I Gotta Do What?

2/26/08

Yesterday morning our Student Ministries guy led the staff worship/devotion time. Jeremy is a sandal-wearing, untucked, postmodern, roughly bearded, anti-most things, Khaki hater, guitar playin’ Jesus follower pastor. It shouldn’t have surprised me what he asked the staff to do in order to connect and “hang out with God”, as Jeremy so often says.

We were given several exercises to facilitate this Monday morning experience with our Creator. We could paint a picture that describes our thoughts and feelings of Psalm 51. We could select a black and white photo from a pile of many, and write a story about what we see. We could write words of thanksgiving on a black piece of poster board using a silver Sharpie marker. Or… we could sit and stare at two mirrors. One mirror had words of blame and hate. The other mirror had Biblical words of affirmation and verses to look up --- which would prompt you to write your own words of encouragement. This particular mirrored exercise used vicariously chosen black or red Sharpies. Someone less focused than I may assume there were sneaky, subliminal messages attached to the variety of Sharpies to choose. Perhaps it was the pungent, toxic smell of the opened Sharpies that would help stimulate or enhance my whole hippie, Ophrah-approved, spiritual experience.

Can you tell I was a bit skeptical going into the whole thing? What I really needed was a good John Piper sermon and several cleansing choruses of “Just As I Am.” Now that would have been a good quiet time. But nooooo… Jeremy had to take the entire, gullible staff down some artsy-fartsy road that, I assumed, would leave us shoeless and yoga bended in less than an hour.

Before I continue my rant, I should quickly repent of my boxy attitude and say I was wrong. Hard words for someone who has it all figured out.

I chose a black and white photo and began writing. The photo is at the header of this blog, and here’s what I wrote: “Hearing and listening like a child is a blessing that we tend to lose with age. This is an old man who has been weathered by the storms of life. The definitive wrinkles are discarded evidence of days gone by without trusting, loving, and obeying a God who desperately loves us. This old man is coming to the end of his earthly days. There’s nothing he can change about the way he has chosen to live his life, but he would sure like to. He wishes he would have loved more. He longs to have taken more risks. If only he would have obeyed God when God was trying to push his life out to the edge. Regrets are the substance within the deep cracks of his face. Oh to have lived more like a child. The child had been kept locked up. The child is still inside this old man, but it seems too late to let the trusting, loving, child out. God whispers in a voice that sounds conducive for a child to hear, “My child, I STILL love you. Those wrinkles will someday soon be erased from your hardened face. Someday soon you will be able to be a child again… free… for eternity.”

Where did THAT come from? How long had those words been camping dormant inside of this type-A, high-D soul of mine? Could a psychologist afford a new BMW on just those quickly written words alone?

I moved on to the painting. Reading Psalms 51 was good. What a great chapter. There was much my soul resonated with. You should read it… but I’m not necessarily recommending the painting part. What were the instructions again? PAINT your FEELINGS or EMOTIONS as you read through Psalm 51? You might as well say, “Choreograph a ballet that would reflect the colors within your being as you are miraculously touched by the paint brush of God.” What? Anyway… I did it. My painting is cautiously posted at the beginning of the blog.

I flailed a glob of black paint on a piece of white paper and surrounded a previously brushed swatch of red. The black became my expression of the cloud of darkness and evil that so often envelopes me. The red was an attempt to display my heart that is marred with my own sin. The blue above the black strokes became my artistic attempt at grasping how Christ washes away my iniquities and blackened realities. The yellow is the light of truth… Jesus… that I desire to come into my heart and inner-most parts. This same yellow, then, is able to flow out from me ---directed to others who wrestle and struggle with similar human, fallen tendencies.

WHAT? Where did THAT come from? Had I been horribly manipulated by a Fair-Trade-coffee-drinkin’, pierced, presumably-tattooed freak of a youth minister? I was beyond all of this. I knew myself better this. I knew exactly what God wanted to say to me on a Monday morning after previously delivering a smoking sermon on Sunday. Right?
You don’t have to get all creative and weird to connect me to MY Creator. Right? I did, however, seem to have a great time losing myself in the healing power of Psalm 51. What just happened?

