Made to Look Like a Monkey

"My second trip to Malawi was supposed to be somewhat mundane," I began, addressing the Toastmasters. "I was going to teach fellow aspiring pastors about systematic theology and biblical exegesis. During the day, I would buy fruits and vegetables, and at night, I would eat nsima (corn paste) in the homes of the students."

"But the trip started with a monkey, and ended with a monkey, and ended up being anything but mundane.

On one of my first days there, a man walked his bicycle up to me with a monkey casually perched on the back, eating a cob of corn. 'You want monkey?' he asked. I thought about putting the monkey in a bathtub or closet, but thought the better of it. Before I could respond, he added "To eat" and to make clear what he meant, he chomped his teeth. 'No thanks,' I responded and in my mind added, 'I've reached my quota on monkey meals this year.'

Things were pretty routine from then on out, awakening in me a desire to have an African adventure before I left. I was told that no Westerner had climbed a certain mountain behind the village for some 20-30 years. It was not particularly tall or steep (no need for a hook, hammer, or rope), but was clearly not bushwhacked.

So on my final day in town, I decided to climb that mountain. I awoke early in the morning, walked the short span to the base of the mountain, and began my ascent as the arriving sun broke through the mist. Some places where relatively flat and I was able to tread through foliage, while on occasion, I would have to crawl over boulders on hands and knees. I even had to prop myself between boulders at times and try to carry myself up and over.

I had just climbed up and over one particularly large boulder, about three quarters of the way up, when I heard a heart-piercing snarl. I froze and couldn't move for what might have been the longest minute of my life. My mind raced with images of lions or other beasts. I had no easy way back down and had a backpack and a journal with which to defend myself.

I slowly turned, and saw about 40 yards away and 20 feet above me--across a small ravine--a baboon who was clearly not happy that I was in his territory. He didn't look particularly big, but I have been told by TV and by locals that these things can tear a person limb from limb. I slowly inched closer toward the rocky peak as his snarling intensified, hoping to just put more distance between me and him.

When I got to the peak, I spotted a cleft within two pressing boulders and climbed up and into the cleft. It was there that I prayed, let the Lord know that I was a bit shaken, and remembered the words of that famous hymn "Rock of ages, cleft for me--let me hide myself in Thee!"

I started to make my way back down the mountain when the snarling crept down my spine again. I looked over. The baboon was still 40 yards away, but was now eye level and looked to be eyeing a way across the small ravine. I gently stepped back toward the peak and then took off down the backside of the mountain. There was an old goat path cutting back and forth, but I cut through, jumped 5 or 6 feet at a time to try to create distance between me and the baboon.

Several minutes later, Malawian farmers watched as a mzungu (white man) appeared and quickly disappeared from their yard, likely for the first time. Now sprinting at full tilt, I attracted a crowd of village children who shouted and chased after me. By the time I slowed down, I was at the base on the other side of the mountain. I jogged the next hour or so until I arrived back at my village.

A few things I learned:

1) Always carry a stick. Probably wouldn't have helped against a baboon, but at least I would've felt prepared.

2) God creates us for community. We're not meant to go it alone. I could've used some other guys up there. We need other people. My wife needs me to help her speak up; I need her to help me shut up.

3) If I was vulnerable before that baboon, how much more vulnerable am I before the Creator of the universe? He has the power to crush me, but hasn't. Why? Because He sent His only beloved Son to this vulnerable world in order bear their sins, appease His wrath, and make peace between God and sinners. Because of Jesus Christ, the God who has the power to crush me does not terrify me like the baboon. Instead, he has become my cleft, my rock of ages. For that, I am grateful."

*****************************************************************************

After Toastmasters was over, I got into a discussion with a mother and daughter who were visiting the group. The mother is an evangelical Lutheran who loves the Lord. Her daughter still avows some of the basic truths of the faith, but has determined that she doesn't believe certain portions of the Bible--especially the ones dealing with sexuality. Surprise, surprise. Welcome to my generation.

She briefly mentioned that we can't really trust the Bible because there are so many translations. I told her that in seminary, we are trained to study the ancient Greek and Hebrew, derived from the many ancient manuscripts of Scripture, and no, the major translations have not deviated from the ancient manuscripts.

