July 13, 2007

The sunrise on this particular morning created such a visible dichotomy. Turning east, I had the rare joy of seeing a slowly blossoming sunrise with colors hard to match on any artist’s palette. With a slight turn to the west, I saw a barrel overflowing with unsightly trash. Each directional picture seemed to detract from the other. The electric color stemming from the dawn of a new day was being tainted by the garbage. The garbage sat stubbornly in full defiance of the ecstasy of God’s artwork. Sometimes I have these weird moments when nasty visuals get stuck in my mind, thereby ruining a really good mental image I’m trying to forever capture. This was one of those times. Internally I began complaining and begrudging those who trashed God’s creation and then slept like babies on whole milk. I’m no tree hugger, mind you, but this whole rubbish (the Greek here is skubulon) thing was ruining a potentially awesome beginning to the last day of my study break.
It was somewhere between my environmentally righteous diatribe and one of my sunrise-stirred ahhhs that I saw two prisoners picking up trash. They had on matching blue outfits with “HCDC” stamped in large white letters on their backs. These two jail birds we’re being followed closely by a sheriff in a county SUV. I’d bet my mother’s recliner that this sheriff had a gun by his side --- in case one of these hardened criminals made a run for either the sand dunes or the … uh, ocean.
I had this ridiculous thought: If I ever have to be a prisoner doing time, I’d want to do it in South Carolina because I could go to the beach every morning. Like Paris Hilton trying to study for a breathalizer test, I officially labeled myself as a nincompoop. A pastoral idiot. How could such a stupid thought occupy my limited brain space?
This whole mental and emotional exercise has been sticking in my study break crawl all day long. I think I know why…
There seems to be a revolution of God that is grabbing many people. It’s a movement within God’s Church (big “c”) to simplify. Because so many lives deal with distractions and blurred activities, Americans are feeling stressed, fatigued, and unable to find deep satisfaction within most, if not all, of their pursuits. With so much overload, a thirst for the eternal is elevating, and keen awareness is pushing people NOT to cram God into everything else. At the same time, God is being portrayed by most local churches as busy, works-centered, and not grace-focused. People are tired, and they just want to know Jesus and how to serve Him. Local churches, for the most part, are not helping people with their deeper spiritual pursuits, so people are going elsewhere. No longer are people wanting to be held captive by empire-building churches who promise the moon and promote unbiblical habits --- therefore negating any engagement with God.
Didn’t Jesus say something about if we stay focused on Him, we will be set free? Isn’t there a way to BE the church and be free? Seems like there is a wonderful God-painting of how His Church best functions, and we settle for frustrating trash details like prisoners. The faithful who remain in the pews can be heard to say, “Well, if I have to be a prisoner, the local church is a pretty good place to do my time.” What a ridiculous thought. We are supposed to be free INDEED.
It seems little “c” churches have made prisoners out of free people by guilt-strapping them to lifeless trash, programs, buildings, family-zapping activities, classes of all sorts, and theology that points to GOING to church. It’s the same spiritual dichotomy between a sunrise and trash. Isn’t it?
As a pastor and leader, I’m totally convicted of the need to simplify. Purpose needs to be our process. Love, Feed. Connect. Motivate. Do these four simple things take us back to Jesus and His mission? Can this intentional simplicity give us clarity, movement, alignment, and focus? What if all we did fell under these four, Biblical (Acts 2) headings of loving, feeding, connecting, and motivating … and if something didn’t fit into this purpose/process, we didn't do it?
What if we (little “c” church) could powerfully and intentionally supplement someone’s life to go BE the church… and begin to grow actual disciples that stop merely going?
Could we serve the family better by helping them love, feed, connect, and motivate?
In “Revolution,” Barna reported that the family, as a means for primary spiritual experience and expression, was used by only 5% in 2000 … and the same 5% will hold true in 2025.
Is there something we need to be doing that helps the family BE the church? How can we supplement and help the family? How can we connect families and marriages instead of adding to their hyperactivity? How can our ideas of family broaden to powerfully include, single-moms, singles, divorced, widowed, etc.? There’s something here God is wanting us to creatively and innovatively figure out.
As a result of this study break, I also am realizing I need to spend way more time working ON the church instead of IN it. I want to keep working on connecting the Bible with our culture. I’m not exactly sure what all of this will look like, but I sense the truth of Driscoll’s words.
I believe I need to continue leading the mission of the church through strong teaching, and not get caught in the ego-massaging trap of trying to be everyone’s pastor. Everyone needs to know someone (Community Groups, Joe!), but not everyone needs to or can know me.
God… like a late-night ocean sky filled with a zillion gripping stars … silent mysteries swirling in the blue like jazz … keep me real. Allow me to have the courage to be authentic. Help me to discard the invented me. Please keep my efforts at real-ness from being abrasive, and help my Christ-centered authenticity to be a breath of your sweet grace in a stagnant and often smelly culture.
God, my final study break prayer is this: Teach me to take advantage of the life I have. Show me how to number my days aright, that I may gain a heart of wisdom. Relent, O Lord! How long will it (my life) be? Have compassion on me. Satisfy me every morning with practical evidences of your unfailing love. I want to sing for joy and be glad all my days. Make me glad… for as many days as you have allowed me to suffer. Let it all even out, for I have seen my share of difficulties lately. May your visible deeds be seen by others. Let my kids see your splendor. May your favor rest on me… us… Your Church. God show me what to do. Establish the work of our hands for me. Yes, you can do that… establish the precise, exact work you want me to do.
(Psalm 90:12-17)

BTW... I'm wondering if it would be good thing to pray through a Psalm or section of a Psalm every Sunday. This stuff is so real and relevant to where most are living.
There is much to talk about with the elders and staff. I wonder if everyone is ready to simplify? How will we shape or re-shape the upcoming fall? Has God has prepared us to practically BE the church? Will it be a battle to make Jesus essential and the church (little “c”) supplemental?
As I finish out this final blog for my ’07 study break, I’m ruminating on something Mark Driscoll wrote about within his final chapter of “Confessions of a Reformission Rev.” Ironically, this was the very last thing I read today as I was wrapping things up.
In his final chapter called “Jesus, We’re Loading Our Squirt Guns to Charge Hell Again,” Driscoll gives thoughts about focusing his church to reach the 10,000 mark in attendance. He interviewed several pastors to gain wisdom and insight for such a monumental task. One memorable mentor/pastor ignored all of Mark’s questions about structure, leadership, and attendance barriers, and asked Mark about his family. A most penetrating question was asked of Driscoll: “Is being a good husband and father more important than growing a large church?.” Driscoll answered a resounding yes, and so would I.
My wife and kids are what’s most important. I follow Jesus as a husband, dad, and then… pastor.
Although we’ve had a great study break, and everyone in my family would answer a “how are you” with a pretty strong “good,” I have this unmistakable inner burden.
The past two years have been rock hard for my family. I really can't stuff or deny this any longer. Moving from Indiana to Colorado was a clear mistake and sin of my pride. I will forever regret that decision. Colorado was a tough road, but God worked and caused great growth and connection for us in the spectacular Rocky Mountains. We loved living in Colorado and made some great friends there. Eventually though, even those friendships got ripped apart by a church infected with power, control and sin. We had turned our beautiful Colorado house into a home, but it was sitting way too empty way too soon as the moving truck was moving again.
Our move to Georgia and ministry has been good. There are great people at Cumberland. I love the staff. The elders are amazing. God has really turned things around in a hurry at CCC. (This positive build-up is obviously and pointedly coming to a “but.” Can you feel it?) BUT… my family is just not stable. We have not found a house to turn into a home. At certainly no fault of our real estate agent… we just can’t seem to get a grasp on the whole “settling” thing. After seven months, over 100 houses, and four offers gone south… we are really struggling. To say that we’re struggling is really one of those cheesy-but-true understatements that most pastors hate to admit. However, if I’m going to be real, then I’m going to share this struggle.
I’m asking God for some quick answers to prayer. It has been incredibly hard to work my way through this study break while having my family heartache constantly nagging me throughout these past couple weeks. It’s tough trying to lead and move a congregation ahead, when your own family feels stuck. Our relationships, love, and connectedness within the Scott household is very strong, but being unsettled for too long is overwhelmingly unsettling. None of this is written to freak anyone out, but it is my reality. I’m trusting God. I’m praising God. I’m waiting on God.
God, you know my heart. My family IS more important than growing a church. My role as husband and father takes absolute precedence over being a pastor. Show me what I need to do to live out this truth.
And so after two weeks, four books, 103 Psalms, and thirteen blogs later, it comes down to this... I choose Your sunrise over earthly trash. I choose NOT to be a prisoner… even if prison is deemed as “success” and a great place to be in many people’s eyes. God, through your Son Jesus, you offer us so much more. You offer us freedom. Set me free. Set me free, indeed.

