Confessions of a 5'11" 138-Pound Waffle-Loving Floundering Faster

Last week I had a networking breakfast meeting with a local ministry leader. Only he wasn't eating breakfast. He was fasting.

He explained to me that recently in his spiritual journey he had discovered fasting to be an enormous aid to hearing God's voice more clearly. He said that after he fasted he had a much clearer sense of being able to discern God's will. I groaned inwardly.

At 5' 11" and 138 pounds, my metabolism runs at about 8,000 rpm's. People told me at 30 I would hit the wall and the party would be over. All 138 pounds of me ran right through that wall at 30, still going strong at 36. Take that, wall.

But what that means is that I'm a miserable faster. Sure, it's been found to be beneficial by millions of Christians before me. But my attempts at fasting have generally resulted in nothing but headaches and a case of the grumpies.

Richard Foster's charge that fasting basically kicks out the things that prop us up and reveals who we truly are underneath is none to comforting. I'm sticking with my hyper-metabolism excuse, with Foster's words duly noted.

But the words of my fasting-through-our-breakfast-appointment friend kept resonating with me. So yesterday I braced myself for another shot at fasting.

I armed myself with words to meditate on from Scripture and the truth of the gospel. I focused on the Scripture from yesterday's post: all God's promises are "yes" to me in Jesus Christ.

I rehearsed the truth: in Christ Jesus, the last word is never "no" but "yes." Therefore, fasting serves feasting. I say no to food so that I might say yes more recklessly and gladly to Christ. I fast so that I might feast on Christ--know him, his goodness and love and his will. Fasting serves feasting.

I recited the prayer that I've been reciting a good bit over the past couple of weeks: asking God that no appetite my rule over me except my appetite for him.

And I cheated. I drank apple juice most of the day.

I did okay through the morning, dipped mightily around lunch time, came back up a bit in the afternoon, dipped again in the late-afternoon, and broke my fast at dinner. And I was fairly cranky after dinner.

But a couple of things happened that I was encouraged by:

1. I had to remind myself of the gospel a lot. All day long as I was hungry I touched one or all of the above Scriptures, prayers, or truths of the gospel. I was certainly much more actively engaged in fighting the battle of faith.

2. I spent some time last night after breaking the fast in Scripture and journaling. And one significant issue that I've been looking for clarity about for the past four or so weeks seemed to become a bit clearer. I had a sense of what I needed to do and the blessing to take a step towards doing it.

3. I slept much better than I had in a while. I had released many of my cares along with the carbs from the day. I went to bed with less clutter in my internal world. Fasting had cleared out some of the nagging anxieties that had been at work in my soul and had disturbed by sleep.

And today was a good day in the Lord--some sense of favor, especially as I took that one step towards resolving my month-long question.

All in all, it wasn't a dramatically different experience in fasting. But it was beneficial, and I think that I have renewed hope that I might some day move past "remedial fasting" into actually making it a regular part of my spiritual disciplines.

But I won't do it on days when I have breakfast appointments--I like me my Belgian waffles too much to give those up.

Waxing Contemplative-Loopy-Poetic with the Labyrinth

So parts of the Christian faith tradition can seem pretty weird. If you start reading the mystics or even some of the just generally contemplative-type people, they talk about candles and incense and dreams and visions and hearing voices and hurting themselves in order to experience more of God. It can get a little loopy.

I appreciate those folks...from a safe distance. And I'm particularly grateful for the contemplatives who call me to rest in Christ, trust in Christ, deepen my life-roots into Christ through prayer and meditation.

Yesterday I joined about a dozen IV staff workers at a day of retreat at a local retreat center. I've been to this retreat center several times. And on the grounds, they have a labyrinth.

It's a really simple prayer labyrinth. With the path laid out in stones and gravel. I've walked it just about every time I've gone and never really been able to enter into the experience the way that I think you're supposed to.

But yesterday was a little different. I was able to more fully enter into the experience of moving towards the center and then coming back out again.

