Christmas: Worst Time of the Year?

This was the topic I proposed for my "Dinner, Drinks and Deep Discussions" Meetup group last night. Christmas is often presented as the happiest time of the year, but it is also the season when depression and suicides spike. Why?

One person signed up--a young, black woman a few years older than me. Her profile announced that she was a single mother of three and was excited to have a social life again.

With that in mind, when I arrived at our site--the American Legion bar--I thought I had misfired badly. This woman, largely unfamiliar with Menomonee Falls (91.6% White with Native American coming in at number two at 3.5%), would be walking into a stuffy, downstairs bar filled with older, blue collar white men who like to hunt. I got there early and a number of the men were already slurring their speech. (Granted, I know most of these men, and care for all of them.)

I warned my new friend about the dynamics when I met her upstairs, and she didn't seem to mind. I was on pins and needles when we went down there. The reception was warm (several guys started chatting with her and she got a free drink for her first visit), but likely overwhelming. The guys talking to her (buddies of mine) were loud and didn't give her much room to speak.

I kept trying to cut in, but even my big mouth kept getting drowned out. Eventually, I was able to start directing the conversation a bit. Not the topics mind you--just the tone. A couple of the men--one older and one younger--started discussing what would bar someone from Heaven. The younger, Roman Catholic friend joined my new female friend in contending that suicide was unpardonable because there was no opportunity to repent before death. The older, Vietnam-vet friend joined me in contending that our salvation is not conditioned on our works, but on those of Christ.

Suicide is murder and is indeed a sin. But Jesus tells us that my anger is tantamount to murder (Matthew 5) and is every bit as worthy of death as murder. We are all worthy of death and damnation (me most of all!), but our salvation is not based on the quality of our repentance, but the quality of Christ's sacrifice. Two of the enduring images from Hebrews is Christ as the great high priest, always interceding on behalf of His people, and Christ as the once-for-all sacrifice, covering His people once and for all from their sins.

Pretty intense conversation to step into with a black single mom from inner city Milwaukee, and an old vet and young man with no filter from the boonies!

Well, talking about religion would obviously not be a taboo among these folks. I was thankful for that. And as I was counting my blessings, my female friend asked if she was the only person who looked like that (pointing to her skin) who came into the Legion bar. We all immediately chimed in and said "Oh, no. Bob comes in as well." Being able to name the one exception does not help.

So, of course, we started talking about race relations. My young Catholic friend started talking about how he was fed up with everybody stepping lightly around the N-word (he actually used the word). He thought the word was horrible, but also thought the only way to rob it of its power was to take away the mystique and treat it as a crass word worthy of condemnation. Good logical point. But the fact that he kept using the word made me want to curl up in the fetal position, growing up as I did in the DC area. My female friend didn't seem to mind, but engaged my Catholic friend on this issue.

He then also happened to mention that he was a skinhead, but that not all skinheads are racist. In fact, the movement was partially started by Jamaicans. Whether or not he was correct, I was feeling increasingly eager for a second drink.

But--in an incredible God way--invisible bonds were forming between these three very different people. They all discovered that they had suffered from severed relationships. The vet's wife had walked out on him and his two little children and he raised his kids alone. The young Catholic man's dad left when he was little. The young woman's kids were all born and raised out of wedlock, and the two fathers are almost entirely out of the picture. She had to raise them on her own.

I have watched "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" about twice a day over the past several days with my boy, and felt like I was watching something comparable to the changing of the Grinch's heart in that bar. I saw the older vet shed tears as he talked about how hard it was to raise his kids alone. And at the end of the discussion, my female friend said something along the lines of "I loved this. Everybody else here is a mess, and I feel like I can be myself. I would love to do this again."

She also told me that she had never known a pastor who would share a drink with people, be messy with them, and be accessible and not judgmental. Like the rest of those in our conversation, I confessed that I am sick and broken. My only hope, and my assured hope, is found in my Savior.

