Love is Stronger Than Death

a familiar absence

sitting on this park bench

find me here.

leaning back to exhale the past

toxic regret

breathing in grace and forgiveness

eyes blurry, focusing on flowers opening toward the sun

in the distance, i hear church bells

a familiar tune...wait, what is it?

i can find myself being transported back to 31410 McCracken St.

ah yes, here is the chorus:

'at the cross, at the cross - where i first saw the light

the burden of my sin rolled away,

it was there by faith, i received my sight

and now i am happy all the day...'

the color of the sunset

i walk slowly ahead
of a blue sled, the host
of a purple jacket, the host
of a pink-faced three year old
the only medication for this holocaust of the soul

[squinting]
what color is the sunset, daddy?
"red"
she repeats,
and looks in the opposite direction,
what color is the sunset?

it's a fusion of orange and silence
red and black and blue
it's the color of my heart as we speak
the breath hanging in the air
like a question
unanswered

what color is the sunset? mariah asks

to be exact, i am not sure anymore
but there was a time
i was never in doubt

but of this, i'm confident:
this snowbank is our couch
and i would rather sit here with you
right now, this moment
than do anything else in the entire world.

we trade stories of billy the bear
and hope for spring to come soon
as surely as daylight fades
once upon a time there was man named jerry depoy jr.
and he loved his girls more than life itself...

what color is the sunset, daddy?

it's the color of tears, salty
down my face an ocean on the carpet
where i am fully present fully somewhere else
exhausted of repression, suppression, depression
and the infinite self-hatred

i am numb to the words of affirmation
that used to fuel me like a drug
in the distance i can hear the violent heaving of my best friend
hovering over a porcelain toilet
and i am the cause

what color is the sunset, daddy?

it's the color of dry heaving and the inevitability of hope
it's the color of prescription medication (anti-everything)
it's the color of trust in circles of tears and prayers and battle cries for deliverance
it's the color of a God who is counting down the days until my groaning will be no more

it's the color of ambria's baby monitor
and the exchange of turns in the middle of another sleepless night
it's the color of lies and truth and fist and a hush
and the color of terror and the color of my greatest fear

what color is the sunset, daddy?

it's the color of rocks thrown from unexpected people
in unexpected ways. it's the color of the breath that leaves
my lungs at the last email received
and i clutch the microphone - absolutely no shade
both spot lights center stage
me in pieces

but this i know, of this i'm sure:

there's nowhere i'd rather be

than right here on this snowbank

in the backyard in the stillness you can hear

the neighbors barking dog

and my breaking heart

the burden of a prophet

abba Father
i can not breathe or think or study
the theological interpretations anymore
i am so sick inside
a fire
i must put the differing opinions aside
and get out the timeless Truth to see
what You have to say

oh Father!
what should Your church look like?
what has become of this body of Christ?
for what should we stand for, fight for, live for,
and what should we be willing to die for?

i am so sick inside
desperate to feel Your hands around my life
i can not lift my head.

abba Father!
i am so unbelievably incompetent
so much i don't know
i have not yet scratched the surface
of knowing Your mystery

i am so unworthy of the vision that You have burned within my soul!

oh God, fill me from head to heart
put Your anointing on me
because without You
i am a wretch with undeserved salvation

help me to glorify You in everything i do
may nothing be done in vain deceit
abba, there is so much i don't know
i need to hear from You!

You're all i want
take me home to be with You

if You leave me here
then let me be a general in Your army of love
a servant to the poor
a shepherd to the lost sheep

take all of my material possessions
and desire for earthly finances
take my pride and nail it to the cross.
please cover me with Your blood
fill me with Your mercy
touch me with Your nail-scarred hand
and lift me up to the throne of grace
that i may come boldly into Your presence

where is the Lord God of elijah?
where have all the prophets gone?

if only you knew...

how much i loved you

these days a new chapter 

of always never and i heard a song on the radio the other day

it made me think of the covenant we made

and the moon (the faithful witness) shining on all things what if

some day sunday i am going to tell you a story

of how we've come to this place

but until then

i'll keep tapping my foot and clapping my hands 

and singing those words

even though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death...

[oh no, you never let go!]

tonight i am thankful

for the beauty exchanged for the ashes left behind

and even though i walk with a limp

still i walk, and

for this reason 

i give thanks.

The Voice Within

I have found my purpose in life.

This indisputable calling has been solidified through a diversity of ways, not the least of which is the fruit of relationships that have been formed over time. Those who have been gracious enough to know me, and love me anyway, have confirmed my role in the Jesus Revolution;
to be a messenger of God's scandalous grace.

I have devoted my life to this calling.

The vortex of my ache is driven by an all-consumming fire, to tell the Story of creation/fall/redemption. The prophetic insomnia screams from within, a song of resurrection hope.
God is not dead, He's surely alive;
Living on the inside, roaring like a Lion...

[3:37] I awake from the haze of wonder,
blurring the line between dream and reality.

I reach for my journal and scribble thoughts to myself:

* "Remember where you came from: Byron Road,
    [now abandoned home].

    Home-schooled and barefoot before the burning bush."

* "I did know thee in the Wilderness"
 - cassette tape recording of Jack Hyles

* "Tell Bill R. that I forgive him."

* "Idea for a sermon: Throw a rock through a mirror on stage,
    killing the enemy within."

I am driven by a Force that is inexplicable to those who have never experienced the freedom of resurrection hope. I search tenaciously for those who are hiding from God's love. I reach out to those who are sitting on the fence, and trembling in terror at the idea of surrender.

I'm just one beggar telling another beggar where I've found bread.