Next, she talked about the command in Leviticus concerning the stoning of homosexuals, and how some arbitrarily want to keep that law (very few would actually say that) while dismissing other Levitical laws. I told her that most people, including most evangelicals, butcher Leviticus. It's laws were not meant to be normative for all of humanity. They were meant for Israel, the one God-endorsed theocracy after Eden. That theocracy is over, and God is equipped the state as His agent of justice (Rom. 13) and the Church as his agent of saving mercy (Matt. 5).

And for the people of Israel, Leviticus was meant to show them the great gap between a holy God and unholy people. Every little thing that reflected the fallen nature of mankind, from a man's seed spilled upon the ground to a woman's menstruation, carried with it a penalty or time of purification in order to remind the people of the vast difference between them and God. It is no surprise then that at the heart of all these laws was the sacrificial system, which stressed the need for sin to be atoned for and picturing the coming Savior.

I told her about the reboot of our discussion Meetup in Menomonee Falls (now called "The Real Happy Hour") and what we hoped to accomplish with it (charitable discussions about deep and dirty issues). She loved the thought of people who are "pro-gay" and "anti-gay" having charitable discussions.

Again, I challenged her on her descriptions. Unlike what our culture tells us, we are not defined by our sexuality. The term "sexual orientation" didn't even come into existence until Freud used it about 150 years ago. Our culture may have collapsed the distinction between who we are and what we do and now defines us by our sexuality, but our identity goes much deeper than our behavior.

She understood what I was saying, because she earlier told me that she was struggling with her identity and the question: Who am I? I told her that before she asks that question, she needs to ask who has the right to define her identity? Is it her right, or that of her friends or family? Or is it God, who can hide our lives in Christ so that our identities are untouchable by the whims of this world?

She is now pumped for the Meetup group. And I simultaneously became friends with an evangelical mother and her wayward daughter. Speaking of which, I am excited that they were at Toastmasters together. Parents, what do you do about a wayward child? (1) Unconditionally love them. (2) Pray for them. (3) Don't equivocate on the Gospel. (4) Continue to enjoy life with them. (5) Never, ever give up hope.

One day, the Prodigal may be ready to come home--may they know that they have a home to come back to!

A Picture of Army Life

(At least the chaplain's version of it.)

The morning formation was filled with bleary eyes. Some of the soldiers, like me, had traveled great distances to be at this formation. Others worked the overnight shift at their civilian job and got little to no sleep at all. We were called to attention by a firm but clearly compassionate First Sergeant, who gave the SP (departure) time and instructions concerning what needed to happen before then.

The driver for each vehicle would need to PMCS (preventative maintenance) his humvee prior to aligning in a convoy for departure. All other soldiers would be gathering their rifles and equipment, which they would be carrying all weekend. As a chaplain, my goal is most often "battlefield circulation." I weaved my way between the humvees, my breath turning to ice, greeting and encouraging the drivers and perhaps removing a chop block or oil drip pan as an added gesture.

I also stood alongside the soldiers awaiting their rifles. I borrowed a knife from a soldier (they all have one in Wisconsin) to open a box and get my MRE (pre-packaged meal). Another one let me know that he was a Lutheran and hoped to be a Lutheran minister. I mentally filed that information away for later.

Another young soldier ran into me--one who I hope will eventually be my chaplain assistant. We constantly joke about how he is one of the few black soldiers in Wisconsin. The fact that there are so few is sometimes a source of discomfort for him, but his ability to joke about it has endeared him to a good number of troops. He is also a sincere believer and his previous job in Indianapolis was as music coordinator at his church. He is a master of the keys--both piano and organ.

The humvees were lined up--time to roll. I hopped in, ready to better acquaint myself with the soldiers in there with me. Riding shotgun was our BC (battalion commander). She is new, but has already won over the soldiers. She has deployed three times, takes her work seriously, talks with the soldiers, and on this morning, was serving as ground guide for our vehicle--what lower enlisted soldiers usually do. Oh, and she also had her fourth kid in five years in October.

Riding next to me in back was a medic who just left active duty with the 82nd Airborne. I asked him when he deployed, eyeing his right shoulder patch (which reflects a deployment). 2013. "Wait a second--were you at Camp Phoenix?" A nod. He was part of the group that replaced our security force--Task Force Guam. I likely met this soldier over there as I eagerly embraced the 82nd guys--my brother had once been one of them.

