7.30.2013


Grateful for Friends

Thank you God for Jason Spencer, Asheville's resident Ninja! He is a close friend in a time of need.

Tsunami of Grace

I can feel it coming... the ground is trembling, the earth is groaning, and my heart is reaching for the overflow of God's Presence. I need His grace to cover me, and the darkness of my sin that suffocates the creative energy inside me. I am unworthy to sing, but His grace is sufficient to heal and hold.

- Jay DePoy
(Lead Pastor, Exodus Church)

7.24.2013


Days Like These

These days I am finding myself more content to sit with the questions, instead of offering a logical solution based on a presupposition that is more comfortable to swallow.

These days I am more likely to cry tears of gratitude than sorrow, streams of wonder and grace flooding the banks of certain fatality. I am unworthy, yet I am welcome. I am loved, yet I've not accepted it.

These days my ears are selective in capturing the whispers of a groaning earth, restless for the redemption of a new creation. Still standing, standing, standing on the promises of God.

These days I would rather hear an off-key organ chiming sacred melodies of yesteryear. I can still hear the 'y'all come choir' as they shout about the some glad morning. Will the circle be unbroken?

These days I miss friends who have gone before me, leaving a legacy of hope and longing: Gina Carlin, Chris Ort, Bill Centapani, Gene Ward, Mandy Daunt, Bill Corley, Ray Ericson, Ruth Gustafson, Mary Wagenmaker, and Joshua DePoy.

These days I am more certain of less, but a few things remain: Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so.

When I was a little boy I had an undiagnosed obsessive compulsion to go back the way I came. Quite literally, I had to return through the same doorway I entered. If I used the automatic electric doors at the entrance of Meijers, I absolutely must exit through the same route. If I took the back roads to a destination, then I had to take the same back roads home.

- and now I've come full circle, entering the exit with a childlike wonder. I miss the Bible Baptist Temple, and the King James Bible worn thin. I miss my father's instruction, and my mother's immanence. I miss sitting in the back row and wondering if God could ever use me to stir the waters of revival. I miss the youthful naivety of ignorant bliss. I miss thinking anything was possible. I miss the chorus: "My God is so big, so strong and so mighty - there's nothing my God can not do!" I miss the four squared colored carpet in the basement, and the nostalgic sacredness of Sunday School. I miss the altar calls and the salty tears. I miss Jack Hyles and Johnny Hunt and Rob Bell and Art Shady.

These days I am overwhelmed with thanksgiving for a journey of scars and stories and three daughters of my own, to shape their faith in the light of the everlasting awe...

Exodus Church (Asheville)

Continuing the Jesus Lovelution...

Watch This Video!

7.12.2013

Michigan Homecoming

Here is the video link of my return to Michigan...

http://vimeo.com/69916446

Jay DePoy
(Exodus Church, Asheville)

5.20.2013

Kairos - When Time Stands Still

Have you ever had a moment that seemed to freeze, framed in your memory for eternity? It's as if your whole world is on pause, and everything else fades away. These momentary glimpses of eternity burn into our subconscious presence, and we remain in a temporary state of disassociation...

The ancient greeks divided time into two dimensions. They looked at the natural movement of the world through a sequential order, and developed an assumed chronology. "Chronos" is the natural progression of hours, days, and seasons. We live in a chronos understanding of time; our hours are calculated for pay regulation, our holidays fall into rhythm with the seasons, and our years become measured by time spent and time remaining. We have developed phrases such as, 'a window of time', or we worry that we are 'wasting time' ~ all of which speaks to chronos, which is measured by quantity.

But then, there are moments that seem to transcend the three dimensions of past/present/future. These are moments of human awareness of divine presence. The ancient greeks referred to these life-shaping moments that define us as "Kairos", when time stands still.

Unlike chronos (measured by quantity), kairos is measured by quality.

The problem is that we are a generation that is suffocating in the trenches of technology. We are drowning in the anxiety of chronos, and we are being consumed by the subsequent anxiety thereof. Chronos has infected our soul, as we pledge allegiance to the kingdom of accumulation. Our children are taught to play three sports, extra-curricular activities, and to keep up with the competition. We feed them red-bull energy drinks through an iv, as we sip our coffee and chain-smoke in the worry that maybe they will turn out just like us.

And God speaks through burning bushes and gentle whispers.

All the while, my hurry and worry has become white noise to the delicate whisper of the Divine Presence. I have an earbud in one ear, a phone in the other, while I surf the internet and worry about why nobody has "liked" my facebook status. I don't have time for burning bushes or the still, small voice of God.

This conviction has erupted within me in recent months.

Through much counsel, it has been revealed that I have been suffering from memory loss (almost two years) since a metaphorical bomb detonated in my brain. The aftermath of our exodus from Muskegon has left a lot of carnage, primarily in the absence from my three daughters. Daddy has no memory of their formative moments, and he is pissed off about it.

