Here is a brief introduction to 10 women from a blog written for Seedbed — both from within and outside the Methodist tradition. What they initiated, challenged, and accomplished is an ongoing inspiration to divinely anointed women and men—especially those involved in church planting as teammates or point leaders.
This evening marks the beginning of Passover. I pray blessing over my Jewish neighbors who will celebrate this high holy feast and remember together God’s faithfulness.
In the course of the Passover Seder, Jews sing a song called “Dayenu.” Translated, it literally means, “It would have been enough.” The fifteen stanzas of the song are designed to walk the singer through the story of the Exodus. Five stanzas celebrate freedom from slavery, five tell the story of the miracles God did for his people, and five sing about closeness or intimacy with God. The great treasure of the Israelites’ journey through the desert was God with them in every moment — leading, guiding, covering.
Dayenu. “It would have been enough.”
The song speaks to all the minimal ways God could have acted to accomplish his purposes; yet, he went beyond and acted lavishly out of his great love. Deeply rooted in the concept of Dayenu is the sense of God’s sufficiency — of his position for us, not against us. Of his closeness.
He is the God who sees us.
“It would have been enough.” Dayenu inspires me to sing my own worship for all the ways God has gone incomprehensibly beyond what I could have asked or imagined.
It would have been enough for God to deliver me from an addiction without me killing anyone or being killed. But then he gave me a calling, a beautiful church community and a great passion for preaching and writing.
It would have been enough for God to give me a good husband for this journey, but he has given me so much more. In Steve, I have a man who supports this call selflessly and lovingly, who provides for our family marvelously, who shows such strength and grace as a father and leader. Who has a great sense of humor.
It would have been enough for God to give me a child, and yet he has given me the incredible and humbling privilege of raising up a daughter who stuns and amazes me daily. Who has a rare gift of discernment and a boldness in speaking life into others.
It would have been enough to have a daughter, but now he has given me a remarkable and gifted man of faith for a son. Who loves Jesus wildly. Who lives his faith fearlessly. Who inspires us.
It would have been enough to have been given the sheer pleasure of life. But I have been given so much more. My Father, who knows me better than I know myself, has written a much better story for my life than I could ever have written for myself.
On this Friday of Passover, what Dayenu will you sing to the God of your life, who has given far more than you could have imagined for yourself?
You definitely get the sense in Paul’s two letters to Timothy that he is writing a young and anxious pastor who is hanging by a thread. You can hear the anxiety and depression in Paul’s advice: “Take some wine for your stomach,” he tells Timothy. “Remember that if you’re suffering for the gospel, you’re not the first to do that, and you won’t be the last.”
This is Paul encouraging a young leader who is beginning to question his call because frankly, this is hard. Bearing other people’s burdens will give you stomach problems.* Watching them slide backward after you’ve done so much to move them forward can make a person downright depressed.
And all the pastors said, “Amen.”
Timothy is frustrated. It seems almost like the folks with whom he lives have gone deaf. The message he has for them seems to have no effect. Maybe they’d rather believe comfortable things than uncomfortable things. “Maybe Jesus was more like a ghost than a flesh-and-blood man,” they say, because that is an easier answer to grab onto than the idea of a man who is fully human and fully divine all at once.
Battling heresy can wear a person out.
Some of you are right there with him. Just tired. Tired of weekly reports of terrorist attacks. Tired of the day-in, day-out stresses. Tired of a political scene that only reveals our corporate insanity. Tired of conflict and misunderstandings. Tired of physical issues and mental issues and marital issues. Tired of the battle.
The question seems inevitable: Why bother?
William Blake once wrote, “You ought to know that what is grand is necessarily obscure to weak men.” Whether he meant to or not, Blake is paraphrasing Paul, who told the Corinthians, “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong” (1 Corinthians 1:27).
Both the apostle and the poet are saying the same thing: God uses foolish things, foolish people, ordinary people, obscure people, nobodies, everybody to accomplish his purposes. And in fact, God refuses to accomplish his purposes without those partnerships, no matter how obscure or foolish.
In that word, I hear a word for Timothy and all of us who dare to listen: Hang in there, because what you do with your life matters.
