Deeper than Words

There are many things I bemoan in this life, in our U.S. culture.

The divisiveness.  The unrelenting messages we’re fed that we don’t have enough, don’t make enough, and just plain aren’t enough.  The fact that our children are growing up faster and faster, forgetting how to play younger and younger, captivated by screens, tainted by over-sexualization, ingrained with violence.

I mostly lament these things. I pray over them.  I  take whatever small steps I can in my own life and in my family to stand against them.

But every now and again I catch a glimpse that rescue is coming.

That redemption is, indeed, always at work beneath the surface of the day to day.

Last week, that glimpse was in a Zumba class, of all places.

Ben and I work with a wide variety of kids.  All kinds of backgrounds and passions, talents and abilities, heartaches and shame.

But when the music started, none of these differences mattered.

The pretenses, pride, shame and fear were all left in a collective heap by the door.

All as one, feet shuffled, hands clapped, bodies moved.

One, two, three and four. Five, six, sev-en, eight.

We relish the moments when the proving and fighting ceases, when the kids get to step out of the grown-up boxes they’ve been shoved into, or stepped into willingly.

It’s amazing to watch a young person become a child, even if for a moment.

We all got to believe, even if only for an afternoon, that we are free.  That we are in this together.  That we are loved and accepted and okay, even if we miss a step or clap off beat.  Because there is something bigger we are all engaged in.

A divine dance that weaves and works its way in and out and up and down.  Shuffling and slow at times; pumping fists and shouting loud others, but always, rhythmically moving us further along this road of redemption.

And sometimes, maybe, I see that more clearly in a Zumba class with 30 kids than I do in the text of my Bible.

Sometimes there are things that reach beyond words, that are too weighty to be contained on a page.

Sometimes you need the words to put on skin and bones and be set to a different tune to be able to finally see what was staring you in the face all along.

“The creative life invites us to envision and discern what God is trying to accomplish in the world.  It employs the intellect but also takes us beyond it, down into the deeper levels, to the realms of intuition and imagination.  The creative process, in its many forms, involves bringing back the treasures of those realms and offering them to the world.”
(Jan Richardson)

Did You Forget?

He’s exactly what you would expect of a 6th grade boy.

High energy, an alternately charming and maddening blend of extreme silliness and budding sarcasm, an affinity for jokes involving rude body noises and a distaste for homework.

He can be tough, he puts effort in to his “devil may care” demeanor.  

Tried to cover up his tears when the class watched a documentary on poetry.

He’s an older brother, people look up to him – and he knows it.  He tries to be cool and put together, in his own 6th grade way.

“Did you forget about me?”

He asks with an edge of sarcasm on his voice, but I hear the truth underneath.

We keep a running list of students we work with in our after school and Sunday morning programs who would like to be mentored by an adult in our church.  

This boy has been on the list for over a year now.

“Did you forget about me? Kevin told me he would find me a mentor a year ago!”

My heart broke a little.

The excuses are easy when they’re just between you and your calendar, exchanged through phone calls and emails.  

“I’m way too busy right now.”

“I just don’t have the time.”

“I don’t really ‘do’ kids.”

“I’m just not interested.”

But now I am staring this boy in the face with nothing but excuses in my hands.

“I’m sorry, but the people who could be your mentor are just too busy, they don’t like kids and they’re not interested in you.”

It won’t work.

So instead I try to explain the process.  I make excuses for my peers who have all survived middle school, figured out the secret to long division and are no longer (as) mystified by the opposite sex.  My peers who have so much to offer this boy, even as they make excuses with plates that are too full and hands that are too empty. 

“Well, you see, there are lots of kids who want mentors and not always enough adults who are able to mentor.”

The words sound hollow even as they roll off of my tongue. 

He smiles but his eyes are sad, proof that he understands more than what I just said. 

The Best Remedy

“The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. As longs as this exists, and it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be. And I firmly believe that nature brings solace in all troubles."  

- Anne Frank 

Special thanks to Milwaukee's Urban Ecology Center for putting together a wonderful experience for our Summer BLAST students! 

Picking Perspective

The summer had been blisteringly hot, but this day trumped them all.  The thermometer climbed past 95 degrees fahrenheit with out breaking a sweat, the rest of us on the other hand, were dripping.

This was the day we had planned to take a group of children from our neighborhood to go berry picking.  When the time came, we piled ourselves into our very unfortunately not air conditioned cars and made the 45 minute trek out of the city to the berry farm.

Having the windows down while driving 55 miles per hour on the highway helped alleviate the heat a bit, but as soon as we took the exit for the farm the lively conversations in the back seat stilled and the windows started to creep their way closed.

"What are you doing!?  Roll the windows back down!  It's hot!" I exclaimed.