July 12, 2007

For several years now, I’ve been given the great privilege of doing summer study breaks at the beach. My daily routine starts at about 6:30 a.m. with running, worship, reading, and thinking. I’ll stick at this til about 4 p.m. each day with eyes, ears, and heart open to ideas God may want to implant into my soul. I can’t think of one year when God didn’t show me challenging, convicting, and applicable principles that need attention in my life and leadership. This year has been no exception.
It takes a bit of planning for all this to unfurl the way I’ve come to expect. I usually try to find our rental in the early Spring, and then I begin gathering books, ideas, CD’s, and other aids to make my time away as productive as possible.
I’m always amazed how God weaves things together to paint a very clear picture each year I have done this. Again, God’s Word belts out truth because we are promised that when we draw close to God, He draws close to us. God gets intense when we get intentional.
I don’t believe I had a premeditated scheme on how this year’s study break books would mesh, but they have. I saw “Simple Church” on Amazon.com, and thought it would be another great read from Rainer. “Blue Like Jazz” had been on my shelf for sometime, and for an equal amount of time, guys back at the office like Joe & Jeremy have talked positively about this culturally edgy work from Donald Miller. Barna’s “Revolution” had been mentioned by some former staff members back in Indiana. I had already read “Confessions of a Reformission Rev” by revolutionist Mark Driscoll, but threw it somewhat mindlessly in my black bag just before leaving for break. I didn’t think I would ever get to it… but now only have one last chapter to re-read tomorrow. God has used all of these randomly picked books to speak, clarify, and give voice to much I have been feeling and wrestling with.
Additionally, Oswald Chamber’s (My Utmost For His Highest) daily readings have had a unique way of blending in nicely and divinely to the other books as well.
During this study break, my time in Psalms has helped me stay real, raw, and expressive to God with my prayer, worship, and journaling times. I don’t think I’ve read through the Psalms like this before. It has been extremely beneficial to read the Psalms and know that I’m not the only spiritual yo-yo out there. I have personally and painfully related to the many songs. I have been able to pray better. I trust God has understood me and that I have understood God.
I also love how God points me to and teaches me through ordinary things like water bottles, sunrises, my kids, seaweed, sand sculptures, boogie boards, life guards, people fishing, and people parading around on the beach in basically their underwear. I think it’s incredibly cool when the lines between sacred and secular get fuzzy, and yet you see God more clearly.
Today was Morgan’s … my new nine-year-old … birthday. She wanted to see the new Harry Potter movie as part of her big celebration. As a pastor who has been confronted on subjecting my kids to previous J.K. Rowling flicks, I had absolutely no problem seeing this new one. With each of the other Potter books and films, I have been able to have great conversations with my kids about real, spiritual, God things. “Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix” had even more talking points to engage my kids with. Immediately after this exhilarating 2-hour cinematic ride, we talked about really cool things like the absolute importance of community, the choices we make with light and darkness, and love. During this study break, my kids have been working on memorizing I Corinthians 13, and Harry Potter displayed much of what they had committed to memory. Truth in Harry Potter? Yep. Outside the church walls? Yep. God’s there too. Finding God and truth outside the walls of a local church, and having dialogue that represents BEING the church in an oblivious culture is exactly what and how I want to teach my kids. Sounds simple. Revolutionary like.
As a part of Morgan’s study break birthday bash, she also wanted to go down to the local arcade after dinner. She loves this place. All games are just 25 cents. I use to go to this same arcade when I was Morgan’s age. The games were 25 cents back in 1969 when I had turned nine. At this particular arcade, there’s not a lot of frill, or bells and whistles, or flash, or even air-conditioning … but this beach arcade sure is fun. We blew our way through fifteen dollars worth of quarters, but got 640 tickets to buy amazing-but-completely-useless junk and trinkets. After we ran out of quarters, Lauren and I began subversively checking coin slots for Tim LaHaye quarters… those left-behind. This is something every cheap pastor teaches their second born. Man we had fun… and I think the kids enjoyed it too! Isn’t that the point? Fun.
I also noticed how the other fancier, more-expensive arcades across the street had a lot more going on, but a whole lot less people going in.
All of this sounds strangely familiar to me. Related to the church, isn’t this what I’ve been reading about? So many churches have lost their purpose and focus by being so complex, busy, and “successful.” There is a spiritual hunger for intentional simplicity. Getting back to the basics of the mission of Jesus. Isn’t that the point, after all? Jesus.
Oswald writes in today’s reading: “The church ceases to be spiritual when it becomes self-seeking, only interested in the development of it’s own organization.
See what I mean about study break? God weaves and threads and cements and meshes… in very cool, clear ways.
Oh… and one more thing from today. As I was running this morning, I went back to some old-school Tommy Walker worship --- “Live At Home.” The next to last song on this album is a tune called “Amen.” I love this song. We use to sing it back in IN with a full band and mass praise choir. We rocked on this song.
As I ran, I turned up my Ipod a bit more when “Amen” began to play. I have listened to this song hundreds of times before, but something new rang in between my ears. I had never heard this before. Tommy Walker was playing and then said, “I’m gonna let someone else sing…” I was surprised to soak in some unbelievable vocals by a guy I have been recently getting to know and who has been attending Cumberland for the past eight months. How cool was this! Just a little something for me and my silly jogging goose bumps. It felt like God was putting his own “Amen” on my heart, my thoughts, and my ideas as this study break comes to a close. Amen. I agree. So be it.
Tomorrow will bring one more final day. I’ll write one more blog... and I’m anticipating how God will allow me to summarize and pull the past two weeks into one, God-created direction.

July 11, 2007

Sherry and I rolled out of bed early, and quietly snuck out for breakfast while the kiddos were still fast asleep. We headed for the 2nd Avenue Pier. Their breakfast served outside on the pier and next to the compelling coastline is as good as it gets. This worn and tattered establishment, affectionately named “Big Daddy’s” by the big guy behind the cash register, has been one of my favorite study break hang outs for years. Sherry and I soaked in the sights and smells and placed our order. Trying to revive and restore my southern ways, I even had grits with my eggs, bacon and greasy hashbrowns.
At about 8 a.m. there were two cussing salty dogs who came in and sat a couple tables away from us. Their repetitive use of the “f” word and other verbal bombs were indication of either occupations involving the sea… or their grits were overcooked. They ordered Bloody Marys. A few minutes later, a couple of loud, female, vacationing carnival workers came in and sat right behind Sherry and I. Their language seemed equally colorful, and their early-morning thirst had a bend for frozen daiquiris… “as strong as you can make them.”
Somewhat sheepishly, I sipped on my water… with a lemon.
With the many pages that have been unfolding during this study break, it occurred to me that on a pier in South Carolina where salty dogs and carnival workers are ordering drinks way too strong for a breakfast of champions --- this is where the Church is supposed to BE.
So why did I feel such a distance, disconnect, and pious wall between myself and these who are closer to the Kingdom than they know? Why was one of my initial reactions leaning towards how my breakfast company needed to GO to church… and not for me to BE the church right there at Big Daddy’s?

