history

A Repeat

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“Everything will be fine in the end. If it’s not fine, it’s not the end.”

Every time I hear those words, they ring more true than ever. These words are from a movie, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, but that doesn’t make them any less true.

That’s the story of the Bible. That’s the story of unfolding redemption, played out through history. The Gospel.

Adam and Eve knew fine, but their wrong choice ended that. Their sin, the choosing of self over God, made it so that everything was not fine. And so it remains.

Ever since that first sin, it’s been the opposite of fine. It’s been a catastrophe, a disaster, an epic fail. We are cut ofd from God, from each other, and from our true selves– who we really were designed and created to be.

But Jesus came to undo what Adam did, to bridge the gap between man and God, as only God in human skin could. He came to make everything fine again.

Paul says it a little more poetically in Romans 8:28: “We are confident that God is able to orchestrate everything to work toward something good and beautiful when we love Him and accept His invitation to live according to His plan.”

That’s the whole story. It will be fine in the end because God has promised it would be.

Everything will be fine in the end. It’s not fine yet, but that only means it’s not yet the end.

In His Own Words

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I thought it fitting on a day set apart to celebrate the legacy of one Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., I shouldn’t try to speak for him, but instead let his own words speak for themselves.

I found this excerpt of a speech he gave in accepting the Nobel Peace award in 1964. I hope it resonates with you like it did with me:

“I refuse to accept despair as the final response to the ambiguities of history. I refuse to accept the idea that the ‘isness’ of man’s present nature makes him morally incapable of reaching up for the eternal ‘oughtness’ that forever confronts him. I refuse to accept the idea that man is mere flotsom and jetsom in the river of life, unable to influence the unfolding events which surround him. I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality.

I refuse to accept the cynical notion that nation after nation must spiral down a militaristic stairway into the hell of thermonuclear destruction. I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. I believe that even amid today’s mortar bursts and whining bullets, there is still hope for a brighter tomorrow. I believe that wounded justice, lying prostrate on the blood-flowing streets of our nations, can be lifted from this dust of shame to reign supreme among the children of men. I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits. I believe that what self-centered men have torn down men other-centered can build up. I still believe that one day mankind will bow before the altars of God and be crowned triumphant over war and bloodshed, and nonviolent redemptive good will proclaim the rule of the land. ‘And the lion and the lamb shall lie down together and every man shall sit under his own vine and fig tree and none shall be afraid.’ I still believe that WE SHALL OVERCOME!”

Following a Star and a Promise

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I’m prefacing this by stating that I don’t know a whole lot about these wise men of biblical fame. I mean, where did they come from? Were there just three or were there more who accidentally happened to bring the same gifts? (I’m sure that would have been awkward even then).

I do know they came from a great distance based solely on a single star in the sky and the promise of a Messiah, an Anointed One.

I do know it probably took them a few years to make the journey from home to Bethlehem. I also know they didn’t arrive at the location of Jesus’ birth, but probably a year or two later when the family was settled in a home.

I wonder what it was like for them to travel out into a foreign country with nothing concrete to go on except that solitary star and an ancient promise.

I feel like that sometimes. Maybe you do, too.

You’ve stepped outside of everything that’s familiar with only the promises and the presence of Jesus to guide you. You don’t know exactly where you are going or what you will find when you get there, other than that Jesus will be there.

I imagine it would have been so very easy for the wise men to get sidetracked and tempted to settle for a  comfortable oasis along the way. Or maybe a small village where the locals are friendly and the food is good.

I’m certain that the daily ritual of camping for the night, packing it all up, and setting out again got old quick. I get bored on a car trip that lasts more than 5 hours. I can’t imagine 2 or 3 years of constant travelling.

History shows that they were faithful to the journey’s end. They were faithful to the promise, faithful to keep it sacred and safe from men like Herod who wanted to destroy it.

I’m hoping that you and I will be just as diligent and faithful on our own journeys. May you and I find the Christ not only awaiting us at the end of the road, but feel His presence along the way as well.

 

A Good Weekend

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As I stepped into my car to head home from a Sunday School class party, I could hear the hypnotic drone of cicadas and felt 10-years old again and ready for the next big adventure. That’s what life really is. At least for those who have their eyes open to appreciate the mystery and wonder in each gift God unwraps daily called life.

I still fondly remember running through the streets of downtown Nashville with my friend Katie to catch the next act at Live on the Green, Michael Franti. It was a moment I never imagined happening, yet if you were to ask what my all-time favorite moment was, this one would be climbing the charts. And no Gatorade ever tasted better than the ones from the Exxon convenience store on the way home.

How can I forget an impromptu Starbucks session of great conversation and good coffee drinks? I can’t remember two hours flying by that fast. It was yet another in a long line of unexpected treasures and blessings God has showered on me lately.

I remember Friday and Saturday in downtown Franklin, seeing some of my favorite McCreary’s people and savoring yet another beautiful summer night visiting my usual haunts and trekking my familiar path up and down Main Street. I especially recall how quiet it was in St. Paul’s Episcopal Church as I sat silent and still and expectant, waiting on a Word from God.

