...and I'm not a huge fan of long walks on the beach, either

When I first fired up my blog, one of the things it asked me in my personal profile was my gender and birthdate. Because everything except my blood sugar level is online anyway, I filled them in and thought no more of it.

Turns out that Blogger displays that information, not in the actual format that I gave it to them, but as a set of astrological data.

So, without my really registering it, I was displaying to the world that I believed in that stuff. Which I don't.

Someone who cares about me and my calling to ministry a great deal shot me an email, asking about it. I am grateful to them for doing so. They said in part the following:

"...Do you know that astrology is a pseudoscience? Should a preacher and prospective pastor be affirming a pseudosceince? Is it exemplary?

"Astronomy we can abide and glorify God with. (Institute for Creation Research has excellent resource material on this, just see ICR on the web.) I don't know anybody who knows anybody godly associated with astrology unless it is genuine ignorance. You are touching things that have their roots in the soothsayers, progosticators, magicians, and Chaldeans of Daniel's and even Moses' day, not to mention the Palm Readers and others around town in our day."

I'd like to state once again that I had no intention of aligning myself with, or legitimizing in any way, the practices/teachings of astrology. I couldn't figure out how to stop it, so I pulled my gender and birthdate from my personal profile, and it went away.

Thanks again. The wake-up call has been registered.


Neither give place to the devil.
- The Bible, Ephesisans 4:27

Prove all things; hold fast that which is good.
Abstain from all appearance of evil.
And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.
- The Bible, I Thessalonians 5:21-23

On Preparation For Dying

I've recently - as in, say, ten minutes ago - come to the following conclusion:

There are people with whom it is not safe to make use of public restrooms.

Not for any reasons personal, mineral or bacterial: just for the sake of my sanity.

A____ has just become the first member of that list.

So we walked into the restroom at the same time, and, as is my ritual, I washed my hands before leaving. Normally it's a pretty simple process: make use of the restroom, wash hands, dry hands, leave. But today was not a normal day, and A____ is not a normal restroom user.

"You know what I hate?" It's a rhetorical question, of course, because 1) he knows I haven't coughed up $29.95 to download The Complete List of Things I Hate, and 2) (I would come to realize) the question is merely a bridge to what can only be categorized as the neurotic rantings of a paranoid freak.

"I hate when people use the restroom, and then use their hands to turn on the faucet, and then wash their hands, and then turn off the faucet and walk away, without thinking about what they just left on the faucet handle."

Suddenly, images of favorite moments from my nearly thirty years of life begin flashing before my eyes. There's my mom and dad, the cowboy boots I got for my sixth birthday, the basketball sneakers I got for my seventh birthday, Brian Birdsell, Doug Cassel, camp, Kristy, more camp, Trey, Gracie, camp, Derek... why am I seeing this?

And then it hits me:

Untold hundreds of thousands of people have used the faucet and walked away, leaving entire ecosystems of bacteria, and I have used the faucet after them, and I am going to die. And not in the Bible-refrenced three score and ten years, either.

How have I made it this long? My body is nothing more than a holding cell, a transport for zillions of mutant marauding microscopic mitochondriae. I'm fortunate that I lived to see my first zit.

All this was weighing pretty heavily on my mind, as you can well imagine, although you don't really have to imagine, because I've pretty much just laid it out for you. I solemnly dried my hands and turned to head back to my desk, my job, my life - what's left of it.

As I walked out, the Grim Reaper held the door open for me. Whew: one less disease-riddled surface to deal with.

A New Desk

So for the last four years, I've worked at Samaritan Ministries International, dreaming of the day that I wouldn't have to do it anymore so I could be in ministry full time.

But something happened about a year in. They gave me a chance in Communications, and I realized I had a knack. For writing, editing, layout, things like that.

So I've done it the last three years, and it's been a blast. I liked it so much, there were times that different people questioned if I'd lost my drive for full-time ministry because of it. I never thought I had, and in fact, I'm sure that the skills I've developed at SMI, and the opportunities I've been given, have made me a better pastor.