"NO WAY!" cried the children, "who knows what's out there!"

They gazed at the cornfields with trepidation.

"You never know, some monster might pop out of there and kill us!" one little boy cried.

"And if something happened there's no one  around for miles!  Nobody would even know you were hurt!" added another.

As a country girl transplanted to the big city, I was bewildered. 

The country...not safe?  

I had grown up hearing about how dangerous the city was. How there was so much violence.  How there were so many people around something bad was bound to happen. 

The city was to be feared and avoided. 

But these kids were expressing the exact opposite sentiment.  I had never seen any tremble at the sight of a cornfield before. 

It made me realize how much of what we consider to be safe a matter of perception.  We trust what we know and what is familiar to us.  I am still more leery of the city streets at night than I am a cornfield or hiking deep into the woods, but this doesn't mean that those places are inherently "safer."  It just means, they're more familiar.

Upon insisting that, no, absolutely no horror-movie-esque monsters were going to rise up out of the corn and eat them, the kids exited our cars and picked berries to their hearts content.  

This was three summers ago, and we've taken kids back every year since then.  This year, we had to split the kids in to three different groups and take them on different days because so many of them wanted to go to the farm.  It's less scary each time.  The windows stay down, they even wandered into the cornfield with a farmer this summer to learn about how the corn grows.  

It makes me think that perhaps we all need to go a little bit out of our way to hang out in places that make us a little uncomfortable, and maybe even a little bit scared.  Go. Find those places. Pick berries while you're there.  See the good.  Find the things that are sweet. And then keep going back.  Over time you just might find the place that you feared just wasn't so scary after all.

The church laments...

This past Sunday I preached about lamenting. It was interesting. Several people came up to me afterward and told me they had never heard a message on lamenting before. This is my second. But its not something we talk about much in the church.

If you like you can listen here to "The Ones Who Cry Out." http://transformationcity.org/media.php?pageID=23

But why not?

Are we afraid of it? Yes - so much of our Scriptures are filled with lamenting. Crying out to God. Declaring that things are not right.

Psalm 42, 60, 74, 79, 80, 85 - all lamenting. "God, where are you?! - why do you allow this to happen?!"

The Book of Lamentations. Lamenting.

Jesus looking out at Jersualem and saying, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem - you who kill the prophets - I have longed to take you under my wing but you refuse..."

Lamenting.

I think we need to lament more in church. To cry out to God. No, this is not a lack of faith - rather, it shows a greater faith to bring to God our cries of desperation, anger and misunderstanding. Because at the end of the day we know that the only way anything will change is if God moves.

God - we cry out to you - please move!

I preached about this because of the state of our city. In the last 2 weeks there have been nearly 30 shootings and 10 dead from these shootings. A report released that shows 77 girls have been sexually exploited in the last year. This is just what was reported - the real number is 10 times 77.

But I don't know how to fix it. I'm a fixer and I'm at a loss. I can't stop it. There's nothing I can do. And that makes me so sad. So broken.

So I cry out to God - God - why is this happening! Why! Why! Don't you see it! Don't you care! Why does violence prosper! You children are dying! Please God - see this, hear this, move in this - we are hopeless without you.

At the end I invited people to come to the altar and write down their laments on the cards. These laments are so powerful that when I read them I was so moved - so broken - I wanted to share them. There is something so powerful in lamenting. Because we this isn't complaining - this is praying with the depth of our passion and pain and anger and despair to the God who we know is our only hope of salvation.

No names will be included.

These are the laments of Transformation City Church. 

"Lord - Why generation after generation does injustice consume and attack our black brothers and sisters? Why does violence and suffering thrive and love fail? Break these chains Lord - break our prejudice - break our bondage!"

"Lord, so often I feel overwhelmed with the injustice in our city. I don't know what to do about it and I feel back that I don't do anything about it - many times I'm also upset about the injustice in my own life. Being violated and now being persecuted for it is something I don't know why I have to experience. But I trust you and you have never forsaken me. I know you won't now." 

"As a victim of child abuse (molestation) I don't understand why it is so hard to get over the hurt and pain. Lord, I know you are there and I know that you hear my cries. But when will the pain go away? I lament for many young women who are suffering as I am."

"Father, why all the loss of loved ones too soon in my life. Why the abuse of substances to relieve my pain and yet more pain came. Why is loving myself so hard and trusting you and your love for me."

"The city desperately needs God. Why are there kids who are homeless? Why are there so many broken families? Why is there so much poverty and despair in the heart of the city?"

"_______ has no father, and he deeply wants a dad. His mom had him when she was 16. She is doing the best to raise him and loves him deeply but she has a lot of anger and hurt in her. His father is alive but not present in his life. God why are there so many fatherless little boys in Milwaukee?"