Helplessness and the Cross

Twenty-four hours removed from brain surgery, Ashlyn sleeps in her mother’s arms. She is still twitching in pain, breathing in the medication, as I watch the heart monitors flashing 184, unGodly high.

As a Father, I want to protect her! She wakes up every few minutes to look in my direction. Our eyes meet and she searches for a rescue from this pain. I gently rub her shoulders and tuck her hair behind her ears, “Shhh… it’s going be okay”. After she sobs, her breathing turns to a choppy, muffled surrender, and her eyelids close again.

The temporary pain she is going through now is only for a season. The surgical procedure will secure a deeper quality of living and a truer harmony between her mind and her body; the balance of desire and development. She will begin to walk with more ease, and her coordination will strengthen as she matures. If it were not for this [however painful] intervention, she would have succumbed to frequent falls, frustration, and physical weakness.

The cross is a stake through the heart, a painful transaction of justice and mercy. I scream out for deliverance, and my Father woos me to rest in the finished remedy. I reach for temporary medication to relieve this pain, and I wake up searching for an answer to the ever-illusive paradox. “Abba!” I scream, “Why have you abandoned me?”and he shushes me in a whisper, evidence of His immanence.The cross is a blade through the soul, a constant reminder that my old epistemological paradigms are no longer relevant. The old sacrificial system has been replaced by grace. Therefore, my scars of self-destruction have been healed by his scars of self-sacrifice.          I am not who I was. I am not who I was. I am not who I was.

An Open Letter To My Younger Self

Forgive me, please. I've been meaning to connect with you for quite some time. Days became months, and months became years... I got busy, and distant. The space created was intentional and forced and in our best interest, trust me.

The truth is, I have harbored hatred in my heart toward you. On many occasions I wanted to cut you to pieces, and shatter the mirror that reminded me of your depravity! I have had dreams of killing you, and pushing you off a towering ledge ~ and I imagined what your funeral would be like. I have torn apart your pictures, and mocked your crooked teethe and poor posture.

I know you! I know the way you habitually pick at your fingers when you're lost in thought. I know your secrets and your shame. I know you've said too much. Yes, I know about that closet addiction and the bible verse you quote to tell yourself that it will be okay. I know you blame everyone else for the ecclesiastical trauma you limped away from. But the truth is, you were never more true than the moment you plead guilty.

And in your confession, things have begun to change internally.
Now therefore, there is no condemnation.

If I could have your complete attention, I would put you in a choke hold until you are ready to surrender to my counsel... There are a few things I want to tell you:

1. Guard Your Heart

Be careful. In your desire to love and be loved, you will be tempted to trust the wrong people with the most sacred of your possessions. Your heart is a vessel that pumps royally-transfused blood into veins that run fervently toward mercy. You stay awake at night dreaming of changing the world and making a difference and zeal for the Father's House will consume you.

Don't trust the applause of men. They will hail you in one breath, and crucify you in the next. Don't trust the shallow nature of momentum and the ever-illusive amens. Don't trust the pinches on the cheek or the words of affirmation from fair-weather friends. Don't give your heart away to the lethal drug of the stage. The addiction is a virus that will eat your soul, and rape your innocence.

After you've had your heart torn asunder, you will find yourself more likely to random overreactions of sudden panic and noisy retreat. You'll see the worst in people. You'll avoid conflict because you will be afraid of being abandoned. You will prefer to hide under the covers and pray that the clouds roll away.

And it will take years to heal from the destructive lies that you've believed; Years to uproot the weeds from the garden you've planted... the garden of regret.

2. Love Your Wife

After the smoke clears and the haters leave anonymous comments, she will be the anchor of hope that wakes up beside you every morning. Her quiet strength roars in a decibel one octave too high for cognitive evaluation, but her faith in action will restore your confidence that all will be well.

She is the shy freshmen in a canoe that left you speechless. She wore the fire out of those birkenstocks, and met you everyday at the clock tower on campus. She will bring you three adorable daughters, and you will find in her a resilience that silences the enemy. She can rock a hoola-hoop like a Puerto-Rican diva, and her maternal instincts know no boundaries.

At the end of your life, she will be there until the last breath is taken. Every decision you make will be an investment in your covenant, and the outpouring of grace will be the remedy to the moody blues. Waking up next to her is evidence that the Lord's mercies are new every morning...

3. Have Faith in Grace

All of those elementary Sunday School lessons are true.
"Jesus loves you, this you know... For the Bible tells you so. Little ones to him belong, we are weak but He is strong." From your infancy, you have been raised to believe in the promises of Scripture; God is good and Jesus died on the cross for your sins and his blood covers your guilty plea.

Don't ever stop believing in the beautiful Story of Amazing Grace! Place your confidence in the promise that God's grace is enough to sustain you. One day, you will be tempted to dismiss it all as unknowable and uncertain... In that moment, remember the time you were baptized in a river in Montana, beside the waterfall. Remember the feeling of resurrection when you came up from out of the water. Remember breathing in the abundance of scandalous grace, and never forget the freedom you embraced.

Grace is a dance that you will learn to embrace. Your first attempts will be awkward and out of sync with the rest of the world. You will be tempted to retreat to the corner and sulk in your loneliness. But the magnetism of the Dance will woo you back to the movement of yes and wait and surrender. And your natural inclination will collide with the spiritual insistence that the song is familiar.

Grace will squeeze the hate from your mirror,
and wipe the tears from your eyes.

She will seduce you with her relentless invitation.

Her violence is an incoming Tide, washing away your castles of sand.

You will learn to inhale the surrender, and drown in her mystery.

All That Matters

My grandma is dying. Every minute that passes by is another gift, every breath is assumed to be her last. My dad is waiting beside her bedside, and rotates care with a hospice worker. He wrote her a letter of goodbye, put it into a poem, and inches forward into the suspended animation of this vaporous existence.