And for the first time, one of these events will translate into visits to the church. The old vet, who was going to do Christmas alone, will be having dinner with my family tonight and joining us at the Christmas Eve service. And while the single mom attends another church, she told me not to be surprised if she comes and visits our church after the new year. I prayed with her before she left.

Is Christmas the worst time of year? We all agreed that it is a pretty dark and broken time, but not irretrievably so. There is something about the hope of Christ that changes everything.

The Christmas season is like a black canvas, awash in the dark stains of loved ones lost, relationships ended, and dreams unfulfilled. But the blacker the canvas, the more stark that shining Star shines over sinners like us. The hope of Christ splashes light and life across the landscape. And one day, there will be no more night (Rev. 22).

Another Crazy Weekend

On Thursday, my wife got a flat tire. We have been all over the road ever since!

A dear sister from the church drove Lindsey and Tabby back to the house and drove me back to the car. I got there at the same time as the tow guy, who turned out to be a member of the Wisconsin Army National Guard, and we enjoyed a good chat as we put on the spare. On the way home, a member of a local political party invited me to come give a prayer for a gathering in which packages would be put together for deployed soldiers.

On Saturday, I prayed for the assembled gathering just before the senior Senator from the state of Wisconsin gave some off-the-cuff remarks. Our retired pastor saw my face on a local TV report on the gathering. More importantly, I was able to reach out to a number of former vets and even met a chaplain who served half a century ago! Sadly, I had to throw my business card at him as I raced home to tend to my sulky son, who was happily rehearsing for his first ever Christmas play.

Later that day, over 40 people joined us for a housewarming party. Just over 20 people came from the church, and just under 20 from the community. People from all walks of life, engaged in conversation. Beautiful! My wonderfully-introverted wife put on a Martha Stewart-like spread, and engaged folks for 5+ hours (after wrestling with the sulky son earlier in the day).

One neighbor is a recent widower and lives alone. I really hope we become close with him. I can't imagine what life would be like without my wife and little ones. Our God is so gracious to those so bereaved! May this dear man be like Anna after her long years as a widow, or Simeon when his old eyes finally beheld the Christ-child (Luke 2)!

Late in the night, I did one final run through of the second part of our "Gospel According to Ruth" series at the church. I preached on our dear sister, Ruth (from the Old Testament, between Judges and 1st Samuel), who knew the pain and brokenness of the Christian life, yet was sustained by grace through faith in Christ until she arrived in the heavenly fields of Boaz. I needed conviction and comfort from that precious passage of God's Word as much as anyone!

Last night, I watched my little boy perform in his first Christmas play. He was nearing bedtime, and mussed his hair in his fatigue. He was also surprisingly subdued, watching his flamboyant girl-friend twirl her dress through every him. And I loved every minute of it.

This was the same boy who cried in my ear as a newborn. Those same cries were haunting echoes to me as I missed most of his first year of life and the attendant joys of those many "firsts." I remember saying goodbye to him when he visited Ft. Hood with my wife, wondering if I would ever see him again. His pictures were taped all over my walls in Afghanistan. I remember the first night I saw him in Baltimore, grinning at me. That night, I turned in bed to see him standing and staring at me.

I am now a father with growing kids and I cannot wait (though I do so with natural fear and trepidation) as they grow in knowledge of and love for the Lord. May he learn through God's tender shepherding what it took me numerous hard providences to learn. May he grow in grace without the grief that finally broke me of just a few of my idols. May God give me wisdom as I join my wife in shepherding this young boy and his baby sister. We have frail hands and faint hearts. But we also have a faithful God.

Tired. Spent. Blessed.

Is Christianity A Drug?

This is drawn from a speech I gave at Toastmasters two nights ago:

"The eminent German economist, Karl Marx, once called religion an "opiate for the masses." Is he right? I would like to answer that question in two ways.