"_______ was molested and he is only 7 and he doesn't know how to act or feel."

"Lord Jesus, girls on college campuses are more likely to be raped than earn a Master's Degree. Come into our world!"

"_______ foster parents left her to be raised by their other foster children - who did not treat her right."

"God, why have I lost sight of you? Why have death and separation come into my life? Why can't I love myself? Why? Why? Why? God, I need understanding and peace of mind so I can be an instrument of your peace." 

"For all the hurt in the gay and transgendered community"

"I lament for the single mothers in this city. Especially those raising boys. I lament over the fact that African-American males are more likely to be incarcerated or dead then get a job or be married. I lament that this fact is ignored and instead seen as a character flaw rather than an injustice in our society."

"How long Lord? How long must we endure the violence and hatred? Why do we have fear and separation? Hear our city."

"Hi. I don't know how to write a proper lament. But I have been really sad and I don't know why. I feel far from you and really lonley here. My friends lives are in pseudo shambles. I keep trying to "dig deep" and suck it up, but I just wind up feeling dead. Can you help me? I feel inadequate and I don't have directions. I wish I could stop wishing."

"God! Please hear the cry of our city! Why do our children have to die? Why God? Oh Why? Please defend them - please hear their cries! God, you are our only hope! You are our only hope!

"God, I lament my sin. I lament my inability to wholly surrender it to you. I lament my lies and dishonesty. I lament my fear of the innocent. I lament broken relationships in my life. I lament my shaken foundation. I lament my lack of boldness in sharing who you truly are."

"Lord please help me. I'm not and will not be able to raise my boys the way I had hoped. I'm not able to protect them from the impulsive influences of their dad who loves them but can't see what this is doing to them. Be with me, help me. Keep them safe, loved and secure."

________

There are more...but we will stop there.

Today there are no answers. No fixes. No programs.

Today we are just stripped of all that we are - stand with nothing before God and just cry out.

We cry out. Because that's all we know to do.

Because in a strange paradoxical way - at the end of each lament is the seed of hope. And so we will wait God - wait upon you to move in your power and grace.

Last week I took 7 youth to youth camp. The week was filled with lots of things- basketball, tubing down the river, swimming, singing, and late night games of capture the flag and counselor hunt. We all had a great week and plenty of laughter and fun without much sleep. But what made the week so amazing was how the youth encountered God during their time at camp.

            The youth heard a speaker talk about waking up to God’s presence in their lives. They were challenged to stop throwing bricks of hurtful words to others and to stop building walls that separate them from others and instead to take the path of forgiveness. They were challenged to surrender their anger, hurt, and worry to God. Through God’s word being spoken during the chapel times and the other breakout sessions, small groups, and quiet times, many of the students’ lives were being changed. Three of them made commitments to surrender their life to Jesus. One student who struggles with self-worth, depression, and hopelessness is now beginning to understand God’s love for him, and the power of God to bring hope and healing into his life. He was so excited that at camp he read the Bible for the first time!

            One of the high school girls that came to camp wrote this in response to one of the breakout sessions about God and justice:

America is a rich man’s dream,

But a poor man’s prison.

Everyone isn’t free. Everything isn’t equal.

We don’t have justice. We have injustice.

Most people only want materialistic things.

Many people dream to have materialistic things.

And many people don’t care about them.

Most people lose their purpose of being on this earth.

Maybe they’ve forgot what they were living for.

Maybe they’ve forgot who died for us.

Because they are caught up in everything except our Creator.

But I’ll make it my purpose to help out as much as I can all over the universe,

To show God he still has children that cares.

LOVE

L is for the loyalty

O is for all the opportunities you gave us.

V is for the victory you gave us.

E is for the eternal love you have for us.

            God is at work in these students, and I am excited to see them continue on their journeys of following Jesus. To those of you who prayed and supported us on this week at camp, thank you. And I ask that you continue to pray for these students to continue to grow in love, grace, and in the knowledge of their Creator.

Bad Guys Too

We were approaching the twenty minute mark.  A show down of sorts.  His lanky third grade self twisted up in the corner, head buried in his folded forearms in a potent blend of anger and shame. 

"Can we talk about what happened now?"

I had been checking in every five minutes or so to see if he was ready to talk about the behavior that landed him in time out in the first place.

He didn't move a muscle, but a faint and muffled grumble escaped from the tangle of arms and legs and face.
"It's not fair.  I didn't do nothin'!   He was messin' with me first!"

I sank down to my knees, so we could  talk eye-to-elbow (and maybe, just maybe, he would uncross his arms eventually). 

"Well, he may need to apologize too, it's true, but you have a responsibility as well."

His arms uncrossed, and a fiery gaze emerged from the cavern of gangly limbs. 