Deep called to deep. Places that needed to be explored were being prompted by the great Spelunker himself. It makes me wonder what other insights, promptings, teaching, and joy have gone undiscovered because I’m unwilling or SET IN MY WAYS.

Wow. My grandfather was set in his ways. I’ve heard that the person most set in their ways is the corpse at a funeral. Set in my ways is so embarrassingly close to being in a rut. I also remember hearing how a rut is merely a grave with two open ends. I do not want to grow old. I do not want to be set in my ways. I need to avoid closed-minded ruts like a Rembrandt avoids a Motel 6. I absolutely do not want to miss the artistic pearls that God has in store for me when Deep calls to deep. I hope I'll always be open and ready for the possibilities.

I finished off my morning by writing a word of affirmation on a mirror. The word “formed” seemed to be resonating with my soul. I also confidently took the silver Sharpie and wrote words of Thanksgiving. After participating in such a great, wonderful, freeing, exhilarating exercise... that was the easy part.

Practical Athiesm

February 22, 2008

What I wouldn't give to take a flight out to Denver and have a cup of coffee with my good friend, Greg. Actually, Greg would order an icy green tea and raspberry Frappacino and I would most likely get a piping hot cinnamon latte... non-fat, soy, whipped.

Greg, first introduced himself to me as an agnostic, alcoholic, licensed counselor. I knew immediately this was going to be a keeper friendship. Sometimes Greg really tries to push my pastoral buttons by dropping a few cuss words, questioning my previous week’s sermon, or verbally leaning more towards a brash atheism than not. I like hanging out with this guy because he’s real. Greg is laughingly unlike others who often work way too hard to project an approved image of Christianity. I confidently abhor people who pursue this type of image management... probably because this feels like a freshly Windexed mirror being held in front of my white-washed, Sunday School face.

Sometimes my friend Greg talks about God in ways that I’m not sure he even realizes. He’ll be talking about his Cinderella-like daughter, Ruby Grace, and Greg will say something like, “God showed me a glimpse of heaven when I sat and silently watched Ruby sleep.” In other moments gathered around a cup of coffee, Greg will be informing me of a nameless client who has had an amazing breakthrough with an addiction problem. With as much animation as a trained counselor can muster, Greg will say, “Man, God showed up and kicked this guys butt and now he’s seeing the proof of a real higher power (often times Greg slips in and out of his names for God).”

My point is this: Greg believes. In real-life, practical, there’s-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel ways, Greg believes in God. Greg relies on a force, higher power, or God who is greater than he… AND who steps into our lives and shows himself to be real and active. My friend has been known to say a cuss word in the middle of communion at church, but he also believes in a God who wants to commune with us.

Do I... believe? Well of course I do. I’m a pastor for heaven’s sake, or is it more for my own?
Have I moved so deeply into the forest of church world that my true focus is on my own limited abilities and agendas and not God’s supernatural possibilities? Do I still believe God can move, or… not? How is it possible that I’ve become so self-centered and impotent in my faith, that a mere glance at my friend Greg makes me reflect on what God-centeredness use to look like? That’s a lot of serious questions for a pastor to be asking of himself.

Recently I heard Craig Groeschel, pastor of a huge mega church in Oklahoma (author of “Confessions Of A Pastor”), speak at a conference in Atlanta. Craig challenged some 10,000 deep-in-the-forest pastors about being practical atheists. Say what? Yep… this guy was talking to a bunch of professional religious folk about preaching and teaching God, but not actually living lives that trusts, believes, and hopes in a real higher power to be unleashed in our lives and churches. Practical atheism.

Am I a practical atheist? A humble, quiet-spirited woman of our church has made me wonder. She has been struggling with a son who exhibits some serious life issues. Not knowing what to do, this hopeful congregant came to me and a few church leaders to ask for prayer. We talked politely, prayed, and then moved into a very logical conversation about governmental agencies that might be helpful. We conducted ourselves with incredible professionalism and tact. Our gracious mom left with a smile and gratitude for our time. A few weeks later, this same burdened woman approached me about taking a different approach… one that would require more God. Apparently she had been systematically going from clinic to clinic… counselor to counselor…state agency to state agency, and not given any tangible hope or answers. I’m not sure how much she got from her pastor or church leaders either.