So when I told my boss, Ray King, that I would be leaving as soon as I found a church, it was with excitement and anticipation. I was going to take everything I'd learned and use it doing what I knew I was supposed to do with my life. I'll be out of here in a month or so, I told Ray. And I believed it.

But God had other plans. That church hasn't opened up yet. And my replacement had been brought into the department and shown the ropes. So last week, Ray told me that they'd be asking me to help out in another department where I was needed. The department where I had started, actually.

Now, everyone at SMI has been awesome about this. Let's make that very clear.

But that doesn't keep it from feeling really weird.

Yesterday, I moved my stuff out of my Communications desk, and moved it into my Member Services desk. This move wasn't supposed to happen. At first, I felt really out of sorts, with this weird vibe in the pit of my stomach. Telling people to refer their questions to Aaron/Jed, made sure the feeling wouldn't go away.

Kristy says this'll give me more motivation, keep me restless. I suppose so: but I'd have to add another emotion to those. I can't think of one word for it, but it feels something like: Is this it? Did I make a mistake? What's going on? Why am I here? Why am I still here? Let me think - yes, I knew that was God's will, and that was God's will, but maybe...

I'll be fine. But right now, I feel all funky inside.


What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.
In God I will praise his word, in God I have put my trust; I will not fear what flesh can do unto me.
- The Bible, Psalm 56:3,4

It was goofy, but man, it was cool

So I got the chance to preach at my home church last (Wed.) night for the midweek service.

God has been speaking to me through these conversations I'm having, about just how much hurt is floating around, and how it's killing people from the inside out. So I decided I was going to just lay it on the line with the people, and show them some of my heart in this regard.

I worked through how that connection is at the essence of God's identity; how that, because we're made in His image, connection is part of what makes us click; how that the Trinity knew that it wasn't good for us to be alone; and how that, almost from the very moment that sin entered the world, people have used their connections (read: relationships) to hurt other people. (Eve, after all, was the one who gave the fruit to Adam, and so on.)

I then began to share my heart about how many people were walking around hurt, and how they were being ignored. I kind of hit hard on the fact that older generations come from life stories full of relational underpinnings, and thus don't identify with the struggles of newer generations, whose life experiences are more closely recognized by division, dysfunction, divorce, abuse, et al.

I further explained that the average response of older generations to younger generations is one of disappointment and something bordering on disgust, because they base their view of them on where they think they should be in terms of maturity and Christian walk, not on where they actually are. I explained that it's not helping things to ask someone who's never had a father why they don't get a haircut, or to look down on a girl who's encountered abuse for coming into church with a snippy attitude.

We don't know where people are coming from, because we don't ask. We don't even attempt to identify where someone's coming from, starting a relationship from there.

So I'm saying this stuff that God's laying on my heart, and the audience is pretty evenly divided between old people and younger people. For the most part, the older people are just staring at me; meanwhile, some of the youngers are starting to cry.

I wrapped it up by identifying in the Lord's prayer the attitude that God wants us to have toward those who hurt us, and then pointing toward where James tells us to confess our faults to one another, and pray one for another, so you can be healed. Then I said, "We're going to do this."

No piano playing, just people going to other people, confessing their faults, praying for each other. It was awesome.

But when I did it, there was an entire section of old people who didn't move at all. They just sat there, looked around a little, didn't move. Inside, it kind of ticked me off. But I figured, I did what God told me to do. If they don't get it, I can't do anything more than what God wants me to do.

And then I saw a really small glimpse of one of the old guys getting it. And it was, at the very same time, hugely significant and kind of goofy.

After church, I'm standing back in the vestibule, shaking hands and whatnot, when up walks M___ and M___. M___ looks at me and says, "Thanks! We needed that!" - and proceeds to give me this huge bear hug-ish thing. He then looks at M___ and says, "C'mon! Group hug!" and jerks him into this huge hug pile.