I soon found out that he and his wife--both deployed to Camp Phoenix with different units--were CrossFit fanatics and friends with Dave and Dana Lyon. They were there on post with me the day Dave was blown up. Like me, they took it hard. "I deployed to Kandahar," the medic told me, "where we were engaged in a lot more combat. But there was something about Kabul--and the idea that a car packed with explosives could obliterate you at any moment--that made it worse."

When we arrived at Ft. McCoy, I hopped out of the humvee. Slurp. Slurp. That was the sound of my boots--the ones my brother wore with the 82nd Airborne 15 years ago--sinking into the mud. My feet were constantly wet, and my boots caked in mud, for the next three days. The rest of the day was like a whirlwind. Every one of my units from around the state was gathering for these three days of training. There would end up being about 580 of my soldiers on the ground, and I had not met the vast majority of them.

Of course, with that many, I mostly pass people by while exchanging greetings and smiles. Every so often, I was able to insert myself into a conversation. But everyone has is arriving, has an assigned task, and conversations are difficult to come by. At one point, I took a break, went to my tent, and called a troubled soldier who hadn't come out for this exercise. At first, she was stand-offish as she was with everyone else who had tried to contact her. When I told her how sorry I was for her struggle, and that I had grown up on anti-depressants, her tune changed. She let me pray for her.

That night, at the BUB (battalion update briefing) I addressed the BC and all of the assembled company commanders and NCOs, announcing the chapel time and offering a prayer. Before and after the meeting, I talked with two other captains who were new to the unit. I ended up bonding with them, which would be important later in the weekend.

Early the next morning, I caught a ride with the BC and the sergeant major as they toured all of the different "lanes" (work sites) where the soldiers were engaged. Still trudging through snow and sludge, I watched as a group of soldiers took off on a land navigation course, equipped with snow shoes. Later, I hunkered down in an MRAP (an awesome armored vehicle that I sometimes traveled in on deployment) while our engineers blew up a tree so that it fell at a 45 degree angle, perfectly blocking a road. They are good at what they do.

As they were preparing for the explosion, I talked with a few of the soldiers and learned that they were from our Wausau unit. This unit had a hell of deployment in 2010, losing one soldier to a sniper (Private Justin Ross--mentioned in a previous post), with most every other soldier experiencing several different IED (road bombs) blasts and the ensuing injuries and PTSD. They were surprised I knew the name Justin Ross. I won't forget it. They won't forget that I remembered it.

Next, we arrived at the cross country ski lane. This event was as much about PT (physical training) as it was an actual training exercise. They were in between groups, so the BC and I jumped on skis and headed out. A medic accompanied us and walked ahead of us the whole time. For two first-timers in snowy sludge, it was pretty pathetic. Three times the BC fell (I fell once), and never did she make a noise. She birthed four kids. She can get up from the snow. I told her that I had noticed the way she studies her soldiers and carefully analyzes their words. She was struck with the accuracy of my comment--said offhandedly--and watched as I got to know and care for the medic alongside of us.

A few minutes later, the sergeant major--from Wisconsin--casually slid by each of us, wishing us a good day. It reminded me of the bike trip that was instrumental in my conversion, when young girls would pass me on the road, ringing their bells and telling me to "Keep it up!" Freakin' sergeant major. As we neared the end, I saw him ahead and tried my best to run in the skis, flailing in the process, in order to beat him. A newly arrived unit watched the chaplain declare a new finish line on the spot and dive past the already-stopped sergeant major to reach it.

The final stop was with our unit from La Crosse, which was conducted house-to-house clearance operations. I handed out candy as they prepped for their mission, and watched video footage on their performance with them afterward. While there, I counseled a soldier who had messed with his meds the prior week and went to a very bad place, mentally. I made sure he was bouncing back.

When we arrived back at the TOC (tactical operations center), I was exhausted and surely looked like a brain-dead zombie as I chatted with the two new captains. It was then that I was notified that I needed to "de-conflict" the coming morning's chapel service with the other units' SP times. Apparently, they were mostly leaving before my service time at 0800. As we say in the Army, "semper gumby" (always flexible). The BC and sergeant major would be addressing the whole battalion that night--I would announce a brief 20 minute service immediately afterward.

But, as could be expected, things didn't work out that way. The soldiers were exhausted, and though the BC was quick in her remarks, the sergeant major--who is about to move to a different unit--gave a one hour lecture on what it means to be an NCO. His remarks were sincere and inspiring, but I watched the soldiers struggling to stay away. When he finished, I shouted to the assembled soldiers--"There will be a five minute chapel service over at the chapel right now!"

