When Love Goes Global

Letters to a Church in Quarantine - Chapter 1

I try to imagine being a beetle in the corner of the room when Jesus broke news to the disciples that he was going send them out on their own for the first time. He wanted to pair them up and send them out into surrounding towns with not much more than the cloaks on their backs and their first century Chacos. The only goal was to take all the things they’d watched him say and do…and go test it out. 
On their own.

No Jesus to rescue them when the conversation got weird.

No Jesus to disarm the angry religious person who couldn’t see they were missing it.

No Jesus to help them rid people of what tormented them.

No Jesus to book their hotel.

It was their turn to seek God and to try using their own gifts and abilities on their world. That whole "go make disciples" thing got real for them overnight.

What do you think raced through their minds, as they tucked into their mats the night before sendoff? How do you think they felt?

Woefully unprepared? Unsure of what they'd eat when the sock money ran out?
Wondering if they'd spend any nights on the streets? 
Did they check maps to see if Canada had been founded so they could emigrate?

I love this short little story of Jesus’ first sendoff. It’s a little overlooked, in my opinion.

And I think they’ve got a lesson for us if we’ll learn it.

Because I think it was THAT moment when Love began to go global. 

~~~~~

The first time I made the drive from Dallas to Flint alone, I was a college freshman. Grandma wasn’t doing well, so Mom and I drove to Texas to visit. When it was clear that a week wasn’t enough, I was sent back alone.

Not gonna lie, I was mostly excited. For an introvert who likes to drive, a multi-day solo road trip is a little slice of Heaven.

I was also secretly a little nervous. My janky cell phone had awful service, and in 2003, a GPS was only used by truckers and people who wore expensive suits to work. My only navigation tools were an out-of-date Rand McNally atlas that was missing half of the states, and my trusty sense of direction. Fun fact: As a teen, I once got lost in my own neighborhood, which itself was just a big loop.

It’s an interesting sensation when fear and confidence collide; almost exhilarating, if you can bear the butterflies and ignore impending doom.

I was proud to be trusted to be out on my own.

I could go where I wanted (BOOMLAND FIREWORKS IN MISSOURI!!)

I could get snacks whenever I wanted (SOUR PATCH KIDS!!)

I could eat where I wanted (So. Much. White Castle!!!)

I could take the route we never took (Through Chicago!! NO OHIO!!)

However…

I had also never driven more than 4 hours alone.

I had never booked a hotel room before.

I thought only locals had to pay for toll roads.

I could spell “budget,” but I had never seen one in real life.

You might be surprised that I never once got lost on that trip.

You might not be surprised that I regretted saving $20 on the cheaper hotel.

You shouldn’t be surprised that I ran out of money at a gas station in farmtown, IL.

On the bright side, our 4^th of July party was LIT that year. Happy birthday, #murica.

As I pulled into our driveway at the end of the trip, I was exhausted. My body was salt-swollen, my brain was caffeine-buzzed, and my car smelled of grease and gunpowder. Even though I had made a few mistakes and missed a few exits along the way, I walked a little taller as I entered the house. Well it was more like a waddle. But I waddled taller nonetheless.

Why? It’s not like I’d never made the trip before. We did it once or twice a year. What made the difference? For the first time ever, I had done it on my own, using the abilities I had been given. Maybe one day, I'd go a little further.

~~~~~

We don't have an account of that first forced mission trip (now THERE'S an idea for your church outreach team). I imagine the disciples' successes were matched by their failures. I personally hope Peter cussed out a pharisee or two.

Regardless of what they actually did on the trip, I think that journey taught them a few lessons; assuredly more than we could count. But I see two big ones right now.

First of all, they got to test drive the stuff Jesus taught them. And it worked!

Second, they got a taste of the future.

Unbeknownst to them, the lessons they learned on that tour-de-Galilee would lay a foundation for the future Church to one day grow from seed to sapling. 

In the midst of an earthly kingdom and culture that claimed to be holy yet proved to be as greedy and needy as any other, the disciples got a glimpse of what it looked like to go out into the streets and sow Truth and Love onto strange ground and see what blooms.