What sets us apart who serve this gospel is not sheer force of will nor sheer enjoyment. What separates us from “crazy” is the character of the one in whom we place our faith, which is proven by the character he brings out in us.
It is not crazy to stand for truth, to live by a moral code, to trust that there is more to life than just fallen people. It is not crazy to make your life count for something more than a bank account balance (after all, the one with the most toys still dies).
It is not crazy to look beyond a job to a vocation. In fact, it is perhaps the most courageous possible choice. Maybe you will work hard and sleep less and endure criticism or worse yet obscurity; which is to say, we’re not the point even of our own calling. And that ends up being quite the point.
We don’t always (or maybe even ever) get the results we think we deserve. But here’s what we do get. We get the one thing that makes all the rest of it worth it: We get Jesus.
On this day, may that be encouragement enough to help you begin again.
* Just for clarity’s sake, I’m not proposing that we deal with stress by buying a bottle of wine. Been there, done that and by God’s immense grace, I enjoy a beautifully sober life. The point is that life can be hard but Jesus is good. And Jesus is worth it.
Do not be deceived: God is not mocked.
Whatever one sows, that will he also reap.
— Galatians 6:7
This little gem of a verse isn’t brain surgery. Paul isn’t explaining some great mystery or even proclaiming a new law to live by. He is simply reminding us how reality works. We reap what we sow. We won’t get figs from an apple tree or chicken sandwiches from a cow. Put tomato seeds in the ground and expect tomatoes, not corn.
We reap what we sow.
The ability to look at conditions and ride them out to conclusions is a mark of maturity. That’s why we train children by giving them consequences when they misbehave. They are not naturally wired yet to think down the road so they must be trained in that discipline. A child’s thought life is very much present-tense. A friend’s child proved this recently when he snuck out of bed late one night and ate a tube of toothpaste. Clearly, his “if-then” function was not operating at a high level at that juncture.
Let’s just say it didn’t work out well for him.
We reap what we sow.
This principle becomes incredibly relevant in an election year when we make huge decisions about who will lead our country next. Each of us will make a decision and cast a vote based on what we value. Based on what we’ve seen so far, I suspect that maybe some folks are making their presidential choices the way a child makes a choice at a donut shop. “I’m not interested in nutritional value. Just give me the thing with the most sprinkles on it.”
Even now, we’re seeing Paul’s principle lived out. We reap what we sow.
But make no mistake: our decisions have consequences. Our voting choices, our moral choices, our parenting choices, our spiritual choices, even our eating choices all have consequences and most of those choices have the potential to shape not just our lives but our world.
Decisions determine destiny. My decisions determine the direction my life takes and my decisions make an impact on other lives and destinies, too. So learning to make a better brand of decision becomes an important thing.
John Maxwell puts it this way: “Sow a thought reap an action, sow an action reap a habit, sow a habit reap a destiny.”
A friend was talking about this with me last week and said, “My many and most colossal mistakes were those using the best information available, but missing the element of God’s wisdom and blessing. I guess I always assumed he would see my brilliance and validate the choice.” I don’t think he is alone in that experience. I suspect lots of us tend to make decisions as if they are an assignment to be graded. We do them, we turn them in, and then we hope for the best.
But this isn’t God’s best for us. It isn’t how we’re taught to make choices. We’re not taught to sow then hope for the best, but to learn to sow well so we can be confident about the harvest.
As this year unfolds, here’s what I want for you, my friend. I want your decisions to incubate in something deeper than SELF. I don’t want your choices to start with what feels right to you in the moment. I don’t want them to start with self-interest or childish bias. I don’t want them to originate in or react from fear. I want your decisions to reflect the mind of Christ.
1. Start with the harvest. What does yours look like?
Have you taken time to dream God’s dreams for your life? Do you have a vision and a goal that is bigger than what’s for supper? What do you want to contribute to the world? What are your gifts? What breaks your heart? Look down the road toward the end game and get a vision for that first. Then back up from that point and ask yourself if what you’re doing now is heading you in that direction.
