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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Malcolm Gladwell Being Awesome

This quote from David and Goliath (1/3 of the way through and it’s a lot fun, per usual) is about parenting but it has everything to do with leadership:

“A parent [leader] has to set limits. But that’s one of the most difficult things for [the wealthy], because they don’t know what to say when having the excuse of ‘We can’t afford it is gone.’ Parents [leaders] have to learn to switch from ‘No we can’t’ to ‘No we won’t.’ But ‘no we won’t’ is much harder.

‘No we won’t’…requires a conversation, and the honesty and skill to explain that what is possible is not always what is right. Yes, I can [do] that for you. But I choose not to. It’s not consistent with our values.

But that, of course, requires that you have a set of values, and you know how to articulate them, and you know how to make them plausible to your child [the people you lead].”

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?

Eugene Peterson on Pastoring and Other Amazingness

From this great interview:

The one thing I think is at the root of a lot of pastors’ restlessness and dissatisfaction is impatience. They think if they get the right system, the right programs, the right place, the right location, the right demographics, it’ll be a snap. And for some people it is: if you’re a good actor, if you have a big smile, if you are an extrovert. In some ways, a religious crowd is the easiest crowd to gather in the world. Our country’s full of examples of that. But for most, pastoring is a very ordinary way to live. And it is difficult in many ways because your time is not your own, for the most part, and the whole culture is against you. This consumer culture, people grow up determining what they want to do by what they can consume. And the Christian gospel is just quite the opposite of that. And people don’t know that. And pastors don’t know that when they start out. We’ve got a whole culture that is programmed to please people, telling them what they want.  And if you do that, you might end up with a big church, but you won’t be a pastor.

Advice to young people looking for authentic church:

Go to the nearest smallest church and commit yourself to being there for 6 months. If it doesn’t work out, find somewhere else. But don’t look for programs, don’t look for entertainment, and don’t look for a great preacher. A Christian congregation is not a glamorous place, not a romantic place. That’s what I always told people. If people were leaving my congregation to go to another place of work, I’d say, “The smallest church, the closest church, and stay there for 6 months.” Sometimes it doesn’t work. Some pastors are just incompetent. And some are flat out bad. So I don’t think that’s the answer to everything, but it’s a better place to start than going to the one with all the programs, the glitz, all that stuff.

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”.

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.
  4. 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:

  1. You are funny
  2. You ask really good questions
  3. You should be a pastor

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

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.