With that I hurried to the chapel tent, which smelled like a giant foot, and doubted anyone would show. My opportunity was lost. A moment later, the two new captains walked in and sat down. "We wanted to give you moral support," they said. Just before I started, I asked them to remind me of their religious backgrounds. "Baptist," one said. "I will talk to you about it later," said the other.

I preached for five minutes from 1 Timothy 1:15-16--"Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the worst. But it was for this very reason--that in me, the worst of sinners, He might display His unlimited patience as an example for those who might believe and have eternal life."

I had five minutes, so I gave the basics of the Gospel. It starts, and hinges, on the person of Christ Jesus and His work to save sinners. As Christians, our testimony begins with "I am the worst." And we rejoice in our broken-hearted identity, because Christ shows the world His perfect patience through us. We are fools who show forth His wisdom; Weaklings who show forth His strength.

They hurried off and I swept out the chapel (since we would be leaving the next morning). As I was about to leave, my prospective chaplain assistant came by and said he couldn't find the place. I brought him into the tent and did the five minute sermon just for him. He then helped me finish cleaning the tent. Subconsciously, I remembered: It's not about the numbers, but the names.

Late that night, like the night before and most nights of my deployment, I talked with my wife. She is always fighting a battle of her own when I am gone. It is lonely and overwhelming, especially in a new place. The second night I was gone, my boy's favorite Sunday School teacher came over and helped my wife put him to bed. On Sunday morning, another couple came over and helped my wife get the kids ready for church. After church, a young couple had my family over to their house along with two other young couples. The Lord took care of my family while I was gone. Beautiful.

While my wife was receiving help with the kids on Sunday morning, I was packing my gear, cleaning my tent, saying farewell to hundreds of soldiers, and getting ready for my own journey home. When we arrived, the bitter wind forced the soldiers to huddle close as they received initial instructions. Just before leaving, the sun broke through the clouds and the soldiers happily received their closing instructions. I went by each vehicle of soldiers just before departure: "The Lord bless you and keep you."

On our way back, the four soldiers in our vehicle had a deep discussion about reintegration (returning from a deployment) and mental health. We all shared some of our grief at the soldiers we had lost and talked over ways to improve the system. At one point, the BC said "Chaplain, I am already hearing wonderful things about you from our soldiers." "If we ever deploy ma'am, rest assured that I will do all that I can to take care of our soldiers."

The soldier next to me from the 82nd told me that as he wrestled with the loss of Dave and others, he wished that he had more people to talk to. He was glad that I was the chaplain for his unit. I thought of my brother, whose time in the 82nd ended so bitterly, and saw a glimpse of God's providence.

We arrived back at the unit, and the initial routine of the weekend reversed itself--rifles were cleaned and put back in their racks; humvees were cleaned, topped off, and secured. I was socially exhausted and given permission to slip away for a few. I hopped in my car, and drove around town, along bluffs, over mighty rivers, and back--all within 20 minutes, and all in complete silence.

When I returned, I gave a suicide prevention brief. The soldiers have received the exact same brief about 100 times. I dropped the script and told them the brief would not help anybody. It's about relationships. People don't take their lives because of deployments. They take their lives because the fabric of love--family--that would normally propel them out and receive them home had disintegrated. Relationships are the foremost cause of suicides, and foremost reason for their prevention. And because the family is in shambles, soldiers need to step up and care for one another.

Two soldiers came up to afterward and told me that it was the best suicide prevention brief they ever received. That is likely because it was real.

I fervently hoped that we would release early, but we ran a bit late and the BC wanted me there to the very end in case there was a counseling need. I totally understood, but I realized that with a 3.5 hour drive, every lapsed minute meant the greater likelihood that I wouldn't see my kids before bed.

As I drove into the night, I hovered around 77mph (seven over the limit), listened to podcasts, and avoided all stops. I arrived home long after my children went to bed. I gave my wife a hug and learned that my son might still be awake. I poked my head into his room. He had turned the light on and was hiding underneath a blanket. I gently removed the blanket--"Hey buddy, I missed you so much. I love you." "I love you, Daddy. Go night night?" "Go night night, buddy." I tucked him in, kissed him, and turned out the light.

Safety in Skepticism

I love how God displays His wisdom in His providence. So often, seemingly mundane encounters or conversations end up being so much more.

