Missional Living

I’m still recuperating and playing catch up from our iGro weekend….good times.

Remember, ministry (and life) will kill you. It’s supposed to. It’s designed to reveal God’s strength through your weakness. His success in the midst of your failure. His greatness among your feebleness. And mine.

The story goes that Mother Teresa was approached by a young man who wanted to know God’s will for his life. As he pleaded with her to pray for him, she asked why he needed her prayers.

“So I can do something great for God.”, the man replied.

“I will not pray that you will do something great for God”, she answered, “but I will pray for you.”

She did pray. And years later, artist Kendall Payne put her prayer to a beautiful, haunting song called ‘Pray’, which cries out:

May your heart break enough that compassion enters in.
May your strength all be spent upon the weak.
All the castles and crowns you build and place upon your head,
May they all fall, crashing down around your feet.

May you find every step to be harder than the last,
So your character grows greater every stride.
May your company be of human insignificance.
May your weakness be your only source of pride.

The most beautiful thing I love about Wayne is his weakness. His insignificant balance. He is at once full of passion and life and fire…and yet weak and feeble and wounded.

Being a disciple of Christ requires the balance of both. Not the tension of both, but the balance. We must pursue our calling with everything in us. We must pour out unfailing love on our spouses and children. We must cultivate our character and integrity with diligence. And we must constantly be a genuine friend of sinners and those who would despise us.

It’s a pretty exhausting job description.

Rest assured it will drag all of your insecurities and weaknesses into the light of day.

It will expose the Imposter within you.

It will ensure that your failures and feeble attempts at success will be broadcast unsparingly.

It it will demand that your weakness reveal God’s strength (2 Cor 12:9). After all, that’s the plan, remember? In his second letter to the church in Corinth, Paul reminds them that he would not boast in himself. In fact, God Himself told Paul, “My grace is enough for you. My power is made perfect (complete) in your weakness.” Paul goes on to add that he will gladly boast…but about his weakness, so that the power of Christ will show up in him. So, for Christ’s sake, he is content with weakness, insults, hardships, persecution, and disaster. “For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Wayne’s weakness, as well as my own, reminds me of the immortal words of Tyler Durden: “Congratulations. You’re one step closer to hitting bottom…[and] it’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.”
 

I recently met up with a long-time ministry friend who just got out of rehab. Let’s call him Wayne.

I first met Wayne while I was serving at my first church. He was one of ‘those guys’: the ones with an amazing journey of finding Jesus. His life-story included being raised by a cocaine-using father, being left by the untimely death of his mother, and the religious and social tension of a sister involved in lesbianism. Wayne’s conversion story was a Damascus Road of walking away from heavy drug and alcohol usage and traveling the US as the youth ministry sidekick of a famous evangelist. Since 1993, he’s been a close friend, brother, and unfiltered confidant. The Focker’s ‘circle of trust’ wouldn’t be complete without Wayne in my life. We spent summers together leading camps, training for his Ironman competitions, and learning how to minister to students while dodging paintball fire.

For years, he struggled with alcoholic relapses. Binge weekends turned into binge weeks. He started a new campus ministry that began to reach thousands of middle and high school students. Being on the road to insure it’s success and growth meant leaving the wife and kids alone in the daily grind of living. While the ministry accolades grew, the weariness of it grew as well. Without support, encouragement, and accountability, temptation and relapse were soon a part of his daily life. Nearly two years later, his wife and some friends convinced him to commit to an 8-week treatment program.

When he got out, I called to check on him. We joked around. Laughed together. Cried a little bit. When the conversation turned serious, I told him I loved him and that I was glad he was in recovery. I didn’t expect the response I got.

“In those 8 weeks, I didn’t find God. I looked…hard. I prayed and fasted. I cried. I read Scripture. I did everything I’ve told others to do, but I didn’t find Him there.”

There was a very awkward silence (as you can imagine). I struggled for a response.

But he continued. “Dude, for 8 weeks I worked in the cornfields and kitchens with alcoholics and crackheads. They became my friends and my support. Only a few of them were ‘christians’, but they are my brothers. Tom, I looked hard for God those two months and didn’t find Him. But He found me…” His voice trailed. “And for the first time ever, I feel like a friend of sinners. And I feel balanced.”

I didn’t quite know what to say.

We get so caught up in life. On the treadmill. So consumed by our calling to ministry, to teach, to fix, to do whatever we were born to do, that we become unbalanced and unstable. And in our instability and weariness, we get sucked into a devastating and destructive spiral. We mask pain, loneliness, and feelings of inadequacy with anything. Everything. Something that will get us through.

Remember, ministry (and life) will kill you. It’s supposed to. It’s designed to reveal God’s strength through your weakness. His success in the midst of your failure. His greatness among your feebleness. And mine.

Last Thursday, I had lunch with a close friend who runs a million-dollar overseas missions ministry. Before he had to leave for Sudan, we decided to meet for some great Rudy’s BBQ,. It gave us a chance to talk about our ministries, our struggles and victories over the previous year, and get caught up on some a personal level. At the end of our time together, Craig asked me, “How can I pray for you in the next few months?”

