Holy week on the campus of WSU, for me, felt anything but holy.  The whole experience made my stomach hurt to be honest.  I over analyze things, I lose sleep over things, and I became a bit obsessive compulsive if you want to know the truth.  The entire week I couldn’t help but feel like this fragile relationship between the campus and the church was somehow in our hands, and somehow we had an opportunity to change things, to tell a better story, and it all made me nervous.

You see, at WSU, Christians hand out fliers.  They stand in the free speech area, the lobbies of dorms, behind trash bins, and outside the bathroom, and they hand out fliers;  it’s reminiscent of Las Vegas (not that I have ever been there or anything).  Students try to dodge, try not to make eye contact, they pull out their phones and fake calls, reach down to tie their shoe, but no matter the strategy the Christians are there, flier in hand, as if they were getting paid per handout.  

The problem with this method mostly, is that it doesn’t work.  At the end of the day these fliers have gone from an invitation to the Kingdom, to litter for the janitors to clean up and fuel for the campus newspaper to write about.  

For Holy Week, if we wanted to stand a chance, our approach had to be different, and that is what made me nervous.  

So, a team of dreamers assembled and mapped out the week to focus on the lives of the people around Jesus.  Day one was to be about Pontius Pilate, two Judas, three Mary, and Thursday and Friday were about Jesus himself.  The hope was to pose questions as present struggles that tie back to these people’s ancient realities, which in turn would segue into the story we were trying to tell all along.  Which for Good Friday was {Experience the Day True Love Died} and Easter {Experience the Day True Love Rose}.

On campus we set our hearts not to leave the tent to approach anyone with a flier for the first four days.  We resolved to provide good coffee (fair trade), good music (Coldplay, the Fray, DMB), artistic expression, a well-designed flier (not colored paper bearing the papyrus font), and a heart willing to converse (not debate).

On Monday we spray painted the question “Are there things you want to forget?” onto a 4x8 piece of Masonite board.  Then we provided black paint so students could come by, put their hand in the paint and leave a hand print on the board.  We also provided a basin of warm water to physically wash their hands of these things, thus referring to Pilate.  On the coffee cups we printed labels that said, “What is truth?  And Jesus stood silent.  So Pilate called for water to wash his hands clean of this man.”  

Tues:  “What is not for sale?”  The board was covered in stock market clippings and fake silver coins.  People wrote with sharpies or painted their answer on the board.  Again to reinforce the story we printed labels on the cups that said, “They counted out 30 pieces of silver and Judas led them to Jesus.”

Wed: “What has been your greatest loss?”  We ran clotheslines between our boards with pinned up small cloths that had the word “weep” written on them.  Students could write their loss on an index card and exchange it for a weep cloth.

Thurs.-Fri.:  “What would you give up your life for?”  We rented a helium tank and filled black balloons, duct taped them to a board on the ground, provided silver sharpies and scissors, and students could write their answer and then cut the balloon free from its string.

Friday we also bought every snack you could imagine, stapled them to our fliers, and in one four-hour block handed out over 500 invites.

Our tent was a sight to see with boards, clotheslines, and balloons everywhere, and we were physically throwing fruit snacks out as quickly as our interns could staple them.  Maybe people trusted us by then, or maybe students just like fruit snacks.  Either way, fliers were no longer a burden, no longer a disconnect, they had somehow began to feel natural, like a small part of a greater engagement.  

In Pullman 130 people attended our Good Friday experience and 50 attended in Moscow.  On Easter morning Resonate Church experienced three firsts.  It was the first time we ever met in the morning, the first time we held service on campus, and the first time we had over 250 people in attendance.  I heard word of an official number somewhere around 259 (counting the pregnant ladies as two of course).   

I shouldn’t bore with details.  I should tell you that I think what happened on campus was a result of our Church taking this Lent season very seriously.  As a body, we journeyed for 40 days through the same guided devotions, through the same prayers, and through the same scriptures.  We were unified, we were fasting, we were expecting, and we were praying big prayers together; daily.

The culmination of this Lent season may have looked liked boards, questions, spray paint, coffee, fliers, fruit snacks and music in the free speech areas of WSU and U of I, but it was so much more than that.  It was a like-mindedness that propelled us to be on campus each day with a humble urgency, and a quiet confidence. WSU senior Kate-Lynne Logan put it like this, “Holy week worked because we were quite literally ‘the body.’ Resonate does not have a building so there are no four walls to fall back on. We have our hands and our feet and our willing hearts and that is it.”

