Chosen: Krista’s story

This week, we are listening to stories of redemption created out of the chosenness of God. Krista’s story is one of the profound miracle stories at Mosaic. If you are pursuing recovery, be encouraged. If we can help, call.

“Hi my name is Krista. I am a grateful believer in Jesus Christ and a recovering alcoholic.”

That’s how my conversations often begin these days. I am recovered, and I am recovering … gratefully.

I was born on August 30, 1970 in Washington, D.C. to a school teacher who was single and struggling. I am thankful that while her pregnancy wasn’t her plan, she chose to give me life rather than death.

I was chosen at nine weeks old to be placed in the loving and caring arms of Pat and Jack Hansen. They took me home and officially adopted me on my first birthday, and they are and always will be my mom and dad. They have loved me and raised me well. I was always in church, always involved in a youth group, always in choir, graduated from a Christian school. My parents were actively involved in ministry, teaching young adults and young married couples. My father would occasionally preach and was on all the church committees. When I say we were “in church,” I mean we were in it!

But in spite of a solid upbringing, life happened. Read on.

It started in high school when I began to play around with cigarettes and alcohol. I had no idea I was predisposed to alcoholism, but those beginnings took me down a dark path. I went off to college and experienced more “firsts.” After a year of college I moved home. Things were bad enough that even I knew that wasn’t a good place for me to be. I got a very good job at a bank in D.C., where I started out as a receptionist and ended up as an assistant branch manager.

I reconnected with a friend from elementary school and later with a guy I’d had a crush on since fourth grade. We quickly moved in together, and I found myself in an abusive relationship.

It seems like there was always a guy. After the first, there was a second — that one broke my heart. I married, had kids, divorced, drank, partied, married again (that one stuck, and I am still gratefully married to him today), tried rehab, drank more, another rehab. The spiral was agonizing. I fell into a deep pit of depression and addiction. I hardly recognized myself and for years, couldn’t even look in a mirror. God and my self-will battled with each other daily. Jesus wanted my heart, but alcohol was a stronghold.

Finally, God won. My third attempt at rehab was probably the hardest fought, but it has given me the sweetest victory. God set me in the midst of a recovery community called Renewal in South Carolina. Renewal is for women like me, dealing with addiction. My mother was a volunteer there for years and she and the staff had been praying for me…for years. My admission to their Christian, 12-step program was the direct answer to those prayers, and Renewal was a great fit.

I was there for seven long months. Jesus and I got honest about all the bad and ugly roots of my sin, and I finally kicked the enemy out of my house! I have never felt so free or so alive before. Since I’ve been home I have been able to look people in the eye and make amends with them. I’ve been able to face myself in the mirror. I have reconnected with friends and family — people I’d harmed while I was drinking. I’m now part of the leadership team for our church’s recovery ministry and have led some of the group discussions. I’ve done things I couldn’t do before, like help with the children’s ministry. It makes me feel good to be included. I love to serve!

I do believe I am a chosen child of God. I am able to be the wife, mother and daughter that God designed me to be. I love those apps that keep track of sober days. I’ve learned a lot about just how much that other life cost. I’ve been sober for 439 days and counting and since getting sober, I’ve saved $8,780.

But you know, that’s the least of it. That other life cost Jesus his. But because he was willing to pay that price, I’m free of thirty years of addiction. Thirty years! I thank Jesus every day for his grace and mercy.

Thank God, I’ve been redeemed!

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When the Church Hurts (part three)

This post is part three in a three-part series of thoughts about dealing with conflict in the church.  In our first post, we looked at biblical stories that model healthy and redemptive responses to conflict. The second post began addressing practical ways to maturely deal with unresolved anger and conflict from a biblical place. In this post, we continue exploring ways to respond redemptively to conflict. Find the first three points in the second post

People come and go from churches, jobs and even their own homes for as many reasons as there are people. Some reasons are valid — a geographical move, or a family circumstance — but not all reasons are created equal. Some people simply misunderstand the nature of community or the work of the Body of Christ. Some of us are self-seeking and some of us are broken. We are easily wounded, easily distracted. Many of our decisions come not from what we know about ourselves, but from what we don’t know about ourselves.

The Church of Jesus Christ has a high bar to reach in its mission. It is here among us to offer the truth of Jesus Christ, freedom from sin and the fear of death, healing of wounds, and an authentic, loving, supportive community in which our new lives can be redeemed, healed, and shaped for significance.

Only in community can we become whole and healthy, everything we were designed to be. Christianity isn’t self-serving, nor can it happen in a vacuum. Community is essential, but communities are made of people — broken, wounded, in-process people — and because of that, conflict is inevitable. Hurt people hurt people. When that happens, the best recourse is repentance and reconciliation. The only way to learn how to live in healthy community is to live through the hard times.

