The older I get, the more I’m tempted. Tempted to be: Rigid. Pessimistic. Irritable. Stuck. I have to admit, the more I mature, the harder it is for me to worship. To trust. To pray. Today I have more control over my life than I’ve ever had. I have more financial security. More independence. More freedom to make my own decisions and choices. But with more control comes more temptation. The temptation of power and pride. The temptation that I can do it on my own. The temptation that I don’t really need God. The older I get, I sense God calling me to be younger. Here's my audacious goal: By the end of this post, you will be younger.
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Have I been playing it safe? Am I too comfortable? Have I taken appropriate risk? At the beginning of a new year, I wonder if I'm too risk averse. Faith has NEVER been a safe proposition. By its very nature, faith involves uncertainty. And uncertainty requires risk. If there's nothing to risk, it's not faith. There is a beginning and an end for everyone.
May I be faithful in the span between. Not successful or spectacular. Not popular or wealthy. This is a message for fake Christians. Which, by the way, includes you . . . and me.
We put on a face. Pretend to be someone who is not truly us. Conceal what's real in order to appear attractive. As a Christian, do you ever feel pressure to be someone you're not? I write this as I prepare for a daunting task: confirmation camp. Three days of 7th and 8th graders at a summer camp. Swim time and campfires. Juvenile flirting and smelly boys who have yet to apply deodorant with any consistency. Somewhere in the middle of all this, my team of leaders must impart our deepest held beliefs and convictions. Impacting the lives of young people is a great responsibility. I don't take it lightly, and I tremble a little every time. Am I effective? Am I making a difference? Is there more I could do to connect with these kids? Whenever I freak out over a big challenge, I refer back to a quote by Charles Haddon Spurgeon: “The Christian should work as if all depended upon him, and pray as if it all depended upon God.” On Sunday, I watched Lebron James complete his decimation of the Golden State Warriors. He was a terror during the last three games in particular. Whatever your opinion of James, he was ferocious.
41 points in both games five and six. A triple double in game seven. Never has a teams come back from being down 3-1 in the NBA Finals. And all that against a Warriors team that had the best regular season record in NBA history. Sports writer Bill Simmons has a term for this: the Alpha Dog. Michael Jordan had it. Larry Bird had it. Lebron has it. At the right time, in the biggest moments, they simply take over. Go for the kill. Slay the opponent. The Alpha Dog asserts dominance. I was 20 years old when I signed up to be a camp counselor at a Lutheran Christian camp in northern Wisconsin. I had never been so tired and stretched beyond my limits. And I had never been so changed by a single summer.
At this very moment, camps across the country are commencing the frantic season of campfires, swim time, and screaming kids. Here's a re-work of post from last summer, lessons we all can learn, not just camp counselors: I'm writing this post for myself. Last fall, I was a guest in a class of future pastors at Concordia Seminary. The topic of self-care came up and I rattled off a list of things I've instituted to stay grounded and healthy. But now it's spring, and I'm straying from my own advice.
With the strains and demands of my vocations, I can slip into unhealthy habits. I know my limitations. I need healthy boundaries and habits to maintain balance. So here's my list - and personal reminder - of how to stay grounded. "How's work?" I'm asked.
"Every ten days I want to quit." I've given this answer a few times in recent months. Am I really going to turn in my keys? Probably not . . . but maybe. Anything of significance is worth sacrificing for. And anything worth sacrificing for will leave you with a "tenth day." Nine days can be good, even great. But about every tenth we are sobered by harsh reality. As a pastor, I hold the hands of widows at the graveside of their husbands. I'm called when a problem has spiraled into a crisis. I point people to "the one thing needful" when they're frantically over-committed and don't have time for it. I love people who don't want to be loved. I lead people who sometimes don't want to be led. So, yeah. Every ten days I ask, "Can I do this?" "Am I any good?" "Am I making a difference?" "Am I a failure?" "Is this worth it?" With any brand, you need a slogan that will capture an audience. Think of the most successful marketing slogans in history. Nike . . . Just Do It. Wheaties . . . Breakfast of Champions. Jesus would fail a modern marketing test. In what is sometimes called his “recruitment speech,” Jesus said, “The Son of Man must suffer many things . . . If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:22-23). Think about a marketing campaign based on suffering. The logo is a tool of execution, a cross. The product comes with radical self-denial. Possible side effects are ostracism, social dishonor, and ridicule. How many people want this product? Somehow, this campaign has lasted for millennia. And billions of people have joined the movement. A significant part Christian calling is the call to suffer. We might ask, “Why suffer?” Why answer a calling from God that comes with pain or a burden? Here are some reasons to suffer. |
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