Spirtual Smoke Screen…

Have you ever seen that movie “The Ten Commandments”? Great movie. Great really ridiculously long movie. So a while back I’m watching it with the fam and after about 13 hours into it I realized how late it was getting. I hate not finishing movies, but I also hate dealing with sleep deprived children, so I paused the movie and cut a deal…

“Ok guys, if we’re going to stay up and finish this movie tonight, then as soon as this thing is done, everyone is going to go straight to the bathroom, no detours, brush their teeth, then go straight to get their jammies on and then go straight to bed. Deal?”

The deal was enthusiastically accepted by one and all. So as soon as the movie was over, I got started brushing my teeth. As I was transitioning to getting my jammies on, I heard the sound of laughter wafting from the living room. My body instinctively sprang into action in response to the tone of the laughter. You know the tone- it’s the pack of crazy monkeys having an epic banana battle tone. Sure enough, as I round the corner I find my two boys locked in an primal pillow war.

Now, I’m all for pillow wars, but not after the clear deal we had all agreed on.

“What is going on boys!?”
“Oh, hey dad, um, we were just picking up the living room.”
“Ohhhhhh, you were cleeeeaning?
“Yeah dad, cleaning’s good, right?”
“Um, yeah, usually I’d be super excited boys, but I told you to get ready for bed and you agreed. Combat cleaning wasn’t part of the deal. So no, it’s not ok, do what I asked you to do.”

As my eyes follow them to the bathroom I see my oldest daughter sitting on the kitchen counter drinking water.

“And what are you doing young lady?”
“Oh, just getting a drink of water… that’s ok right?”
“No Bek, it’s not ok, you’re supposed to be getting ready for bed.”
“But dad, you’re always talking about needing to stay hydrated.”
“Right, water’s great… Did you hear the deal we agreed to? The deal was waterless, now get ready for bed.”

As she heads to the bathroom my eyes fall on my youngest daughter staring blankly into the television, that is no longer on.

“And what are you doing Lyd?”
“… Just restin’ my eyes…
“Ok… wait, what?”
“You said it was bedtime… I was just gettin’ my eyes ready for bed.”

I could only close my eyes, pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head. Where did they learn to make disobedience sound so… so spiritual? As I’m lying in bed, frustrated, chewing on the sweet deal that went sour, it hit me where they learned it. Their dad.

I frequently find myself like Saul, in 1 Samuel 15:22 , spiritually sacrificing the sheep that I disobediently spared. Samuel’s rebuke is one for me…

“Does the Lord delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices
as much as in obeying the voice of the Lord?
To obey is better than sacrifice,
and to listen is better than the fat of rams.”

I find myself regularly offering up truckloads of burnt offerings, but not because He’s called me to. I’m mainly just trying to fill the sky with enough smoke to cloak my disobedience in a cloud of spirituality.

The other night, I’m lying in bed with my Bible, catching some quality time with the Lord, when I hear the sound of clanging dishes coming from the kitchen. It’s Hannah, cleaning up the daily dishes, many of which I’d dirtied. But I’m connecting with the King, right? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing? Is that so wrong? Well, when He’s calling me to selflessly love my wife and to sacrificially lay down my life for Her, in the way He did for me, but I’d rather spiritualize my disobedience, then yes it’s absolutely wrong.

On the flip side though, there are too many days that go by where I don’t get to eat until dinnertime because I’m so busy trying to love the poor and the needy. Even my “Quiet times” can be spent preparing spiritual food for others. But I’m lavishly loving people, right? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be busy doing? Is that so wrong? Well, when He’s calling me to get off my workaholic feet, so I can spend time at His feet, connecting with Him, then yes, it’s absolutely wrong. Especially when I’m serving Him as a sick spiritual excuse to avoid His loving but purifying gaze. He’s knocking at the door, wanting to come in and dine, but I’m so busy trying to clean up for Him, that He ends up getting left on the porch.

I’ve spent entire seasons of my life using Bible study, fellowship and Church involvement in general as a “spiritual” smokescreen to mask the sick reality of my complete lack of concern for the masses of people right outside the Church doors that are heading to a Christless eternity in hell. I’d give them the hope they’re so desperate for, but I’m too busy playing Church to actually be the body of Christ.

I could go on and on…

It all comes together in a relationship with Him. A relationship where God, as our Father, can call us to do whatever He thinks best, and our response is a simple, “Ok, Dad,” instead of all these religious excuses dressed up in elaborate sacrifices that can’t save us anyway and will never bring us life.

Weird Confidence…

I just reread this from a previous prayer letter I sent out.  It was an encouraging reminder of God’s faithfulness, so I thought I’d dump it on the blog…

“Brother Jonathan, would you do my Quienceañera?”

“Umm… sure, I’d love to.”

Weeks later, I’m sitting at my computer overwhelmed.  In an hour, Hessel’s sweet 15 will be beginning, and I’m frantically trying to figure out what I’ve gotten myself into.  All I’ve got is the rough outline for the message I’m supposed to give, but even there, I can’t tell if it’s from the Lord or my frazzled brain.  Before heading out the door, I check my email one last time and find an email from my good friend, Rob Munyan, with his ideas for what I should say.  I get goose bumps reading his rough outline, because it’s almost identical to my rough outline.  Same thought, same Scripture passage and everything.