Now, however, she was intensely inquiring about really crying out and depending on God for answers. Could we pray for healing? Would we ask God to identify and remove her sons demons? Would we… could we… have we ever… do we believe? Do I believe God will move, heal, cast out demons, and bring hope and life into this poor woman’s soul? Well of course I believe this. Why then had I pointed to governmental agencies more heartily than I pointed to and relied on God? Practical atheism?

It’s funny… I always thought God had directed me to my friend Greg so I could work my ministerial magic and erase his agnostic, sometimes borderline atheistic ways. Maybe instead God has used Greg to challenge my faith beyond it’s seminary-trained borders.
I don’t want to be a practical atheist. I want to live, move, and breathe in an unending season of faith that would please God and not myself. I really want to have a cup of coffee with my old friend, Greg. Something about the caffeine that I’m sure would awaken me, and hopefully my faith as well.

All Dressed Up
2/15/08

“And may the Lord make you increase and abound in love to one another and to all, just as we do to you… But concerning brotherly love you have no need that I should write to you, for you yourselves are taught by God to love one another.”
- I Thessalonians 3:12; 4:9


Valentine’s Day brings out the best in people… especially early morning at Walmart when husband’s and wives spare no expense in finding just the right card, box of chocolates, or package of flowers from what’s been brutally picked over the night before.

I, however, like to plan ahead and score big, juicy points on Valentine’s Day. Why not? All the pieces of the puzzle have been clearly laid out before me --- starting about a week after New Years. This really is a no-brainer circumstance for any old schlub to express some creative, heart-felt lub (embarrassingly stolen from Adam Sandler in Mr. Deeds). Unashamedly I freely admit that this is one holiday I have wholeheartedly embraced and thoroughly enjoy. For my gorgeous wife, I did an exhaustive internet search and ordered a basket of smaller, growing roses about a week before the big day. They arrived on the 13th with a note just like I had typed on the order. Perfect! I also penned some lengthy love letters to my wife and all my kids. They woke up on Valentine’s Day and found their sealed letters on the kitchen table. Each letter was personally customized to my much-loved recipients, but each had this same exact closing: “I love you so much.” I say this all the time to my loveable wife and kids, but writing a letter and closing with these words seemed to put a needed, eternal, forever, permanency to it all. The letters were extremely fun to write. It was good for me to see how easily my thoughts would flow for each one of my precious family members. This intentional exercise also made me feel a bit guilty because it takes an annual holiday to motivate my sorry, usually selfish agenda into action.

Then last night, with the big day in full swing, we partied. We had our annual Scott Family Valentine’s Day Fancy Dinner. This gem of an evening had been in the works for quite some time. It’s an ongoing, annual thing for us. This year, best we can recall, was the fifth annual Scott Family Valentine’s Day Fancy Dinner. This is a decidedly formal event. We all get decked out… suits, ties, dresses, and fancy footwear. It’s a hard fast rule for the Scotts (and any invited guests) to get all spruced up because dressing up accentuates the “fancy,” and we're better able to make a permanent photographic record of each year’s dinner. A part of this highly-anticipated evening is the fun, creative, RED food. This year’s menu included red punch, red sparkling grape juice, red focaccia bread with red pepper dip, red lasagna with mozzarella hearts on top, strawberries, watermelon in the shapes of hearts, red salsa, red applesauce, red cupcakes, red cookies, and red chocolate hearts. One of our rowdy, unruly guests brought some red wine, but we didn’t have a cork screw to open it!

After dinner, we had our usual Scott Family Valentine’s Day Fancy Dinner creative activity. Last year we made each other cards and learned how to dance. This year we designed our own photo scrap book pages and had everyone write lovey-dovey notes on them. I’m only guessing, but upon completion, I could easily project how those fun-filled pages would someday become pricless treasures to help ease the pains of growing old and gray... or bald.
For me, it’s easy to love on my kids. It’s just a blast to go a little overboard for my wife on Valentine's Day. I’m not exactly sure who created this little economic stimulus holiday, but I for one am gratefully glad they did. I’m planning on taking full advantage of Cupid’s February gathering until my final Necco Sweetheart candy heart says, “You’re Dead!”

