Stuck On The Ark

What if Noah never left the ark?

I know, I know… it’s a dumb question. But humor me for a moment.

What if the earth still dried, the waters still receded, and the first rainbow still painted the sky, but instead of returning to the land when he let the animals and his sons off the ark, Noah himself refused to leave.

You never know, he might have some pretty good reasons:

...The ark DID save his family, after all. 
...If the ark was trustworthy in the storm, then surely it would be trustworthy now that the storm was gone.
...The ark was instituted by God. God himself said to build it.
...Noah and his fam grew closer to God in the ark, so why shouldn’t others?
...It took so long to build, and it worked so well, it would be a shame to toss it aside.
...The ark could still provide shelter from possible future storms.
...If they left the ark, then things could get bad like they were before. It's easier to control things in the ark.

No matter what reasons he gave, no matter what truth might be in those reasons, at the end of his explanation, I’d bet most of us would agree that’d still be pretty silly.

But if you fast-forward fifty years, it switches from silly to sad. It saddens me to think of Noah stuck on the ark, stranded on a mountain (which is very out of place for a boat), completely shut off from the world around him. Locked in a wooden time capsule while creation marched on. What if he chose to maintain his landlocked boat and ignore the new world around him rather than to partner with what God was doing in the new generations? That would be very sad indeed.

The question I have, then: if we think it absurd that Noah might have wanted to stay on the ark, then as Christians, why is it okay for US to do that?

Because when I look around, I see boarded-up arks petrifying all over the place, inhabited by God’s people.

RECYCLED AIR

It’s an infectious process that always starts off great.

It begins with people connecting with God in a specific church setting, or with certain songs, or through certain Bible curricula and translations, or by certain outreach programs, or via certain evangelism brochures, TV shows, media, preachers, and crusades.

Whatever IT was that God used to save them… it was their boat.

Regardless of what their ark looked like, the Holy Spirit moved, and God changed their life. The ark rescued them and floated them to a new life, and/or a deeper connection with God. That is stinkin’ awesome! Praise God!

But when the waters receded and the rain stopped, instead of stepping out and experiencing God was going to do next, they stayed on their barricaded boats, stranded on remote mountains. With many of the same reasons 'fake Noah' gave earlier.

Over time, their ark became their idol, their savior. And they didn't even know it (hopefully). It’s as if time stopped, and everything that was happening at the moment of their salvation was dipped in some sort of spiritual bronze and instantly became the only correct way to live.

The only exact way to believe.

The only worthy way to worship.  

It pains me to see that, because from then on, it’s a countdown to extinction for many of them as their priorities shift from listening to the Spirit to protecting their preferences - which they can sometimes confuse with their faith. Before long, their airtight ark makes them forget what’s important, and they start fighting over music styles, carpet, colors, and dress codes. They judge and even demonize fellow believers who disagree with their exact faith framework. Disengaged from and forgotten by the world around them, and without many new believers to disciple (especially if their message rarely finds the hearts of unbelievers), they eventually grow old and wither away. Which is terribly sad, because thousands of great stories and generations of experience will simply die with them because they never fell on new ears.

GETTING STUCK ON A GOOD THING

I can’t say I can blame them, though. Because I get stuck on arks all the time! And if you’re honest, you do, too. You probably don’t even realize it (hopefully...because that would be odd if you realized it and decided to stay anyway).

Which is why I find comfort in the fact that even though Noah knew the land was dry (Gen 8:13), he still didn’t get off the ark. In fact, almost two months went by (v. 14) before God eventually TOLD Noah to leave the boat (Hebrew command: yatsa’ – meaning to purposely “go forth” to something). Just in case Noah had a temptation to stay, God made it clear He wanted him to leave it.

It’s part of who we are as humans, and our story as God’s people. From the Israelites who complained about missing Egypt, to the Pharisees that cared more about their specific theological beliefs than the people around them, to those of us in the global Church today, it’s an issue that always plagues us.