Liz Rodriguez, a Resonate intern on the campus of U of I, shared a conversation she had with a student named Molly who said she, “really enjoyed watching our boards all week, she felt they showed who we are as a generation and that these boards should be kept for a life time.”  And Brian Newman, a WSU Jr. said, “Due to Resonate’s presence on campus I was able to have spiritual conversations with friends I would not have otherwise been able to have.”  

Our church is growing into its personality, we are learning how to speak a language, and glory by glory God is revealing to us His plan.  We know that God, not coffee and art, is our only chance at reaching students, and we know that Jesus' great hope for the campus is Jesus, but we also refuse to not participate as God unfolds things.  So, for Resonate Church, Holy Week, Good Friday, and Easter, were just another act of participation, another attempt at obedience, and another opportunity for us to extend a hand to the campus, and see, if just maybe, they are interested in a better story.  

so life makes sense again.  the air in my lungs feels fresh again.  my sleep is not hindered by details, and my heart is not worn out, but rather alive with hope.

holy week really took it out of me.  but easter put it back in.  whatever was gone was returned yesterday.  whatever was discouraged was in turn encouraged and what was lacking was given plenty.  

something about a tomb without a carpenter seems to change everything.  something about a death that leads to more life is ever so inspiring.  

lent hurt me this season.  it hurt me because i was constantly reminded that i tend to turn to good things rather than the best things. it hurt me because every  morning i was shown that i have a passion for coffee that rivals my passion for jesus.

something about 40 days without reminded me of all the days with.  something about 40 days without helped me see the beauty of the one who is better.  

yesterday felt like i lived in the kingdom that is to come.  it felt like i was a part of something eternal, something bigger than all of us.  moments felt like hours, community felt essential and worship felt natural, like it is who i am, not what i do.  

lent hurt me.  holy week took it out of me.  good friday felt like death to me.  and easter resurrected me.  

i will no longer look for the living among the dead.

so today is ash wednesday. a day that is 40 days from the saturday that
is a day before easter. the day of the blessed resurrection. the day
that certainly changes everything.

i remember a mission trip we took in college that actually fell on holy
week in which we went down to mexico to serve with a church plant that
was trying to expand their building and needed some help. our leader
had been in contact with the local pastor for quite some time before
the trip. we were to meet him across the border and he was going to
jump in the van with us, direct us to another location then jump out of
the van with us and we were going to go the remainder of the way by
ourselves. we would serve the pastor's church but we would not actually
be serving with the pastor.

you see a couple weeks before this the pastor had a horrible accident
happen when on their way to church (their first church service in their
new building) the pastors mother and wife were hit by a car and killed.
he could not continue on the trip with us that day because he was still
taking care of a lot of family business.

a few miles into mexico we pulled over near a market and this pastor
got into our 15 passenger van with us. he and our group leader embraced
for what almost felt like an awkward amount of time for grown men to be
hugging across the console of a van. he spoke good english and
immediately began to thank us for coming and began to apologize for not
being able to come on the trip or help us that week. we told him it was
fine ad that we were glad to be there. then our group leader said
gently we are sorry for his loss we have been praying for you.

as pastor caught his breath the van grew quite. then he said with a broken voice, what is my loss is their gain.

the silence just sat there among us for a bit. we had nothing to say
and for some reason it felt okay to just be there in silence with our
new friend. eventually we began to drive and after about a half hour it
was time for pastor to get out. so again he and our leader hugged and
when they broke the embrace this time they were both in tears. the
silence was back, but again it felt right. after a bit of tears being
wiped away pastor turned and looked at us, smiled and said "he is
risen" and he turned and looked again at our leader smiled and said
again "he is risen". at that our leader put his hand on pastors
shoulder and said yes my friend, he is risen indeed.

i didn't really recover from that exchange for a long time. i remember
thinking that we were going to console a pastor in mexico who lost his
mom and wife and that in the mean time we might put up some drywall. i
remember thinking this guy was probably going to leave the ministry
soon enough because people just don't bounce back from stuff like that.
i remember thinking that i don't think God would blame the guy. that
maybe God had a clause in the contract that says if you lose two family
members in such a tragic way you can leave the faith altogether with
his blessing.

and now i look back five years later thinking that what that pastor in
mexico meant was that what he lost was his wife and mom but what they
gained was the blessed truth of the resurrection power of jesus
bringing them into a state of forever peace, union, and dwelling with
the one true God.

now i think this pastor understood something that i'm not sure i understand.

that because of the person and work of jesus, death has a sting, but no
sting. that because he is risen, we may be risen. whether it be from
the addictions of this moment, or the trials of tomorrow, or the
internal anxiety of our generation, we may be risen. when family
members leave, we may be risen. when injustice happens, we may be
risen. somehow in some supernatural way we are able to rely on a power
far greater than anything we could generate on our own. there is a
power in us that was in him that was there on that day many years ago
that rolled back the stone of a tomb and raised this jesus from the
death and the power of the grave.