So we're in the middle of the vestibule hug piling, when up walks D___, the prototype old guy. Always had this vibe about him where the teens/younger people were kept at a distance 'cause he didn't understand them. Why don't they keep their hair short, yada, yada, yada.

D___ walks up to the hug pile, and I watch him eye the pile with something approaching detached amusement. All of a sudden, M___ yells, "C'mon, D___, join the hug!"

Now, M___ and I both know that this invitation is purely rhetorical. There's no way D___ is actually joining the hug pile. And for about two seconds, he knew he wasn't, too.

Then, without warning, he walks up and puts his arms around the whole hug pile. And for 5.4 seconds, D___ burst out of his comfort zone so he could show that he cared.

M___'s shock started to give way to sarcasm, but I quickly cut him off, pointing out that, indeed, the reason D___ joined our hug pile was to try to show he cared.

In the big scheme of things, it wasn't a huge gesture, and I'm pretty sure it looked goofy. But for me, and for M___, and maybe for our church, it was significant.

And very cool.


Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much. - The Bible, James 5:16

Wherefore putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour: for we are members one of another. - The Bible, Ephesians 4:25

God and I are going to - wait, no...

So yesterday was hugely interesting...

Tuesday morning began Monday night. That's because I had to leave home about 3:00 am to travel to the Rockford, IL area for my mom's bariatric surgery. Once 11:30 Monday evening came, I was afraid to fall asleep, 'cause I knew I probably wouldn't wake up. So I just didn't go to sleep. I passed the time reading part of a book that had been given to me, called The Discipline of Grace by Jerry Bridges.

Anyway, I got cleaned up and left for the hospital (about a 2 1/2 hour trip), guzzling Frappacinos for caffeine, and got to the hospital about 6:30, about ten minutes after Mom arrived to get ready. They prepped her, and then we prayed with her and she went off to the surgery room. She didn't get nervous until right before she left. Dad, having been through it before, was tearing up quite a bit most of the way through.

She came through the surgery just fine, and we went in to see her when she got done. She was groggy, and in some pain from having her arms held up during the surgery, but she was coming out of it ok. I told Dad I needed to take off, and he asked the four of us kids to sing a couple songs for her before we left. I'm pretty sure I heard Em singing along, too.

So I left to drive back about noon. I had $7 to put gas in the car, and I thought that'd be plenty. I'm driving back, enjoying the beautiful day and talking to God and whatnot. As I got closer to home, I consulted the gas gauge and saw that it was going to be cutting it close. I had no money, and no cards or checks or anyghing like that. I thought about what I was going to do, and I decided that I was going to ask God to make it last until I got home.

It felt good to do this. God and I were going to get home, and he was going to have Elisha come do his cruse-of-oil trick on my gas tank, and I was going to see God do something for me. The sun's shining, and God and I are cruising down the highway, and my car's gonna run on air until I get in the driveway, and man, I'm gonna have a story.

I drove for over an hour with the gauge in the "E" area, and over a half-hour in the part where I'm normally putting getting gas at the very top of my to do list. I got past Bloomington, which is a half-hour from home, and I thought to myself, This is really happening.

And then something I'd read from the book the previous night hit me. If I ran out of gas right at that moment, did that make God any less good to me? If I got home, did that make Him somehow more worthy of worship then He was at that very moment?

I knew the answer, and I told Him so. God, I said, You're wonderful. You're wonderful, no matter what happens. If I run out of gas right here, I'm still going to believe that You're wonderful. I worship you.

Thirty seconds later, fifteen miles from home, the car died.

Oh, crud, I thought to myself. This isn't quite the story I had in mind. But it turns out God really was still wonderful. I got out of the car and started hoofing it to the closest farmhouse I could find. I walked across new fields of corn on a beautiful, windy day, and I couldn't get these words out of my head:

Forever You are faithful,
Forever You are strong,
Forever You are with us,
Forever.