Last year I was taking a walk with my middle daughter, Ambria. She was five years old, and struggling to keep up with me as I hiked to the top of a hill overlooking our property. I could hear her huffing and whimpering, wanting me to slow down and walk with her. When I finally stopped and turned around, I was caught paralyzed in the moment: Who is this little girl? She isn't a baby anymore... her little jeans were caught on the tip of her pink rubber boots. Her hiking stick was bigger than me, and her hair was a mess. Tears were coming down her eyes as she caught up to me.    K a i r o s.

In that moment, I fell in love with her. In that moment, I burned the image into my heart, and I vowed that I would not be in such a hurry. In that moment, I stopped to listen and look and feel and hold her.

Kairos moments can melt your heart and take your breath away: The february wind over the Grand Canyon as you glance at your wife, while she clutches your arm. The time Mariah came over to me on the side-line in the middle of her soccer game, just to give me a dandelion (the only difference between a weed and flower is an opinion!). The last time I was with Matt Fulk, Harvey Wagenmaker, and Jason Sorn... diving off the bridge over Pete's Bayou. The time I walked away from a terrible car accident that should have taken my life, leaving me barefoot on the side of the road.  K a i r o s.

I want to be the kind of man that wakes up after a deep sleep and says, like Jacob,
"Surely, God was in this place and I was not aware of it!".
I want to be the kind of daddy that teaches his daughters to watch the sunset and say,"Yahweh Shammah: The Lord is Here!"
I want to be the kind of husband who is madly in love and fully present with his wife as she tells me about her day.
I want to be the kind of friend who sit in the ashes of pain and despair or joy and celebration at life given and life taken, all the while saying: "Yahweh Shammah!"


The mountains are a refuge
where the audible voice of the divine whispers.
The trees are applauding the glory of God.
The bush is still burning.
And I am fully present.

4.19.2013

ambria faith (at her birth)


heaven has crashed into earth, this first day of spring
and my heart pounds with yours
[welcome to this new beginning]
a world painted in full volume at the hands of the creator
waiting at your doorstep
merry go rounds and barking dogs
carnivals and fireworks
a sky ablaze in song
'this land is your land, this land is my land'

heaven has crashed into earth
this first day of spring
and my eyes are fixed on yours
if this picture paints a thousand words
the opening chapters are being written
and the characters introduced
you my leading lady, take my hand
and we'll dance across each page

heaven has crashed into earth
this first day of spring
and there's a song in the air
the universal melody of all creation:
clapping trees and crying rocks
changing seasons and the hanging moon
(that ever-faithful witness in the sky)
to the covenant established between you and i

outside the window
rain howling wind
clouds hidden sun
a double rainbow
one for you
one for me
welcome to this new beginning...

4.12.2013

Spring Rain

Last night I held Ashlyn as we watched the immanent storm approaching the tree line across the ridge. She froze, paralyzed in uncertainty. First the thunder... then a flash of light across the sky! After a few minutes, scattered rain drops fell. And suddenly, a torrential downpour! All of this is a sensory overload on on the mind and heart of a two year-old toddler.

After we tucked her in to bed, Jamie retreated to sleep in our room. I remained standing by the front door, peering out at the panoramic cinematography outside. The early spring grass is beginning to fade into a thicker green. The buds on the trees are nearing an explosion of resurrection, and the song birds greet the morning.

It is in this stillness, that I am grateful.

Thanksgiving has come early this year.

3.18.2013

The God Who Waits (At the Edge of the Driveway)

The other day I was driving home from Florida, through South Carolina. As I pulled off the exit and into the parking lot of the nearest gas station, a scene unfolded in front of me that caused me to question whether or not I was actually dreaming, or awake.

In the middle of the parking lot a woman was swinging violently at her little daughter with a belt, whacking her multiple times as the girl fell to the pavement.

Voltage shot through my veins like a pitbull on crack! I put the car in park, and bolted across the parking lot to interrupt the abuse. [There is a difference between discipline and demolition]. As I neared the woman, I attempted to grab the belt from her in mid-swing. She then turned her aggression toward me, and told me to mind my own business.

"This is my business!" I said.
As she cussed me out in the parking lot, the little girl climbed back in to the car. I kept asking her if she was okay, and she nodded through tears...

After a candid conversation with this woman, she got back into her car and sped away.

------------

There is a beautiful story in the New Testament about a rebellious son who had chosen to disrespect his father, and chose a path of self-destruction. The parable of the Prodigal Son builds tension as the tragedy unfolds; how many times have we seen this movie? The path of violence, greed, and lust that leaves a trail of broken hearts along the way.

As the prodigal son wrestles his way through reconciliation [step 8 of recovery], he humbles himself and returns to the expectation of the discipline he deserves. He practices his speech: "Father, I have sinned agains heaven and against you, and I am no longer worthy to be in the family. But if you'll offer me a job as a slave, I will serve you for the rest of my life."

"But while he was still a long way off..." the Father saw him and ran to him, and embraced him.

This. Is. My. Favorite. Sentence. In. The. Bible.

Aristotle once wrote, "A proud man makes slow steps." In the ancient world, the way a man walks shows his character of reverence and honor. This was obscene behavior for a dignified man; To see an elderly father running at full sprint, with a pair of binoculars in hand - to embrace his humiliated son!