resurrection power is flowing through our veins, because of the work of christ.

today i want to remember that. on this ash wednesday i want it to feel
as heavy as it should. i want to remember, really remember that there
was an eternal warrant out for my arrest and execution and it was
nailed on my front door, and rightly so. i want to remember that i was
going to get what i deserved. and i want to remember that God came and
took that warrant and nailed it through the sinless willing hands of
his son Jesus in my place. i need to remember that he is my substitute,
my atonement. and i need it to be as heavy as it can be. as filled with
reality as possible.

this lent season i'm giving up something, and i want the giving up of
something to draw me near to the father. i want to trade in good things
for that which is better for the next 40 days. i want to learn a lesson
from jesus and from that pastor in mexico over the next 40 days.

i want to understand what it means that he is risen. indeed risen.

and it may just take me 40 days.

So this weekend our congregation added another service, another site, another venue, basically another church. Pullman is where the party started and Moscow is where the party continues. Being a part of a movement is what we speak of, a catalyst for the changing of a culture, the redemption of a generation, this is the language, the word on the street, the hope of all hopes.

Speaking of hopes, there seems to be much talk of it these days, much talk of change and hope and that if one hopes there will be a change then change will hopefully come, or something like that. It's almost beginning to make my stomach hurt to be honest. You see, the trouble with this rhetoric is that the basic definition of peoples hopes is so fluid and changing that it's hard to find that which is hopeless, and there, in that place, inflict hope.

I guess this language works because we are all hopeful and hopeless to some extent.

Each of us have a story that we wish would change or, God knows, a direction that we wish would re-direct. When someone successfully makes a provocative plea towards a hopeful mystery and that plea begins to fill a void that you were not even sure you had, seems these people are flirting with something revolutionary. Something that could even cause a change of hopes.

All this begs the questions....
What do I hope for? What do I want to change?

I hope that I don't end up old and lonely and miserable; I hope that something bigger is out there, somewhere, whispering alluring words of truth and redemption to a world of beautifully busted up people. Mind you I also hope that my scooter starts each morning. Seems hopes can be fickle and trite and selfish at times, and quite inspiring, crucial, and even transcendent at others. Sometimes I even hope things will change; that wars end, hurricanes chill out, that clean water magically makes its way to everyone's front door, that families reconcile, disease and hunger fall extinct, and that we all learn to slow down, just slow down a bit, before everything is gone, just slow down.

Sometimes what I really long for, really seek, when no one is around and I'm walking down some narrow road with leaves on the ground, or something, and it's just me and my thoughts and this road and the leaves and God of course, what I really long to know, is whether or not what I'm doing with my existence, what I'm giving my life for, is somehow a good thing, somehow the right thing. I just want to know I'm not missing it, whatever it is. I want to know that in the end all this will make some sort of sense, and someone, somewhere, will have an explanation for all this whirl of drama we call here.

Recently I read this quote by a guy named Hans Kung who all these smart people say is one of the most brilliant theologians of our time, which would make sense because he writes really really really long books. Anyhow, he was interviewed, and when asked about his faith, his belief system, in his old age, and how that works out, he responded, "I haven't believed for a long time, I no longer believe at all, I know."

Sometimes I wonder if we are a generation obsessed with believing in things, in good causes, all the while really knowing little of what we believe and why. I wonder if my friend Hans after a while quit believing because belief was no longer good enough, he actually needed to know in order to carry on. I wonder if after serving people, not causes, that Hans began to know what Jesus meant when he spoke of taking care of the least of these, not simply believing that it might be a good idea to be a part of a group that functions in those perimeters.

Change will come and hope will rise when I realize that the world around me is not full of causes, good or bad, but rather full of Jesus asking for a cup of water, a moment of consideration, a pack of cigarettes, a bowl of soup, or a visit in prison.

Here is what I find scary: Beliefs may usher us into the deepest needs of the world, maybe even the deepest places of our heart, but be assured that upon arrival in those places we will need more than belief to carry on. Because the truth is, where we are needed most we may not fit in, we may not find comfort, we may not easily find hope, a way out, or a way of change, and it will be in that place that we find belief is not sufficient, in that place, we must cling to something deeper, something that we know, someone that we know, because knowledge of something or someone is a stubborn thing and not easily pushed aside or swayed.

