A little bit of belief in someone can go a long way.
My old youth minister David Logsdon probably had a greater impact on my spiritual growth than any other single person I have known. One of the most important things David did for me was to give me real opportunities to practice what he saw as my gifts, even when I was at an age that some others might not take that risk. For example, when I was in seventh grade, our youth group started having once-a-month church services separate from the larger church service. Some of the high school students led worship, and David would preach, and it was a good chance to connect as a group and do something geared more toward our stage in life. For one of the first youth services, David decided that, instead of preaching himself, he would have three students share their testimonies, and he asked me to be one of those students.That was really the first time that I spoke in front of a crowd like that. Looking back, I was a pretty odd choice. The other two students were both juniors in high school and were taller and certainly better orators than I was. I don't remember much about the event, other than that I was really nervous and said something about a t-shirt I had that said "i believe."
Fast forward a year and a half. I was on campus at Colorado State University for my first CIY in the summer before my freshman year. After one of the elective classes, I was walking out of a building with two girls from my youth group when one of them randomly brought up that testimony I had given at the youth service, and she said something like, "You did a really good job when you gave your testimony. You would be a good minister." I had never really thought about going into ministry before then. At that point, I wanted to grow up and be a journalist. But that girl's words stuck with me, and by the end of the week the prospect of going into ministry had continued to grow in my mind.
Now here I sit, two-thirds of the way through another youth ministry internship before I go back for my fifth year of Bible college. I'm sure there are a number of influences that led to me actually ending up in ministry--most importantly the call and work of God. But at least a large part of it is the fact that over nine years ago, my youth minister asked me to get up and talk to the youth group. That might be something not every youth minister would be willing to do. I was a frail little middle schooler, for heaven's sake. There was no telling what might have happened. I could have freaked out on stage and ran off crying for my mommy. I could have mumbled out a 30-second, garbled mess that would have been nonsense to everyone else. I could have wet my pants right there in front of everyone and decided never to come to church again. And yet, for some reason, David saw something in me and used it, and that's partly what has gotten me where I am today. And I don't even have time to tell how David was the first to let me preach, or how he got me to play drums in a worship band for the first time.
I was reminded of all of this by an article on CNN.com from earlier this week about Donald Miller and his mentor, David Gentiles. The article tells of an incident that Miller writes about in To Own a Dragon. Gentiles was Miller's youth minister, and one day he asked the young Miller if he would like to write something for the church newsletter, and Miller wrote about a girl who was booed at the school talent show. Afterward, Gentiles continued to give Miller opportunities to write. When Miller started to write books, Gentiles was his biggest advocate. And now Miller has written a number of books and influenced a crazy number of people, including me.
Last week, we at Suburban took our middle school students to Salem to work with the Union Gospel Mission. The students did a great job working their tushes off and interacting with the men at the mission. They sweat and labored for hours at a time, while I sipped my blended chai and "supervised." They even finished all the work that the mission had planned on them doing, so they had to find other projects for us. One of the cool things about the trip was that, before we left, the students were split into different teams, each responsible for a different aspect of the trip. One of the teams was the worship team, who planned our devotions and such that we would have during the week. Instead of having some of the church's pastors or other adults write the devotions and plan small group discussions, they decided to step up and do it themselves, and they did fantastically. Also, one of our high school students came on the trip as a sponsor, and he also did a great job. One night he and I co-led a small group, but he did more to guide the discussion than I did.
My hope and prayer is that, through such opportunities to serve and minister, our students will continue to grow in their gifts and abilities and use them for Christ. Sometimes it just takes a little trust and room for failure for a young person to understand what they can do in the kingdom. The reason I write all this is that I know there are a number of youth ministers, volunteers, and others who work with youth that read my blog. My encouragement to all of you is that you give your students a chance to use their gifts. It might mean that you have a little less control about the outcome. It might mean that you have to get out of the way. But it can mean a lifelong impact on a young person for you to simply say, "I believe you can do this," and then to support them and cheer for them along the way. It was for me, anyway.
When I was driving to the church on Tuesday, I saw a man riding a unicycle down the sidewalk while juggling three basketballs. I guess if this whole ministry thing doesn't work out, I know what I want to do with me life!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Risk
Previously, I and many others before me have written about the idea of life as a story. A couple weeks ago I watched a movie called Stranger Than Fiction that touched on this theme quite well. In the movie, the main character, Harold Crick, lives a life that is, quite literally, a story. One day, Harold begins to overhear the narration of his life, which is created by an author. He begins to understand that the events that the author writes direct the course of his own life and that her story is becoming real for him. I thought it was a great movie (due in part to the fact that the actor who played Buster in Arrested Development is in it). I feel that it holds a lot of meaning and that I would have to watch it several times over to be able to really grasp much of what it was trying to communicate. I had the same feeling when I read The Little Prince.
At the beginning of Stranger Than Fiction, Harold's life is dictated by his wristwatch. He is characterized by routine, precision, and solitude. He wakes up at exactly the same time every day, brushes his teeth with the same number of strokes, takes the same bus to work at the right moment, eats his meals alone, and goes about every day just like any other. Change is an alien concept to Harold. He doesn't build new relationships, take up new hobbies, or mix up his daily schedule. He simply lives, just as he has lived for ages.
I often feel like Harold Crick. In fact, I wrote a post just a couple months ago about how resistant I can be to change. In my thinking, if there is nothing necessarily wrong with how things are going, I might as well keep it like that. I'm not one to do things different or start a conversation with a stranger or go someplace new for the thrill of it. This is likely the result of a number of different factors--my own passivity, apathy, fear, or laziness. The problem, of course, is that this doesn't make for a very interesting story.
