The Rushed Contemplative

I’d lost my job in mid-November but within just three weeks was talking with a young, growing Christian organization that needed a Chief Operating Officer. The timing, the role, the vision – everything seemed to be moving in the right direction. I was excited, Eiley was excited; there was hope. Then, just two weeks before I was to start, I got a call from the President: “We’re going to stop the process. We don’t think you’re the right fit.” I was crushed. Hope shattered into despair. I lay in the dark on my living room floor. For two hours I cried out desperately to God.  “Why? Am I not good enough? Why? Why? Why?!”  Sometimes words were washed away in a flood of tears and groans. I wept for God’s presence as much as his answers. He seemed silent, distant, uncaring. And I found myself in an unfamiliar place, standing on the precipice of a monumental choice: to abandon the God I’d known my whole life, or to cling ever more tightly to One who seemed to have abandoned me. ...

In Mark 2:1-13, four men bring a paralyzed man to Jesus to be healed. It was hard work (have you ever tried to carry a man on a litter?) and when they got to the house where Jesus was staying, their work got even harder because the crowd wouldn't let them in. So they did what any desperate, loving, enterprising friends would do: climbed the home's outside steps, dug through the thatch-and-earth roof, and lowered their friend down on the mat.  Picture yourself in the house while this is going on: it's small (let's say 25' square) and cramped with people sitting all around - on benches, a table, the floor. It's hot, with the warm stench of sweaty bodies permeating the still air. What cooling breeze might otherwise come through the open window and door is being blocked by the bodies crowding both openings, straining to hear the words of the itinerant preacher/healer. You strain to hear his words over the din of voices outside as they repeat short phrases to b...

Waiting rooms, I’ve found, can be awkward places to start up conversations. The occupants are usually in the midst of something difficult, so the typical small talk seems out of place. Even casual questions like, what are you here for? can be too prying, or bring painful emotions to the surface. And the waiting room at a jail may be even more awkward than others; I wonder if perhaps there is more of a sense of personal humiliation or failure felt by those waiting to visit a son or daughter, husband or mother. Yesterday afternoon I went to the jail to meet with an inmate who, I’m told, wants to make some changes in his life. I was late, and the staffer at the desk said I might not make it before visiting hours were over, but I decided to wait and see. Something—or Some one —inside me was gently nudging me to put down my book about how to read the Bible and talk to the woman two seats down from me. She’d already told me that she’d been allowed in this late before, but the staffer...

One week. 400 miles. Seven schools. Eight assemblies. Three evening programs. Three morning services. One four-hour class. Back-to-school night. Date night. Whew!! For the first time in too long, I took a breather this morning. I opened my Bible to the Psalms of Ascents—those psalms that ancient Israelites would sing on their pilgrimages to Jerusalem for the annual feasts; psalms that called reminded them of God’s presence, his power, his protection…even their unfaithfulness to him. I was drawn to Psalm 121, the second in this collection:         I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come?         My help comes from the Lord , who made heaven and earth. This morning, I needed to lift up my eyes to the L ord , the source of my help and energy. I was reminded of Jesus’ habit of going off by himself, whether late at night or early in the morning, to spend time with his Father. I don’t do that enough—or well. Thos...

Have you ever wondered if God was concerned about the details of your life? Maybe you – like me – have been fairly certain he was at work only in the big things, like marriage, health, job, and family. Two weeks ago, God blew me away with his attention to the little things! Nineteen people from our church were in Rosarito, Mexico, to build a new home for a family. It had been a great week: deepening relationships within our team, making new friends with the family and, of course, the completed home. The family had even slept in it the night before we finished, and told us Thursday morning that it was their first night of warmth and no water dripping on them! That evening we all had joy-filled spirits as we crowded around a taco shop anticipating a delicious and very authentic meal on our last night in Rosarito. Then… Someone broke into one of our trucks and stole my backpack and a money pouch holding three passports; the backpack had two more passports, a laptop, an iPod, a cell ...

He is risen! He is risen indeed! Peter's Story Fear bred denial. Denial gave way to loss. Loss brought forth doubt, disillusionment, confusion. Then, a glimmer of hope…but only a glimmer. Mary came running, breathlessly exclaiming “I’ve seen the Lord!” Could it be? Fear mingles now with a breath of hope, and suddenly, there he is! No turn of the key, no opening of the door – he’s just… there! A greeting of peace; a cryptic breath about the Holy Spirit, and then…more waiting. A day passes. Another. Six days, and we’re beginning to think it was just the shock of the crucifixion; that we hadn’t really seen him at all. But then again, just as before, he’s there with us! Again, the greeting: “Peace be with you.” This time he focuses on Thomas, who didn’t believe we’d seen him – and whose doubt we were beginning to carry, to be honest with you. He invites Thomas to touch his scars; he holds his hands out to all of us, but we believe…at least, I think we do. ...

If there is anything that evangelical Christians are good at, it is throwing kerosene on a campfire. More often than not, those campfires - at first only warming the toes of a few folks partaking of random fireside conversations around questions that few take seriously - leap into wildfires that ultimately and indiscriminately consume thousands of acres of thoughtful (and some thoughtless) men and women. But as wildfires are wont to do, they ultimately burn themselves out, leaving significant but temporary destruction in their wake; destruction that in time is all but invisible. Such will be the fate, I think, of the campfire musings of Rob Bell's latest book, Love Wins: A Book About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived . It may be that there is more readily-available fuel - and a larger gathering of campers - around Bell's campfire than some of the others in my memory ("The Last Temptation of Christ," Proctor & Gamble's sup...

