Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Christianity’

Autumn Babies

Posted in Scripture, tagged , , , , , , on July 3, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

Yesterday, I turned 26. It was magical. Song and dance, pizza and sugar, thoughtful gifts and a Cardinals victory over Colorado. Beautiful.

Being a summer baby all but guarantees that your birthday will be sweltering and/or muggy. It’s law. We were born as sweaty chub balls to a life of perpetual birthday heat. But it’s possible that we weren’t all born as summer babies. It’s possible that we were, all of us, born as autumn babies. Humanity may have been born in the fall. To quote Don Knotts in The Ghost and Mr. Chicken, “Let me clarify”.

“5 When no bush of the field was yet in the land and no small plant of the field had yet sprung up—for the Lord God had not caused it to rain on the land, and there was no man to work the ground,6 and a mist was going up from the land and was watering the whole face of the ground— 7 then theLord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature.” – Genesis 2:5-6 (English Standard Version)

Bear with me.

Some people read this bit of Scripture and think God installed some sort of miraculous irrigation system to water the whole planet. The word translated “land” in verse 5 could also be translated “earth”. Sometimes it does mean the earth as a whole (Gen.1:1-2). Sometimes it’s just talking about dry land (1:10). Sometimes it’s even talking about a certain region (2:11-13). How is the word used in the above quoted passage? Are we really talking about the whole earth or are we talking about a certain land?

In Palestine, it doesn’t rain. We’re had +100 degree heat in St. Louis the last week or so. It hadn’t rained in weeks. Imagine our joy, then, when a small thunderstorm snuck in yesterday evening to wring itself out over our sizzling city. It was wonderful. But in Palestine, the climate is much less merciful. The rains don’t really come until the autumn. That’s when you get a burst of plant growth.

So, the above quoted passage (Genesis 2:5-7) would make a fair bit of sense if it is describing a certain time of the year, a dry Middle Eastern summer where the plants aren’t growing in the land yet. The plants are missing here, not because they hadn’t been created, but because it hadn’t rained yet and there was no one to cultivate and irrigate the land. It’s all part of the rain cycle that God set up.

And in verse six, we see the mist (or rain cloud) rising up. The fog rolls in, bearing dew and moisture for the parched land. The rainy season has begun. And it is during the rainy season of autumn that God creates man and woman.

There are certain perks to being a summer baby. I can’t think of any right now, but use your imagination. I had a real nice birthday (with an official family celebration coming this Thursday). But as I read the text of Genesis, bearing in mind the original context, I lean with a certain seasonal slant. Am I 100% sure? Nope. But I’m roughly 96% sure. Some of us are summer babies. But all of us are autumn babies. That’s when God shaped humanity, pinching us off from the same piece of clay.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always liked autumn the best. Our birthday is coming. Autumn will rise up from the ground before we know it. But until then, enjoy the sweat and eat lots of ice cream.

Read Full Post »

An Open Letter to Monday

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on June 4, 2012 | 1 Comment »

Dear Monday,

I hate you. Here’s why:

You are made up of the most deplorable garbage and rubbish that this world has to offer. You sneak up on me after a relaxing weekend like a rabid possum hiding in the trash can at night. You wake me up at an ungodly hour. Seriously, I’m not even a Christian at 5:30am and yet you demand I meet you then and there. Merciless monster.

You are a reminder of everything I don’t like to think about: how much I need to get done this week, time is fleeting, I am mortal, the polar bears are losing their ice boats, the Loch Ness Monster is dead, John Lennon is dead, I have a hang nail, ECT.

Garfield hates you. That cynical cat taught me everything I know about life. Therefore, I hate you too. (Incidentally, I love lasagna.)

Traffic is always the worst when you come around. I run into more walls when you’re around. I’m always groggy and mad at the world when you’re hovering over me. I don’t have a case of the Mondays. I have a case of the “stupidest day ever”. It’s contagious.

Monday, you are terrible to me. But you know what? 

You are the day that the LORD has made. I will rejoice and be glad in you. Because this is the day, this is the day that the LORD has made.

I rejoice today for his sake. Not for yours, Monday. 