Brilliant move, Rabbi.

When it was done, they came back and regrouped. They caught up.

They laughed at/with Peter. 

Made Matthew put the budget sheets away. 

Endured Thomas' eye rolls. 

And then they prepared to do it again. Maybe one day they'd go a little further.

~~~~~

Right now, our circumstances are strikingly different from theirs. Yet I also see equally striking similarities between the Church in quarantine and the disciples’ trip.

And it’s bringing me more hope than I would have imagined it could.

(Important, intrusive side note: I am NOT downplaying the pandemic. I mourn its tragedies, and the losses of lives AND jobs. I’d erase it all if I could, but I can’t. I also do not believe that “God caused this so people will love him more.” Though that’s a different topic, and thanks to “internet bravery,” it is one that I will only ever discuss in person. Now please press on.)

To reap hope from the disciples’ story, I’ve had to release my grip on what I’m used to and open my heart to what could be.

You see, the Church was never meant to wake for one day, then hibernate for six.

Church was never meant to be a pleasant hour to be added to a monthly schedule.

Church was never meant to be a thing to DO at all.

Because the Church is people. It is alive. A collective body with many parts.

Every single person has a part to play, a skill to exercise, a Gift to give.

I think we know and want this to be true. But shifting schedules to live it out is tough.

Some see our closed doors and think they’re denied the chance to GO to church.

But I look at our closed doors right now and I see a chance for us to BE the church.

Us. ALL of us. Women and men, collectively practicing our individual gifts as pastors, teachers, entrepreneurs, listeners, and helpers in order to love, aide, or even feed our neighbors and “enemies”

Don’t get me wrong. I miss and long for Sundays (because I miss YOU).

But. In this reset period, if we can be bold enough to use our time to test drive what Jesus said and did, we just might get a glimpse of an even brighter future.

A future where there are thousands of pastors, idea-starters, teachers, encouragers, heart-healers, belly-fillers, and helpers flooding our schools, workplaces, and neighborhoods, instead of a few.

A future where Sunday morning is a celebration of what happened Monday thru Saturday in our cul-de-sacs, and not just an inspiring hour in our cushy seats.

A future where every Christ-follower saw themselves as the disciples, sowing Truth and Love onto strange and familiar ground every day and seeing what blooms.

What if our time apart allows us to test-drive what Jesus did and said, so that we know what to do when we’re back together?

What if we saw this as OUR mission trip?

What if we believed that this could be OUR time for love to start going global?

And what might I need to let go of to get me there? What might I need to do?
And what about you?

We could see this as just a quarantine. Or we could use it to build something more.

If we dare to make a shift, it just might change the world. 
Hey! It has happened before…

~~~~~

And one day when this is all done, we’ll pull into the church parking lot and waddle up to the doors; our brains coffee-buzzed, and our eyes a little salt-swollen. We’ll laugh as you tell us how you fixed a neighbor’s fence, and then paid someone to do it right. I’ll share about when I apologized for cussing someone out on Facebook. We’ll sing and celebrate, maybe hang in the lobby long enough to tick off the traffic team, and then head out.

Only this time, when the doors close, we’ll know that Church isn’t over for the week.

It’s only getting started.

And maybe one day, we'll go a little further.

It's Just "Guy Talk"

“It’s just guy talk.”

Man, I hate this phrase. Especially after this weekend.
So let me begin by stating this up front…

No.

No, it’s not.

As I sit here today on my couch, I am a husband to a wife.

I am a son to a mother.

I am a brother to a sister.

I am an uncle to nieces.

I am a great-uncle to great-nieces.

I am a grandson to grandmothers.

I am a nephew to aunts.

I am a friend, cousin, and co-worker to many women.

I am a teacher of both young men and young women.

And I’m also hoping that maybe one day I’ll get the chance to be a dad to a daughter.

I am a guy.

And yet for the life of me,

I can’t possibly think of a single instance where I would be ok with ANY guy talking about or treating ANY women or girls in my life in a way that was lewd, objectifying, demeaning, or sexist.

Not one.