How do you view God? Do you see Him with a weapon with which he is poised to strike you in the parking lot in front of a chorus of witnesses? Do you anticipate lightening to strike you in your brokenness and rebellion?

Over and over and over again, Jesus illustrates through the use of Story - the heart of a daddy, who will go to any lengths to rescue and embrace his child. God is waiting at the edge of the driveway, wiping away tears of joy at the return of his wayward child.


2.26.2013

To Be Loved Anyway

The other day I was sitting on the couch in my counselor's office, articulating a deep depression that has engulfed me in recent weeks. The highest of the highs and the lowest of the lows, all in a day's journey from the stage... to the basement.

It was revealed to me (through vulnerable conversation) that I have a propensity to feel isolated and alone, despite being surrounded by hundreds of friends. The truth is, I feel like a plastic impostor, allowing people to love a projected image of who they think I am. In reality, they don't know me... I am  enveloped by assumptions that I've allowed to exist. And at the end of the day, I hate the fictional character that others have created. I do not have it all together. I have serious doubts. I am under re-construction. I am less certain and have no control.

I am, however, hopeful.

I do get lost in the wonder of what if and maybe. I still find a refuge in the cross, and the embrace of the Abba Father, and He alone knows the depths of my brokenness. And He alone loves me anyway. He alone loves me anyway. He alone loves me anyway. He alone loves me anyway.



1.28.2013

The Art of the Rescue

Last night I watched a documentary about the various reasons behind suicide. The Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco has been the chosen site for countless launching pads into the next world, and the social commentary behind this video, along with graphic images, captures the hopelessness of so many who have come to the end.

There was one particular scene that caught me unprepared, and continues to stir my emotions... A young woman had climbed over the railing of the bridge, balancing herself on the beams while contemplating her jump into the raging waters below. A pedestrian happened to see the event unfolding, and ran to reach for her. He snatched her by the collar of her jacket and managed to pull her back over to the safe side. She fought violently against his insistence; she resisted his efforts to save her life. He held her down until help arrived.

And I found myself crying, as I watched the scene over and over and over again.

This is where I live. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

My strengths are also my weaknesses. My heart is steadily pounding to rescue and protect the vulnerable. I love people with such a ferocious abandonment, that it begins to take a toll. I see people jumping to their death, and I want to catch them and pull them back to safety. Is it possible that I care too much? I become overly involved in the rescue, and become intimately concerned for the liberation of the captives. My life is so intricately connected to the well-being of others, that somehow their story becomes my own.

The intensity of the rescue mission triggers something psychological in my brain. The euphoria of a thousand amens and a growing congregation can be like a drug, and the monday-morning crash is like hitting rock bottom. The roller-coaster of success and relapse can begin to create doubt in my heart, and the limp returns... now I find myself peering over the ledge.

I thought I was on a rescue mission.
Now I realize, I am the one in need of the rescue.

Selah.

1.26.2013

Because God Needs More German Shepherds

I know this guy who seems to have a lot of time on his hands. He posts something on Facebook, literally fifteen times a day. He has read lots of books, and he is culturally engaged. He is a blogger, plotter, and theologian. His most passionate posts are warnings about invading heresies in the Church. And by heresies, I mean - anyone who has expressed thoughts or opinions that are left of his position. And by Church, I mean - the only Holy Catholic Church of Young Calvinists.

He literally believes that it is his role to serve as God's personal German Shepherd on the proverbial watchtower of social networks. (Because that is what God needs - more attack dogs!)

The interesting thing is that I have never seen this guy in public. Whenever there are community activities or opportunities to reach out to the lost with the gospel, he is nowhere to found. He "likes" these outreach events, but he does not come. He writes about evangelism and gospel proclamation, but he is absent from the conversation with those outside the Church.

He is mad about all the wrong things. As a matter of fact, the outrage of Jesus is to the professional bloggers who are obsessed with talk at the neglect of action.

And this is my message to him... Step away from the computer, put your iphone away, and stop overly concerning yourself with everybody else's theological questions. Please, for the love of God, take a walk downtown and join us in our efforts to share the good news of the cross with a dying world.  If you're going to write... post things about the glory of redemption. Tell stories about the fruit of the gospel and the testimonies of transformation. Celebrate the witness of the Jesus Revolution!

That is all I have to say about that.


1.13.2013

Loving the Hell out of Asheville

We are continuing to establish a reputation for loving the hell out Asheville, by sharing our possessions and feeding the poor in our community. There are many homeless people who are living under bridges or sleeping in tents... the brutal cold can be dangerous and destructive.

Every friday afternoon, we meet at Pritchard Park - downtown. We are there to show them that Jesus loves us, and the tomb is empty. Last friday the local news cameras captured this story...

Check out this link: WLOS News 13

Love wins.

12.15.2012

Immanuel [God With Us]


If I were to be really honest, for much of my life, the concept of God's immanent presence has seemed anything but accurate. Yesterday a crazed gunman slaughtered 28 innocent people, most of whom were in kindergarten. Kindergarten!! I have a daughter in Kindergarten right now, and if she were riddled with bullets, my ability to speak of God in these terms would be suspended (or expelled).