I look forward to the time when belief is simply not good enough. Thanks Hans....

it was late. i was restless. he was one of those guys that loved these conversations.

see for as long as i could remember i always had angst when it came to the scriptures. i would sit in hebrew class and wonder what it must have been like to be one of the wanders. those of our ancestry who actually got to see the cloud by day and the fire by night. my mouth would water when our teacher spoke of the manna from heaven, and i would try to imagine what it must have been like to taste with my lips the very provision of an invisibly visible God.

i always laughed the hardest when their things to laugh about. when the stories of our faith consisted of big fish, naked prophets, extreme irony, and the consistent use of the useless. i would laugh. because sometimes if we are honest there are things to laugh about, and the truth is even when your dabbling in the deepest realm of reality their is always something to laugh about.

i remember he had a great laugh. i remember making him laugh once. that one late night, we laughed together.

growing up pharisee was not everyones dream, but it was a dream for me. i was always different. i had a propensity towards the scriptures. it was like I was born with a bend leading me to long for the truth. i simply could not get enough. i believed the scriptures were the truth and i knew that in them was the light of life, the messiah who was coming to redeem the world. i could hardly keep my eyes dry any time our rabbi would read from the scroll of isaiah in reference to the suffering servant who was to come. those were the days.

truth is time passed, and my work came and went, and i still enjoyed a good read of the law, but God knows, i was beginning to lose my wonder. i remember walking through town as i did most afternoons when a old friend from grade school came running towards me. we greeted and i asked if everything was alright. he said there was a man from nazareth named jesus performing miracles and healings and that he had the ability to see inside a man and speak answers even to their inner thoughts. then he looked at me deeply, took a quick breath to compose himself, his eyes beginning to glisten, and said "nick, could this be the one."

i must admit it was like something from my childhood flooded me with emotion and adrenaline and my mind began racing through the scriptures chasing down every prophecy i could think of. my friend and i headed out to see this jesus, this miracle man, and on the journey i investigated everything my friend knew about him. i was told stories of a virgin birth, a crazy cousin born of an old woman who now lived in the wilderness and was baptizing. I heard of a temple appearance at the age of 12, a temple clearing at the age of 30, a water into wine event in cana, and numerous other healings. i remember it being hot, i remember i was sweating more from the stories then the walk, and i remember feeling so alive.

when we arrived in jerusalem we walked through the temple and it sure enough had been cleared. it was a mess of smells, empty cages, broken tables, and men and women cleaning up what had been over-tuned. "zeal for his fathers house will consume him." it was all i could think of. the blessed 69th psalm being played out in the form of bird feathers array in the place intended for prayer. the temple was a wreck, but for the first time that i could recall it had a good feel about, like something holy had actually taken place their, and in came in the form of aggression.

i was beginning to like this jesus already.

when we found out where he was staying we showed up and their was a small crowd gathered and he was speaking some more things about the temple and of God. though the crowd was not too big it was still hard to see him for he was sitting down. some men where asking him for a sign from which to believe in. they were pressing him about what authority he had to do what he had just done. it was then that he stood up and i got my first look at him. it was then that he pierced into the crowd and said that they could tear down the temple and he would rebuild it in three days.

i remember making eye contact with him as he spoke those words. i remember hardly being able to breathe.

the crowd began to rant about how long the temple took to build, something about 46 years and lots of work and so forth, but all i could do was try to keep my feet under me and make try to keep my hands from trembling. i knew that while these men were speaking about this place of stones, this jesus was speaking of his body. he caught my eye again through the crowd, almost to say that he could feel that i knew what he was really speaking of.

i knew that he knew that i knew.

that night i lay in bed and could hear his words ringing in my ears. if he was speaking about his body, of his torture, of his burial, of his resurrection, then i needed to know more. i longed to know more. i rolled out of bed, grabbed a lantern and headed towards the home when he was staying. their was a light on but no noise coming from inside. as i arrived i taped gently on the door and before too long this man, this miracle man, answered rubbing his eyes a bit, but once his vision returned, a small smirk grew on his face, like he knew i was coming.

we sat down at the table and he spoke to me like i was a dear friend, like i had value to him, like he had known me all my life. i had so many questions, and here i was a master of the law myself, a pharisee in charge of many many of my people. it was like i was back in hebrew school learning and seeking and trying to hold back tears.

we heard someone getting up out of bed and that's when he said it. he told me that in order to enter the kingdom of God a man must be born again. i responded so quickly i almost felt ashamed, but shame was not a feeling you could have very long around this guy. i said how can that be, a man cannot re-enter his mothers womb, that is not possible, their must be another way. that is when he laughed, he put his hand on my shoulder and he laughed. so then i laughed, i put my head down a little and i laughed. we laughed together. i will never forget that. and i will never forget what he said next.

he said to me, nick, you are a teacher of israel and you do not know these things so i will tell you truly about them so that you may understand and you may teach truth to all who hear you. he told me that God is in love with all people of this world, so much so that he can hardly take the way we treat each other. so in response to us, he sent himself in the form of a human son that he might make right what has gone so wrong. that in the son, in me nick, all the law may be fulfilled and that whoever believes in this son, in me, will not face death but will instead be given the inheritance of eternal life.

he told me the history of our faith, he told me the future of our faith, he told me that he was the son and that believing in him meant that life lived following him would be so transformational it would actually be like a new birth.

i walked away from that conversation feeling more reborn then i had ever felt. i looked in his eyes and told him i believe. he told me i know nick, i've always known.