I wish I had my copy of Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years with me here in Oregon, because it is all about this idea of life as a story. But alas, it is stuffed in a box in my storage bin in my dorm back in Missouri. However, I do know that Miller defines a great story as one in which a character wants something and overcomes conflict to get it. Great stories don't involve guys who sit on their couches all the time eating Gardettos. They're about people who do something. Characters who make a decision. Who make a change. Who take a risk. In a great story, there needs to be a moment at which the character changes his course. Harold Crick eats cookies with Maggie Gyllenhaal. Frodo decides to take the ring to Mordor. Huck Finn rafts down the Mississippi with Jim. They don't settle down for a comfortable, predictable life. They push themselves into situations where they might lose something, into conflict, in hopes to gain what they want.This is what separates a round character from a flat one, an interesting story from a dull one.
Don't get me wrong. I believe that everyone has a story, and that they are stories worth hearing, as I have already written about here. It is a fact, however, that some stories are more interesting than others, and that the most interesting ones are about those who take a risk. Great stories don't normally just happen. They're made. Risk-taking and change doesn't come naturally. They require conscious decision. For that reason, I feel that I'm probably not the best person to be writing any of this. My friend Caitlyn would be much better. She's all about not having any regrets. In fact, she's the one who told me to write on this topic because it's something that she already thinks about. I, on the other hand, am not much of a risk-taker. Sitting around the house with a book or a laptop is so much safer and more comfortable than creating stories. But it's probably much more boring.
At the same time, I consider myself very fortunate to be friends with a number of people who are creating incredible stories with their lives. When I think about some of my closest friends and where they are right now or will be in the near future, their locations range from Maryland, Indiana, New Orleans, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and even Russia and Thailand. They're all over the map. They haven't settled down. They've thrown themselves out from their nests to places they don't know, all so that they can serve God with everything. And it makes for great stories, and I'm glad to somehow be privileged enough to run in the same circle as them.
What sort of story are you creating? Do you know what you want, and are you doing what it takes to get there? Or are you just existing, hoping that will somehow be enough to make a great story? My advice for today is this: take a risk. Do something. Start learning to play the clarinet. Ask that pretty girl you know to the Shakespeare festival you think she'd like. Go on a road trip with friends just to see what you can find. Take the homeless guy on the corner to lunch. Go on a mission trip. Make a story.
Before I wrap it up for tonight, I would like to share my favorite quotation from Stranger Than Fiction, when Harold says to Maggie Gyllenhaal's character, "This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I'm in a tragedy." The pessimist in me relates. Go watch the movie.
At the beginning of Stranger Than Fiction, Harold's life is dictated by his wristwatch. He is characterized by routine, precision, and solitude. He wakes up at exactly the same time every day, brushes his teeth with the same number of strokes, takes the same bus to work at the right moment, eats his meals alone, and goes about every day just like any other. Change is an alien concept to Harold. He doesn't build new relationships, take up new hobbies, or mix up his daily schedule. He simply lives, just as he has lived for ages.
I often feel like Harold Crick. In fact, I wrote a post just a couple months ago about how resistant I can be to change. In my thinking, if there is nothing necessarily wrong with how things are going, I might as well keep it like that. I'm not one to do things different or start a conversation with a stranger or go someplace new for the thrill of it. This is likely the result of a number of different factors--my own passivity, apathy, fear, or laziness. The problem, of course, is that this doesn't make for a very interesting story.
I wish I had my copy of Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years with me here in Oregon, because it is all about this idea of life as a story. But alas, it is stuffed in a box in my storage bin in my dorm back in Missouri. However, I do know that Miller defines a great story as one in which a character wants something and overcomes conflict to get it. Great stories don't involve guys who sit on their couches all the time eating Gardettos. They're about people who do something. Characters who make a decision. Who make a change. Who take a risk. In a great story, there needs to be a moment at which the character changes his course. Harold Crick eats cookies with Maggie Gyllenhaal. Frodo decides to take the ring to Mordor. Huck Finn rafts down the Mississippi with Jim. They don't settle down for a comfortable, predictable life. They push themselves into situations where they might lose something, into conflict, in hopes to gain what they want.This is what separates a round character from a flat one, an interesting story from a dull one.
Don't get me wrong. I believe that everyone has a story, and that they are stories worth hearing, as I have already written about here. It is a fact, however, that some stories are more interesting than others, and that the most interesting ones are about those who take a risk. Great stories don't normally just happen. They're made. Risk-taking and change doesn't come naturally. They require conscious decision. For that reason, I feel that I'm probably not the best person to be writing any of this. My friend Caitlyn would be much better. She's all about not having any regrets. In fact, she's the one who told me to write on this topic because it's something that she already thinks about. I, on the other hand, am not much of a risk-taker. Sitting around the house with a book or a laptop is so much safer and more comfortable than creating stories. But it's probably much more boring.
At the same time, I consider myself very fortunate to be friends with a number of people who are creating incredible stories with their lives. When I think about some of my closest friends and where they are right now or will be in the near future, their locations range from Maryland, Indiana, New Orleans, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and even Russia and Thailand. They're all over the map. They haven't settled down. They've thrown themselves out from their nests to places they don't know, all so that they can serve God with everything. And it makes for great stories, and I'm glad to somehow be privileged enough to run in the same circle as them.
What sort of story are you creating? Do you know what you want, and are you doing what it takes to get there? Or are you just existing, hoping that will somehow be enough to make a great story? My advice for today is this: take a risk. Do something. Start learning to play the clarinet. Ask that pretty girl you know to the Shakespeare festival you think she'd like. Go on a road trip with friends just to see what you can find. Take the homeless guy on the corner to lunch. Go on a mission trip. Make a story.