So I walk out the door in a cloud of weird confidence that only comes from God.  We get to the place at 5 sharp, just like we’d been told, and there are only 4 people there (2 being the professional photographers).  So we wait till six and there are now 15 people, but none of the birthday group.  I ask one of the guests where everyone is, and she just says, “Mesican time”.  So finally, at 6:30 Hessel and her entourage shows up and asks me to start the service for the 20-30 people there.  They hand me the mic, but the only sound it seems to be making is this really loud screeching noise that an angry dinosaur would make. Every time I try to say something the people recoil in pain and frantically try to cover their ears.  For the next 30 minutes they keep trying to fix it, and it keeps painfully screeching forth from the speakers that are as tall as me.

I tell Hector and Sylvia (Hessel’s parents) that, “It’s ok, I don’t need to do it.” By this time I’ve secretly and shamefully started dreaming that maybe they won’t need me to do it.  Sylvia interrupts my dreaming, “NO! You need talk!”  Hector takes off running to get a mic from Radio Shack.

While Hector is out mic shopping, the crowd quickly swells to 200-300 people. To keep the crowd entertained the DJ has started the dance party, which is fully underway- laser light show, disco ball and a mob of dancing Mexicans.  Meanwhile, I’ve drifted into a dark corner and am emotionally curled up in the fetal position.  That cloud of “weird confidence” has completely evaporated and has been replaced with a dark cloud of dread. I’m thinking about how I’m the only white guy in the whole place.  I’m thinking about the impossible transition from drunken dance party to my thoughts on the abundant life that’s only found in Jesus.  I’m looking down at the ripples in my grape soda and feel like I’ve stepped into that scene in Jurassic Park when the TRex is coming.  Boom, boom, boom… I’m wanting to be anywhere else.

At around 8:15 Sylvia grabs me by the arm and pulls me back into a harsh reality.  Hector got a mic.  It’s show time.  I frantically find Jorge (my brother and translator), and we head to the front praying desperate prayers as we walk.  Some lady gets on the mic and angrily tries to quiet the crowd in Spanish.  It felt a lot like someone pulling the emergency brake on a train, and it takes about ten minutes for the screeching to stop.  Finally she hands me the mic and the crowd gets really quiet.  It seems, with all the sideways head tilting and head scratching, that they’re quieting down more out of curiosity and confusion over this strange shaggy white guy in a suit than anything.

As I look out over the crowd, it suddenly dawns on me why God allowed me to walk through the valley of the shadow of microphone death- He has a whole bunch more people that He wants to hear about His Son Jesus, and the abundant life that is only found in Him.  The weird confidence returns and it suddenly doesn’t matter what color I am, or how freakishly awkward that transition was, because God is with me.

I don’t know what God did in anyone’s heart last night, but I do know that He spoke a powerful reminder into mine-  “Be strong and courageous jonathan. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

The Kiss of Life…

“Sleepy’s passed out outside”…

All I can say is, “Really? Are you kidding me?” In this moment there are already too many straws on my fragile camel-back to process this. I’m thinking not only about the mob of teens that are arriving for Teen Bible Study, but even more, I’m thinking about my history with “Sleepy”.

This is the guy that pulled up all of the baby bushes that we planted in front of our apartment and then threw them at my apartment. This is the guy that publicly peed on my apartment. This is the guy that stole my lighter fluid and then used it to set the picnic table beside my apartment on fire. This is the guy with the teardrop eye tattoos that represent the people “he’s killed”. This is the guy that picked the worst time to pass out at the back door of our clubhouse church.

So I go out and check on him, and sure enough, he’s out cold, like cold-cold. So I slapped him across the face like they do on the hospital shows on TV. Nothing. So I check his pulse. It’s pounding, so I slap him again, but harder. This time he groans and half opens his eyes.

“Sleepy, what happened man?”

“Ate a bag of coke(cain)… throwin’ up green.”

Ok, I’m no Dr. but that sounds bad, so I call 911. The 911 guy has all kinds of questions for me, most of which I can’t answer because Sleepy has gone back to sleep and won’t wake up. Then 911 guy tells me to put my ear by his mouth and listen for breaths and say, “Breath,” every time he breathes.

Ok, sounds easy enough, “Breath… breath……… breath…………………………………..”

Now my heart starts pounding. He’s not breathing anymore. Um… what now 911 guy!?!

“Ok, I want you to put one hand under his head and plug his nose with the other and then put your lips over his lips and blow air into his lungs.”

A noisy crowd has gathered and I know I didn’t just hear that, so I ask 911 guy to repeat himself. As he’s repeating what I already clearly heard, everything goes slow motion for me. I’m looking down at Sleepy’s mouth that’s hanging open. As I’m looking at his three spike piercings coming out of his bottom lip, and imagining all the cocaine and green puke that’s still in his mouth, and remembering all the tender love he’s shown me lately, I lock-up. The kiss of life? Not that mouth, I just can’t. I know that makes me sound like a horrible person, but I just couldn’t do it.

So I squat down beside him with my head in my hands and tearfully choke out a desperate prayer, “God help me, I seriously can’t do this, please make him breathe without me.” Pretty much, “Here am I Lord, send someone else or do it yourself.”

“Sir?” 911 guy asks, rudely interrupting my prayer time, “What are we doing? We need to get this guy breathing.”