There are bombs exploded in the background, sedition in the community of faith where he serves as the ragamuffin pastor. In the midst of his mother's "home going", venomous attacks have been launched at his character. Some of the people for whom he has served, and loved, and trusted have stabbed him in the back and invited others into the shrapnel.

But my dad hasn't responded. All he does is love. Yes, in his unorthodox, socially awkward limp ~ he knows one thing: the love of family. Which, at the end of the day, is all that matters. And he is teaching me about priorities...

My daughter Ashlyn fell asleep on my chest tonight. She is scheduled for brain surgery with a Neurosurgeon from Duke University Hospital, to decompress the abnormality known as Chiari Malformation. In a few weeks they will reconstruct the base of her brain. I don't even know how process this journey of recent weeks... only to say

Family is all that matters. In comparison, I don't care about Exodus Church. I don't care about Lakeshore either. I don't care about all the accolades in this temporary existence. I don't care about ministry or reputation or google or theological positions or physical beauty or winning or writing a book like you keep asking me to. I don't care about building a big church or preaching a sermon next week or vision casting or problem solving or being a good orator or bombs going off behind my back or who wins the election or who loses the debate or who might be reading this because they heard scandalous things and set out to investigate my blog. I don't care about any of those things.

The only thing I care about right now is loving Jamie with the intensity of a hurricane, and being the best daddy that three little girls could ever dream of.

Kingdom Come

Blessed are the Persecuted

"The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church." - Tertullion

Thousands of Jewish Peasants, waiting in the fangs of the Roman Empire for liberation by the Messiah, lean in closely to hear the good news of the coming of the Kingdom of Heaven. Surely, this is our moment of revolt! Here is our King... let's go charge the enemy and overthrow the world's first global super-power as God's chosen nation!

And the climax of Jesus' upside-down announcement
would have been a huge disappointment:

"Blessed are the Persecuted."

The actual Greek word that is translated here [dioko], "hunted down, assaulted, and killed." Blessed are you when you are executed for the sake of righteousness. "Rejoice and be glad that you were counted worthy to suffer!" Then Jesus flows into a conversation about being salt and light for a world reeling in decadence and darkness.

The paradox of salt and light poignantly reveals the need for integration and separation. Salt, if it is to be effective, must be integrated into the very fabric of the culture. In the 1st Century, salt was used as a preservative agent against the decay of death! It would have been rendered useless unless it were intentionally threaded into the dough of society, like yeast ~ inseparable. And to be the "Light of the world" would naturally assume a separation from the world, in order to provide illumination.

Integration and separation = transformation and illumination.

Welcome to the invitation to transform our world.

And what does persecution look like in our world today? Statistics are so widely varied for obvious reasons, not the least of which is the frequent disappearance of missing Christians in parts of the developing world. It has been estimated that 175,000 Christians are martyred every year. 287 every day. 12 per hour. 1 every 5 minutes...

And what is different about your life? How is the American church living as salt and light? A recent body of work was published, describing an investigative journalist perspective on Evangelical Lifestyles in modern times. Allen Wolf's bottom line is summarized with a shrug, as if to say, "There's really nothing to be worried about... these Christians pose no threat to our way of living. There's nothing terribly different about them!" The following excerpt is his damning critique:

“While they are a movement of people who believe in a supernatural creator, 

there is little they do that appears very supernatural. They blend into the 
modern American landscape. They live in the suburbs, send their children to 
four-year liberal arts colleges, work in the professional capacities, 
enjoy contemporary music, shop in malls, raise confused and uncertain children, 
and relate primarily to people with whom they share common interests…” 

-       Transformation of American Religion, Allen Wolf, 232

Nothing. Different. About. Us.

Perhaps the reason why we are not experiencing persecution in our age is because our light is so dim that our world is not even aware of our existence.

Blessed are the Shalom Makers

To an audience craving the immanent overthrow of the evil empire hovering in the distance, Jesus invitation to the Kingdom of Peace must have come as a disappointment. Clawing from the fangs of Caesar's violent grip, the peasant Jews were hungry for a political revolution.

"Blessed are the Peace Makers, for they are the sons of God."

And to the first hearers of these words, this statement would have had a much deeper significance. Our American understanding of peace usually invokes images of Woodstock and picnics. Or, at the very least, an absence of conflict.

But to Jesus and his contemporaries within 1st Century Judaism, peace had a ferocious multiplicity of meanings. The Hebrew word is "Shalom"; which essentially means "everything restored to it's rightful place." Further derivatives of this root word could include "Shulam" ("it was paid for") or "Meshulam"("paid in advance"). The general idea is the Peace had to come at a price...

And how did Jesus usher in this Kingdom of Shalom?

He climbed on a donkey and marched through the parade right into the fangs of the Empire, knowing full well that his barbaric execution would forever change the course of human history.

Although the ancient prophets announced that when the Messiah would come, He would be "The Prince of Shalom", nobody was looking for slaughtered lamb. Yet, this is exactly what He would call His disciples to become. He would send them out in His Name "as lambs in the midst of wolves", with the assignment to proclaim: Shalom on this house... Shalom on this city... Shalom on this heart.

To understand our role in this revolution of Shalom, is to ask very difficult questions of our own commitment to this Rabbi. What does it mean to ask Jesus into your heart and then pledge allegiance to a Big Government that has an annual budget of 548 Billion Dollars to maintain our Department of Defense? What does it mean to call ourselves a "Christian Nation", donning Constantinian Swords on our Shields as the Nation that God has chosen? What if these two Kingdoms were to collide? Where is your allegiance?