So I walked and worshipped, and worshipped and walked. It was forty-five minutes of walking before I found a farm where someone was home. They gave me some fuel in a plastic container that they didn't need back. They were kind, but the container wasn't equipped to pour fuel into my car. So after fourty-five minutes of hoofing the gas back to my car, I had to craft a makeshift funnel out of a Nestle Quik bottle and try to pour the gas in as semis went whizzing by, blowing gas all over the car and all over me. My good jeans now had ample amounts of spilled gas to complement the grass stains and barbed-wire holes I had accquired on my walk.

Was He still good? Was He still faithful? Was He still with me? As I rode back, the sun setting, experiencing the early stages of something akin to being high from the gas fumes, it sounded like a rhetorical question.

I mean, of course He is all those things. That's what I've always said. That's what most everyone around me has said. But it didn't necessarily look like the kind of situation where God spends a lot of time hanging out.

So was He with me, or not? Was He good, or not? He didn't do what I'd asked. I didn't have an Elisha-in-the-gas-tank story to share. All I had was sunburn, grass stains, barbed-wire holes, and enough gas to get home.

Oh, yeah. And a couple of hours spent walking through cornfields thinking about Him.

Turns out He was there, after all. And He knew what I needed.

Forever You are faithful,
Forever You are strong;
Forever You are with us,
Forever.


Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence?
If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.
If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. - The Bible, Psalm 139:7-10

A Little Numb

First, some links:

Just when you thought every single direction for a Star Wars parody had been discovered...

A personal - and worth considering - perspective on holiday (in this case, Mother's Day) church events

--- --- ---

My weekend has left me a little numb.

Friday, I took Kristy to see the Peoria Players Theatre's production of "Crazy For You," the Gershwin musical. It was a lot of fun, and I enjoyed the time to spend alone with my wife. The play felt like ten songs with a plot haphazardly attempting to tie them together, but still fun nonetheless. As a follower of Christ (who is a man), I wished the burlesque elements could have been toned down or something.

Saturday, I took my family to a Saturday morning revival service at our home church. Kristy and I sang two songs as part of the proceedings, and we learned new songs this time, which was fun. The one song I'd heard before, but the other one had words that really spoke to the cry of my heart:

To be used of God, to sing, to preach, to pray;
To be used of God to show someone the way:
I want so much to feel the touch of His consuming fire -
To be used of God is my desire.

The guest preacher preached a good message about how revival in the church takes work. The guest preacher is a personal friend of mine from my days working at Cedar River Baptist Camp, and it was good to see him.

In the afternoon, I drove an hour to an undisclosed location and met a personal friend to hear more of his story. D___ has had to leave the independent Baptist church in which he grew up, which formed a significant part of his identity, and the parting and subsequent rhetoric hasn't been pretty. I talked with him for nearly eight hours about his experience, his subsequent re-evaluation of everything of significance in his life, and where he finds himself at this juncture of his journey. What follows are one-sentence conclusions I came to, based on our conversation:

- As a fellow independent Baptist, I am ashamed of the way that D___ and others have been treated by their former church.

- As a fellow independent Baptist, I am even more ashamed - I don't think apalled is too strong - at the way that D___'s personal relationships fell off the face of the planet in the time following his decision.

- If independent Baptists are so convinced that single-person pastoral leadership is the appropriate Biblical structure, then we've got to stop providing such strong anecdotal evidence against it.

- The experience of some people in independent Baptist churches is causing them to question the validity of relationship with God.

- Given that, it should come as no surprise that, for people in this state, there is no issue that is beyond scrutiny, with their baseline position being somewhere on the opposite side of the spectrum from where the offending independent Baptist church stands.

- D___ is - and will be - a stronger, better follower of Christ for having encountered this experience.

- I'd put the odds at 50/50 that it'll be in a church outside of independent Baptist circles.

- Which kills me. Not because D___'s expression of his walk with Christ will be less than authentic - I am so beyond that - but because independent Baptist churches need men like D___ in the worst way.