Read Full Post »

Honey & Moonlight: Meditative Mumbling On Creative Constipation

Posted in Jesus, Speech, The Arts, tagged , , , , , , , , on May 31, 2012 | 6 Comments »

I’ve got a Norah Jones record playing (currently a duet with Ryan Adams). I’ve got a cupacoffee at my elbow. It’s a dirty blonde with Antarctic proportions of sugar in it. Do I need my coffee to taste like candy? No. As a native-born Texican, I can drink it black. But if it’s possible to get your coffee to taste like candy, why wouldn’t you?

I’ve been thinking about the process of creation lately. I’m not sure how it works for other tortured souls. For me, it looks different in different mediums. If I’m writing words, it’s usually pretty quick (though I cringe and mope through the revisions). If I’m playing in the mud, I just try to keep it out of my eyes. But when I’m writing a song, that’s where I see the greatest distance between taste and ability.

Ira Glass from “This American Life” has some great words on this.

I have the language in my head. I have the harmonic rhythm in my chest. But the melody is hiding under the table. The lyrics are halfway out of bed or halfway smeared on a windshield.

Making a song requires the same discipline as anything else, I guess. It’s like when I was in college, working on Bach or Bottesini. I shaped every phrase. I measured out vibrato in coffee spoons. I strained to control bow speed and weight, listening through bedrock for the sound of a stampede. I even had one teacher tell me to write a poem, describing what I “felt” the Bach cello suite No.1 was about. It ended up sounding like a very sad Dr. Seuss story about cats. Never again…

There’s one particular clam I’m trying to pop right now. It’s called “Honey & Moonlight”. I tried to think of what I would call someone to show them how much I cared. Instead of “sunshine” or “doll” or “sweet cheeks” (which are not my favorite things and, therefore, not legitimate terms of endearment), I opted for honey and moonlight. They are two of my favorite things and I can think of no better combination to describe someone I like.

For a couple of years now, it’s only been a handful of words with this haunting, plaintive melody. The people who’ve heard it really like it and wonder what the rest sounds like. So do I.

Stuck. Stuck in the dark, straining to gain momentum. So, I ask you problem solvers: what do you do when you struggle with a problem off and on for a long time? Should I take a walk? Should I take a train to Pawtucket? Should I sing things upside down? How do you overcome writer’s block?

(So grateful that Jesus never gets writer’s block. Constantly speaking the world.)

Read Full Post »

How to Love the Punster in Your Life

Posted in Speech, tagged , , , , , , , on May 30, 2012 | 1 Comment »

Punsters are individuals who are blessed with the ability to see and create puns in everyday conversation. They do this via wordplay, homophones, homonyms, and being comedic geniuses.

If you know a punster, you’ve probably rolled your eyes more than a few times. You may even have tried to punish them for being hilarious. This post is intended to help you understand and love the punsters in your life. I’m no pundit, but I’ll try to help. I only have twenty minutes.

1.) Laugh. While an honest punster makes puns for the sheer pleasure and joy of it, they also appreciate it when other people get the joke. If the joke’s about a forest, branch out and enjoy their sense of humor. It will boost their self-esteem treemendously. If it’s a pun about cows, let the joke moove you to a chuckle. Even if you’ve herd it before, punsters udderly enjoy repeats.

2.) Have patience (even if you’re not a doctor). If nobody laughs at first, a dedicated punster will usually repeat the pun with greater emphasis until you at least acknowledge the genius of it. Nurse their comedic ego back to health. Give them a shot of confidence. Even if it’s complete pundemonium, keep cool.

3.) Join the fun! If their pun is humerus and you feel the kneed to get a leg up on the competition, share your own! Even if it’s lame. Even you feel defeeted afterwords. Don’t kick yourself. You’ll toetally heel. And if the punster is any friend at all, they’ll laugh patiently at the joke. Maybe yule get better by Christmas.

And what do you know? I finished on time. How punctual.

Read Full Post »

I’m Always Angry

Posted in Jesus, The Arts, What If?, tagged , , , , , on May 27, 2012 | 4 Comments »

“If I wasn’t a Christian, I would’ve killed you years ago.” I can still remember saying that to a friend back in high school. Even though we were joking around, it was probably indicative of a much deeper problem in my soul.