Much of the language permeating social network revolves around the mysterious work of God in the orchestration of evil. Quoting warm, fuzzy verses seems to numb the pain and the conscience ~ because we have no ownership of such atrocity. "Let's blame this on God!"

Christmas is the intersection of hurt and hope, a collision of transcendence and immanence. The unknowable cosmic clock-maker has now "taken on flesh, and moved into the neighborhood"
Before there was ever reality television shows like "Undercover Boss" or "Secret Millionaire", there was a baby in a manger struggling to operate never before used lungs...

We lost 20 + kids yesterday. Another 20+ were stabbed with a knife in China on the same day (but we don't feel as much rage about that. After all, their government murders their own daughters when it is determined to be a female in the womb, what can we expect?) In Portland, Oregon a few days ago a psychotic killer snapped and went on a killing spree at the mall, as people were Christmas shopping. In Aurora, Colorado an angst-filled teen opened fire in a movie theater...

But in Judea, two thousand years ago, King Herod ordered the calculated slaughter of every male child under the age of two years old. And Immanuel was born into a furnace of murder, (contrary to our cute Christmas nativity scenes with congregations singing, "But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes..."

Really? No crying? 

The heart of God rages and weeps as he watches project X erupt into an inferno of anarchy. He left behind a beautiful creation, and the party got out of control. He returns to find all hell exploding in His garden of Shalom... but Immanuel has come home, now. 

The very name given to this Messiah Hope is "Immanuel" which literally translates: God is here with us. A broken-hearted God has sent His Son on a rescue mission to recapitulate the Story that is still being written. The last chapter is a further proclamation of immanent grace. "And now, the dwelling place of God is with man." And He will wipe away every tear. No more crying. No more death. No more divorce. No more abortions. No more school shootings. No more blaming God for His absence...

___________ He says:_____________

I will be with you when you take your first breaths and your first steps and your first communion.

I will be with you when you learn to ride a bicycle for the first time without training wheels. And when you fall, I will be with you when you scrape your knees.

I will be with you when you submit your application and get rejected (yes I know the feeling!).

I will be with you when love breaks your heart and walks away.

I will be with you when your mom dies unexpectedly and your world caves in.

I will be with you on the day you give birth to your children, 
and I will be with you when you see them leave for college.
I will be with you in the good times and the bad. 

I will be with you on the mountain and in the valley. I will be with you in the hottest of summers and the coldest of winters. 

I will be with you in an otherwise lonely bed, to comfort you in the midnight hour. 

I will be with you when the world is cruel, and the rocks are thrown and you find yourself in the basement of the Muskegon County Jail, I will be with you at three o'clock in the morning as the rest of the world is sleeping and you’re contemplating suicide. I will be the eraser to the plans you’ve written in pencil.

I will be with you when your car breaks down in South Carolina and you have nobody to call and no money and no cell phone service and you hear banjo music.

I will be with you in the laughter of your children and the howling of autumn wind. I will be with you in the silence of September and the violence of December.

I will be with you when you feel a thousand miles lonely and you wonder if you’ll ever find or be found, in love.

Pull up a chair, and welcome to the Table. You’ll never be alone again.

11.27.2012

Life and Death

Bill was standing on the sidewalk, outside of a local homeless shelter. He was chain-smoking, as he described his anger toward me. I had not been there for him, at least, not nearly enough. His hands were shaking and the nicotine did nothing to calm his disposition...

We walked across the street to the Waffle House, where I bought him a coffee. As we sat together at the counter, I explained to him that I have been devoting most of my attention to my daughter Ashlyn, who was recovering from brain surgery, and that I would not apologize for not returning his (incessant phone calls). He seemed to calm down, and then eventually he regretted being a burden.

He has no family to speak of. Although he once thrived in Wilmington, the economy choked him from his savings, and his health had begun to deteriorate. He had come to Asheville, and eventually to Exodus Church, for a new beginning, and I tried so hard to welcome him! We invited him into our home, and the community of faith reached out to him in fellowship. I remember he was riding in our minivan with us, and my daughters made him laugh... it was the first, and the only time, I had seen his bright white teeth smiling!

But as he was unsuccessful in finding work, his time was limited at the shelter. Bill found himself sleeping at the bus station, or in abandoned buildings. He would clean up in the bathroom at a gas station, and tried to keep an image of respect. But as the weeks grew on, he became less consistent at church.

"Do you have my phone number?" he asked, with a hint of resentment. I nodded in response, "Yes, Bill, I have your number." He lit another cigarette - "Then use it!"

The last time I saw him, he asked me if God would send him to hell if he took his own life. He put his finger to his temple indicating his contemplated method of execution. For as long as I had known Bill, he had been talking about his inevitable fate... Until now,  I had believed his emotional cries for help were probably just that ~ a desperate attempt to be seen and heard.

As we stood outside in the late summer heat, he asked me again about the eternal fate of a self-inflicted end. I talked with him for a little while about theology, and most importantly about the offering of abundant life that Jesus has offered us. "You are standing at a crossroad, Bill. One path will lead to eternal life, and the other will lead to eternal death. I beg you to choose life!" 