2. Will what you’re sowing now get you to the harvest you’re hoping for?
Picture what your harvest looks like, then back up from there and ask yourself — Are the things I’m doing now setting up for the harvest I’m hoping for? If I’ve always wanted to read the Bible all the way through but I’ve never actually opened one, I’m probably not going to get there. If I’ve always sensed a call to teach children, then what am I doing right now to point me in that direction?
3. Are you sowing from the past or for the future?
We’ve all felt the desperation of “If only” thinking. If only I’d gone to college … If only I’d married later in life … If only I’d taken better care of my body … We can drown in ‘if-onlys,” but there comes a time when we have to decide how much we believe in grace, which doesn’t live in the past but challenges us to stand up and start from here.
I want your decisions to incubate in and be born out of two things: a vision for the harvest and the voice of the Holy Spirit. This is where wise choices are born. Wise decisions are incubated in and born out of a vision for the harvest and the voice of the Holy Spirit. Learning to start from this place will change the way you see and affect the world around you.
Conversations these days about the future of the United Methodist Church tend to go something like this:
“What do you think is going to happen at General Conference?”
“I have no idea.”
“But what do you think is going to happen?”
“There is no way of knowing. A lot of proposals are being floated … countless blog posts … white papers often entitled some hopeful version of “A Way Forward” … an undisclosed number of secret and not-so-secret conference calls. At the end of the day, no one can really predict the future.”
“Of course not. But … what do you think … ?”
I will tell you what I think. I suspect that unless a Holy Spirit-infused “way forward” surfaces between now and May 20th (when General Conference ends) the UMC will slowly bleed to death, though at a faster rate than it is currently. According to an article on the UMC website, The General Council on Finance and Administration reported last year that worship attendance in the UMC has decreased by more than 52,000 annually in the last ten years. Economist Don House notes that “between 1974 and 2012, the U.S. church lost 18 percent in worship attendance. During the same period … the number of U.S. churches shrank by 16 percent, the number of conferences by 19 percent and the number of districts by 21 percent.”*
The UMC is already bleeding to death. What happens next will be more like the dam breaking, and dams generally break after they are already cracked and leaking.
Even with such bleak statistics, at the end of the day no one can be sure of what happens next. The best we can do is wait and listen. Perhaps in the waiting we will find if not a better set of answers then at least a better set of questions that will allow us to think more creatively and less desperately about our future. Here are a few that come to mind:
What if the trend in this post-denominational world actually frees us up to think theologically again? Chances are, when all the shakin’ going on in the denominational world settles down, Christians will gather more intentionally around theology. Rather than trusting the brand to be exactly what we expect (like at McDonalds), we will engage each individual church culture discerningly, evaluating not just style but what is taught and lived. This could well lead to a revival among those who think, believe and live with a Wesleyan mindset.
What if a return to theological integrity is a good move for all of us? By all of us, I mean all of us — those who love and trust orthodox Wesleyan theology as well as those who have moved in a more progressive direction. What if those inside as well as those outside our denomination are better served by a clearer witness and more reflective approach? Rather than selling a brand, what if we talk honestly about the beliefs that particular groups, churches and individuals espouse, then each live by those beliefs unapologetically and with integrity?
What if a split means we’ve outgrown a historic structure? A designer of skyscrapers will tell you that the foundation and structure of a five-story building is very different than that of a fifty-story building. In similar fashion, the foundation of a newly designed 18th-century movement is surely different than that of a complex 21st-century organization. In designing our structure, Wesley couldn’t possibly have predicted the needs of a 12-million member, global denomination. What if our current strain is the effect of an over-burdened structure?
What if this is an opportunity to show the world what grace looks like? We may well end up splitting or splintering over deep and difficult theological issues and it may be that nothing we do prevents that. If it happens, are we willing to at least demonstrate the kind of grace toward one another that we preach to the world? Can we at least learn from those denominations that have already dismantled and do our best to shed grace broadly?
What if this isn’t such a bad thing? What if this crisis we’re in isn’t failure but growth — if not numerically then spiritually? Yes, the theological differences are significant. Wherever one falls on the spectrum of belief, I assume we are all grieving the very real possibility that what has been familiar, even comfortable, is coming to an end. But what if God is actually true to his word and what if he really will work all things together for good? What if somehow, on the other side of this valley, there is a feast?