And after I emerged from the labyrinth experience, I wrote a little hack-job of a poem that I thought I'd share with you all, if you can suffer my poor attempt.

The Labyrinth

I start out
full of energy and certainty.

This path will be clear, the direction obvious
confident that I will reach the center
(perhaps in record time)

But the path doesn't seem to know
the most efficient route.

And I am sometimes closer
and then the path turns
and I appear to be much farther out.

I start to wonder where my confident energy has gone
and I wonder where the path will take me next
and I wonder if I'm getting any closer to the goal
and I wonder at how different this path leads than it would if I were the one mapping it out
and I wonder at the unexpected turns
and I wonder at the inefficiency of it all
and I wonder at how brash I seemed at the start
and I wonder if there is any true confidence that might be found to replace it
and I wonder as I'm unexpectedly at the farthest edge
if there is any hope of true proximity to the center

And then a gentle unexpected turn.
And what seemed so far away is suddenly very close

I am only just sufficiently humbled to not cut across to the middle
and to know that this closeness, too, might pass

But I am discovering a deeper certitude
to replace my prior confidence.

I am discovering faith.
Not path-faith, as if these rocks and pebbles were animate and sovereign

Faith in the one who has laid out this path
and scripted these steps

And so I walk.
And a turn that seems to take me away from my goal
I now trust is carrying me further up and further in

Until at last I reach the center.
A simple marble bench.

Where many before me have sat and met with the Lord of the path.

Had the bench been there at the beginning
my prayers would have been bold, certain, animated, loud

But after this journey, all I know to do is offer myself,
my life, my days, to the path-Lord
and sit in humbled reflection and silence

I nod off and jerk awake with a nod. I take a deep breath
stand up. and go back the way I came.

This path is a good gift and I recognize it more freely backwards
even with its' inefficiencies and unnecessary turns
that strip me of myself in order that I might worship one who is much greater.

I walk it by faith
until I am released into
the labyrinth of the rest of my journey

In order that I might learn to walk in that way
as I have learned to walk in this.

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.

Conversations in my Head Meet David's Fast: Cancel the Victory Parade

A couple weeks ago I was in the midst of a dispute. And was I ever oh, so very right.

So right, in fact, I spent copious hours in my head building my case and outlining my arguments. I imagined delivering the facts and my opinions with such dizzying perfection that my antagonist would have no choice but to wilt in the face of such a tsunami of evidence presented with such aplomb.

And then I read some Scripture.

David in the Psalms is complaining about his enemies. His enemies have set unfair traps for him. They gloat when he slips up, they prowl around looking for opportunities to attack. They are pursuing him now.

But when they were in trouble and sick David says that he fasted for them as if they were his family.

The footnote in my study Bible encouraged me to think about fasting for my enemies. My situation was a theological dispute, not a personal attack, but I sensed that this was for me.

I put aside my outlines. I shut off the debate preparations in my head. I canceled the after-discussion victory parade.

I decided that before I fantasized about dizzying my debating partners with my self-aggrandizing arguments, I was called to love them first. I spent one day fasting and praying for the people involved, the issue at hand (which was complicated) and for unity in the church.

It was astounding how much my heart shifted in even the contemplation of such a thing, much less in the actual exercise of it.

There are many very important conversations going on within the church about any number of hot topics. Many of them, however, become over-blown, and the people involved become overly self-important, as love goes out the window in an effort to win the battle at all costs.

I wish that all of us might grow up into David's heart towards his enemies. A little fasting and praying might do wonders for the tone of our disagreements in the church.

Confusion and Rays of Clarity About the Meal Jesus Gave Us

Thursday leading up to Easter is called "Maunday Thursday" in the Christian calendar. "Maundy" is from the Latin meaning "mandate," as in Jesus mandated that we eat the bread and drink the cup--communion or the Eucharist.

Which is all well and good except that ever since last Thursday I've been realizing that, with all apologies to my sacramental-type friends in the Anglican, Catholic, Episcopalian, and Lutheran traditions, I just don't get it.