Oswald Chambers says the aim of a spiritually vigorous saint is to achieve the realization of Jesus Christ in every set of circumstances --- not dividing life into the secular and the sacred.
I sat on the beach today and read more of Mark Driscoll. More great stuff. Driscoll tells a funny but insightful story about a pervert in his church that was caving in to porn. This perv called Driscoll in the wee hours of the night wanting help. Driscoll writes: “The church phone in our house rang at some godforsaken hour when I’m not even a Christian, like 3 a.m.” Driscoll ends the story giving the wayward sinner this advice: “You need to stop watching porno and crying like a baby afterward and grow up, man. I don’t have time to be your accountability partner, so you need to be a man and nut up and take care of yourself. A naked lady is good to look at, so get a job, get a wife, ask her to get naked, and look at her instead. Alright?” (The guy actually did what Driscoll said and today has a wife, some kids and no longer watches porn.) Just a bit further in chapter two, Driscoll muses: “I decided that though a pastor was supposed to answer the phone and help people, I would end up with a gun to my head if I did. And since I had no boss and the church was not paying me, I decided to just keep doing what I thought Jesus wanted me to do instead of doing what the people in the church wanted me to do.”
Is the church (little “c”) doing much, but not doing what Jesus wants? Am I? Has the idea of what a successful church (little “c”) looks like so infected us that we have become blind to the mission of Christ and the desperate needs of culture? Is there so much crippling activity in our local churches that no one has time, as Driscoll suggests, to work on the Church (big “c”)… consequently we have been doomed to merely work in the church (little “c”)?
I laid Driscoll’s poignant paperback on my chest, and contemplated an empty water bottle lying in the sand. Another scorching-hot July day had descended, and my two oldest daughters lay on the beach next to me trying to golden up. They each had full, cold bottles of water by their sides. I heard Brooklynn say something about how she could just keep drinking and drinking her water because it was so terribly hot. A full bottle of cold, purified water on a hot beach is like a steaming hotdog at a Braves game… necessary.
However, I noticed how an empty water bottle in the hot, white sand becomes trash nobody even bothers picking up. Nobody wants to claim or touch it. This became my afternoon metaphor for, perhaps, what many local churches have become. Empty. While thirst and hunger is increasing, few are looking to the church (little “c”) for quenching. Some may even go as far as seeing the local church as useless trash… unnecessary for their spiritual journey. Some won’t even touch it.
Dear God, please help me to lead Your Church in ways that dispense your Living Water.
Jesus, you are stirring millions to BE Your Church. Many are growing divinely tired of merely going to church. For the sake of salty dogs, carnival workers, and Your Kingdom come, please show me how to simplify, clarify, seek movement, lead alignment, and stay focused on your mission, Jesus.
Too much sun on my already burnt and glowing face pushed me to do additional reading from the condo balcony. The view from the 5th floor is relaxing and conducive to reflect on more Psalms (74-80). The Psalms, I’m finding, are great prayer companions. There’s so much bona fide soul to these Biblical songs. Personalizing and praying through them make for great connection times with a sovereign-yet-personal God. It felt right and good to write my prayers out in my journal.
On a final note... Somewhere in between our rationalized eavesdropping at Big Daddy’s, Sherry said the phrase that all study breaks dread… “Only a few more days left.” Two more days, to be exact, are on this study break’s calendar. They will be full days. I’m praying and anticipating God will being tying many thoughts and ideas together. I sense He already is.

July 10, 2007

My mind, heart, and soul is still reeling from reading George Barna’s “Revolution” yesterday.
Although I read it in one day, it’s going to take me some time to sort through it all. Much of this was making me feel a little on overload today. I ran early this morning, and had a great time of worship and connection with the very patient and accommodating God of the universe. He really does draw close to us when we draw close to him.
Today, as far as study break usually plays out, was a bit out of the norm. Because I buzzed through Barna’s “Revolution” book, I began a re-read of Mark Driscoll’s “Confessions of a Reformation Rev.” I got about 60 pages in.
Driscoll is a great, living example of a George Barna revolutionary. He’s doing simple church that focuses on people BEING the church. I love the way Driscoll writes. He makes you laugh out loud. He writes about the place where his church plant first met: “The upstairs room at the fundamentalist church was so hot that everyone was sweating like Mike Tyson in a spelling bee.” I love that kind of creative imagery.
Driscoll has recognized the revolution and focuses his church on proper 1) Christology --- who Jesus is and what He wants us to do. 2) Ecclesiology --- what structure of church does the Bible promote to impact culture? 3) Missiology --- how can we most effectively expand God’s kingdom? 4) Ministry --- how does Jesus want us to serve his mission in our culture through the Church? Simple and back to Jesus. Brilliant. Genius. Rare.
Reading, again, “Confessions of a Reformission Rev” will be a good follow-up read after being flattened yesterday with Barna’s Revolution.
Reading today was slow though. Tedious. I was easily distracted. I read more Psalms (70-73). “God you bear my burdens, and you save me.”
God, you know what’s going on in my heart. You know the burdens bouncing around in my head and heart. I trust you to save me, and help me sort through things.
I sat under the umbrella with Sherry and talked through some of Barna’s insights… and how they fit into our marriage, family, and ministry. Have we veered off course, and what will the next 20 years of ministry look like for us? This stuff has been more challenging than what we normally are exposed to on study breaks.
Why are so many church (little “c”) people burned out and tired? Why is it so hard to raise up leaders and volunteers in the local church? Why so many fights and disagreements? We quizzed each other… “Why are people getting very weary of buildings and capital campaigns and dominating personalities?” There is a palpable hunger beyond what is being spooned out on Sunday mornings in “little c” churches. We’ve sensed it all for some time. Apparently, so have many others. What’s going on? What does all of this look like for us?
As we talked, we were somewhat oblivious to the cloudless blue skies and searing sun that was baking all living things below like a glowing toaster on 6. I didn’t know you could get a blistering sunburn while sitting in the shade of an umbrella. Apparently umbrella fabric is not as great a SPF or UV protection agent as I thought. Who knew? Actually, I think Sherry may have known because she eventually left me to my own design for another three hours of vicious, unsuspecting umbrella shade. I can now cook an egg on my face.
During my lonely afternoon, I continued to read Driscoll but was still distracted like a sand-castle-building dad spotting a frozen lemonade cart.
There is a burden on my heart. There’s something stirring deep inside of me. It’s this revolution stuff… church with a little “c” or Church with a big “c”.
I put Driscoll down and plugged my Ipod back into my wandering head. I’m not sure if this was to give my brain relief or travel further down some mental rabbit trails. Jackson Browne, Chicago, The Afters, Jars of Clay, Taylor Hicks… and then Tait. Michael Tait began to ring truth in my ears: “I got caught in a hurricane. No one but my self to blame. I got lost in the rain. Like a raging sea, fear wants to swallow me. I’ve searched but there’s no peace without you. But if I lose this life, I know I’ll find in you. So won’t you take my life. Cause I surrender to You, I’m running back to the truth. Your Word is clear. I’ve got to believe it.”
That was it. I think I’m feeling like there’s a hurricane looming. The skies are perfectly clear, not many are alarmed or motivated, but it’s coming. There’s an unsuspecting but very real burning. There’s fear… and it’s wanting to swallow me like several waves have done this week.
What’s it mean for me to lose my life as a pastor? Is it surrendering my 20+ years of trying to lead and grow a “successful” church (little “c”)? Dare I admit my leadership has been more about programs, buildings, numbers, empire building, and not near enough about Jesus? Maybe this is why, too often, my pride and ego have spun out of control. I’m amazed at how God has so consistently used me in spite of me. With all of my poor decisions, screw-ups, and sin... it seems like I should have been disqualified from being a pastor a long time ago.

Back to my Ipod... I clicked quickly to Audio Adrenaline. "Ocean Floor" was perfect, Godly medicine. All my sins... my pride... can be forgotten... washed away by a mighty, mighty wave. All aspects of my embarassing and checkered past can be thrown and left forgotten on the bottom of the ocean floor. After a decided few hours of burning and beating myself up, I needed this song. I've always liked "Ocean Floor," but on this day it providentially became even better.
Tonight after supper, I talked with a former colleague of mine back in Indiana. He’s read “Revolution” too. He’s not sure he can just “do” church like he’s been doing for years. He’s struggling with attending the very church that writes his paycheck. Sounds and looks strangely familiar… like the outer rings of a forming hurricane.
At 8:30 all the Scotts gathered for another family movie night. Sometimes the two older girls moan and complain of forced compliancy with such scheduled events, but eventually they come around. We popped a few bags of popcorn and watched “Facing The Giants.” At first I had internal sarcasm for the less-than-stellar acting on yet another “Christian” film. I did several “I’m-more-hip-than-this” eye rolls during the first fifteen minutes. As the DVD rolled on, however, I caught myself wiping surprised tears from my skeptical eyes. The film’s obvious question was clear: “Is there anything God can’t do?” The answer came in one word… “nothing.” In the middle of my floundering thoughts and deepening burdens on this day, I needed this reminder.
I’m going to bed…