I met with a guy from a local non-profit the other morning to talk about ways in which I can support his work. I don't know how he found out about me, but when he reached out to me, he mentioned that he had also been a service member (Marine and Ranger). He knew the right hook.

We planned on having coffee at Ninos. Closed. We walked down the street to Purloin. Closed. So we walked still further, back to his car, and took off for Panera. I don't know how we got into philosophical and religious topics, but I shouldn't have been surprised. He was just as energetic and talkative as I am.

For three hours, we discussed seemingly every facet of religion. It was far from a controlled conversation--he just skipped from one grandiose claim ("the Old Testament god seems a lot more realistic than the New Testament one") to another ("no one really knows what is true anyway"). This guy is really good at undermining other peoples' claims, but it's hard to poke holes in his when he just makes then one after another without taking a breath.

Eventually, I just blurted out "You just made a lot of HUGE claims! And it sounds to me like you're just picking out pieces of religious you like from an a la carte line and making it a part of your own religion of personal experience!" Thankfully, because he's a fellow happy warrior, he took the jibe with good humor. He acknowledged that his claim that we can't truly know anything was based on his own assumption, and it didn't need to be questioned because he is his own authority.

He was refreshingly honest. Our discussion stretched back from Panera to his porch to his kitchen (with a delicious-looking chocolate liqueur on the counter). Before I left, I told him that I would keep an eye out for ways to help his non-profit. I also asked him if he would be interested in joining, and perhaps even help leading, the discussion Meetup that I started.

The Meetup has a huge following, but no one comes to the events. I have already asked a young man at my church who is great at bar room conversations to help me reboot the group. Now, this guy will help as well.

You might wonder why I would ask someone who is not a believer by any stretch to help lead a group that I hope to use to advance the Gospel. Well, for one, ownership breeds commitment. He won't just be attending, but leading. Second, others--regardless of belief--will be more willing to come if they know that there is place for them at the table. He would show that. Finally, in order to avoid overwhelming people, it is usually necessary to take an indirect approach to the Gospel (i.e. Why is Christmas the worst time of year?) and try to navigate to a proper end. If people with different beliefs are hosting the discussion, we can be more direct in topics pertaining to Christianity--What is truth? Was the world created? Is there a transcendent law? Etc.

The next night, after wonderful vision-casting sessions with my fellow pastors at Falls Church, I led a last minute running Meetup, and was joined by a runner who is one of our consistent participants. We have chatted during our runs before, but remained relatively superficial. About halfway through this run, he asked me how my other Meetup was going. I told him about the present dilemma (plenty of followers, but no participants). We talked about the purpose of the group and the importance of people knowing why they believe what they believe.

I told him what the guy the previous morning told me--that people only believe what their parents believe. "That seemed true in Wisconsin," I told him, "where folks seem to remain Catholic or Lutheran their whole lives, but my wife and I each grew up in areas that were in certain ways several generations removed from the church. In order to believe, we had to rebel against our cultures." This was my segue into asking him the all-important question: "So what religion were you raised in?"

Answer: Non-denominational as well as Pentecostal. He said that his dad was still a strong believer (and he admires his dad to no end), but he wonders if his mom converted to Christianity with the belief that it would stabilized her marriage (which it did). He called himself agnostic. "Don't get me wrong," he quickly added, "I do appreciate Christianity." In Christianity, he sees an element of charity that he sees nowhere else. He also hates when people attack Christianity, especially atheists, who are unwilling to question their own assumptions. "Not a bad critique," I told him.

"So you're a skeptic of the skeptics?" I asked. "I guess you could say that," he replied. The kicker was what he added, "I just don't think people can really know what is true."

And with that, the second friendship was formed in two days with a guy who who is utterly skeptical about any truth claims. I could have replied to this second guy as well, "How do you know we can't know? Will you be your own skeptic?"

Skepticism is not new. The Enlightenment, for one, was built upon skepticism. Rene Descartes really started the Enlightenment when he took it upon himself to disregard every truth claim he knew and start over with his own, independent mind and the remark "I think therefore I am." But the Enlightenment displayed the same hypocrisy as today's skeptics. It was skeptical of truth claims it didn't like (especially from religion), but not skeptical about its own skepticism.

In that era, the one un-scrutinized claim was that truth started with the independent human mind. Today, the one un-scrutinized claim is that truth starts with the independent human experience--"I feel therefore I am."