I finally fell asleep at 4:30 this morning after another night of tossing and turning. I think I’ll sleep better tonight. At least I hope I do. But even that time awake gave me time to reflect on all the little gifts that eucharisteo had opened my eyes to see.

I remember something my Sunday School teacher Derek Webster said. He said, “God believes in you even more than you do.”

I have to write that down somewhere. Oh yeah, I guess I just did. But I need it in a place where I can find it and see it every morning, because I know some mornings I’ll wake up and not be as excited to be alive. Those old self-doubts will creep in. The enemy will whisper, “See? Nobody really cares about you. No one would notice if you weren’t around. You don’t make one bit of difference to anybody.”

That’s when this Truth of God comes in. God says differently. To me. To you. To anyone who heard and followed the voice of Jesus. God said you do matter because I made you. Jesus said you matter because I thought you were to die for. You have a gift and a purpose that no one else ever in the history of mankind has ever had. Only you can play the part God wrote for you in the Great Romance He’s written out in history.

You being you makes God smile. You being who God created you is what the world around you needs to see more than any Billy Graham or Mother Teresa. You coming alive to your gifts and talents will be the ripple in the ocean whose effects will last far beyond your own lifetime.

Yep. All that from four days in August.

Radical in the Daily Minutae (Based on a Conversation From Earlier Today)

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“Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. Be the living expression of God’s kindness: kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile” (Mother Teresa).

“I want the last face you see in this world to be the face of love, so you look at me when they do this thing. I’ll be the face of love for you” (Sister Helen Prejean, Dead Man Walking).

A new friend of mine commented on how she’s felt God has put foreign students on her heart. She went on to describe how she’s able to be in a place to share the love of God with Asian and Middle Eastern students. Then she said something that struck me. She said that she wished she could be more radical in her ministry.

If I could have a re-do on that conversation, I’d tell her this:

Every time you’re faithful in the little things, you are being radical.

Every time you pray to see others through God’s eyes, you are a radical.

Every day you seek not just to hear and believe the words of Jesus such as “Go the extra mile” or “Turn the other cheek”, but to put them into practice and live them out, you are a radical believer.

If it bothers you that there are people around you who don’t know the true peace of Christ, you are truly a radical follower of Christ.

So many times, we think of radical as big. Either it’s the extreme radical terrorists, whether they be militant Islamic or eco-terrorists. We think of leading the Calvary into a last stand kind of charge or stepping in front of a bus to save the life of a child. But more often than not, radical acts are sometimes those that we never see or know about– at least not in this lifetime.

Mother Teresa said once, “We can do no great things, only small things with great love.”

Small things done with great love are the most radical kinds of acts. Radical forgiveness. Radical kindness. Radical nonviolent resistance. Radical silence. Radical joy.

These are small acts that changed the course of history.

Wherever you are, be faithful. Do what you know God has called you to do. Don’t look down on the menial tasks or the unimportant details. Anything done out of a great love for God becomes more than just an act. It becomes worship.

May all that you and I say and do come out of a grateful heart overwhelmed at the love of God. May we see nothing too small or too trivial or be too holy to get our hands and knees dirty. May we see where we are as a mission field and each person who confronts us as a person Jesus died for who needs to know that kind of love.

May we always be radical in the little things.

Introducing The Red Sled

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I have a major announcement. I am getting a new (to me) car. Well, my mom got a new car and I’m taking her old car and selling my old car. So really, there’s nothing new. The above pictured Jeep is NOT mine (and I will be shortly inserting a better picture of my red Jeep).

It has automatic locks and windows. It has cup holders that actually hold cups. It has a remote device that allows me to lock and unlock the doors from a great distance (as in across the parking lot, not across the country). It has 267,000 miles but still runs and looks great.

The main reason I chose to go with this one is that this car has been in the family since we bought it brand new back in 1997. This Jeep a.k.a. Maggie a.k.a. The Red Sled needs to stay in the family. There are too many memories we made in this car to let just any stranger buy it.

And did I mention it’s RED? I think it’s good practice for me for when I get my RED Mini Cooper. People need to get used to seeing me in a RED vehicle before they see me in a RED Mini Cooper and the shock is too much and they all spontaneously combust into a messy RED goo from a combination of awe, envy, and shock.

So yes, my cool factor just went up. I’m a bit closer to having a vehicle from THIS millennium. And it’s not like I’m unfamiliar with Jeep Cherokees. And yes, you’re welcome to ride in it anytime (between 9 am and 11 pm).

Also, I will be selling my 1995 Jeep Cherokee with 128,000 miles on it if you know someone who might be interested in owning the car that the amazing and awesome Greg Johnson drove for 10 years. The bidding starts at $5,000 (just kidding).

There will be further updates and a better picture of my red Jeep to follow. You may go back to watching Duck Dynasty.

To All the Rahabs in the World

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I’ve blogged about Rahab before. Maybe because she’s got such a beautiful story. Maybe because I can relate to her brokenness so well. Or maybe it’s because it shows God at his redemptive best.

Rahab was a prostitute who hid the Israelite spies and lied about their whereabouts to the local police. She led them to safety on the promise that they take care of her family when they come to invade the city. Note: she didn’t ask for herself, just her family.