First, it can be. We come up with all sorts of "opiates" to deal with hardships in life--from the brokenness of our natures to tragedies that beset us. Religion can be a convenient way to baptize the opiates and gives us convenient ways to deal with these hardships.

Second, Christianity is the furthest thing from an opiate for the masses.

It is the further thing, first, because it is an insult to human pride. Jesus said that He came for the sick, not the healthy; the sinners, not the righteous. Nobody likes to hear that they're broken--that they can't please God in and of themselves. Yes, we have inherent dignity, but that dignity is corrupted. Christianity is the one religion that says, in essence, "You suck." It is the religion of the broken heart. That is why Christ was put upon a cross. He told us that we were great sinners in need of a great Savior. We killed him for it.

Christianity is not an opiate for the masses because it calls men to wage war against themselves every day for the rest of their lives. On a daily basis, I cannot simply accept each of my thoughts and desires for what they are. I have to consider what it means to obey God and glorify Him. And that requires me, each and every day, to wage war against myself. Christians have often been accused to waging war against others in the name of religion. But Biblical Christianity recognizes that our war is "not against flesh and blood, but against the powers and principles, the spiritual forces of darkness..." And the greatest kingdom of darkness is within our own hearts.

Finally, Christianity is not an opiate for the masses because Christians will inevitably be marginalized. Some would argue that Christianity has often gained great political and cultural power, but we must separate a "Christian culture" from the Christian faith. Moral principles do not make Christianity. As stated before, Christianity is an insult to human pride--telling us that we are great sinners in need of a great Savior. We do not like to hear that, nor do the people we tell about it. To be a Christian is be marginalized.

In conclusion, Christianity is not an opiate for the masses. It is a tough pill to swallow. Yet it is a pill worth swallowing. Those who have embraced Christ have found that He alone is truth, beauty, power, and meaning. It is a pill worth swallowing, but in Christ, we have life and life to the full."

How do you think I did? I am always open to feedback--positive and negative. This is a messy business and I am growing like the rest of you!

The man charged with evaluating me for the evening gave a very thoughtful and detailed evaluation. Stylistically, he loved my poise, energy, and ability to express all of my points without notes. He also thought that I talked to fast and that some of my sub-points and the impact of my arguments was lost in the process. At the same time, he repeated my argument and main points--which means that he heard a defense and basic propagation of the Gospel! Even though it was implicit, he also believed he heard a call to action: Embrace the Gospel.

Also stylistically, our "grammarian" noted that I started sentences over again seven times. That's a lot. What that means is that I raced to start a sentence, it wasn't coming out right, and I backtracked and straightened it out. That is also a consequence of my energy and speed.

Virtually every person had the same response to style--impassioned and personal, but too fast. This has always been an issue for me, and is even more of an issue in the slower-paced Midwest. Please pray that I would find a way to better control my tongue and better reach people with the Gospel!

As for substance, one evaluator believed that the message was "welcoming yet firm." Always a fine balance between warmth and clarity! Two people noted that the content could prove objectionable--one wondered if the subject would alienate, and another believed the tone "seem really appropriate for a sermon situation." Another fine balance--truthfulness and tact!

Another net gain in all of this--it leads to conversations after the meeting. One member explained to me that he was raised Lutheran, but left the faith once he became an adult. Some others have indicated that they are fellow believers and are cheering me on. It is worth risking marginalization!

I must admit, I have a tough time swallowing the pill at times. That is due to the fact that I have a tough time with myself. I cannot stand the remaining power of sin within me, and that fact that it will not be fully put to death until I am with God in glory. So I must take my own medicine--not the opiate but the pill, because I know that Christ is worth it and that nothing else compares to Him.

Are All Religions Basically the Same?

A few nights ago, I met with a new friend from one of the Meetup.com groups for my first ever fish fry. The fish was good; the conversation was even better. Yet, I had to stop the conversations mid-stream at one point due to a claim that this friend made (one I hear all the time): All religions are basically the same (ARBS, for short).