For good reason.

Anytime something great happens in our life –whether it be salvation, an answered prayer, freedom from an addiction or hurtful person, a realized hope, a bright day, a joyful event – it’s a little bit like Noah’s ark. It’s a vessel God uses to keep us afloat in tough times, or to bring us to new life in Him, or to deeper faith, or to bless us.

When it happens, it’s wonderful! Praise God!

But we have a tendency to try to hold onto that moment.

To attempt to recreate it constantly.

To deem it the only acceptable way of belief/life/worship.

It’s understandable, because Genesis 1 teaches us that since the very beginning, whenever God moves, says, or does something, it is always good! And it is always worthy of a Heaven-shaking celebration.

But whatever He does, however He moves, whatever vessel He uses, IT is never the point. GOD and His LOVE for us is the point. Always.

We get stuck on our ark when we look to IT, and not to HIM.

Every semester we hold a Tough Questions week in our kids program at church, and each time, without fail, one of the kids ask where Noah’s ark is. Even though we have some pretty cool guesses as to its location, we still don’t truly know.

Why can’t we find Noah’s ark? Because Noah left it.

If the flood happened today in Lake Orion, you bet your sweet bippy that Noah would have that thing shellacked, merchandized, commemorated with a national holiday. It’d have its very own cheesy little section in Family Christian stores, and the boat title would remain in his family for generations to come.

But it didn’t happen that way. When the waters receded, he left it behind.

The ark brought Noah to safety, and connected him to God in a way like never before. The ark was great, but IT wasn’t the point.

You see, at the end of the day, no matter how good and important it was, the ark wasn’t the savior. God was.

God used the ark, and it was good.

But the ark had served its purpose, and God had new things for Noah, and for humanity.

The ark stopped, but God was still moving. 
It’s part of who He is.

GOD OF THE "NEW THING"

Read the Bible and see how many ways He helps, communicates, saves, serves, disciplines, and loves people. You’ll be hard pressed to find a repeat in His song. It maintains the same theme, but it is freely composed.

God never reaches down and loves/leads/teaches/interacts with his creation the same way twice:

A voice in the cool of the day
Pillar of fire/smoke
Burning bush
Talking donkey
Mt. Sinai and the 10 Commandments
A tabernacle
The Kingdom of Israel
An earthquake and a storm
A quiet whisper
A prostitute’s husband
Jesus
The Church 

Why? Because people change. Cultures change. Worldviews change.

Arks always stop. But creation never does.

And if Jesus TRULY is the perfect picture of who God is, then that means our unchanging God is always moving right along with humanity, stepping in to meet them where they’re at again and again, working through His people to reach the world around them as He seeks to make everything “on earth as it is in Heaven.”

GETTING UNSTUCK
So how do we avoid getting stuck on the ark? Or if we're stuck, how do we bust down the door and step into fresh air?

The challenge, then, for all of us is this:

1) Be open and sensitive to God’s movement, with a good attitude. This is the most important one. God doesn’t always move the same with every generation. Arks have a tendency to confuse us into thinking we don’t daily need to rely on the Spirit. Never forget that your ark was once a new wineskin to someone else. 
2) Use discernment instead of blindly following our preferences, peers, pastors, pope, or presidents. Blanket condemnation is easy. Discernment takes time.
3) Have the courage to examine and admit which of our beliefs are actually just preferences. Yes, courage. Because it’s difficult thinking we might be wrong about something. Leaving any aspect of our Ark can be scary.
4) Let humility guide our conversations with others. Don’t demonize people who don’t share our same convictions and preferences (Paul's calling to the weaker brother/stronger brother in Romans 14 is key to being able to do this). Always give the same amount of mercy, grace, respect, truth, and love that we would like.
5) Allow grace to invade every part of us. Just because a certain denomination, event, worship style, or evangelism method brought you and I to Christ and/or helps you and I grow, it doesn’t mean that it’s the ONLY one that God is going to use for others, for all time.
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It’s IMPERATIVE that we step up and accept these challenges.