My friend and I were talking about what we would do if we weren’t bound by Christian convictions and ethics. Basically, we liked to play the “what if” game. Some people don’t have much patience for this game, but Paul apparently liked it (1 Cor.15- “what if Christ is not risen from the dead?”).

While I can’t remember his hypothesis, but my own speculation was this: if I wasn’t a Christian, I probably would’ve killed a few people before taking myself out in some dramatic fashion (wrestling a bear, maybe). This sounds dark, but when you’re shooting your mouth off as a high school kid, you don’t always ponder the weight of your own words.

Why did I tend toward destruction (both my own and others’)? Why not, “If I wasn’t a Christian, I’d steal a lot of stuff” or “if I wasn’t a Christian, I’d become a paranormal investigator and make some sweet coin on my own T.V. show”? Because I had rage issues. And I find I still do.

Now let me be clear. You will never see me storming down the sidewalk, tripping children and kicking blind puppies. I’ve learned to control it. I’m actually a very laid back, peaceful guy. I’m just a peaceful guy with a proclivity for rage.

I tend to be passive-impulsive. That’s probably a psychological category, but here’s how I use it: I’ll get a sudden surge of anger, but I won’t do anything about. Some imagined slight from an acquaintance. Some careless word from a friend. A direct insult from someone I don’t much care for.

It could be anything.

It will immediately become enrage, but you would never know. Externally, I’d look calm. But internally, it would simmer and fester there just beneath the surface. It’s terrible. It breeds bitterness and resentment and I end up plotting terrible things on the people that wrong me and tearing them apart in my mind. But again, it’s passive. Nothing will ever be acted out. And that, of course, means that I will rarely resolve the issue with the person who’s offended me. And that’s not healthy.

There’s a great line from this great movie called the Avengers. You may have heard of it. At one point, Bruce Banner turns to Captain America and says, “That’s my secret, Captain: I’m always angry.” When I heard that line, I instantly identified with it.

I can look as calm as a Hindu cow, but if I’m not careful, anger and rage and resentment can sneak in and eat away at me. They can combine to become a constant presence in me. And before I know it, I’m living life, trying to love people and honor everyone with a time bomb just beneath my ribs.

Sure, I’m not always angry. Sometimes, I’m very happy. But anger and rage and wrath are the struggles that come up most often. You have yours. I have mine. We learn to control them and we deal.

Now, this brings up the question: is my love, then, sincere? Paul tells Christians that our love should be genuine. So, if I’m loving people while I’m angry, am I really loving them?

I’m angry because my pride has been wounded or I feel I’ve been cheated out of something I was supposedly owed. Rage turns me inward, introspectively and forcefully focusing on my self. Love, as a rule, is others-focused. So, I find this law at work: two opposite forces, rage and love, active in the same body. That sounds like a pretty common Christian experience to me (see also Romans 7:7-25).

But what do you think? If you’re a Christian, can you imagine what your life would be like without Christ? What does such a scenario tell you about your particular inclinations as a broken human being? Is there any value in the “what if” exercise when applied to matters of faith?

Read Full Post »

I Support Monsters Under the Bed

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on May 25, 2012 | 5 Comments »

When I was young, I wasn’t afraid of the dark. I was afraid of the things that lived in the dark: monsters. Monsters were very real. They lived in my closet. They lived in the basement (night or day). And they definitely lived under my bed.

Bedtime was around 9 o’clock for me. I’d tip-toe to my door with the hall light on. I’d turn the knob and  tap it open. (You never just swung the door open. That’s a sure way to let the monsters know you’re coming in, rookie.) In those days, my light switch was by the door and my bed was at the other side of the room. So, I had to flip off the switch, sprint to my bed, jump the last couple feet, and dive under the covers before they got me.

If you move fast, the monsters can’t catch you.

Night lights didn’t help. My brother making scary monster sounds didn’t help (we shared a room then and, for some reason, his impression of Harry Monster from Sesame Street terrified me). The darkness didn’t help. And the fact that there was an entity of pure shadow and evil waiting just a few feet below me as I slept did not help.

Monsters under the bed.

