for me as I'm transitioning into my new job. There's some clarity about what this season is supposed to be about for me in terms of my walk with the Lord and what it means for me to serve faithfully as I continue to learn my new ropes and care for my staff.

And in the mean time, maybe it's time to dust off the old Fight Club DVD and see if there's any more spiritual lessons to be learned...my guess is that there's probably not.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Sources of Our Dis-Content Part 2: Over-Staying the Sell-By Date

Yesterday I posted about a common source of our discontent: living with our eyes fixed on the greener grass in the rear-view mirror.

Today I want to talk about a different source of our discontent: holding onto things that are supposed to be given away.

At the beginning of the week I got an invitation to speak somewhere. It was a generous offer to do something that is right up my alley. I was super-pumped to get the invite. Being the over-eager, impatient man that I am I wanted to cut out all the "let me think about it, pray about it, and talk it over with my wife" stuff and cut to the "yes" right on the spot.

But fortunately I've learned to restrain such impulses. And as I've talked it over with my wife, thought it over, and prayed about it, the Lord's brought this quote from George MacDonald up again and again:
"The will has been given to us that we....might have something to offer up to God."
Further reflection on this statement has found it to be most applicable to many areas of life. My mind has been given to me that I might have something to offer up to God. My imagination. My emotions.

Tease it out further: our relationships (spouse, kids, friends, parents, siblings) have been given to us that we might offer them back to the Lord. Our money. Our sex drives. Our homes. Our jobs. Our gifts and abilities and talents. Our challenges and adversities.

And my speaking invitation.

All of these things and more have been loaned out to me in order that I might give them back to God. It is much like the illustration C.S. Lewis (who, by the way, steals nearly everything from George MacDonald) gives in Mere Christianity:
When we talk of a man doing anything for God or giving anything to God, I will tell you what it is really like. It is like a small child going to his father and saying, "Daddy, give me sixpence to buy you a birthday present." Of course, the father does, and he is pleased with the child's present. It is all very nice and proper, but only an idiot would think that the father is sixpence to the good on the transaction.
So I've been given an invitation that I am excited about in order that I might gladly give it back to my Father. And this doesn't make God any richer. It's just living into the reality of the situation.

I trust that the God who made me, loves me, and delights both in me and the people to whom I would speak has great gifts to give to me and to them. I am glad to entrust all of myself to the character of the good God who opens up opportunities for me in his timing for his purposes for my good and his glory.

All of this brings Him and me great joy.

And here, of course, is where our discontent comes in. When we cling to what we should give away, it rots. The "sell-by" date on all of God's gifts is basically immediate. The longer we imagine that something is ours to cling to as if it were an inalienable right, the more rancid it becomes.

Our gladness only comes in treating temporal and passing things as they deserve to be treated--that includes all that we typically refer to with the possessive pronoun "my" as in "my weekend" or "my life" or "my family" or "my career" or "my money."

And our gladness only comes as we treat things of infinite beauty and worth as they also deserve to be treated. To mistake the two and to join our lives with what is corruptible and destined to eventually die is to be joined to death, and so to die thousands of slow deaths ourselves on our way to each of our graves.

And conversely, as Lewis again says, if a person is united to God, what else can they do but live forever?

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Sources of Misery Part 1: The Greener Grass in the Rear-View Mirror

It seems to me that one of the chief causes of misery for many people is the condemning of the present by comparing it to an overly-romanticized remembrance of the past.

For some people, the grass is always greener in the rear-view mirror. They complain mightily about how things were at their old job, church, neighborhood, or simply at an earlier season in life.

But in Christ, the past is not ours. Not ours to overly-glorify. Not ours to regret. Not ours to cling to. In Christ, the past is His. His to redeem and make to serve our good.

The present is the only place where we can fully experience and know God's work. Being awake to the wide-awake real, the real presence of Christ in real-time, exactly where we are--that is the invitation of God to his children.

This is true even and especially when the present takes us away from a place or a time that we have loved. To hold a glorious season of the past loosely unto releasing is almost as hard for some of us as letting go of past mistakes. But both are ours only for the giving over to God, not ours for the hoarding.

In the end all of our story must be handed over Jesus. And in the end, this present moment is the sphere and realm of the work of the Holy Spirit. We can either receive that gift or reject it because it does not live up to the measure of what we had experienced in the past.

But to reject this day and all that it has to offer us is finally to reject the work of God in real-time. To reject this day's work, people, challenges, chores, and recreation is to miss the myriad opportunities to explore the un-discovered continents of God's grace and love that are available to us each day.

Time to stop looking in the rear view mirror. The grass probably wasn't as green as you remember it anyway.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Book Review: "Good and Beautiful" Hits it Just About Right For All Readers

With a fair degree of regularity (and it is important to be regular these days after all) the Christian publishing world cranks out books that attempt to re-tell the foundations of the Christian story with freshness and clarity.

