In the church, we talk a lot about the gospel, the euangelion, the "good news." And rightfully so. The gospel is at the core of the Christian message. The wonderful thing about Christianity isn't that we're not going out to tell people that they're hopeless sinners destined to eternal punishment, but that we have good news in Christ. So we sing "Go Tell It on the Mountain," celebrating that fact that we have good news to share.
But is the coming of a messiah good news?
Depends who you are.
When you read the birth narratives in the gospels, you find a lot of people who are excited about the birth of the messiah. His mother Mary sings a song about how God "has looked on the humble estate of his servant" (Lk. 1:46-55). Zechariah speaks of how God "has visited and redeemed his people and has raised up a horn of salvation for us in the house of his servant David" (Lk. 1:67-79). The angels tell the shepherds, "I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord" (Lk. 2:10-11). Simeon praises God, saying, "For my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples" (Lk. 2:29-32). Anna the prophetess gives thanks to God for the coming redemption (Lk. 2:38). And the magi travel to Palestine looking for this new messiah, who had born king of the Jews (Mt. 2:1-2).
A messiah is a king, and there were a lot of people who anticipated the coming of this new king. News of the messiah's arrival evoked rejoicing and awe among the common people who had been oppressed. These people were looking for redemption, and they were ready to welcome their new ruler with open arms. For them, the messiah really was good news.
But not everyone reacted with such exuberance.
When the magi first arrived in Judea, they went to Jerusalem, knowing that if there were a new king, that's probably where he would be. They go to Herod and ask where this new king of the Jews is. But when Herod hears this, he doesn't jump with joy and rush out into the streets to spread this good news of a messiah. The text says that "he was troubled" (Mt. 2:3), and eventually this leads him to having all of the infants in Bethlehem killed (Mt. 2:16). His reaction to the messiah is certainly different from that of the angels, Simeon, or the magi.
So what's the difference between Herod and all of these other people? Why was Herod not too hyped about there being a new king in Israel?
It's because Herod was already the king! The birth of a new king is never good news to the guy sitting on the throne.
I'm afraid that many of us are more like Herod than we might realize. We like to play king. We want to be in charge of our own lives. We want to be sovereign over ourselves. We want to be our own bosses, we want to call the shots, we want to remain independent of any outside control. But Jesus confronts us as a new king. He demands our allegiance. He calls us to bow the knee to him. And that means climbing off our thrones and letting him take his rightful place.
Our response, then, is to keep Jesus but try to make him something other than a messiah. We might reinterpret "messiah" to mean something other than "king." So we'll think of a messiah as nothing more than a divine savior from sin. We like that because it doesn't demand anything from us. But it's a twisting of the words. A messiah is a king, and we can't get around that. We can't reshape Jesus into something less than what he is. Yes, he is a savior from sin, but he's more than that. He's the king over the universe, and is thus the authority over our lives.
Let's not cling to our thrones like Herod.
Let's lay our gifts at the messiah's feet, like the magi.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Stay Close
It's interesting to me how certain stories can really have an impact on a person. I suppose that's what a good story does. It has an affect on a person after the final page is turned or the closing credits stop rolling. It sparks further thought, discussion, and in my case, blog posts. If you were to sit down and read through each of the blog posts I have written over the past several years (which is an afternoon well spent, I think!), you would find that there are several stories that have evidently had an impact on me. For example, one of my favorite movies is Stranger Than Fiction, and if you want to read some of my thoughts that are drawn from it, you can click here or here. Another story that I greatly love, as do many of others, is the Harry Potter epic. Whenever I re-watch one of the movies or reflect on the book, the more I am impressed with the themes woven throughout this tale. If you want to check out some things I have written about this story, click here or here.
Over the past several week, I have been re-watching the eight Harry Potter movies, and last night I watched the final one, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2. As I was watching, there was one scene, and particularly one line, that really struck me. If you haven't seen the movies or read the books and don't wish for the story to be spoiled, you probably don't want to continue reading right now, just as a fair warning.(If you want to watch the scene yourself, you can click here. I'm like Discount Hyperlink Warehouse today!) In the scene, Harry is going to the Forbidden Forest to meet Voldemort. He has just come to the realization that he must willingly allow himself to be killed if Voldemort is to be destroyed, and he has said goodbye to his dear friends Ron and Hermione. As he stands on the edge of the forest, he uses the Resurrection Stone to bring up visions of deceased loved ones who had died protecting him: his parents, his godfather Sirius Black, and one of his mentors, Remus Lupin.