My question on the morning after (and remember, there was no hangover because we couldn’t get the wine open) is simply this: How can I love others with the Godly ease I love my family? How can I creatively express love to people that I’m pitted against in either real or perceived ways. What keeps me from going overboard with someone who’d rather throw me under the bus? I’d like to learn how to love and give someone the benefit of doubt when something funky is happening in our relationship. Would I ever have the heart to break red focaccia bread and drink some sparkling red grape juice with someone who turns to the door instead of to my face?

I’m not sure I can do this. I can, however, ask Jesus to make me increase and abound in love to all. My own human love is so obviously weak. What credit is it for me to love those who love me? I can have a blast on Valentine’s Day with my family and people I like, but can love win out when I feel like blasting away with someone on D-Day? With the Spirit of Jesus living inside me, only then can He make me increase and abound in love when my instincts are telling me otherwise. To that end I will attempt to live the other 364 days of the year. I wonder who I should write a letter to now?

Fort Building
February 7, 2008


“For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him. You have done a foolish thing, and from now on you will be at war.”

II Chronicles 16:9


Yesterday afternoon I meandered into the house and was immediately barraged with questions and possibilities of playing outside. I needed some fresh air, and I hadn’t seen my kids all day… so I gave a quick and resolved “yes!”
Once outside, my nine and six year old directed me to their respective forts. Sticks, twine, a jump rope, and some pine needles were put to great, creative use. These were really good forts. Having recruited some help from an able 13-year-old sister, these two forts were standing with pride and child-like imagination. Maybe all kids make forts, but without a doubt, fort making runs in the Scott family genes.
I can remember all too well making impenetrable forts as Fall was visibly turning into a blustery harsh Winter. I was always fully committed to the project. With adolescent vigor similar to a New Kids On The Block concert, I had to get my fort finished so I could winter with warmth and safety. Of course, around five o’clock, mom would call me in for some supper, homework, and warm reality of our well-built home.
Building forts was such a character and memory-making thing for me. As I watched my own kids relish in the glory of their forts, I wondered where my fort-making instincts had gone. I’m reasonably certain my dark, looming 48th birthday has something to do with it.
I’ve grown up. I’ve moved beyond silly fort making. I have way more responsibilities and much less time to play in the woods. The demands, worries, and the mature riches of life keep me from even considering building a good fort these days. Too bad… fort building was such good exercise for building character and memories.
Lately I’ve been stewing over the nagging thought that the older I become, the less likely I am to radically obey a prompting from my heavenly Father. There were great times in the past, being a much younger man, when God would speak and I would swing into action fully committed. I distinctively remember times when God issued a stretching challenge, and I responded by moving my life out to the edge where faith and action were supernaturally joined. Those were such character-building and memory-making times. Some of those same things that have kept me from fort building, now keep me from abandoned obedience to Jesus… demands, worries, and riches of life. Broken down even more specifically: I have four kids, a wife, a mortgage, a car payment, gas prices are rising, the kids need braces, and vacation decisions are somewhat ominous. I’m just not as care free as I use to be. Footloose comes to mind… not the movie, but a much younger, radical lifestyle. These days I’m tied down more. My present day reality seems to make it harder to obey an ever-present God. Being fully committed seems to have faded along with my 20’s and 30’s. Surely God understands this.
Actually God is still looking for a few good men who are fully committed. Maybe even old guys like me. He’s fully committed to strengthen those who are fully committed no matter what age. And to those who have stopped fort and faith building exercises... there are strong words: “… from now on you will be at war.”
I can relate to that. Life is a battle, isn’t it? Being a slave to demands, worries, and life’s pleasures makes for war. I want to get back to a place of faith and action. I want to experience God’s loving and strengthening hand when, by faith, I decide to obey and build a fort in spite of what conventional, mature older wisdom may say.
My kids showed me the beauty of fort building. I want to show my kids the beauty and strength of faith building obedience --- coming from their old dad who, once upon a time long ago, was also very good at building forts.