Suddenly all my me-centered thinking evaporates as I’m looking at Sleepy lying there. The stakes are suddenly clear- this is life or death. This isn’t about me getting poked in the lip with piercings; this isn’t about me getting some puke or residual cocaine in my mouth, or even about how he’s treated me in the past. This just isn’t about me, it’s about getting Sleepy to wake up.

So I put one hand under his head and plug his nose with the other. As I’m about to make lip contact, some people in the crowd start shouting angrily at me. “What the f*** you doing man!?! Why you trying to kiss Sleepy foo?” I quickly try to explain the “kiss of life,” but that gets them more confused and upset, so I lean back in, determined to get Sleepy breathing. This time there’s more commotion, but louder, so I turn around again. This time it’s the medical cavalry, and just in time.

The whole thing felt a bit like Abraham and Isaac, but instead of God calling me to kill someone I loved, God was calling me to love someone that I’d felt incredibly non-warmly towards. I think this was a loud picture from the Lord of something I struggle with embarrassingly often- I want to love people that need saving, I just don’t want it to cost me anything. I’ll love you, as long as you’re not too difficult, or too dirty, or too time consuming, or too costly. I’ll love you if you show potential for change, or if you’ll love me back, or if I won’t get hurt in the process, or if you don’t pee on my apartment and set my stuff on fire. Pretty much I’ll listen to you breathe, but if your breath stinks, don’t expect the kiss of life. How selfishly shallow and completely opposite of the love Christ has shown me.

So how much is a life worth? How much comfort, money, time, personal space, health is worth sacrificing to save a life? What if the life belongs to an enemy? Aren’t we all glad that while we were enemies of God, due to our trainload of rotting, disgusting, filthy sin, that He gave up His Son Jesus, to die, so we could live?

You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:6-8

Aren’t we glad Jesus didn’t fearfully lock-up in the face of death and say, “Here am I, send someone else Father. Come ON Dad, can’t you just save them some other way that doesn’t involve me having to suffer and die!?!”

So if it cost Jesus His life to save us from our sin, why do we think it will cost us any less to bring the gift of eternal life to others who are dying in their sin?

This life is crazy short, and eternity is crazy long, so in light of this reckless love we’ve been shown, and the life and death stakes, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the JOY set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Let us consider Him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that we will not grow weary and lose heart in our God given quest to bring the kiss of life, that He gave to us, to those that are dying without it.

By the way, after an extended stay in the hospital, Sleepy is physically ok. We’re friends now and he’s even started coming to Church from time to time.

His Chair…

So a few months ago, I’m sitting across the table from this lady with some significant financial problems. She’s desperately trying to hold herself together, but the weight of the financial burden combined with the humiliation of having to ask for help has left her looking like someone has kicked her in the stomach. She tells me her story. It’s unfortunately familiar these days, but still hurts to hear.

I tell her we’ll do what we can to help with her bills. I also let her know that we have lots of other ways we can help. When I mention that we have a free medical clinic that comes out to Park Lane every couple of weeks, she stops me and asks, do you help with dentist stuff? I let her know that we have a free dental clinic but that there’s a waiting list and her husband would need to see the Park Lane doctor first. She reaches out and grabs my hands, and asks if I’m for real.

Apparently he’s got some really bad teeth that are hurting so bad that he’s been pulling them out with pliers. She informs me that he’s already pulled 3, but didn’t get all of the last one so it’s gotten infected. As she described with tears what it was like to watch her husband pull his own teeth out I felt overwhelmed with mixed emotions. On the one hand, I feel this deep sense of sorrow that this couple has had to experience such huge pain. It was the kind of sorrow that aches deep down in your guts. At the same time though, I’m feeling this very real sense of deep joy and gladness that this pain doesn’t have to continue for them.

We prayed and cried together and I told her I’d see her husband at the Park Lane clinic at 8am Wednesday morning. I was so excited about meeting this guy and helping him in Jesus name. So a couple of days later Wednesday morning rolls around, but I don’t see him at the clinic. The whole morning I’m looking for this guy, but no guys show, just women and children. So as we’re packing up the medicine I call the lady and told her I didn’t see her husband. Her response floored me.

“Yeah, he went, but when he got there he saw some people coughing, and you know, the last thing he needs right now is to get sick…”

I was stunned and mumbled something about how he’s always welcome to come back, but that it is a medical clinic, so people that come are usually sick. As I hung up the phone I was thinking to myself, quite loudly, WHAT!!!!!??! Are you kidding me??! You’re having to pull your teeth out with pliers and you’re scared of a cold??! Am I missing something here? It really bothered me. I mean, how in the world could someone bearing such a crushing burden just blow off an opportunity to have it lifted for free? For a few days this question irritated my brain like a piece of hair in my mouth.

In my old age I’m slowly coming to realize that the things that bother me the most in others are usually the things I struggle with the most. Remember that story in the Bible when he prophet Nathan tells King David that story of the rich guy that had the poor guys pet lamb killed? As David is burning with anger and starts calling for the rich guys head Nathan holds up the mirror. This was yet another mirror experience for me.