- One imminent danger (among several) for D___ is that the qualities of a single pompous, self-centered, incompetent leader, and the brain-dead ignorance of his followers, will be imposed on other bodies of Christ followers whose most glaring misfortune is being in the same social circle.

- D___ has been ostracized, and the image of his relationship with Christ has been shredded, by the pastor and the people of the church which he prayerfully, and with no small amount of turmoil, decided to leave.

- This direction of treatment by independent Baptists as a whole of questioners within their bodies absolutely must stop.


So, as you can imagine, I had quite a bit on my mind going into Sunday worship services. We attended our home church, where the guest preacher preached both services. We ate lunch with him, and the quartet we're part of sang in both services. It was fun to sing with the quartet again.

But the guest preacher couldn't stop talking about the great spirit of the services, and how blessed the audience was to be part of this church. He was absolutely right about the spirit of the services, but my observation, from knowing the lives of many of these people, is that the good spirit of the services doesn't extend into their daily lives. There is a lot of pain just under the surface, perhaps concentrated in a few people but present nonetheless, that isn't being dealt with in ways that honor Christ.

It scares me, and it's painful to observe.

So, hopefully you'll understand if I'm a little numb at the moment. I'm weary of analyzing the misdirections of the ones who are supposed to be showing me the way. I'm more anxious than ever for the opportunity to craft an expression of life together which is true to what God is showing me and some of my friends.

It'll be an independent Baptist church, but in the ways that are of significance, it won't look much like what they've come to be. As much as it pains me to say that, it's the truth, because I will die from the inside out otherwise.


I cried to thee, O LORD; and unto the LORD I made supplication.
What profit is there in my blood, when I go down to the pit? Shall the dust praise thee? shall it declare thy truth?
Hear, O LORD, and have mercy upon me: LORD, be thou my helper.
Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness;
To the end that my glory may sing praise to thee, and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give thanks unto thee for ever. - The Bible, Psalm 30:8-12

A Few Disconnected Things, Except That They Happened To Me

I've had some trouble recovering restwise from our weekend in Missouri and subsequent travelling. So I'm posting some random stuff and preparing to collect my thoughts.

--- --- ---

Monday evening, I attended a Fingerstyle Guitar workshop at Guitar Center in Peoria. It was put on by Chris Proctor, who is one of the best at what he does. I do not know how to play guitar, but I enjoy listening to it very much, and I also wanted to add to my mental catalog of possibilities for music in the life of the church.

It was a very enjoyable experience. Mr. Proctor is a tall man, and when he plays his songs, his eyes are closed. The times when he was giving instruction and was playing a riff or something, he would have to work at keeping his eyes open. He seemed very approachable and genuinely concerned with helping guitar players in the audience improve. He seemed honest, with a wry sense of humor. He gave little glimpses into his creative process, which were very interesting. And being able to watch a master at that distance - I couldn't have been more than ten feet away from him - was just engrossing.

Most of his instruction went over my head, because I don't know any of that stuff, but it was still fascinating to be there. And his music is just incredible. If you get the chance to catch a concert or a workshop, I highly recommend it.

--- --- ---

Mother's Day was this past Sunday. I got Kristy a PlayStation 2. Am I awesome or what?

Seriously, don't be afraid to go outside the box to show someone that you appreciate them. Cards? Flowers? Chocolate? Please. The line at WalMart to buy those things is still winding down.

Put some thought into it. Or don't put some thought into it, and go off an impulse. Or something.

Gift cards are one of the worst things that ever happened to celebrations. No one thinks anymore. They're afraid of disappointing them, or something, so they get them the plastic equivalent of money. Which is useful, but not enriching at all.

Kristy spent a couple hours yesterday, she and Trey chasing an animated bandicoot around a fantasy world, Gracie and Derek cheering them on.

I'll take that over your plastic money any day.

