Random observations

Random observations from my first real week in America:

  • The latest technology is designed to make me covetous of what I don’t have.
  • I’m feeling lonelier than I expected.
  • I think I’m inventing excuses to run to the store that have little to do with consumer needs. My hunch is … I just want to be around people.
  • Church seems big and lacking the intimacy of a handful of believers circled-up in Sarajevo.
  • My legs feel all rubbery when it comes to actually walking out the Kingdom here in the U.S. I’m big on words, and clueless about where to begin.
  • I want to retreat into whatever comfort I can find.

“As for me, I am poor and needy, (the Message says ‘I am a mess’), but the Lord is thinking of me right now.” Psalm 40:17 Hallelujah!

Avoiding calypso

The ancient Celtic Christians, I’m told, would sometimes push their little boats into the chilly waters of the North Atlantic in faith that God would pull them along in His perfect will. Perhaps they’d drift quietly into a sylvan cove, or crash unceremoniously into a settlement of Vikings. Either way… the Spirit was leading them.

It’s a good picture of my arrival in the Bible Belt. I’m not sure what this is all about, but I know that God has tugged my little boat to this spot. And to be honest… I’m a bit scared: Scared of not fitting in. Scared of fitting in. Scared that Calypso may lure me like Odyssius and his crew into slumbering-oblivion on her Island.

Life in South Carolina just feels so stinking safe. Yesterday my friend Muhammed rang me up for help with his English: “Mr Don, what is… ‘frontier’?” “Well that’s a very good word, buddy. It’s a place at the edge of civilization where surroundings are wild and neighbors are few.” It made me homesick. Not that Sarajevo is uncivilized, (heck, there’s even an opera house), but it is a place where kingdom pilgrims face killer conditions and lean hard into one another for survival.

But here I am, docking my boat in a wonderfully civilized place. For those of you sharing my journey, please hold my feet to the fire. Don’t let me cave-in, blend-in, or give-in to the warm, inviting waters of Ogygia.

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See what I mean? My generous friends John and Kathleen have opened this
little pool house /guest house as my home for the next six months.

God’s natural elixir

For all practical purposes the Garden of the Gods was a lost memory, a curiously-named spot vaguely lodged in my childhood recollection. But driving into the park this past Thursday the memory tumbled forward into full consciousness, that very spot where my dad pulled over so we boys could scamper up the base of the magnificent stone pillars. It left me spellbound as a nine year old kid, and it’s just as awesome today. God’s glorious creation was just the right elixir to refresh my soul from so much travel and change. “Love beauty,” said Gabriella Mistrel, “it is the shadow of God on the universe.”

God’s glory, (His invisible character made visible), refreshes us wherever it’s found. It washes our hearts with wonder, and cures our weary souls. How kind of the Father to offer such a respite.

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Garden of the Gods, Colorado Springs

My brother’s keeper

I went fourteen years once without crying. After the first decade of tearlessness it bothered me to the point that I began asking God to tenderize my heart.

Yesterday, after nine years in Sarajevo I said goodbye to dear friends, angels and rascals who became brothers and sisters, sons and daughters. I’m no longer tearless. Somewhere over the Atlantic I my put on my headphones, randomly chose a song by Rich Mullins, and found my heart dripping down my cheeks.

Now the plummer’s got a drip in his spigot
The mechanic’s got a clank in his car
And the preacher’s thinking thoughts that are wicked
And the lover’s got a lonely heart
My friends ain’t the way I wish they were
They are just the way they are.

And I will be my brother’s keeper
Not the one who judges him
I won’t despise him for his weakness
I won’t regard him for his strength
I won’t take away his freedom
I will help him learn to stand
And I will, I will be my brother’s keeper

I’m missing them today… children, now grown into men, and men who are now standing before Jesus; friends who stood, and some who fell. They’ve enriched my life in ways only my heart can understand. I wish I could tally what I’ve left behind in Bosnia. There’s only One who can do that.  But I do know that Bosnia has left something deep and rich in me. My tears tell me so.

The kingdom generation

Boredom happens when we miss the story of God, the epic battle that began in the garden. My generation medicated the boredom with drugs and traded adventure for success. Or – if we happened to be evangelicals – we scurried from meeting to meeting in a frantic search for signs and wonders, prosperity and rapturous emotions until we ourselves became addicts of another sort.

Then the King sat us all down, (those who would listen), and said, “Let me give you a story to live.” It’s a tale of a good and glorious King, and a poisonous spell that darkened the minds of his people. It’s an epic of heroes and romance, of breathless battles and nail-biting suspense. And it’s a story with my name in it. (And yours too!)

This generation – the young people I just left in Budapest, the Attention Deficit Generation – are cashing it in for a part in the story. It’s a swelling movement of grace and power, of justice and mercy. This, I believe, is the Kingdom generation. And the action is about to begin. It’s time to fasten our seat belts, study our part, and enter into history. “May Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven.”

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Always a sucker for a castle, this one is in Budapest.

What is the gospel?

“What is the gospel?” The question sparked quite a discussion when it was tossed around the room at discipleship group last night.