My mind raced. Our spring iGro weekend was coming up. So was Spring Break. And our biggest fundraiser/service project was about to start taking shape. After that, we’d be recognizing our graduates, and launching off into the mayhem of summer. Beach Break. Camp 7.8. Middle School Mondays. Road Trip Tuesdays. Mid-week activities. Student conferences. Then…back-to-school events and football season. Ugh. I struggled to condense my mental mayhem into something verbal and…intelligible.

“Balance”, I said. “I’ve got so much looming over the horizon, I’ll neglect my family and friends if I’m not careful. I love our ministry–but it can completely consume my life sometimes. Well,…most of the time, if I’m honest.”

Behind his Prada glasses, I could see his eyes were already shrink-wrapped in tears.

“Tell me about it.” he said. “God has blessed us so much this year, it’s been phenomenal. But just this week, my 16-year-old son asked me if he could be homeschooled so that he could take these trips with me. I was excited, so I asked him if he felt God was calling him to missions. You know what he told me? He said, ‘I don’t know…I just want to be with you.’”

His voice cracked. “What do you do with that?”

The conversation that followed was worth more to me than gold. As we talked, I found my mind wandering back to Proverbs: “He that troubles his own house will inherit wind.” (Proverbs 11:29) I began to recount men and women I’ve known in ministry that have lost or sacrificed spouses and children to build a ‘kingdom’. Instead of inheriting an Abrahamic blessing of a godly family, they’ve inherited wind.

At one particular ministry I served in I travelled a lot. A LOT. Which left my wife home alone with our 3-year-old and newborn sons. I was busy ‘building the Kingdom’ (or, at least. ’some Kingdom…), in and out of cities, living out of a suitcase, and racking up frequent flyer miles. Things began to be tough at home, so I invited Heather and the boys to come to Dallas for a few days while I was working, thinking we could at least be together in the evenings after work.

While driving through traffic one night, our oldest son caught a glimpse of a Holiday Inn out of the car window.

“Look, Mama!”, he exclaimed, “I see Daddy’s house!”

My heart stopped.

One day soon after, it was announced that I would have a new ‘boss’. Preparations were begun, speculations were made about who it just might be, and we were all buzzing with hopes for a new vision for our ministry areas. I’ll never forget when our director introduced him to us and to the board of trustees.

“He’s a fantastic servant of God,” he announced. “He’s served in ministry all across our state. He’s a workaholic, and a great man of God you can be proud of.”

My stomach turned. What had long been unspoken expectations in ministry had finally reared its ugly and verbal head. In an instant, the tables had turned and I had become Alice, trapped in the rabbit hole, afraid I would never get out of Wonderland. I was surrounded by those who were destined to inherit wind. Unfortunately, I was on the same pension plan.

It’s about balance.  And for me, it’s tough to find a better metaphor for a disciple than that of a tightrope walker. I am always amazed when watching those nuts gingerly step out onto the rope, as if testing it’s surety. Step by step they methodically walk across the cable while gravity eagerly awaits their first misjudgement.

Jesus’ life is a beautiful blueprint for balance of shalom. He walked a fine, narrow course with the legalism of the Pharisees on one side and the hopelessness of “sinners” on the other. Of course, Scripture recounts how Satan was there eagerly awaiting a fall.

As disciples (not as ministers or leaders or workers or ___________), we are called to live a life of balance. A life of work and rest. A life of recreation and re-creation. A life in which I pour in to my own kids as much as other kids. A life of community that connects with other disciples in which we can share our struggles and pains and joys and victories. Because falling off the tightrope is much easier than walking it. And much more fatal, too. It’s not the wind I want to inherit. It’s the joy of reaching what’s on the other side of the cable. I don’t want to inherit a bunch of wind. In Texas, that’s usually just hot air… 

After training for months for my first AT&T Austin Marathon extravaganza, yesterday was the day. And, yes, it was pretty amazing. After not sleeping more than about 3 hours the night before (pre-race anticipation?), we got up at 4:30 and were parked downtown by 5:30, settled in at the clothes drop area at 6:00, and spent the next hour getting hydrated and caffeinated by the 7am start time. My goal was to only have one walk/stretch break in the 13.1 mile course…which came at mile 8. (The hills were a killer and my calves were tighter than Joan River’s latest face tuck.) Not only was this the state’s largest marathon (11,500 runners), but there was live music at every mile along the course. What else would you expect from the Live Music Capital of the World?

So, here’s what I learned:

1. We are, by nature, weak. Lazy. Soft. But if we have the guts to push ourselves and endure a little (temporary) pain, we will be amazed at what we can do. Even a guy like me.

2. I couldn’t have made it without the encouragement from my friends/family, the race-day crowd, and my fellow runners. Community is more powerful than we’ll ever realize. (Even the strangers yelling, "Don’t stop, Tom! You can do it!" were invaluable along the lonely 11th mile…)

3. Balance is key. We all have to have the right amounts of rest, fuel, and struggle. Yes, struggle.

4. There’s nothing else like the finish line. Recovery begins the instant you cross it.

5. I think I can do better next time. Experience really is the greatest teacher. I can train harder. Cross-train better. Stretch more. Tweak my eating habits.