Before I wrap it up for tonight, I would like to share my favorite quotation from Stranger Than Fiction, when Harold says to Maggie Gyllenhaal's character, "This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I'm in a tragedy." The pessimist in me relates. Go watch the movie.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Symbol of the Same
There are a lot of cool things to do in Corvallis, Oregon. Oregon is honestly one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, and many of the people here take advantage of the scenery by hiking or mountain biking. It is also not very far from the coast, so a person could go enjoy a day at the beach if they so desired. It is also a university town, so I imagine there are things to do that state university students like to do, like dance and drink and talk about how much they hate the Ducks. However, I'm not one who likes to go hiking alone, I don't mountain bike, I'm not a huge fan of the beach, I don't drink, and I sure as heck don't dance. So when I had a free afternoon last Friday, I decided to do something a little more up my alley and went to a local park to shoot baskets on their little half of a basketball court. While I was shooting baskets, I thought about shooting baskets, and here's what I decided.
I think people who don't know me very well are always surprised to learn that I like to play basketball. I do get asked if I play chess a lot, however. One day when I was in high school, I went to the locker room to get my basketball shoes to take home, and the school's basketball team was starting to warm up before one of their first practices. When I walked into the locker room, there was a kid in there that I had never even talked to before, and he took a look at me and said, "Man, don't tell me you made the basketball team." Go figure.
In any case, I really do like playing basketball, and as much as I like to play a pick-up game or to play intramurals, there is something nice about just shooting around by yourself. As I continued to bonk the ball off of the rim at the park, I was reminded of all the hours I spent in my driveway back home playing on the goal in front of my house, or how every Wednesday in high school I would go to the church, set up tables for the church dinner, and then spend the rest of the afternoon shooting there.
I think what I appreciate so much about shooting a basketball is that, no matter where you go, it's basically the same. Ten feet of space separate the rim from the ground. That's how it is at the park in Corvallis, as well as in my driveway at home, at my church, or in Ozark's gym. I could go just about anywhere in the world, and if there is a basket and ball, I have something familiar to do. The hoop becomes a symbol of constancy. If I'm in a new place, surrounded by strangers and dropped into an unfamiliar situation, there is something that is indeed the same. And that's reassuring, I think.
Maybe because of that truth, shooting baskets is something I often do when I need some time to think or when I'm upset about something. It gives me something to do while I process my thoughts and emotions. Of course, that doesn't mean that every time you might see me shooting baskets by myself that I'm going through some sort of crisis. Sometimes I might do it just for kicks. But in many ways, shooting baskets is like a little sanctuary; a place of calm in the middle of an ever-changing world.
So I wonder: Do you have some activity like that? Maybe it's playing guitar or reading or crocheting or singing or lifting weights. Anything that you turn to to reassure yourself that, even though many things in life are in continuous flux, there are some things that are always the same. What's your go-to activity? Feel free to share.
You may notice that on the sidebar I now have a little gadget that shows what book I'm working on reading. I always think it's really interesting to hear what other people are reading, and I saw this on Kyle Tapper's blog, so I thought I'd copy him.
Tomorrow I'm leaving for our high school retreat, which will go through Saturday evening, and then Sunday I will be heading to Salem with our middle school students for a mission trip. So please keep us in your prayers: that God would be working on students and that we would be able to serve effectively, and that God give the other leaders and me the energy that we need. Happy second half of Twenty-Ten.
I think people who don't know me very well are always surprised to learn that I like to play basketball. I do get asked if I play chess a lot, however. One day when I was in high school, I went to the locker room to get my basketball shoes to take home, and the school's basketball team was starting to warm up before one of their first practices. When I walked into the locker room, there was a kid in there that I had never even talked to before, and he took a look at me and said, "Man, don't tell me you made the basketball team." Go figure.
In any case, I really do like playing basketball, and as much as I like to play a pick-up game or to play intramurals, there is something nice about just shooting around by yourself. As I continued to bonk the ball off of the rim at the park, I was reminded of all the hours I spent in my driveway back home playing on the goal in front of my house, or how every Wednesday in high school I would go to the church, set up tables for the church dinner, and then spend the rest of the afternoon shooting there.
I think what I appreciate so much about shooting a basketball is that, no matter where you go, it's basically the same. Ten feet of space separate the rim from the ground. That's how it is at the park in Corvallis, as well as in my driveway at home, at my church, or in Ozark's gym. I could go just about anywhere in the world, and if there is a basket and ball, I have something familiar to do. The hoop becomes a symbol of constancy. If I'm in a new place, surrounded by strangers and dropped into an unfamiliar situation, there is something that is indeed the same. And that's reassuring, I think.
Maybe because of that truth, shooting baskets is something I often do when I need some time to think or when I'm upset about something. It gives me something to do while I process my thoughts and emotions. Of course, that doesn't mean that every time you might see me shooting baskets by myself that I'm going through some sort of crisis. Sometimes I might do it just for kicks. But in many ways, shooting baskets is like a little sanctuary; a place of calm in the middle of an ever-changing world.
So I wonder: Do you have some activity like that? Maybe it's playing guitar or reading or crocheting or singing or lifting weights. Anything that you turn to to reassure yourself that, even though many things in life are in continuous flux, there are some things that are always the same. What's your go-to activity? Feel free to share.
You may notice that on the sidebar I now have a little gadget that shows what book I'm working on reading. I always think it's really interesting to hear what other people are reading, and I saw this on Kyle Tapper's blog, so I thought I'd copy him.