Growing up in Baptist churches with a communion service maybe once a quarter, I realize that communion in my contexts had a low value and Scripture a very high value. And I think that if I had to choose one or the other, I'm glad for the tradition that I grew up in.

Bottom line, how do people grow spiritually? Communion wouldn't make my top five, maybe not even my top ten. I don't believe that taking communion will break someone's porn addiction, for example. But Scripture, prayer, community, accountability... I have seen these things make a difference.

Take away communion, people can still grow. Take away Scripture or prayer, not so much. So what's this thing all about?

I was pondering these things as I visited a church on Sunday. They happened to be having communion this past week. And for a variety of reasons I was deeply impressed with my need. My need for mercy, for strength, for new life, for refreshing.

And then I got the elements. And something about the bread and the cup impressed the reality on me: I had already received those things I felt I needed. Mercy? Strength? New Life? Check, check and check again. I had been given those things and more in the work on the cross.

A little piece of bread and a shot of grape juice spoke those realities to me, re-oriented me around the most-true things that I had lost sight of in the clutter of my everyday life and the various and sundry tyrannies of the urgent.

I still have a long way to go to really "get" all that's wrapped up in the communion thing. I don't ever think that I'll be a full-fledged sacramental kind of guy. But the Lord shed some light last Sunday on a part of my corporate disciplines experience that I needed to be awakened to

Foster on Fasting

"More than any other discipline, fasting reveals the things that control us. This is a wonderful benefit to the true disciple who longs to be transformed into the image of Jesus Christ.

We cover up what is inside us with food and other good things, but in fasting these things surface. If pride controls us, it will be revealed almost immediately. Anger, bitterness, jealousy, strife, fear--if they are within us, they will surface during fasting.

At first we will rationalize that our anger is due to our hunger; then we will realize that we are angry because the spirit of anger is within us.

We can rejoice in this knowledge because we know that healing is available through the power of Jesus Christ." -Richard Foster, "Celebration of Discipline"

Why I'm Giving up Sermons (and Taking Up Air-Drumming) For Lent

So I didn't grow up with the whole Lent thing. And the way that I've often heard people talk about it has made me rather un-inclined to participate: "oh, crap, tomorrow's Lent and I've got to figure out something to give up" has not been particularly appealing.

But I think I've stumbled across something this week (a couple days late, I know, forgive me o Lenten professionals) that fits the proverbial Lenten bill.

Last year when I was on sabbatical, I came face-to-face with one of my addictions: efficiency merged with competency merged with productivity. I have a strong inner drive to maximize my time, to always be doing something that is useful, productive, and/or helping me get better at something.

One way that this plays out is in how I use car time. I listen to sermon podcasts. I don't do this for personal growth, although that certainly happens.

I listen to speakers that I think I can learn something from in terms of how they do it. I'm listening to increase my competence at doing something that I think I do pretty well and want to push myself to get better and better at.

This is all well and good...except for when it tips over into a striving, grasping, driven-ness. When I begin to imagine that the impact that my speaking has is all about my competency and my ability rather than the power of the Holy Spirit or the gospel itself being the power.

So I'm giving up sermons for Lent. Rather than trying to find significance in striving to become omni-competent in speaking, I'm going to trust in the Lord to be my shelter and my identity. I'm going to rest in his goodness to take care of me and my gifts rather than imagining it's all about me and my gifts in operation somehow apart from him.

In this I was greatly affirmed three days after deciding upon it as I continue the slowest ever pilgrimage through 1 Corinthians 1. Paul says: "we did not come to you with eloquent wisdom so that the cross might not be emptied of its power." I could not have picked a more perfect verse to help me engage with this fast.

I have a lot of thinking to do about that verse and how it applies (or doesn't apply) to the development of a speaking gift. But for now the call is clear: to repent of my trusting in my own ability in order that the cross not be robbed of its' power, either in my life or in my speaking.

I'm taking the time in the car to either worship (I listened to music in the car on Thursday for the first time in over a year and it was fantastic--good to see that my old air-drumming skills are still intact) or pray.