My rotten teeth are the painful burdens and sin struggles that I willingly carry around and try to handle in my own strength, with pliers. Jesus stands there with arms wide open, and I can see in His eyes conflicting deep emotions. On one hand, I can see the pain He feels for me rolling down his cheeks. He knows exactly what I’m carrying around and the paralyzing pain it’s causing me. At the same time though, I can also see a hopeful excitement in His eyes as He thinks about how I would feel if I’d just hand over my crushing load of sin and stress and let Him take it all away, for free. He’s standing there calling out to me, come to me my child, you’re weary and burdened, and I will give you rest

So tell me, what idiot turns a free invitation like that down? Who in their right mind sees their problem and the perfect solution and yet, with pliers in hand, waves Jesus off and says, thanks man, I got this one

Me. Pretty much daily since I can remember.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why I’ve chosen to live with this heavy millstone of sin, stress, fear and wearying worry hanging around my neck for most of my life. What lame excuses am I habitually throwing up to justify hanging on to my burdens so I can try and deal with them on my own with pliers? I feel like for so many years I would hear Jesus’ unbelievable invitation and bring all my junk to Him and I’d ask Him to take it away, to lighten my burden, take away my sin and fix my problems… and then nothing would happen- in my heart or with my circumstances. The formula rarely worked for me so I think I slowly just started to try and cope on my own. I’d talk to Jesus about my problems still, but with no expectations and mainly because I felt like I was supposed to.

It’s sad, but it’s taken me most of my life to see the part of the equation I’ve been missing. I’ve been walking into the dentist office with my jacked up teeth and infected gums and in the doorway there stands Jesus. Like always, he lovingly welcomes me in and directs me to the chair with his hand. I catch a glimpse of the nail hole in his hand and am reminded that I don’t want the chair, at all. Can we just talk about my teeth and some hygiene ideas I can do at home? Can’t you fix my problems without the chair? He smiles an understanding smile and says, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your soul. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” It’s crystal clear with all the yoke talk, that while He’s promising to fix my teeth better than I ever could, He’s also asking me to sit down in His chair and fully surrender first.

This is usually when I thank Him for being such a good listener and give Him some lame excuse for why I’ve got to take my oral disaster and go. As I look back over my shoulder I catch a glimpse of him with His face in His hands, shaking His head. Come on though, in His chair I’m not in control anymore, and I’m probably going to experience some kind of pain, loss or discomfort. So instead of taking up my cross, or His yoke or sitting in His chair, or whatever picture you want to pick, I live life with a crushing sack of rotting garbage on my back.

Have you become used to carrying the weight too? Think about it. Do you really, honestly and truly experience a peace that passes all understanding? Like when everything is crumbling around you and you can’t fix it, but you are genuinely at peace inside.  Do you really, truly experience joy when life is raining tragedy and sadness on you, or patience when every one of your buttons is getting pushed, or kindness and gentleness when someone is hurting someone you love? Do you feel light even when life is heavy?

If not, you, like me, may be trying to experience His life giving healing without embracing His life ending cross. Think about it. Can He ask you to do anything, to stop doing anything, to give up anything? Anything? Can He ask you to follow Him anywhere? Anywhere? Can He ask you to love anyone, to forgive anyone, rebuke anyone? Anyone? If Jesus had complete control of your money, your time, your gifts, your life, do you think He would spend it the way you’re spending it? If He showed up at your job, or your house and said, come follow me… Would you be willing to go? What if you’d have to leave your life behind?

When our answer is yes, He begins His life giving surgery, but the second we start with the, “Not that tooth, it’s too sensitive,” or the, “Not that treatment, it’s too scary,” or the, “Not that infection, it’s not really that bad,” He lovingly steps back and waits until we’re ready to surrender complete control. My problem is thinking that partial surrender is the same as total surrender. I’ll climb into His chair often enough, but the second I hear the tools tinking around on his metal tray I’ve got a quick excuse for why He can’t do that with my mouth. Ok Jesus, have your way with me… unless it’s going to cost me more of my time or my money than I’m willing to invest, or unless it’s on my day off, or during my free time, or when I’m tired, or a sin that really isn’t that big of a deal, to me. I’m yours Jesus… except if it’s going to be too uncomfortable or painful or unless I might have to actually risk something or give up something I love.

If we’re not willing to sit in His chair we shouldn’t expect to receive His life giving burden removal, right?

As I’m thinking about Dr. Jesus’ chair and what it really means to have a seat, suddenly the guy that was pulling his own teeth out with pliers didn’t look so stupid. Instead of judging him, I now empathize with him. Please pray for me. The whole sitting in the chair thing is an epic daily battle for me.

And by the way, this picture of Jesus as some dentist and the cross as this dentist’s chair is obviously woefully lacking. The truth is, Jesus doesn’t just want to fix my smile and the cross is a way more gruesome, painful, uncomfortable, terrifying picture than any dentist’s chair. It doesn’t just hurt, it kills. Taking His yoke on me is way harder than getting some novocaine shot and tasting my tooth smoke for an hour in a padded dentist chair.

The truth is, a perfect, cavity-free smile will never come close to describing the beautiful, exhilarating, euphoric, exciting, light, whole, complete, joyful, fruitful, purposeful, powerful, peaceful life we find when we follow Jesus’ example and lay our lives down.

Love & Intimacy…

I was in the Mission a couple of weeks ago, and saw a picture of something that has been stuck in my brain.  Something I long for more of.

It was at the Mission during the morning devotional, and this lady comes in off the street with her 2-3 year old daughter.  The little girl looked sick, but completely content.  As they sat down, the little girl curled up in her mothers arms and looked up into her eyes with a sleepy smile.  The mother took a blanket and wrapped the little girl up, tucking it under her chin.  There was a tired yet contented smile on the mom’s face as she rested her chin on her daughters head and rocked her back and forth.

