New Years

A new year is upon us and so we begin 2014 with a fresh emphasis on posting here at the ID! I hope to post 2-3 times a week and focus on integration and finding God at work in all kinds of interesting places.

We begin with the Boss. I’m almost done reading Bruce, a biography of Bruce Springsteen, and there are all sorts of gems throughout the book.

If Bruce is known for anything it’s his legendary live performances. Bruce and his band(s) have been known for three-plus hour shows with several encores and lots of surprises.

As Bruce made the transition from clubs and small venues to arenas and stadiums he obsessively worked on making sure that everyone, even the folks in the cheap seats had a great time and felt included in the festivities. During sound checks he’d walk the whole arena listening to the mix and sound, and fixing problems until things sounded great everywhere.

“Such were the dimensions of Bruce’s expectations, and his overwhelming need to fix every problem and right every wrong that might stand between himself and his audience. He owed them his best…especially the fans who came out every night in search of something more perfect than they could find in their daily lives.”

Bruce’s life and band were also relatively free of the excessive rock ‘n roll lifestyle and partying that typically fill the pages of these biographies. Bruce’s legendary saxophone player, the late Clarence Clemons, gives some insight:

“Man, the other bands back then, they always wanted to get back to the party…but for us, the party was onstage. That was our joy. Not what might happen afterward. We left it all onstage, all the time.”

Two questions: First, whatever you do you have an audience (might be your kids, might be the people you lead, might be the people you work with), do you care enough about your audience to “fix every problem and right every wrong” that might stand between you and your audience?

Second: whatever you do (work, hobbies, parenting, etc), do you leave it all onstage, all the time?

Good Reads of 2013

Normally at the end of the year I post a series of top 5 lists: my favorite books, music, and movies of the year. However, I have been in a sort of media fast: one part self-imposed, the other part new-dad-reality. I have no idea what the kids are listening to (I guess Beyoncé just dropped a huge surprise album), and who has time for movies?!

But I still read books (I should get to 40 for the year with some vacation time upcoming), and so I thought I’d share some of my favorites (in no particular order).

The Fault In Our Stars: I lied, there is a particular order. This was my favorite book of the year, hands down. Brilliant dialogue, never-forget-them characters, and a gut-wrenching story. Absolutely fantastic, but make sure you find a quiet, lonely place to read where you can be alone with your tears.
Barak Obama: The Story: History will determine how we think about our first African-American president, but that’s not the aim of this book. Instead we find out about Obama’s grandparents and parents, and the circumstances that shaped our current president. David Maraniss is a great biographer, I’ve read several of his works and he has a gift.
Every Good Endeavor: When you think of Tim Keller you probably think of Prodigal God and his great work with the parable of the prodigal son. Or maybe you think about his apologetics masterpiece: The Reason For God. Or maybe you think about great preaching and/or a city-centered church. More and more, I am grateful for what I would call Keller’s “practical theology” books: his work on marriage and now this book about work are absolutely fantastic. We gave this book to graduates this year and if there was a way to get it cheaply we would give it again!
Does Jesus Really Love Me: A Gay Christians Pilgrimage in Search of God in America: Jeff Chu writes as one who has had to wrestle with his own sexuality, but also as one who has honed his craft as a reporter. So, this work is part personal journey/memoir, part investigative journalism. You might not agree with everything he has to say, or the conclusions he draws, but if you are in ministry with people who are working through their sexuality (i.e. anyone in ministry) you should read this book for the perspective(s) it provides.
Raising Great Kids: I am continually impressed with Cloud and Townsend, and this is one of their oldest books, but one that has become quite pertinent to me. There are A LOT of crazy parenting books out there. A lot. This book is reasoned, biblical, and level-headed. Thank you, John and Henry, for providing some sanity is a sea of crazy.
7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess: I bought this book for my wife because she likes Jen Hatmaker and she’s been leading us in our own mutiny against excess. I have never heard her laugh or amen at a book the way she did with this one, so I gave it a read. Hatmaker has a very strong voice, a great sense of humor about life and herself, and some pretty convicting insights. A lot of the “justice” literature can come off very sanctimonious and self-righteous, so what I love about Hatmaker is she makes it clear that anyone can do these things, and you can HAVE FUN DOING THEM. God bless her.
David and Goliath: Per usual, Gladwell packs this book thick with disparate anecdotes and ideas and somehow ties them all together into a can’t-put-it-down narrative. The thesis of the book is that the things we often think of as hindrances can actually be our greatest strengths, and the conclusion will blow your mind. Attention pastors: the final two chapters of this book contains some of the finest writing on forgiveness you will find anywhere.

