Why I Love the Church.

Attending a church can drive you insane. There, I've said it.

People say things that make you wonder if they've ever read their Bible. Every church or independent ministry thinks they hold the key. Bomb throwers, who are often former church members, stand outside the door and lob solutions that few listen to because there is no relationship in which to cultivate a reasonable dialog. The powerful divide up grace like the spoils of war and hand it out in small portions. The thirsty, hungry, and naked are still thirsty, hungry, and naked. The prophets are frustrated and congregations go home empty, longing to be filled.

New idea? Nope. I could be writing about the Great Schism of 1054 - or yesterday.

And yet, I love the church in all it's forms. I love how Pentecostals throw their lives in the air and expect God to catch them. I love the Baptist's burning desire to bring everyone into the kingdom of God. I love the Presbyterian mantra to do it right, do it well, do it because it matters to God and all His creation. I love Catholics, Episcopalians, Lutherans, and Methodists who quietly go about the business of loving even when judged lacking by their own members. I love the home church folks who provide a warm room, a cup of coffee and an opportunity to experience God with a few friends. I could go on but hopefully you get the idea.

I love the church because Jesus loves it. It's that simple. Everywhere God leads me I find that at the core of every church there are people just like me who long to get it right but fail in small and big ways everyday.

Here I'll take my stand. When someone cries out for a dying loved one, or weeps in the presence of God during a song that speaks to the poverty of their heart I don't care what building I'm standing in. From Cathedral to living room my voice and my praise is lifted up. The church is the body of Christ and I love it.

Autumn Song

I looked up the other day
To see the birds had flown away
Fall had come and brought a winter chill
Left her signature on the windowsill
Windblown messengers, red and gold
Repeat the story yearly told
Fragile acrobats in the sky
Twisting, twirling: they dance, they die
Born in the air to catch the sun
They return to earth when their lives are done
Much like the man who knows Christ the Son
Must lose his life to know he’s won
How beautiful when life begins
How full of grace when near the end

Thus far the Lord has helped us.

Our Ebenezer Raising

So many losing hope; we even stop our trying
Having lost our way; so set our hearts on dying







Here comes the Son
He's the only One
That can save us, redeem us, restore us to faith
He saves us, redeems us, restores us to faith in God

Lift up the tear stained face; a sacrifice of praising
In the shadow of His wing; our Ebenezer raising

Here comes the Son
He's the only One
That can save us, redeem us, restore us to faith
He saves us, redeems us, restores us to faith in God

Lift your voices sing, sing
We're human bells that ring, ring
Salvation has found us and shields us in peace

Lift up the tear stained face; a sacrifice of praising
In the shadow of His wing; our Ebenezer raising

I wrote this piece the other morning. I guess I was just feeling the need to stop and remember God's provision. Sometimes the prayer requests at the Bridge overwhelm me. Maybe I'll teach the congregation to sing it with me.

Light and Shadow

My dear friend, Ron Morgan, asked me to post my recent essay and I gladly do it. May it bring comfort and "peace that passes all understanding" to all who trust our God's unfailing love.

Vaporous and gloomy makes for a “glass half-empty” kind of day. The Carpenters Rainy Days and Mondays is hovering right off the tip of my tongue and the weight of the soggy heavens even seems to be slowing the traffic lights. It doesn’t matter; no one seems interested in punching through those overripe yellows anyway. The morning may seem half-empty but I like a gray day. Sound is slowed and dissipated by a million tiny droplets who exchange it for peace and quiet in our lives. A buttermilk sky is appreciated in the hot places of the world.

The shadows are all short today. Normally they would stretch away from us like cartoons connected at our feet but for now they stay close by and unnoticed; vague outlines as undefined as the memory of a childhood friend. It takes light to make a shadow and it’s interesting to note that it also takes something material, something physical in the middle. Our singular moon comes between us and the sun and great expanses of the earth are thrown into shadow. Clouds throw shadows at the ground and as a child I was fascinated by the sunlight slowly inching toward me as the breeze took the ephemeral billows away to places I hoped to visit someday. Light and shadow give depth and dimension to a painting and also to our lives.