It's Heeeeere

Just watched a Nightline story about Jessica, a 35-year-old single woman who is having a preemptive double mastectomy after testing positive for a gene mutation that is known to result in breast and ovarian cancers. She's considering having her ovaries removed preemptively, as well, but she's holding off on that decision for five years so she can have children. If she has not married in that time, she will consider other means to have children.

The future of medical ethics is here. Counseling is about to get a lot...different.

Are we ready?

Welcome to Greencastle

So we packed up and headed out for northeastern Missouri, to spend the weekend with Kristy's family. We just got in. Kristy's dad was supposed to have his gallbladder removed today, but complications prohibited it for the time being.

Most of Kristy's family lives in the metropolis of Greencastle, Missouri. On the way in tonight, I saw that the population was up to 308, up from 276 when I was dating Kristy.

From 300 on, it's all downhill. Or so they tell me.

--- --- ---

When I was dating Kristy, I used to be able to make it from Pekin to Greencastle in 4 1/2 hours. 4:15, if I really, really pushed it. I had three or four tickets to show for really, really pushing it.

This time, with a wife and three young ones, we left somewhere around 4:30 pm and arrived somewhere around 11ish. There's a part of me that's stopped keeping accurate track because it's just embarrassing.

But then, when I was dating Kristy, I was in a rush to see her and get to talk to her in person. Now, I get to do it all the way there and back. Except when she's helping Gracie put the cap back on her Strawberry Crush, while Trey and Derek doze the miles away.

All in all, a pretty even trade, I'd say. I might have even came out ahead.

I've Been Provoked, Part II: or, I Wasn't Really Provoked

So I'll continue here with another point from my friend's email, but I must begin by clarifying that I wasn't really provoked, and the whole shotgun metaphor was overstatement for the purpose of amusement. Mostly my own, as it turns out.

My blog subtitle states that I am "comfortable with being slightly out-of-place 69.3% of the time." Yesterday's entry got into one reason for being out of place in the religious community in which I was raised.

So, in my search for alternatives, I have observed and read up on other ministry leaders and churches. Ones that fall outside the independent Baptist associations and fellowships that I have been part of.

I have learned much from them. I won't take time here to articulate everything, but I've learned much.

And yet, I am out of place in those settings, as well. There are practices and progressions of logic that do not sit well in my spirit. Now is not the time to articulate those things, either.

Where I've come to is that all truth comes from God, and some truth is present in every person, because people are made in God's image. I must learn what I can from everyone I come in contact with, examine what I learn in light of my relationship with God and His Word, and craft an expression of my life in Christ that is unique to me and the world in which I live.

This is my dream: for my life, the life of my family, the life of the body of Christ followers that God allows me to lead on this fantastic journey.

So I'm slightly out of place 69.3% of the time (another figure thrown out there mostly for my amusement), and I'm getting comfortable with that, because it's what my life in Christ looks like.

I'm good with that.


For we dare not make ourselves of the number, or compare ourselves with some that commend themselves: but they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise. - The Bible, 2 Corinthians 10:12

For even hereunto were ye called: because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow his steps: - The Bible, I Peter 2:21

I've Been Provoked, Part I

I received an email from a friend who feels that my recent posts haven't been incendiary enough. He tries to push several of my buttons - most successfully, I must admit - and it will take more than one entry to address every piece of bird shot that came from his single shotgun blast. :)

...in your blog, you state that you are comfortable with being slightly out of place 69.3% of the time. I assume, and maybe incorrectly, that this is compared to the
religious community in which we were raised. Even if this is not the case, it sounds as if you have many differences with the current mode of operation for most Baptist churches. Why fight the status quo? Generally speaking, if Baptist don't want to change, why put yourself through the agony of a battle which cannot be won?

For the sake of background:

The religious community in which I was raised (we were raised, in the case of my friend) is the circle of churches that refer to themselves as independent fundamental Baptist churches. Though there is no official federation or governing body over these churches, there seems to be a propensity for organizing these churches into loose confederations, depending on all manner of various criteria. (These loose confederations are often officially referred to as associations, or fellowships, or some such title.)