It's such a climactic and emotional moment in the story. Harry stands there with those who sacrificed themselves for him as he prepares to sacrifice himself. And after talking with them for a moment, just before he steps into the forest to meet his destiny, he whispers the line.
"Stay close to me."
It may be inappropriate to derive spiritual truth from Harry Potter. But as I watched this scene last night, and as Harry whispered that line, I thought, "You know...that's not a bad prayer."
Harry's request is a call of desperation. By going into the Forest, he's showing courage, yes, but he also realizes that he's at the end. He doesn't have the strength to go on alone. He needs the strength of these loved ones. And in this desperate situation, he asks, "Stay close to me."
In no way am I suggesting that, when we pray, we are making requests to dead spirits or anything of the sort. We pray to the living God. But I think it would be good for us to pray simply, "Stay close to me." That's what we need more than anything else. We need God to be close to us. We need his presence. We need him alongside us each step we take.
And yet, we don't tend to pray this very often. We pray for a lot of things. We pray for friends and relatives who are sick. We pray for safety on road trips. We pray for success in our various ventures. In short, we often pray for what we already assume is going to happen anyway. "God, let this day go smoothly, just as every other day typically does. Let me sleep easily tonight, knowing that tomorrow is probably going to be just the same."
We don't pray out of desperation today. When we're honest with ourselves, we feel as though we don't need God all that urgently. We are comfortable with our lives the way they are. Like the church in Laodicea, we say, "I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing." We lead cloistered lives in which we take no risks, make few sacrifices, and remain in control.
In the American church, we have constructed a world and a spirituality that is safe and stable. In the movie scene, Harry prays "Stay close to me" because he ready to die and he is walking to his death. I don't know that many Christians in our country have that same sort of attitude. We walk out of our front doors with smiles on our faces and briefcases in hand, not with crosses on our backs. There's not a more desperate situation than when you are faced with death, and death is what we are summoned to. It's when we recognize that our call is not merely to exist for Christ but to live and die for Christ that we find ourselves in a place to pray "Stay close to me."
Yesterday I listened to a sermon by my former professor Mark Scott. In it, I was reminded of a hymn written in 1872 by Annie Hawks:
I need Thee every hour, most gracious Lord
No tender voice like Thine can peace afford
I need Thee, O I need Thee
Every hour I need Thee
O bless me now, my Savior
I come to Thee
Stay close to me.
It's not so different from Peter's cry as he began to sink into the sea. "Lord, save me!"
The good news is that, when we pray this, I think Jesus is ready to answer. He himself promised as much.
"And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age."
Over the past several week, I have been re-watching the eight Harry Potter movies, and last night I watched the final one, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2. As I was watching, there was one scene, and particularly one line, that really struck me. If you haven't seen the movies or read the books and don't wish for the story to be spoiled, you probably don't want to continue reading right now, just as a fair warning.(If you want to watch the scene yourself, you can click here. I'm like Discount Hyperlink Warehouse today!) In the scene, Harry is going to the Forbidden Forest to meet Voldemort. He has just come to the realization that he must willingly allow himself to be killed if Voldemort is to be destroyed, and he has said goodbye to his dear friends Ron and Hermione. As he stands on the edge of the forest, he uses the Resurrection Stone to bring up visions of deceased loved ones who had died protecting him: his parents, his godfather Sirius Black, and one of his mentors, Remus Lupin.
It's such a climactic and emotional moment in the story. Harry stands there with those who sacrificed themselves for him as he prepares to sacrifice himself. And after talking with them for a moment, just before he steps into the forest to meet his destiny, he whispers the line.
"Stay close to me."
It may be inappropriate to derive spiritual truth from Harry Potter. But as I watched this scene last night, and as Harry whispered that line, I thought, "You know...that's not a bad prayer."
Harry's request is a call of desperation. By going into the Forest, he's showing courage, yes, but he also realizes that he's at the end. He doesn't have the strength to go on alone. He needs the strength of these loved ones. And in this desperate situation, he asks, "Stay close to me."
In no way am I suggesting that, when we pray, we are making requests to dead spirits or anything of the sort. We pray to the living God. But I think it would be good for us to pray simply, "Stay close to me." That's what we need more than anything else. We need God to be close to us. We need his presence. We need him alongside us each step we take.