Rahab’s past is synonymous with shame. She had seen her life spiral downward into something she could never have imagined as a little girl. Anyone else in her position could have turned hard and cold and not even let those foreign spies in.

But there was something about them that got her attention. Something about those stories of their god who had led them through the desert and defeated their enemies. All her own gods had failed her. Maybe there was something different about this Yahweh.

When people look at people like her, all they see is something broken. Something to discard, to throw away. God sees the perfect piece that will fit into his master plan of redemption. He sees the mother of Boaz, the father of Jesse, the father of King David, out of whose line came Jesus.

I love the saying that broken pieces make the best stained glass windows. It’s true. The best testimonies come from the worst moment of your life when you saw that God could stoop low enough to find you in your filth and raise you up. That he could save anyone, even you.

So to all the Rahabs in the world, just remember this. You have a place in God’s story. You have a place in God’s heart. You are not a dirty whore. You are a beloved daughter, a beloved son, a beloved child of God.

Your Abba is indeed very fond of you.

 

An Easter Reboot

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“The truth, even though I cannot feel it right now, is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God’s eyes, called the Beloved from all eternity and held safe in an everlasting embrace… We must dare to opt consciously for our chosenness and not allow our emotions, feelings, or passions to seduce us into self-rejection” (Henri Nouwen).

The stone was rolled away from the door, not to permit Christ to come out, but to enable the disciples to go in” (Peter Marshall).

Sometimes, it takes Easter to get my mind refocused. Like so many of you, I can get off track so very easily and forget who I am and what I’m here for. I need to be reminded that I am indeed the beloved, the chosen child of God. My purpose is to live that out as best I can, to become what God has already declared me to be.

I take Easter for granted because I already know how the story ends. Or at least I think I do.

In fact, Easter isn’t an end, but a beginning. C. S. Lewis in his book, The Last Battle, said that all of history was merely a title page and a preface. Eternity is the real beginning of the book, where each chapter is better than the last and the story is truly neverending.

Easter reminds me that my forgiveness might have been free for me, but not free. it might have not cost me anything, but it was not without cost. I don’t need to forget that my forgiveness cost God the very highest price and is the most extravagant gift ever given in history. I don’t need to take that lightly or for granted.

Easter also reminds me that failure isn’t final, that goodbyes aren’t forever, and that truth and faith and love and hope all survive the grave and come out stronger on the other side. I guess that’s why I love it so much.

 

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My Take on Charleston (So Far)

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Yeah, I could see myself living in Charleston, South Carolina. Probably sitting in a rocker or in a swing on a front porch with a glass of diabetic coma-inducing sweet tea.

I didn’t love it at first, but it’s grown on me. All the historic buildings and really old homes (as in as far back as the early 1700’s kind of old) have a charm all their own that gets into your blood after a while.

I particularly loved walking on Tradd Street and thinking it looked this way over 200 years ago. That boggled the mind. At least my mind, anyway.

There’s too much to see and do and experience for just one trip, so I will be going back. Soon, I hope. I hope I don’t sound crazy or in need of further medication when I say I love the smell of the place. Kind of a smell of a long history mixed with the sweet decay of old buildings.

Definitely take a good camera with you if you go and keep your eyes open at all times for those photographic moments. I took probably close to 200 pics while I was down there.

I love the fact that a lot of the front doors lead to the front porch (or I guess it would be the side porch if you think about it). I love all the brick walls with iron gates and wooden doors. I felt like I was peeking into Lothlorien or into Narnia when I squinted through the iron bars.

If you go, definitely go to Jestine’s Kitchen. It is worth whatever time you spend waiting in line. Check out the old church buildings, especially the St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, where George Washington attended when he visited the city. It is like stepping into Revolutionary War-era history.

Thanks to my friends who suggested all the dining places and sight-seeing places. I owe you one someday.

 

Life as a Story

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I really love a good movie or a good song or a good book. There’s nothing better to me than a story well told, whether it’s in a 3 1/2 minute song or a 3 1/2 hour movie or a 300-page novel.

I like to think that’s because I myself am a character in a story. Not just any story. The Story of all stories, authored by the very God who made the world and everything in it.

The Story isn’t about me, though I tend to forget that from time to time. I get so caught up in my little drama and my own problems that I forget who the story is really about (and has always been about).

The Story has always and will always be about Jesus. He’s the great Hero who shows up when things are at their bleakest and when people are at their lowest and rescues us.

I take great comfort in knowing that my Story has a happy ending because I’ve already read the last page. No, I don’t know how I will die (though according to a facebook app, I will die in a rollerblading accident when I’m in my 90’s). I do know that Jesus comes back in the end and sets everything right again. And I get to be a part of that.

I love how C.S. Lewis puts it. All of history is just the title page and preface, but Heaven will be the actual story that never ends and keeps getting better from chapter to chapter. Heaven’s not an end, but the real beginning after a false start.

That’s why I love a good story. I always have, from when I was little up till now. So did Jesus during His earthly ministry. His way of communicating truth was through telling stories.

I hope that you and I can not only live our stories well, but learn to tell them to others and help other people find their own stories in the context of God’s great Story.