To see what else I read this year, check me out on good reads. Happy reading in 2014!

Hope…

In a conversation with some student friends the other night, someone mentioned that an important part of life is being disappointed. He said that to be fully human we need to allow ourselves to feel disappointment and all the emotions that go along with the experience of not getting what we want.

Another friend strongly objected: “I completely disagree with that,” she said. “I think life is so much better when you have no expectations.”

As I sat between them I felt torn. Cognitively I agreed with the first point: being disappointed and learning how to respond to disappointment in healthy ways is really important.

But, emotionally, I also resonated with my other friend: sometimes the best things in life are the things that surprise us, that we never saw coming, that were unexpected.

Our expectations, especially unrealistic ones, can set us up for pain and disappointment. Sometimes our expectations can keep us from seeing the beauty of the moment, to be fully alive and present to that which is right in front of us.

But, life with no expectations? Is that really the best way to live? Is that essentially life with no hope?

In one of the most brilliantly depressing songs of all time, Ben Gibbard (Death Cab for Cutie) sings: “Every plan is a tiny prayer to father time.”

No matter how much I might want to agree with my second friend, how much I might want to live life with no expectations, I just can’t get away from hope.

Every plan is a prayer, a hope that there will be another moment, another day, another week, another opportunity, another experience, another place where God might show up and do something.

So the question I wrestle with constantly is what do I hope for? What do I place my hope in? Who do I hope in?

Do I place my hope in ideals?
Do I hope for generally good things?
Do I hope in myself and my ability to do good,
to figure things out,
and to make wise decisions?

Yes. All too often, I find myself hoping in these things.

The disciple Peter, Peter who said and did dumb things and who blew it spectacularly, says: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.”

Authentic hope is grounded in something beyond ourselves.
It is grounded in Jesus’ resurrection and the promise of new life,
abundant life,
everlasting life.

Telling A Different Story Is Hard

I am a total fan of Donald Miller and his work with story. I cried several times reading A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. I gave it to friends to read, and Sojourn gave it away on campus and to graduates. I use story language all the time.

If I were to be critical of my stance, though, I would say this: telling a different, better, story is hard. And sometimes, talking about different, better life as story can mask the nitty, gritty work that goes into telling better, different stories.

Living a holy life is a better, different story, but it’s hard.
Living a simple, non-consumeristic life (with a budget and a lot of saying no to things) is a better, different story, but it’s hard.
Living a servanthearted/others-oriented posture is a better, different story, but it’s hard.

Lot’s of people want a better, different story, but they don’t want hard.

When I talk like this I’m afraid following Jesus can sound sad and joyless. It is anything but!

Holiness is hard, but I am so grateful and happy for the choices that Amy and I have made, for the suffering we’ve been spared as a result, and the relative innocence with which we get to live our lives.
Simplicity is hard, but I am so grateful and happy for the miracles we’ve seen and experienced, for the direct provision from God we get to see daily, and for the freedom we have as a result.
Serving others first is hard, but I am so grateful and happy for the meaning and purpose that comes from giving our lives away.

But none of those things are cool. None of them are sexy. And they stand in direct opposition to 99% of the messages we are bombarded with from advertising, families of origin, Facebook, the stories we see on TV and in movies, from our professors and peers, from the celebrities we worship.

Better, different stories have very little cultural reinforcement. And so living these stories and calling people to these kinds of stories is hard, hard work.