So no. It’s not just “guy talk.”

Not only that, I can’t think of a single instance where I would be ok with my nephews, the boys and young men that I teach, or even my future sons becoming men who thought it was ok to talk about or treat women in a way that was lewd, objectifying, demeaning, or sexist.

Not one.

So no. It’s not just “guy talk.”

In fact, if any guy I know is in any of the categories I just mentioned, and he DOESN’T have a problem with someone talking about or treating the females in his life in a way that is lewd, objectifying, demeaning, or sexist, then I am truly nervous for those women and girls.

I can’t imagine ever being ok with my daughter growing up even slightly thinking she’s less-than, because of so-called “guy talk.”

But I also have to say, I even feel bad for the guy who actually believes that talking cheaply about women is “just guy talk.”

Because he has proudly and blindly swallowed a harmful lie.

Hook, line, and sinker. 

IT’S AN ENABLING PHRASE

Some argue that words are just words. Talk is just talk, after all.

But you see, words always encompass an idea. A thought. A belief.

When used well, talk can be powerful, especially if the core idea is good.

If the core idea is harmful, or demeaning, words can sometimes end up causing damage, either directly, or even indirectly by deemphasizing the REAL consequences of the idea that they’re connected to.

It’s the mental equivalent of wrapping a towel around a sledgehammer.

Sure we “know” that objectifying women is a terrible thing to do.

Sure we “know” that treating women unfairly is wrong.

Sure we “know” that assaulting women is no laughing matter.

But if we joke about it…it can become one.

Words and ideas always pave the way for actions.

If you believe “it’s what guys say,” it can become what you say.

If you believe “it’s how guys think,” it can become what you think.

If you believe “it’s what guys do,” then it can become what you do.

Jesus put it this way: “what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this defiles a person.”

Simply put, our words, whether spoken publicly or “privately,” matter.

Our hearts shout the loudest through the words we speak in secret.

SIDE NOTE: this is why it boggles my mind that any professing believer or follower of Jesus would even CONSIDER uttering or ignoring the phrase “It’s just guy talk.” We cannot say we are wholeheartedly following Jesus’ teachings in moments when we perpetuate this lie. 

Jesus makes NO distinction between our thoughts, our words, and our actions.

Lusting after someone is the same thing as actually taking advantage of them.

Hating someone is the same as killing them.

Calling someone a name can invoke the wrath of hellfire.

A little extreme, right? A little shocking, right?

Of course. Because these extremes point to a truth: our thoughts, our words, can eventually become actions. Like seeds bearing poisonous fruit.

TRUTH: WORDS BECOME REALITY

Regardless of who you are, if I can look down on you in my mind, if I can disrespect you with my jokes, if I can minimize you with my words, then it’s the very same thing as actually harming you, because if I can allow my self to imagine you as being below me, or not worthy of dignity, I will eventually treat you that way.

(By the way, the same thing goes for how we treat other ethnicities and even people from other religions, but that’s for another post.)

But if instead, I choose to see you the way we were both created –in the image of God– then that means two things:

• we are of equal value
• that value is higher than I can afford

Which makes YOU worth talking about with integrity.

Which makes YOU worth uplifting with my words and actions.

Which makes YOU…

…worth me exerting self control around

…worth me treating fairly

…worth me seeking your best interests and goodwill.

According to the creation story, it even makes you worth dying for.

So no.
I will NOT be teaching my future son that it's ok to objectify women, to treat them as less-than, or speak lewdly of them, just as long as he says it behind closed doors with other guys.
Because it is not ok. Ever. Even if the whole world is doing it.
That's weak. And I want him to learn to be strong.

I will NOT ignore, or worse: attempt to justify, when I see others do it, regardless of who they are or what position they are in, lest I teach my future daughters and sons that it's ok for them to do the same.

I will NOT perpetuate a phrase or an idea that allows someone to willingly and shamelessly devalue someone else, because if they devalue someone else in their eyes, they also devalue themselves at the same time.

Integrity, Strength. Honor, Self control, Encouragement...

This is real “guy talk.”