He finished his cigarette and went to take his place in line for the overnight beds at the Veteran's Shelter. He waived to me, and I disappeared...

Last night I found out that Bill had gone down to the river, and shot himself in the head.

And I am left to wonder if I had done enough to help him. Didn't he warn me? Should I have alerted a medical response team or involuntary psychiatric assistance? And why hadn't I bothered to call as he often came to mind? What are the funeral plans, and how can I honor him? After all, he was my friend.

Every fifteen minutes, someone takes their own life. Which means every sixteen minutes there is someone trying to make sense of it all.

I have devoted my life to the proclamation of the gospel of Jesus Christ. The flesh and blood and life and death messiness of a rescue mission with fifty shades of grey. There is no class for this in seminary. I am driving around with this guy's possessions in the trunk of my car. What am I supposed to do with that? Where can all of this carnage be buried? How can I radiate hope into a world so drenched in hurt?

Love.


11.17.2012

Streams of Mercy, Never Ceasing...

I went to a wedding today. It was the kind of wedding that made the world stand still. November sunshine filtered in through stained glass windows, and leaves were losing a war with gravity.

I don't remember anything about the wedding, except:
the way she stared at him endlessly
and the way he kept caressing her hands
and the way she smiled and cried at the same time.

There was one sentence that left me frozen in a moment:
"May she boast only in his character..."

And from the second row I disappeared in thought, wondering if I were to die today, what would be my legacy? What kinds of stories would be told at my funeral? And in the years to come, what would be the memories of my children?

Perhaps some would tell about my faith in action, or the passion behind my sermons. Maybe I would be remembered for helping friends in need, or offering unrequited counsel. I guess funerals have a way of deifying very broken people.

And how did my mind wander from a wedding to a funeral? What is it about watching a bride stare at her groom, that makes us think about the sanctity of moments and the death of one life to the birth of another and then the inevitable "'til we are parted by death" ~ (a sobering resolution) ~

I remembered June 9, 2001. As a crowd gathered in the sanctuary, I was sitting outside behind the church with my dad and my brother, talking about nerves and nearly fainting! I also remember the massive trees outside the Berean Church, and wondering about how my soon-to-be bride was holding up... I remember meditating on Psalm 1, and wanting to be "like a tree, planted by the rivers of water..."
Every time I am at a wedding, I reminisce on my own, and I imagine my legacy.

While I watched him put a ring on her finger, I thought about how I want to be remembered:
As a man who walked with a limp, and loved without restraint. Nothing more, and nothing less.


11.06.2012

Shame and Grace

Last week I got a disturbing text message when I least expected it. While I was walking through an Asheville neighborhood with my daughters trick-or-treating, my phone began to vibrate with the following message: "I've fallen off the wagon, and I am going to die."

The message was from a man named Chris, who had come to Exodus Church in late August. He had shared his story with me over lunch, and confessed that he been recently released from jail for a drug charge, and now he was living in temporary shelter at the Salvation Army. He asked me to help him stay on the right path, and vowed to stay clean and sober. He started showing up to church early, and helped to set up for the morning service... He even asked me to baptize him on Labor Day!

Two weeks ago, he disappeared. Multiple messages were left for him, yet he did not return my calls. Nobody had seen him, and the warning signs were flashing... As it turns out, he had relapsed again and had gone off the deep end. His text message on Halloween was a cry for help, literally. Chris had run up an outstanding debt to a local drug dealer. Fearing for his life, Chris had been hiding out in the woods, and in vacant houses. He called me to see if I could help him pay off the debt (nope), and admitted that he was strung out, craving more poison...

Later that night, I drove with my family through downtown Asheville, and I agreed to meet up with Chris for a minute. I saw him standing on the corner, wearing an oversized hat in attempt to shield his identity. I asked him what he was doing, and he said he was trying to get his hands on a bottle. I asked him to come with me to check into a detox facility, and I had even arranged for him to stay in a shelter that would help to provide medical care and rehabilitation.

Chris refused my help.

Last Sunday, during the morning worship at Exodus Church, Chris came stumbling through the front doors. He was bleeding from the head, and all of his fingers had been visibly broken. (The drug lord had found him, and beaten him severely). He was seeking refuge and forgiveness and hope... I met him at the front of the stage, and began to pray over him. The entire congregation engaged the surreal moment in silent prayer... tears began to fall as the worship slowed. Eventually, Chris fell prostrate on the stage and began to sob uncontrollably. "I am so sorry, God! I abandoned you... Forgive me, God!"

How is that for liturgy? Where does that fit in the bulletin?

The Spirit of God began to tear apart the hardest of hearts. Grown men began to cry along with Chris, and grandmothers stood in line to hug him! Never mind the fresh blood still pouring out of his forehead, or his broken hand folded together in prayer... I told him, "There is nothing you could ever do, to make God love you less. And there is nothing you could ever do, to make God love you more!"