Who wants to live simply and raise money when they could get paid a steady and reliable income? Who wants to live a holy life when you can just do what you want? Who wants to serve others and put others first when every other message tells us that to get ahead we need to take care of ourselves (through networking, taking advantage of opportunities, making the right friends, meeting the right people, getting what we deserve, etc)?

All semester we’ve led our students through a series of conversations that have contrasted these different ways of living, different ways of viewing the world, and making decisions, and setting priorites. We’ve invited them to a different and better story.

All semester I realize that what we are doing is asking people to make a really hard choice.

But I believe it is the best choice they could ever make.

To live life in service of the King and his Kingdom is never going to be easy,
or safe,
or cool,
or “fun”.

But it is going to be good.
And adventurous.
And dangerous.
And costly.
And full of joy.

And beautiful.

Seek the Peace (Some Thoughts on Small Acts)

Last weekend Hillsong came to Boston University. Many, many college students went to ~~see them~~ sing along. The very next day we took a much smaller group of students to serve and learn alongside one of our neighborhood partnerships.

Quick aside: I don’t have anything against a large worship gathering/concert. I’ve been to see David Crowder several times. It’s a lot of fun to sing really loudly in a crowd of thousands.

But, I couldn’t help be struck by the contrast. Getting up early on Saturday morning is harder than going to a concert on Friday night. Interacting with grade school kids who are hyper and say anything that comes into their minds is more difficult and requires more energy than standing in a room with a thousand of your peers. Listening to people who have lived in Boston’s inner city for 4 decades is not as cool as hipster led worship/rock. Spending an hour and half in a quiet reflection is more unnerving than “Oceans” at 120 decibels.

I’m not trying to bash Hillsong. I am trying to honor the choice made by those students who came along to serve on Saturday.

Jesus said: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed.” Friday was awesome, I’m sure, but Saturday was mustard seed stuff.

What I get concerned about is the chasing of experiences. It’s way easier and cooler to chase experiences, to run after the next big thing, than it is to settle down, make roots, and seek the peace of the city.

Our event on Saturday was not designed to accommodate the numbers that went and saw Hillsong, but what if 1000 students dedicated themselves to seeking the peace of the city? What if 1000 stayed in Boston after they graduated to pursue God’s mission right here in this place?

That seed might become a tree.

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Losing, Vulnerability, and Idols

Today I sat in a meeting where we craft teachings for our broader community. The conversation ranged far and wide: worship, self-reliance, vulnerability, joy.

My dad is fond of quoting Woody Allen (which is a lot of fun to write) who once said: “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

What struck me in our conversation today was this: that statement is true, and leading people to say no to what their heart wants is really, really hard work.

The biggest difference between my work in Colorado (with a CTK church plant) and here in Boston is this: the people in our little church in Colorado knew they were broken, and people in Boston won’t admit it.

Here in Boston we can hide behind achievements and opportunities. Busyness and activity are our idols. There is always something better and bigger and more impressive just around the corner if we keep pushing and working and striving.

It is extremely rare to come across a self-deprecating, genuinely happy, average sort of person. (Like this guy). Someone who tells the truth about themselves, someone who is grounded and non-anxious.

In fact, it was mentioned in our meeting today that a person like that would be held in suspicion in most of the circles we run in.

This semester has been fantastic so far. Ministry is going well by several measures. I love the conversations I get to have as students share their hopes and dreams and struggles and questions and ambitions and fears.

It feels weird to, in some way, discourage students from pursuing their dreams, to not go for it. But often the pursuit of that dream becomes their god. And underneath that is the anxious striving of someone who can’t deal with failure and their own brokenness.

If there’s one thing I hope I can do for students it is to remind them that it is ok to be vulnerable.

You don’t have to rely on your self.

We worship a big God, full of grace, who loves us for who we are not for what we do.

In the words of Brene Brown: “Vulnerability is the birth place of joy, love, belonging, and creativity.”

It’s fascinating this paradox we invent for ourselves: the very thing we don’t want to do (be vulnerable) is actually the thing we need to do in order to experience all we hope for (love, joy, community, etc).

Perhaps that is part of what Jesus meant when he spoke of gaining the world and losing our soul.