Obviously this isn't the route for everyone--maybe you need to give up music in the car to listen to podcasts! But for this Lenten neophyte, I think that I've stumbled upon the core principle and invitation of Lent: to give up the things that we turn to for strength and affirmation apart from Christ.

Learning to Pray the Scriptures Part Deaux: Saints, Ya'll Being Rich, and Finishing Well

A couple weeks ago I posted about how re-discovering the discipline of praying the Scriptures has re-invigorated my spiritual discipline life. Just this week I started reading 1 Corinthians, and chapter one has been rich. Thought I'd share a couple of things that have been forming me these past couple of days just from the first few verses of chapter one.

Paul asserts in v. 2 that the Corinthians are "called to be saints." If you know anything about Paul's relationship with the folks at Corinth, this must have been a labor for him to write. These people were really, really messed up.

But Paul insists that they're called to be saints--as Christians that is their new, true identity. And so two days ago, I prayed that I would lean into my calling to be a saint. That in my husbanding, parenting, in my relationships with students and friends and family that I would live out saint-li-ness.

This is something that our culture dismisses or mocks. But God delights to call messy people his saints. To become a saint is nothing more than to become fully human, fully alive. All un-saintly behavior is dehumanizing, devastating, destructive to our souls and our relationships. "Saint" is simply biblical short-hand for becoming a real human being. That's what I want to become.

That was my prayer on Monday.

On Tuesday, I got as far as v. 5: that in Christ "you [really: 'ya'll'] have been enriched in every way." Paul here is celebrating the richness of Christ's blessing on the community as each has different spiritual gifts. I prayed that I would recognize the gift of how enriched I've been by the community surrounding me. I prayed for my kids to be surrounded at every stage with a community enriched by Christ in every way, for their marriages to be marked by that same richness in Christ.

The next morning, I looked back on that and realized that the days before had been marked by several significant interactions with people older and wiser than me. I had been enriched, indeed, by the "Christ in ya'll"-ness of the body.

This morning, I got to verse 8: "he [Jesus] will keep you strong to the end so that you will be blameless on the day of the Lord. God is faithful..." Given that I have just under 75 days left of my time at UNC, I couldn't have hand-picked a more perfect verse to lean into. I also prayed God's faithfulness for my family, for myself.

This morning I wrote on the inside of my wrist in pen: "HSTE"--He will keep you Strong to the End. I tried to look at it and recite it throughout my day today on campus.

At this rate, I'll finish 1 Corinthians sometime in 2012...but man, it's been good stuff so far.

Overcoming Prayer Shame and Scripture Befuddlement: Praying the Scriptures

So my job means that I talk about religious stuff with people. A lot. And when it comes to prayer, what I find is nearly universal shame: no one thinks that they pray enough or that they pray well.

And when it comes to reading the Scriptures, there's nearly universal befuddlement. Few are reading the Scriptures as regularly as they feel that they should, no one feels like they get as much out of it as they could. Many languish trying to figure out what to read and more importantly how to apply it to their lives.

Over the past several weeks I've re-discovered a discipline that has re-energized my time in Scripture and my prayer life: praying the Scriptures.

The basic premise is simple: as you read, you are open to something that seems significant in the passage or at least significant to you about the passage. This could be a word, a phrase, or an idea.

Then, as a part of sinking roots deep into this word, phrase or idea, you take that portion of Scripture and use it as the lens through which you pray for people you love, situations you're involved in, and whatever else you'd normally pray/think/worry about.

For example, I'm reading through Proverbs right now. One morning last week I came across this phrase: whoever pursues righteousness and kindness will find life and honor.

First, I need to make sure I understand the passage. Proverbs isn't a book about hard and fast promises. It's about general principles. I'm not cashing in an "if-then" promise. Proverbs is giving me an education in the goal of life and basic ideas about how to get there, what kind of person God desires for me to be.

So, I'm intrigued by finding life and honor--these are recurring words throughout the book that describe having found "it." And so I back up: pursuing righteousness and kindness often bears this kind of fruit.

