The following is a devotional I was asked to write for my church's blog, in response to the book "Crazy Love" by Francis Chan. It is my reaction to chapter 4: Profile of the Lukewarm
What? Me? Lukewarm?
[insert indignant tone of voice/open mouthed facial expression here]
Me? Why, I work for a church, for crying out loud!
Really? Me?? I help lead worship, after all. I even raise my hands on a regular basis.
Come on, now. Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? Do you have any idea how many thousands of brownies I have made in the name of Ministry over the years?
Seriously. Are you kidding? A lukewarm Christian??? Me???
Yeah. Sounds about right.
So I don’t know about you, but for me, reading through this chapter was a singularly unique experience – kind of like surfing shock waves of truth… a bumpy, unsettling and altogether unpleasant experience… and yet somehow ending up safely on the shores of mercy.
The truth is, I see a whole lotta lukewarm in me. Yes, I love Jesus. Yes, I attend church “3 or more times a month” (according to the survey), and when it comes to drinkin’, smokin’ and cussin’, let’s just say the paparazzi would get pretty bored following me around. But those are just behaviors. If I’ve learned one thing about my life with Jesus, he’s more interested in what’s going on inside of me than what you all see on the outside.
Man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.
1 Sam 16:7
That’s a scary prospect, because believe me, when I see what’s in my heart, I want to run for the hills (and believe you me, they are not alive with the sound of music). I see a heart that’s holding back way more than it is letting go. I see a heart that still does not completely trust its Maker. I see a heart that, for all God has done to heal it, is still more broken than I care to admit.
It hurts to look at yourself that honestly. I do not like it much. But something happens when I confront the ugly, painful truth about myself. As I humbly repent (even while bracing for yet another scathing self abasement), Mercy shows up… and NOT only doesn’t spew me out of His mouth, as I know I deserve… but instead, kisses me right where it hurts.
Mercy and truth have met together; Righteousness and peace have kissed
each other.
Psalm 85:10
Who would’ve thought that in the most frighteningly vulnerable act of exposing my lukewarm heart before a holy God… that I’d find Grace?
Ah yes. Grace for the lukewarm. Not grace for the lukewarm to stay lukewarm. But grace to ride out those wild waves all the way to the shore where Mercy meets Truth... where a girl like me experiences transformation.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Pretend Cooking
So my daughter has a little friend over for a "play date" (and no, this is not a post about remembering back in the day when we didn't have to make an appointment to play or wear seat belts or helmets, and basically cheated death every day of our young lives... but please do feel free to roll your eyes at the whole "then/now" contrasts to childhood, nonetheless)...
Anyways, as I was saying... they're on this play date, and announce to me that they are bored.
(this is also not a commentary on how we have done our kids a disservice by not allowing them to be bored but feel a sick, soccer-mom obligation to fill every waking moment of their lives with endless activity and fun, fun, fun, lest they are forced to engage their own minds in the creative thinking process and thus develop coping skills)
Ok, so what was I saying? Oh yeah. Play date. Bored. Right.
After a moment of dumb staring and awkward silence, when they realized I actually meant it when I wasn't going to oblige their request to provide free onboard cruise ship entertainment to their sorry little consumer oriented ADD selves ... they came up with an idea (ok, I DID offer some suggestions... I'm not a completely monster), they decided they wanted to "pretend" cook.
Great! The kitchen is a laboratory of the imagination, after all. Pots, pans, measuring spoons, sharp knives - what's not to love about that? I am on board with this idea.
Curiously, though, when I suggested they make something "real", like brownies or cookies, they rebuffed. They wanted to use "real" food in a "real" kitchen mind you, not that fake plastic crap in a Little Tykes plastic kitchen. That's for babies. They're no babies. Come on, now. They wanted the authenticity of the environment, and the ingredients. But that's where it ended. They just wanted to dump all of the contents of my refrigerator into various pots, pans and bowls and mix them up into thoroughly inedible and disgusting concoctions.
Ok, so the argument can be made that they just wanted to experiment, test the boundaries of the culinary arts with their young, unmolded minds, if you will... to not be held back by the "Man", or his hard and fast rules... Recipes, shmecipes! They're only 9, for crying out loud. Why encumber them with limitations so soon, when life will do that soon enough?
Yeah, yeah. I get that. But it doesn't fit with the point I want to make, so dismiss it from your mind immediately.
Looking at the disaster of my kitchen, and the many, many bowls of Italian dressing mixed with God knows what, I realized that I see a lot of myself in this "pretend cooking" business. I see my relationship with God and His Church.
I want authenticity. The real deal. I'm not satisfied with "playing Church". I'm no baby. Come on, now. Give me a real environment with real people to work with. Give me transparency, and people who are the "real deal". Give me authenticity in Church or give me death, man. I want to be surrounded by "realness". I just don't necessarily want to produce anything "real". I want to be a pretend cook. Just like those sorry little consumer oriented ADD kids destroying my kitchen.
For all of my big talk, and spouting off about authenticity, it is occuring to me that I don't really want to be real myself.
I think this is a problem.
I think God might be dealing with me. For real.
Anyways, as I was saying... they're on this play date, and announce to me that they are bored.
(this is also not a commentary on how we have done our kids a disservice by not allowing them to be bored but feel a sick, soccer-mom obligation to fill every waking moment of their lives with endless activity and fun, fun, fun, lest they are forced to engage their own minds in the creative thinking process and thus develop coping skills)
Ok, so what was I saying? Oh yeah. Play date. Bored. Right.
After a moment of dumb staring and awkward silence, when they realized I actually meant it when I wasn't going to oblige their request to provide free onboard cruise ship entertainment to their sorry little consumer oriented ADD selves ... they came up with an idea (ok, I DID offer some suggestions... I'm not a completely monster), they decided they wanted to "pretend" cook.
Great! The kitchen is a laboratory of the imagination, after all. Pots, pans, measuring spoons, sharp knives - what's not to love about that? I am on board with this idea.
Curiously, though, when I suggested they make something "real", like brownies or cookies, they rebuffed. They wanted to use "real" food in a "real" kitchen mind you, not that fake plastic crap in a Little Tykes plastic kitchen. That's for babies. They're no babies. Come on, now. They wanted the authenticity of the environment, and the ingredients. But that's where it ended. They just wanted to dump all of the contents of my refrigerator into various pots, pans and bowls and mix them up into thoroughly inedible and disgusting concoctions.
Ok, so the argument can be made that they just wanted to experiment, test the boundaries of the culinary arts with their young, unmolded minds, if you will... to not be held back by the "Man", or his hard and fast rules... Recipes, shmecipes! They're only 9, for crying out loud. Why encumber them with limitations so soon, when life will do that soon enough?
Yeah, yeah. I get that. But it doesn't fit with the point I want to make, so dismiss it from your mind immediately.
Looking at the disaster of my kitchen, and the many, many bowls of Italian dressing mixed with God knows what, I realized that I see a lot of myself in this "pretend cooking" business. I see my relationship with God and His Church.
I want authenticity. The real deal. I'm not satisfied with "playing Church". I'm no baby. Come on, now. Give me a real environment with real people to work with. Give me transparency, and people who are the "real deal". Give me authenticity in Church or give me death, man. I want to be surrounded by "realness". I just don't necessarily want to produce anything "real". I want to be a pretend cook. Just like those sorry little consumer oriented ADD kids destroying my kitchen.
For all of my big talk, and spouting off about authenticity, it is occuring to me that I don't really want to be real myself.
I think this is a problem.
I think God might be dealing with me. For real.
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