Tomorrow I'm leaving for our high school retreat, which will go through Saturday evening, and then Sunday I will be heading to Salem with our middle school students for a mission trip. So please keep us in your prayers: that God would be working on students and that we would be able to serve effectively, and that God give the other leaders and me the energy that we need. Happy second half of Twenty-Ten.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Independent Living
When you opened up this page, the first thing you probably noticed is how devilishly handsome I look in my picture on the right. The second thing you may have noticed is that my blog has a new look. For the longest time, Blogger only had a handful of available templates, but a few weeks ago they branched out with a new design tool. Thus, in an effort to differentiate myself from Connor, Ryan, Jim, and Morgan, I decided to mix things up. Do you like it? Dislike it? Don't care about a thing I write and care even less about how it looks? Let me know.
There is another reason for the style change. Today is a very special day, in that it was on this date two years ago that I started writing A Chicken in a Cage With a Ferret. And what a two years it's been. There have been some laughs, a few tears, and a whole lot of using this page just to get to the links to some other blogs. As we celebrate this year, we're pulling out all the stops with a little giveaway. The twelfth commenter on this post will win a date with the Former David Heffren Roommate of his or hopefully her choice. It's quite a deal. And remember, you don't need a Blogger account to comment. Just choose Name/URL where it says "Choose an Identity."
I have now been in Oregon for a little over a month as I work on my internship. This is a momentous summer for me because it is really the most "on my own" I have ever been in my life. I have always considered myself a pretty independent person, but maybe that is only because I have not had to deal with many adultish responsibilities before. After several weeks of being in such a situation, I am surprised that so many people my age are so eager to get out on their own. And so, for your reading pleasure and personal betterment, I include a few preliminary reflections on what it means to live on one's own.
Probably the most difficult thing about trying to act like a responsible adult this summer has been providing food for myself. For the most part, I have needed to provide for myself in this area since I've been here, which means I have had to learn how to prepare some delicious meals. For a person with next to no cooking experience, this is a challenge. The following list of what I have at the house for my upcoming meals may give you some insight into how confident I am in my culinary skills: a frozen pizza, a can of soup, ramen noodles, ham sandwiches, a box of Pop-Tarts, Hamburger Helper (which pushes the limits of my ability to prepare), and seventeen hot dogs (which was 21 before I ate four of them for dinner last night). Granted, I have been quick to criticize Ozark's dining hall on a few points (I just want chocolate milk back, alright?), but the big positive about it is that I don't cook there. It's nice to be able to say, "Hm, I'm hungry, and I can go get food that someone else has prepared, allowing me to eat something that doesn't only involve a microwave."
A second topic I wish to address is more of a question. Or maybe an anomaly. But what I am realizing is that I really have no idea how relationships work in the "real world." Any sort of relationship. Ozark is a relational incubator. We live together, we eat together, we go to class together, we use bathroom stalls next to each other. It's easy to develop good relationships in an environment like that. It's somewhat of a mystery to me how that happens when you have four walls of a house separating you from the rest of the community, especially for someone who is as naturally reserved as me. (I can still remember my first day of preschool, when I freaked out at the prospect of having to stay there with so many kids I didn't know. My mom had to stay with me for part of the day, until we started playing some game that involved a small red ball, which I guess distracted me from the trauma at hand.)
Almost everything I know about social norms, I learned from movies. In The Sandlot, the main character is in a new town where he doesn't know anyone, and he fiddles with his Erector set in his room until the cool kid in the neighborhood invites him to play baseball. In my mind, that's how it's supposed to work whenever someone moves into a new situation, but no cool kids have asked me to play baseball yet. I can only build so many battery-powered Erector cars before I need some companionship!
I hope you can sense some of the sarcastic exaggeration in all that. The people I've gotten to know in Corvallis have really been great. But I don't think it is as easy to make friends as it is in an enclosed setting like Ozark. I have heard that to meet people, one must go where people are. And so far, none of the people at Wendy's or Taco Bell have seemed too interested in hanging out.
Of course, if I don't really understand how friendships work in the real world, I have even less of a clue how romantic relationships come to be. I don't even know how those work at Ozark. Apparently, poking a girl on Facebook until she eventually confesses her undying love for you doesn't work. Believe me, I know. The improbable odds associated with romantic endeavors are ridiculous. Think about it: you have to find someone roughly your age who likes Jesus (and just that is pretty difficult in Oregon, by the way), and you should hopefully find them at least mildly attractive, and you should have some common interests, and then (and here's the catch) they have to find you mildly attractive and enjoy being in the same general area as you. It's a wonder our species has made it this far.
Note: Please don't misunderstand my reason for writing this. I am not in the Northwest in search of a ladyfriend. I've gotten in trouble for that enough for one lifetime. I'm just observing/rambling for the sake of doing so.
Well, I guess that's about it for now. Maybe I'll return to this general topic again before summer's end. Thanks for reading, and thanks for celebrating this anniversary with me. Maybe we'll have a carnival or something for our third anniversary, with funnel cakes and ferris wheels and the whole bit.
Because we all know how much I love funnel cakes.
There is another reason for the style change. Today is a very special day, in that it was on this date two years ago that I started writing A Chicken in a Cage With a Ferret. And what a two years it's been. There have been some laughs, a few tears, and a whole lot of using this page just to get to the links to some other blogs. As we celebrate this year, we're pulling out all the stops with a little giveaway. The twelfth commenter on this post will win a date with the Former David Heffren Roommate of his or hopefully her choice. It's quite a deal. And remember, you don't need a Blogger account to comment. Just choose Name/URL where it says "Choose an Identity."