For my first twenty-some years as a believer my answer would have been an incredulous, “DUH!? Jesus died on the cross for our sins, so that we could be forgiven.” And obviously that’s true as far as it goes. Only problem is, the gospel of Jesus went way beyond forgiveness. “Repent… for the kingdom of God is near” (Matt. 4:17) is vastly larger than “Repent so your sins can be forgiven.” When the kingdom of God entered human history in the person of Jesus, far more was changed than just the status of our guilt. Forgiveness was just the beginning. He quickly followed by adopting us into his family and setting off to restore everything gone wrong with the Universe. (Rom. 8:19-25; Eph. 4:10)

Today King Jesus is pouring his life, his beauty, his order, and his justice into all of human activity and experience. And that changes everything from the wonder of a rose to the way I play piano, from my work habits, to my relationships. The world has unfurled beyond imagination because the King has reclaimed His cosmos.

Kingdom or religion?

Back in 2004, somewhere between Richmond and Rocky Mount on interstate 95 the Holy Spirit interrupted my thoughts: “You know, son, that if your world became smaller when you ‘got saved,’ then you really didn’t receive the kingdom. You just got religion.”

Nailed by the Spirit! It’s a sad fact that nearly twenty years of my life were spent in an eclipse of sorts, when I relegated practically all my “worldly” music, books, and social life, along with my interest in anything that couldn’t be found in a church building to a mythical wasteland of “secularism.” I thought I was pleasing a God who took little interest in the world around me; a God who hung around church buildings despairing of the world, and waiting impatiently to launch the only truly important event yet to come: the Return of Jesus.

The Kingdom has changed all of that now. Life is no longer a waiting room. It’s an adventure of epic proportions, and Jesus is surprising me everywhere I look. We’re not just saved from sin. We’re saved to the kingdom.

Goodness! There’s so much about this churning in my heart this morning.  But the adventure is calling me.  “It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”  

Stay tuned!

City on a hill

“Look Mr. Don! No Glory!” Alper was excited to point out the Gypsy neighborhood we were to visit, and to demonstrate that he was learning to recognize the glory – or in this case the absence of the glory of God. Banja is a tired little huddle of shanties resting in a sea of dirt, lapped about by whitecaps of shopping bags, plastic bottles, and candy wrappers. We’d come to spend Jesus-time with the young Gypsies who called Banja their home, twenty or so teenagers who soon filled the room with flashy-white smiles of rhythmic praise and haunting melodies of joy.

My topic for the evening was the Kingdom. (I suppose that’s no shocker for those of you who know me!) “Let’s dream for a bit about what Banja would look like if it was the perfect place to live,” I invited.

“No More Trash!” volunteered the first one.

“Other students would stop hating us for being Gypsies,” offered another.

“People would help each other!”

“People would LOVE each other!”

“No more mud!”

“No more criminals… no more police!”

One after another they spilled what was in their hearts, an innate dream of the Kingdom hardwired into each of us by the King himself.

I told a story about a King who’s people were afraid of him, and so he disguised himself as a homeless man and moved into the town dump. I think my new friends liked the king. And I’m pretty sure if Jesus were anywhere near Banja, Bulgaria, he would have been hanging out with this little gang, who reminded me so much of first century fishermen.

Sometimes God’s glory is in the landscape, and sometimes it’s in the faces of His people. If these young Gypsies would let the glory in their hearts spill out to the muddy landscape around them, Banja would be a city on a hill.

Being angry at God

Some of my friends have been mentioning their anger towards God lately. It’s something I understand, having been through a few episodes myself. For me those moments have ultimately been healthy and instructive, giving way to a deeper, more endearing revelation of the Father of Jesus. It invariably turns out the “God” I was angry at wasn’t the True God at all, but rather a twisted, ill-informed version of Him shaped by past experiences, shoddy teaching, and rigid legalism.

Jesus said “…no one knows the Father except the Son and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.” (Matt. 11:27) And when Jesus chooses to reveal the Father to us, he does so by telling a story about an amazing Father and his delinquent son. The same Father who generously hands over the family inheritance and allows him to spend it at will is also the same Father who waits broken-hearted on the front porch for his son to return. And all in the hope of showering him once again with extravagant love. What’s a squandered inheritance worth compared to the treasure of a loving relationship between Father and son?

That’s not the sort of Father who invites my anger and fear. And when I find myself getting frustrated with “God” it’s a reminder that I need to step back and see if I’m not believing lies about who the true Father of Jesus is.

Being perfect

I’ve been thinking about three passages: “Be holy as I am holy,” (1 Peter 1:16) “Be perfect as your Father in Heaven is perfect,” (Matthew 5:48) and “Be compassionate as your Father in heaven is compassionate.” (Luke 6:36) And I’m wondering if maybe they’re not all saying the same thing. Some Bible commentators have even suggested that God’s holiness and perfection is completed in the compassion of Jesus.

If the most foundational thing about God is indeed the stunning love between Father, Son, and Spirit, and since the one way that Jesus suggested we would be known was by our love, (rather than by our moral perfection), and since the greatest commandment is to love God and love others, then I’m wondering if God’s holiness might be more expressed by loving inclusion and compassion than in spotless moral perfection. If that’s really the case, then I can say with all humility that I’m beginning to experience some personal growth in holiness. My heart is being enlarged towards others in ways that are fresh and exciting.

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Had a spur-of-the-moment picnic on the mountain yesterday. As you can see from the photo, it’s beginning to cool off in Sarajevo. These friends are deeply loved by the Father. Some of them know it, and others haven’t realized it yet.