I don’t know what it was, but the scene just melted me.  In this loving embrace I saw a living example of rest and contentment that wasn’t shaken by sickness or circumstances because is was built on love and intimacy.

I want to experience more of that between God and I.  I need to experience more of that between God and I.  I wonder though, if everything were rosy in that little girl’s world and she wasn’t sick, would I have gotten to see that picture, or would the little girl be running around, all busy with her own busyness?

A lot of times I feel like I’m like a sick little boy, squirming desperately to wriggle out of His grasp so I can get busy with my own busyness.  Like somehow, maybe healing will be found outside of His loving embrace.  It’s sad and embarrassing to be confronted with my stubborn stupidity, but at the same time it’s exciting, and life giving to be confronted with the outstretched arms of my Heavenly Father.

I’m grateful for the billboards God places in my path to remind me what He wants with me.

…Love & intimacy…

…He gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them close to His heart…

Isa 40:11

The Greenhouse…

Four years ago when God called us to set out and pursue this idea of doing discipleship while living among and loving the “least of these,” it all started with a thought that He planted in my mind. Even though the dream had been conceived in my heart, it was two long difficult years of pregnancy before the dream was actually born. It seems God’s been at it again because I’ve got this idea planted in my brain that just keeps growing and won’t let me go.

I’ve miscarried a lot of dreams. Ideas that I conceived in my mind, and then unsuccessfully tried to birth in my own strength. I think that maybe some of those painful past experiences have played a part in me keeping dreams to myself for longer than God has wanted. The more I pray about it though, the more I realize that this dream is as old as Eden and it’s God that conceived it, not me.

Maybe some background first… I feel like this photograph captures the essence of the field God’s called us to work in. We spend our days fighting off the birds while we spread the seeds of the Gospel in the heat of the sun, on a weed infested concrete slab.

I can’t tell you how many times my heart has leaped for joy when I’ve seen some green growing out of a crack in the concrete. Watching God give birth to spiritual life here is miraculously beautiful and exciting, but I’ve also come to realize that it’s very fragile. It kills me to see the enemy shamelessly undoing what God’s done. The harsh spiritual environment here is toxic to life and growth. Whether it’s the drugs, abuse, alcohol, prostitution, gangs or poverty, there’s always something lurking in the shadows looking to choke out life.

I can’t describe how maddening it is to watch the birds swoop in and eat up all the seed we’ve just scattered. They shamelessly devour it right in front of us, as if we weren’t even there. Sometimes though a seed will find it’s way into a crack in the concrete and eventually peek it’s green little head out, only to be greeted by a relentless sun that roasts the baby plant back into the crack that it came from. Every once in a while we’ll see some sustained growth, only to watch the weeds choke the life out of it before it can become established. It’s heartbreaking to watch.

A few months ago God planted an idea in my mind for a more effective way to reach, raise and multiply those He’s called us to. It came in the form of another picture. The more we’ve prayed about it, the more confident we have become that this picture will come to be. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but I am unshakably confident that this complementary picture to the cracked concrete slab will come to pass in God’s perfect time and in His perfect way. The picture is of a spiritual greenhouse.

Figuratively, the greenhouse would be a place protected from birds where we could plant seed, and also a place for the baby plants to quickly establish their roots with shade from the sun and without weeds to contend with. The goal would not be to take the baby plants out of the out of the World indefinitely, but rather to protect them from the evil one long enough that they’d have a fighting chance when they return to the slab. In my mind’s eye I can picture a forest of oak trees growing up through what was once a barren slab of cracked concrete. I’m sitting here crying thinking about it.

Literally the greenhouse would be a piece of land, relatively close to the concrete slab, that God would provide. It would be a place filled with trees, animals, love and life, instead of concrete, steel, hate and death. A place where we could bring broken people for an afternoon or an entire Summer with the purpose of connecting them with God in an environment that is free from drugs, abuse, alcohol, prostitution and gangs. A place where relationships could flourish, trust could be developed, innocence could be restored, vision and hope could be imparted, the broken could be healed, the prisoners could be set free, the hungry could be filled, and ultimately an army could be raised up that would be transplanted back to the concrete slab we’ve been called to, and join us in our battle to rescue the perishing and care for the dying.

This is clearly bigger than me, but not our God, and that’s why I’d love to invite you to join me in praying this picture into existence.

Faith, hope & LOVE, jonathan

“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.

They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.

They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations. Aliens will shepherd your flocks; foreigners will work your fields and vineyards.”

-Isaiah 61:1-5

Childlike Faith: Rubbermaids of Manna…

And Jesus said: “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 18:3, 4

Jesus does not say here that He’s looking to fill His kingdom with competent, capable, self-sufficient, independent, strong and educated people. Children are relatively incompetent, weak, incapable, uneducated and dependent. Is one of your life goals to change and become more like a child? I’ve been wrestling with this because it would seem that, according to Jesus, child-likeness is an essential requirement for kingdom membership. What would it even look like to pursue that in this world that lives for the opposite?

I feel like I’ve been truly blessed to be surrounded by some beautiful examples of kingdom children here. They haven’t grown up and learned to live independently from God and how to fit Him in a safe little box yet. Like children, they live, give, love and pray like they actually believe that their heavenly Father is so big, so strong and so mighty that there is nothing He can not do. Their Dad can beat up anybody’s dad, because their Dad created the Universe and rose from the dead. They give like they have the richest, most generous Dad in the world, they recklessly love like Jesus recklessly loved them, and they actually trust in their heavenly Father, because, really, if He gave His own Son to die so we wouldn’t have to, who’s more trustworthy than Him?