There’s an extraordinary little snippet of scripture I’ve always liked in the fifth chapter of the book of Acts that just floors me every time I read it:

Many men and women started having faith in the Lord. Then sick people were brought out to the road and placed on cots and mats. It was hoped that Peter would walk by, and his shadow would fall on them and heal them. A lot of people living in the towns near Jerusalem brought those who were sick or troubled by evil spirits, and they were all healed.

A shadow that heals; it heals because the light behind Peter is the light of largess. It carries with it a grace so generous that it spills out and heals the just and the unjust. It’s like an artist that throws gallons of paint at his canvas. In the end everything in the room is spattered but the picture is beautiful. Peter is a walking canvas on this day and all who come near become part of God’s masterpiece.

One who walks in darkness casts no shadow, but one who walks in the light of God’s glory casts a shadow which represents their godly influence on His creation. We cannot influence where our shadow falls or how far it reaches. That is determined by the time of day, the season, and the direction God points you. Our only choice is whether or not we will walk in His light. And this is a difficult thing. Walking in the light requires time spent in shadow. I’m not talking about darkness. No, shadow is a place of rest. The psalmists knew this. Think of all their references to rest, refuge, and even singing in the shadow of God’s wings. Who doesn’t appreciate a cloud on a hot day or the evening shadows that come as the sun slips over the horizon? God told the Israelites, “I have put my words in your mouth and covered you with the shadow of my hand.” God is so tender and loving with us. He knows that His light exposes our shallowness and sin but the good news is that in our weakness His love is magnified. It does more than empower us, it spills out onto the sick and troubled and it heals all of us. Our willingness to walk in His light creates shadow in which others can find rest.

If I were called upon to prove the existence of the sun I might point to shadows and ask my inquirer to explain them. Peter’s shadow was a powerful proof. Years ago I met a man who had been raised in the church. As an adult he converted to Orthodox Judaism. He rejected that and moved on to become a Buddhist, finally rejecting everything completely. I was a fairly vocal Christian in my community and one day he came in to my work gunning for me. The conversation started pleasant enough but it wasn’t long before I realized that he was an angry man who planned to prove to me how wrong I was. Over the next three hours everything I believed was called into question. When I responded with scripture he quickly let me know that he believed all scripture was written by men to manipulate each other and maintain power. Besides he could quote it better than I could. Eventually, exhausted and out of defenses, I silently asked the Lord to help me. His answer was a simple one, “Don’t tell him about me, he’s angry with me. Tell him about you.” I began to share my testimony of all the wonderful things God had done in my life. I could feel myself light up as I remembered and retold the little miracles only I knew. In less than fifteen minutes he fled the room with me following him to the door trying to finish one last story. In the end I understood that while he rejected my Savior as a Jewish hoax and me as a weak-minded person who needed a religious crutch in order to get through life, it was my shadow that pinned him down and then chased him as he left flustered and agitated. It’s hard to argue with a shadow whose testimony is the brilliant light of perfect love.

I stand silent in the sun
but my shadow is the crazy one
He runs up and touches you, goes beyond enjoys the view
I could make him come to me if I
should step
beneath
a
tree
But mostly I just let him run, truth be told: I’m the crazy one

Blessing looks like humility

Today was not my best effort. Oh, I tried mind you but it wasn't meant to be. I left the input level on my effects processor at zero and spent two full songs wondering why my guitar sounded so thin. I also managed to type the wrong words to the opening song so while the band was singing "meet with me" the congregation was singing "rescue me." The rest was okay but I never fully recovered. Fortunately God isn't slowed by my little train wrecks.

Don't worry, I no longer beat myself up on days like this. I have learned to appreciate that a good dose of humility is a great blessing. A band member turned to me later and said it was good that we didn't have to be perfect but I told her I wanted to be perfect. If I didn't want to be perfect I never would have lasted this long or stayed the course that led me here. A desire for perfection is not the enemy of humility because humility is a necessary step to achieving any worthwhile goal. Perfection itself is unobtainable but the desire for it is within my grasp. My willingness to reach as far as possible is a measure of my character.