And if the dominant evidence of our identity as followers of Jesus are the Fruits of the Spirit: "Love, Joy, Shalom, Gentleness, Meekness, Kindness," then why are we most quickly stereotyped as "Anti-gay, Anti-choice, Intolerant, Empire Builders, Warmongers"?

What happened to the literal application of Jesus' command to love our enemies? Seriously, what if He actually meant that stuff? That would wreck all of our ideologies, and dismantle our political platforms! We can't have that!

Notice this sign. Consider the posture of the Body of Christ, to a polarized world in search of Hope. What have we become? God have mercy, what have we become?

Jesus, I love you. I am so sorry for not representing you with more conviction, and grace. Please woo us back to the Way, the Truth, and the Life of your Love. We are a mess without you.

I pledge allegiance to the Slaughtered Lamb.

Blessed are the Pure in Heart

One day while Jesus was walking down the dusty roads in the Galilee, the disciples asked him a classic Jewish question: "Rabbi, who is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?"

And Jesus settled his eyes on a few children playing in the distance... "the Kingdom belongs to these children."

There is something innocent about the way children run and play. They laugh obnoxiously loud, and squeal with delight at the slightest revelation! Without concern of grass-stains on skinned knees, they climb and explore and wrestle and imitate without reservation.

Have you ever seen a child doing yoga? Just trying to "find my center".  No! They don't worry about the growing pile of bills on the counter, or what they are going to do about the raising gas prices. There is an assumed confidence in the Sovereignty and Omnipotence of their Daddy...

Lately, I have been observing with greater intensity, my own three daughters. Mariah (8), Ambria (5), and Ashlyn (1.5) are taking their awkward first steps, skinning their knees, and experiencing new emotions every day. They are probably creating emotions that have yet to be named!

I want so desperately to protect their hearts. I want to scoop them up onto my lap, and to advise them: "Guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life!" And to further warn, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick!"

Because something dangerous happens whenever we give our hearts away to the wrong people or things. We become jaded, skeptical, and intentionally withdrawn. Given enough time and painful experiences, the heart can only experience so much trauma before it needs antidepressant medication to function.

Jesus says, "Blessed are the Pure in Heart".
Blessed are the children. They will see the face of their Heavenly Father.

As a Father, there is nothing I would not do for my girls. I would give them the clothes off my back, the food off my plate... I would lay down my life for them!

[Ashlyn Hope]

For the past several months we have been noticing that our baby Ashlyn has not been developing as she should be. She isn't walking or talking. She couldn't roll over, and her motor skills seemed to be lacking. So after many tests with pediatricians, she has been assigned to a Physical Therapist who has been working with her to develop muscle strength and coordination. And although she has shown signs of improvement, she still lags behind with "Global Developmental Delays".

Last monday we scheduled an MRI to get some answers for the reason behind the delays. The next afternoon, the hospital called to report that Xray results discovered that Ashlyn has a Chiari Malformation; an abnormality in her brain. She has been referred to a Neurosurgeon for possible brain surgery.

We have been relentlessly researching and as we anxiously await our next steps, our hearts break for the unknown future! We have been told that she might not ever "run and play", and that the brain is pushing down into her spinal cord, affecting her coordination and balance...

As she has been undergoing medical evaluations, my heart breaks every time they have to draw her blood. Last week she looked at me for help, as tears streamed down her little face. And there was nothing I could do but to turn away from the scene.

And I began to more deeply understand the love of the Heavenly Father as he was torn from the scene: "Abba! My God ~ Why have your forsaken me?" 

Ashlyn has a beautiful heart. She is an adorable baby girl with an infectious smile! She is so innocent and precious; to think of her being in any kind of physical or psychological pain is almost too much for me to comprehend. I am shattered, altogether, at the foot of cross.

I believe that Ashlyn's healing will be found through the scars of the crucified One, who atoned for our debts and has reconciled this broken world to Himself. My hope is viewed through the lens of a post-easter worldview, and the tomb is empty!

Blessed are the Merciful

I still remember the moment that my Grandfather unloaded an avalanche of disrespect at my dad, in front of all of us DePoy kids. I was sixteen years old, and I launched into the defense of my dad with a lunge from the kitchen table. I rolled up my sleeves and threatened to physical strike my own Grandfather...

He died a few years ago, and we were never reconciled.

Because I have a photographic memory, and I know how to keep score. I have an emotional ledger on my lap, calculating relational profits/losses with the razor blade of "discernment". After years of theological education, I have hidden behind the shelter of unforgiveness beneath the cloak of being a wise steward of my heart.

Reading Jesus' invitation to live in the freedom of forgiveness has wrecked everything for me! What if He really meant that stuff? That would throw a proverbial wrench in my plans of starving the hostages in my prison of bitterness.

"Blessed are the Merciful, for they will be shown Mercy..." - defined beautifully as 'Active compassion by Divine grace'; Mercy is intricately woven into the fabric of forgiveness, as illustrated by the Parable of the Unmerciful Servant.

Jesus paints a portrait of His Father's posture by describing the Kingdom:
"The Kingdom of Heaven is like a King who wanted to settle all accounts..."

What does this tell us about the heart of God?

Central to the redemption Story is the gospel insistence of debt cancellation and the implications thereof.
Because we all have an account, and we all will stand before the King who desires reconciliation.

__________

Last year I went to a conference in Orlando, Florida. I had greatly anticipated the Grand Finale - an inspiring message from a theological hero of mine. On the morning of the big event, I overslept in my hotel room (long story... no wake up call from the front desk/my lawyers are handling it...). The alarm clock revealed my inner panic, and I squealed out of the parking lot in my rented Toyota Prius. Despite the stale green light, I blew threw the immanent red-lighted intersection and cruised my way to catch the end of the conference.

