Tag Archives: discipleship

A Lifetime Punctuated with Suddenlies…

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What do shepherds, a leper, and Simon Peter have in common? (Cue “Jeopardy Theme). What is, they each were waylaid by a “Suddenly?” The shepherds on the hillside with the angelic host, the leper healed by Jesus, and Paul and the horse (on the road to Damascus, and that’s what he fell to the ground from in my picture Bible… humor me.)

How many times does the word “suddenly’  occur? A whole bunch… I quit counting in YouVersion. In the New Testament, though, it happens forty-five times.

“Suddenlies” are different from how we like to describe our Christian experience. It’s akin to Bilbo telling Gandalf, “Adventures? We don’t want any of those around here, thank you!” We go for lifelong, for the walk, or the word du Jour, “process.” But, what’s the fun in a walk without a few surprises?

In fact, when we have a real prayer need (not the ones that involved parking places or nail fungus), we pray for “suddenlies.” And we should.

Each moment as Christ-followers should prepare us for “suddenly.” We may still freak out, shake in our sandals, or drop to our knees in fear like the shepherds, Mary, the disciples, Paul, and even the centurion at the Cross. But our story afterward will be, “yep, that was God!”

We aren’t far away from Easter – it’s in just a few weeks. And we are not at all far away from our next “Suddenly.” So get ready… and if you freak, shake or fall down, I hope someone has a camera.

With all immediacy,

Rick

 

Two-degrees and roundabouts

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One of my favorite quirks about living in Italy was the roundabout (la rotonda). Just between my house and the nearest real city, there were seventeen. The reasoning of the Italiani, why use stop signs when you can create a circle everybody can use at once? I loved the dance that happened in urban roundabouts when there were four lanes circling a statue dedicated to The Fallen … and five entry points. Ahh, the adventure and the danger!

When we left northern Italy to return to America, we felt the weight of a complete life turn-around – it was like a roundabout we chose to enter and knew it would spill out back toward America and, specifically, my hometown of Myrtle Beach. And it did.

After a conversation with a good friend, I realized that, with the return, much of my library is still in Italy, in the hands of fellow missional’s. One of the books was a John Trent title – The Two-degree Difference. This was one of many “only read the first two chapters” books; the premise is simple. Make two-degree adjustments in your actions, posture, life direction, habits, etc., and before long, you’re heading the right way.

While I agree that we need to make right choices and move toward health – spiritually, emotionally, relationally, and otherwise – it may take a greater act. Adjusting actions by small degrees is the way we are told to replace bad habits, but how boring is that!

I like what Jesus said, “Repent of your sins and turn to God, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near.” Not two-degrees. More like 180-degrees.

There is incredible power in the simple act of turning around. An about-face unleashes God’s power to change. The get the presence of God’s Kingdom face-to-face with the act of turning.

What about the two-degree principle? It may be that in our act of repenting God reveals the next thing to change, or it may be that we have gotten “out of habit” with the practices that make life richer, and by all means are worth restoring. But if it’s sin, it deserves more than 2-degrees. It deserves the full 180!

I like what Jesus said to Peter even though he knew there was a major fail in his future: “I have prayed for your Simon, that your faith will not fail, and when you have turned back (read: repent), strengthen your brothers.”

Turn from sin. Yearn for God. Return to the things that matter.

From the Rotonda,

Rick

Jesus isn’t like that…

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Preachers have long suspected that most of what we say is forgotten. I know we want to think differently, and we can seek to be memorable and quotable all we want. But, a snippet or sound bite here, or a timely story there, and that’s all we get.

But, Sunday was different.

Let me cast the normal flowers: your message was moving, great, spoke to me, nice job, nailed it (that’s always a curious comment to say to a preacher of the Gospel), and my favorite – were you thinking of me when you prepared this message.

Here’s what changed my life.

Our lead pastor (Tim Holt, Seacoast Vineyard, been doing if faithfully since “the Call”) described what happened with Jesus and his disciples as they left the crowd one day, and in dire need of rest, sailed to a remote place to get some rest. The crowd got wind of the relocation and showed up before Jesus dropped anchor.

And here’s where it got good.