Anything else is just plain foolishness.

Not Just Regular Guys

Gentlemen.

I have something to tell you.  Something you need to know:

I’m not who I should be, and I’m not who you think I am.

Before I explain, let me introduce you to a couple of men:

Roscoe, Carl, Randy, Dave C., Raymond

Bob, Tommy, Matt M, Dave O, PJ

If you met any one of them on the street tomorrow, you probably wouldn’t take much notice. In fact, most of them were just “regular” guys.

One guy fixes computers.

One works at the GM plant in Flint.

One crunches numbers at a bank.

One sets up displays at Home Depot

One guy is between jobs.

When I first met them, some were married. Some were not. Some had kids. Some did not.

One dude was 19. One guy was my dad’s age.

And I think one of them went to high school with Moses.

To themselves and others, they were ordinary. But to me? They were extraordinary.

Because at some point, each of them were MY leader or teacher at church when I was young.

I’M NOT WHO I SHOULD BE

I say this, because if the events in my story and my family history were tossed into a statistic, I SHOULD be an absolute trainwreck. Or living in a van down by the river at the very least.

But thanks to Jesus, I’m not.

And thanks to these dudes who joined others in telling me about Jesus, I’m not.

These guys showed up, and they didn’t have to.

Looking back, most of them weren’t even “qualified” for the job.

They didn’t have all the answers to my questions. And it was ok.

Heck, they didn’t have all the answers to their OWN questions. And it was ok.

They were busy guys, with busy lives. Sometimes they took weekends off from leading us. And it was ok.

Very few of them lead us because working with kids was “their thing.” And it was ok.

One was my leader for only a year. Another for 3 years. And it was ok.

Most of them were just trying to figure things out themselves. And it was ok.

NONE of them had any idea how to make me shut up and sit still. And it was ok.

In fact, for me, it was MORE than ok.

For me, it was life-shaping, because I got to see how “regular guys” live out their faith. Which in turn helped me figure out my own faith a little more each week, and slowly changed the course of my life one fist bump at a time.

I’M NOT WHO YOU THINK I AM

By nature of the job, most ministers pretty much live in the spotlight.

Some love the idea, and it suits them well.

Some of us, however, are sometimes horrified by it.

For me, the thing prickles the most is the thought that when people see me serve/speak/lead, they might think that it’s me.

I shudder at the notion that someone might think I do what I do simply because it’s “who I am.”

Because what people DON’T know is that…

Every time I get on stage to speak, they see a little bit of Randy & Tommy

Every time I embark on a faith conversation, they see a little bit of Raymond & Roscoe

Every time I lead a worship song, they see a little bit of Carl

Every time I pray with someone, they see a little bit of Bob & Dave O.

Every time I read a Bible verse out loud, they see a little bit of Dave C.

Every time I serve and meet a need, they see a little bit of Matt

Every time I toilet-paper a house, visit my students at lunch, or encourage kids to eat disgusting foods on stage so they’ll remember a bible story, they see a whole lot of PJ

So again, gentlemen,

I’m not who you think I am, and I’m not who I should be.

Because of these “regular” guys.

And every weekend in KKids, we have classrooms full of FUTURE men who are in need of CURRENT men to come help them become the men that they “shouldn’t” be.

They’re in need of some “regular guys” who are willing to give up a couple dozen hours a year to show them what it looks like to be a “regular guy” who prays, who serves, who learns, and who loves God and others.

And there seems to be a shortage of men who are willing to step up to the plate.

FUTURE MEN WITH FUTURE LISTS

I am fully convinced that there are future Dave Wilsons running through our kids’ area every weekend. There are future Steve Andrews laughing obnoxiously loud while silently plotting their plans to change the world. There are future Ryan Morrills thinking deeply about pioneering new lands, future Dave Shumans breaking all our rules, and even future PJ’s (Heaven help us).

There are also future Roscoes, Carls, Raymonds, Randys, Daves, Bobs, Tommys, and Matts who will be “ordinary” guys who do extraordinary things in the lives of others.

And I guarantee you that none of these future men are looking for qualified experts.