"This is bigger than just 'he was messin' with me'.  God wants us to love other people the way we want to be loved.  The way you act helps people see how much God loves them.  This is why it's so important to be kind to others...even when they're messing with you."

The boy balked. 
"God doesn't love the bad guys."


Now it was my turn to sit there dumbfounded.

My mind raced and my heart sank simultaneously.


The implications haunted me, are still haunting me weeks later.  As a resident in the state that incarcerates more African-American men than any other, the idea that this young, African-American boy has picked up the message that "God doesn't love the bad guys" just devastates me.

Because our culture here in Wisconsin, the toxic lies of our ignorance and prejudice that shape our reality, that have sent over half of the African-American men in my city to prison, would say to this boy "you are a bad guy".


Heart breaking and mind racing, I finally spoke, "No, that's not true.  God loves everyone."

He looked at me in utter disbelief.

"God loves everyone," I repeated, "Even the bad guys.  Sometimes the things that people do make God sad or mad, but God never stops loving us."

The boy's expression softened.

"Really?"

There was hope in his eyes.

I thought about all the times I had lied or  flown off the handle in anger, how I had insulted others and judged, all those moments in which I had been the "bad guy."  Because we have all gone astray.  We all contribute to the brokenness that exists in the world.  Like a parasite siphoning the life out of our souls, we're born broken.

But we are also born loved.   

"Yes, really.  God loves the bad guys too."

McChickens and Generosity

One night, I was driving some youth home from youth group. Apparently, the snack that we provided wasn’t enough to satisfy the hunger of some of these middle schoolers. They were asking-begging- me to stop at McDonald’s. One of them even pulled out 50 cents and said he would pay for half of his McChicken if I paid for the other half. I decided not to mention that with tax he would probably need 53 cents to make half. 

As we pulled up to a red light near the freeway, I saw a guy holding a cardboard sign saying something about being homeless and needing help. The kid who had offered his 50 cents for a McChicken told me to roll down the window. With some hesitancy I did, thinking he saw a girl he wanted to holler at or something. He leaned out the window, and told the man holding the sign to come over and gave him the 50 cents. I said something about how nice that was of him to give up his money for the homeless man. He replied that the man he gave the money to needed it more than him and that he didn’t really need the McDonald’s anyway.

The light turned green and soon we drove by the McDonald’s in silence.

We don’t often see acts of generosity like this. Giving up everything in our pockets to bless someone else. Especially when there is something we would really like to buy with that money.

We like to make excuses and justify getting the things we want. We are really good at justifying why we can’t give to a homeless person- what if they don’t use the money in the way we want? We don’t want to be manipulated, so instead we become the manipulators, only giving our money when it benefits us or if we’re certain it won’t be used for things of which we don’t approve.

What if we learned about generosity from this middle school boy? What if when we saw a need, we gave up what we wanted and gave what we had? What if we stopped justifying ourselves and stopped making excuses for why we can’t or won’t give? What if we stopped manipulating others and stopped, as Bob Lupton says, metering out our love in exchange for the responses that we desire.

I think that we would be living out the Kingdom of God, like Jesus said in Luke 6- Give to everyone who begs from you…Love your enemies, do good, and lend- even if it’s your last 50 cents. 

Not quite "everything" he'll need to know, but...

Every Wednesday at TCC we have something we call After School BLAST. BLAST is for kids 4 years old thru fifth grade, and starts with an hour of tutoring followed by an hour and a half of a snack, game, bible story and prayer, some worship songs, and learning about a different country of our world and what God is doing there. We normally have anywhere from 15 – 25 kids from the community house neighborhood who we pick up and bring and it’s a pretty fantastic time. One of my primary roles at BLAST is that I teach the bible story to the kids each week. I have really been blessed by all of their questions, comments, and growth over the past three years. I have one story in particular that I want to share about one boy that really has impacted me.

Last spring the community house received seven raised beds from the Victory Garden Initiative to plant a community garden. We talked to some of our neighbors and decided the best place for the beds was about a block south of our house. Through planting, and watering and just being in that part of the neighborhood more we got to know some of the people who lived there pretty well. One of those people was a fourth grade boy. He came outside and helped us plant some of the vegetables and watered and picked them throughout the summer. He started coming to BLAST in the fall. He’s a pretty quiet, well behaved kid who can easily get lost in a room full of rambunctious 3rd – 5th graders, but I always appreciated the way he listened, and his thoughtful questions during the Bible story.

One day, close to Christmas, he came up to me and handed me an envelope. I asked him what it was and he told me it was a Christmas card and that they had been asked to make a Christmas card for someone they cared about at school. He had picked me. I felt really flattered and opened the card.

“Mr. Ben, thank you for being my friend and teaching me everything that I need to know about God. Merry Christmas.” 