I find this claim astounding for a number of reasons (and my friend backed off this claim later):

1) No religions teach this. It is neither propounded by their texts or adherents. People have even fought wars (sadly) over the clear differences between religions. So these enlightened observers must know something that the "sacred texts" of these religions don't teach, and know more than devotees of these religions do.

2) This enlightened knowledge must come from somewhere. Religious claims are rightfully rooted in authoritative religious texts. Christians have the Bible; Muslims the Q'uran. Without a source of authority, our ARBS friends become an authority unto themselves. Pretty audacious to invest themselves with such divine authority.

3) What is the essential teaching that apparently unites all religions? Responses vary only by degree: love, the Golden Rule, etc. In other words, the essential teaching is ethical (a code of conduct). Yet, all religions root their ethics in metaphysics (above-physics, things higher than the human realm). Christians, for example, "love because He (Christ) first loved us." Behavior doesn't happen in a vacuum. It arises from more basic beliefs. So the essential element in all religions according to our observers is not essential to any of those religions.

4) Any good religion must offer some form of accountability, right? Something that calls us higher--to people and places beyond ourselves? Yet for those who make love the central teaching of all faiths, they can define love and exhibit it however they wish. The Golden Rule can easily become a cynical quid pro quo--"You better tolerate my behavior as I tolerate yours, or else!" There is no inherent call to submission or obedience to God or of self-denial toward one's fellow man. As with much of the "spiritual, but religious" movement, such a view enables each person to define spirituality around him/herself. Convenient.

5) Each religion is grounded in some form of authoritative source, and that authoritative source is concerned first with metaphysics, then with ethics. If the meat of a religion is found in its metaphysics, it would be fair to ask where religions differ in this regard?

I would find a partial point of commonality with the ARBS crowd here in that most religious systems, whether they deal with the Mosaic Law, Nirvana, reincarnation, etc--do believe that there are means by which men can secure God's favor and have a hand in their own salvation. Most every worldview follows the pattern of Plato's ladder, in which men can ascend to "the One" through reason, experience, ethical behavior, etc.

Yet I would also contend that none of these religious systems deal seriously with the world or the human person in their respective states of brokenness. While many religions account for brokenness in this world, they cannot satisfactorily explain how Humpty Dumpty can put himself back together again. It would seem that this ability to re-create the human person would belong only to man's original Creator--not to any Utopian scheme with no basis in reality.

Christianity is the one religion that replaces Plato's ladder with Jacob's ladder--where God Himself in the person of Jesus Christ comes down to be broken for man's brokenness and to offer man wholeness to a degree in this life and in its entirety in the life to come.

Some call religion an opiate for the masses, and for many, religion is simply a self-justifying system to placate festering consciences. Yet Christianity offers no such opiate. It does not offer you a shoulder massage of platitudes about being a good person. It tells you that you are sick and desperately need a remedy that you can't reach. It tells you that you are a great sinner in need of a great Savior.

No, Christianity is not an opiate. Rather, it is a tough pill to swallow. That's why the human race put Christ on a cross. We could not accept either the diagnosis from God or the divinely-supplied remedy. Yet that act of rebellion was performed in accordance with God's supreme love. Christ endured our insults so that we could endure the insult to our pride, bow the need before our Savior, and find in Him the way, the truth, and the life.

Talk about a satisfactory--even breathtaking--basis for our love. We can only rise up because He first came down.

Following Under the Influence

Last Wednesday morning (the 2nd), I was sitting in a Starbucks, enjoying a wonderful conversation with the retired, long-time pastor of Falls Presbyterian Church, Neil Tolsma. On the front-end of my own ministerial journey, I love collecting the wisdom of those on the tail-end. Pastor Tolsma is an emotional Dutchman who grew up on a dairy overlooking the New York City skyline, sat under the teaching of some of the most eminent 20th century theologians, and labored for decades in relative anonymity for the sake of the elect--known and unknown (2 Tim. 2:10). He's a book that writes itself!