However, all of them ARE looking for a familiar face,

an exploding fist-bump.

a person who knows their name

a person willing to pray with them (we’ll even teach you how)

a person willing to pray FOR them all week

a person willing to play games with them (we’ll even provide the stuff)

a person willing to toss them a football

a person willing to ask them questions that will help them learn and apply the most important truths they’ll ever hear (we’ll even provide the questions!)

Right now, regardless of whether or not he knows it, every single one of these future men in our program is ALREADY forming a list of his own. A list of “regular guys” who helped shape his life, one fist bump at a time. 

Wouldn’t it be great if one of the names on those future lists was yours?

All you gotta do is say yes.

(If any of this interests you at all, send me an email, or send me a message. You don’t need to be a professional. We’ll do our best to help you get what you need, and then Jesus will take care of the rest. He’s pretty good at it.)

(NOTE: WOMEN ARE AWESOME TOO! I thank GOD for the women who were equal & major stakeholders in my life. Missy, Louise, Debi, Cindy, Michelle, and Stephanie were pillars and lifelines for me as a kid/teen. Those women taught me more about Jesus and doctrine than all of my university Bible professors combined. We need women in kid’s ministry, too. But women seem to be quicker than men when it comes to saying yes to God on these kinds of things. ;-))

Why Forgiveness Is Foolish

A few weeks ago a ten-year-old visitor showed up at my door wanting to chat.

           

He’s shorter than most his age, but he’s built like a tank, with an attitude to match. I invited him to sit on my porch, and offered him a snack as per my usual routine. But instead of tearing into his bag of Sunchips, he clutched it tight, staring at the ground as he slumped in one of my green plastic lawn chairs. 

I hadn’t seen him in a few months, which I’ve found to be common with most of the students in my park. I’ll see them for a few weeks, then they’ll disappear for awhile.

He didn’t speak, so I quizzed him about his day, his family, and his invisible pet rhinoceros. The last request snuck a smile out of him. Then I asked him how he was doing. A tear rolled down his cheek as he choked out one word. “Bad.”

My heart raced as my mind flipped through every worst case scenario I could think of. I strive to be a peaceful person, but if I found out that someone had hurt this kid, heads were going to roll. When I asked him why he was doing bad, his answer took me by surprise.

Still looking down, he pointed at my window behind his head and said “I’m bad because I did that.”

~~~~

About 18 months before, I was in Dallas visiting my oldest brother on his deathbed when my neighbor called to inform me that some neighborhood kids had busted my windows. I rushed home and found 11 broken windows, well over $2,000 in damage. Some kids had been named in the process, all between 5-11 years old, but the police couldn’t get any to admit it (understandably). After the police left, I managed to get them to confess. No force, no threats needed.

Many events occurred in the weeks following the crime, each deserving their own post, but the most prominent issue that arose was the question of what to do with those kids. Nearly every slice of advice and opinion I received involved the enforcing of consequence:

Press charges. Send them to juvy. Kick their families out.

Sue them for the damages. Teach them a lesson they won’t forget.

I agreed that a lesson needed to be taught. But I couldn’t shake the voice in my heart that was very quietly uttering the opposite of what came natural to me.

“Teach them forgiveness.”

~~~~

A few years ago at a Catalyst conference, educator and activist Geoffrey Canada shared stories about ministering to at-risk youth in Harlem, and mentioned something that blew me away.

When he first began working with his students, he originally thought that all they needed in order to get on track was a clear understanding of consequence. But he soon discovered that he couldn’t have been more wrong.

He realized that many of the troublesome boys in his program had siblings, parents, or relatives in jail, so they were already VERY aware of consequence. Consequence was in front of their face every single day. And yet it did very little to stop them from committing crimes. If consequence wasn’t the lesson they needed to learn, then what was?

That answer, he found, was forgiveness.

Having someone know what you did to them, or to their stuff…

Understanding your deserved consequence…

Then being flat out forgiven for it….On purpose…

Having it never mentioned again…Never owing anything for it…

Forgiveness was something thing they knew nothing of.  It wasn’t modeled for them in their homes. It wasn’t modeled on the streets, in the schools, on the playgrounds.