Two months later, I received an "Infraction" in the mail. There was a phone number to call, if I had any questions, otherwise the necessary payment should be included in this return envelope... I dialed the phone number at the bottom of the ticket and began to argue with the Police Officer in Florida. He invited me to check out a particular website which had documented and preserved my blown red light.

Yep, that's me... driving a rented Toyota through an intersection that could not contain my hurry.

How shall I plea? What is my defense?

But Jesus insists that the Kingdom of Heaven is like a King who desires reconciliation. He cancels the debt of "10,000 Talents" which, according to Josephus was the exact amount demanded by the Roman Emperor Pompey upon the Jews in 64 BC; This astronomical figure was another example of Jesus' hyperbole exaggerations of the extreme. The numerical figure of 10,0000 was the highest number used in reckoning, and the "Talent" was the highest amount of printed currency in the culture of the Ancient Near East.

Jesus was communicating the weight of our sin, and the price of our forgiveness.

But then, in classic rabbinic fashion, Jesus flips the script and twists the narrative to include the lack of forgiveness offered by the slave to his peers. He leaves the presence of the Throne and immediately hunts down an outstanding debtor for repayment. Capturing his attention in a choke hold, the Unmerciful Servant refuses to offer forgiveness to the smaller debt that was owed to him.

This is me.

I am an artist at harboring unforgiveness... I have approximately 5 people in Muskegon, MI whom I am continuing to keep in my own prison. The cold shoulder is a choke hold, and I am wrestling with the demand of the King, to forgive those who have hurt me.

I have been known to run a few red lights. I have burned a bridge or two... I have left behind carnage in my wake. I have been found guilty.

And I have been forgiven. How now shall I live?

Blessed are those who Hunger and Thirst

There is an insatiable desire within the core of every human heart, to be reconciled to God through the finished work of the cross of Jesus Christ. Every act of aggression is a feeble attempt to scratch that eternal itch. This is about that.

Deep within the recesses of our soul, is an unquenchable thirst for things to be made right with our Creator, and we claw our way toward that redemption by swinging in the dark. This is about that.

There are schools of Psychology and conflict mediation that have uncovered this elementary truth: The nature of addiction, violence or self-destruction is usually born from something beneath the surface. The gnawing ache for things to be made right with our Creator. Human rebellion has fractured that relationship, and we long for reconciliation. This is about that.

Every addiction or self-destructive path was first ignited from a desire for the itch to go away. We have learned to settle for the temporary gratification, until the virus bleeds into patterns and cycles of immediate remedies ~ like a bandaid over a tourniquet. This is about that.

The man who rages against the referee at a little-league game, or punches his television after his team loses... The road raging driver who goes animalistic at a careless merge; This is about that.

Jesus says, "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled."

When, by God's gracious revelation, we hear the cosmic invitation to the Table of Communion, our hearts find healing in the Bread of Life. Drinking deeply of the Living Water spills over into the abundant life that Christ has come to offer. This is about that.

"You have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you."

- St. Augustine

Blessed are Meek

I grew up being introduced to a femmy Jesus. He looked like Mr. Rogers, with a beard. He was nice and didn't say anything offensive. He liked to pet sheep, and kids climbed all over him.

Ironically, "meekness" was always taught as "weakness". And by 8th grade, I was over it.

So then I jumped ship to the fighting fundamentalist Jesus; He liked to protest things and blog about the end of the world! He was much more angry and it made for some exciting sermons...

But recently I stumbled into the real Jesus. The beautiful, intoxicating revolutionary who introduced the Kingdom Manifesto as a direct assault on the Roman Empire. This advancing Kingdom of God spreading like a wildfire by the least likely of characters.

"Blessed are the Meek", says Jesus, "For they shall inherit the earth".

The actual Greek translation of meekness [praus] speaks of strength under control. It is not a feminine hippy with no backbone [or, Kip Dynamite for example], nor is Meekness described by violence or brutal force. It's neither Mr. Rogers nor Malcolm X.
Meekness is strength, under control.

The Greek philosopher Aristotle described meekness as the beautiful character quality that found a voice for the appropriate rage within. Because, as it has been said, if you're not outraged, you're not paying attention.

Honest hermeneutical exegesis will reveal the real fire behind Jesus, the homeless Rabbi from Nazareth. History records that from His infancy, Jesus was born into a collision of Kingdoms. Biblical writers paint a portrait of Jesus on the warpath, planting subversive seeds of sedition right beneath the nose of King Herod!

Several of Jesus' parables were contemporary commentaries on social justice, mocking the plastic impostor who claimed to rule over the Jews. Jesus and Herod were on a collision course, and Christ's followers were invited to help spread the wildfire of the good news: The Kingdom of God is at hand!

One time when Jesus was in the middle of a diatribe on the splendor of the Real Kingdom, some Pharisees came to him with a warning, "Run! King Herod has issued a subpoena for your arrest... He wants to kill you!" Jesus fired back with a holy outrage: "Go tell that fox, I will cast out demons, I will heal people, and on the third day, I will finish my course!"

What????

Strength under control does not wield an AK-47 and call for block battle. Strength under control recognized that at any moment, "I could call on my Father who would immediately dispatch 12 legion of angels on my behalf"... but chooses instead, a cross.

Jesus saw the face of evil, and did not ignore it. He climbed on a donkey and rode right into the mouth of the monster, only to eventually be ushered before the wicked King Herod. (Picture Jesus in handcuffs, with a swollen eye and bloody nose, being questioned by Herod). "And Jesus gave him no answer."