But what about when leaving seems the healthiest option? In our last post, I offered three places to begin. Here are three more:

4. Offer peace.  “When you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift” (Matthew 5:23-24).

Bitterness chokes the Holy Spirit’s ability to move, both in individuals and in the church. No matter what the cost to our pride, schedule or plans, we are called to make peace with anyone who has hurt us or whom we have hurt. If we explore every creative opportunity that might lead to healing, God will surely bless us.

Sometimes going back is the best way to move forward. If we are still angry with someone at another church, then perhaps God is calling us go back, offer forgiveness and get closure. Even if we don’t go back to stay, it is both wise and biblical to go back and make peace. In making amends, we discover that we don’t have to keep talking about the past because we’ve made peace with it. Take the challenge to make this step for the sake of the Body of Christ. Visit during the week or call. In some positive way, let the pastor and others know you are at peace so they can move on. Paul said this was the ministry of Jesus: “He came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to you who were near, for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father” (Ephesians 2:18).

5. Write a note of blessing. After Paul split from Barnabas, he took time in another letter to defend the work of his brother in ministry. What a positive and grace-filled act! A written word of blessing can be such healing medicine. It can remind someone we’ve loved of the good times and of the ways they contributed to our faith. When we offer grace-filled and hopeful words in an email, text or note, we create open doors for future opportunities. After all, they may need us again one day … or we may need them!

Once we’ve learned to speak positively about the congregations we leave behind, we’ve prayed through our disappointments, we’ve offered forgiveness where it was needed and extended the hand of peace, now – and only now! – we are ready to commit fully to the ministry of a new congregation.

6. Make a solid commitment to your new church. Partial or uncommitted attendance in church is not healthy or helpful.

Let me say that again: Partial or uncommitted attendance in church is not healthy or helpful. It misses the point of authentic community, which is what the Body of Christ is designed to be. Simply put, you can’t be part of a community you’re not part of.

Likewise, bouncing between churches can send negative signals and create unneeded tension. Doing so implies that my feelings are the ones that matter most and that simply isn’t part of a healthy Christian worldview. We find healing in stepping outside ourselves and becoming fully a part of the work going on around us.

So dig in. Invest in the time it takes to understand the vision of a new community of faith. Every church is unique and has a unique place in the community. We recognize that what worked in another church may not be right for this new mission. God delights in doing new things, so we want to be open to new ideas and to discovering new spiritual gifts. We must bloom where we are planted. Then when we are given a place to serve, we can support that work wholeheartedly — with our prayers, our presence, our gifts, our service and our witness.

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If your heart is as my heart … (my video message at WCA)

The inaugural event of the Wesleyan Covenant Association was thick with the Spirit, by all accounts. I was there by video only, due to speaking commitments made long before the Chicago event was scheduled. I kept up throughout the day via Facebook and Twitter. It was stunning to see the crowd, feel the buzz and hear some of the speakers. A beautiful start to something we may not yet have vocabulary to define.

It was a pleasure to share a slice of our story as part of this event. The church I lead is not large or well-resourced by most standards, but we are doing our very best to be faithful to God’s call on our community. We are committed to keeping Jesus at the center, valuing all people and making community an essential part of the process of sanctification. These values have led us down eventful paths and into powerful stories of transformation. I share one such story here.

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Abrahamic faith and the UMC

This message was delivered this week at the organizational meeting of the Wesleyan Covenant Association, a group poised to advocate for a strong, orthodox, Spirit-led, global movement of United Methodists. I post this here as an invitation for you to join us in Chicago on October 7th.

Abraham and Isaac stun me. Because I’m a parent.

I have one daughter, and I am fairly convinced she is the one who hung the moon. If you’re a parent, you get this. Parents have a kind of insanity when it comes to our kids. We will take a bullet for them without thinking twice. And will do it again the next time. We will walk into the thick of a Hell’s Angel gathering to snatch our child up and take him home without breaking a sweat. We’ll go without food if it means she will get a better education.

Our children can make the worst possible mistake, but the next time they cuddle up next to us on the sofa and tell us they’d rather spend an evening with us than their friends, parental amnesia sets in. The slate wipes clean. In a way, it is like being possessed. A parent’s love is different. It is fierce. So when Abraham chooses to obey God and take his son up a mountain to make a sacrifice out of him … well, there is no other story in the whole story of God that shows more profoundly what real faith looks like.