Because the advancement of the Kingdom, and the effectiveness of the Church as a whole depends on it. It’s hard for a body to move when one of its limbs refuses to budge.

Jesus has commissioned us to bring His light and love to the world around us where they’re at.

But we can’t do it if we’re still stuck on the ark.

Trailer Park Church - How It All Began

My buddy Dan Sadlier asked me to share the cool story of how the trailer park ministry began.

After you've read it, check out Dan's blog here, and make sure to bookmark it, because God's doing some crazy-awesome stuff with that guy and his family. 

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It’s not every day that God gives you a free house.

~~

About two years ago, an idea sparked in my heart, and I couldn’t douse it.

I wondered what it would look like to move into a rough community, a place with a bad reputation, and tackle the darkness head on.

I remember being mesmerized as a child by a book called The Cross and the Switchblade, which centered on the true story of a young Christian minister who moved into NYC and tackled the gang and drug scene, impacting the lives of countless people. I was fascinated by the concept of taking Jesus to the places no one else wanted to.

I’m sure much of this desire was spurred by the story of my own hometown. As a child and teen, I sadly watched the city of Flint crumble while “the Church” responded by hiking up its skirt and rushing to the pseudo safety of the suburbs.

It wasn’t much of a surprise when this spark, this nudge to impact a low-hope neighborhood ignited into a flame last spring. After some prayer and consideration, I felt like God was behind the tug on my heart, and I started looking for such a place.

I spent the summer praying checking out trailer parks in the Pontiac area. Along the way, my buddy DJ volunteered to help me search.

Eventually, we heard about a little park that was tucked away behind the new church building, so we went to check it out. We walked the length of the park on our first visit, praying as we went. With every step, both of us felt an undeniable peace. We knew this was the place.

When we asked our friends about the park, we were bombarded with reasons why I shouldn’t move in:

Pontiac schools.

Highest crime rate in Orion.

Weekly appearance in the police blotter.

Drugs. Poverty. Theft. Invasions. Murders. Convicts. Illegal immigrants. Domestic Violence. Child neglect. Joblessness.

But every reason they offered to convince me that I shouldn’t go only served to solidify my belief that I was needed there.

Because JESUS was needed there.

There was only one tiny problem. 

I couldn’t afford a house.

I could cover the lot rent, and could just scrape by with the utilities, but I didn’t make enough to purchase one. I also didn’t think it would be wise to go into more debt for this adventure. So one night, after one of my many visits to the park, I laid my head on my pillow and did something I’d never done before. I asked God to move a mountain.

“God, open the door for me, and I’ll go.”

I spoke it out loud. I meant it, but I’ll admit, I wasn’t convinced He would answer this one. I wanted Him to, but believing God for BIG things was NOT commonplace in the church circles I grew up in, and was often met with high amounts of skepticism. Nevertheless I prayed it anyway. Couldn’t hurt, right?

Two weeks later, an elderly lady from my church approached me between services and asked me to tell her more about my interest in the trailer park behind the new building. I thought that was interesting, because I didn’t really know her well, and had only told a handful of people about my recent request to God. Word sure travels fast.

She informed me that her and a group of others in our community had been praying for months that God would send someone from Kensington into that community.

They felt like God had assured them that someone would eventually go, so they continued praying and waiting. Also interesting.

I told her all the things I would love to see happen there, things like tutoring, bible studies, community BBQs, rides to church, etc. Then I explained to her how I would love to go but couldn’t afford it yet.

With a knowing smile, she stopped me mid-sentence by grabbing my arm. Then she said something that changed my life, and my faith in the power of prayer.

“We know, because God told us to buy one for you.”

I needed a crane to pull my jaw off the floor.

That stuff only happens in cheesy Christian books.

Or for equally cheesy televangelists who want people to give them money.