So I pray through the lens of pursuing righteousness and kindness. First, I pray for myself, that the pursuit of righteousness and kindness would mark my character, my husbanding and fathering, and ministry and friendships.

Then I pray for my kids--that their lives might be marked by pursuing righteousness and kindness. That I'd be faithful to live out and articulate the values of both righteousness and kindness.

I pray that my kids will be surrounded by friends who also do this at every stage of their lives--peers and community are so critical for healthy spirituality. And I pray that they'd one day marry someone who also is marked by the pursuit of righteousness and kindness.

Then I go on--praying for the pursuit of righteousness and kindness and the fruit that comes with it to make and mark my co-workers, students leaders, our InterVarsity community.

And finally I pray for those on campus who don't know Jesus, that all the pursuits that shape the lives of students now might be replaced by this pursuit of righteousness and kindness--that in the end they would know the life and honor found in Jesus Christ.

And ultimately, all praying the Scriptures points back to this: that Jesus is the fulfillment of all the Scriptures. Righteousness and kindness aren't disembodied ideas--they have put on flesh in the person of Jesus Christ. All righteousness and kindness is found in him.

Ultimately in praying the Scriptures, I'm running all the threads of my various prayers through the needle's-eye of Jesus Christ. In him is all the fullness of all the blessings offered to us in the Scriptures.

If you're someone who struggles with praying and/or Scripture-reading, I'd encourage you to give this a shot. It's helped me to drill down deeper both into the Scriptures and into prayer...relieving shame and befuddlement in one fell swoop!

Cheap Christmas Rings and Living a Life on Loan

I remember one year when I was in elementary school, my mom took us to a craft/trinkets fair at school where kids could buy Christmas presents for family and friends. My mom gave my brother and I some cash and we went and bought her Christmas present.

In the same way, God has given us this thing called a "self" that we might have something to offer back up to him. It is nothing that we earned or created. It is pure gift. And it originates from him and was made to be given back to him.

This is not only true on the macro, hypothetical level of the "self." It's true about everything that we call our lives. Friends, family, money, resources, work, spouses, children, churches--these things have all been loaned to us that we might have something to give back to our good Father, who loves us very, very much.

"Lean not on your own understanding," so says Proverbs, "in all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight."

Acknowledging him simply means living in the reality that this whole thing that we take so very seriously as "ourselves" and "our lives" and this drive that many of us feel to make a difference of make an impact or be important or whatever...it's all built on so much pomp and fluff and emptiness.

This whole life, every aspect, is on loan for just a short time. It's his, given to us briefly that we might have something to offer him.

I think I bought my mom a cheap, tacky, awful ring with her five dollars that she gave me. She lit up brighter than the Christmas tree--I remember it vividly.

That's how God is, even with our smallest and slightest attempts at living in the reality of his boundless provision and grace as we acknowledge him.

Presuming more Recklessly on Grace

A couple weeks ago I was sitting down with a mentor that I'm just getting to know. He asked me about my spiritual disciplines.

I launched into my schpeal: I started reading the Scripture and praying nearly daily sometime during my sophomore year of high school. That time matured in college and post-college into a definitive and shaping component of my life as I added journaling to my daily ritual.

Then we had a kid. And the luxury of forty-five minutes to an hour all to myself every day over my Bible and in my journal got tanked.

At this point, he interrupted me: "So what did God do to make up for that?"

I was taken aback by the question. I spent at least two years looking in the rear-view mirror, frustrated by my inability to live up to what had to that point been a primary shaping instrument in my life.

But this mentor is older and wiser in the Lord than I am. He assumed that God is good. He assumed that if something was taken away from me, that God in his grace would act to replace it: "so what did God do to make up for that?"

And the thing is, God did make up for it, just as my mentor assumed he would.

My image of what my primary shaping influences post-college were is me over the Scriptures, in my journal, and reading books. This is not to discount the influence of many friends and in particular what I was learning about grace as I was formed and taught at West End Pres in Richmond, Va.

But my own perception of that time (and who knows what will happen at the end of all things to our own self-perceptions of any given season of our lives?) is very solitary, very focused, very much thinking and working things out on my own.