There are things in life that move us so deeply that it is impossible to explain them away or in some cases, even explain them at all. Explaining things seems to be the crux of my generation. We all have the answers to everyone's problems but somewhere in our bones long to have our own questions answered.

Maybe if we think of others and their issues long enough we will feel better about the unresolved conflict in our living room.

Having something move you deeply is not easy though, because it assumes that you are open to whatever it is that may or not be imposing its will, its movement. It means you have to be moveable, changeable, your guard has to be down somewhat, and your fighting power must be slightly minimal. Considering these things rarely happen all at once, being moved is all the more beautiful and powerful.

Right now I'm hoping for a moment in which will impact me deeply because I've been a little let down by what the past couple years have thrown at me. First, I moved two thousand miles from my family in order to be a part of a church plant and I thought for sure this would lead to a moment in which everything unresolved in me would well, resolve. Turns out location has nothing to do with holiness. Where you live doesn't change who you are. I really think my favorite sins have passports and can track me down anywhere. Secondly, our church started and I had a leadership role with a fair amount of responsibility. Once you get the get the job you have always wanted and you feel like the will of God is no longer as elusive as it seems then surely everything else will fall in order. Turns out position in society and the capability of having a business card do very little for the aches in the soul. They rather add ache to the head and burden to the heart.

Then just this past week the big one happened. I got married. I got married to the most amazing loving girl in the whole wide world. She is all that I am not, she is all that I hoped for, and to me she is everything. On a thousand levels she is better than me, and I cherish the thought of waking up next to her every morning until I go home.

She is my love, my one.

Something dawned on me though, about three days into marriage when I still wanted my way above all else and still found a critical spirit lurking in my stomach. I still had to fight for purity in my mind and with my eyes, and believe it or not I still had deep questions in my soul that I longed to be answered. When I started college I remember thinking when I get a dream job, marry a dream girl, and live in a dream location life will be a dream. Well I'm here. I've arrived. And the dream is lame without the Dreamer.

Waiting for life to happen, waiting for the phone call, waiting for the next event to change me is a boring way to live. Something I'm learning is that being deeply moved is not as profoundly difficult as I first suspected. And it rarely consists of bookmarked dates. Planning spontaneity is great, but sometimes over an open bible, a cup of coffee, a broken heart, and the sounds of stillness all around, the Planner will overwhelm your plans and your heart with a spontaneous word. A word that says everything though you are not even sure you heard it say anything. A word that says "your mine", or "she's mine", or "it's mine", or "be mine". A word that feels so fresh it hurts or that makes you lift your head a bit because you are not sure you can legally be this close.

Sometime a word is all we need to move us.

There are times when the right word can change everything, when the right set of words in the right set of circumstances can bring us from death to life. A word is always available to us, if we would dare seek, dare listen. You know an interesting thing is that in the bible their is the guy John, who is the best friend of Jesus. Whether he is actually the best friend or just the self-proclaimed best friend it's hard to tell. He just tends to refer to himself, every time he refers to himself, as the best friend or in other words, "the disciple whom Jesus loved". Either he was insecure, had a complex, or he was one of the only people in the solar system who actually understood how Jesus felt about him, how Jesus feels about us all. Well, when John was late in his life he decides to write the story of his best friend Jesus the best he can remember it. Seems that Matthew, Mark, and Luke had already penned their piece but maybe after reading those John became inspired and thought to himself, I was there, and I remember some things that people should know about that these guys didn't mention. Like this one time we were heading to Jerusalem and Jesus got tired and we left him laying by this well in Samaria, and when we came back he was having a glass of water and conversation with the town mistress. Jesus would talk to anybody, have wine with anybody, and Jesus was never ashamed of being tired, he was never really ashamed of anything now that I think of it.

So John begins his piece. And of all the ways he could have began his piece, of all the language and all the possibilities available our old friend, Jesus' old friend, choses these poignant lyrics, "In the beginning, was the Word. The Word was with God, and the Word was God, in the beginning."