We escorted him from the front of the church, where two members of our Family drove him to the local hospital. We took care of his medical needs, and have sought for a stable home for him to rehabilitate in a discipleship ministry. After all, this is the mission of the Church and the Hope of the World: Jesus.

---------

* I don't know if Chris is going to receive our love, or if he will relapse again. I don't know if he will accept this gift of amazing grace. I don't know if he will allow us to help him...

But I do know that if sinners can stumble through the darkness and find a refuge in our arms, then we are doing what we set out to do. The liberation project is not just another church plant, it is a rescue mission! And word is spreading... "go down there to Exodus Church, they'll take anyone!"




10.19.2012

Seasons of Change

Three years ago we moved from Michigan to Asheville, North Carolina with a minivan full of our only possessions and hearts finding a new rhythm of yes and maybe and hope bleeds south.

This afternoon I am sitting under an oak tree with autumn leaves changing before my eyes, reds and yellows and purple ~ beside a red, double-decker bus in the heart of the city. The coffee steams my face as I wait and reflect.

I am not who I was.

Last Sunday I stood in the kitchen and cried. Jamie and I were reading a thank you note from an anonymous giver in our church community, and I began to receive and experience a deep appreciation for this new community of faith. Lives are being touched because I was not silent. Hearts are being healed by the power of amazing grace, a testimony of humiliation and reconciliation. I told Jamie, in all humility, that I am so proud of 'us'. We kept going and sharing and loving and giving. B.R. and B. J. and the list goes on..., tried to kill us. They tried to bury a family in the shame of confessed sin and guilty pleas. And yet resurrection has the last word.

The gospel refuses to stay silent. The unshakeable resolve of resurrection rises from the ashes of a thousand matches, burning like a wildfire ~ ; a freight train of grace that prevails over law.

Tonight, we will sit together as a family at a downtown diner, to celebrate and reflect on the power of love. We will share a pizza and laughter and probably end up getting ice cream to chase the bittersweet away.

9.26.2012

gina carlin, my friend


if i had more time
i would tell you:
the silence of september will be replaced by the ache of december
and the look on leila's face paints a thousand portraits, when words fail.


9.24.2012

I (Still, Always) Love Jesus

Because he first loved me. Because he met me in the basement of hell and stormed the gates and rescued me from myself. He cooked me breakfast beside a charcoal fire and reinforces his ridiculous mercy.

I love Jesus Christ now, more than ever!

He is the One who silences the accuser, shatters the strongholds, recapitulates my story, and stands as my defense. I love Jesus because he is the One who has come, and will come again. He is the author and the finisher, the preamble and the conclusion. He is the introduction and the Post Script. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End.

I am nothing. He is everything. I am a Voice, amplifying the Blood of the Slaughtered Lamb. I am a vapor of insignificance. He is the Wind and the Fire of a thousand gentle whispers.

8.27.2012

Every Act of Love...


She had cried a thousand tears by the time I met her.

Last week, a local homeless woman stumbled into my circle of care, asking for help. Selena had been homeless for several months, and a few months ago she lost custody of her daughter, Arayana. While staying with extended family, Arayana had drowned in a tragic ending to a torrential three-year journey.

After the death of her three year-old daughter, Selena had her daughter cremated and carried around her daughter's ashes in a small box in a backpack with her only possessions. Along with the ashes, Selena had sealed the box with the only pictures she had of her daughter before she died.

Last week, Selena slept outside on the concrete steps of a local church. When she woke up in the morning, she discovered that someone had stolen her bag (and consequently, her daughter's ashes)! She began to tremble, screaming hysterically at God for His assistance! She knocked on the lifeless doors of the church, and began clawing through the bushes looking for her precious box. The local homeless community began to assist her in the search, soliciting the help of anyone passing by...

When I first met Selena, I could see that the past few days had taken a toll on her emotional and mental stability. She could hardly talk; lips trembling as she repeated the story over and over and over. I invited her into a circle with my friends, and we began to pray. She just sobbed, and confessed, "God, I don't even know if you exist... I've lost whatever faith I had. But I am willing to give you what is left of my broken heart..." She wiped the tears and motioned with her hands, gesturing an offering, "Here."

[Where is God when it hurts?]

Within three days, we had organized a search team and began to print off flyers. We knocked on the doors of local businesses and began to help Selena search for the missing box. Our assumption is that the thief falsely assumed some monetary value, and after discovering the ashes probably dumped the evidence in a dumpster or in the woods somewhere. We invited the media to help us tell her story. We walked and prayed and joined hands in anger and hope.

Yesterday morning, I invited Selena to the stage at Exodus Church. After sharing her story, our family of faith lifted hands in prayer [ektenos: the stretching of a muscle to its limit], and offered ourselves as the answer to the question of God's Presence in the pain.

He is here, even now, in the furnace of suffering. God's heart breaks for the poor. He rages against the brokenness of this world, and he has enlisted the cure ~ an invisible revolution of Kingdom Citizens who are committed to the inauguration of a New World Order. Every act of love increases the capacity to love more...

*To listen to the audio recording of Selena's Story, check out "The Saint's in Caesar's Household" at www.exodusasheville.com/listen ("Boo" is her street name, and you can hear her voice at the end).