July 9, 2007

When I peeked out of our balcony into the early morning light, I noticed there wasn’t much… light, that is. By the time I hit the stairs to descend our five flights, I could sense this was another “iffy” blustery day that potentially was a wash. I took my beach chairs, umbrella, and black bag to the beach with great resiliency and hope. There wasn’t too many others on the beach with my flavor of optimistic hope. I pressed on.
Instead of walking or running, I decided to stay in my chair to soak in a somewhat private screening of an incredible heavenly premiere. The ocean was in spectacular form. I spotted some dolphin… or porpoises… I’m not really sure of the difference. Nobody seemed to see these creatures of grace but me. I knew they weren’t sharks because they kept surfacing in a rhythmic and mesmerizing circular motion. God, did you provide this just for me?
I had Chris Tomlin’s “See You In The Morning” CD playing brilliantly and loudly on my Ipod. “How can I keep from singing Your Praise… I am loved by the King… I am loved by the King, and it makes my heart want to sing.”
I read Psalms 59-69… and found myself praying pieces of these incredible worship songs back to God. “Hear my cry, O God, listen to my prayer… lead me to the Rock that is higher than I… my soul finds rest in God alone … You, O God, are strong… You, O Lord, are loving…may God be gracious to us and bless us, and shine his face upon us… Your love is better than life.”
I have been so refreshed to find myself in the middle of David’s Psalms… in the good, during a fight, with deep tears, through sin, through regret, and engulfed in necessary praise.
Then the rain drops started popping on the flimsy white pages of my Bible. I grabbed my umbrella, and cranked it down around me with only my feet exposed to the elements. My initial resolve was to bravely wait the storm out… these things usually only last a few minutes in the Carolinas. After riding out a 45-minute rain delay, I decided to pack it all up and head for the condo. When I finally shook off the sand and rain and walked through the door, my obnoxiously-dry family amusingly guessed that I had been sitting snuggly and stubbornly underneath a half-way opened umbrella like a kid in his first homemade fort. I wanted to lie as if to say, “You don’t know me,” but simultaneously remembered the ultimate demise of liars. Sherry and the kids proceeded to inform me about the Weather Channel’s bleak forecast for a wash out. So… someone said “mall,” and off we went.
I now understand why I needed to camp out at Starbucks for several hours today. While the family shopped, I read through George Barna’s “Revolution” with speed, intrigue, and anxiousness. One tall Cinnamon Latte (non-fat, decaf, whipped), several bitten nails, and hours later, I had devoured 144 pages of dynamite. This really was an amazing read. Alongside of “Simple Church” and “Blue Like Jazz”, there are many things within me that are being confirmed and highlighted. Things only felt before this study break are now becoming attached to words, definitions, and labels.
Something is happening within people’s hearts. There is a hunger for God. Buildings, empires, programs, capital campaigns, classes, worship bands, sermons, and carefully orchestrated Sunday services are leaving many people feeling unconnected from the very God they want to know. People are becoming weary of the church trying to help them fit God into their already packed schedule. There is a new and growing sense that people’s schedule, perhaps, need to be built around God. Because of this, many are becoming revolutionaries in how they are living out their walk with Jesus.
For some time now and before reading this book, I have been questioning if church (small “c”) should be essential to someone’s walk with Jesus or if it should be supplemental. Should someone’s life revolve around church (little “c”), or should church supplement someone’s life so they can BE the Church (big “c”)? I think Erwin McManus was the first to help me get my brain wrapped around this.
BEING the Church (big “c”) is the very heart of what Barna’s book is shouting. It’s notable to mention that Barna wrote the groundbreaking and best-selling “Frog In The Kettle” many years ago. This particular book helped the Church to understand undercurrents, trends and culture… in order to make necessary adjustments. Most of the ideas lurking on the horizon in “Frog In The Kettle” came to pass with amazing and almost prophetic accuracy. Geroge Barna is very good, and knows his stuff.
With “Revolution”, Barna is predicting seismic shifts in how people approach faith --- unlike anything we’ve seen in this young century or the previous.
Statistically, George Barna cites how the church isn’t working… mega or otherwise. We are not producing disciples who are statistically different from the world. Maybe the way the church currently works was never how it was intended to work in the first place. Maybe.
Many, including myself, have been schooled and “conferenced” on the idea that the local church is the hope of the world. Is it? Or is Jesus the real hope, and the church (little “c”) is one supplemental way of pointing to Jesus? Isn’t God’s plan to work through the church? Yes… but is that with a little “c” or a big “c”?
In 2000, 70% of Americans experienced faith and spirituality in a local church. By the year 2025… according to Barna’s research… only 30% will continue to look to local churches (little “c”) for expressions of faith. The hunger for God will increase, but our buildings and institutions and programs will be in serious trouble.
Many will argue and preach that we should not “forsake the meeting together as some are in the habit of doing…” However, as Barna argues, our current brand of church is neither Biblical or unbiblical… it is a-biblical. Our method of church (little “c”) was developed many, many years after the New Testament was written. The essentials of New Testament Church (big “c”) were: Jesus, love, the Word, worship, community, giving, and serving. Many want to get back to these simple essentials, and are finding ways other than through the local church.
Just to underscore the gravity of “Revolution,” listen to these bold-faced words found on page 102: “The Revolution of faith that is swelling within the soul of America is no different in scope. It will affect you and everything you know. Every social institution will be affected. This is not simply a movement, it is a full-scale reengineering of the role of faith in personal lives, the religious community, and society at large.”
And if your love for the institution of church (little “c”) is greater than the influence it was supposed to exude… don’t even think about reading page 107. Oh my.
So what will we do? What will I do? Should I stop reading and run towards the fuzzy-but-comfortable light of ignorance? Maybe I should consider fighting against this revolution for the sake of job security? I (we) could co-exist with such a revolution, or just wait and see how it all pans out.
There is one other option. Maybe I should admit my own frustrations and seek to satisfy deeper hungers… and become a revolutionary myself. This could get me fired.
There seems to be an opportunity at hand perhaps greater than any of us have ever seen. What if we all jumped into something we see God’s hand at work in? Instead of asking Him to bless our ideas, maybe we should ask if we could join something that He is already stirring and accomplishing in the hearts of people everywhere.
It’s the old and new wineskins thing. Here we go again… I thought I was part of a great and bold generation who had brought new wine and wineskins to the church with rock and roll worship and un-tucked shirts. Now I’m discovering all the progress I worked so hard at for so many years is becoming old, stale, useless wine.
God, if this IS Your new wine being poured out, help me to embrace new wineskins in my life and in my church. Like a kid defending his homemade fort, I pray I won’t hide beneath a half-cranked umbrella of fear or stubbornness.

BTW... there's truth to be found on Starbucks cups. "The most relevant pieces of advice I received regarding marriage: You can only be as happy as the least happy person in the house, and two bathrooms are mandatory."

The family is doing great. Everyone is happy and enjoying this study break, and we have two bathrooms!

July 8, 2007

What a joy for a pastor to be afforded the opportunity to roll out of bed at 6:30 and go for a long run on the beach… ON A SUNDAY MORNING!

I ran down to the first pier going north. Then I kept running to the next distant pier lurking in the ocean mist. I just kept running. I was hoping someone wouldn’t yell, “Run Forrest, Run,” because I might have ended up in New York.

God was smiling as I ran. I had some old-school Tommy Walker worship music playing on my Ipod. “Make It Glorious” had a perfect rhythm with my cheetah-like pace. (Overdue side note: My running will impress someone only through my writing, and never actually through my running.)

The warm morning salt air mixed with the unbelievably calm water to my right… which stirred my soul and actually gave me goose bumps as I ran and worshipped God on this brand new, glorious day. It’s hard to run with goose bumps, but it sure was fun. I felt so very close and connected to my Creator.

On my way back I stopped by the state park where Sherry and I use to bring teens on annual summer trips. I’m going way back here… 15-17 years. I walked through the narrow, curvy roads of the state park. I tried to remember and imagine where we set up camp so many years ago. On one summer trip we took 29 kids from southern Indiana to this exact state park. Sherry was 7 months pregnant! What was I thinking? I did make our prenatal stay very comfortable as I gave Sherry an air mattress and ran a shiny new extension cord into our tent for a fans and hair dryers. I’m such an unbelievable romantic slob.