As a man, I’ve come to terms with their existence. I think I’m too old to be much bait for them anymore. I enter the room and perhaps the monsters smell a faint trace of the terrified child within me. But I’ve got too many things on my mind to pay attention to that fear. That fear is tiny and see-through. I don’t even notice it. I’m really not much of an bargain to those midnight predators. So they leave me alone. I’m no longer a target.

But if I ever have kids, what will I tell them when they come running to me, crying about the beasts that wait for them in the night?

I’ll accept their story as credible. I’ll walk them back to their room. I’ll stoop under the bed and stare straight into the blackness and address that monster directly. “Hi. Remember me? We’ve met before. Listen. My kids are fast. My kids are smart. My kids sleep with semi-automatic weapons under their pillows and they tend to get twitchy when they’re scared. I won’t be responsible for what they do to you should you feel bold tonight. Sleep tight, monster-under-the-bed.”

After applauding me for training my children to be hardened warriors, you’ll probably tell me that I shouldn’t encourage their wild imaginations. I should turn on the lights and show them the cluttered, monster-free space below their beds (even though monsters have active camouflage when under direct illumination, silly).

But I’ll disagree. If I tell my children monsters aren’t real, I won’t merely banish their fear. I will also banish any ennobling courage that will make their fear endurable. If I threaten the monsters under their bed or if I make sure my kids are loaded up on ammo for the night, the fear is then treated as real and legitimate, and my kids will have a licence to fight that fear, to stand up to it.

I’d rather my children be afraid of monsters under the bed than a bully at school. If they can shoot a monster between the eyes in their sleep, how much more will they be able to overcome the fear of bullies, tests, public speaking, green beans, etc?

To echo C.S. Lewis on the merits of scary stories for kids, “Since it is so likely that they will meet cruel enemies [in life], let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage [and semi-automatic weapons].” I will not keep their minds from the knowledge that they were born into a world of pain and strength, death and healing, fear and courage, monsters and Jesus. My children will have open eyes and brave souls. That is why I support monsters under the bed. Face fear. Shoot it in the face, if you like. Cultivate courage however it comes. And by all means, sleep tight.

Read Full Post »

Why I’d Choose Aslan’s Country Over Heaven Any Day

Posted in Jesus, Scripture, The Arts, tagged , , , , , , , , on May 24, 2012 | 6 Comments »

A few years back, Dr. Jerram Barrs, a professor at Covenant Seminary, was speaking about the Narnia books at a Borders bookstore (remember those?). The store had been gracious enough to host the event and Dr. Barrs had drawn a large crowd, speaking about the Chronicles of Narnia and what they meant. At one point in the Q & A, a little boy stood up and said, “I don’t want to go to heaven! I want to go to Aslan’s country!”

I remember that story because that little guy’s desire was so right. In my favorite book in the series, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Reepicheep the mouse has this lifelong wish to see Aslan’s country, the land where Aslan came from, where Aslan’s father reigns supreme. And at one point in the book, Reepicheep says this:

“While I can, I sail east in the Dawn Treader. When she fails me, I paddle east in my coracle. When she sinks, I shall swim east with my four paws. And when I can swim no longer, if I have not reached Aslan’s country, or shot over the edge of the world in some vast cataract, I shall sink with my nose to the sunrise.”

Christians tend to get very excited about heaven. And that’s great. I’m sure heaven will be fantastic. But it seems to me that we’re missing something. The Bible is very clear: heaven is not our final destination.

People really want to know what heaven will be like. People are so desperate to know about it that they write books about the afterlife. I completely understand this motivation. Some people even go so far as to say they’ve died, gone there, and come back to tell us what our home will be like. But heaven is not our home. Heaven is merely the threshold.

But this reigning “heaven-is-the-ending” philosophy has a few problems.

1.) It leads to an “I’ll Fly Away” escapist mentality. The rationale goes something like this: This world is not my home. God will scrap it anyway. My job on earth is to grin and bear it until I die and then the real party starts. To quote Colin Hay, “I’m waiting for my real life to begin.”

2.) If heaven is the final destination for a Christian, then the Christian has no meaningful reason to take care of the earth. Oh sure, we should be good stewards of creation and we’re commanded to care for the earth. But because our citizenship is in heaven, I don’t really have a reason to recycle or fight pollution or save the whales. Heaven will be litter-free and THAT’S where I’m going.