Post-my sons birth (six years ago on the 24th--happy early b-day Davis!), my primary shaping influences have become people and podcasts. Mentors have sprung up who have poured into me in specific and personal ways that I hadn't had since college. And some significant spiritual friendships have become crucial to my journey.

And podcasts have become critical, too, as I have lost the margin that was once filled with reading great books. Now I listen to sermons and leadership podcasts to and from work and as I run errands around town: Tim Keller, Andy Stanley, Willow Creek Leadership Summits, Marcus Buckingham, and others.

I posted earlier in the week about a patient expectation. This is still certainly a skill that I need to develop. But the instinct to ask the immediately expectant question, "so what did God do to make up for that" is also something that I need to learn as well...

Spiritual Lessons Learned by Sucking at Fantasy Football

So my fantasy football team sucks.

This in and of itself would not be interesting blog material (note to all fellow fantasy footballers out there: no one outside of your league cares to hear you grouse or cheer your fantasy team) except that I'm learning a significant spiritual lessons along the way.

For the un-initiated, fantasy football is building your own hypothetical team with actual football players. When they gain yards or score touchdowns in their games, your team gets points.

It's not just this year that my team sucks. I've been playing for over fifteen years and generally my teams year in and year out are mediocre.

I'm an above average fan in terms of general knowledge. But I've been playing in a league of really sharp guys for most of the past eight years. They're great guys, and they generally kick my butt.

I haven't always responded kindly to my mediocrity. Several years ago I realized that I was obsessing over my team all Sunday afternoon and smarting from my losses all day on Monday. I realized I was over-competitive and my team was bad--a bad combination. I quit the league mid-season and took a couple year hiatus to re-gain perspective.

This fall my team has descended into an even more radical form of mediocrity than is typical of my mid-season swoon. And I've been trying to figure out how to still enjoy it.

So I've been practicing a spiritual discipline in regards to my fantasy football team that those who are more deep in the life of the Spirit have always encouraged: detachment.

Detachment is a way of relating to the world not in an apathetic way but in a way that recognizes the things of the world for what they are: fleeting, transient. Situations, promotions, discouragements, wealth, poverty, status, stuff, power, and yes, even fantasy football glory or rancid-ness--all these things are shifting shadows, they pass.

God never changes. And so the practice of detachment focuses on the eternal God and allows that to inform and re-shape how we relate to things that so easily capture our imaginations that are, in fact, so very trivial.

In detachment we are invited to enter into and enjoy things for what they actually are, not as the world would hype them up to be, not as we would wish them to be, not as the various pressures and circumstances and situations around us would make them out to be. We handle them with love, with grace, and with freedom to let them go when the time comes.

This is so very, very, very, very not my nature. My nature is to dig in, to take whatever's in front of me and make it my whole world and try to make it great. And sometimes those instincts rob me of joy and cause me to overly-invest in things that aren't worth over-investing in.

So my fantasy football team sucks. And I'm trying to enjoy it anyway. It's not easy. This week I scored the lowest overall point total for anyone all season long. I still hate losing, and I hate losing embarrassingly badly even worse.

But if it helps me to live a little more freely, both with this game and in the rest of my life, maybe, just maybe, it's actually worth it.

Learning to Celebrate Good Times (C'mon!)

So suffering stinks. But here's what it does, at least for some of us who call ourselves Christians--it pushes us to God. Whether we're asking questions about his absence or pressing into his strength for help, suffering and hardship often brings us to God.

Success, on the other hand, seldom has that effect. For many of us, just like the Israelites in the Old Testament, once we enter into the promised land, get that job, get to a place of relative ease or blessing or comfort, we can drift away.

Given that God is most interested in who we're becoming than what we're doing, more interested in our connection with him than in keeping us comfortable, if suffering is the only way we turn to God, we can expect plenty of suffering in our lives.

Celebration, with God, in his presence, is a crucial spiritual discipline. And one that very few of us do very well.