As I walked through the campgrounds this morning, I vividly remembered faces of teens we had brought here. Jeremy (aka “The Nighthawk”) who was loved by many of the girls, but would never commit to any one. Steve was going steady with Jodi, and all the adults made good guesses these two would get married. Christi played football and body surfed with all the guys. Steve eventually married Christi, and they now have twelve or so kids living on a farm back in rural Indiana. I could see the faces of Ben, Anne, Dustye, and Mindy. One afternoon at the beach, Mindy started playing very rough tackle football with all the guys. That night a few kids began telling us how Mindy had just found out she was pregnant and wanted to try and lose the baby. What a defining moment that was for many of us on this particular beach excursion. We had hours around camp fires doing “the love chair” where we spoke truth and love into the kids. We did unforgettable beach devotions. We had great times and deep moments of God-touched breakthroughs --- and that was just within me.

I wonder where all these kids are today? They probably now have their own kids going on youth group trips. I hope more than anything they have Jesus. All of these retro thoughts make me feel very old, but also extremely grateful for the deep, undeniable, unshakeable connections with people back in southern Indiana. God reminded me of so many faces as I walked through the state park.

Back on the beach and running, I decided to switch my music to some U2. First song… “Beautiful Day.” It so was.

It takes planning, extra work, and intentional intensity to get to such moments, but God was etching this one deep into my psyche and spirit for me to hold onto as the future months roll by. God was smiling, I was worshipping… it WAS a beautiful day.

Next song rolls… “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” There was definite truth creeping out of these songs and sinking into my tired, sweaty, but exhilarated soul. I struggle with the way we label things secular and sacred --- especially music.

My earplugs were filling me with what most would consider to be secular (especially on a Sunday morning), but the words and sounds were giving me distinct truth and Spirit challenges. “I have climbed the highest mountains, I have run through the fields… only to be with you, only to be with you. I have run, I have crawled, I have scaled these city walls… only to be with you. But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

My brain and heart started hurting as much as my calf muscles. I have traveled far to the Rocky Mountains. I have ran through southern Indiana cornfields. I have ventured into the steel and concrete of Atlanta… all in attempt to follow and find God. Sometimes I regret decisions and moves. Other times I’m overwhelmed with thankfulness for adventure. Mostly I long for a sense of stability. I’ve wondered, at age 47, if I have yet to find what I’ve been looking for.

I asked God to show me, and then God seemed to say, “Alan, I want you still searching, climbing, and running when you’re 57 and 67.” And that was the final prayer of my morning run. God, please keep me running and searching after you. Help me to never arrive. Keep me forever hungry and open. God, thank you for these special times when I am incredibly blessed and privileged to read, run, worship, pray, write, and just hang out with you.

After I got back to the condo, we loaded up the family and went to a church building. After my early morning, I struggled a bit with going to church. We went to a different church today. There were no Bibles. No scripture was even flashed on the screen. There were lots of lights and smoke and video screens and hip musicians. They had great donuts and cold, tiny bottles of spring water. There were actually lots of people at this church. In fact, many people wore the same colored shirts. The choir wore matching, bright green, untucked-but-uncool t-shirts. The greeters and offering taker-uppers all wore special matching polo shirts. Jeremy Hazelton would have looked really sporty in one of these shirts. I’m reasonably sure membership at this church requires losing any individualized taste for fashion. I quickly and cynically surmised that all the inner-circle leaders wore matching outfits... just like Jesus and his posse of twelve.

The worship leader, for me, was over-the-top and a bit in-your-face. She would flash multiple signs to the band like a third-base coach flashes signals to a batter. Needless to say, I felt a bit distracted and lost in the whole ordeal. I’m sure this is a good church. A lot of people clapped after the songs.

Perhaps ideas of simplicity and BEING the church have somewhat tainted my ability to go to church. Reading David’s authentic Psalms, “Simple Church” and “Blue Like Jazz” have definitely become new, viable filters for me to think through things.

Tomorrow I start reading “Revoltion” by George Barna. The front cover reads: “Worn out on church? Finding vibrant faith beyond the walls of the sanctuary.” I’m anxious to read and listen and pray and think…

I wonder if any of this is going to get me fired?

July 7, 2007

Sherry and I took a walk on the beach yesterday. We snuck away from the kids and took a long stroll through the shallow waves that were stirring the sand and shells. At one point we held hands. That was rather cool and nostalgic. I asked Sherry about the book she is reading. A friend back in Atlanta gave Sherry a book to read for study break. It’s called “And The Shofar Blew” by Francine Rivers. Sherry has been engulfed in this thick novel, so when I asked about it… she tended to monopolize our beach conversation with an excited retelling of the story line. I listened because I love Sherry… not so much thick novels.
I asked Sherry if she thought her book was a divine appointment thing that God had placed in her hands. She wasn’t sure if it was or not, but she did think there was a theme that was beginning to bubble up in our annual study break. Sherry has been reading my daily blogs and some excerpts from my study break books… and along with her book, and the fact that our kids are trying to memorize I Corinthians 13… Sherry thought we were are seeing a theme of love. Simple love. Not the soap opera kind, but rather the God type of love that pushes aside labels, judgmental attitudes, preconceived ideas, and just loves.
I have noticed people loving other people here at the beach. There was a dad carrying his tiny infant son in a wrapped-up towel, and as he was climbing some wooden, ocean-worn stairs he said, “Daddy’s got ya. I’ll take care of you.” I saw a somewhat weathered man stoop low to the ground with his digital camera. He was trying to get just the right shot of his wife. You would have thought he was taking Cover Girl photos of a hot new super model. She was definitely not the most beautiful bathing beauty on the beach. In fact, she was stooped over and made to look a bit awkward as the waves were affecting her balance. Soaking it all in was a husband who saw nothing but a future-framed prize possession photograph of the woman he loved.
We took our kids to our annual study-break midnight breakfast last night. I didn’t think we were going to make it. At about 11 p.m. my tribe was looking weary as we awaited our departure time of 11:30. We arrived at Denny’s at 11:45. We placed our order at 11:50, and our food came… no kidding… by 11:55. Michael was still trying to talk with a British accent. He moves his body in funny, contorted ways as he says, “Pip, pip old chap…bloody good!” The manager came over to our table and showed the kids how to shoot straw wrappers more efficiently. I think I have great kids who already could shoot straw wrappers with great animation, but I think he was enjoying watching our family and wanted to join in some how. We all laughed and wondered why so many other people were at Denny’s at midnight. Sherry and I split a Grand Slam… because after all, do you really need to sleep on a whole Grand Slam?
I hope my kids remember study breaks. I hope they remember midnight breakfasts.
I hope they remember me taking some study break down time on Saturdays and Sundays just so we can hang out. I hope they feel loved.
I finished reading the last two chapters of “Blue Like Jazz” this morning. I dreaded coming to the end. "Blue Like Jazz" became a much-needed friend and companion these past couple days. Donald Miller talks a lot about love in this great, thirst-quenching book.
He says it’s so important to love people because God is love… and other’s will have such a hard time getting to know and understand God if they are not loved. I want so desperately for my kids to know God, and I think it’s all very much dependent on how I love them. Miller also wrote poignantly about receiving love, and how he had such a hard time doing this. I love this… Miller writes: “If it is wrong for me to receive love, then it is also wrong for me to give it because by giving it I’m causing someone else to receive it, which I had presupposed was the wrong thing to do.” Miller had a epiphany-type break through of allowing himself to receive God’s love which broke open the dam for others to love him as well.
I’m not writing much or doing much today… because I just wanted to hang out and try to love on my family. We’re going to watch Dream Girls tonight and make slushies. Tomorrow we’ll go to church and hang out some more. It seems that even on study break, it’s healthy to take a break.
If I write great blogs, and read many books, and impress people with my study break insights… but have not love… I’m but a clanging, cheap, beach-shop wind chime… and a very bad dad.