That card really rocked my world. Some days I wonder if all the time we invest in the neighborhood is making a difference, if the kids are actually getting anything out of what we are trying to teach them. That card was a wonderful reminder for me that the kids are actually getting something out of being at BLAST, that God is working and moving even through our small efforts.

But at all costs, avoid one thing:

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This entry will be brief. As we reflect upon the cross this week I would like you to ponder this quote by Thomas Merton.

“Be anything you like. Be madmen, drunks, and bastards of every shaped and form. But at all costs avoid one thing: Success.”

Thomas Merton was a monk.

Why would he say something like this? It’s crude, its offensive to us, its so out of place for a nice peace loving monk. But although I’d like to admit otherwise – I think he’s right. (Understand he's using irony here to prove his point so I'm in no way condoning being any of these things - please understand the point he is making.)

Our culture is driven by success. We want to be successful so very much – we long for it because success gives us validity in other people’s eyes – it gives us power and prestige. It propels us to be “important.” It shows us how deeply unsatisfied we are with who we are.

More Twitter followers. More blog hits. More book sales. Bigger churches. More money. Better office. Bigger house. Nicer car.

Why is this so bad?

Why would Mr. Merton be so against it?

Maybe because the more driven by success we become the more we think about ourselves and the less we think about others. The drive to be successful does some weird things to us – namely it makes us selfish and self-centered. And the more we focus on ourselves the sicker we become.

I know I struggle with the desire to be successful. The culture around me tells me to climb the ladder, to move on, to go to the next thing. This is success it tells me.

But Jesus is telling me something different.

Jesus is telling me to die to myself and my dreams and follow Him. To pour my life out on behalf of others – to invest in the lives of the marginalized and powerless – to live simply so I can give more away. To be content with who I truly am.

This week I’m reminded that Jesus rejected success. He could have led a rebellion or been Caesar or had more Twitter followers than Lady Gaga but he chose another way. This week I’m reminded that He died a humiliating death as he hung naked and bleeding as a condemned criminal. I’m reminded that Jesus understood the only way to bring life was through the door of death and self-denial.

Jesus was so not successful. By all accounts he failed.

But then again…

#resurrectioniscoming

Maybe this is what Thomas Merton means…

The Way we Talk about God - Rob Bell & God's likeability

I'm reading Rob Bell's new book, "What we talk about when we talk about God." I like it. Let me also say this - I like Rob Bell. He's a guy I'd like to be friends with actually. I don't always agree with him all the time, but I like him.

BTW - can we be friends with people we don't always agree with anymore? Or has that become impossible? Do our "truth-values" outweigh our "relational-values"...but if you really think about it if we don't have "relational-values" then we probably don't have much "truth-value."

Anyway - it seems that every time Rob goes to the bathroom the whole evangelical world loses their minds and begins running around like zombies trying to eat Rob's brains out. Seriously - why so much hate? Do we not understand, even if we do not agree, that Rob really, really loves Jesus. He's not a heretic or a blashpemer - he's a Jesus lover - maybe his values are a little different than yours - but the dude loves Jesus. And since when do we have the right to tell someone who says they love Jesus - um...no...you don't actually love Jesus. What?

Why do we treat our brothers in Christ so poorly? Why do we criticize them and run them out of town just because they hold different "truth-values" than we do? What's the deal with that? Personally, I think its because we are people full of fear and we are afraid that if someone speaks out in defense of different "truth-values" than we do the whole church will fall in on itself and collapse. Do we not understand that the church has survived 2000 years and gone through some pretty terrible stuff.

We feel threatened - so we lash out...

Anyway - I'm reading his book - which I think was inspired by Terrence Malick's film "The Tree of Life." (loved that movie too).

I like the book so far - it's different and I'm sure it will get criticized, which is ok. I have my criticisms too of the book. But as I'm reading it something is beginning to strike me. The language Rob uses, the stories he tells, the way he talks about God is...different.

It's just different.

The God he writes about sounds so wonderful - so all encopasing - so full of love and life for humanity - not out to get us or throw the world under the bus - but grace.

Of course most of us like the concept of grace until it comes to homosexuals or child-molesters or Muslims or convicts or black kids living in the 'hood. Besides that - we really like grace, right? As long as grace can defend our "truth-values" we are all on board.

I find the way Rob speaks of God as so open - so inviting - so beautiful really. (Yes, you might chime in and now hit me with some "truth-values" about hell and sin and jazz music - but then you'd be missing the point of what I'm trying to say and probably missing the point of what Rob is trying to say.)

Then I realize something...follow my train of thought here
- Rob is speaking of a graceful beautiful God
- much of the church dislikes Rob and calls him a heretic
- 90% of churches are dying in America
- less and less people are part of the church
- the church in America is slowly dying

Ah - some of you will say, Yes! It's Rob Bell's fault!