He didn't even honor his questions with an answer! He completely disrespected him, and ignored the hailstorm of bullets. Because He had seen the throne... and Herod was not on it!

Meekness is standing in the face of adversity, with the conviction of assumed authority as a child of the Real King. And to confront systemic evil with beautiful anger, because holy outrage leads to the healing and reconciliation of this broken world.

Blessed Are Those Who Mourn

Two thousand years ago, Jesus inaugurated the incoming Kingdom of God and the New World Disorder. The Beatitudes are a gauntlet slammed into the 1st Century Palestinian battle ground, announcing a new beginning...

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted..."

This progression of hope for the children of God, pledging allegiance to His reign, separates the various dimensions of grieving as both spiritual and physical. They have always been, and remain, interchangeable. Sin gives birth to death, and the heart of God breaks over both conditions.

Hope is that crucial ingredient that carries Christian mourners through seasons of deepest loss. Hope is the chain that peddles the bike that keeps you going. Hope is the seed that sprouts the roots and springs a tree.

And in what is our hope? In whom is our faith?

The resurrection of the crucified King! The manifestation of a literal rising from the ashes of decadence, have been for two thousand years, the motivation to mourn with conviction.

In John 11, the New Testament tells the story of Jesus receiving an oral telegram: "Come quick, your best friend, Lazerus, is sick unto death!"The text reads with cryptic subversion, "Now Jesus loved Lazerus, so he did not come."

He loved Lazerus, [therefore] he didn't answer his prayer.

And in this waiting room of suffering and ashes, the family mourns the loss of their brother. The anguish initiates a series of questions, revealing the frustration we have all felt at times. "Where were you, God?" Jesus absorbs their tears like a sponge, and receives their doubt with delicate authority. His posture bends in the dirt to feel the weight of this loss.... ["Jesus wept."]

On that day God cried, salty tears of internal rage. He looked into the eyes of his closest friends, after announcing that this will not be the last chapter; the Resurrection and the Life was enveloped in cynical despair. And Jesus felt their lack of faith in Him, bending to His knees in anguish.

----- The Resurrection and the Life ---- cried.

Where is your faith? Awake O sleeper, death will not have the last word. The cross couldn't finish His sentence, and the grave couldn't hold His power! Where our sins have been atoned for, the scars are not fatal and the grave is not final. When we mourn over those things that break the heart of God, comfort crashes into the casket!

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the Spiritually Bankrupt

A couple of years ago Jamie and I decided to move down to the mountains of Asheville, North Carolina. We had three hundred dollars in the bank, and the promise of an acquaintance to rent a home, until I could find a job in the city. We had the zealous hope of a new chapter, and the future seemed wide open...

Shortly after we moved here, I had this brilliant idea to take a road trip to the Carolina coast; I had always wanted to surf the Charleston beaches, so I tucked my surfboard into the car and made it a solo adventure. I surfed with the dolphins and chatted with tourists. I lingered in the surf shops and eventually began the six hour trek home.

*There are parts of South Carolina that you just might want to avoid. Long highway stretches separate the progressive boom town of Charleston, from the backwoods mystery of lesser known places... and it was here, in the middle of the unknown, that my engine blew a head-gasket. Smoke poured from the hood of my Jetta, and there was no hope of a quick fix. I hitched a ride to the nearest gas station, that had promptly closed at five pm. It was beginning to get dark, and I could hear banjo music... No cell phone reception, no credit card, and the music was getting louder!

I finally waived down a motorist, and he gave me a lift to a phone booth up the road. I was able to call Jamie collect and I explained the situation. She scurried to put the girls in the mini-van and attempted to rescue me, but somewhere outside of town, the transmission blew on her van as well. So my wife and kids were simultaneously stranded six hours away!

[That awkward moment when you keep seeing reruns of Deliverance in your mind, as the darkness is setting in...]

Jamie finally got a hold of a friend-of-a-friend who immediately set out to retrieve me. This guy drove an F-350 with a flatbed trailer behind it, and five hours later, he found me on the side of the road (hiding behind some trees!). He loaded my car up and I climbed into the passenger seat. I was so ecstatic to have been found, rescued, and returned...

As we neared Columbia, we pulled off to get something from the drive-through at McDonald's. He ordered a bunch of food for both of us, and I insisted on calculating the totals, "Here, let me pay!",  but he ignored my request.  I kept a close eye on his gasoline, mileage, and time granted; I was going to make this all up, I had promised.

After my persistent requests to let me pay for this favor, he just looked at me and said, "You don't understand grace, do you?"


___________


Jesus inaugurated an inverted power system as he announced the Kingdom of Heaven and the New World Disorder. "Blessed are the Spiritually Bankrupt" [ptochos]; a word picture of absolutely nothing left in the bank... running on fumes and now the fumes have evaporated. Guilty. Surrender. Ptochos.

The good news of the gospel is that God has heard the cry of his children, and He has set forth on a rescue mission to retrieve the prodigals... And when you find yourself standing on the side of a barren highway, with no money and no hope and a blown head gasket and burned bridges and the scandalous resume as a liar/fraud/cheat, your only posture is to make a collect phone call to Heaven, and beg for Mercy.

Blessed are the Spiritually Bankrupt, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.

Christmas in Michigan

Restoring the Lost Years

A few weeks ago we were sitting together as a family, watching old home videos. In the video frame we were all playing together at Chuck E Cheese... the girls were laughing and dancing, and I was there... but not really.

I mean, I was in the video; fully present in my absence. I was disengaged in the background.

The next video clip was Ambria's birthday party. She was blowing out two candles, and we were singing as a family. But, for the life of me, I can't remember the event.