No other story more vividly paints what God is asking of us when he asks us to have no other gods before him. No other story makes so plain what God means when he tells us to love him with all our heart, all our soul, all our mind, all our strength. Because Abraham is possessed. He is a hundred-year-old man who finally has a boy of his own. He has parental insanity. And knowing that … knowing what he is asking of this man … God comes to Abraham and says, “I am going to make you into something great. You will be the father of many people. What you have in this boy, you will have in more children than you can count. But to get there, you and I have to walk through a valley together and to you it may feel like the darkest kind of valley. That valley will lead you to the point of laying down your deepest earthly loves so there is nothing left between us, so I can pour all my hopes for the world through your family line.

“Abraham,” God seems to say, “This is what faith means. It is a decision to believe when it doesn’t make sense, accompanied by a love so fierce that nothing can compromise it.”

Can I say that again? Faith is a decision to believe when it doesn’t make sense, accompanied by a love so fierce that nothing can compromise it. 

This is the brand of faith God is asking of Abraham when he tells him to kill his son and burn the boy’s body. And after you’re given those kinds of instructions, there isn’t a whole lot left to be said. Abraham takes his son and a couple of servants and begins climbing that mountain. For three days they walk together.

Can you imagine what that walk must have felt like for a man who waited decades for a boy of his own? Who would take a bullet for his son? Who would have gladly taken his son’s place in that moment?

Can you imagine?

Brothers and sisters, this is what it means to make an affirmation of faith. This is a far, far cry from, “Please stand and turn in your hymnals to #881…” This is different. This faith has the quality of gold in fire. This is the quality of faith on which God wants to build a people. Isaac wonders just where the sacrifice is coming from and Abraham, with the full weight of mature, history-shaping faith on his shoulders, stands between Isaac and God and proclaims: “The Lord himself will provide.”

The Lord will provide.

With that line, Abraham shows us the difference between a people-centered faith and a Person-centered faith. Abraham walks with his son, but he trusts in God.

Brothers and sisters, I have to confess that it has taken me a while to be able to stand among my peers and say to you that I want to walk with you while I trust in God. And I have to confess this because a few of you know where my heart has been. Somewhere along the way (I am pretty sure it was the Tampa General Conference) I misplaced my heart for the United Methodist Church. That General Conference was the first time I’d heard the proposal that maybe American Methodists ought to separate from the rest of the world for the sake of better accommodating the culture. I could not fathom not being part of a global church, so I decided that the day the U.S. broke off from the global church I would cease to be a United Methodist. That was my line in the sand.

Isn’t it ironic that the enemy of the global church is universalism? Which I suspect is the root of all our other issues.

The global church was my line and so for four years I have been looking for an exit door. I was pretty sure I’d find it at this year’s General Conference but then that thing happened that no one expected.

God showed up at General Conference, and it was the global church that exposed Him.

On the Sunday after General Conference was over — as I began to synthesize the pieces of that historic gathering — it dawned me with a heavy contrition that God might actually care about the global Body of Christ and God might even care about the place of the United Methodist Church within the Body of Christ. And most humbling of all, it dawned on me that God might have done a new thing in that Body and I didn’t see it coming.

I am confessing that I didn’t believe God was big enough to change the tide of a denomination. I under-estimated His capacity to make a way in the desert. It never occurred to me that there might be a ram in the bush. I had to repent and I had to lay my exit door up on the altar. Instead of looking for a door out, I had to look for where the gap is in my own faith that has kept me from being able to see the great moves of God.

Now, I am not blind to the things that have happened since General Conference but I have come to suspect that maybe God’s heart breaks for things I’m not even praying about yet. And maybe this is why God has me walking up that mountain with Abraham. It is to remind me that God’s ways are not our ways, God’s thoughts are not our thoughts. I won’t get to the mind of Christ with people-centered faith.

Those of us who work for renewal within our denomination do so because we believe deep in our spirits that the people we like and the people we have feelings for and the people for which we have great compassion and the people we want to see living holy lives and the people we want to see in Heaven are NOT the authors of our faith.

The author of our faith is Jesus Christ.

We have a Person-centered faith, not a people-centered faith.

Hear me: we love people! We are passionate about the things that break God’s heart and people in need of mercy break God’s heart. But to have anything at all of value to offer to people — any people — we have to go through the heart of God. Otherwise, we’ll land short of the Kingdom.

This is the brilliance of Abraham’s brand of faith. He is unwilling, even for the suffering required, to stop short of the call of God. He isn’t willing to make choices rooted in emotion, comfort or convenience. There is no “spare sheep” in his backpack, no “contingency ram” in the trunk of his car. If he wants to get to the ram in the bush, he has to walk all the way up that mountain with his boy.