Once these loose confederations are established, a sort of unspoken peer pressure is put in place. Since many of these association/fellowship groupings are in direct response to what is perceived as the wrong direction of a previous association/fellowship, a typical mantra might amount to not standing for the things that they stand for. A church is considered to be "on the right track" if they have certain guest preachers in, or use certain lingo that is understood by others within the confederation, yada, yada, yada.

The end result of all this is that, even though our churches are, in point of fact, independent of each other, our leaders - and, from their example, our people - are as a general rule always comparing our churches/stands on issues/methods of ministry to each other. And when some leader or church doesn't match up, they are preached against and warned about in the gatherings of the various associations/fellowships.

At some point, we have to find something better to do.

I'm out of place in the type of environment I just described. I believe that the end result of these conditions has been that churches have focused on their standing within their social circles, and have addressed issues of importance within said social circles. This has resulted in members who either are completely in their element inside their church social circle and clueless outside of it, or who have been rendered marginal in both their church social circle and in their world.

These conditions are present in most of the churches that make up this circle of independent Baptist churches. It's not the rule, but it certainly isn't the exception, that's for sure.

But, theological arguments aside, the great thing about being independent is that, theoretically, the church and its leadership is responsible to God alone for its conduct in every area - doctrines, modes of operation, anything. As a pastor, I can respect someone else's opinion, and listen to it, and everything else, but it is not supposed to bear on my decisionmaking or the direction of the church one whit.

So, at this point in my journey, I don't believe that I have to leave anything to do the kinds of things that God has placed in my heart to do. I'll just be independent, in its real sense. The group of believers that God gives me to lead will be independent, in its real sense.

Will I be shot down at association meetings? Maybe. But I guess there's are bigger, more personal reasons that I will continue to challenge the status quo.

- Rhoda (not real name) had been sexually abused for at least five years by the only father figure in her life. When she went to the authorities, various members of her family (who are not believers) sided with him, and treated her as if she was the biggest part of the problem. She struggles with the emotional implications of being abused: blaming herself, hating him and her family members, suicide as a possible answer to her problems. As a member of an independent Baptist church, she has no outlet for her struggles, no place to even admit she needs help.

- Tim (not real name) has dreamed for as long as he's followed Jesus to work in ministry and have a family. His relationships with the women in his life have so scarred him that he's unconvinced that a marital relationship could be any different. Meanwhile, as a member of a Baptist church, he is constantly reminded of all the ways in which he can't serve God because he's not married.

- Ernie (not real name) came to Christ through friends involved in a youth group at a Baptist church. His relationship with his stepfather is strained, and his relationship with his mother has often been shallow. Through all his life, he found acceptance and belonging through being a "crying shoulder" for girls to go to. As he has come to grips with the way of Christ in his life, he has given up these relationships, only to find an incredible void because guys in the youth group often don't understand him. He fights the pull of wanting girlfriends, but it's often a losing battle. He believes God has called him to preach, but he often feels alone. Just flat alone.

These people are in our churches. I know they're there, because I know them, and this is just my world. God's allowed me to affect these lives, and I know there are others. I've been - and continue to be - mentor, surrogate father, and more to a precious circle of fellow Christ-followers who are on this journey with me. I can't leave them, and I know there are more like them in our churches, some of whom know what they're missing, some of whom just experience the gnawings of a hole in their souls.

For many of these, their journey of faith will not take them beyond their current experience. If they can be given hope, they can change their worlds, and the kingdom of heaven will advance.

If I had to pin down a reason for fighting the status quo, this would be it.

I just can't leave them.