All of this is rather ironic given that this whole Christianity thing started with a celebration: "Jesus is risen!" It was a party that started this thing. Not a new code of ethics. Not more rules. Not lame meetings. A party.

We haven't always remembered that. I haven't always remembered that.

If you're one of those kind folks who isn't a Christian who reads these posts, please forgive us--forgive me. And if you're one of my students or a former student and you've been around me when I've forgotten this whole Christianity thing is actually just one big celebration of Jesus death, resurrection, and the new life we are offered in Christ, please forgive me.

Those of us in Christ must learn how to celebrate--with God. That doesn't automatically mean it's not fun--alas, that we think that! It actually means that it's good, right, as it should be--and it means a celebration that doesn't ever have to end. Endless joy. That's the promise.

So to quote the great theologians Kool and the Gang, bring your good times, and your laughter too. Let's celebrate! It's alright.

Crock-Pot-Waiting our Way to Character

So it seems that there are times in our lives when God wants us to wait. I hate waiting. Never been any good at it.

But when it comes to forming character, few things seem to do the trick as well as learning how to wait. It's perseverance without the clear obstacle. It's battling without an enemy. It's overcoming our own impulses to want to grab for control. It's waiting and trusting that something good is coming on the other side.

God calls us to wait because he's more interested in who we're becoming than what we're doing. He wants us to be people of character.

Many of us would like character--at least in theory. We'd just rather find a quicker way to get there.

But character is not formed in the microwave. Character is formed in the crock-pot.

And so we must learn how to wait. We must learn to embrace the waiting as part and parcel of the gift that is on the way, not just as a necessary evil to speed quickly through on the way to getting that gift.

Past the Fasting Grumpies into the Mystery of Mission

So it seems that there's no way around it: fasting is a common denominator of those who have been old and wise in the Lord. Ugh.

In general I would say that my over-active metabolism is a great gift. But when it comes to fasting, it works against me. Attempts at fasting often leave me grumpy, tired, and headached. I plow through a day, trying to get stuff done, trying to remember to pray, and wondering why I'm doing this.

But several weeks ago I was reading Eugene Peterson's introduction to Romans and he talks about how Paul talks about and embraces mystery.

This has been a touchstone of prayer for me over the past several weeks as I gear up for the fall. And it has prompted a question: how do I engage mystery rather than just shrug sort of nihilistic-ally and say that there's nothing I can do about anything, it's all just going to happen one way or the other?

How, in other words, can I actively engage with and enter into mystery and have it motivate me towards mission rather than having mystery be de-motivating?

Enter fasting. The answer, so far as I can tell, is that part of the mystery of God is that he invites us to enter in--into his beauty and character and power and grace as a part of his real-time work in the world.

Fasting is one important track to enter into all this. It's one place where we might get traction in entering into this mystery. It's an on-ramp into the mystery of God. It's submission and denial in order to embrace a larger life. It's a "no" in order that we might more fully enter into God's powerful "yes."

We fast in order that we might feast. We feast on the mystery of God, and to know that mystery more fully. It will never be fully understood, but it can be fully entered into.

This has given me new ways to enter into fasting over the past couple of weeks as I prepare for this fall. I'm embracing both mystery and strategy, both listening and speaking, both waiting and working. Fasting is helping me to do both at the same time.

I can still end up a little grumpy and glazed over at the end of a day of fasting. But at least now me and my hyped-up metabolism have a little better idea what we're doing all this for.

Breakin' 2: Giving Healthily

So maybe after yesterday's post, you're all in. You're ready to start taking up a new discipline of regular giving--to your church, a cause you love, an organization you're involved with, your friendly IV staff worker, whatever.

A few thoughts about disciplines in general and about financial giving specifically might be in order.

First, remember that as with most things that require our participation, pride is a distinct possibility. There is no way around this and it seems that the Lord desires to keep the possibility of pride in play as a further component of our walk with him.

So just keep a pulse on how much you pat yourself on the back. If you're breakdancing at the offering plate because you're awesome, you're off course. If you're breakdancing because you've been set free, that's where you want to be.