At the top of that mountain Abraham and Isaac build the altar together. We all know Isaac is a young man at this point (not a little boy) and his father is at least 120. Isaac could have muscled his way out of this if he’d wanted to. But Isaac is his father’s boy. He has his father’s spiritual DNA coursing through his veins. He is the second generation of a breed of people whose faith is centered on the person of God and not on personal tastes.

Isaac is not about to let go. He is in this until God shows up, walking with his father but trusting God.

That’s the sacrifice. What Abraham and Isaac lay up on that altar is their glorious faith. It is their faith they are about to set on fire! And I don’t know what would have happened if it had gone up in flames, but it didn’t. In the last moment, just as Abraham raises his knife against his own child, God calls to him. “Abraham, I see your faith,” God cries out. “I see your faith! I see that you fear God, that you’ve withheld nothing from me. All I ask is that you worship me with all your heart!”

And so they do. Abraham and Isaac together pull a ram from its place in a thicket and they offer it to the Lord, calling upon his name: Jehovah Jireh. The Lord Provides. And Abraham declares: “On the mount of the Lord, it shall be provided.”

And that, brothers and sisters, is how it goes in the Kingdom of God. Nothing is what it seems. To get life, we have to lay it down. To be first, we have to be willing to be last. To love people we have to love God more. To save anything, we have to be willing to lay it up on the altar.

And this summer, since General Conference and living in community with my people, this is where God has had me. He has had me steeping in questions inspired by the father of our faith. These questions seem like a good place to begin as we consider the future — where God is taking us as a church, as pastors, as followers of Jesus, as the people of God:

Is your faith Person-centered or people-centered? Do you need to repent at any level for practicing people-centered faith?

What about the quality of your faith? Do you have ram-in-the-bush faith? Do you have faith enough to see the great moves of God?

What are the deepest earthly concerns you need to lay down so there is nothing left between you and Jesus?

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Don’t settle.

Mark Batterson tells the story of Honi the Circle-Maker.* Honi isn’t a Bible character, but from other writings that include his story (Jerome, for instance), it seems that Honi likely lived within fifty or so years of Jesus.

Honi was an Israelite known for his ability to pray for rain. He visited cities dealing with drought, drew a circle in the sand there, then stood inside that circle and prayed for rain.

Once, the Israelites called on Honi when they hadn’t seen rain in a year. Honi did his usual. He walked to the edge of town, drew a circle in the sand, stood inside it and said, “Lord, I know you have power to bring rain and I know your will is provision. And so, I swear before this great nation that I am not going to move from this circle until you have shown mercy on your children.”

That ends up being a dangerous prayer. Honi was almost killed for that uttering it. People in his day didn’t think a person should talk to God that way.

They might have killed him except that about the time Honi finished his prayer it started to sprinkle. If I’d been this prophet I might have picked up my circle at that point and walked right out of town. After all, I’d proven my approach. Why would I give more to people who would have killed me but for that sprinkle?

But Honi knew God, and because he knew God and God’s power, he wasn’t about to settle for a sprinkling of God’s provision. Tolerable was not the goal.

Hear that: Tolerable is not the goal. Transformation is.

Honi stayed inside his circle, leaned into the power of God and kept praying. “Not for such rain have I prayed, but for rain that fills cisterns, pits and caverns.” With that second prayer, it began to rain like crazy. Torrential rain. Egg-sized raindrops. Damaging rain.

And again, Honi prayed. “Not for such rain have I prayed, but for rain of your favor, blessing, and grace.” And with that prayer, the rain became the kind of sweet, soaking rain that settled in and filled cisterns and souls.

In Batterson’s book about this very prayer, he notes that there are some things God will not do unless we ask. Maxie Dunnam has often said the same. “What if there are some things God cannot do or will not do until or unless we pray?”

This actually better suits what we know of God. He is omnipotent, which means he has limitless power. A God of love would surely want to share it. A God of limitless power and love is not only capable of more than we can imagine; he also desires to share that power with us in good and life-producing ways.

What if our biggest limit is not God’s inability to answer but our inability to imagine more?

In the middle of our wrestling, maybe God is asking us to wrestle with the very question of his power. “Is there a limit to my power?” Why would he want us to shoot for anything less than his fullness? And what if our praying is how he compels us to lean in and hang on until his power is revealed?

Batterson says that how we answer that one question determines how we will live and how we will pray.

Is there a limit to my power? The coming of Christ and his defeat of sin and death answer that question boldly. There is no limit to God’s power. Which means that we are free to draw our circles around our biggest issues and stand confidently knowing that whatever the circumstance, our God is able.

Batterson says, “With God, its never an issue of, ‘Can he?’ It is only an issue of, ‘Will he?’ We may not always know if he will, but we know he can.”

 

*Mark Batterson’s book, The Circle-Maker, is an inspiring short read.

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