As we watched the old videos together, I just began to wonder ~ When was this? I don't remember this event. I mean, I'm in the video... I'm clearly there, but I have no memory of this moment.

And as Jamie has been calculating Ashlyn's developmental delays, she would point out a comparison to Ambria. "Remember, Ambria was eating cereal with a spoon by this age." And I would shake my head. "No, I don't remember."

Last week I was flying from Asheville to Chicago, to return home to Michigan. On the plane I pulled out a scratch piece of paper and did some chronological calculations. I squeezed out a memory from late February of 2008: We were walking into the gymnasium of the Muskegon Catholic High School, where the leadership at Lakeshore Church was going to announce my forced resignation. All eyes were on the DePoy family, as we walked through the front doors... and in that delicate moment, Ambria threw up all over the place. "Good timing", I thought.

But then, there was nothing. For nineteen damned months, nothing.

My next memory retained was September 22, 2009 - The day we stopped and took a family picture at the border of North Carolina, initiating a new chapter in our lives.

______________________________________

Last wednesday I was sharing this revelation to my trusted counselor. He is a certified Psychiatrist, and has many years of experience... As we sat outside on the porch drinking coffee, he immediately pointed out that this memory block was an obvious symptom of post traumatic stress.

"Think about it... it was the emotional equivalence of a bomb detonating in your brain! You had just suffered a spiritual explosion in your ministry, and everything would be blown to smithereens. Because your private sin became public, you lost your health insurance, your income, your house, and your friends. It's no wonder why you're a zombie in the family videos... You're like a war veteran with flashbacks every time you remember the conflict."

He continued to ask questions... "Did you wake up in a cold sweat? Nightmares?"

I nodded.

"And what about walking around in public... did you just want to run home and lock the door?"

Once again, "Exactly."

So much of this epiphany has answered a ton of questions for me lately. Why do I avoid conflict? Why do I shy away from confrontation? Because I have never really had a healthy experience with Christian conflict/reconciliation before.

In my experience, conflict + confrontation = rejection.

My prayer is that the Great Physician will heal me from the inside out. As Romans 12 mentions, "the renewing of the mind", and the Old Testament book of Joel prophecies, "God will restore the years that the locusts have eaten..."

Last night, I took my daughters for a walk. I brought a camera, and I captured the memory... but this memory will burn the midnight oil.

Hope for Ashlyn

Our baby girl, Ashlyn Hope was recently diagnosed with Global Development Delays. Although she is happy, and otherwise healthy, she is not talking or walking yet. She is not using consonants or even rolling over in her crib. She is almost a year and a half old.

Please pray for her, and join us in our expectation of amazing things!

remembering to forget

a layover in chicago gives me time to think

about the unfairness of it all

jamie says

remember when ambria wouldn't stop crying at her birthday party?

i shake my head

and the family video is on rewind

we're all there gathered around two candles and a cake

and i'm watching myself

disengaged in the corner

absent in my presence

emotionally unavailable

oh there's the dress that mariah wore to princess camp

jamie points at the fluffy sleeves in pink

and i can't remember

when did mariah go to princess camp?

and yet another family video

chuck e cheese and the girls are laughing

i'm there in the video too

but, i don't remember any of this

a layover in chicago gives me time to think

about the unfairness of it all

the calculated estimates: the last thing i remember was the week after my resignation

we showed up as a family to catholic central high school

for a family reunion

in a packed gymnasium

the moment we opened the door,

ambria puked all over her nursery dress

good timing, i thought

then ~ nothing

for

nineteen

damned

months

until we hit the north carolina border

snapping a picture as a family

hoping for a new chapter

while the haters had posted

inflammatory blogs about us being 'driven from the land'

a layover in chicago gives me time to think

about the unfairness of it all

Where life and death collide

Mission Hospital, 5th floor ::: Room 510

Sitting beside the bed of an old friend, I watched the medical team scurrying around the room to alleviate her discomfort. In the aftermath of a car accident, my friend had a few scratches, a broken collarbone, multiple bumps, bruises and a massive headache.

But the thing she complained about the most was the bruising path from her safety belt that had, literally, cut into her flesh. I could see the blood vessels and immediate bruising that had developed from the collision.

While giving her more pain medication, the physician reminded her that if it had not been for the restraining belt, she would have died.

:: The very thing that brought her the most pain was also the source of her own salvation::

As I reflect on the pain of the past few years, I center my awareness on the internal bruises that were born in the suffering. I rage against the pain, thrusting my fist in the air at the Great Physician who gently reminds me that His belt of restraint kept me from plunging through the windshield in a collision of all things unholy.

If it had not been for the piercing pain, I would have never stirred from the slumber of my bulletproof indifference. As I inhale the pain reliever, clutching for life support ~ I am acutely aware and infinitely grateful for the intersection of my deepest pain/sacred life.

Thank you God for the bullhorn of your grace, (disguised as enemies) shouting scandalous profanity at the image of another statistic waiting to happen. And this collision would not end in death, but a full recovery is immanent...

Reflections from the California Coast

The sun was fading, as though a literal meltdown into the Pacific Ocean. The blurry haze that separated the water from the sky seemed applicable to thoughts in my mind. I sipped from a steaming cup of coffee, and sat on a bench overlooking the high-tide surfers far below the canyon.

My thoughts drifted to the serenity of this moment, from the disastrous journey of the past few years. Painful memories still surface at times, like the sting of a wasp ~ I swat and flee toward the refuge of my soul-mate and the girls, where I'm settled and healed...

The healing that has taken place inside my heart is not easy to articulate; There wasn't a moment or an incident of remedy, rather, my inner healing has been a continual process toward wholeness. The shaping of things to come have materialized of yesterday's fragmentation. As the aforementioned line is blurred between water and sky, so too is the separation from the hurt and the healing.