Marcella is a beautiful example to me of one of these “kingdom kids”. She has been reaching out to all her neighbors here at Park Lane, because, according to her, “Why wouldn’t you, that’s what Jesus did for me and asked me to do for Him”. She hasn’t yet learned to keep the gift of the Gospel to herself yet, and I hope she never does.

Anyway, one of the ladies she’s been actively loving recently is a neighbor we’ll call Maria. Maria has been having some serious financial difficulties recently and couldn’t even afford shampoo. Marcella was down to her last five dollars, but decided Maria could use it more than her. So Maria, Marcella and Marcella’s last 5 bucks loaded up in the car and headed to the Dollar Store to get some toiletries. They get to the Dollar Store and on the way in notice a crowd of people gathered outside. They make their way through the crowd and find a radio station broadcasting live in front of the store. The radio station is having a raffle for a huge Rubbermaid full of kitchen and bathroom supplies.

Marcella and Maria each get a ticket and Marcella starts praying out loud. Maria elbows her and asks her what she’s doing. “I’m talking to God about our needs”. Maria awkwardly looks down and around. After praying for a bit, Marcella leans over and tells Maria, “Hey, I got the winning ticket”. Maria looks over and shoots Marcella one of those, “You’re loco” looks.

The DJ guy starts calling out numbers but nobody’s coming forward to claim the prize. Eventually though Marcella’s number get’s called. She elbows Maria, points up, and says, “See”. Maria looks back and forth between Marcella and the sky with a stunned look of amazement on her face. They claim their prize and head home.

Marcella has needs too though and on the way home starts talking to God about it. Her God is powerful and cares about her needs too, so she gets Maria and they head back to the Dollar Store to get another Rubbermaid of bathroom manna. They ask the guy if they can play again, and he says, “Sure, and here’s the winning ticket”. They wait in the crowd again, and like the first time, go through several non winning tickets before Marcella’s number is called again. Maria and her family have started coming to church now.

I listened as Jorge and Marcella told the story and was struck about how matter a fact they were about God’s supernatural provision for them. I kept saying, “Are you kidding me!?” To which Jorge would reply, “What do you mean?”

It dawned on me that based on what they’ve read in the Bible, this was a very normal interaction with an all powerful and all loving God. Why would their interaction with God be so different from God’s interaction with the widow of Zarephath who surrendered the last of her family’s resources in faith to God, and as a result got to see God supernaturally provide her with unlimited oil and flour, or Moses and the Israelites, who followed God out into the desert and got to see Him provide water from the rock, food from the sky and safe passage through the sea? In the Bible, when His children surrender everything to Him and follow Him anywhere, He takes care of them.

Sometimes I think I’d rather die clutching my last little hot cake, or enslaved in Egypt, than to live a fully surrendered life. I want to walk on the water with Jesus, but don’t ask me to give up the floaties and life preserver. Hearing Marcella’s story of childlike faith left me feeling glad that she took Maria and her last $5 to the Dollar Store before talking with me. I probably would’ve tried to talk her out of it and helped her grow in the fiscal responsibility department. Marcella’s story has also left me longing for her childlike interaction with our Heavenly Father, but also fearing being in a position of desperate need.

How many of us long for God to show up supernaturally in our lives, but cringe at the thought of actually being in a position where we need Him? How many of us have felt the closest to Him in our darkest most desperate days? I wonder why we expect to see Him show up when we’ve gone to such lengths to insulate ourselves from needing Him? When we’re hungry, we go to the grocery store, when we’re sick, we go to the doctor and have insurance pay for it. We feel safe not because God is our Father and is protecting us, but because we have locks on our houses and don’t live around scary people. What do we really need God for? I mean, besides things like salvation. Where are we actually living by faith and not by sight? Why do we expect to see God part the Jordan river, when we aren’t willing to step out into the river while it rages by?

I’m not anti insurance, or anti money, or pro danger, I’m just wanting to obediently move more in the direction of childlike dependance, and not just theoretically, but actually. I’m also not saying that God is calling all of us to give everything away and follow Him into the desert, or jump into the Jordan river. I’m just wanting to be genuinely willing to if that’s what He thinks would be best.

Would I give away my last 5 bucks in Jesus name to buy some shampoo for a needy person? Would you? If not, why not? Would I even allow myself to be in a position where I only had 5 bucks to my name? Would you? If not, why not? I mean seriously, if you wouldn’t, why wouldn’t you? Would that be a decision we’d regret one day when we stand before our Savior who gave away His life for us? So, why do I spend every fiber of my being avoiding being in that position? Are we living and giving and loving and trusting in such a way that if God doesn’t show up we’re toast? How is He getting glory from our lives if we can pull everything off without Him?

If Jesus calls the children the “greatest” in His kingdom, I’m learning that I need to stop looking down on them, feeling sorry for them, and trying to teach them to be more competent, capable, self-sufficient, smart, strong and independent like me. Instead, I think I need to start looking up to them, learning from them, and seeking to be more incompetent, weak, incapable and God-dependent, like them.

God’s Best…

God’s best.  What is that anyway?  Do you really want it?  Do I?  I’m not sure I typically do.  Just being honest.