Usually, these attempts fail miserably--they slouch into cliche or lose their energy at some point or another. Often they fail to strike the balance of engaging in some degree of nuanced thinking while at the same time not getting bogged down into the details of more weighty theological matters or debates.

But it gives me great pleasure to report that The Good and Beautiful God by James Bryan Smith manages to mostly avoid these traps. And in doing so, Smith offers a compelling and grace-filled picture of the good and beautiful God that invites us to come further up and further in.

Smith manages to cover the character of God in his grace, love, holiness, justice, generosity and power in ways that are refreshing for those of us who have been around for a long time and accessible for those who might be in process with engaging the Christian story.

After I finished it, I ordered a couple more copies as give-aways for people who I know who are "on the journey" towards Christ. I loved it for where I am, and I think that it would aid them as well--an impressive feat for any author covering such far-ranging topics.

If Smith falters anywhere, it's in his assumption that most people have "angry God" baggage that they need to work through. He spends much of the early chapters of the book trying to do faith-rehab with people who have come from church experiences where God was portrayed as perpetually ticked off.

He eventually engages with people coming from the other end of the spectrum ("if there is a God, I'm sure he loves me and is alright with me doing whatever") several chapters in. And when he does so, he employs the same thoughtful, gracious approach without compromising any of God's character.

Perhaps the most insightful part of the book for me over the past several weeks has been his proposal that since Jesus has already paid the price for our sin, sin no longer separates us from God.

If we are separated from God post the cross and resurrection, it is because of our self-righteousness--that is, our stubborn refusal to accept God's forgiveness and grace that is coming toward us in Christ. Only our self-righteousness can keep us from God now that the sin problem has been dealt with once and for all.

This is good news for those of us who struggle still with guilt and shame. To remain in guilt and shame after Christ is to live in stubborn refusal to accept the sacrifice of Jesus. It is to demand that we somehow be dealt with based on our own performance rather than Jesus'.

But that whole system has been done away with--thanks be to God. And the invitation is to live according to grace rather than performance.

This is the first book of a three-part series from InterVarsity Press (wait a minute, isn't there another really, really incredible book from IVP by some guy that I know?) riffing off of the same title: The Good and Beautiful Life and The Good and Beautiful Community.

After reading this offering, I've got the other two shipped and on the way.

Monday, August 16, 2010

An Open Letter to High School Teachers: What's With You and The Bell?

It's now solidly a week-plus after "tax-free shopping weekend" here in North Carolina, which of course means that most students are gearing up to head back to school.

I'd like to take this opportunity to register my complaint to all you high school teachers out there: what's the deal with your relationship with the bell?

At the beginning of the class, the bell sounds. This bell, I was always and repeatedly told, is the final arbiter of "tardy." If you're not in your seat, ready to capture every golden moment of the class when that bell rings, you're a disgraceful human being. And you're late.

However, the very same bell also sounds at the end of the appointed hour together. And somehow this same bell, which makes the exact same sound to signal the end of our golden moments together as it had before to begin it, had lost its sovereign authority whilst we were eagerly studying under the leadership of our venerable elders.

The bell for dismissal was a "signal" or "reminder" bell. The teacher alone had final authority to dismiss the class. If that was several minutes after the bell sounded, so be it.

Good teachers, I implore you on behalf of poor, innocent, saint-like high schoolers everywhere: all we're asking for is a little consistency. If the bell starts the class, the bell should end it. If you get to end the class, then you should be the one to start it.

Is that too much to ask?

Alex

P.S. Oh, and best of luck to you as you start the new year. People think that because I worked with college students I could also swing high school ministry. Absolutely incorrect. You could not pay me enough money to work with high schoolers. Median age: 15, median age: 20. Huge difference.

Friday, August 13, 2010

Three Boy Ducks in a Row and Serving Without Getting Soaking Wet

One of the things that I really love about my six-year-old boy is that he's got a sweet, sweet disposition. He's eager to please, eager to meet other kids (especially if there's a ball involved), and earnest about taking care of younger kids.

Last week at the beach, we met Citizen, a four-year boy that Davis buddied up with at the pool. They played together for a while and we connected with their parents. We promised to look for each other on the beach the next morning.

However, the next morning Davis found a new buddy, Jack. And Jack was a big, bad 7-year-old. Davis was smitten, following him around and eager to play whatever he was into.

Citizen showed up later that morning. And he was excited to see Davis...except Davis was too busy trying to impress and keep up with Jack to pay much attention to Citizen. The three of them walked around like ducks in a row: Jack in the lead, Davis eagerly behind him, Citizen chattering away at Davis, trying to keep up.

When Davis was in the position of authority and "power" by virtue of being older, he was very present and thoughtful about caring for a new buddy. When he was displaced from that position by virtue of being in a new relationship where he was the young one, he was too busy trying to keep up to serve Citizen in the same way.