How convenient! Everything outside of you is exposed to withering critique, but nothing inside of you. You are always safe--from scrutiny, critique, truth, meaning, and eternal love.

Whether you seek to create paradise with your mind or with your heart, you will only find a wretched wasteland. Nothing within the human person has any truth, meaning, or beauty beyond that which is given by God. As the Christian singer, Keith Green, once sung: "You can run to the end of the highway and not find what you're looking for. No, it won't make your trouble disappear."

The truth is, this world operates on a sense of truth (Rom. 1). And for truth to be truth (or as Francis Schaeffer called it, "true truth"), it must exist outside and above the individual person. That means we can't start with "I think" or "I feel," but with "Where can it be found?"

In God's Word, the Bible, we find the one place where God both reveals His truth to mankind (in "baby talk" as Calvin calls it). We also find the one Person, truth incarnate, who bore the penalty for man's intellectual insubordination so that man might know the truth, and be set free. Thank you, Jesus!

Catholics and Protestants: Some Basic Differences

For our most recent adventure, a number of us from Falls Church took part in a community chili cook-off. Out of 13 competitors, the top-10 were recognized. We made the bottom-3. :)

As with so much of life, however, there were much more meaningful storylines stretching through the course of the event. For one, our church has successfully participated in another community event. Ten of our members were there, and a number of them helped out. Second, those that helped out did so in accordance with their God-given gifts. One man made the chili while a couple of younger ladies made the sign. About half a dozen people took turns manning the table. Third, most of these volunteers were young adults, showing that stereotypes have plenty exceptions. Fourth, there were a number of encouraging conversations that took place and plenty of cards handed out.

One of our young adults went to the basement bar after the event upstairs (in the American Legion building) and started talking with one of the older ladies at the bar about "fire chili" (apparently made with beer and whiskey). The lady doubted that such a chili would ever appear at this event because of the religious types. Our young man laughed and said that he was a part of the church group. Another Christian stereotype dashed!

Perhaps my favorite conversation was with a Catholic friend. He learned that I was a Presbyterian pastor and asked about the difference between Catholics and Presbyterians. "I know the Lutherans don't pray to Mary like we do," he added. I told him that all Protestants, regardless of denomination, believe that there is one mediator between God and man, Jesus Christ (1 Timothy 2:5).

I told him that the primary difference between the two concerns the work of Jesus Christ. Catholics generally view the grace of Christ as what gets them across the line, while Protestants generally believe that our salvation is Christ's work from start to finish. An old Catholic saying goes something like this: To those who do what is within themselves, God will not deny grace. As Salty the Songbook (a giant blue cartoon songbook, not a priest) later sung: Do your best and God will do the rest.

Note that I said "generally," as there are some Protestants who have little to no understanding of the full nature of God's grace in Christ and some Catholics who do. Also note that the difference is often not in the concepts--both believe in "grace," but in the meaning behind the concept. Don't go accusing your Catholic friend of not believing in grace! But we as Protestants believe in grace alone (Galatians 2:15-16; Philippians 3:1-11).

At the same time, this partial view of grace that many hold to leads to what many of your Catholic friends will often call "Catholic guilt." Many Catholics feel the vast weight of the law upon their shoulders--a weight they can't cast off with any amount of penance. It's no wonder. We all know that God is holy and that we are left without excuse, but we suppress that truth in unrighteousness (Rom. 1). It is tempting to tell ourselves that we play a role in our salvation, but the temptation turns to terror as we realize that all we can earn is wrath.

In countering the Jesus-plus grace of the Judaizers, Paul gently reminds us that it was for freedom that we are set free--so let us not submit again to a yoke of slavery. Since Christ has perfectly kept the law in our place, we are now free to live for God's glory and enjoy Him forever. If Christ's work wasn't complete, then we are not free.

Even these basic distinctions are broad and could be contested, but hopefully this gives you, the reader, a few points of contact. Talk about grace and the passages mentioned. Talk about guilt and the hopeless task of carrying a weight that will inevitably crush us apart from Christ.

These conversations with folks in the community are a constant joy for me, and more and more, they will be a constant joy for the people of Falls Church: An OPC

Update and Prayer Letter

Greetings, Brothers and Sisters.

Thank you for your continued prayer and encouragement. The missus and I are tremendously blessed, knowing that we have friends and prayer warriors interceding for us from SoCal and Seattle to Sterling, Virginia. We know our prayers are not in vain, because our Savior's work was and is not in vain.