And yet, we don't tend to pray this very often. We pray for a lot of things. We pray for friends and relatives who are sick. We pray for safety on road trips. We pray for success in our various ventures. In short, we often pray for what we already assume is going to happen anyway. "God, let this day go smoothly, just as every other day typically does. Let me sleep easily tonight, knowing that tomorrow is probably going to be just the same."
We don't pray out of desperation today. When we're honest with ourselves, we feel as though we don't need God all that urgently. We are comfortable with our lives the way they are. Like the church in Laodicea, we say, "I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing." We lead cloistered lives in which we take no risks, make few sacrifices, and remain in control.
In the American church, we have constructed a world and a spirituality that is safe and stable. In the movie scene, Harry prays "Stay close to me" because he ready to die and he is walking to his death. I don't know that many Christians in our country have that same sort of attitude. We walk out of our front doors with smiles on our faces and briefcases in hand, not with crosses on our backs. There's not a more desperate situation than when you are faced with death, and death is what we are summoned to. It's when we recognize that our call is not merely to exist for Christ but to live and die for Christ that we find ourselves in a place to pray "Stay close to me."
Yesterday I listened to a sermon by my former professor Mark Scott. In it, I was reminded of a hymn written in 1872 by Annie Hawks:
I need Thee every hour, most gracious Lord
No tender voice like Thine can peace afford
I need Thee, O I need Thee
Every hour I need Thee
O bless me now, my Savior
I come to Thee
Stay close to me.
It's not so different from Peter's cry as he began to sink into the sea. "Lord, save me!"
The good news is that, when we pray this, I think Jesus is ready to answer. He himself promised as much.
"And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age."
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Why I'm Going to Just Start Flipping Coins
It's astounding to me how many decisions a person is faced with in the course of every single day. When an individual's alarm goes off in the morning, he is forced to decide whether he's going to roll out of bed or hit the snooze button. Then he needs to decide whether it's a shower or Febreeze type of day. He makes decisions on what to eat for breakfast, which radio station to listen to on his way to work, what words to use as he greets his coworkers, and the list goes on and on. All of this happens even before lunch. Life is a series of choices, and we typically don't give much thought to most of them.
If, however, a person has an especially difficult time making decisions, the prospect of being faced with all of these choices can be a little overwhelming, particularly when it comes to "big" decisions. A person might agonize four hours, days, or even weeks trying to sort through a tough decision, worried that a wrong choice will have permanent negative consequences. Then, after that person eventually does come to a decision, he worries that he's made the wrong one, and he is constantly doubting himself and asking "What if?"
I'm not sure why I'm writing about this topic by using an imaginary person who is faced with a decision. The truth is that I'm exactly the type of person I described in the previous paragraph. When it comes to many decisions that I need to make, I stress out and worry myself into near insanity. Then, after I've made a decision, I keep beating myself up over it. I'm rarely happy with a decision I make. It's a very unhealthy way to be, really.
A few personal examples might suffice to show what I mean. In fact, I can give examples from just this week. Every once in a while, people use the term "buyer's remorse"--that sense of regret that a person has after making a purchase. I get buyer's remorse with almost everything I buy, with only a few exceptions. I've never regretted buying a Coke to drink, because 24 years of experience has taught me that I enjoy that. Chick-fil-A is also always a good choice for lunch. But when it comes to other purchases, I'm never really happy after I swipe my debit card through and walk out with a new possession.
My glasses broke a couple nights ago, so this morning I went to the optometrist for an eye exam and to pick out a new pair of glasses. It took me quite a while to consider each of the frames on display before I finally chose out a few to try on. Eventually I narrowed them down to the one I wanted, and I think they'll look sharp. This is a very important matter to me, because I need to have good-looking glasses to distract people from what's going on with the rest of my face. And even though I like the ones I picked out, I know that when I go back to pick them up next week, I'm going to hate them for a while. They'll feel uncomfortable, and they'll pinch my nose, and the new lenses will give me a headache, and I'll think I look like a dweeb. And I'll walk around mumbling to myself for a few days, debating with my psyche about whether another frame would have been better.