July 6, 2007

“Blue Like Jazz” is such a good book. I’ve really enjoyed reading the challenging, engaging, personal, and freeing thoughts of Donald Miller. This book makes you think. Not like a chess game, but more like a hearty game of Battleship where you express demonstrative emotions and laugh out loud.
I think anyone who wants to be an honest-to-goodness authentic Christian, and help create a very real church, should read “Blue Like Jazz.” It has forced me to evaluate things a bit deeper. For instance…
We hit some beach shops last night… the gaudy ones advertising t-shirts for $1.99. They have those t-shirts alright, but they are in a rack in the back of the store, and have been there since 1974.
One of the very upscale stores we ventured into was called Shell World. They had it all. It really was a world of shells and cheap ash trays with sharks and porpoises glued to the side. I’m not quite sure why people buy stuff from Shell World. My best guess is that most plop some cash down at Shell World because they want to take home a decorative souvenir to remember their enchanting time at the beach. I’m also fairly sure that these impulse purchases eventually make for great conversations with people going to garage sales somewhere in Ohio.
I spotted an irresistible classic in Shell World. It was a funky Jesus clock. In a stylish mirrored frame, this funky Jesus clock depicted Jesus dying for our sins --- with a spinning, colorful disco effect whirling behind the cross. The funky Jesus clock seemed to be attempting to merge theology with clubbing. It’s almost as if the clock was trying to make Jesus more attractive and appealing. I asked my thirteen-year-old what she thought of the clock. She rolled her eyes and said, “Pssshhhh.” This is what Lauren says when something is beyond ridiculous. With that, I knew I had to buy the clock.
There was something else going on with this funky Jesus clock. It seemed to capture how weak and impotent I have made Jesus by trying to be seeker-sensitive, believer-focused, purpose-driven, right-winged, and cutting edge. In trying to be relevant, effective, and successful, what have I done with Jesus? Have I made him something he’s not? Corporate? Is it my job to make Jesus more attractive? Does He need me to do this? Sometimes I wonder if I’ve made Jesus more rigid and less appealing.
Strangely enough, Donald Miller and this funky Jesus clock made me think about Lance McKinney and Barry Combs. I haven’t thought about these guys in years. Lance, Barry, and I came up together in the Sunday School ranks. We painfully endured promotion Sundays when the teachers would parade us up in front of our parents as we moved on to the next grade and class. I remember how promotion Sundays were embarrassing for 7th graders, but the little kids seemed to love the whole parade thing.
There were never any new kids in our class. It was always just Lance, Barry, and myself, and the only time we would interact with each other was during the nine o’clock Sunday School hour. Other than our time with the flannel graph board, we never spent much outside time together. Our Sunday School teachers seemed content, and perhaps a little apathetic, with the three of us remaining the three of us. Sometimes Charlotte Kruer would join us for class because she lived just a short walk from our church. Charlotte began blossoming in the 7th grade and high school boys started becoming intrigued with her maturation process. After this, she stopped coming to church.
There came a time when Lance and Barry stopped coming to church as well. I think it was later in our high school years. Maybe one of them started dating Charlotte and she convinced them to stop going to church. Definitely by college, Lance and Barry had drifted far from the church. I kept going to church, but for a time was merely going through the motions. I still felt better about myself though… especially when I compared my Christianity to Lance and Barry’s.
Lance went off and studied at MIT. He wanted to become a big-shot car designer. During my college years, I remember bumping into Lance. I went to a restaurant with a friend and decided to exert my independence and legal age. I ordered a beer. To this day, I don’t like beer. Sometimes I wish I liked beer because drinking an occasional beer as a pastor seems to help dissuade people’s boxy ideas of how nerdy pastors are. Of course there are others who think pastors drinking a single beer are a horrific, sinful example, and a terrible stumbling block for everyone’s fragile Christianity. I’m quite certain my mother, who raised me in the church and got me to Sunday School with Lance and Barry, would be shocked to know that I had ordered a beer in college.
I did… and then Lance walked in. This moment is etched in my mind with a full dose of legalistic guilt and condemnation attached. I didn’t even drink the beer, I just remember feeling like a sinful slime ball as I said an awkward hello to Lance.
Lance did become a big-shot car designer. Last I heard, he was rolling in the big bucks and enjoying the good life apart from God. Lance became skeptical and eventually a non-believer.
Today I questioned that beer I ordered. After years and years of Sunday School (and VBS, and camp, and memorized lines in Christmas pageants, and youth group), was the totality of my spirituality defined in one guilt-producing beer? Was this the Jesus I was taught? Was Jesus reduced to a rule book of do’s and don’ts that only worked well inside the church walls? Where was the Jesus who worked practically Monday through Saturday, and was more powerful than any evils unleashed in a great big world?
I’m sure many great things and values were drilled into my thick skull as I grew up in church. They had to give me some good stuff, right? But what about Jesus?
Where was Lance? What happened to Barry? Why did Charlotte quit? Why is one, untouched beer so memorable? Was Jesus taught as a guarded God of legalism? Was Jesus held up as a Savior reserved only for 9 a.m. on Sunday mornings?
Jesus, help me to show people the real you. Please guard me from trying to make you more attractive, more appealing, watered down, or propped up with too many rules. Help me to simply teach and reflect you. Help me to love and connect people to You and each other.
The new funky Jesus clock in my office will be my daily reminder and prompter.

July 5, 2007

The people sitting behind us today were speaking in tongues. Not the real, pew-jumping and tambourine playing tongues, but rather a different language. My daughters were curious as to what language they were speaking. My girls were wanting to know what exotic land these fast talking foreigners were from. So I did what any good, eaves-dropping father would do…I took hold of the chair arms and pushed my beach chair as far back as I could. Then I faked taking a nap. I pulled my hat down over my eyes, laid motionless, and listened. I heard a “mag – niff – icko” uttered from the peculiar crowd. Seems like I once saw a TV French chef say “magnifficko”, so I told Brooklyn, Lauren, and Morgan our beach neighbors to the rear were French.
There is something intriguing and mysterious about someone from another country who speaks fluid jibberish.
Earlier this week all four of my kids had decided to fake British accents when they were out in public. All of the Scott’s wholeheartedly bought into this… with a “mum” and a “cheerio” and a few “bloody goods.” Michael, our five-year-old with a thick southern Indiana accent, sounded like he had the leading role in a bad high school play. I’m not sure we successfully fooled anyone listening in on our beach conversations, but we sure had a good time trying. Last night the whole British thing fell apart for us when we went to see fourth of July fireworks at a large pier. I reluctantly reminded my clan that some die-hard Brits wouldn’t celebrate a holiday that remembered American rebels violently and successfully gaining independence from Great Britain. With that, one of my kids let out a boisterous, “Ooooh, right you are old chap!”
Why do most of us have such strong propensity for wanting to be something or someone we are not? I do.
I have used a very pious sounding “God bless you” not to recount a stranger’s sneeze, but rather to help someone think I’m more spiritual than I am. Sometimes I will use such phrases to be accepted by people I like… and want to be liked back. I’m just not a “Praise You Jesus” kind of a person. I’m not a “hallelujah” kind of a guy.” Saying “Thank You Lord” during someone else’s prayer is not a part of my wiring. Sometimes I think it should be. Sometimes those people who say such things are very intense and intentional with their relationship with Jesus. Maybe I want to be more like them… or at least thought of by others as being very spiritual. I think such church phrases are good if they are real. I’ve caught myself saying an “Uh huh” or a whispered “Yes” during someone else’s prayer --- and I’ve wondered if that was really me or if I was doing some kind of weird, selfish, spiritual, image management in the very throne room of God. Think about that one for a moment. Could I be more concerned about the people around me who don’t know me than a God who knows and knit me from the inside out? How absurd.
David is so real in the Psalms (35-45). His words, poetry and music are not fake. He goes back and forth from calling down God’s wrath on his enemies to trusting God for deliverance to questioning God’s silence to admitting his sin to blaming God for everything. And in between his real life thoughts, he reminds himself to wait on God. Does David know he’s all over the place with his spirituality, and so he dares not make a move without waiting on God … who, by the way, is an unmovable, steady-as-she-goes Rock? Instead of faking it, David waits on God. Brilliant.
Donald Miller’s writing is resonating with me because he seems so real and authentic. I called my alcoholic, agnostic, counselor friend in Colorado, and told him he had to read Miller’s “Blue Like Jazz.” Miller writes : “It feels better to have people love the real me than the me I invented.”
Sometimes I get so tired of the me I invented. The pastor who thinks he always needs to be “on.” I flipped the switch on even at the beach today. A lady by the name of Darlene came up to me and asked if I was a pastor. Is it stamped on my forehead or something? Do I look and act like a pastor? I tend to abhor and fight the typical pastor stereotypes. Maybe it was the simple fact that I was reading my Bible on the beach while wearing a goofy t-shirt that said “Jesus Christ… He’s The Real Thing.” How’s that for authentic Christianity? Anyway… Darlene asked me to pray for her. Her husband of 35 years, Virgil, had just left her for another woman. Without thinking (click) I went into my pastoral counseling mode and asked all the right questions: Do you have kids? Have you been to counseling? Is He a Christian? Nothing wrong with the questions, mind you… but what I really wanted to say was: “That sucks!” However, I’m not completely sure pastors are allowed to say the word “sucks.” I’m very sure my mom would want to wash my mouth out with Ivory soap. There was an odd little pastor in Colorado who once called an entire staff meeting just to ban the word “sucks” from his staff’s vocabulary.
What’s my point here? I’m not sure. Maybe I just want to start using the word “sucks” so I can fool younger generations into thinking I’m a cool pastor.
I think I’m mostly tired of church games, and politically correct churchy words, and programs, and of the me I’ve invented, and church activities that keep a system of Christianity alive, but have nothing much to do with Jesus. Maybe I’m just not a very good pastor. What if people find out?
Miller writes: “Satan… wants us to believe meaningless things for meaningless reasons. Can you imagine if Christians actually believed that God was trying to rescue us from the pit of our own self-addiction?”
Could all of my self-deception and in-authenticity really be symptomatic of the fact that I’m, as Miller writes… “passionate about nothing?” Are our churches programmed with crammed-full calendars of good stuff --- and potentially passionate about nothing?
(Psalm 40:6) “Sacrifice and offering you do not desire.” Programs and activities don’t seem to impress you… no matter how religious they seem to be. “My ears you have pierced.” Lord, you have my attention. You’re opening up my understanding.
“Burnt offerings and sin offerings you do not require.” I’m starting to get the picture.
Lord, show me how to be authentic. Can I lead a real church that is passionate about important things… things that are important to You?
I (the real me, I think) love you, Lord.