But seriously - maybe the world is tired of hearing about the mean God out to get us all and throw us into hell (I think we created this God in our own image...yes, there's hell, but we've already seen to what lengths God will go to rescue us from it...i.e. Good Friday). Maybe the world is tired of our hatred that we spew upon one another and upon those "we don't agree with" (those that don't get our grace). Maybe the world has just seen through us.

And then I have this thought --

Maybe Rob is on to something - maybe we should be listening to the way he talks about God as revealed through Jesus - maybe he is speaking the language that the people outside the church are willing to listen to.

Maybe...

Just maybe we need to listen to how he talks about God.

I so desperately want people to know Jesus, to surrender their lives to Him and embark upon a life of following the Lord of Creation -

But do we realize the rest of the world has tuned us out - every time we mention the word "Jesus" or "Christians" they have an instant flash of all the negative hate filled moments we have been part of and really don't want to listen any further.

Maybe we need to use different words. Maybe we need to talk about God in different ways. As a trained missiologist most of my seminary was preparing me to do exactly this - to speak about God in a way that native people in other cultures can understand and comprehend. We aren't changing the "truth" or "misleading" the people - just changing our language. Language was created for people - not people for language. (that was a play on words there - hope you got it).

Maybe we need to stop talking so much about our "truth-values" and embrace some "relational-values." But we struggle with that, don't we. It's a lot easier to not associate with people who don't agree with us - and there it is, the kicker. That's our real problem.

We Christians don't like people very much, do we? Let's just admit it...We only like those that affirm what we already believe. That's why we don't like Rob much - and that's why we don't like a lot of other people too.

Well, let me tell ya - not many people are ever going to listen to us talk about Jesus if they know we really don't like them much. It's just one of those natural rules of humanity. You'll find it in whatever culture you visit - if you don't like me and I know it - I have no interest in ever listening to a darn word you have to say - especially on something as important as God and Jesus and eternal life...You don't have to have an MDiv to figure that on out.

And if we can't even like someone like Rob - a brother in Christ - someone who speaks about God in such a beautiful and inviting way - and learn from him - then how in the world are we ever going to reflect the God that really, really likes all of humanity.

But do we even believe that God really, really likes humanity? Maybe we should start there and then realize that God really, really likes Rob. Which is to say that God likes us all - a whole stinking lot - God even likes that person you don't like much and maybe if you'd learn to like them a bit more then they could know that God likes them too. But you first have to believe that God likes you - and that God likes them - and that God likes Rob too.

The End.

(Note: I will not respond to any comments, so if you come looking to start an argument its just not going to happen and if you leave some mean comment about anything - it will be ignored...well...deleted...like grandma used to say - if you don't have something good to say, just don't say it.)

Teaching the Fish to Swim

I remember it like it was yesterday.

A bold, bright, red “F” scrawled hauntingly on top of my test paper.

The shame and horror burned its way through my heart to the bedrock of my being and began to pour a toxic foundation of lies.

“You’re so dumb.”

“You won’t amount to anything!”

“You’re worthless.”

It was my freshman year of college.  I was majoring in biology in a pre-medicine track at the time.  And I was failing. 

Thankfully, I had enough years of successful schooling under my belt to question the lies taking root in my soul. I was also lucky enough to be at a small college where my professors quickly caught on and confirmed that no, my struggles in my pre-med classes were not due to lack of intelligence.  I was simply gifted in other areas.

I see that same look  of shame and horror I had when I received my “F” on the faces of kids every week when they walk in to our after school program - BLAST.   The toxic lies painted across their cheeks and drawing shadows around their eyes.  Some of them have engaged the lies so fully that they even speak it to themselves:

“I’m stupid.”

“I can’t do this.”

And why wouldn’t they believe it?  In most cases, society has written them off completely before they even reach the third grade.  Last year, Education Week published a study linking reading levels in the third grade to the likelihood of a student graduating from high school.  So when an eight-year-old boy walks through our doors with reading scores below grade level, it’s fair for us to assume that likely no one is truly investing in his education. 

Enter said boy.

He shuffled his feet and looked around the room.  I asked him where he would like to start.  “Math” he mumbled. We began to fly through flash cards at impeccable speed. He continued to shuffle and wiggle around – as eight-year-old boys are prone to do – but he answered each card correctly.  

“How about we read now?”  I suggested.

“Nooooooooo!”  The boy wailed, plopping his head down in his notebook with dismay. 

I paused to let the drama settle.

The boy started to doodle monkeys in the margins of his notebook.

I asked if he liked Curious George.  His blank stare was my only reply, but it was enough.

A few minutes later we were halfway through a book about the mischievous little monkey making pancakes.  A light came on.  The boy came alive.