3.) It just ain’t biblical.

I’ve already written about how I think God is not going to scrap the world and start over with a new one. But whether you agree with me there or not, the real biblical story does not end with all the saints floating up in heaven. It ends with a new sky and a new land, renewed and cleansed from all sin and death.

And upon that new earth, the holy city, new Jerusalem, will come down out of heaven to be the dwelling place of God among humanity. That old hymn “I’ll Fly Away” should really be about leaving heaven to come back down to our true, eternal home: the earth.

This is what C.S. Lewis was trying to get at with the idea of Aslan’s country. A real place with real walls and streets and trees and running water. That’s where the saints will live out eternity. You can read all about this in the Book of Revelation, chapters 21-22.

In the end, heaven will come down to subsume the earth with “the glory of God, its radiance like a most rare jewel” (Rev.21:10-11). We will live out eternity here, on the earth-renewed, in Aslan’s country, bathing in the glory of the Emperor-Over-the-Sea. And he will dwell among his people and they shall reign forever and ever.

That is why I will sink with my nose to the sunrise. Because that’s my real home: this earth, cleansed from evil, wrapped in the Light of the glory of God. The promise of Aslan’s country.

Read Full Post »

Final Takeaway from New England

Posted in Jesus, tagged , , , , on April 6, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

Welp. A week ago I was driving through Pennsylvania on the way back home to St. Louis. The exhaustion of constant movement and constant interviews had absolutely wrecked me. I’m still a bit sore from it. And on Monday, I was back in the grind: teaching at church, going to classes, going to work, writing papers, hanging out with my nephew and niece, eating ice cream. Just a real full schedule.

But now that I’m on Easter break (one of the perks of going to a seminary), I have a few spare hours. And I figured, since so many people have been asking, I’d just post a short final summary of what I learned in New England. I met with about ten pastors/church planters in four days. I drove a total of 3,215 miles, round trip. I lost a back window on Raymond (my trusty CR-V) to a rock on the highway. And I ate way too many nutrigrain bars (healthy, but not a lot of variety). So…here’s my last post on the trip. Two things:

1.) I want to plant a church in New England. Seriously. This trip was not a deterrent. There were discouraging aspects to the trip, but overall it was very confirming. I can’t see the future, but unless God kills me or something, I want to someday plant a church in Providence, RI. This will be a few years down the road. I still have to finish seminary. That’ll take a couple years. I would like to find some type of core group in St. Louis to head out with me. The problems are location and commitment. I don’t know many people (single people notwithstanding) who would like to uproot and move their families to a distant city to be a missional community in a region that has a strong hostility to the gospel. Challenges abound, glory be.

2.) Providence is a weird city. The city I’ve chosen to plant in (so far as it depends on me) is a funky little joint. You can drive down Rhode Island in an hour. You can drive across it in 30 minutes. The capital really does take up a huge chunk of the state. But it’s such an insular area (much like New England in general). There are people who have lived in Cranston (20 minutes from downtown Providence) all their life and they’ve never been to Providence. There are folks in Barrington who would never drive all the way around the Narragansett Bay to get to Warwick because that would take like 25 minutes! And who would drive all that way? Everything is close but everyone is distant.

I’ve long agreed with Ed Stetzer that America is no longer a pancake. We are not just one culture across the board. America is a waffle. There are thousands of little divots across the nation with their own individual cultures. Providence is a microcosm of that cultural diversity. On the west side, you have traditional New Englanders (see earlier post for a brief snapshot). They’re mostly blue collar Catholics with traditional values seen through a libertarian spirit. On the east side, you have the more liberal, cultural elite college swells who just hate Christianity. And those two sides rarely interact. And surprise-surprise, the east side is the area I’m attracted to.

I learned a lot about that town and the best ways to go about penetrating that culture, but much prayer and training is needed (and probably a montage featuring some rockin’ 80s music). Pray for me, if you think of it. But more than anything, pray for New England. It is the least-churched region in America and there are whole communities where the gospel of Christ hasn’t been preached or heard for centuries. And that is just plain stupid. Please commit with me to pray for that region as a whole and for Providence, RI, in particular. As King of the universe, Jesus deserves all of that region.