When things began, before there was beginning to begin, and when the beginning began things, like Genesis 1 beginning, like before light was light, there was the Word, and this Word is what created all things in the beginning, and this Word is what all things were created in and through at the beginning with God. This Word is responsible for all that was and has been created and this Word is the life and light of men. This Word left nothing to be made that this Word did not make. This Word broke through darkness and gave out the right to new birth certificates to those who are willing to receive them. This Word clothed himself in skin and pulled up a chair at the table of the world and began a complicated love hate relationship. Basically He loved we hate. He understood we don't. He offers we refuse. Or something like that.

This Word is the image of the invisible God, the God in the flesh that all words of prophesy made words of. It's almost as if John wanted to make sure we understood something that he himself was finally fully understanding. Something that said in order to understand the birth, the life, the miracles, the cross, the resurrection, you have to understand that before everything that was, was, this Word was everything that was.

This Word that was there in the beginning of beginnings will be the Word that is there in the end of the ends and this Word is the light of life and this Word is what we need in the now to now.

This Word was Jesus, this Word is Jesus, always Jesus, simply Jesus, and only Jesus.

Speak to me Word of God. Speak deeply into the deepest parts of me and move into the aches of me with your truth, your promise, yourself. Give me moments that are unexplainable outside of your Word, and moments of such meaning that I dream dreams of them and wake up longing for more and more.

Grant me you Jesus, the Word that is you, all the Word of you.

faith that shares, that is worth sharing, that is something to be shared, that is faith.

somewhere in my history i began to believe life had an alternative ending. i can not pin-point when it happened, or where, or even why, i just know that i was drawn into a mystery that daily gifts me with a glimpse more into the mystery than the day before. that is if i’m willing to take that glimpse of course. many days i am not and that is quite terrible.

somewhere in my history that is beyond that other point in history i spoke of, i began to believe that certain things in my life would just always be a certain way. that these few things, or many things, would never be tidied up, or un-accounted for, therefore i should just manage them well, and then well, i would be well. these things told me that they in fact were who i was, that they were somehow a part of me eternally, and me without them would not be me at all. these things are a quite the nuisance.

i can not tell you why my thinking is bent in this way, but it surely is, as surely as there will be sun and moon tomorrow, i am bent towards an unhealthy perspective of who i am. somehow, years ago, my sinful soul was purged into this relationship, this mystery, and i think somewhere i read before i signed up for this whole thing that in giving over to this relationship, this mystery, everything was to change; even to be new, or something like that if i remember correctly.

things have surely changed, that i can be sure of. i gave away many of my burdens only to take on a completely new set. i changed many things about me and around me and in turn, naturally, that led to many things changing. but i have to ask, when i’m honest, is that what this is all about, simply a change of a few of my issues, or if i do real well, many of my issues.

faith that shares, that is worth sharing, that is something to be shared, that is faith.

i think the beauty of my relationship with God is that it is supposed to do more then just change me. i think change is good and all, but it is not the end and i’m not even sure it is the means by which to get to that end. i think maybe it’s just the beginning, or the start of the beginning. i think it is something like the knife that turns the tree into a canoe. or something like that.

once the change happens and continues to happen and once the start of the beginning takes shape, certainly there must be more purpose at hand then that which we’ve been handed. maybe there is to be a hand off of sorts. maybe once change occurs it is to do more then simply change, but also create more change. what if change is the vehicle of more change, and more change creates more change and what if the momentum created within that change could essentially change everything.


jesus changed things. maybe even everything. he had faith that shared and that was worth sharing and that was to be shared. he told stories of a kingdom that was to come but that was also already available, here now, and there later. we are here now and there later, so how then should we live.

maybe we should share our stories of change to a world that much needs to be changed by a kingdom that is coming and has come. it has come in Him and it has come to us and now must continue to come from Him through us.

stories of change could change everything. this is a holy week. tell of your holy change. tell of it often. it might just change everything.

remember me. this is all that he could get out of his broken mouth, attached to his broken body, in the last few moments of his broken life.

when i think of him of i think of me. on death row, maybe not physically but at least figuratively speaking, a man on his way out of this world with very little hope, very little purpose, very little chance of paradise.

to know that i can not escape the nearness of God is clear to me. from his birth in the slum of the world to his death at the mercy of the world, because of his mercy for the world, makes things quite clear to me. i gather from the stories of him with prostitutes and tax collectors and others who were known simply as sinners that he is relentless in his pursuit of all people, not just good people.

