So I've seen Jenna's and Phil's photos from Africa, and I've seen people's photos from East Asia, and I guess I can't help but compare our experiences. Don't get me wrong -- I definitely believe in the value of the work I'm going into. And a lot of it is and will be dull, difficult, and repetitive, but that's the nature of a lot of meaningful endeavors. Every valuable experience will have its share of days without thrills or cheer.
There are just days when I want to feel like I'm making a difference.
Some days I want to go to Africa. Or the inner city. Some days I want to be Jerry Maguire. There's an exchange from the movie Platoon where one character mockingly calls another one a "crusader," and I think that sentiment often appeals to me.
Which is why I've thought about the Peace Corps and third world aid, I've thought about becoming a high school teacher, I've thought about joining the staff of Campus Crusade for Christ, I've thought about seminary, I've thought about a lot of things. The best times of my life have been volunteering to make a difference. The Boy Scouts was the most valuable experience I had growing up, and the reason I loved it was that I was having fun and doing something meaningful every time I did something with the Boy Scouts, be it teaching leadership or showing boys how to perform first aid, or organizing community service, or helping promote nature conservation. Church in the Park and ministry with Houston's homeless was one of the best experiences I had at Rice. I had a terrific time in El Salvador because we were really doing some good work for the small village of El Pital. I like being a tourist, but I've always loved doing things more than watching them.
I wonder sometimes how much of that is me needing to feel useful. Because that would be selfish. People in other countries and cultures didn't sign up to be an "experience" for me. Any profession offers the chance to do meaningful work. I don't want to be an engineer, but engineers do invaluable work to make our cars safer, our buildings sturdier, our water cleaner, our infrastructure more efficient, and our society better supported by improved technologies. That's certainly no less important than helping put together some concrete bricks in Central America, and if it were, I couldn't really be the judge of that.
After some thought, though, I don't think I really need to feel useful. I think I really just want to be useful, and I want to be sure that my life is being spent to good use. The distinction is subtle, but it's there.
Is it ironic to think about this issue so much while employed in a profession that most people by default associate with value and purpose? Yes, and no. That discussion probably won't go online, but you can ask me about it.
I think if you're like me, you've wanted to go to Africa before. But if you're going to be honest about it, even the people in Africa probably want to go to Africa at some point too.
ADDENDUM:
The Grace Bible Church sermon for this week, "The Glory of the Routine" actually helped a lot. God is faithful, and I'm glad He sometimes gives immediate answers when we feel like we need them.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Ezekiel 20
First thing, recently I was challenged by the most serious spiritual discussion available online.
Ezekiel is a really trippy book to read as a whole. It's not like Ecclesiastes where it's tough because it seems to have a unilateral depressing message. It's tough because there's a lot of bizarre and seemingly contradictory stuff in here, and I think it's important to realize that it's perhaps not so much a delineated doctrinal exposition as a series of communiques from God to His people. Much of the book is written in repetitive verse, almost as if the verses were hymns or psalms, and in Chapter 19, the text explicitly says, "This is a lamentation and has become a lamentation." To me, that's important because it demonstrates the personage of God -- the fact that He has emotions and passions, and isn't the lifeless thing we always forget He isn't.
In Ezekiel 20, the following stood out to me:
The chapter opens with God telling Zeke in verse 4 to "make known to [the elders of Israel] the abominations of their fathers." Which is interesting because a good chunk of the previous book was about how people were going to be judged for their own sin or righteousness, rather than the inheritance of their predecessors. My inference is that God has a good sense of using family history as a close-to-home cautionary device.
Verses 3-4: "Son of man, speak to the elders of Israel, and say to them, 'Thus says the Lord God: "Have you come to inquire of Me? As I live," says the Lord God, "I will not be inquired of by you."'" And then in Verses 36-37: "'And I will bring you into the wilderness of the peoples, and there I will plead My case with you face to face. Just as I pleaded My case with your fathers in the land of Egypt, so I will plead My case to you,' says the Lord God."
I think that's crazy. The first description is God basically saying that He's above our questioning, and the second is Him saying that He pleads His case with us, as if to persuade us to come back to Him. Yet both are true: God is far beyond our comprehension, our righteousness, and our judgment, so who are we to say, as Israel's leaders did, "Where is God?" And at the same time, God's mercy pleads with us and humbles itself to come to us to bring us back home. If I wanted to, I could probably make up some statement to make the two thoughts more consistent, but why bother? It's awesome the way it is. I think we try too hard sometimes to make God more "consistent" so He'll make sense to us, but you always lose important details when you force linear models of nonlinear truths. (Thank you, Rice engineering.)
(By the way, in case you weren't completely aware, you got RICKROLLED!)
And here's something God says three times in Ezekiel 20: "Then I said, 'I will pour out my Fury on them and fulfill My anger against them in the wilderness.' But I acted for My name's sake, that it should not be profaned before the Gentiles, in whose sight I brought [the Israelite out of Egypt].
How would the Gentiles have seen God, based on the history of Israel? Certainly, they would've been pretty cued in to His power and strength as Israel was blessed to their miraculous exodus from Egypt and equally miraculous conquest of Canaan. What if God had destroyed Israel for her rebellion? Would some Gentiles have said, "That's what happens to those who disobey the wrath of a terrible and awesome God?" Were those the same Gentiles who might have seen God's mercy and said, "So apparently you can defy God and get away with little or no consequences?" And to the unbiased observer, that might be a reasonable thing to say, except that there were definitely consequences -- Israel was defeated by her enemies, her people led into captivity many times, and God never abandoned her.