Little did I know how that cozy time of edifying conversation would give way to the raw, wind-bitten nature of Army life! On Friday afternoon, after Pastor Ben helped me pick up and bring home our new dining room table, I left my wife with a valuable helper (thank you, Gram!) and sojourned across Wisconsin to my unit in Eau Claire. While I love hotel rooms (thank you, Army!), I go stir-crazy in the silence and have to keep the TV on the whole time. Oh, how I hate silence (except in prayer, but even then, I often pray out loud).

My Saturday at the unit began relatively normal. I mingled with soldiers and engaged in some basic apologetics with one skeptic-friend. I then drove my (borrowed--thank you, Pastor Ben!) car through the open entrance of the the barbed wire gate in order to carry some boxes of books and other belongings inside. Pretty soon, I was ensnared in another conversation (I love it!) with a fellow believer and one of the few black men in small town Wisconsin (by his account and my observation).

My brigade chaplain then arrived with two chaplain assistants in tow to take me 1.5 hours away to Ft. McCoy so I could give the benediction for a change of command ceremony. Really, Chaplain Bacon was just using the ceremony as an excuse to come and spend time with me. A wonderful older brother in the faith. We walked past my car, through the barbed wire gate, to an awaiting vehicle. In the early evening--after a wonderful time with those brothers--I gave the benediction and visited with the commands of my units throughout the state (Eau Claire is simply the headquarters) and came back in the dark. I arrived at the Reserve Center, to find my car trapped behind the barbed wire.

I had the men take me to my hotel instead, and mapped my course to foot-march the 3.7 miles to the Reserve Center in full uniform at 0700 the next morning. I texted a soldier at the unit to let the command know that I would be late in any case. I ordered a wake-up call for 0630, then called a soldier who had prevented his brother from committing suicide a few days prior. The soldier was still shake up (obviously!) and he let me pray with him over the phone. I don't think I've ever had a soldier refuse in circumstances like those. I got to bed at a late hour, dreading the wake-up call that was drawing closer by the minute.

At 0720, I woke up to the startling realization that the wake-up call never...well...roused itself to do its work. I was about to turn into a spinning flurry of activity when I received a call (0721) from a female soldier who was struggling with depression. Out of a dead sleep, I spent the next 35 minutes counseling and caring for her. She talked openly of her brokenness and also of her interest in various religions and their common teaching on the "law of love." I spoke to her of a human brokenness--that she knows all to well--that can't by nature conjure up such love. The love of God is found in Christ being broken for broken people. (Remember, it was 07-whatever so I wasn't nearly that articulate. I sounded like Barry White had swallowed a frog.)

I got to the unit in time to lead a chapel in the company commander's office. About half a dozen soldiers attended, as well as a young boy (it was family day). I offered a 15 minute sermonette on the true nature of sin and the need for the Gospel from the aftermath of David's affair with Bathsheba. Soon after, I jumped in the car and drove back across the state--stopping briefly to grab lunch to-go from Culver's and arrive at my Milwaukee unit with 20 minutes to spare before I need to lead their chapel.

It turns out that the Milwaukee unit is really just 15 minutes from my house, in the same complex as the recruiters' company. I will be there often, Lord-willing. I introduced myself to the 200+ soldiers, then enjoyed another brief chapel service with about 20 of them. I preached on the man born blind from John 9 and the need to understand and embrace the true Gospel (not the feel good, "I'm a good person" version). I had a good discussion with several of them afterward.

I went home, grabbed my little ginger-bread boy and rushed off to the evening service at Falls. I was bleary-eyed and absent-minded as I tried to keep the little one in check, especially as he began pushing furniture and yelling during the congregational prayer. I put him in the nursery. The cool thing--no matter how he behaves--he always loves to pray and sing hymns with Daddy in the car. He will pray and sing simultaneously with me--as if he knows the words--then cries out "I pray!" or "I sing!" Adorable and a reflection of God's glorious grace.