He remembered every detail.  He wrote about it in his notebook.   He drew his own interpretations of George.

…and then we went back to drilling math facts.


 
Einstein once said “Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

Every day I am more convinced that what our children need is not a better curriculum, a new program or the latest technology.  They need to be guided in a discovery to find out in what way they are geniuses.  They need someone to come alongside them and affirm the God-given gifts and passions already evident in their lives. 

And most of all

they just need a chance to show us what they can do.

By every standard and study, my young friend has been written off.

But when it comes to math and monkeys, he’s on fire.

…someone just needs to help get him out of the tree he’s stuck in.

BLAST (Bible, Learning and Serving Together) is a ministry of Transformation City Church that exists to encourage and equip kids academically and spiritually.  For more information on BLAST, how you can help or how to get your kids involved please contact Megan or Ben Westra.

The Arms of Jesus

Sometimes after church people stop me and tell me something that they experienced in worship. Thought I'd share this one...

As we were taking communion this past Sunday we were singing a song that called us to the tender arms of Jesus - something about "He would wrap our arms around us..." This woman who was telling me this after church had a rough week, feeling pretty beat down and wounded. She was telling me that as she was coming to take communion she noticed one of our young teenagers as she passed by and she innocently smiled at this teen. But as she smiled the teen came up and gave her a huge hug - out of the blue - for no reason at all. These two don't really even know each other. As the woman got back to her seat and began singing about the arms of Jesus she realized that she was just embraced by Jesus through this young teenage girl. That Jesus had seen her pain and embraced her.

As she was telling me this story she began to cry. God moved in that moment. It was beautiful.

Makes me think we should learn from this teenager and be a bit quicker to hug, a bit quicker to respond, a bit quicker to embrace.

Thanks TCC for being a community that embraces one another. A community that reaches across the boundaries of age and race and culture and economics and simply embraces. Beautiful.

Rap artists

One of the things we want to do as part of our youth and neighborhood ministry is to empower young people to be leaders. We want to walk alongside people, especially youth, to help them discover that God has given them strengths and talents, and that they can use those to change their neighborhood and have an impact in this world for the Kingdom of God. So when I heard about the Fruity Nutty 5 Campaign from the Victory Garden Initiative, I knew of a few teenagers who might want to get involved.

The Victory Garden Initiative, a Milwaukee non-profit that empowers communities to grow food, had a contest that 5 neighborhoods would win 30 fruit and nut trees. Each applicant needed to have a creative essay about why they wanted the trees for their neighborhood, and why their neighborhood would benefit from having them. I mentioned this to a few teenagers down the street who are in the TCC youth group. They were fired up. They wanted to get some fruit trees in our neighborhood! They decided that for the creative essay they would make a rap video. I encouraged them to go for it, and that I would assist in any way I could. They got together and wrote the lyrics, made the beat, and put the rap together. We got someone to shoot the video, and suddenly we had an essay to submit.

We also had to obtain signatures from other members of the neighborhood who would support having these trees in the neighborhood and people who would be willing to have one or two planted in their yard. So as the youth were being empowered to make their rap video, we were gaining support among the rest of the neighborhood and trying to unite everyone for this cause.

I don’t think any of them anticipated winning, but last Saturday it was announced that our neighborhood would be the winners of 30 fruit and nut trees! I’m so proud of them. They put in hard work and time to make a positive change in their neighborhood. It is my prayer that they, as well as many other youth in my neighborhood, will continue to discover their unique gifts and strengths and use them for the benefit of others and the Kingdom of God.

Check out the winning video here.

House & Home

“I had this dream of showing my kids the house where I grew up,” my sister said. I never thought of showing my kids the house where I grew up; I never thought of having kids. “Yeah,” I said, as if I had this thought.

“It's such a magical place, with the woods and the old fort and everything,” She said, then sighed. “But why would my kids care? I hope mom and dad get a good price for it.”

Megan called. Megan doesn’t like the phone because you can’t read facial expressions, whereas I like it for the same reason. So when Megan calls, it's because she has to. I said bye to my sister and switched over. “Hello?”

“Hi,” she blurted above background noise that was becoming foreground. “Some kids just came over and asked to stay awhile. Would you mind coming down? Ben’s not home yet.”

My eyebrows pressed together like WWE stars and a wrinkle refereed between them. “Yes,” I said, manipulating my inflection into that of a cheerful giver, “I’ll be right down.”

Megan greeted me as I walked in. “They just rang the doorbell and said the police are at their house,” she whispered, “so I said come in. What else could I do?”

At the table, two sisters had opened the older one’s birthday present: a princess crown-making kit, complete with tiny sequins and beads and glitter and other girlie debris. “Wow,” I said, “that’s pretty cool.” The older one looked up at me. “You want to play?” She asked. “No thanks,” I said.