Jesus, What Can I Learn From The Super Bowl?

Feb. 6, 2008

I had reluctantly decided to watch figure skating instead of the caving to the global peer pressure of watching the big game… The Super Bowl. Because my veins run true electric Colts blue, how super could this bowl game really be without Peyton, Marvin, Joseph, Tony, and the rest of my crew from Indianapolis? I had resigned my soul over to figure skating on ESPN.
Having surfed over to watch ice and tights in action, I began wondering why the world’s leader in sports television would actually be featuring figure skating on such a day? Maybe they knew all normal people would be tuning to the real sports spectacular, and thus decided to capture a market share audience of freaks! I quickly scrambled in the backfield of freakdom, and turned over to the big game.
It was a good one. Of course, if Peyton Manning couldn’t be in the Super Bowl, then taking sides with his little brother Eli seemed appropriate. However, they were playing THAT annoying team from New England featuring Tom Brady… the world’s perfect quarterback. Dare I even mention, Coach Bill Belichick… the world’s best caught-cheating coach? How could an inferior, underdog team ironically called “The Giants” have any chance against a team named “The Patriots” just two days before a patriotic institution called “Super Tuesday?”
And then it all started to unfold right before my eyes. It’s almost as if those guys from New York took an oath… loudly, and with great animation. Defensive End, Michael Strahan, was leading the way with shouts of determination. Plaxico Burris, a wide receiver for the Giants, sounded like obnoxious trumpets and party horns as he predicted a New York win. That made me very nervous. However, the entire Giants team seemed to display an heir of quiet confidence… as if they had all wholeheartedly sworn an oath on Fran Tarkenton’s hallowed statue. I’m betting all of New York was seeing this too, and a fair share of lively rejoicing was happening throughout popular watering holes in places like Queens and Brooklyn.
It was in the fourth quarter, though, when I really saw things come together for the Giants. The heavily-predicted losers were trailing with just under two minutes to play. Eli Manning, however, visibly sought his Super Bowl ring with great eagerness. On a third and five passing play, Eli (who by all indications just got his driver’s license and first pimple) scrambled out of the grasp of a big-time, clutch, NF-honkin’-L sack, and threw an amazing pass to David Tyree to take his team down to the thirteen yard line. This eventually led to a jaw-dropping touchdown pass to Plaxico Burris to win the game and destroy a near-perfect season for those whiney Patriots. The Lombardi trophy had been found by unlikely giants.
Wow. I had completely forgotten about seeing a triple Lutz with a toe loop on the figure-skating channel. What did strike me was how the Giants could now rest. On all sides, there could be a blissful season of rest. Plaxico could rest from his outrageous prediction. Coach Tom Coughlin could rest from almost being fired in week three of the season. After fifteen seasons in the NFL, Michael Strahan could rest because now he had finally scored his big, fat, championship ring. And Eli Manning, after being obliterated in the media for being weak, non-aggressive, passionless, and inferior to his older brother, could now rest when all the Mannings gather for a great big Thanksgiving feast. Little Eli will no longer be served crow at the little kids table.
While I thoroughly enjoyed this Super Bowl, I wondered, "Jesus, is there anything I can learn from all of this?" Early this morning, I read out of II Chronicles 15:14: “They took an oath to the Lord with loud acclamation with shouting and with trumpets and horns. All Judah rejoiced about the oath because they had sworn it wholeheartedly. They sought God eagerly, and he was found by them. So the Lord gave them rest on every side.”
I need these words to be truer of my pursuit of Jesus than they are of a football team winning a trophy. I don’t want my walk with Jesus to be lulled into a boring figure skating routine that impacts no one. God, help my life and oath to You be loud. With an intensity of an NFL lineman, I want to live for Jesus wholeheartedly. I want to find Jesus and the Word in deeper ways… and rest on every side doesn’t sound too bad either.