trying to run from him is like trying to run from myself. it just doesn't make sense. no matter where i go or who i pretend to be, i will always be me. i can not take off that which was granted me at birth. the gift of me to myself. the same goes for this invisible God. he is inescapable, simply because he is. we were born into his nearness whether we acknowledge that or not. no matter where we go, what we do, how far we turn and how ingeniously we hide, we are always in the hand of the one who is capable of our rescue.

when i think of him i think of me. a man near to jesus but also near to those who would rather ridicule than repent. i have a choice, daily a choice.

it's fascinating to me that i ascribe to a faith in which gives me a picture of how i should respond to my savior through a criminal condemned to die the worst of deaths. i am to learn from a thief, a traitor, a hated nobody, and if i am not willing to learn from him, then i am not willing to receive that in which my God is wiling to give.

remember me. this is all that he could get out of his broken mouth, attached to his broken body, in the last few moments of his broken life.

maybe that is all he says because somehow, somewhere deep in his broken heart, he knows that in his condition, and in his company, this is the best he can offer. simply remember me; not because i have remembered you, or done anything for you, but rather just on the basis of who you are, my only hope, remember me. when you reign as rightful king of the kingdom that you are bringing, and the kingdom that is here now, even as you are being hung to die, this kingdom of yours, i am here in it now, and i want to be there with you eternally. because of this, because of you, remember me.

and then the audacity of jesus. to respond in a moment like that, during the process of his very execution, when those in attendance were sure that this was the end of him, he utters these ridiculous words, words that insinuates that he we will see no end, and neither will this begging convict.

today you will be with me in paradise. as soon as we are done here, i'll take you to my kingdom that is already present, though not yet fully understood.

maybe he spoke that to this man because they both were nearing their last breath. but maybe he is saying to us the same thing though maybe we are not quite near to our last. maybe in a world of hurt and war and crime and despair we can somehow trust that with jesus even the darkest days can be paradise. maybe with him all things are paradise, though obviously they are not, and maybe without him all things are nearing their last breath with only ridicule and pain to show for it.

it seems that those thieves on that day many years ago represent so much more then simply two men dying for their sins with the king of glory between them. maybe they represent our choice. maybe they show with stark vulgarity that we all must die, and that we all must suffer, and that we all are going to have that moment with jesus where we must chose to speak words of ridicule or words of blessed remembrance.

seems the choice is obvious, but rather in our world today it can not be obvious. we will and must complicate things, find a loop-hole in wordage, and reconstruct things in the hope that maybe jesus isn't the one who we must answer to, but rather some other unknown force in which we can make up the characteristic of.

i wish not to distort things, but rather trust that in the complicated message of the cross there lies a simple beauty of a crooked man who spoke a few of the most poignantly ludicrous words in history.

remember me. jesus remember me. simply brilliant.

When I think about her I think about myself. A character in an epic story that does not even get their name mentioned. A character who for far too long was looking for the right things in the wrong places. A character who would not have even known what they were looking for if this thing, this person, were not in return looking for me..... looking at me, looking through me.

It took only two sentences and she knew that he knew. In the presence of this man her heart was awakened to fear and grace all at once, and she felt so known, so exposed yet so understood, and somehow so loved. It only took two minutes of being near him and she knew she could never be the same. Men had never looked at her as this man did. In his eyes there was compassion, authority, forgiveness, truth, weariness, and hope. She stood there motionless before the savior of the world, Jesus Christ, her beloved friend, her beloved enemy.

When I think of her I think of me. I think of all my failed relationships, all my false expectations and blown attempts to do relationships the right way. I see Jesus looking at me asking for water and all I have to offer is shame and struggle and vulnerability and scars. So in response, Jesus offers the water, water that drinks like nothing of this world.

The thing about scripture that is so brilliant is not that it happened, but that it happens. We find ourselves in them, these real people, and we relate, we find ourselves no longer reading the words off the pages, but the words on the pages are now reading us. We pause from the story and look around the room making sure no one sees that we are getting too involved, that these words that are two thousand years old are getting too close. This is a story about her, not about me, it's only about her, I must remember that, I must keep my distance.

The trouble with the Bible is that it has this mystical way of drawing us in. Maybe it's the Holy Spirit or this invisible need built into our own human hearts that wants these to be more then stories. I think if we were honest we would say that we want to know what it would have been like to take a few steps on water like Peter did, or to have been there when Jesus calmed the sea. We want to be healed by simply touching the hem of his garment, but in our reality, his garment seems so far away and there are just too many people and too many issues between us and that place. As a person here and now it just seems much easier to give up then press in when Jesus is not easily accessible.

The stories that really get more are the ones that show up as interruptions. Jesus was resting at the well when he was interrupted by a woman coming to get water. This woman was going to draw water in peace when she stumbles upon the tired and thirsty Messiah who by asking for a cup of water starts a conversation that ruins everything. Or restores everything depending on which way you look at it. Externally speaking, these people were an inconvenience to one another.

