Time for Fish on Fridays

Finish up your Hurricanes everyone, Mardi Gras is drawing to a close and Lent is closing in on us.  Lent feels like and uninvited house guest that I knew was in town and planning on staying for a while, but I'm not really sure I want around, especially not for an extended period of time.  Growing up, Lent was more about giving something up, something you really liked.  We were just told that you give something up during Lent.  It wasn't until I was older that I began to hear hints of why people gave things up.  It wasn't until much later that I heard the term "sackcloth and ashes".

I love the tradition of Ash Wednesday leading into Lent, but am struggling to understand the correct context.  It seems like the Gospels would discourage being marked by ash (the example of Pharisees who make themselves look gaunt while fasting), so should we metaphorically put on sackcloth and ashes?  This also leads me to consider what fasting/lamenting looks like when done in community.  Is the example of the Pharisee about how one person makes a show, saying "look at me", but in community with humility it says "we journey together".

I think one of the challenges facing our church today is how do we follow the WAY together.  The nature of our joy and celebration, as well as, the experience of spiritual disciplines must change as we (re)learn what it means to be the body of Christ.

So here's the proposed test.  I think it would be healthy if every time we see one of our "ash-marked" brothers/sisters tomorrow, take the time to say a prayer for that person.  Maybe this can be the year we truly give something up for Lent, ourselves.

Love Like a Dog

The silent victims of recent lifestyle changes have been our dogs, Rufus and Gertie.  Parenting takes some much of our time and energy that they've been left to spend most of their time with each other.  Now fortunately for everyone involved, they love each other and play all the time.  But my heart breaks regularly when I let them out without getting a chance to spend any time with them.

Now, if this was me, I would more than likely hold a grudge and pout.  But not Rufus and Gertie.  They still treat me like its Christmas morning each time they see me.  They bounce and wag and lick like they haven't seen me in days.  And I feel loved (and a little guilty).

Is it simply canine disconnect, or am I capable of this loving reflex?  I would love to see [insert something] and overflow with joy and excitement.  Moreover, I'd like to see [whatever] and be authentically moved in response to my encounter.

While responding to this kind of reception is natural, I am now resolute to be the origin of such joy.  (Actually the conduit of the joy, but that didn't line up with the rest of what I had been saying.)

Today's Blog Title

As I was driving to work today, I began to think about an upcoming sermon I've been asked to share.  My mind was wandering to the proposed title that I gave the sermon and I'm wondering if I've handcuffed myself with the title.  Now with a long-ish drive and the mind exploring the wilderness inside my head I began to wonder the appropriate place of the sermon title.

I work with a pastor who has very strong opinions about signs in front of churches and the people who pat themselves on the back for their own cleverness.  While I can understand the distaste for bad signage, are we doing the same thing for people on Sunday morning?  Only are we displaying our cleverness for the lucky few who enter the building by offering witty sermon titles?

Knowing your context, how would the congregation respond if there were no sermon title?  Would there be panic; I'm pretty sure not.  But I'm curious to know if the absence of a title could/would draw people deeper into the message.  (Or would this become just another "marketing tool" to grab people?)

I suppose someone knows how this all came about.  I'd like to think it had something to do with the passage titles found in some translations.  Someone thought it necessary to give us a taste of what's to come.  Maybe pastors thought this was a good idea; and then the good idea became a cute idea and now we have books on "effective sermon titles".

Any which way, I'm now at work and trying to get my mind back to the tasks at hand.  First order of business, create a slogan for our Student Ministries.

All Things

This past Sunday, I heard a Sunday that used 1 Corithinans 9:16-23 as one of the texts.  The driving force of this passage is Paul's insistence on becoming all things to all people so that he can win some for Christ.  

As I've been reflecting on the sermon and passage, something began to jump out to me.  All of the things Paul is talking about becoming, slave/free/man/woman/Jew/Greek/weak, are all acceptable.  Even when Paul talks about the Law, he never acts in contradiction to the law, he only operates outside of its boundaries.

What implications does this have for us, then?  What does it look like to go outside of the "rules" and still follow them?  I suppose if I had the answer to this question I'd be awesome (or famous).  But I'm sure that walking in Paul's shoes requires that we begin to understand the heart of Christ with more clarity.

This means loving first and asking questions second.  It means we put our agenda on the back burner and listen to the stories of others.  And it requires much from us; we must be so in love with Jesus that we are not seduced into the lifestyle of those we are loving.

Dynamic Twins - one,two

We recently started a series on Christian music with our students. I find the whole nature of Christian music intriguing and think that, when done well, it offers healthy supplementation of the music diet.
It scares me to look back on what my options were back in the day. I'd listen to the Dynamic Twins just to try Christian rap, but I always felt like I was staying in the music relationship out of obligation.
I'm excited that there are now great artists who are getting a chance to share God's gifts.
I am curious to know who you're listening to today, or better yet, who you've suffered through (maybe you liked it then, and that's okay).