When forgiveness entered their story, a change rippled through their community like you wouldn’t believe.

Of course it did. Why wouldn’t it? Why shouldn’t it?

I mean, it’s the method that God used to save humanity, after all.

~~~~

When I made it public that I wasn’t going to press charges, some of my friends and family thought I had lost my mind. They were probably right.

Even the park staff thought I was crazy. The week following the window break, I stood in the park office and pleaded with the staff to refrain from kicking out the families involved. The oddity of the request was lost on none of us. One staff member asked why I’d do such a thing. I told her that I wanted to use it as a way to show forgiveness, and she said, “well you’re a much better person than me.”

“No, I’m not, really.” I replied. “I just know that I’ve been forgiven of way too many things to let this opportunity pass.”

Some people even told me I was being foolish. I wasn’t mad at them for saying so. In fact, I completely agreed with them. SOMEONE had to pay for the windows, and I couldn’t afford to, so it really WAS foolish!

But a family from church had heard what happened and immediately offered to fix windows before I could even think to ask. When they did that, it altered the plot of the window saga, because suddenly I had a clear avenue for forgiveness.

Because forgiveness doesn’t mean the absence of consequence.

In fact, forgiveness is ONLY possible with a consequence attached. No matter what the misdeed is, someone has to pay for it. The incurred debt doesn’t disappear. Someone has to sacrifice something.

God didn’t let us off the hook from our sins just because he was feeling warm and fuzzy. Someone had to pay the debts that you and I owe. Someone had to cover the costs. Our consequence didn’t go away. Jesus paid it.

These kids couldn’t pay the debt they incurred. Neither could their families, for that matter. But when someone else covered the consequence, forgiveness was possible.

It was completely foolish to not charge them. It was totally unfair.
But something told me it was just the thing that might change their lives.

Because I know that being forgiven changed mine.

~~~~

So as this boy sat on my porch, gesturing at my window with the very same hand that had thrown rocks through it just over a year earlier, I was shocked to hear that the window smashing was still bugging him.

“Are you talking about when you broke my windows? Is that why you think you’re doing bad?”

He nodded.

“Do you remember what I told you after the windows got fixed?”

He nodded again. “You said that someone paid for them, so I didn’t have to.”

“Do I ever ask you about the windows?” I asked.

He shook his head no.

“And I never will. Do you think I’m still mad at you? Is that why I haven’t seen you?”

He nodded yet again, looking more like a bobble-head than a boy at this point.

“Do you remember what I said about forgiveness?” I prodded.

He stuttered very slowly, “You… you said that you cared about me, and that you forgave me, and God forgave me. You said I don’t owe you anything. I just need to make good choices.”

He had remembered every word. And I knew that he had kept out of trouble since then. So why did he ask me again?

He was checking to make make sure nothing had changed. 

Forgiveness can be tough to swallow sometimes.

Those of us who have been forgiven of much…we know this firsthand.

When someone else pays your debt, when you don't get what you deserve, it changes you.

The restored freedom you receive has an unspoken responsibility attached to it.
And the bigger the debt, the more it changes you. (Luke 7:47)

But it can be hard to trust and believe that you don’t owe anything,

Sometimes you even feel the need to check in and be reminded that it’s over.

And that’s exactly what this kid was doing. 

Looks like that whole forgiveness thing was actually working after all.

I pulled his chin up and made him look at me for the first time since we sat down.

I could see his eyes searching mine for hope.

“When I told you all those things, I meant them. It’s been a long time since then. But do you know what has changed?”

He shook his head again.

“Nothing,” I smiled, “You’re still forgiven. You’ll always be forgiven. I’ll always care about you no matter what you do. God still has big plans for you, buddy, and He loves you, too.”

His flashed his biggest smile. “Thanks, Pastor Mike. I gotta go home now.” Clearly a man of few words. He jumped up, and raced away as abruptly as he had arrived.

~~~~

Forgiveness IS foolish.
But sometimes it’s exactly what’s needed to change a life.