When His best starts looking like change or something scary, stretching, painful, hard, or pretty much like anything I don’t want to do, I’ll often times try and redefine for God what’s really His best.  Instead of taking Him at His Word, finite me will usually try and redefine for an infinite God what’s best.  Cause I know better, right?  I mean, I can’t see the future, didn’t create the Universe or anything and I don’t actually literally know everything there is to know about everything, but I know best.  That makes sense.

We’ve been having our idea of “God’s best” tested here in Texas.  When Nathan and Matt moved into Apartment 47, I felt like we were drowning in a pool of His best.  Over the past month though it has felt like He’s brought another idea out on the table- having the guys expand the perimeter of our ministry (move across the street/fence).  At first we resisted the idea and determined that it couldn’t be God’s best, because remember, His best was us being next door neighbors.  As we held the decision in open hands and asked for His direction, we all felt loudly and clearly that to have the guys stay at Park Lane would be really good, but would also be settling for less than His best.

After a lot of prayer and a warm bowl of surrender, we didn’t end up up landing where we thought we would.  It’s not the easier, more comfortable or convenient choice, but we feel confident that this is His plan for what’s next.

Specifically, the plan is to expand the borders of the community we’re trying to reach.  Matt will be moving to the neighboring Running Brook apartments and Nathan will be moving across the street to the Brandon Oaks apartments.  We moved Matt yesterday and we’ll get started moving Nathan today.   The managers of the two different complexes the guys are moving into are offering the apartments to them free of charge.  Their motivation in doing so is a hope that their apartment communities will experience the same positive changes that have taken place at Park Lane and other complexes that Mission Arlington is at.

It’s not a far step, but it feels like a big step.  While I’m sure it will be stretching to stretch our borders, we are all really excited about the opportunities to reach more people with the Gospel and to grow in our need for God.  We feel confident that with a wider net we can catch more fish and raise up more fishermen to join us on our journey.  It’s also exciting to think about putting a whole lot more of the financial support that comes in into people instead of rent.  Nathan and Matt are also excited about the prospect of hot or even warm showers.

While there will be changes, nothing will change in our vision to reach this community with the Gospel.  We’re still all about doing discipleship among the least of these while living among them.  Matt and Nathan will still spend most of their time working with us here at Park Lane. The main change will come for Nathan and Matt as they spread their wings a bit and get one program a week started at their apartment complexes.

Please continue to pray for this next leg of our journey here as we set out to pursue what we believe to be God’s best for the lost in our community, for His glory and for us.

Love you!
jonathan

N: Nathan            JT: Jonathan (& fam)             M: Matt             † : Our Church Building

God’s Answers: Marcella & Jorge

Thank you to all who bring our baby Church at Park Lane before the only God who hears and answers. Here’s one quick example of how God is hearing and answering prayers…

Jorge, a new believer at Park Lane church, had been praying that God would arrange for him to take his first vacation in 2 years. God answered by having him lose his job a few weeks ago. He and his family were over at Matt and Nathan’s apartment when he got the call, and there were many tears. Tears of sadness and tears of fear. In light of the awful job market here, it was easy to understand why they were suffocating beneath a blanket of fear. I felt afraid for them too. When you’re already scraping to get by, a job loss could easily lead to homelessness. After praying together, Jorge explained to me with a tear stained smile that this wasn’t the vacation he had in mind.

Over the next days we got to pray together a lot and have conversations about God being in complete control and completely loving us, even when hard things happened. We talked about how following God doesn’t always mean that the road gets easier.  We prayed a lot for peace and trust with God’s plan as well as purpose and courage during the waiting.

At the time of the job loss, Marcella and Jorge were living in an apartment complex that is way nicer than Park Lane. They were planning on renewing their lease, but with Jorge’s job loss they felt they needed to move into Park Lane where the rent is a lot cheaper. They had felt God directing them this way since soon after they came forward at the revival, but Jorge told me they didn’t out of fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of jumping off their standard of living high dive, fear for the spiritual and physical safety of their family, and fear of roaches and rats. Satan of course played on all of their fears to keep them from moving forward, but they persevered. With a little push from above the faith to obey they moved in a couple doors down from Nathan and Matt.

Shortly after they moved in Jorge told me, “I guess I needed God to send a big fish to swallow me and spit me out here, but I’m glad He did.” The next day, after a few weeks of time off with his family, and after he got moved in and settled, he got a call from an old friend that offered him a better job than he had before. He started his new job a few days ago and loves it.

Watching their faith grow through their childlike obedience and God’s clear demonstration of His sovereignty and love has helped our faith to grow too. Please keep Marcella, Jorge, and their two children Emily and Matias in your prayers as they continue to grow in their faith.

Actually…

I don’t know if you’ve ever heard the sound of an angry mob, but there’s a distinct sound. It’s kind of like the crowd noise at a football game, but a lot darker and angrier. You’ve heard it once, you carry it with you somehow and can quickly recognize it the next time. Well I was lying in bed last week and I heard the angry mob sound outside my ground level window. It’s one of those sounds that makes the hair on your neck stand up as the adrenaline surges and your body braces, all before your mind even comes around to processing what’s going on. It’s kind of like the times when I’ve heard gun shots outside my window and without thinking roll off my bed onto the floor.