For none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself.
For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord: whether we live therefore, or die, we are the Lord's.
For to this end Christ both died, and rose, and revived, that he might be Lord both of the dead and living.
But why dost thou judge thy brother? or why dost thou set at nought thy brother? for we shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.
For it is written, As I live, saith the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God.
So then every one of us shall give account of himself to God. 13 Let us not therefore judge one another any more: but judge this rather, that no man put a stumblingblock or an occasion to fall in his brother's way.
- The Bible, Romans 14:7-13

See this movie, ASAP

What follows is the text of an article I wrote for Samaritan Ministries' Christian Health Care Newsletter, which I serve as Assistant Editor. It describes my recent experience watching Hotel Rwanda for the first time.

There exists no shortage of assorted religious leaders, pundits, and the like who decry the influence of Hollywood movies on our culture and our collective spirituality.

At the same time, it is undeniable that the medium of the motion picture, in the right hands, is uniquely qualified to create a visceral experience that demands both emotional and substantive responses from its audience.

For historical precedent, we look to no less than the earthly life of Jesus Christ, who “saw a great multitude, and was moved with compassion toward them, and he healed their sick.” (Matthew 14:14, KJV) When Christ took in the image of those people - when He saw them - He responded with compassion, which compelled Him to heal those who were sick.

It was not hearing of their plight that moved Christ. Rather, it was the visceral experience: the images - and, surely, the sounds - of a large group of needy people milling around, helplessly searching, but not really even knowing what they were looking for.

All of which leads me to last night.

I rented the movie Hotel Rwanda to watch at home with my wife, Kristy. I consider myself a fan of movies of all kinds, and I had heard good things about Hotel Rwanda. It had been nominated for three Oscars, which served mostly just to put it up on my mental radar screen, and I waited until 11 p.m. on the night the rental was already a day overdue, to watch it. The plan was to get this movie watched while Kristy fell asleep so that my $3.50 wasn’t completely wasted.

Two hours later, as the end credits rolled, Kristy and I were literally on the edge of our seats. Kristy was in tears; I felt like I had had the wind knocked out of me. We talked for another hour - by now it’s 3 a.m. - about how badly we wanted God to use us to reach out to those who need Him.

We were moved to compassion.

Hotel Rwanda retells the true story of the Rwandan genocide of the early 1990's, when, in the space of one hundred days, Rwanda’s Hutu extremists slaughtered nearly one million of their Tutsi neighbors and any moderate Hutus who stood in their way. The story focuses on Paul Rusesabagina, a moderate Hutu who - at the height of the atrocities and after being abandoned by all who had promised to help - sheltered more than 1,200 refugees in the hotel where he was manager.

The movie follows Paul, a devoted father, as he moves from acting only in the best interests of himself and his family, to sacrificing to save scores of people with whom he has no other connection than that they have come to him for help. The emotions on display - the terror of imminent death, the helpless despair of isolation, the joy of safety and discovering loved ones thought to be lost - are palpable.

As the movie unfolds, the enormity of what actually happened - and that various governments and groups of people stood by as it happened - begins to settle on your consciousness with a weight that will not let up. Even as I write this now, I can’t stop thinking about the faces, the sheer terror, the streets running red, littered with scores of dead bodies. (I would not attempt to gauge the level of objectionable elements here; proceed with some caution, but, by all means, please proceed.)

In the end, I was moved to compassion for the people of Rwanda in a way that, sadly, I have not been moved in a long time, perhaps ever. It made me aware that our missions presentations could use fewer slides of rolling green hills and quaint village streets, and more of, well, Hotel Rwanda.

My prayer, now that I’ve been moved to compassion, is that I will follow Christ’s example of compassion leading to acts of restoration, mercy, and hope - for this life and the one to come.

For more information on Hotel Rwanda and on the events surrounding the Rwandan genocide, visit the movie's website.

But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.

For if any be a hearer of the word, and not a doer, he is like unto a man beholding his natural face in a glass:

For he beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he was.

But whoso looketh into the perfect law of liberty, and continueth therein, he being not a forgetful hearer, but a doer of the work, this man shall be blessed in his deed. - The Bible, James 1:22-25