Mud was still dropping from our trucks as we pulled into Eiley’s folks’ driveway at noon on Thanksgiving Day. Most of us hadn’t showered in a week; many hadn’t slept well in as long. Some were recovering from colds while others were trying to fight them off. The lure of a hot shower, the enticement of a Jacuzzi, the promise of a bountiful Thanksgiving dinner beckoned us out of the wind, rain, dirt, and poverty of the hills east of Tijuana. The contrast was poignant, and I wondered if we would feast into oblivion all that God had done in us over the past week. iPods and cell phones came out; football games were tuned in on the High Definition TV; kids lost themselves on Grandpa’s computer and the Wii. The return was too easy for me, too. My computer came out as I began transferring 1,200 pictures from camera to laptop. Then I noticed a simple e-mail from my Mom: “We do not learn from experience. We learn from reflecting upon experience.” And surrounded by the aromas of turkey...

On Saturday, across the US - and in many other parts of the world - people remembered the fateful day nine years ago when terrorists hijacked four airplanes and brought a nation to its knees. The remembrances took a variety of forms, ranging from moments of personal silence to gatherings of noisy protest. There were prayers and patriotism, flags and fights. Names of the nearly 3,000 people who lost their lives were read. It is right to remember this day. It is a national tragedy, but one that - if only for a moment - brought the world to our doorstep in shared pain and grief. And yet a pall has shrouded our nation these past years - a pall not merely of just sorrow, but of enmity; a pall that has not been felt since the last "day that will live in infamy." And this pall shields from us another face to 9/11. This other face also has seen the death of thousands; it is the face of more thousands of survivors mourning the loss of husbands and wives, sons and daughters, sis...

I went to traffic court today, intent on fighting a ticket I received six months ago. I had done exactly what the officer said: failed to stop at a stop sign. My defense was that I never saw the sign or any other markings at the unlit, unusually wide intersection. I even had photos I’d taken with my cell phone to prove how dark it was. I never got the chance to state my case. God stepped in, answering my prayer that the officer wouldn’t show up, and the judge said two of the most beautiful words in the English language: “Case dismissed.” And that got me thinking about The Judgment Day I’ve been hearing about since I was a little kid. The one with movies but no popcorn, where all the sins of your whole life are shown in high definition for everyone to see. It seems strange that they’d have movies like that in heaven, but that’s another rabbit trail. It seems that I’ve always heard two variations of how Judgment Day will be, at least for followers of Jesus: after the movie, either...

Recently I have grown increasingly aware of God’s relentless grace patiently and quietly pursuing me. In spite of all my arguments, excuses, and accusations against him, he continues to follow, refusing to let go, refusing to let me remain unchanged. I haven’t always thought I needed to change much: I grew up in a strong, loving, Christ-following family. I’ve had good self-confidence since I was young, bolstered by success that has come fairly easily. I married a woman with an equally strong upbringing, whose talents continue to amaze me, and together we have three kids with good looks, better-than-average intelligence, and winsome personalities. The stories of transformation I'd heard usually involved radical change from lives of addiction, abuse, crime, and so on. I wonder, though, if transformation is actually harder for those whose depravity is less obvious. I don't hear people talking about being transformed from lives of pride or greed. Maybe their pride led them to an af...

I was upstairs looking for some bandages for my 9-year-old daughter's skinned knee, when all of a sudden I heard a blood-curdling scream, "There's a SQUIRREL in the bathroom!!!!!" , followed by running footsteps. I ran downstairs to find Molly standing, breathless, pinned against the hallway wall with saucer-sized eyes and racing breath. From the bathroom - door now closed - I heard the unmistakable sound of a small, terrified animal running, jumping, and knocking things off shelves in a desperate but vain attempt to find an escape from this white prison! Being the brave but animal-loving hunter that I am, I entered the prison cell with thoughts of gently coaxing the unwanted captive to freedom. He would hear nothing of it. Quicker than jolly old Saint Nick, the little grey fuzzball jumped from the floor to a 5-foot-high wall shelf, to another on an adjacent wall, then along the counter, before scurrying up the open medicine cabinet and into the farthest corner of th...

Some adults reaching their 40s try to make one last, desperate attempt to hang onto the past. Maybe they buy a sports car, take a vacation in the Caribbean, or - like the characters in the movie "City Slickers" - try to prove their masculinity by spending a week driving cattle! Others realize that it's about time to finally grow up. They put away the "Grecian formula" and stop worrying about the strands of grey that increasingly pepper their hair. They decide to stick with a job for longer than just a few years. They begin to think seriously about what it means to raise their kids to be responsible adults (and just in time, too!). They may begin to question some of those things they've been so certain about for so long, whether it's religion or politics or the importance of pro sports! Next month marks my 40th "birthday" as a Christian and I find myself wrestling with similar issues on a spiritual level. It was easy when I was a kid to s...

Three of these texts are required for NTS 510; Methodical Bible Study is collateral reading. All are brand-new (Metzger is still in the plastic wrapper!); I purchased them through Amazon a year ago, but do not anticipate taking the course and want to make them available to another student at my cost – an average savings of 30.5% versus retail and the same price you’d pay today on Amazon. (In full disclosure, Greenlee is currently available for $11.53.) Shipping/delivery options will be arranged by e-mail. If you want to buy through PayPal, click the links below. There is a separate link for each book, one for the three required texts, and one for all four. Greenlee (required) Metzger (required) Osborne (required) Traina (collateral) Three required texts (Greenlee, Metzger, Osborne) All texts