ON A SOMEWHAT RELATED SIDE NOTE: My kids are real. As we were soaking in the afternoon beach rays, a bunch of seaweed floated in and took over the beach. Most adults were disgruntled and left the beach complaining. My kids embraced the gross stuff. They played with it. They piled it up. They found and collected nine tiny shrimp living in the seaweed, and thought that was so cool. Kids know how to keep it real!

There was another little gang of three boys who were building something massive and impressive in the sand. I’m not sure what they were building, but they were working with great intensity. Although every morning the ocean has leveled the previous days sand handiworks, these boys were determined to do something of lasting value. Perhaps their legacy was hinging on their creation. Maybe they actually believed they could hold back the waves come hell (can I say that word?) or high tide? I loved their intensity and unbridled convictions. Kids know how to be real! No faking it.
Maybe that’s why Jesus said we need to become more like them.

July 4, 2007

I worry a lot. The air conditioner on our van was making an almost indiscernible “sphwiit” sound about every 10 minutes, and I began to worry. My four kids went swimming on their own (out of sight of Sherry and me), and I began to worry. Gas prices inch higher and higher… and you guessed it… my worry increases as well.
Today I worried about getting just the right spot on the beach for our Scott family enclave. We need more space than the average couple with 1.3 kids. There are six of us.
Yesterday I found just the right spot, but had my space invaded by obvious beach rookies who did not know the legal, non-familial proximity you can get to someone’s beach chair. When I can smell the scent of someone’s SPF, they’re sitting too close.
So my new plan worked like a charm. I took Lauren and Morgan with me in the morning, and had them spread their sand toys out and make sand sculptures. Turtles, alligators, cakes, umbrellas… it didn’t matter. What did matter was how the sculptures around my temporary sand spot residence became holy ground. No one would walk near them, let alone place their chair on them. Everyone stepped lightly around my kid’s works of art as if the ground had been deemed a natural sanctuary. Even as the crowds came and filled up the rest of the hot sand, my spot remained secure, open, and worry-free.
I know I worry way too much. Some call this fretting.
Oswald Chambers says fretting comes from our determination to have our own way.
Yep… that seems about right. Oswald has penned a very honest estimation of who I am and how I operate. I’m determined to have my own way.
I want just the right house. I want specific and certain ideas to unfold at church. I can see them… sometimes even taste these thoughts. I want a certain path for my family. I have my own ideas about how the future should unfold.
And so I fret. Worry.
Oswald goes on to say, “Our Lord never worried and was never anxious, because His purpose was never to accomplish His own plans but to fulfill God’s plans.
Uh oh, I feel my own sermon coming on. It’s about that “coming to the end of yourself” thing, isn’t it?
Honestly, I wrestle with thoughts of plans and ideas. I question things like: If God has given me my desires, then why can’t I pursue them with all I have? Is it unholy to be aggressive? Is type-A a genetically disposed type of sin?
Reading more of the Psalms struck a chord with me. David has been struggling with enemies and struggling with God. He needs rescued. He’s depending on God one minute and unsure the next. Then David, like a soulful riff on a Les Paul, hits this amazing rhythm of cognitively stating things like: “All the ways of the Lord are loving and faithful… The Lord is my light and my salvation… Wait for the Lord… The Lord is the strength of His people… I will exalt You, O Lord… In You, Lord, I have taken refuge.”
It’s as if David is force feeding God to his own brain because he knows his own diet of worry and fretting is killing him. He must know … cranially and cognitively … who God is, and then simply BE.
David doesn’t dive into programs or activities or religion like most of us would.
Donald Miller (“Blue Like Jazz”) says that the Devil’s best success is when he can get Christians to be religious. When we sink our minds into habits, our hearts are prevented from engaging with God.
David focused on God. With great discipline and in the middle of fights and doubts, he kept reminding himself of God. This brought about great peace, and probably, I’m assuming, less worry.
This morning… playing directly in front of my beach front property (that I had ruthlessly and fretfully claimed with asserted squatters rights), was a little girl who had definitely not seen the light of two years. She was probably a few months over one. With pigtails bouncing and sunscreen smothered on her frowning face, she hit the ocean with her brand new boogie board. I have never seen such a small boogie board. (Boogie boards are those pieces of cheap foam shaped like miniature surfboards, covered with colorful cloth, and sold to gullible tourists at outrageous prices) I’m pretty sure she got her boogie board at the beach shop that was advertising with a giant banner being pulled behind an airplane. “Boogie Boards Just $2.99,” was waving in the wind above the beach and forcing vacationing moms and dads to discuss savvy marketing techniques with pre-schoolers and teens alike.
This young girl’s name was Annabelle. I don’t know that to be true, but it makes my story all the more believable. Annabelle would take her midget boogie board, Velcro it to her arm, and then pull it in the shallow water. That’s it. She pulled it like one of those Fisher Price squeaky, slinky dogs. That’s not how you use a boogie board! I wanted to leap out of my chair and correct her flawed technique. You’re supposed to take your piece of over-priced foam and ride the waves, baby! That’s what I wanted to tell her and her grossly naïve parents.
I didn’t say anything. I just worried and fretted.
But Annabelle didn’t … worry that is. She didn’t care her boogie board only cost $2.99. She didn’t care about riding the crest of crashing waves. She didn’t fret. She just pulled her boogie board behind her, and her parents beamed smiles of money well spent.
I started enjoying her child-like, uninhibited, carefree playing as well.
And then tonight, I sat back and simply, uninhibitedly, and carelessly enjoyed some fourth of July fireworks. I didn’t worry about a thing. Somebody somewhere had laid out a well-thought-out design of pyrotechnics, but I didn’t care. I just was glad to be a part of their finely executed plan. Boogie-boardin’ Annabelle would have been proud of me. Jesus, I’m reasonably sure, wants me to be more like this with his well drawn blueprints. Maybe tomorrow I will worry less and cognitively know the Lord is the strength of His people… including me. Maybe then I could focus on fulfilling God’s plans and not my own.