From the Message:

“Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You’re not in the driver’s seat; I am. Don’t run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I’ll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to saving yourself, your true self. What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you? What could you ever trade your soul for?

Tile Floors, Nonsense, and Fighting For Joy

During the past school year, as our family expanded and we entered the adventure of parenthood, we learned the importance of community in a whole new way. Some of our best friends, who also happened to be in the early stages of parenthood, moved back to other parts of the country, leaving us somewhat isolated.

Back in the early spring we started working towards creating a new sense of community, particularly with others who share the burden of life in campus ministry and parenthood. Compadres who understand the unique rhythms and challenges of our lifestyle.

The journey towards proximity with each other took us for a wild ride. We tried to help our friends move into our East Boston neighborhood. We thought about a huge house together in Allston or Brighton. Eventually we settled on Roslindale.

Apartments were secured, checks written, arrangements made and two of our three units made the move, but we were still uncertain. Or, I should say: roadblocked. Places fell through, rejection emails were received, the situation looked bleak. Grace and good fortune allowed us to stay in our place until we actually did find something.

We recruited help, rented a truck, and packed up. The day before the move our new landlord’s called and asked if we could push back the move date in order for them to finish one last project: retiling the kitchen.

No, we said, everything’s set to go and our current landlord’s expect us to be out tomorrow. The tile guys ended up canceling and the move went off unhindered.

But, I should have known something was up.

We’ve now been here for three weeks and the kitchen floor is maybe twenty percent finished.

Yesterday was the straw that broke my spirit’s back. For most of this project a couple of low-totem-pole guys have showed up at our house around noonish (despite promising to be here hours earlier) worked until three and then called it a day. I’m no expert on tile flooring, but I could tell that the work being done was the opposite of high quality.

So, yesterday, the boss shows up, takes one look at the shoddy workmanship and tears the whole thing up. Back to square one.

Meanwhile, our lives have been placed on hold. Ninety percent of our kitchen is still in boxes. Marina has yet to freely play in the living room (I’m certain she’d be walking by now if not confined to her room all the time). The downstairs portion of our home is consistently covered in a not-so-fine layer of dust.

The oh-so-slim silver lining to all of this is that we live in community and proximity to people who love us and care about us. I have no idea what we would do without their help.

This situation has also given me a new, experiential, understanding of the word nonsense. Literally, nothing about the whole process: moving out, moving in, getting settled, has made one bit of sense.

I like to tell stories in this space of things that I have learned, illumination gleaned from the ridiculous and difficult moments of life.

I share this story, not because it is the biggest challenge we have ever faced, but because I have no idea what is being illuminated here. It just feels like nonsense.

I know there are people going through much more difficult times right now. But in life we all run into nonsense at some point, and too often we want to quickly move the nonsense into the category of sense.

Sorry, guys, not there yet.

What I can say is this: few things rob me of joy faster than nonsensical situations like this tile floor. Sometimes you have to fight for joy.

My encouragement, especially if you are stuck in nonsense, is to do just that: fight for joy.

On Being Told No

I’ll cut right to the chase: I don’t like being told no. Who does?

In my line of work I ask lots of people for lots of things. It feels like I am constantly making “asks” and this raises all sorts of anxiety for me. I fear being a burden, or annoying, or the person people dread receiving emails from (here we go again).

Recently I made an ask that had a lot of hope attached to it. I was told no. I fought for it. Still no.

I felt pretty crummy about this no. Then I read this. (Miller also talked about this at the World Domination Summit: how to find redemption in suffering/stories that don’t turn out the way we want them to).

So, in that spirit, here are four blessings that come with “no’s”.