Their 10-year-old brother was in front of the TV, watching Phineas and Ferb and holding Megan’s baby. “Look at you,” I said, “you hold a baby better than I do.” He shrugged and responded, “I always hold my baby sister.” I smiled and shook my head.

At the end of the episode a casual messenger came to the door and said, “the police are gone, ma said come back now,” and left before I could ask for their credentials. I scanned the street. The police were gone and the crowd was going too. “OK guys,” I said, “you can go home now.”

The brother stared at me like he didn’t understand.

“Come on,” I said to the sisters, picking up the princess paraphernalia. “Do you want to keep the box?” I asked. “Yes,” the older one clutched it. On the front there was a picture of a beautiful castle. It looked as though it were built of sand and clouds and glass.

From Infant's Lips

The pitch and intensity were consistent.

MWAAAH! ah.. ah.. ah.. WAAH! ah.. ah.. ah..

The clock was closing in on forty minutes, and I held in my arms an inconsolable child who had been screaming for each of the 2400 times the hand had ticked.

I threw my head back against the rocker in exasperation. She was fed, changed, burped and swaddled. She had rejected the pacifier with all the gusto a five-week-old can muster.

I kind of wanted to leaver her on someone else’s porch steps. Like you see in the movies, it’s a dreary, damp night and a desperate mother scampers up to a respectable looking front porch, places a Moses-basket containing a squalling baby on the steps, and ding-dong ditches the poor unsuspecting homeowners who are then left to raise the child as their own. It’s terrible, and I would never actually do it, but I wanted to in that moment.

The clock was inching in on forty-five minutes.

She has to stop sometime…

I started to pray, because, let’s face it, that seemed like a more viable option than the Little Orphan Annie scenario I had played out in my head five minutes earlier.

Lord, give this child peace…and rest…and…just…make her stop please.

My child’s emphatic dirge wailed on.

MWAAAH! ah.. ah.. ah.. WAAH! ah.. ah.. ah..

It never ceased. Never changed. The consistency (while frustrating) was impeccable.

Pray like this..

Mother Teresa once said “Our greatest work is prayer;” if such is the case, it’s a wonder the Creator hasn’t fired me yet.

I can program and plan, pour out and serve all day long. But prayer, that greatest work, that’s tough.

Scripture says “Pray without ceasing.”

I pray when I think about it.

When I’m “not too busy.”

When I’m desperate.

It’s getting close to an hour, and she is still crying. Unceasing, unaltered. The same cry she’s been belting for the last hour.

Pray like this.

Recycling

“Does Milwaukee recycle in winter?” I snapped at Kevin, who was about to throw a wrapper in the trash. He paused.

“Yeah?” He murmured, still holding the wrapper.

“Then why,” I tromped over to the window and jerked a finger downward at the driveway, “Have they not emptied our recycling bins? It’s been weeks. No, months. The bins are overflowing. They’re foaming at the mouth. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Um, I guess I didn’t notice,” he blushed, “But then, you always take out the recycling.” He lowered the wrapper into the trash, set it there, and stared at it.

“Not always,” I smiled.

But almost always. He hangs out with kids, I take out the recycling. If we reversed roles, I would probably end up putting the kids in the recycling bin and he would just let the cardboard and cans accumulate around him until he couldn’t move anything except his tongue.

“I’m calling the city,” I declared, drawing my phone and spinning through contacts.

A representative at the Department of Public Works had several interesting theories for the lapse in recycling pickup, one of which was holidays. This was compellingly plausible until I remembered that the only holidays in the last two months were New Year’s, Martin Luther King Jr. and George Washington’s Birthday, none of which were 8-week jubilee celebrations necessitating the shutdown of all local government.

Finally, I had to contribute: “I don’t mean this to be pretentious…” We always say we don’t mean before we say what we mean, so we can be mean without being seen as mean.

“I don’t mean this to be pretentious, but we do tend to recycle more than most people in our neighborhood,” I paused. “We recycle more than we throw away,” I laughed. Yes, I’m good-humored about my goodness. Really, I don’t even think of it as goodness, it’s just a little habit I have, being good.

“Oh yes,” the representative laughed. “You know what? I’ll put a note here to have them do a pick up a week before they were going to. Also,” she said, “once it’s warmer the schedule will be more regular.”

“Thank you,” I said, thinking. “Good bye.”

Once it’s warmer. Last spring and summer, the neighborhood kids had a favorite game, which confused me for a while. Standing about 15 feet from one another, they threw the ball back and forth, but didn’t catch it; they tried to hit some flat shiny objects on the walk. I couldn’t figure out what they were, so I got closer. They were crushed empty soda cans.