That blurry weekend really found its culmination on Monday night, when my wife graciously allowed me to go to a local bar to watch the Redskins on Monday Night Football. Down time? I think not! While my Redskins were working hard to lose to the Dallas football team (I will not use the name), I found out that my bartender is a 10-year vet from my unit! He got put out of the Army after breaking his back in a fall out of a second story window in Iraq (don't ask). We became Facebook friends on the spot (which means we also have to be friends in real life, right?). We also had a great time talking during the course of the game.

The next night, with a bit more rest under my belt, I joined the American Legion for their Christmas potluck. Just before dinner, they asked me to say a prayer. I walked up, and one of the 40 or so elderly people there yelled out "HE'S A CHAPLAIN?" Earlier, one of the vets made sure that I had been carded at the bar. THIS, my friends, is why I grow out my facial hair and grizzled grays in between army drills.

After the potluck, an older woman came up to me and described herself as a widow. I asked her how long. She said 38 years. Her husband was electrocuted in a freak accident in his mid-30s, leaving behind an 11 year old boy and 6 year old girl. This widow wanted to know why that happened. I told her that the better (and more comforting) question is not "Why?" but "Who?". Who did God send to show His heart toward death and His power over death? (John 11). We only have God's Word to deal with such questions--and it is sufficient. And we know that God has the final word over death.

In all of the recent episodes, I remember Paul's words to Timothy in his final letter--"I am chained even to the point of that of a criminal, but the Word is not chained" (2 Tim. 2:8-9). In a week like this, I feel my chains, but keep moving by God's grace. The Word is not chained.

Yesterday, the session formally approved my sermon series on a book of the Bible featuring several other widows: Ruth. For the next four weeks, I hope to show how God works in and through our brokenness to great and glorious ends--if only we will open our eyes. Flyer below, and with that, I bid you all adieu and God's peace.

Churchill

One mark of a great biography is found in the ability to make a very old death newly devastating.

I turned the final page of the final volume on Winston Churchill by William Manchester (really, Paul Reid after Manchester's death), and felt the pangs of the inevitable, yet titanic loss of perhaps the greatest leader of the 20th century.

Here are a few reasons why you should love Churchill:

1) He, and Britain with him, stood alone against a seemingly invincible tyrant in Hitler. In the early 1940's, Hitler and Stalin--the last century's greatest monsters--carved up Poland like a turkey, before Hitler wiped out the rest of western Europe and pulverized England with wave after wave of bombers ("The Battle of Britain"). Remember, the Soviet Union was Hitler's ally, France was crushed with barely a fight, and the United States was entangled in isolationism. Britain stood alone. Yet they stood.

2) Churchill alone was able to call Britain from the moral equivocations of Neville Chamberlain (the previous Prime Minister) to a renewed moral vigor that would sustain them in the dark days ahead. Churchill knew that Hitler was posing both a moral and mortal threat to Britain and the West, and instilled with the courage of his convictions, was able to call Britain to stand upon the vast inheritance of Western civilization and withstand Hitler's onslaught. Only the light of moral conviction and ground courage in such moments, and Churchill lit the lamp.

3) Churchill, unlike the more pragmatic Franklin Roosevelt, saw the threat that Soviet communism posed to the free world and sought to thwart it. To give FDR his due, his pragmatism enabled him to navigate America's isolationism and eventually guide them into the war. He also was dynamic in his own right. Yet, he lacked Churchill's sense of moral conviction--that Western values are just of worthy of our blood as Western peoples. As a result, FDR consistently spurned Churchill in favor of "Uncle Joe" Stalin. FDR's progressive idealism blinded him to the evils of communism and he was unable at times to distinguish true friends and foes. Churchill, on the other hand, worked vigorously to restrain the shadow of Soviet tyranny.