This former Baptist boy didn’t quite know what to do with that sort of thing.

So, backed by a group of people I didn’t know (and still don’t know…they wanted to remain anonymous), I returned to the park the next week to find a place to live.

The weeks that followed can best be described as whirlwind of God’s grace, as He dropped the biggest trailer and biggest lot in the park (which hadn’t been up for sale since the day it was placed on the lot in the 60’s) in our lap for $10,000 less than the asking price.

But God didn’t stop there. He provided a slew of volunteers who knocked down walls, painted, and made a large space for tutoring since there is no clubhouse. Then he brought donors to provide appliances, furniture, and flooring.

As a bonus, people gave bags and bags of clothes, toiletries, winter coats, and boots so we could hand them out as a welcome gift to the neighborhood.

I was amazed, and in near disbelief that God not only gave me a house, but added all this extra stuff too. Apparently, I had forgotten how big my God is.

~~

I’m coming up on my one-year mark of being blown away by God answering prayers in a way I can hardly believe.

Although I’m living here alone, I’m not in this alone.  God has brought a cadre of cohorts alongside me, from preschoolers to octogenarians. And in the last 10 months, together, we have…

…handed out Thanksgiving baskets

…given a truckload of gently-used clothes

…prayed with strangers on my porch and in my streets

…called out the enemy and watched him flee

…hosted an Easter Egg hunt and shared the gospel with 50+ kids and their parents

…provided food, furniture, and funds to families in need

…helped those very families begin to start serving others back

…changed tires for the disabled

…tutored over 20 kids on a weekly basis

…taught students to read, create stories, and do triple-digit multiplication

…had tough conversations that college Bible courses never prepared us for

…shown love to people, some who are just seeing it for the first time in their life

And if that’s just year one,

I can’t wait to see what happens next.

A Dangerous Cup of Water

I had only been living in the trailer park for about five months, and unexpected visitors were still uncommon, so I was surprised when I heard the doorbell sound off in the middle of the day.

I opened my front door and saw a neighborhood kid waiting on my porch. I recognized him from the weekly tutoring program we were running out of my living room on Tuesdays. He was a regular, and I was getting to know his family well, but this was the first time he had ever knocked on my door outside of tutoring day.

“What’s up, dude?” I asked him.

His initial courage deflated, betraying his tough-guy mohawk and swagger. He turned his gaze to his toe as he softly kicked the green, putt-putt-golf carpet that covered my porch.

“Um, it’s hot out,” he said, maintaining his view of his frayed sneaker.

“Yep, it sure is!” I glanced at the bald eagle thermometer that the last owner of my house had left behind; just over 100 degrees, and it was barely noon. I didn’t know what the boy wanted, so I gave him a few seconds to pull his thoughts together. However, his shyness won out and he filled that space with only silence. So I prodded, “Did you need something?”

“Well, um, it’s hot. And I’m thirsty. And I was wondering, do you have anything to drink?” With his question, he shifted his eyes back up to catch mine, and then added, “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you.”

I hadn’t been shopping in awhile, but I always kept a jug of spring water in the fridge. We weren’t supposed to drink the tap water because of frequent line breaks and bacterial contamination.

“First off, you’re never a bother to me.” I reassured, “And second, all I have is some water. Is that ok?”

“Is it cold?” he asked.

“Cold enough for a polar bear. But I’ll put some ice in it, too. Wait right here.”

I trekked to the kitchen and filled a solo cup with refrigerated Meijer spring water, then returned and placed the cup in his dirty hands. He smiled and thanked me. I told him I was glad he stopped by, and if he ever needed anything again, all he had to do was ask. His freckled smile grew wider and his eyes brightened as he thanked me again. He took a sip, then turned and left, cautiously walking down the steps so he wouldn’t spill his water.

As I watched him go, the words of Jesus echoed in my head: “I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink.”

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This story is true.

Since that visit this spring, my home life has changed.

Drastically.

As has my shopping list.