I also got a new phone this morning. I was due for an upgrade, and the screen on my old one had been going bezerk for some time. I picked out a nice phone that, by measure of evaluating phones, is much better than my old one. I can get all sorts of apps, and it's much faster online, and it looks sleeker, and it will probably make girls all want to date me. But still.....the buttons on it are so small, and it doesn't fit in my pocket as well, and well, maybe I should have gotten a different one that is more like what I'm used to.
I often feel the same way when it comes to make bigger life decisions. I make a decision and before long, I start to regret it and wonder if I should have done differently. For example, I dated a girl my senior year of high school. Shocking, I know. But as the time approached for me to leave home and go to college, I started to realize that it wasn't a relationship I wanted to keep going. She was a great girl and all, but I was ready to start a new stage of life, and I didn't feel like I could do that while dating a girl who still had a couple years of high school left. So near the end of the summer, I broke up with her--a decisive action. And I felt good with my decision at first. But then I discovered that ABC Family showed episodes of Boy Meets World each weeknight, and I started watching at a point when Cory and Topanga had broken up but still loved each other and couldn't very well get on in life without each other. Believe me when I say that it's a bad idea to watch late-night episodes of Boy Meets World right after a breakup. And before long, I started to regret the decision I had made, and I got back together with this girl, which only resulted in another breakup a couple months later that I didn't handle very well, and the whole thing probably hurt her worse than if I had just let things be in the first place.
I wonder what it feels like to be a person who is content to just live with the decisions he makes. To be someone who, even if he chose wrongly, doesn't second-guess himself with every step he takes afterward. Someone who accepts the consequences of his choice, whether they be good or bad. Is it more liberating to live like that? Does one's stress-level come down and one's sense of joy increase?
I suppose that there's no harm in living like that when it comes to decisions that you can't do anything about after you make them. If I eat Taco Bell for lunch and later think that Burger King would have been a better choice, there's no sense in agonizing over it, because what's done is done. One of the most difficult decisions I've ever had to make concerned where I would go to grad school. I had two different options, and after intense personal deliberations and conversations with people smarter than me, I decided that Cincinnati was the right choice. But after I moved her, I often wondered if I had done the right thing. Some aspects of my life would be so much simpler if I had gone to the other school. But there isn't much reason for me to think like this for too long, because I can't do anything about it now without forfeiting a scholarship, moving to a cornfield, and leaving Great American Ballpark behind.
But what about when you do have the ability change a decision? If you begin to regret what you've done, is it often wise to retrace your steps? Will this only result in further back-and-forth and arguments in your mind?
Is it better to just throw yourself headlong into a decision, come what may? Or should we be always willing to recant and choose differently?
I really would like to sort all this out with a tidy conclusion. But I know that whatever I do settle on, I'll probably change my mind later today. Such is life.
If, however, a person has an especially difficult time making decisions, the prospect of being faced with all of these choices can be a little overwhelming, particularly when it comes to "big" decisions. A person might agonize four hours, days, or even weeks trying to sort through a tough decision, worried that a wrong choice will have permanent negative consequences. Then, after that person eventually does come to a decision, he worries that he's made the wrong one, and he is constantly doubting himself and asking "What if?"
I'm not sure why I'm writing about this topic by using an imaginary person who is faced with a decision. The truth is that I'm exactly the type of person I described in the previous paragraph. When it comes to many decisions that I need to make, I stress out and worry myself into near insanity. Then, after I've made a decision, I keep beating myself up over it. I'm rarely happy with a decision I make. It's a very unhealthy way to be, really.
A few personal examples might suffice to show what I mean. In fact, I can give examples from just this week. Every once in a while, people use the term "buyer's remorse"--that sense of regret that a person has after making a purchase. I get buyer's remorse with almost everything I buy, with only a few exceptions. I've never regretted buying a Coke to drink, because 24 years of experience has taught me that I enjoy that. Chick-fil-A is also always a good choice for lunch. But when it comes to other purchases, I'm never really happy after I swipe my debit card through and walk out with a new possession.
My glasses broke a couple nights ago, so this morning I went to the optometrist for an eye exam and to pick out a new pair of glasses. It took me quite a while to consider each of the frames on display before I finally chose out a few to try on. Eventually I narrowed them down to the one I wanted, and I think they'll look sharp. This is a very important matter to me, because I need to have good-looking glasses to distract people from what's going on with the rest of my face. And even though I like the ones I picked out, I know that when I go back to pick them up next week, I'm going to hate them for a while. They'll feel uncomfortable, and they'll pinch my nose, and the new lenses will give me a headache, and I'll think I look like a dweeb. And I'll walk around mumbling to myself for a few days, debating with my psyche about whether another frame would have been better.