He said, for us, we might have looked at the crowd and despaired, or tried to send them away, or ignored them. After all, we were tired, we deserved some rest, some “me time.”

Are  you ready? Then he said, “but Jesus isn’t like that.” Wait… wait… wait… let it hit you.

He’s not like us. He’s not. Confessional time. He isn’t like me. We live in a world that measures Jesus by us. I know the argument: we’re the only “Bible” some will ever read, and how else will others know Jesus unless we are “Jesus with skin on.”

But, no matter how much we model our lives by Jesus, he is not like us. I can show compassion in a kind action. He is fully, beyond measure, love. I can share a word of wisdom with a friend. He is the source of wisdom; he invented it. I can pray for a sickness to be healed. He expresses healing and wholeness in all he does. Even in my best, he’s not like me.

A dose of humility. Jesus already has come with skin on. And if the Gospel another reads comes from my life, it will not be enough to save or transform. Jesus is completely and wholly not like me. Measuring Jesus by me is a mistake. But oh, how by His immeasurable grace, I want to be measured by his standard (“Life is not measured by how much you own. Yes, a person is a fool to store up earthly wealth but not have a rich relationship with God.” Luke 12:15, 21)

Maybe we can quit judging Jesus without knowing him. We make him small when we say he is like us. Maybe a better plan is to go for a rich relationship with Him.

So, if you want to know what Jesus is like, my life is probably not the measurement you want… he’s not like that. But I suspect that, what you hope he is like – compassionate, consistent, near, trustworthy, forgiving, powerful, and full of grace – he is, and then some.

Thanks, Tim, for a life-altering word. (And btw, I remember what you said next, too – Jesus isn’t like that. He saw the people and had compassion because they were like sheep without a shepherd.  And sheep when there are no boundaries or fences, need a shepherd.)

Rick

Not Mine.

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It takes a lifetime to get and a lot of reminders, but I don’t own my life. The SUV I drive? Not mine. The TV I watched last night? Not mine. The checkbook I paid bills from? Not mine, either. The kids I helped raise? The marriage? Not mine.The hobby I claim? The diversion I make time for? The secret place where no one else is invited? Not mine. The faith I claim? The church I attend? The office I spend time in? Nope. Not mine. The country I love? The world I pray for? No. They don’t belong to me, either.
Jeremiah reminds himself as much as anyone else: “I know, Lord, that our lives are not our own. We are not able to plan our own course. So correct me, Lord, but please be gentle. Do not correct me in anger, for I would die.”
Sure, I have obligations, even passions for all of the above, but they belong to another. If I don’t own my television, my hobbies, my checkbook, my family, my marriage, or my nation… then, they don’t own me. Freedom.
Property of God.
Rick

When Did the Right Way become the Old Way?

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This is what the lord says: “Stop at the crossroads and look around. Ask for the old, godly way, and walk in it. Travel its path, and you will find rest for your souls. But you reply, ‘No, that’s not the road we want!’ I posted watchmen over you who said, ‘Listen for the sound of the alarm.’                                          Jeremiah the Prophet just before Jerusalem fell

I am an early adopter. I love new stuff and even if I can’t afford it, I want it and admire it from arm’s length. At the same time, I have this unexplained affection for the person who uses a flip phone. And if I stumbled across someone with a phone bag I would think, “how cool is that! I wish I’d saved mine!”

New, improved, next, unveiled, upcoming, and words of this ilk draw me in. But so do phrases like, that works, it’s good, and always right. Just because new is attached to it, doesn’t make it better than right or good.

Jeremiah addressed this when he called the Judahites to follow the old way, the right way. They had chosen a new god and a new morality, and it was me-centered. And the consequences were at the gate.

Every day, I am at a crossroads. I can go “me,” or I can go “God.” I can listen to the lure of the Garden (God won’t mind if you want His spot on the throne) or I can honor the call to decrease while Jesus increases in His expression through my life. I can do what shouts “look at me” (and my life, my way, my ministry, my call); or I can be one of the invisible saints that selflessly impacts today and that one day shouts “Yeah, God” to the field of saints seeking to make Jesus Lord.

If I choose poorly, I trust that the alarm will sound and wake me up.

Alert in Christ,

Rick