It's tricky because on the outside the moves look exactly the same, but who you're becoming underneath the activity is a completely different thing.

Another helpful check on pride: how you respond to others around you who do not engage in the same disciplines? Self-righteousness is always a good indicator of bad things brewing in our hearts.

Secondly, remember that all the disciplines are designed as channels of grace. They are a means to a greater end, not the end themselves.

The goal is not that you give your money away. The goal is that you worship God and not money.

This distinction between means (giving) and ends (true worship) helps to keep us from a checklist mentality.

It is good to want to make a difference in the world--that is a God-given impulse. But sometimes our demand for instant feel-good-ness (which is one of our cultural diseases) can cloud the issue.

In many cases we need to be willing to give even when we do not see instant, spectacular results. Giving to help your church pay the light bill has less buzz than sponsoring a child, but that may be exactly where God is calling you to invest.

Lastly, all the disciplines will at times lose their vibrancy and at points feel like a chore.

In those periods, it is helpful to pull back and check some things out: do I know why I'm doing this? Have I gotten into a rut that can easily be addressed with some holy creativity? Do I need to fast for a season from this discipline in order to not toil under a heavy weight of legalism?

The last option above is one that must be weighed very cautiously. An object at rest from giving or praying or breakdancing or whatever tends to stay at rest.

But there have been times in my life where the holiest thing for me to do was to break from a discipline in order to re-gain healthy perspective.

Why Christians Must Give (and Get Funky doing It)

A number of recent conversations along with the fact that summer is fundraising season for all of us IV staff types have all prompted me to think more about why Christians need to give our money away.

First, we do not give primarily in response to external need. In other words, my church's balance sheet does not have to be in crisis before I'm called to give.

Of course, there may be specific needs that I feel compelled to help meet--sponsoring a child through World Vision, for example. But meeting a particular need or crisis is important but secondary reason for our giving.

Jesus celebrates the widow giving her few copper coins. This has nothing to do with the needs of the temple being met. It has everything to do with this woman making a tremendous leap of faith.

Ever since the Great and Terrible Exchange in the Garden, three good things have become regulalry ruinous for us here in the Land of the Ruins: money, sex, and power.

What giving our money away does is put a "stop" in place on how much we trust in money.

'The love of money is the root of all kinds of evil,' writes Paul. Indeed, the worship of money drives all kinds of heinous global problems.

So whenever we give our money away, we proclaim that Jesus is Lord and not money. This is a cataclysmic decision, a seismic breaking away from our natural and self-destructive tendencies. We are cutting against the grain of the lies that we are tempted to believe about money.

Giving is the severing of the ball and chain, the loosening of the noose that perpetually hangs around our necks.

Every dollar put in the offering plate or given to your favorite InVarsity staff worker (I couldn't resist) should be accompanied by a jig and shouts of joy. Again, this month, I'm choosing freedom! Again this month I'm saying a resounding "no" to the lies I'm tempted to believe about what money can do for me! Again this month I'm saying no to becoming a slave to money! Again this month I'm choosing to trust Jesus to give me life, to be my security and to take care of me rather than these digits in my bank account! Time to get funky fresh on the dance floor!

Giving is treason against all the forces of evil that have staked a claim on us. It is an act of rebellion against the forces that conspire to destroy us--even and especially inside of ourselves.

And so, of course, to do this in faith, hope and love against all the odds stacked against us, we need the Holy Spirit. Not because those who don't have the Spirit can't give. But because the intention in our giving is the proper re-direction of our worship: away from money/things/grasping after security and towards the Father, Son, Holy Spirit God who is holy and soveriegn over all things.

Unlike an alcoholic's relationship with alcohol we can never in this life be free of a relationship with money. But we can and must have firm boundaries on the place of it in our lives.

Disciplined, regular giving is doggedly deciding to choose freedom and life and joy over and against the slavery of an addiction to all the comfort and security that money tries to offer us but cannot actually deliver upon.

So next time you give, don't be afraid to get a little funky. It's a decision worth celebrating.