8.22.2012

Asheville, North Carolina (Jay DePoy)

I love the way you whisper to me in a thousand tongues, an invitation to wonder and a celebration of awe. You are north meets south, no east nor west; a thousand miles of adventure in a city of hope.



And I have come to turn you upside down with good news!

8.02.2012

Learning to Dive

I went for a walk yesterday. My heart was heavy and discouraged, filled with the shrapnel of well-intended critics who have evaluated my life and ministry and found fault. My mind was spinning, rehearsing endless conversations about trying to keep the masses happy.

I have given so much of my life toward the seductive pursuit of pleasing people. Countless hours have been spent trying to keep a certain audience happy, and another audience from abandoning me. I have labored over relationships that seem to be inevitably destructive, and I have cared so deeply for the reconstruction of my reputation ~ all of which has taken its toll.

Who am I, really? What things do I really believe in, and for which causes will I live and die for? At the end of the day, what really matters?

Leading a growing congregation comes at a heavy price. Sleepless nights infused with day dreams of a revolution of love... If not us then who? If not here, then where? If not now, then when? The prophetic insomnia eats away at my conscience, demanding direction and visible leadership.

I can't keep __________ happy. I could give you a thousand reasons why his logic is flawed, not the least of which is the propensity to assume the world's revolution around his feelings. And then there is __________ who thinks that unless I am doing a certain number of things, then I am not filled by the Spirit of the Lord (as revealed to him by a 'fresh rhema'). And what about the audience that says I focus too much on feeding the poor and not enough on the confrontation of sin? Or the flip-side, those who threaten to walk away because I present a biblically literal interpretation of the afterlife? My heart is torn apart, and I just throw my hands in the air and say, "Why can't we just all love each other and work it out?"

We live in a generation of quitters. Never before in human history has there been such rampant anemia in the bloodline of the Family of Faith. We are terrified of committing ourselves to anything, or anyone, other than the pursuit of whatever we are feeling in the moment. We make our promises and verbal assents, but when it comes time to get off our asses, people are too busy 'praying about it'. And when the battle wages on, people are dying, children are starving, hate is winning, and we are sleeping.

I had to disconnect for awhile. I deactivated my Facebook account for a few days, and stopped taking phone calls. I am feeling the seductive weight of unbearable expectations. I can't do this anymore. Whatever 'this' is, it's not working.

I went for a long walk, around the bend and down the country roads near our house. The mountains of Western North Carolina provide the perfect backdrop for the Natural Revelation of God's insistence: The temporary treasures of fleeting moments, or fragile relationships built on false assumptions, are meaningless, meaningless, meaningless!

By the time I walked into the doorway of our home, Jamie greeted me. She told me that the girls have been waiting up because they were excited to tell me something... I walked into the living room where my three daughters were sitting on the couch in their princess dresses (pajamas!), and freshly painted, sun-kissed cheeks. "Daddy!" They squealed, "Guess what?"

I couldn't imagine what exciting news they had to share with me. I sat down across from them and asked what all the buzz was about. Ambria and Mariah both shouted at the same time, "We learned how to dive today!"

At the community pool, there is a deep end, treacherous to the beholding of a little girl. While I was walking off the steam of a thousand slivers of shallow shrapnel, my little girls were overcoming their fears of diving into the deep waters. While I was brooding over temporary rewards and fleeting satisfaction, they were finding new courage to dive headfirst into the unknown.

It's a right of passage! Learning to dive into the unknown requires knocking knees to buckle and leap, invoking the courage of overcoming fear and letting go... And when you come up swimming and breathing and satisfied, you feel exhilarated!

In that moment, as I kissed their sunburned cheeks, I found my center.


7.20.2012

A Daddy/Daughter Date

This is Ambria Faith.

She was taken from me for almost two years. During a season of heartbreak and depression, I slipped into an emotional coma. I have vague recollections of her laughter between February, 2008 through September, 2009.

Recorded video and pictures capture her smiles and curls,
as she began to walk and talk.
I don't remember any of it.

My counselor diagnosed this as classic Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder; the memory loss is specific to a series of episodes that exploded into my memory like a grenade, full of shrapnel and venom.

As the Lord has been restoring the years lost, I have been intentional about rediscovering her. I take Ambria on dates, and spend time talking to her every night before bed. (I do this with all three of my daughters, but it is only Ambria that I had lost in my memory). She has been coloring me pictures, and making me arts & crafts. Jamie says that she has always done that for me, but I just couldn't remember.

This a picture we took in the booth at Chuck-E-Cheese last week.

Ambria Faith, my bestest buddy.

7.14.2012

His Mercies Are New Every Morning

I love my wife, my children, and the Church that He is building.

Amen.

Click on the following link to read the local news report about our missional efforts in the city of Asheville, North Carolina.

http://theashevilletribune.com/blog/3751



7.10.2012

God Was In This Place, And I Did Not Know It

There is a beautiful story in the Old Testament about a man named Jacob, who was known to have wrestled with God in the midnight hour. After one particular dream, Jacob awoke with a spiritual limp, saying, "The Lord was here, and I didn't know it."