July 3, 2007

People who go to the beach early in the morning are a strange lot. Today was no exception. There were fishermen who seem strangely content to catch nothing but seaweed. The familiar treasure hunter was there --- outfitted with a metal detector, earphones, a scoop/sifter, and black socks. The serious runners dotted the beach, including one guy sporting a pair of pastel green 1970’s shorts and matching tank top. What was that about? There were also the vacation-only runners. You may be familiar with these whimsical athletes. They should have been running January through May, but they just kept putting it off. Therefore, vacation time became a great motivator to begin shaping and sculpting. Obscure, early-morning, vacation running was the least noticeable platform for such procrastinating, athletic, monsters. The soon-coming Halloween candy will probably make these fleeting summer efforts a distant memory.
Before all the normal people came out at about 9:30 a.m., all these eccentric folks had their glorious time in the sun.
I was there too.
I joined in with the sunrise crowd by sitting in my beach chair, reading my Bible, eating an apple, closing my eyes, praying, and listening to some worship music. Listening to Chris Tomlin sing, “… the waves are crashing, the sun is raging… it’s all for You,” while sitting directly in front of land, sea, and sky is one of my favorite things to do. Another one of my favorite ocean-side antics is putting my hands to both sides of my face and creating blinders. I block out everything to my right and left so that I can only see creation. Assured that none of the other really strange people are looking, I pretend to be an eye witness of the first, original seven days when God called everything good. I know, I know… strange. Maybe on this morning I was the strangest one on the strand. Sometimes… often times… my life feels that way.
One day I’m up and life is good. God is on his throne. Jesus is the Lord of my life and I’m glad. Then the next 24 hours unfolds and I’m at war with myself and sometimes God. My praise can so quickly turn to cries of doubt. My awe and wonder of God can morph overnight into my wonder of where God is. It feels so strange. Spiritually schizophrenic.
I read more Psalms (9-24) today and I was flooded with gentle reminders that I wasn’t alone in my strangeness. One minute David and his musicians are exuberantly praising God and shouting, “The Lord reigns forever.” Then comes what seems to be a sudden mood change and David let’s out an Alan-like blurb, “Why, O Lord, do you stand far off?” THAT is my life.
“In the Lord I take refuge… My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Strange. Spiritually schizophrenic. Me.
The Bible is real. Somehow God seemed to be telling me that my struggles are normal, human, and even Biblical. To be in the company of someone like David worked on my heart this morning. God seemed to be giving me permission to be strange. In fact, somehow and someway, God can be found in the ups and the downs if one is looking.
Again, my attention turned towards the church. Could many churches be strange… schizophrenic… in a bad, non-Biblical way?
Thomas Rainer and Eric Geiger (authors of “Simple Church”) seem to think so.
Without alignment and focus in one direction, churches get pulled and default into strange, schizophrenic, complexity --- and complexity can be synonymous with mediocrity.
Could the Church really be doing more and more, and the Church, as a whole, is making less and less of a difference? Wow.
Rainer and Geiger reminded me of a gross-but-convicting movie I saw about two years ago called “Supersize Me.” Have you seen it? I haven’t been to McDonald’s since.
In short, the movie points to the fact that fast food is killing us. Our lives are so busy, so hectic, and moving in so many directions, and fast food has become an ever-increasing menu of convenient poison. The busier our lives spin, the better served we are by the Golden Arches… with expanding selections that are expanding our waistlines (of the latter expansion, I have been privy to first hand evidence while sitting in my beach chair).
Have our churches bought into the cultural phenomenon of offering an ever-expanding bulletin full of opportunities to attempt to fill quickly, cheaply, and conveniently?
Is it killing us? Is it creating weak, sick disciples? Are we spiritually schizophrenic… in bad ways? Have we labeled this as successful… millions served?
Can we simplify? “A simple church is a congregation designed around a straightforward and strategic process that moves people through the stages of spiritual growth.”
Love. Feed. Connect. Motivate. Can we move people through this in all we do? Can we have totally alignment in every area? Can we stay focused and eliminate (or not start) anything that doesn’t fit into this simple design? Can people simply become Jesus followers?
I finished “Simple Church” today. Great stuff to consider. I start “Blue Like Jazz” (by Donald Miller) tomorrow. My plan is to join all the strange people again in the morning. Didn’t God say something about how He uses the strange to confound the cool?

July 2, 2007

I hit the beach early before the crowds invaded. It’s incredibly soul-filling to worship next to God’s amazing and spectacular creation… with a little Hillsongs United blaring through my Ipod. What a great way to usher in a new day. Oswald warmed me up, and six more chapters out of Psalms allowed me to do have some beach-chair prayer time. One chapter of “Simple Church” was all I could muster through the almost gale-force, hurricane-like winds that were pummeling me. Okay… it wasn’t that bad, but the life guards were having a difficult time putting up their umbrella rentals.
This day was incredibly windy. The sun kept trying to poke through the overcast skies, but finally and forcedly gave way to a rather bleak and blustery day at the beach. What do you do when your summer study break gets rudely interrupted with wind gusts of 25 miles per hour? You head for the mall.
So we packed up the family and made our way to the Coastal Carolina Mall. The plan was for Sherry and the kids to take in a movie, while I camped out at Starbucks and did my thing. I was hoping for a quiet corner where I could resume my reading along with a tall, cinnamon latte (non-fat, decaf, whipped). What I hadn’t calculated was that every tourist in South Carolina had also transformed from beachcombers to mall rats. It was crowded. The line at Starbucks was relentless. I never did satisfy my distracted taste buds, but I did get through three more chapters of “Simple Church.”
While reading, I was also able to observe a few interesting things. For instance: Do families sometimes so focus on the “cause” of a vacation, that they forget the people involved? I listen to the conversation next to my small, round table (A practice which Starbucks freely promotes by putting their tables so closely together). I tuned into some intriguing tension. “I don’t want to sit at Starbucks and eat my pizza alone,” bemoaned a cranky teenager. An obviously agitated mother replied, “Well why didn’t you tell me that before we came over here?” At this point I was reluctantly hoping the somewhat bratty teen would cut her losses and remain silent. That didn’t happen, and so I listened some more. The teenager fired back at mom, “I told you I wanted to go with you to get some noodles! I didn’t want to come here in the first place, because you wanted noodles! Aaaaghhh!”
I’m not sure I really know how to spell “aaaaghh,” but I understood the communication completely.
Was this a family extremely focused on the “cause” of their vacation, but they had lost the focus on the important people involved? It seemed they were going to make their way through this highly-planned, much-anticipated getaway … even if they killed each other in doing so.
And then I remembered how Oswald Chambers wrote something about this in my morning reading. Aren’t I, at times, so committed to the “cause” of Christianity that I miss the person of Jesus? Isn’t it even easier to focus more on doctrine, programs, and righteous causes, than to spend disciplined time knowing and hanging out with Jesus?
Isn’t this what gained simplicity in our churches would look like? More Jesus and less stuff. The cause (s) of Christianity is great, but the person of Jesus is even greater. Why have we settled for good, when the best has been afforded at great price?
There are a few emerging churches who are beginning to get this right. There are a few churches who are able to do things so well because they have chosen to only do a few things. These few things always point people towards the person of Jesus.
Simple churches are willing to stop hiding behind good things like Christian schools, midweek services, adult Sunday school, special holiday programs, and other such sacred cows. They are giving up good things because they are hungry for the best. Jesus.
I recall that Jim Collins penned the line: “Good is the enemy of best.”
As I read through Psalms 3-8 this morning, I was struck by David’s struggle with enemies. He is at definite odds with an enemy. He needs rest. He needs rescued. He needs to push the pause button on life (selah) because life has gotten treacherous.
Who are my enemies? I can’t conjure up faces that I would declare as my outright, evil enemy. Could my enemy be “successful” church? Should I be at war with programs and activity that any good lead pastor is supposed to be about? God, I need a selah pause to really figure this one out.

Effective simple churches aren’t afraid to draw lines of war in the sand. Simple churches want to develop real Jesus followers and have simply combined their purpose with their process. A multiplicity of purpose statements, vision statements, mission statements, values, and strategies seem to be in retreat as a result of a front-line attack. Maybe this is war. Maybe I need to recognize and face my enemies.
Deciding to do only a few things well to connect people to Jesus is slowly and somewhat covertly working across the country. There is clarity, movement, alignment, and focus within simple churches because it’s simple … and it’s all about Jesus.
Love, feed, connect, and motivate. Do we have clarity? Is there movement? Alignment? Focus? Do these four pistons point people to Jesus? Is it simple? Could this be our purpose and our process?
At about 5 p.m. the movie was over and my family came to rescue me from the Starbucks chaos. We drove back to the condo, and I went for my evening run. I like to think… and pray… while I run. I call it “sweatin’ with the Ancient of Days.” I’m thinking about making my own exercise video!
When I got back from my run, Michael and Morgan wanted me to get in the pool. It was time to quit being so serious and simply play. It was time to let go of the “cause” of my study break, and enjoy the people I love to do study break with. Michael jumped into the deep end. This was a first. A huge five-year-old breakthrough. I called him “the man,” and he flashed me two elated thumbs up. I would have hated to miss this unforgettable Kodak moment with my son for any good, worthwhile cause. This was simply the best.