Well once my mind caught up, I peered through the blinds to see what looked like a scene out of one of those pro wrestling brawls where all the guys are fighting each other at the same time. It took a second before I realized that this was a real deal rumble and it didn’t take long after that for it to click that I was witnessing the party we’d all been at earlier in the club house gone south. The racial tension was thick when we were there earlier, kind of like a storm you feel brewing before it’s even on the horizon. Mix in some alcohol and the dark and you’ve got a recipe for the old fashioned drunken brawl I was watching through my bedroom window. I could see men, women and people too young to even be watching the fight let alone participating, all swinging away to the tune of screaming and yelling. Instead of running outside or calling the police though I didn’t do anything. I just stood there saltified like Lot’s wife.

As I stood there staring into this writhing mass of brokenness, my fear turned into overwhelming discouragement. As I crawled back into bed, several familiar questions crawled in with me,

“Why are you even here?”

“How is this any place to raise a family?”

“Is this the kind of difference you were hoping to make?”

I’m telling you, it was a dark night. Like the kind of lingering dark that wakes up with you the next morning. To be honest, this drowning discouragement isn’t a stranger. We sleep together more regularly than I’d care to admit. There’s something attractive about wallowing in it on the front end, but it always leaves me feeling dirty, worthless, and infected with despair.

It’s maybe how Elisha’s servant felt in 2 Kings 6 when he went out one morning and sees that he and Elisha are surrounded by enemy warriors. It was no mirage, they were actually surrounded, and the enemy army actually wanted to kill them. The reality of what the servant’s eyes see pulls him straight under, and who’d blame him, right? I mean, nobody is going to tell this guy that’s about to be killed to chill. Well, except Elisha, who actually had faith. He’s actually put his hope in what he can’t see. Elisha casually asks God to, “Open his eyes so he can see,” and as God opens his natural eyes to see the supernatural army of God riding around them in flaming chariots, the servant suddenly gets it.

You have no idea how badly I want to see life with eternal eyes like Elisha. To be able to calmly stare down an impossibly huge army and either see flaming chariots or a ticket to eternity with God… and to be completely at peace with that option. To be led by God Himself instead of by a fear of loss, or pain, or discomfort… I dream about consistently living this kind of life, but too often I wake up to find myself with the servant’s eyes, dragged under the waves like Peter on the water at the sight of the storm that was raging around him.

I’ve been thinking about Elisha a lot lately. How’d the guy just have faith like that? It’s been encouraging for me to be reminded that Elisha didn’t just wake up one day with a sweet set of eternal eyes. It seems like he grew into it by the choices he made. Like when Elijah came to his house and invited him to come follow him, Elisha chose to literally burn his life savings and future earning potential by setting his plow on fire and killing his 12 yoke of oxen. He then chose to be discipled by Elijah and to submit to his authority. Then after his mentor Elijah left him in a blaze of flaming chariot glory, he consistently chose to say yes to God’s calling on his life, even when following God must’ve looked dangerously irresponsible.

So Elisha didn’t choose the path God had for him, or what happened to him on the path, but he did choose to get in the car and let God drive him down whatever path God felt like driving him down. No loopholes, safety nets, or singing with his fingers buried in his ears, just unwavering surrender and obedience that was fueled by actual faith in God.

I’ve found that I’m great with the whole following God part, until his plans involve the death of my plans and the road He wants to lead me down actually involves faith. It’s in moments like these that I come face to face with what I actually believe about God. Not what Moody Bible Institute, my parents, my church, or the Mission believes, but what I actually believe about God.

Is He actually all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving… or isn’t He? Is He actually trustworthy, and not in some kind of ideological cliché kind of way, but can I really actually trust Him with every part of my life? All my money, my time, my energy, my gifts, my future, my kids… Is God actually enough for me? Is His plan actually better than mine? When He and I disagree, who is right? What if His plan involves death, like the plan He had for His own son?

If God put these questions on a written test I could ace it no problem, but what about a life test? That’s going to be the test that’s graded in the end, right? Not just what I knew, but how I lived in light of what I knew. When that moment in time comes for me when my faith becomes sight, and I actually stand before King Jesus, He’s not going to be asking me if I knew what the great commission and the greatest commandment were. I have a feeling though that we will absolutely be talking about what I did or didn’t do with them. It’s embarrassing how wide the chasm still is between my walk-answers and my talk-answers. Sometimes I wonder if the reason I still struggle so much with the life test is because I still think I’m good enough, smart enough or whatever enough to live out the correct answers on my own.

I could be wrong, but I’m slowly coming to realize that the all important first question on God’s life test has little to do with how I live, but rather how I die. When I’m realizing that I’m not good enough, smart enough, brave enough or anything else enough to pass the life test, I’m getting the first question on the test right. When I lose my life for His sake and surrender all of me to God, I can’t fail because He can’t fail. Elisha wasn’t the mightiest man of his day, he was the weakest man of his day, who yielded his life to the one and only almighty God.

So when I come face to face with the pharisees and the prostitutes, the impossibly huge evil army and those they’ve surrounded, the divorcers and the divorcees, the abusive parents and the abused children, and even the angry mob that’s brawling outside my bedroom window, I can rest and find courage in knowing that God Himself gets to pass the test. I just need to let Him. If He chooses to use me, that’s His call, but either way, the resources and the results are actually in His hands, and I can experience courage when I’m discouraged and scared, hope when it’s raining despair and hopelessness, joy in the midst of sorrow, peace when everything is falling apart, and love for the most unlovable... actually.