Godspeed, y’all.

Read Full Post »

Lessons From New England

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on March 27, 2012 | 1 Comment »

Well, I’m in Rutland, VT. Again. The downside of meeting with pastors and church planters is that they are very busy guys. Not all of them can meet when you’d like to meet. And for me, that means I do a lot of back tracking. Takes a toll on the gas budget. But I’ll be cutting the trip short a day, which means I’m driving home Friday morning, trying to push as hard as Raymond (my plucky CR-V) can hussle. It’s been a quite ride here in New England so far. Your continued prayers are very much needed. Been equal parts discouraged, excited, flummoxed, and bedraggled lately. Always tired.

Here are a few standout lessons/observations I’ve picked up on the trip so far:

1.) I need to relax. I have the type of personality that, once it gets going, can’t stop. If I get into the mentality of go-go-go, work-work-work, I will kill myself in pursuit of results. Merely a year ago, I was pulling down 70-80 hours a week, working three jobs while working through grad school part time. So when I go on a trip to interview church planters and pastors in New England, my mind says, “This is a business trip and I must perform well.” But God, in his unrelenting playfulness, shoved the Vermont Institute of Natural Science right across my path today. It just appeared on the side of the road, up in the mountains. It was like something out of a folk tale. I giddily spent over an hour gazing at bald eagles, great horned owls, golden eagles, turkey vultures, ravens, and one very aggressive cardinal who chirped and snapped his beak at me from behind his screen cage. It was magical. The forests in Vermont are something out of Tolkien. So, I was reminded today that I need to remind myself always to slow down and actually enjoy life. And I used to be such a slacker, too. Shame.

2.) I don’t know what I’m doing and neither does anybody else. Churches love to figure out “what works” in a culture. How can they best thrive and succeed? What’s the best 10 step program to grow a church from 50 to 500 in two years? What’s the best method for sharing the gospel so that everyone in your office or dorm will come to Christ faster than you can say “awesome”? But what I’ve found is that methods don’t really work in New England. The people here are so closed off and independent that any attempt to sell them a product (i.e. some flashy gimmick or marketing scheme to make the gospel appealing) immediately crashes and burn. Outside of preaching the Bible and consistently loving people, the church planters in New England will readily admit, “No one knows what they’re doing. We’re all just trying stuff.” That’s the method. Try stuff. Stay faithful to God and to your people and, in terms of the how, you just have to figure out what works best in your context. And that’s a load off. Ministerial technique doesn’t mean much up here. It’s all about honesty and faithfulness for the long haul.

3.) At least in northern New England, the people are the most theologically ignorant folks you’ll find in America. And that is not necessarily a bad thing. I was sitting down with a pastor in the Upper Valley area (in New Hampshire) yesterday. He told me he’d been there for 12 years. In those 12 years, the larger evangelical church in America has gone through a ton of controversy (the new perspective on Paul, the whole Rob Bell/hell thing, the recent Elephant Room/T.D. Jakes goat rodeo, to name a few). But he never had to deal with any fallout from those bombs in his New England church. Why? His people don’t know about the controversies. And frankly, they wouldn’t care. You can’t impress your congregation there by dropping names like John MacArthur, John Piper, or Charles Spurgeon. They have no idea who those guys are. They are a very practical, very here-and-now people, and they just want to know what the Bible says. In the more religious places I’ve lived (Dallas- big evangelical town; St. Louis- big Catholic town), we have the luxury to recline at our local Starbucks and argue over theological tidbits. We can knit pick to our hearts content and come out feeling edified (or at the very least, smudge and arrogant). But as one pastor in Concord, NH told me today, “We’re just trying to survive. We don’t have to time to deal with all that stuff.” It sort of puts things in perspective. And it really frees a pastor up to actually love his people without having to deal with important questions regarding controversial books. Those questions are important. They just don’t come up in northern New England. Boston and Providence might be a different story. I’ll hear about that in the next couple of days.

