A Pair of Forty-Fives

What does it mean to pursue a goal and to be successful? Let me backtrack 15 years. It was 1991 and I was a junior in high school. I was deemed "husky" as a kid, but it was all flab, and no beef so to speak. I decided to take a weight training class as my elective that year, expecting to get in shape. It didn't quite work out that way. I felt the humiliation of being the weakest kid in the class. I had to put five pound and eventually ten pound plates on the forty-five pound barbells for bench pressing. All this while the jocks and cavemen who comprised the rest of my class easily slapped on twenty-five, thirty-five, and even forty-five pound plates. In college, I was eventually able to make it to twenty-fives, but every time I entered a gym, I could see the forty-five pound plates taunting me. They reminded me of my unsuccessful attempts at consistently working out. They spoke of me never reaching my potential. They laughed at me while the sands of time continued to drain away, making my fitness goals harder and harder to reach with each passing year.

Now usually is the time for me to segue into a spiritual discussion about the evils of comparing ourselves to others, and finding worth in the eyes of people who really don't care about us to begin with. My measure as a man cannot be laid on a scale, or printed on the side of a plate. To be honest with you, I don't have a clue what the average thirty-ish guy can bench. All I know is that for most of my life I have been sedentary and not committed to taking care of this earth-suit that is (for the time being) spliced to my soul and spirit. Since those days in high school, deep down, I wanted to prove to myself that I could get in shape, that I could be stronger. That I could bench a barbell laden with a brace of forty-five pound plates.

This morning, I warmed up at the gym and surprised myself when I decided to shoot for it. I pulled the plates from their moorings and fastened them to a waiting barbell. As I stared at the plates, the radio began playing Jefferson Starship's "We Built This City" (the #1 Most Awesomely Bad Song Ever). I laid back, gripped the cold steel and hoisted the mass of steel up. I was not accustomed to seeing so much of my peripheral vision cut off, and I paused. I slowly lowered the bar to my chest and pushed it upwards. I did it! I proceeded to take nine more repetitions before allowing the bar to rest back on the weathered pegs over my head. There was no fanfare or applause in the gym. Just me, the bench, and the forty-fives.

For the first time in fifteen years, they were silent.

Where Two or Three are Gathered

What is a church? Is it a building on a hill with a cross stuck on top? Is it a crowd that fills an auditorium? I think we misuse the word "church" far too often. In a nutshell, I believe church is about the people of God doing His thing. Why do we complicate it so much? One scripture that speaks of the church is Matthew 18:19-20.

“I also tell you this: If two of you agree here on earth concerning anything you ask, my Father in heaven will do it for you. For where two or three gather together as my followers, I am there among them.”

This passage has often caused me to scratch my head. I believe that God is everywhere (especially in places where we think He isn't). What is Jesus talking about? One of my professors at seminary described God as having an inter-relationship with Himself. Father, Son and Holy Spirit being three personalities of one God. They are one in relationship with each other. So then, the person(ality) of God is found in relationships.

If this be the case, when I am in relationship with a brother (hanging out, eating, sharing life, etc.) is that a reflection of God?

Or, to put it another way, do people see Jesus when they see us together?

And if that is the case, what IS church really about?

Hitting the End Call Button

Cell Phones. What would we do without them? They hold huge lists of contacts, notes, appointments, photos, music, you name it. But with all the advancements in phone technology, they can’t bring you physically closer to anybody. I mean, you can talk, IM, email, send pics and video, but all you have to do is hit the END button and you sever the connection.
I believe sometimes we do the same thing with God. A quick prayer, a quiet “amen”, and we think God is off the hook.
But, He isn’t. He's still there, as present as ever. What would we do if we lived with this realization? How would this affect our “amen’s”?

How often do I try to hit that little red "end call" button with God?

"Everything is Spiritual" at The River

Wow, what a great night with friends,both old and new. We had a spectacular fireworks show (please remember that if you pour match-lite charcoal over live coals they will spontaneously combust AS THEY ARE COMING OUT OF THE BAG). Not exactly safe, but then again, when should church be safe? So often we relegate experiencing God to a particular time or place (Sunday moring at a church owned building for example). Isn't God bigger than that? We watched Rob Bell's "Everything is Spiritual" after eating a mix of food ranging from Viking burgers to shrimp kabobs. After the thought provoking presentation, we hung out an enjoyed Puerto Rican Rum Cheesecake. "This tastes like love!" one friend exclaimed. The evening certainly looked like love. Seems that God isn't limited to "showing up" whenever enough people fill a building. God's already here as you read these words. The question is, are our eyes open to that reality?

A Coffeehouse Genesis

We publicly launched our church this past Friday. It was really a special time for us, our friends, and some folks who dropped in to see what all the fuss was about and decided to hang out for the rest of the evening. I was not surprised at the crowd that showed up, nor was it a shock that people seemed to enjoy themselves. What blew me away was the incredible diversity of people (age, race, language, economic status, etc.) and the spontaneous interactions and discussion that ensued. We had stretched canvas over two 7'x10' frames where we hung artwork from local artists. The back sides were bare, so we had paints available for anyone to add their mark.
We waited for a while for the first person to step up. Finally, a kid asked if he could paint. I showed him where the paints were and he choose red, yellow, and blue. He then stepped up to the enormous canvas and asked how much he could paint. I told him the whole canvas was open for him. He stepped back, eyes wide with wonder and giggled. He proceeded to paint a swan, the first of many expressions that included all generations.
We all have a story to tell and a gifting to share. Let's see how the Kingdom of God expands when we open up a canvas and invite all to leave their mark.

My Jean-less Junior High Years

Why do we complicate our relationships so much? Why do we choose to hang out with some, and shun or even abuse others? Who do we really feel comfortable with? Growing up, I was not a member of the 'in crowd'. Junior high was not a series of highlight reels for me. I was (am) a nerd. I remember standing in line for gym clothes in the boys locker room in 7th grade being called a ‘slacker’ because I didn’t own jeans. We didn’t have much money growing up, so I had cheap slacks. Oh, how I wish I had jeans. But that probably wouldn’t have made too much of a difference. I was never beat up, but I sure was ragged on by my peers and the older kids. One 9th grader in particular made me fearful every time I saw him. His name was Stephen and he was big. He would push me whenever he got the chance.

Fast -forward a decade and I ended up taking a class with this same guy in college. He came in, recognized me, and sat down next to me. We had some small talk and got along fine. For the first few classes, I wondered why he was being nice to me. As he drove me to my dorm one day, I asked him about his bullying during junior high. He was shocked that he had done that to me and gave a heartfelt apology. As it turns out, we weren't so bad once we got to know each other.

Finding my Name

Today I start to write. It’s funny how long it takes for us to discover how we’re wired. The real tragedy I fear is that altogether too many people never find out what their name really is. They live, work, love and die, but don’t catch the spark that would really help define them. I think that I found my name today. I was hiking with a friend of mine of White Oak Canyon and it hit me. Writer. This isn’t my vocation, but it is a gifting and I realized today that I need to develop and practice this craft. What really blows my mind is that so many people the past few years have commented on my writing, but it has taken until today for me to embrace their words of affirmation. I have no delusions of grandeur; I am neither Shakespeare nor Poe. I am Joe. So as I stumble through these pages, I will try to be more and more like who I was made to be. “To thine own self be true.”