Christians have developed a high tolerance for the tension between the “already” and “not yet,” so this season of waiting for what is next may end up being a season for which we are uniquely prepared. I hope we use it to our advantage — to pray, listen, pray some more, and acknowledge that this may not end as we hope … and that may not be all bad.
*Heather Hahn, “Economist: Church in Crisis but Hope Remains.” UMC website, May 20, 2015. http://www.umc.org/news-and-media/economist-united-methodist-church-in-crisis
We are the tabernacle of God.
The Bible tells me that when I take Christ into my life, I have the same resources available to me that the Israelites had and the Acts community had. Like them, I have the power of God. I don’t do this on my own steam. When I am filled with the Holy Spirit I receive power (Acts 1:8) — the same power the Israelites had who fought with enemies twice their size and won, who found food enough to feed hundreds of thousands of people, who received miracle after miracle of God’s provision.
I have those same resources.
We who follow Jesus have the same resources as the followers of Jesus in Luke and Acts, who healed sick people and cured diseases and cast out demons and preached good news to the poor.
So why don’t we act like it? Why don’t I?
When the disciples came back from their first mission trip — having been sent out by Jesus to cure disease, cast out demons and proclaim the Kingdom — they complained to Jesus about a guy they’d seen who was also casting out demons. They wanted Jesus to tell this guy to stop; after all, he wasn’t one of them. You can feel the sense of competition in their comments. They also complained about some religious leaders and had the audacity to suggest that Jesus rain fire down on a few heads.
That’s when Jesus decided maybe it was time to recast the vision.
We find it in a line that isn’t actually there. Or at least it isn’t part of the earliest manuscripts. Somewhere along the way, some scribe felt the need to add a line between Luke 9:55 and Luke 9:56. Scholars give it about an average chance of being an actual word from Jesus and since it doesn’t show up in the earliest manuscripts, you won’t find it in most Bibles, but if your Bible has study notes, they probably mention this line.
As I said, it comes at a point in the story when the disciples are being sort of arrogant about the people who are not in their circle. Most Bibles say, “Jesus turned and rebuked them. Then he and his disciples went to another village.”
That’s the official version.
But some manuscripts insert another sentence so that the passage reads, “But Jesus turned and rebuked them and he said, ‘You do not know what kind of spirit you are of; for the Son of Man came not to destroy people’s lives but to save them.’ Then he and his disciples went to another village.”
What a powerful commentary! Even if Jesus didn’t say it here, he said it often, that we don’t follow Jesus not because we don’t know who to follow but because we don’t know who we are. As believers, we do not know what we’re made of. We’ve bought some lie that the spirit of Jesus is a spirit of rules and condemnation and guilt, so maybe that’s why we don’t embrace the Spirit. But it turns out — and this is good news! — the Son of Man did not come to destroy people’s lives but to save them.
This is great news! The spirit of Jesus is a spirit of redemption!
This means that if you have received that glorious release from shame and guilt, then it becomes yours to give to the next person. You have that spirit. If you’ve been healed, then you are healed to become a healer. If you’ve been set free by knowing the truth, then you are free to share it. If that place inside of you that’s been dead for years is being brought to life again or if that relationship that was left for dead is being restored then you have received this as a gift. And the Word says, what we have freely received, we freely give.
We don’t even have a clue what kind of spirit we have, what kind of power we have to go out and change the culture, change the community, change people, change the world — to give what we’ve been given so that by the authority of Christ and under the power of the Holy Spirit the very spirit of Christ overflows from us.
We have forgotten that this good news is not ours.
This is ours to share.
(The image used at the head of this blog is the artwork of He Qi)
I’ve hovered in the doorway of doubt more times than I can count.
As a pastor, as a Christian, as a human, I’ve experienced horrifying moments of unexpected doubt. It happens while I’m driving down the road or standing in line at Kroger or sometimes even as I’m standing up to preach. I hear an unwelcome voice, whispering, “What if this isn’t real? What if I’m just a keeper of the myth?” I appeal silently to God but struggle to find him in the cloud.
As Steve Harper says, “Spiritual dryness is a condition that makes prayer feel as if we are talking in the dark.”