I have now been in Oregon for a little over a month as I work on my internship. This is a momentous summer for me because it is really the most "on my own" I have ever been in my life. I have always considered myself a pretty independent person, but maybe that is only because I have not had to deal with many adultish responsibilities before. After several weeks of being in such a situation, I am surprised that so many people my age are so eager to get out on their own. And so, for your reading pleasure and personal betterment, I include a few preliminary reflections on what it means to live on one's own.
Probably the most difficult thing about trying to act like a responsible adult this summer has been providing food for myself. For the most part, I have needed to provide for myself in this area since I've been here, which means I have had to learn how to prepare some delicious meals. For a person with next to no cooking experience, this is a challenge. The following list of what I have at the house for my upcoming meals may give you some insight into how confident I am in my culinary skills: a frozen pizza, a can of soup, ramen noodles, ham sandwiches, a box of Pop-Tarts, Hamburger Helper (which pushes the limits of my ability to prepare), and seventeen hot dogs (which was 21 before I ate four of them for dinner last night). Granted, I have been quick to criticize Ozark's dining hall on a few points (I just want chocolate milk back, alright?), but the big positive about it is that I don't cook there. It's nice to be able to say, "Hm, I'm hungry, and I can go get food that someone else has prepared, allowing me to eat something that doesn't only involve a microwave."
A second topic I wish to address is more of a question. Or maybe an anomaly. But what I am realizing is that I really have no idea how relationships work in the "real world." Any sort of relationship. Ozark is a relational incubator. We live together, we eat together, we go to class together, we use bathroom stalls next to each other. It's easy to develop good relationships in an environment like that. It's somewhat of a mystery to me how that happens when you have four walls of a house separating you from the rest of the community, especially for someone who is as naturally reserved as me. (I can still remember my first day of preschool, when I freaked out at the prospect of having to stay there with so many kids I didn't know. My mom had to stay with me for part of the day, until we started playing some game that involved a small red ball, which I guess distracted me from the trauma at hand.)
Almost everything I know about social norms, I learned from movies. In The Sandlot, the main character is in a new town where he doesn't know anyone, and he fiddles with his Erector set in his room until the cool kid in the neighborhood invites him to play baseball. In my mind, that's how it's supposed to work whenever someone moves into a new situation, but no cool kids have asked me to play baseball yet. I can only build so many battery-powered Erector cars before I need some companionship!
I hope you can sense some of the sarcastic exaggeration in all that. The people I've gotten to know in Corvallis have really been great. But I don't think it is as easy to make friends as it is in an enclosed setting like Ozark. I have heard that to meet people, one must go where people are. And so far, none of the people at Wendy's or Taco Bell have seemed too interested in hanging out.
Of course, if I don't really understand how friendships work in the real world, I have even less of a clue how romantic relationships come to be. I don't even know how those work at Ozark. Apparently, poking a girl on Facebook until she eventually confesses her undying love for you doesn't work. Believe me, I know. The improbable odds associated with romantic endeavors are ridiculous. Think about it: you have to find someone roughly your age who likes Jesus (and just that is pretty difficult in Oregon, by the way), and you should hopefully find them at least mildly attractive, and you should have some common interests, and then (and here's the catch) they have to find you mildly attractive and enjoy being in the same general area as you. It's a wonder our species has made it this far.
Note: Please don't misunderstand my reason for writing this. I am not in the Northwest in search of a ladyfriend. I've gotten in trouble for that enough for one lifetime. I'm just observing/rambling for the sake of doing so.
Well, I guess that's about it for now. Maybe I'll return to this general topic again before summer's end. Thanks for reading, and thanks for celebrating this anniversary with me. Maybe we'll have a carnival or something for our third anniversary, with funnel cakes and ferris wheels and the whole bit.
Because we all know how much I love funnel cakes.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Jesus' Final Sacrifice
I have a friend who once informed me that I am boring. She may not have said it in quite those words, but I knew what she meant. Apparently, I have a habit of repeating myself. If I tell someone a story, I easily forget and then tell them the same story later. It's difficult to do otherwise when there are so few entertaining events in one's life. I can only tell about not liking coffee very much so many times before I'm bound to tell it to the same person twice.
And with that, I offer a warning. I feel like this post could appear to be very similar to the one I wrote just a few days ago about Jesus' effective sacrifice. This is rightfully so, I think, but I do apologize for any way in which I may seem to repeat the same ideas. The idea of Jesus' sacrifice being a final sacrifice flows from the fact that it is effective. Because Jesus' death on the cross is able to wash away the stain of guilt and sin, it's the final sacrifice. It's all that's needed, because it's totally sufficient.
That isn't what it was like for the priests in the Old Testament. Because animal sacrifices were ultimately ineffective, the task of sacrifice was never fulfilled. The priest could never say, "Well, there's that. We can stop this whole messy business now." Instead, a constant stream of bleating animals made its way to the altar. Ever single year the high priest went into the Most Holy Place with the blood of the sacrifice to seek atonement, and every day other sacrifice were offered. Hebrews 10:11 says, "Day after day every priest stands and performs his religious duties; again and again he offers the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins."
Then Jesus comes and offers the self-sacrifice to which all the earlier sacrifices had pointed. And that's the end. Nothing else is needed. Hebrews 10:12 says, "But when this priest [Jesus] had offered for all time one sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God." The seated Jesus contrasts with the priest who is standing at the altar. One's work is completed; the other waits to sacrifice again.