4) He was a modern renaissance man. Not only could Churchill call forth courage in the face of seemingly invincible evil, but he was an unparalleled orator and parliamentarian, an artist of the highest caliber, and a Nobel Prize-winning author. In other words, he was a genius. Few men are endowed with such gifts--and quite a few of them are quite quirky. Even fewer are endowed with the ability to harness such intellectual gifts in order to lead a people.

On January 24th, 1952, Churchill's top aide, Jock Colville, walked in on him while he was shaving. Churchill told Colville that his father had died on that day many years before, and that he would die on that day as well. On January 24th, 1965, Winston Churchill indeed breathed his last. The Queen had a stone placed in the floor of Westminster that simply read "Remember Winston Churchill."

We could do much worse than heed those words and heed the man.

Of Heresy Hounds and Lukewarm Lovers

I was not called up to Falls Presbyterian Church so that I could simply share the Gospel with lots of people of behalf of the church. Rather, I was called to cultivate a culture within the church--a culture that desires to engage the surrounding community to the glory of God.

Such a culture is a direct outgrowth of the Gospel. Think, for example, of the beautiful portrait of God's love for sinners that is found in the Prodigal Sons parable of Luke 15. There, you see a heart that is both able and willing to retrieve a lost sinner at great personal cost.

Yet, while such a culture is a direct outgrowth of the Gospel, it is not an accidental outgrowth. Sinners within the church are not immediately perfected so that they display the very heart of God. Often times, they display the calloused, self-righteous heart of the Elder Brother in the Prodigal parable--unwilling to bear any burden for the "sinner over there."

This self-righteous heart is often manifested through two seemingly opposite personalities: The Heresy Hounds and the Lukewarm Lovers. The Heresy Hounds are not as concerned with salvation and growth as they are with precise formulations of complex truths. For example, some may have known Jesus for a short time, but if they haven't resolved whether they are infralapsarian or supralapsarian, they are to be viewed with suspicion and browbeaten (intentionally exaggerating here).

The Heresy Hounds fit the stereotype of the Elder Brother quite nicely, but the Lukewarm Lovers are just as deadly. The Lukewarm Lovers are willing to open the heavenly gates as far as possible to let people in, but end up forgetting that it is pierced hands that open those gates to some and not others. They are willing to take the Gospel for granted, and perhaps leave people ignorant in their sinful estate.

The church culture that flows from the Gospel and impacts the surrounding community is one that doesn't trample over the cross as part of a moral crusade or go around the cross in order to be sensitive. It brings sinners--inside and outside the church--before the beautiful, horrible cross.

All of that said, part of cultivating that culture is simply getting people from the church out into the community. There is something about being "out there"--often times in uncomfortable situations--that makes believers more dependent upon Jesus and desirous to see Him at work.

On Thursday, a handful of church members joined me for our first ever Turkey Trot. We were joined by one friend in the community. Only one? Jesus certainly doesn't mind only one (Luke 15). Again, sometimes it's just about getting out there!

On Saturday, 17 members of our church joined me at the Falls Presbyterian Church booth at the downtown Christmas market. We likely interacted (briefly) with over a hundred people, handed out Bibles, books, invitation cards, and hot chocolate. I ran into neighbors of mine and chatted with them for a while as well.

I learned a number of valuable lessons about this event for next year (i.e., arrive earlier, hand out cards more often, spread our people out amongst the crowd, better signage, etc), but here are a few blessings from Saturday:

1) About 15% of our church came out to this event they knew nothing about and on short notice.

2) In the process, we all were made a bit uncomfortable.

3) We also raised the profile of the church within the downtown community.

4) We relied upon each other. Outreach is a team sport. There is power in having different people with different gifts, all seeking the glory of the Lord who saved them.

One young man told me recently that he found one of our cards on a lawn he was about to mow. He wasn't sure if that was good news or bad--should we care that our cards are treated like trash? Not at all. Most of these cards--like most business cards--will be thrown away. But it takes a set of hands to throw one of these cards away, and we can pray for those hands. May our cards make their way onto park benches, lawns, and into trash receptacles throughout the Falls!