I also got a new phone this morning. I was due for an upgrade, and the screen on my old one had been going bezerk for some time. I picked out a nice phone that, by measure of evaluating phones, is much better than my old one. I can get all sorts of apps, and it's much faster online, and it looks sleeker, and it will probably make girls all want to date me. But still.....the buttons on it are so small, and it doesn't fit in my pocket as well, and well, maybe I should have gotten a different one that is more like what I'm used to.
I often feel the same way when it comes to make bigger life decisions. I make a decision and before long, I start to regret it and wonder if I should have done differently. For example, I dated a girl my senior year of high school. Shocking, I know. But as the time approached for me to leave home and go to college, I started to realize that it wasn't a relationship I wanted to keep going. She was a great girl and all, but I was ready to start a new stage of life, and I didn't feel like I could do that while dating a girl who still had a couple years of high school left. So near the end of the summer, I broke up with her--a decisive action. And I felt good with my decision at first. But then I discovered that ABC Family showed episodes of Boy Meets World each weeknight, and I started watching at a point when Cory and Topanga had broken up but still loved each other and couldn't very well get on in life without each other. Believe me when I say that it's a bad idea to watch late-night episodes of Boy Meets World right after a breakup. And before long, I started to regret the decision I had made, and I got back together with this girl, which only resulted in another breakup a couple months later that I didn't handle very well, and the whole thing probably hurt her worse than if I had just let things be in the first place.
I wonder what it feels like to be a person who is content to just live with the decisions he makes. To be someone who, even if he chose wrongly, doesn't second-guess himself with every step he takes afterward. Someone who accepts the consequences of his choice, whether they be good or bad. Is it more liberating to live like that? Does one's stress-level come down and one's sense of joy increase?
I suppose that there's no harm in living like that when it comes to decisions that you can't do anything about after you make them. If I eat Taco Bell for lunch and later think that Burger King would have been a better choice, there's no sense in agonizing over it, because what's done is done. One of the most difficult decisions I've ever had to make concerned where I would go to grad school. I had two different options, and after intense personal deliberations and conversations with people smarter than me, I decided that Cincinnati was the right choice. But after I moved her, I often wondered if I had done the right thing. Some aspects of my life would be so much simpler if I had gone to the other school. But there isn't much reason for me to think like this for too long, because I can't do anything about it now without forfeiting a scholarship, moving to a cornfield, and leaving Great American Ballpark behind.
But what about when you do have the ability change a decision? If you begin to regret what you've done, is it often wise to retrace your steps? Will this only result in further back-and-forth and arguments in your mind?
Is it better to just throw yourself headlong into a decision, come what may? Or should we be always willing to recant and choose differently?
I really would like to sort all this out with a tidy conclusion. But I know that whatever I do settle on, I'll probably change my mind later today. Such is life.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Doing It Right
Success
That word can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. There are various forms of success in different spheres of life. Success on a basketball court means hoisting a trophy and cutting down the nets. Success in the business world means turning a large profit and flying around in a company jet. Success in the dating world means finding a girl that can handle being in your presence for at least twenty minutes without getting the dry heaves. Success in the street cred game means not getting beat up by school-aged girls who steal your money to buy a snack from the ice cream man.
I'm still working on that last one.
And the one before it, to be honest.
But what about success in ministry? I think that a lot of people in ministry are hesitant to even use the word "success" when talking about what they do. It can make it sound like a person is only interested in being upward mobility, climbing the ladder to the fanciest and poshest church. But we should be able to talk about success without bringing all those negative and inappropriate associations into the conversation. Anyone who is actually thinking wants to be successful in ministry, not for personal reasons, but because they want to bear fruit for God, build the church, and help spread the kingdom. Those are noble aims.
But how do we measure it? What defines success in ministry? That may be a difficult question to answer. Is it about bringing the most people to Christ? Is it about getting church members to be active in ministry and evangelism? Is it about helping people become more serious about Bible study and living a godly life? Is it about remaining personally faithful to God, regardless of whether anything in the church improves?