In the first quarter (Oct-Dec) of my two-year call to Falls Presbyterian Church (now referred to as "Falls Church: An OPC Family"), I sought to integrate myself within both the church and community in order to get to know both better, as well as establish some outreach "baby steps" within the church.

During that time, I joined the American Legion and Toastmasters, took over two local Meetup groups, and visited a host of local social spots. I also started visiting with individuals from the church and community and by the time we settled into our new home, joined my wife in having folks over on a regular basis.

With our outreach "baby steps," individual members of our church were given the opportunity to distribute invitation cards to our church, thus making their faith a more explicit part of their daily lives. The church also had a booth at the town "Christmas Market," where we distributed hot chocolate and free literature. We also hosted two unofficial 5k runs, which each drew about 10 people.

A few highlights:

1) We had 18 volunteers at the Christmas Market, and interacted with several dozen people.
2) Our Facebook is now followed by over a thousand people (was at 120).
3) The running Meetup group is followed by 160 people (was at 110), now draws between 4-8 runners on a regular basis, and has become known as the official Falls running group.
4) The discussion Meetup group has exploded from about 120 followers to 320.
5) We had a housewarming party with 40 people--20 from the church and 20 from the community.

These are all venues, direct and indirect, for building relationships, trust, and communicating the Gospel. As you have read in this blog, there have been lots of hard-hitting Gospel discussions by God's grace.

We are now halfway through the second quarter (Jan-Mar) and my goal here centers upon hospitality. I recently taught a class at church on this topic, reminding our people that hospitality is not only at the heart of God-glorifying fellowship within the church and God-glorifying outreach outside of the church, it is at the very heart of God himself.

To this end, my family has upped our own hospitality, hoping to better know friends and strangers alike, as well as model what a blessing this lifestyle brings! Over the past three Sundays, we have hosted our new "Growth Committee"--four couples who are committed to the aims of outreach, hospitality, and discipleship. They will join us in spreading the hospitality culture.

This will include promoting the church in the community, arranging events, guiding and engaging visitors at the church, providing meal invites to members and visitors alike, and nurturing the bonds of our church on a deeper level. They will be helping me represent the church at the community's annual chili cook-off this Saturday, and started rolling on the hospitality.

A few highlights and additional plans for this quarter:

1) Through my work with a local political organization, I am receiving invitations to pray, read Scripture, and offer devotions at local political events and through local outlets.
2) Just today, a member of our running group set up a Facebook page for the group. This will not only raise the profile of the group, but demonstrates a level of commitment to this group, making it more self-sustaining.
3) This Sunday, we will have a member at the back door, ready to guide any visitors through the church and connect them with people who are ready to receive them. We will also start having a Sunday lunch invitation at the ready for any visitors.
4) A graphic designer is creating a new logo for the church in consultation with the session. A logo, like a website and FB page, is for the 30 year old what a properly manicured lawn and outdoor sign is for the 50 year old.
5) We will be sending out mailers and actively promoting our senior pastor's Easter sermon series. In conjunction with the new measures to fully welcome visitors, we are ready to receive those who the Lord brings to us in this high-visitation season.

John Piper once said that missions exists because worship does not. In the same way, outreach exists because worship does not. Our aim at Falls Church is to draw more worshipers to the living, loving God of the universe through Jesus Christ.

Please pray for the following:

1) That the Lord would encourage our hearts with His grace, regardless of visible outcomes or perceptions about progress.

2) That the Lord would keep us faithful in our methods and hopes--seeking His glory first and foremost!

3) That the Lord would make us fervent to employ every gift of this diverse body in service of His kingdom.

4) That the Lord would give us wisdom with each interaction, event, and endeavor.

I will keep you posted with some details along the way, and expect another report and request for prayer in a few months!

Yours in Christ,
Pastor Stephen Roberts (Evangelist, Falls Church; Chaplain, US Army Reserves)

Love is Rebellion

At Toastmasters last night, I gave a speech on some of my experiences in Afghanistan and Dave Lyon, the young man who was killed. I won't repeat the speech here because many of you have heard me speak of Dave on many separate occasions.

But I concluded on this note: As much as the loss of Dave hurt, I am grateful to know that love still exists. This world is broken, all love is in some form broken, and one day, all love will be love lost. Yet, even in this type of world, love still remains. What a testament to God's grace!