As I reflect on my journey with God, there were times when I had resigned to the inevitable conclusion that I had been abandoned by the One who had promised to never leave me. I felt so alone, and rejected. I felt cold and hot in the same blanket of shame. I was convinced that my own inner prison was enough to keep the Lord at a guilty distance. As if He were content to let me wallow in my darkness.

But as I look back in the rearview mirror, I see 'goodness and mercy' following me. At every exit, a ransom. In every burning bridge - a fountain of blood. He has been there in the pursuit, and He is furiously relentless in the rescue mission.

The Lord was here, and I didn't know it.

How many times have you become frozen in a moment? Have you ever experienced the cosmic pause of a Creator wooing you by a gentle wind, or the laughter of children running through the summer grass? You can't explain it; the stillness of His whisper (screaming in full volume) love, love, love.

The Lord was here, and I didn't know it.

Have you ever walked away from a car accident that should have brought your end?

How many times have you been abruptly awoken from a deep sleep, convinced in the shaking by a gentle hand?
You turn to look around, and realize it was just a dream... or was it?

Have you ever be tranquilized by the awe of a sunrise against the backdrop of a Michigan blizzard?
Or the crash of a thunderous wave against the Outer Banks during Hurricane Season?
You are left disoriented and confused by the rampage of a furious Force, calling your name.

The Lord was here, and I didn't know it.

May you slow down long enough to notice the burning bush, and the whisper of a God who is calling you to a deeper intimacy through the awareness of His Presence.

And you might want to take off your shoes in recognition that this ground is sacred. Because He has been here since the beginning, and your arrival is late.


6.06.2012

Rob Bell with Francis Chan


There is more to this hug than the camera captures...

Several years ago, I had the privilege of studying under Rob for a season of introspection and transformation. He was leading one of the fastest growing churches in the world, and becoming a global name in the unfolding story of the Church.

He taught me about contextualization, and about how to study the Text with humility and passion. He taught me how to set boundaries, and how to rest in the finished work of God's redemptive work of the cross. He taught me about love and about grace and about forgiveness.

A few years later, I fell into a series of self-destructive choices and landed in jail. I had plummeted from the faith and wanted nothing to do with the professional religious venom that I had experienced by other Christian leaders. When Rob heard about my (very public, and humiliating) fall from grace, he personally reached out to me and mentored me back to the Table of restoration in Jesus' Name. He didn't care what the haters said, he just showed me, from the bible, how to be reconciled to God.

Shortly thereafter, my family moved to Asheville, North Carolina to start a new church family. We wanted to create a safe place to explore a dangerous faith, and we wanted to reach out to people on the margins... people who felt unwelcome, people like me.

Last year I attended a church planting conference (Exponential, 2011) in Orlando, Florida. I was so excited to hear Francis Chan. To me, Francis Chan had always modeled sincerity in biblical application and missional living. I sat in the front row of the balcony, and poised myself to take notes...

But then my heart broke, in the opening session. Francis made a few comments that were sarcastic, directed at Rob Bell. The awkward laughter generated electricity in the crowd of thousands, and there had been a clear line of separation between Francis Chan and the trending heresy of Rob Bell's 'Love Wins'.

But I knew that the months surrounding the release of Rob's book brought an unprecedented amount of toxic venom from evangelical leaders across the country. In the name of apologetics, Rob, Kristen, and their three children have been scrutinized and deconstructed to the point of nausea. I know it hurt, more than he would be willing to say.

So as soon as the first session was over, I went directly to Francis Chan and confronted him. I shared with him my disappointment and the hurt that had been caused by "off the cuff" jokes, and that perhaps there were a more healthy platform from which to communicate our differences.

Francis Chan looked me (vein pulsing in forehead), and I about melted in fear. Who am I to question this prophet of the Lord? I'm just a spiritually-limping, recovering Pharisee. I apologized if there was no truth in my claim, but exhorted him to do an inventory of his soul and question is motivation.

Francis Chan began to weep. Tears began to fall as he received my humble, sloppy words. He thanked me for confronting him, and admitted that he felt convicted by the Holy Spirit for taking a cheap shot at another brother. He also added his deep angst over the recent work of Rob Bell, and that it could be very confusing to the emerging generation. "But I promise you," he said.."I will personally call Rob, and we will talk privately about our differences!"

A few minutes later, Francis Chan opened his 2nd session with a lengthy apology to Rob Bell. And the twitter generation responded accordingly.

I have not seen Rob since this incident, but I did follow up to see if Francis Chan had followed through with his promise. Yes! Indeed, two of the most beloved voices in our generation had talked privately about their (clear) differences, and have agreed to disagree ~ under the banner of Christ's greatest commandment. Love.

I stumbled into this picture, and wept.




5.29.2012

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...'

5.19.2012

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?

5.12.2012

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.

4.24.2012

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.

4.12.2012

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.

575567 10151508957460644 695020643 24277403 927309536 n1 179x300 Helplessness and the Cross


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.

3.21.2012

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.

3.09.2012

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.

2.26.2012

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.