Even the most faithful of us can find ourselves swimming in doubt — impatient with God, spiritually dry. Where there used to be rivers of living water, now there is dust. Faith that once was flowing has now ebbed. In fact, the tide has gone out so far it is beyond the horizon.
How discouraging. Especially for a pastor.
It helps me to know that it happens to others whose work I respect. It happened to Mother Teresa. It happened to Thomas and to Peter, and probably most if not all the others (even if their stories — mercifully — weren’t as widely publicized. Imagine having your worst spiritual moment published in the most popular book of all time).
It happened to John Wesley, who once wrote something to this effect to his brother: “I don’t know if I believe in God, and I don’t know if I ever have.” While that sounds like spiritual disaster coming from the pen of a spiritual master, it was very likely the opposite — not a moment of spiritual failure but of deep, longing honesty.
But maybe you’re the rare exception. You’ve never had a clear moment, much less a long season, of spiritual dryness. You’ve never once felt as if your faith was on life-support. If so, read this so you’ll have some inkling of how the rest of us feel; then, forward this to the person you’re thinking about as you read. They need to know they aren’t alone and your witness won’t be much of a comfort to them.
If you’re the rest of us — if your spiritual life sometimes feels like week-old bread or a stagnant pond, if your personal circumstances seem toxic and you’re in need of some signs of hope and life — then my prayer is that you’ll find encouragement not in a three-point “get fixed quick” blog but in the thought that maybe you’re not alone. And that maybe God even uses seasons of dryness to help us exercise our obedience muscles. Because sometimes we do this out of obedience rather than feeling. Sometimes we do this because the long story is that we’re not who we used to be, even if we’re not who we want to be right now.
There are nine clear stories in the Bible of people being raised from the dead and that doesn’t include what sounds like thousands who came back to life after Jesus’ resurrection. The resurrection of Christ is the culmination of a thread in God’s story that ought to teach us something fundamental about his nature. He specializes in bringing hope into hopeless situations.
The story of the prophet Elijah is a strong case in point. He was among those Old Testament prophets who predicted famine in the land during days of poor leadership. In the midst of the famine, Elijah is provided for in miraculous ways as he camps out beside a stream. Ravens bring bread and meat twice a day. He has the provision of this stream. He is happy to stay here in this place and feed on this supernatural provision while he waits out the famine.
Sometimes faith comes like that. We get the parking space by the door and the check in the mail and the job we weren’t qualified for and the peace that passes understanding. And we’ve done nothing to deserve it. We’re not even consciously connected, or don’t feel as if we are.
Sometimes faith comes that way and in those seasons we have nothing to do but be humbly grateful.
Then sometimes, the brook dries up. The blessings stop coming. Sometimes the brook dries up because of our own disconnection, but sometimes it dries up because someone (not God) built a dam upstream. And in those times, it takes great faith to cling to Jesus while others wreak havoc in our lives.
In Elijah’s story, it is the dried-up brook that moves him into the flow of the Spirit. The brook dries up and Elijah — if he’s going to survive — must move on. It seems an unmercifully abrupt end to a good thing but it is in the very “moving on” that this prophet meets with his higher calling. In the process he befriends a widow who provides food while setting him in the path of God’s purposes. Here is where Elijah’s story puts him into the flow of God’s resurrection power.
Here’s the thing: sometimes dried-up brooks are moments to be weathered or voices to be ignored. But sometimes, God dries up the brook so we’ll be motivated to move on from the brook to the river. Isn’t this what Jesus meant when he said (John 12:24): “I tell you the truth, unless a seed falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”
What creates a resurrection atmosphere? What moves God to bring dead things back to life? And how can we tap into that understanding so we can bring to life what’s dead in us?
Maybe it happens when we allow ourselves to see beyond the brook to what God is doing elsewhere. Sometimes the brooks dry up and the seeds die so we’ll be motivated to move on.
Is it possible that your spiritual dryness is connected to an unwillingness to let God do a new thing?
This song was written as a response to a message given last year at the New Room Conference. I am so very blessed by this song, and share it here for those who need a fresh word of encouragement. Even when you don’t feel it, he is here. You are not abandoned was written by Joel Mooneyhan. Find more about him here.