It forces me to pray more: you’d think I do most of my praying before/during/immediately after the ask. Rejection has a way of revitalizing my prayer-life like nothing else.
The process of asking is clarifying: whether the answer is yes or no, the process makes me think deeply about what I am asking for, why I need it, and why it is important for whoever I am asking to be included in this effort. Asking produces clarity.
No’s make me work harder: I’m not sure what this says about me, but yeses tend to produce laziness, a resting of laurels. No’s create urgency. Obviously, yeses are needed to get anything done, but a no drives up the energy levels in a more profound way.
No’s produce character: I completely relate to Miller’s victim dialogue in the article on disappointment. It’s so easy to go there. In the end anything we receive when we ask is a gift. It’s so easy to take credit for a yes, to think I “earned” this. And, similarly, to blame someone for a no. But it’s all a gift. Maybe a better way of saying it is: no’s reveal character. And that can be painful, but ultimately necessary.

What do you think? What do you learn from “no’s”?

3 Things I Learned From All Those Old Notes

The other day I posted this…

Purging/Downsizing in preparation for move to new apartment. One thing I’ve learned going through old boxes: In Pacific Christian Fellowship we wrote A LOT of notes!

…on Facebook.

There truly were a lot of notes. Boxes and files and folders full. Sheets of paper, post cards, picture albums, even a paper plate: all filled with words of affirmation. I guess this is how we communicated love pre-facebook.

In all honesty, I threw much of it away. Some of the notes were redundant, some had lost context over the years, some were just inside jokes. But there were many, many gems, and I saved those.

In ministry there are all sorts of channels for feedback. Very few of those channels are helpful.

You open yourself up to a lot of cuts in this line of work. Sometimes there are really big things: a big rejection, someone you thought was on your side who bails, someone who takes an offhanded statement and uses it against you. Sometimes there are really small things: comments, distancing, the reality that you ask most of the questions.

That’s the hard stuff. But then there are the beautiful words that good people speak and write to you and those words are gold.

There were a number of themes that stood out to me as a I read through all of those notes:, but these were the Big 3:

You are funny
You ask really good questions
You should be a pastor

Why is it so important to be reminded of these themes”

From time to time I’ll hear the message, directly or indirectly, that I am not fun. Fun and funny are two different things, but it was so, so good to be reminded that at one point in my life I was fun(ny) (a ringleader of fun, no less). I believe that’s still in me.
Several notes revealed that not only were my questions “good”, they could also be “intimidating.” My current students will have a good chuckle about that. Still true. Sometimes we need to be reminded about our true selves and other times we need to see that what we do and love has been there all along.
Welp. I’ve been told I should pastor ever since college. Even though pastoring pushes me out of what is comfortable based on my personality and preferences, there’s been an internal and external push, an undeniable call, to help people on their journey back to God.

The moral of the story, dear readers, is hold on to these words of affirmation that people give you: they are gold, they are sustenance, they are life-giving.

New [School] Year’s Resolution

I love to read. I devour books on topics that are interesting to me. They don’t have to be well written. They don’t have to be works of art. They just need to entice me with delicious information.

This is who I am. My strengthsfinder inventory tells me I am a “learner,” “input,” ideation,” “intellection,” and “strategic.” Taking in information is how I operate and process the world.

Naturally, as a campus minister, I end up reading A LOT of books about: leadership, theology, church, church trends, discipleship, discipleship models, college students, young adults, and this list could go on and on.

I’ve been wondering lately, though, if all that information isn’t a way to hide. It is easier to read and write about ministry and making disciples than it is to do it.

I’ve found myself getting annoyed with those who have many opinions on the topic, those who write blogs about it, and yet don’t seem to be doing much in real life. Upon examining my annoyance with this I realized the reaction is due, in part, to my own tendency to retreat into the world of ideas and knowledge and away from the mess of people and real life.

I thought about giving up reading all together. But I think I would die a sort of death if there were no books in my life.

So, instead I’m giving up reading books about church, theology, and ministry for the coming school year.

There will be a couple of exceptions to this: a book we’ll read as a staff, a couple of books that I’ve read before that I will re-read with students. But my reading for this year will be novels and classics and works of non-fiction that are interesting to me but have nothing to do with my job (like this one).

I hope this accomplishes a couple of things:

Saves money
Clears mental clutter
Helps me learn new and interesting things, and forces me to practice what I often preach (integration: finding God’s truth in unexpected places)

Here it goes!