Later on, we had our "Table Topics" time when random subjects are introduced and people are asked to speak about them. I raised my hand for the subject of special memories from a past Valentine's Day.

On Valentine's Day in 2004, my nephew was born. Now I have lots of nephews and nieces at this point (which is awesome!!!) and each of their births were special. The really cool thing about this birthday is that it connected love with life. The natural outworking of love is life.

In the Bible, we are told that "love is as strong as death" (Song of Songs 8). One practical outworking of that comes in the form of life. Death in this fallen world is inevitable, but as long as love persists, so does life. Love becomes our rebellion against our fallen condition and the death that ensues.

Connecting my formal speech with my brief Table Topics one, I cherish again the fact that the Lord, knowing he would take close His hand upon Dave in this world and open it upon the world to come, gave Dave and Dana their final couple of days together in Afghanistan. There is also a logic behind the baby boom that so often occurs after a deployment. Soldiers see the rising tide of brokenness crash over precious lives, so they come home and start anew. To put it crassly, the pleasures of the marriage bed are combined with the purpose of the marriage bed--to turn love into life.

John 11. Jesus, looking upon the tomb of his friend Lazarus and two grief-stricken sisters, wept with great, heaving sobs. The Son of God made flesh, weeping. Why? Did He not know that He would raise Lazarus up just a few moments later? Sure He did, but He also knew what the world was like when it was created through Him--what men had made of it--and it all ended with a tomb. He felt the brokenness in His mortal bones. He then waged a rebellion of His own against death. Surely He knew the words following "Love is strong as death...Many waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods drown it." With that, the Lion roared, the stone rolled away, and the dead man was raised.

Soon after, the Lion would become the slain Lamb--an object of ridicule before a rebellion world. But through that humiliation, He would forever turn back the tide of death upon itself. He will forever be the slain Lamb and the roaring Lion. And one day, the Lion will return and bring death to death and life to life.

All of this, we consider with the reminder: God shows His own love for us in this, while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. His supreme act of love for death-destined sinners was to bring them to life through His perfect life and sacrificial death. With His own resurrection from the tomb, He reminds us that a final Day is coming. Until that Day, dear Lord, when You rend the heavens and roar...

Hospitality and the Heart

In part, the Lord took a hold of my wife's heart through a family welcoming her into their home. She was always welcome for dinner. At times, she was still hungry afterward. She realized years later that they all ate less so that she could eat with them. In that same home, she found a copy of C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity on her best friend's floor and the walls of her heart soon came tumbling down.

Already a young Christian in college, I was still amazed by my first "Sunday dinner." A friend on my floor invited me to church and his parents' house. After church, I enjoyed his parents' rich hospitality, completed with a reading of a devotion and a time of prayer. This was a normal occurrence for this family. For me, it was a foretaste of heaven.

When the Lord drew us one week to Grace OPC in Vienna, VA, three families invited us over for meals. We knew that we had found our new denominational home.

Hospitality is such a vital part of the Christian life and the body life of the Christian church. By welcoming others into our homes, we show a commitment to relationships and their depth. In our homes, visitors will notice aspects of our brokenness--not nearly so easy to conceal as in public--and find the fruits of grace and repentance.

And by letting our guard down and welcoming others into our homes, we give them permission to let their guard down as well. Conversations about the weather turn into conversations about the well-being of our hearts. These sorts of conversations deepen the bonds of Christ-centered fellowship within the church; they also establish bonds with those who might one day become Christ's sheep.

So far, we have welcomed about a dozen families from the church and community into our home in Wisconsin. Each time, we have seen struggles, dreams, and reflections of God's grace that we would not have seen otherwise. Each time, we come away blessed.

Perhaps that is the most important thing you should know about hospitality. It is the hosts who are most blessed. We see the Lord's work--both incredible and ordinary--in the lives of others and are left in wonder and awe. With those who do not yet believe, we see the savage wounds that could be so sweetly tended to by our Savior.

Speaking of our Savior, remember that He presents before His people a lavish table of His grace. He also prepares rooms in His heavenly home for us. All this for a people who had no room for Him in their inns or their hearts--only a space between two criminals on a cross. What the hospitable God has done for His inhospitable people! How that truth can transform even the hardest sinner!

I would encourage everyone who reads this post to open their homes and their hearts to the family of God and the strangers within their midst. The Lord may use your hospitality to change the hearts of others. But know this, He will certainly use it to change your heart.