The picture is a self portrait from 1918 by Chaim Soutine. He looks sad. His own brothers beat him on several occasions because he wanted to paint. Shortly before he painted this he was working as a ditch digger. He loved to paint but painting was hard on him for a long time. He held on, eventually got a benefactor who bought many of his paintings, and, by 1923, he no longer had to worry about financial deprivation. Sadly some years later he had to deal with bullies who didn't care about his gift so much as his heritage. Being chased by Nazis gave this humble Jew an ulcer and an operation to fix it killed him in 1943. What I find remarkable was his determination to reach; even from the bottom of a ditch. His desire to reach beyond the bullies and thugs of life gave us paintings that are wonderful and lasting. Come to think of it maybe he looks more determined than sad.

We should reach as far as possible because it matters. Eventually even a ditch digger has to crawl out if the ditch is going to serve its purpose. True humility and a desire for perfection might be the hand God is offering you. You've been blessed to do your best.

Doctor my eyes

Cause I have wandered through this world
And as each moment has unfurled
I've been waiting to awaken from these dreams
People go just where they will
I never noticed them until I got this feeling
That it's later than it seems
~Jackson Brown

My return to playing the electric guitar during worship has been fun and interesting, and to be honest, an epiphany of its own. I'm not a "twenty something" and neither are most of the people in my bands. For several weeks I've been talking to them about the movie Hook. The story line is simple: Peter Pan does indeed grow up to become a lawyer and forgets how to fly. Only after his children are kidnapped and he is forced to save them does he begin to remember the person he once was. At seventeen I flew with Les Pauls, Strats, and powerful amps by Fender, Vox, and Marshall. Then I married young, settled into my acoustic world, and began a lifelong attempt to express my faith and heart through beautiful and mostly quiet songs. Now here I am many years later, gravel back in my voice, happily distorting my way to God's pleasure.

On my way back I pulled up short and took a good look in the mirror. I'm not seventeen. Perhaps I just look silly, or indulgent, or . . . old.

Then Jesus, the Balm of Giliad, doctored my eyes. In fact it was my eyes that he pointed out to me by reminding me of what I had seen. In my life I have watched the funeral processions of JFK, MLK, RFK and Elvis, astronauts on the moon, disco *shudder*, and the rise of the digital age, but more importantly I have witnessed thousands of people come to hear me sing and leave changed forever by a Presence far greater than any song. My eyes are healed everyday watching my beautiful wife of the past thirty years rediscover her own ways to fly. My eyes reflect the laughter and tears of two daughters who came to me as babies and left me as young women who love God.

My entire face tells my story. My hopes and dreams have brought me more pain than joy and it shows in the often cynical way in which I withhold my smile. My face knows the inner ugliness Jesus washes away with his blood. My eyes, my face: every wrinkle, spot, and blemish is a powerful testimony to God's grace in my life. I am his and this is who I am.

True, it may be later than it seems, but I plan to rock on till daylight. My eyes have seen the Glory and I wouldn't give up a moment of it.

Someone's knockin' at the door, somebody's ringing a bell . . .

One of the more simplistic songs ever written that managed to become a big hit was a song by Paul McCartney and Wings called Let 'Em In. It starts with the doorbell ringing and proceeds to inform the listener to open the door . . . over and over again until you just want to scream, "Open the dang door already!!" The little chorus bit even suggests who might be at the door with obvious names like Martin Luther to less obvious like Phil and Don, which I assume to be the Everly Brothers. Back when the only time you called a radio station was to request a song this was a very popular little ditty. I admit it's catchy, and it is on my iPod, but, to be honest, Wings did some much cooler stuff.

All of that was a bit of background for you so you would understand what went through my head when this past week I went strolling down to The Bridge and was met with the plywood barrier pictured here. I actually walked up and knocked on it, whistling (you got it) "Do me a favor, open the door, let 'em in."

The short answer to the mystery is that the building maintenance guys took the door to refinish it along with some other undone items in the room. But it got me to thinking about how available we make ourselves to each other. I am seriously introverted. I'm a door locker and a window shutter upper. If I don't recognize the number on my caller id I may not answer it. While I may argue the merits of a personal life that is lived with an eye to privacy and safety, I don't think we want our churches to appear boarded up. Even at a new service or ministry it doesn't take long for those on the inside to forget about those on the outside. It's easy to say, "I like it just the way it is." But we really don't have that option and even when we are selfish enough to opt for it we really can't afford the luxury. To remain the same is to invite peril and suffer loss far greater than our comfort.

The next phase for The Bridge is to reach out into our community and start inviting them. There's room. For heaven's sake, let's let 'em in.