Right now I'm serving at a small country church of about 25 people. How do I determine whether or not my ministry is effective in that sort of situation? Sometimes I become disheartened when I think about why is happening through some of my friends' ministries. I hear stories about people being baptized, young people deciding to go into ministry, communities growing closer together, needs being met, and congregants being excited to be at church on Sunday mornings.
I don't see all of those things happen very often at my church. Now my intention here isn't to criticize or speak badly about my church in any way. I'm very thankful for the chance to serve there, and the people love God and encourage me. But still, it is often tough to know whether or not my ministry there is successful, at least when I compare it to what happens in other churches.
In the sort of situation I'm in, it may be important to look for small stories of success. I don't have crowds of people rushing forward on Sunday mornings to surrender their lives to Christ. But I am preaching a series about the importance of God's Word, and last week a man in his fifties asked me where would be a good spot to begin reading the Bible. And we don't have pulse-pounding worship with lights and fog machines. But a few weeks ago, the people in the sanctuary gathered in small groups to pray for our church. And that stuff is pretty cool when you're in a church where it doesn't seem like a whole lot has changed in 180 years.
A danger in focusing on the "little successes" is that we might become content with where we are and stop expecting larger things to happen. Can't God use a little church of 25 people to do incredible things in the world? Should I be content with people in my church spending five minutes in prayer together, or should I not be satisfied till there's more? Am I somehow selling myself short or putting God in a box? How do I balance dreams with realism?
Thankfully, there is one things I'm very successful at: Writing overly-long blog posts while staying up too late watching TV and stalking you on facebook.
We all have our gifts.
That word can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. There are various forms of success in different spheres of life. Success on a basketball court means hoisting a trophy and cutting down the nets. Success in the business world means turning a large profit and flying around in a company jet. Success in the dating world means finding a girl that can handle being in your presence for at least twenty minutes without getting the dry heaves. Success in the street cred game means not getting beat up by school-aged girls who steal your money to buy a snack from the ice cream man.
I'm still working on that last one.
And the one before it, to be honest.
But what about success in ministry? I think that a lot of people in ministry are hesitant to even use the word "success" when talking about what they do. It can make it sound like a person is only interested in being upward mobility, climbing the ladder to the fanciest and poshest church. But we should be able to talk about success without bringing all those negative and inappropriate associations into the conversation. Anyone who is actually thinking wants to be successful in ministry, not for personal reasons, but because they want to bear fruit for God, build the church, and help spread the kingdom. Those are noble aims.
But how do we measure it? What defines success in ministry? That may be a difficult question to answer. Is it about bringing the most people to Christ? Is it about getting church members to be active in ministry and evangelism? Is it about helping people become more serious about Bible study and living a godly life? Is it about remaining personally faithful to God, regardless of whether anything in the church improves?
Right now I'm serving at a small country church of about 25 people. How do I determine whether or not my ministry is effective in that sort of situation? Sometimes I become disheartened when I think about why is happening through some of my friends' ministries. I hear stories about people being baptized, young people deciding to go into ministry, communities growing closer together, needs being met, and congregants being excited to be at church on Sunday mornings.
I don't see all of those things happen very often at my church. Now my intention here isn't to criticize or speak badly about my church in any way. I'm very thankful for the chance to serve there, and the people love God and encourage me. But still, it is often tough to know whether or not my ministry there is successful, at least when I compare it to what happens in other churches.
In the sort of situation I'm in, it may be important to look for small stories of success. I don't have crowds of people rushing forward on Sunday mornings to surrender their lives to Christ. But I am preaching a series about the importance of God's Word, and last week a man in his fifties asked me where would be a good spot to begin reading the Bible. And we don't have pulse-pounding worship with lights and fog machines. But a few weeks ago, the people in the sanctuary gathered in small groups to pray for our church. And that stuff is pretty cool when you're in a church where it doesn't seem like a whole lot has changed in 180 years.
A danger in focusing on the "little successes" is that we might become content with where we are and stop expecting larger things to happen. Can't God use a little church of 25 people to do incredible things in the world? Should I be content with people in my church spending five minutes in prayer together, or should I not be satisfied till there's more? Am I somehow selling myself short or putting God in a box? How do I balance dreams with realism?
Thankfully, there is one things I'm very successful at: Writing overly-long blog posts while staying up too late watching TV and stalking you on facebook.
We all have our gifts.
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