Thank you God, for the relentless tenderness of your Spirit's embrace. Thank you for not giving up on me, though I had filed for spiritual bankruptcy. Thank you for the gift of new friends, and the sacred sentiments of the ever-present absence... Fading memories that have been crucified, buried, and now resurrected in the Shalom of all things restored.

The End of the Beginning

Listen to this.

To the Mercy King

The rear-view mirror still taunts me. The images may appear closer than they actually are, yet the scars have stories of being put to open shame; death by exposure was a salacious headline, and the red badge of courage could never be applied to me.

Imagine your hidden sins put on display for the world to witness... How would it feel to have your diary published, including the darkest secrets of a scandalous heart. What would be your defense to the accusations? Where would you turn, inward or outward - in anger or fear?

Paul writes of the shame of the cross: "God raised you from the dead as he did Christ. When you were stuck in your old sin-dead life, you were incapable of responding to God. God brought you alive—right along with Christ! Think of it! All sins forgiven, the slate wiped clean, that old arrest warrant canceled and nailed to Christ's cross. He stripped all the spiritual tyrants in the universe of their plastic authority at the Cross and marched them naked through the streets." - Col. 2:13-15 [Message]

The Roman Empire were artists at torturing their victims. The objective was to humiliate an enemy by stripping them completely naked, then raising them up on an execution stake and announcing their shame to the world. The thirst of blood and venom drenched a twisted crowd of professional religious people, with the spectacle of a writhing, dying, enemy of the State.

And after all the smoke had cleared, and the last witness had turned away, Jesus rose victorious from the shallow grave. He had absorbed the wrath of God and man, and walked away in defiance.

Paul goes on to write that the resurrection of Jesus had, in essence, subverted the new world disorder and exposed the laws of empire in humiliation and shame. He publicly mocked the enemies (both visible and invisible) in the triumph of new life!

Somehow my story, as gut-wrenching and humiliating as it is, can become a trophy of God's grace. With every fiber of my being, I hate my sinful past! I continue to war against the ever-present temptations within. And I dread being reminded of my self-inflicted scars. And yet, the reconciliation of all things hidden is now being put on display by the Kingdom of Jesus at work within me.

So to the haters who have googled my name and researched new ways to accuse me: I'm glad you found this blog. Now raise your glass to the restorative work of the Mercy King! He is risen, and I'm with Him. Amen.

Fully Present in the Presence of the Amen

It was almost midnight when she noticed it. The lightning was painting the southern sky, with flashes of cinder and smoke. She called me to the window, and then to the door… we walked outside barefoot, breathless by the intoxication of the moment.

For what seemed like hours, Jamie and I sat in the grass looking out far, far away. The lightning was so distant that we could not even hear the assumed crashes of thunder. She wondered how far away the storm was, or if the cold front was going to collide with our warm air in the mountains.

We began to reflect on our journey, home. This season is serving its purpose: to bring healing to the wounds of our last exit. We talked about the southern drift, and the distance from our roots in West Michigan. We wondered about the toll such a transition would take on our daughters, who still cling to the memories of sand-castles and sleepovers, neighborhood friends, and a church family that disappeared overnight.

However violent the repressed memories are, we hold on to the joy that remains. We have proved them all wrong. We are stronger than their whispers. We are unfinished.

And tomorrow, is a mystery. That door is locked and bolted shut for now. All we can do is celebrate the moment of our resurrection, and watch the heavens declare the glory of God.

Still, Unsettled.

I want my life to make a difference for the Kingdom of God. Ten years ago, Jamie and I were newlyweds and we dreamed of being a part of a revolution of love. We used to read through the New Testament, falling in love with the Acts of the apostles, and had conversations about what it would look like to experience that kind of energy.

I still have trouble sleeping at night, and I can't shake this burden. My heart aches to be a part of a community of faith that is reaching a city as the hands and feet of Christ's body on earth. I will not settle for anything less. Never.

How We Spend Our Days

Grace Comes To Us With Blistered Feet

I once heard a story about an old missionary. He had been afflicted with such a spiritual dis-ease that keeping the Grace of Christ to himself was no longer an option. He set out on foot to reach the unreached people groups of the desolate African landscapes.

But in each village, his message of grace and forgiveness fell on deaf ears and hard hearts. He met rejection and loneliness at every corner. So he would walk in a circle from village to village to village before succumbing to exhaustion. He collapsed in the desert heat and waited to die.

A few days later he was stirred to awaken, in a bed provided by caretakers. He was nourished back to physical health, and noticed the disposition of the locals: they were receptive, curious, and eager to listen to his message.

The missionary was curious as to why they had now a change of reception.

The locals pointed to his blistered feet. "When we found you, we noticed the blisters on your dirty feet. We realized that anyone who would walk this relentlessly must have something to share, worth listening to."

When I think about all of the ways that I have rejected God's love for me, I often wonder why He hasn't given up! All those times I insisted to have my own way, He waited. In my absolute defiance of His Spirit's leading, the grace He has offered me is flushed away in rebellion.

Grace comes to us with blistered feet.

When we least expect it, like a stray dog - grace shows up again at our front door, barking. Incessantly. Relentlessly. Annoying.

Grace comes to us with blistered feet.

When we least deserve it, like a Christmas present unopened; postmarked from heaven - traveling through hell, grace knocks exhaustively on the door of our hardened heart. With blood-stained, nail-scarred hands, offering forgiveness and Monday-morning hope.

Grace comes to us with blistered feet.

When we ignore, reject, and dismiss this gift, we find one constant seat available at the Table, body broken, blood poured out. Grace has come, and remains the unfinished story...