Last.) New England demands the long haul. A church planter who’s been in his community in New England for a decade is still planting. He’s not yet established in the community. Everything here is old. The cities, the buildings, the cemeteries, even the forests seem older than the things back West. The families here can trace their ancestry back to pre-Revolutionary America. They are rooted in their communities. Anyone who comes in from the outside to tell them how they should live (even if they preface it with “thus saith the Lord”) is met with immediate suspicion and even contempt. To belong in New England, you have to stay in New England. If you move here to plant a church, you better be willing to root for the Sox, root for the Patriots, wear a lot of flannel, grow out your beard, and become one of them. You can’t be a foreigner trying to reach the natives. That’s stupid. It won’t work. You have to love them and you have to love the process of becoming one of them. And that requires complete relocation of being, of thought, of manner, of speech, of lifestyle. Hardcore.

So, that’s all I got on a Tuesday night. I’m going to go look for a place to crash here in Rutland. I’ve been glued to their local Bread Co. for the last five hours, working on stuff for seminary and Sunday school and children’s stories and my brain is, how you say, le scrambled. Boston tomorrow. Providence and Brookfield, CT on Thursday. Driving home Friday morn.

Pray for me?

Until next time…

Read Full Post »

Why I’m Headed to New England

Posted in Jesus, tagged , , , , , , , on March 25, 2012 | 1 Comment »

Good morning from the future! Driving through time zone is a primitive form of time travel, so I’m currently writing this in a bright neon red spandex jumpsuit and moon boots (a la Back to the Future II or Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure). Side note: why did every futuristic movie in the 80s envision the future as a place where people wore insanely bright, tight clothing? Thank God we’re not there yet. We only have Justin Bieber to deal with right now. The signs of our times, folks…

I’m writing to you from my hotel room in Buffalo, NY. Lake Erie has spread a thick fog through the city streets and visibility is terrible. Canada looms just 15 minutes north of me and somewhere close by in this grey misty web Niagara Falls is flushing a whole lot of drool over a cliff. Nature!

The drive was pleasant enough. One broken window. One sweaty car seat. About a dozen white mochas. There was this gorgeous smokey, rose-colored sunset just outside of Cleaveland. Haven’t seen the Mothman or Big Foot yet. Keep praying for a sighting, please. Pennsylvania was covered in many trees. Upstate New York is dark and foggy and populated by people who pass you on the highway way too closely. But I didn’t come here for the sights. I didn’t come here for the Holiday Inn continental breakfast. I didn’t come here to wear my Cardinals hat in Yankee territory. I came here for New England.

For those of you who don’t know, it’s my desire to plant a church in New England some time in the future (a non-neon, non-spandex future). Jared Wilson (who I’ll be meeting with on Wednesday morning) wrote this article and started my life on a new trajectory. New England is in dire need of the gospel and I’m drawn into this fight. Whether it takes ten years or 50 years, this is where I’m going to die, serving people and loving them.

SO. I’ll be attempting to blog my way through this trip. No promises on the consistency of these updates.

On Monday, I’ll be in New Hampshire. Tuesday starts out in New Hampshire but will mostly be a free day to do homework (yes, I said homework) and see the sights. On Wednesday, I’ll be trotting up to Vermont and then back down to Boston. Thursday, I’ll be hanging out in Providence, RI. This is the city that’s really been on my heart. I’d love to plant a church there and get to know those folks. Friday finds me in Connecticut. Friday afternoonish, I’ll begin driving back. And, if Jesus wants it, I’ll be back in St. Louis by Saturday night.

Bam.

Now, in every city I’ll be meeting with at least one church planter. This is a reconnaissance mission in a lot of ways. I’ll be interviewing a dozen pastors, asking them about their cities, the people, the particular challenges and advantages of planting in the least-churched region in America, etc. I figure it’d be nice to know what I’m getting into.

And on that note, I’m going to get ready to disembark. I’ll be driving across upstate New York today. Through Rochester, Syracuse, Utica (which I will burn to the ground after I steal their copier- any Office fans?) and then up to Vermont, where I hope to score some maple syrup and catch a showing of the Hunger Games. The meetings with the church planters start tomorrow. I certainly would appreciate your continued prayers for safety and fruitfulness and fun.

Until next time.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.