For the first time in 28 years, I am beginning to understand the power of those words of Jesus in a whole new depth.

I grew up in church from day one, but in complete honesty, the first time I heard a pastor teach on Jesus’ call to reach “the least of these,” I was in my mid-20’s. Sad fact.

And on the few occasions that “helping the poor” was talked about when I was a child and teenager in Sunday school, it was always accompanied with a slew of stipulations and conditions. Then we would be reminded of the time Jesus told his disciples that the poor would always be around us, which somehow supposedly let us off the hook from having to do anything about it. Then if any of us still had concerns about helping the poor, we would be asked questions that were intended to seal the deal about not needing to regularly participate.

Questions like:

What if they come back again?

What if they’re still thirsty next week?

What if they’re still hungry?

What if they’re still poor?

What if they’re still jobless?

What if they’re still sick?
What if they outgrow their shoes?

The general idea was that since people in need were always going to be there, it didn’t matter much how frequently we helped. Which often translated into the unspoken mindsets of “it doesn’t matter if you help at all” and “it’s more important to tell people they’re going to Hell than it is to begin a relationship by giving them a loaf of bread.”

Now, I believe to the very bottom of my heart that my teachers meant well. My assumption is that they were just teaching what was taught to them when they were kids, by people who equally meant well.

I assume this, because there was also a time that I taught this to kids as well, and I know for a fact that I meant it well then.

I’m starting to understand their rationale more now, and I see it for what I think it truly is: a well-intended fear.

Because since the day that I gave out the water, I literally went from having one visitor a month to having multiple visitors daily, with ALL sorts of needs. After almost 5 months of handing out koolaid, bandaids, freeze pops, bikes, shoes, diapers, appliances, and canned goods, I get why some Christians are scared to start helping people in need.

A cup of cold water can be dangerous.

Jesus was brilliant in his “least of these” decree, because the items he chose as examples of things to give were purposely simple:

Water (I was thirsty).

Leftovers (I was hungry).

Hand-me-downs (I was naked).

Visits to the marginalized (I was lonely in prison)

These aren’t grand gestures. They aren’t newsworthy.

They’re every day things that we have extra of.

There is something great and scary about giving a cup of cold water to someone who’s thirsty. If you do it even once, you start caring for that person. From the moment you place a condensation-covered solo cup in their hands, something connects their heart to yours.

Looking back, I see that my teachers’ questions were valid, because the list of needs in my park DOESN’T go away. In fact, it gets longer as more people add to it.

And yes, some of them are going to be thirsty again tomorrow.

Some of them are going to be hungry again next week.

Some of them will outgrow their shoes next month.

Some of them will still be jobless next spring.

Some of them will still be disabled next year.

But does the mere fact that they will still have needs tomorrow give me reason to ignore? I hope not, because I'm 28, I have a great job, a great family, a solid community of friends, and yet I still have needs (I don't know anyone who doesn't, for that matter). And I would hate to think that my needs weren't worth being met simply because they weren't glamorous enough.

Meeting people's needs, giving a cup of cold water... it's dangerous.

But the never-ending list isn’t what’s dangerous.

Here’s what is truly dangerous, (and simply brilliant):

When you start giving something as simple as cold water, you might find yourself actually WANTING that person to come back again.

From there, it’s a slippery slope of caring. Because one day, you might find yourself praying for those people.

One day, you might change your shopping list to help meet theirs.

One day, you might invite them over for dinner.

One day, you might offer to give them a ride to church.

One day, you might help them make a resume.

One day, you might teach them about budgets. And debt.

One day, you might help them learn to read.

One day, you might buy them a new sweater instead of you.

One day, you might invite your friends to join you.

And finally one day, you might have the courage to no longer look at them as statistics, and instead see them as Jesus does: individual people who are in need of Love without agenda, Love without conditions, just as much as you are.

And on THAT day

You can look back and remember…

That it all started with a cup of cold water.