The finality of Jesus' sacrifice underlines its sufficiency. It is "once for all" (Heb. 7:27). There is a temptation, however, to doubt the sufficiency of what Christ has accomplished. Many would say, "You're saying that salvation is found in Jesus, and that's it? That's ridiculous." In our culture that values self-help books and "pull yourself up by your own bootstraps" individualism, the idea of salvation resting solely in the act of another doesn't gel very well.
The same problem existed in the New Testament era as well. Just read the book of Galatians. Christians were distrustful of a salvation through Jesus alone, so they wanted to make it "Jesus Plus _________." Jesus Plus Circumcision. Jesus Plus Sabbath-keeping. Jesus Plus Dietary Laws. In such thinking, grace needs an amendment--something to tack on to it so that we have something to contribute to our own saving. Today it might be Jesus Plus Church Attendance. Jesus Plus Giving Money. Jesus Plus Not Drinking. Jesus Plus Getting an Ichthus Tattoo and Listening to Hillsong.
So let's remember that Jesus did the work for our salvation, and it means that we don't have to. That's a good thing, too, because we don't have the power to save ourselves. It takes God to reconcile mankind to God, and he did it on the cross.
The end.
And with that, I offer a warning. I feel like this post could appear to be very similar to the one I wrote just a few days ago about Jesus' effective sacrifice. This is rightfully so, I think, but I do apologize for any way in which I may seem to repeat the same ideas. The idea of Jesus' sacrifice being a final sacrifice flows from the fact that it is effective. Because Jesus' death on the cross is able to wash away the stain of guilt and sin, it's the final sacrifice. It's all that's needed, because it's totally sufficient.
That isn't what it was like for the priests in the Old Testament. Because animal sacrifices were ultimately ineffective, the task of sacrifice was never fulfilled. The priest could never say, "Well, there's that. We can stop this whole messy business now." Instead, a constant stream of bleating animals made its way to the altar. Ever single year the high priest went into the Most Holy Place with the blood of the sacrifice to seek atonement, and every day other sacrifice were offered. Hebrews 10:11 says, "Day after day every priest stands and performs his religious duties; again and again he offers the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins."
Then Jesus comes and offers the self-sacrifice to which all the earlier sacrifices had pointed. And that's the end. Nothing else is needed. Hebrews 10:12 says, "But when this priest [Jesus] had offered for all time one sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God." The seated Jesus contrasts with the priest who is standing at the altar. One's work is completed; the other waits to sacrifice again.
The finality of Jesus' sacrifice underlines its sufficiency. It is "once for all" (Heb. 7:27). There is a temptation, however, to doubt the sufficiency of what Christ has accomplished. Many would say, "You're saying that salvation is found in Jesus, and that's it? That's ridiculous." In our culture that values self-help books and "pull yourself up by your own bootstraps" individualism, the idea of salvation resting solely in the act of another doesn't gel very well.
The same problem existed in the New Testament era as well. Just read the book of Galatians. Christians were distrustful of a salvation through Jesus alone, so they wanted to make it "Jesus Plus _________." Jesus Plus Circumcision. Jesus Plus Sabbath-keeping. Jesus Plus Dietary Laws. In such thinking, grace needs an amendment--something to tack on to it so that we have something to contribute to our own saving. Today it might be Jesus Plus Church Attendance. Jesus Plus Giving Money. Jesus Plus Not Drinking. Jesus Plus Getting an Ichthus Tattoo and Listening to Hillsong.
So let's remember that Jesus did the work for our salvation, and it means that we don't have to. That's a good thing, too, because we don't have the power to save ourselves. It takes God to reconcile mankind to God, and he did it on the cross.
The end.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Jesus' Effective Sacrifice
My friend Charlie is a madman. A few days ago, he wrote his sixth blog post of the month of June. SIXTH! With a week left in the month, too! He's written before about how one of his goals is to keep up with how much I write, and now he is certainly demolishing me in that regard. So kudos to him. I, however, am happy with the rhythm I have found for myself. Fridays are my day off from my internship, so I sleep in, wake up, read a little, eat a ham sandwich for lunch, and then write a blog post. Look at me, with my routines and habits. I'm such an adult.
This post is the second in a three-part set on Jesus' sacrifice and how it relates to his role as the great high priest as found in Hebrews. Last week I wrote about how Jesus offered a self-sacrifice, so if you haven't read that one, you should go ahead and do that. Right now, I want to discuss how Jesus' sacrifice, in contrast to the animal sacrifices of the Levitical priesthood, is effective is cleansing mankind from sin.
It is easy for a person, having spent a long time performing religious acts, to begin to think that those acts are what brings salvation. I would think that this was the case for many Jews who brought a bellowing goat to the priest to be sacrificed. Forgiveness is easy in this scheme. Go sin, grab an animal, slice its throat, and get a clean slate. Such a person would probably have trouble swallowing the statement found in Hebrews 10:4: "It is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins."
That's where Jesus' sacrifice is so different. He does not stand at an altar slaughtering animals whose blood in itself is unable to get the job done. Jesus' death on the cross has real power to forgive sins. Where the Levitical system fell short, Jesus accomplishes the redemption of mankind. While animals sacrifices were able to make a person ceremonially clean on the outside, Jesus' sacrifice heals the wound of sin and guilt. Hebrews 9:13-14 says:
Sadly, there are many people in the world who distrust the effectiveness of Jesus' sacrifice. They feel that their sins are too many, too heinous, too shameful, and simply too big for Christ to cover over. They think, "Sure, God may be willing to forgive everyone else, but he doesn't know what I've done. I have said, thought, and done too terrible of things to be able to be forgiven." These people let their guilt and shame to push them farther and farther from Christ's outstretched, scarred, and powerful arms.