Make your own spiritual applications to the above 5 things–they are all true. Weakness. Struggle. Balance. Community. Recovery. Experience. It’s all there.

My official chip time? 2:16:01. Which translates into just over a ten minute mile, with my minute-long walk/stretch break. I actually placed 7th in my ‘Age 40-44/ 190-200 lbs’ Clydesdale category (in layman’s terms, read ‘old, fat kid’). I think I’ve officially been bitten…I can’t wait to see what happens next year!

"Before you begin your next marathon, you have to forget your last one. Your body can’t know what’s coming."

–overheard near the starting line yesterday by some guy in a red shirt

(This morning, btw, I’m a believer.)

Funny how things in your life collide.

I grew up as the sickly, skinny little asthma boy with dark circles under his eyes, who carried his inhaler to school every day. I learned to play guitar because I couldn’t run and play outside much without having an asthma attack. I learned to enjoy reading because I was confined to the bed and to homemade ‘tents’ for the majority of my preschool and elementary years. Well-meaning parents and doctors repeatedly told me to ‘take it easy’ and ‘don’t push too hard’. I only played two seasons’ worth of little league baseball and never played any organized football. Now after 40 years, I’m 4 days away from participating in my first half-marathon.  To say I’m excited would be like saying the sun is a little warm.

It’s hard to explain, but I’ve never understood it until lately. I like running  (I think I’m becoming addicted, actually) because it’s a challenge. If you run hard, there’s definitely pain – and you’ve got to work your way through the pain. Lately it seems all I’ve heard is ‘Don’t overdo it’ and ‘Don’t push yourself.’ which is, well, ….moronic. If you push the human body, it will respond. Your threshold for physical pain raises, as well as your mental threshold. You realize that God designed our bodies to withstand and work in the midst of pain, sometimes with amazing results. Yet we’ve developed a fear of pain and a need to avoid it.

I remember when we were pregnant with our first child. We took childbirth classes at a Waco hospital. During the first night, we met a 15-year-old mom-to-be and her mother in our class. After watching the first video (you know the one!), the girl turned to her mother and said, "I don’t think I can do this…". Lovingly, her mom replied, "Sure you can. There will be lots of pain, but you’ll do fine." You could almost see the message on her face as she wished that birth control could somehow be retroactive..or that she could simply hit fast-forward and skip over the labor pains.

Church is much like that as well.

We forget that progress is not painless. Many times what we want is some kind of spiritual birth control– where we can fast forward through all the church’s failures and frustrations  and get to being this deeper, wiser, group of God-like beings. (i.e. give birth to great things without having birth pains or doo-doo to clean up).

It’s good to remember that just because church people have the ability to match their clothes, facilitate some great small group, or belt out on-key worship lyrics does not necessarily mean they have pure thought lives, a solid marriage, or the ability to always act like true representatives of God. I would think that this is obvious. However, whenever we experience pain at the fallibility of the church, we are still surprised. Apparently, the fact that the humans who run the church are flawed is a new revelation to some. And the pain that brings is suprising.

While imprisoned by other Christians, the 16th century priest St. John of the Cross, wrote a series of reflections entitled the Dark Night of the Soul. In it, he described how the pain present in our normal life routines is a useful element of the Christian experience. As the pain slows us down and forces us into sometimes tense reflection, we often see things in the darkness that we would never see in the light.

Paul says, in effect, that our suffering leads to hope (Romans 5:3-5) I’m beginning to believe that painful moments define the Church just as much or more than the bright ones. Those moments of pain also define us as well. Tyler Durden calls it ‘premature enlightenment’.

As Three Days Grace so aptly puts it in the video below, "I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all.."

We’re in the beginning stages of Sex Camp in our ministry. (a phrase coined by some students during our sex/dating/relationships series.) We’re officially calling it Sex and Dating, but the students are calling it Sex Camp 1.0. Last week Stef started us with some thoughts from Scripture, paired with some principles from Sex and The Supremacy of Christ. This week, I pick up with ‘guys issues’ (whatever that is…) which deals with teen sex and porn. BTW, 1 of ever 3 pornsite visitors is female…

So, in preparing and researching for Sunday morning’s discussion, where else to turn to but my favorite ‘christian pornsite’, XXXchurch.com ? According to their statistics, porn is a $57 billion dollar a year business, more revenue than pro baseball, basketball and football combined. That translates into 4.2 million porn websites (12% of the entire web), 372 million pages, 68 million daily search engine requests, and 4.5 daily emails to the average email user. 

I used to plead with parents of teens to be aware. To install the FREE X3 Watch software. To get our high school guys to move their computer out of their bedroom and into the family room.

Not anymore.

The stark reality is that if you are reading this, you need accountability. You need X3 Watch regardless if you have ‘good kids’ or not. If you’re a dude or not. Move your computer out of the bedroom and into the family room. Get the software. Talk about it.  Move the issue away from secrecy and towards healing and accountability.

Check out the resources provided by XXXCHURCH:

Porn and Pancakes

Porn and Pastries

The Porn Debate (with Ron Jeremy)

Jesus Loves Pornstars