I think this is true of all of us. It is impossible to serve from a place of uncertainty--at least for very long. We are hard-wired to make sure our own needs are met and then to serve from the overflow of that. If we are in deficit (emotionally, physically, etc) it's extremely hard to give to others.

And that's one of the reasons why the Scriptures promise us so very, very much.

Paul spends 11 chapters in Romans extolling and celebrating and outlining and working out all that God has done--the extravagance of his grace and mercy and power and wonder and all of the goodness of Jesus. Then he hashes out in great detail all the implications for us--we are not condemned, we are holy, free, filled with God's Spirit.

It's not until chapter 12 (out of 16 total chapters) that Paul makes the turn to the "therefore:" "Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship." (Romans 12:1)

He spends eleven chapters telling us about God, God's plan, God's great love for us and all the implications for our identity and our certainty and our confidence. And not until he's unpacked all of that does he call us to serve God and serve one another (see the last four chapters of Romans!).

Serving out of an insecure place is like trying to pull someone up into a canoe in the middle of a river. You will both fall in and get wet. Serving out of the place God has put us is like pulling someone out of a river while standing on a rock.

God says all the infinite riches of his love, grace and mercy are poured out on us. And then he says to us in that place of perfect security and provision: "serve."

Apart from serving from that deeply rooted place, there are only two possible outcomes: serving that leads to burn-out, serving that leads to a deep-rooted self-righteousness, or serving that pretends to be about the other but is really about propping myself up--a using of others to make me feel good about me rather than a genuine serving of the other.

I gently encouraged Davis to tend to Citizen some--and he sweetly did so, or at least tried. I'm praying for him and for me, that we'd find our deep rootedness in the infinitely secure Christ so that we might be able to serve and love others...without getting soaking wet.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Full Disclosure: Know Yer Blogger

Just so you know, I'm mostly this:With a strong bit of this mixed in:
Just so that we're all on the same page (and thanks, Daniel, for the inspiration).

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Bunk-Bed Gravity, Getting My Groove On, and My Singing Kids


[Ed's note: over the weekend my wife went to a baby shower of some old college friends who complained that my posts of late had been overly-theological and not enough cute kid stories. I hope that this post might assuage my mommy demographic. To the ladies of Labor Day!]

The de facto arrangement between my wife and I is that I bat lead-off and clean-up with the kids. I get up with them and get them breakfast and get the day started. And I put them to bed at night--stories, songs, prayers. She does all the hard stuff: life in-between.

In my extended family I am surrounded by musical genius. My mom, grandfather, and multiple aunts and cousins are (or were at one point) professional musicians. Those genes somehow skipped over me. I'm not abysmal musically, just extremely average.

But at night, singing to my kids, I'm a rock star. They most often request "campus songs"--worship songs that we would sing at our weekly large group meeting or that they heard at Rockbridge, our year-end camp that my kids attend along with the students.

And recently their favorite song is a gospel song, "Bless the Lord," which is one of the coolest songs ever. And of course, since it's a gospel song it requires not just vocals but a little groove as well. If you've never heard it you can groove and listen to it here for yourself.

We've sung "Bless the Lord" so much over the past six weeks that they know it by heart now. So this week instead of me singing to them at bedtime, all three of them delight to sing the song to me. Each night, I get a solo (or accompanied by dad) performance of a song where they command their soul (like the Psalmist does) to "bless the Lord."

Unfortunately, they have their father's singing voice. But worshipping alongside my two, four, and six year old is enough to make me well up with joy each night.

I can hear the angry cynic's objection: "You're just socializing your kids into singing a song to a 'God' who might not even exist. Why not just let them make their own decision? Why must you force them into something that works for you but not not work for them?"

My response: guilty as charged.

I am raising up my kids to worship the God who made them. I believe that this is as much a fact as the realities of gravity. I am teaching them to trust and revere and understand the workings of gravity in ways that they can understand at this stage. And of course they will understand much more as they grow.

But they need to know some things about gravity now--that they need to be careful coming down the stairs, that the railing on the bunk bed is there to keep them safe at night.

And I am teaching them to worship the God who made them. If they do not worship Him, they will worship something else that will enslave them. My kids were made to worship Jesus. That's what ultimately will make them most human. One day, by God's grace, we will all five worship God together in perfect and un-ending joy forever more.

And they will have many decisions to make as they grow up. What will they do with gravity and what they will do with the God who made them to worship him are both important decisions. I cannot make those decisions for them and I do not wish to do so.

But in the mean time, we will talk about the workings of gravity and we will sing worship songs to God together. We will bless the Lord together now in the hopes that they will grow up into a full-fledged understanding of who they're worshipping--and why.

The songs will change, as will their understanding of why we would sing at all. But the God and the gravity that are ever-present in their lives demand recognition now. And so we'll sing.

I'm just relieved that they don't keep score of my musical abilities.