Mark Driscoll writes, "You are more evil than you have ever feared, and more loved than you have ever hoped" (Death by Love, 68). In contrast to those who feel their sin is unforgivable, some of us downplay the significance of our sin, imagining that we are basically good people who really haven't done that much wrong. This is an inaccurate way to think, however. Sin does indeed dirty us to the point that we need an incredible rescue to save us. Some people push aside the weight of their sin, while others undervalue the effectiveness of Christ's sacrifice. Both sides are true. Our sin is a big deal, and it's dangerous to think otherwise. But that is exactly what makes the good news so good. Because God and his love are big enough to forgive us through Jesus' effective sacrifice. When we're tempted to doubt the power of Christ's blood, let's remember just how effective that blood is.
This post is the second in a three-part set on Jesus' sacrifice and how it relates to his role as the great high priest as found in Hebrews. Last week I wrote about how Jesus offered a self-sacrifice, so if you haven't read that one, you should go ahead and do that. Right now, I want to discuss how Jesus' sacrifice, in contrast to the animal sacrifices of the Levitical priesthood, is effective is cleansing mankind from sin.
It is easy for a person, having spent a long time performing religious acts, to begin to think that those acts are what brings salvation. I would think that this was the case for many Jews who brought a bellowing goat to the priest to be sacrificed. Forgiveness is easy in this scheme. Go sin, grab an animal, slice its throat, and get a clean slate. Such a person would probably have trouble swallowing the statement found in Hebrews 10:4: "It is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins."
That's where Jesus' sacrifice is so different. He does not stand at an altar slaughtering animals whose blood in itself is unable to get the job done. Jesus' death on the cross has real power to forgive sins. Where the Levitical system fell short, Jesus accomplishes the redemption of mankind. While animals sacrifices were able to make a person ceremonially clean on the outside, Jesus' sacrifice heals the wound of sin and guilt. Hebrews 9:13-14 says:
The blood of goats and bulls and the ashes of a heifer sprinkled on those who are ceremonially unclean sanctify them so that they are outwardly clean. How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God!
Sadly, there are many people in the world who distrust the effectiveness of Jesus' sacrifice. They feel that their sins are too many, too heinous, too shameful, and simply too big for Christ to cover over. They think, "Sure, God may be willing to forgive everyone else, but he doesn't know what I've done. I have said, thought, and done too terrible of things to be able to be forgiven." These people let their guilt and shame to push them farther and farther from Christ's outstretched, scarred, and powerful arms.
Mark Driscoll writes, "You are more evil than you have ever feared, and more loved than you have ever hoped" (Death by Love, 68). In contrast to those who feel their sin is unforgivable, some of us downplay the significance of our sin, imagining that we are basically good people who really haven't done that much wrong. This is an inaccurate way to think, however. Sin does indeed dirty us to the point that we need an incredible rescue to save us. Some people push aside the weight of their sin, while others undervalue the effectiveness of Christ's sacrifice. Both sides are true. Our sin is a big deal, and it's dangerous to think otherwise. But that is exactly what makes the good news so good. Because God and his love are big enough to forgive us through Jesus' effective sacrifice. When we're tempted to doubt the power of Christ's blood, let's remember just how effective that blood is.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Jesus' Self-Sacrifice
One of the requirements for my degree at Ozark is that I take two doctrine classes. These classes are difficult to say the least, as the primary assignment in each of them is to produce a 20-25 page paper regarding some theological aspect of the subject matter. I took both of my doctrine classes last year--Doctrine of the Church in the fall and Doctrine of Christ in the spring. If you were around me much last year, it may have been easy to tell when the due date for my doctrine papers was coming up. For one thing, I would start growing a nasty, wispy beard because I considered myself too busy to shave and become presentable. Also, I would become even more irritable and socially distant than normal and would rarely be found playing cards or going out to Chick-fil-A. So if you were ever walking around campus last year nervous about the homeless guy walking around mumbling to himself with his head down, don't worry. It was just me in Term Paper Mode.
For my Doctrine of Christ class last semester, I wrote my paper on Jesus' role as the great high priest, as found primarily in the book of Hebrews. I really enjoyed my subject, and I learned a lot while researching. For the next three posts, I'll be drawing from my paper and the research that went into it to discuss several aspects of Jesus' sacrifice on the cross, as well as what it means for us and how we live and minister to others. After these three posts, I'm probably going to be due for another post in which I make fun of the fact that I'm single. People love those.
Sin demands that judgment be meted out against the offender. This is bad news for humankind. As rebellious, sinful people, we deserve to be the objects of God's wrath. Fortunately for us (and thanks to God), sacrifice was given as a means to attain forgiveness. In Old Testament times, animal sacrifices were offered, and herein lied the central function of the Levitical priesthood. There were all sorts of sacrifices: burnt offerings, fellowship offerings, sin offerings, grain offerings, etc. All of these sacrifices came to a climax on the Day of Atonement, when the high priest would take the blood of a sacrifice into the Most Holy Place to atone for the sins of the nation. The ministry of the priests was glued to the altar, and animal sacrifices were the hapless victims of the system.
If Jesus is now our great high priest, as the New Testament affirms (Heb. 4:14), he needs a sacrifice to offer. Now there are a lot of things I don't know about the gospels, but I can't think of any instances when Jesus butchers a goat on an altar. No, the picture we get of his sacrifice is something else entirely. John the Baptist calls Jesus "the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world" (Jn. 1:29). Jesus claims that he came "to give his life as a ransom for many" (Mk. 10:45) and that he lays down his life "of my own accord" (Jn. 10:18). Hebrews notes that Jesus "offered himself" (Heb. 9:14) and makes "the people holy through his own blood" (Heb. 13:12). Jesus is not a priest who brings in the third party of livestock to make atonement. He is a priest who offers himself. He is both "priest and oblation" (Thomas F. Torrance, Atonement 81).