Either way, when I think of her I still think of me. Jesus interrupts and tends to either ruin or restore, and yes sometimes even both. His timing is always perfect for him and so hard for us, especially when he shows up and asks that one thing of you that you would not like to be asked. For the rich young ruler it was sell everything and follow me, and for the woman at the well it was go and get your husband. For me, it's how's your thought life, or how's your attitude, why are you so selfish, why do you spend money on useless things, or how's your internet browsing history, or when are you going to confess that secret sin and walk in the freedom I've offered you. Jesus has many questions he likes to ask me and I hate most all of them. But one thing stays the same, He always wants the thing I just won't give him.

I think he wants these things because he knows what is best for us. I think he knows that whatever it is in life that we are running to to find fulfillment or joy or pleasure will never be better then him. There are many things in life that can bring us joy, but he must be the joy of our joy, and much in life can be fulfilling but in an ultimate sense Jesus understands something that is really hard for us to understand.

That unless we pursue our pleasure in him and him alone we will find only temporary pleasure that eventually turns to frustration, confusion, pain, and much more un-satisfaction.

Sometimes I don't appreciate where I am, who I am, right now. Sometimes I look forward too much. Sometimes I see a future version of me, and I like him, a lot. Trouble is that person I look forward to being looks nothing like who I am. I tend to see things as they should be instead of how they are, which in essence means I neglect to function as a person who is consistently being rescued, instead I live with issues and feel someway comfortable with that because subconsciously I think there is this umbrella of safety residing over me that says one day, someday, at some time, things will be made right.... therefore I'm alright.

Unfortunately, I made that up, and it is not completely true.

Sometimes I find myself in a place where my relationship with God is far more sinner/forgiver based than ambassador/sustainer based. Both of these may be good ways to relate to God but if I live too comfortably in the sinner/forgiver world I tend to live too comfortably in my sin, too comfortable as a sinner. I tend to forget that my name was changed. No longer a slave, but a son, an heir to God's kingdom. (Galatians 4:6-7) I tend to overlook that command about being holy, because that's what He is. Holy.

The future version of me has all this figured out. The future me maximizes his potential, gets up early, reads the word, and prays. Really prays. For people besides himself. And he actually does it lot. That "someday me" keeps his room clean, loves his neighbor, and never feels held captive by failure and frustration from disobedience. The future me serves. Future me is humble.

Future me is a Godly man.
Me now tends to lean more on the interesting Christian kid side of things.

I think this can change though. I think I flirt with being a Godly man and I think God is doing things in my heart even as I type. And I think God is restoring me right now and that the "future us" is just a few decisions away. I think God loves the me of now and the me of the future and I think God is the only hope for whichever me I'm talking about. I've been reading the prophet Isaiah recently in "The One Year Bible" and I've not been able to get over one particular thing.

God's people have been disobedient for thousands of years.

It was really comforting at first, to know that I was a part of a family of people who have had faithfulness issues for many generations. To see other believers struggle can sometimes in a backwards way encourage us, because if they fail, then we can fail too, and it's okay, right? Unfortunately that is so wrong, so wrong. Comparison is the antithesis of health.

What this showed me is that God has been neglected and given up for idolatry by his children for far too long. It showed me that God is use to this behavior, or at least not surprised by it..... and that began to jack with my heart. The Savior King of the world who offers eternal hope and life is being and has been rejected by his own people for as long as we can date, and something inside of me was saying, "I guess that makes it alright", instead of "Oh God have mercy on us".

What is amazing too me is that God is still pursuing us for the sake of His own name. God is still chasing and restoring because as Isaiah says, "He will not defame Himself." The book of James puts it like this, "He is faithful even when we are not, because He cannot disown Himself." I'm thankful that God is a worshiper of Himself, and that God knows for Him to be selfish and jealous is the greatest thing in the world for us. I'm thankful that His purpose is His own glory and that His will is unstoppable.

I pray that we join His purpose. That we rejoice in the sinner/forgiver relationship and remember that always and never become arrogant Christian jerks, but that we also move forward to this ambassador/sustainer realm so that this world will see the impact God can have on an unholy yet very holy person. I pray we are broken and healed, forgiven and sinful, struggling and victorious, confident and humble, and I pray that no matter how far along in the process we are, and no matter how close we get to that future version of us, that we constantly realize we have not arrived until rescue arrives. And it is coming my friends. Rescue has happened, it is happening, and it will happen. That much we can be sure of. That much we can rejoice in. Yesterday, now, and later.