So what's our reaction? First should certainly be wonder, awe, and intense thanksgiving. I remember thinking about the idea of Jesus as our shepherd when I was younger. I thought, "The idea of a shepherd dying for his sheep is silly. A human life is worthy infinitely more than a sheep's life. That's ridiculous." But how much more ridiculous is it that God (whose worth is distanced from ours so much more than a human's from a sheep's) would offer himself for the sake of mankind? And still, that's what happened. And it's a fact that should cause unceasing amazement within ourselves. Dennis Kinlaw puts the absurdity (but the wonderful truth) like this:
Second, if Jesus sacrifices himself, how much more should we be self-sacrificing? It's idiotic for us to be okay with Christ giving himself for us so that we can loaf around and be comfortable and think that God is there to serve us. In my Bible reading this week, I've been reminded how little room there is for selfishness in the Christian life. A Christ-follower must "deny himself and take up his cross daily" (Lk. 9:23). We are told to offer ourselves as "living sacrifices" (Rom. 12:1). Christ calls us to climb up on the altar. Of course, our sacrifice is not like his in the sense that it atones for the sins of the world, but we are charged to expend all we have of ourselves for the sake of Christ. So what do you need to sacrifice?
In an unrelated note (which is how I like to end many of my posts, because I'm awful at conclusions), our middle school group at Suburban is going to be going on a mission trip to work with Union Gospel Mission in Salem, OR next month. Several of the students are working with me to keep up a blog so that others can see how we're preparing, and we'll update it while we're there so that people can see what we're doing. So the link's on the sidebar. Check-a-check-a-check it out.
For my Doctrine of Christ class last semester, I wrote my paper on Jesus' role as the great high priest, as found primarily in the book of Hebrews. I really enjoyed my subject, and I learned a lot while researching. For the next three posts, I'll be drawing from my paper and the research that went into it to discuss several aspects of Jesus' sacrifice on the cross, as well as what it means for us and how we live and minister to others. After these three posts, I'm probably going to be due for another post in which I make fun of the fact that I'm single. People love those.
Sin demands that judgment be meted out against the offender. This is bad news for humankind. As rebellious, sinful people, we deserve to be the objects of God's wrath. Fortunately for us (and thanks to God), sacrifice was given as a means to attain forgiveness. In Old Testament times, animal sacrifices were offered, and herein lied the central function of the Levitical priesthood. There were all sorts of sacrifices: burnt offerings, fellowship offerings, sin offerings, grain offerings, etc. All of these sacrifices came to a climax on the Day of Atonement, when the high priest would take the blood of a sacrifice into the Most Holy Place to atone for the sins of the nation. The ministry of the priests was glued to the altar, and animal sacrifices were the hapless victims of the system.
If Jesus is now our great high priest, as the New Testament affirms (Heb. 4:14), he needs a sacrifice to offer. Now there are a lot of things I don't know about the gospels, but I can't think of any instances when Jesus butchers a goat on an altar. No, the picture we get of his sacrifice is something else entirely. John the Baptist calls Jesus "the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world" (Jn. 1:29). Jesus claims that he came "to give his life as a ransom for many" (Mk. 10:45) and that he lays down his life "of my own accord" (Jn. 10:18). Hebrews notes that Jesus "offered himself" (Heb. 9:14) and makes "the people holy through his own blood" (Heb. 13:12). Jesus is not a priest who brings in the third party of livestock to make atonement. He is a priest who offers himself. He is both "priest and oblation" (Thomas F. Torrance, Atonement 81).
So what's our reaction? First should certainly be wonder, awe, and intense thanksgiving. I remember thinking about the idea of Jesus as our shepherd when I was younger. I thought, "The idea of a shepherd dying for his sheep is silly. A human life is worthy infinitely more than a sheep's life. That's ridiculous." But how much more ridiculous is it that God (whose worth is distanced from ours so much more than a human's from a sheep's) would offer himself for the sake of mankind? And still, that's what happened. And it's a fact that should cause unceasing amazement within ourselves. Dennis Kinlaw puts the absurdity (but the wonderful truth) like this:
Normally, shepherds keep sheep so they can eat them and wear the wool or sell them so someone else can eat or wear them. Now Jesus tells us about a shepherd who keeps sheep, not so that he can eat or wear or sell them, but so that the sheep can actually eat and wear him. (Let's Start With Jesus, 86)
Second, if Jesus sacrifices himself, how much more should we be self-sacrificing? It's idiotic for us to be okay with Christ giving himself for us so that we can loaf around and be comfortable and think that God is there to serve us. In my Bible reading this week, I've been reminded how little room there is for selfishness in the Christian life. A Christ-follower must "deny himself and take up his cross daily" (Lk. 9:23). We are told to offer ourselves as "living sacrifices" (Rom. 12:1). Christ calls us to climb up on the altar. Of course, our sacrifice is not like his in the sense that it atones for the sins of the world, but we are charged to expend all we have of ourselves for the sake of Christ. So what do you need to sacrifice?
In an unrelated note (which is how I like to end many of my posts, because I'm awful at conclusions), our middle school group at Suburban is going to be going on a mission trip to work with Union Gospel Mission in Salem, OR next month. Several of the students are working with me to keep up a blog so that others can see how we're preparing, and we'll update it while we're there so that people can see what we're doing. So the link's on the sidebar. Check-a-check-a-check it out.
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