But an important point here is that God says he acted for His name's sake. That His name would be glorified. For anyone who agrees with anything John Piper says, that's critical, since the chief end of man is supposed to be the glory of God. One thing I think God had in mind here was the salvation of the Gentiles -- that the nations around Israel would marvel at both God's power and His faithfulness and be inexorably drawn to Him. Sure, God wouldn't be any less powerful if He had said, "Earmuffs!" to the Gentiles and poured out His fury on Israel. He could've redeemed the Gentiles any other way He'd wanted to. But that's not the way He did it. In a sense, He acts for His glory, and in another sense, He acts compassionately for His people. How awesome that "God's glory" and His redemption of the nations go hand in hand!
I still wrestle with what it means to be zealous and passionate for God's glory, and it's an important issue since that's supposed to be the driving focus of our lives. Are we supposed to be like David, who couldn't stomach the Philistines mocking the name of God? How do you react when someone cracks a joke about the Christian faith? They go from obscene ("Why did Jesus get all the ladies? Because He was hung like this!") to the milder variety that pastors tell to start off Sunday sermons, but they all make light of the things of God. I've called people out on that sort of thing before. On the other hand, there's a point of self-righteousness where frowning on other people reflects a prideful, judgmental attitude more than a pure passion for God's glory. Maybe we're supposed to be more patient and loving and smile and forgive until God provides an opening on His timing, rather than hotheads that try to force the magic of the gospel on our own.
There's definitely danger in making it a selfish endeavor. Sometimes in conversation, I've told people not to make light of God, and I think they walk away thinking more about my Christian sensitivity, rather than their own thoughts about an eternal God. But sometimes, I've said nothing and let things go, and I think people sometimes conclude that we don't take our faith seriously if we're not ready to answer for it. Sometimes we can get to the point where we're think we're actually producing God's glory through our glory-filled actions, rather than realizing that everything we do should point to the cross of Jesus Christ.
Appropriately, Ezekiel 20 concludes with the response of Ezekiel: "Then I said, 'Ah, Lord God! They say of me, "Does he not speak in parables?"'"
Ezekiel is a really trippy book to read as a whole. It's not like Ecclesiastes where it's tough because it seems to have a unilateral depressing message. It's tough because there's a lot of bizarre and seemingly contradictory stuff in here, and I think it's important to realize that it's perhaps not so much a delineated doctrinal exposition as a series of communiques from God to His people. Much of the book is written in repetitive verse, almost as if the verses were hymns or psalms, and in Chapter 19, the text explicitly says, "This is a lamentation and has become a lamentation." To me, that's important because it demonstrates the personage of God -- the fact that He has emotions and passions, and isn't the lifeless thing we always forget He isn't.
In Ezekiel 20, the following stood out to me:
The chapter opens with God telling Zeke in verse 4 to "make known to [the elders of Israel] the abominations of their fathers." Which is interesting because a good chunk of the previous book was about how people were going to be judged for their own sin or righteousness, rather than the inheritance of their predecessors. My inference is that God has a good sense of using family history as a close-to-home cautionary device.
Verses 3-4: "Son of man, speak to the elders of Israel, and say to them, 'Thus says the Lord God: "Have you come to inquire of Me? As I live," says the Lord God, "I will not be inquired of by you."'" And then in Verses 36-37: "'And I will bring you into the wilderness of the peoples, and there I will plead My case with you face to face. Just as I pleaded My case with your fathers in the land of Egypt, so I will plead My case to you,' says the Lord God."
I think that's crazy. The first description is God basically saying that He's above our questioning, and the second is Him saying that He pleads His case with us, as if to persuade us to come back to Him. Yet both are true: God is far beyond our comprehension, our righteousness, and our judgment, so who are we to say, as Israel's leaders did, "Where is God?" And at the same time, God's mercy pleads with us and humbles itself to come to us to bring us back home. If I wanted to, I could probably make up some statement to make the two thoughts more consistent, but why bother? It's awesome the way it is. I think we try too hard sometimes to make God more "consistent" so He'll make sense to us, but you always lose important details when you force linear models of nonlinear truths. (Thank you, Rice engineering.)
(By the way, in case you weren't completely aware, you got RICKROLLED!)
And here's something God says three times in Ezekiel 20: "Then I said, 'I will pour out my Fury on them and fulfill My anger against them in the wilderness.' But I acted for My name's sake, that it should not be profaned before the Gentiles, in whose sight I brought [the Israelite out of Egypt].
How would the Gentiles have seen God, based on the history of Israel? Certainly, they would've been pretty cued in to His power and strength as Israel was blessed to their miraculous exodus from Egypt and equally miraculous conquest of Canaan. What if God had destroyed Israel for her rebellion? Would some Gentiles have said, "That's what happens to those who disobey the wrath of a terrible and awesome God?" Were those the same Gentiles who might have seen God's mercy and said, "So apparently you can defy God and get away with little or no consequences?" And to the unbiased observer, that might be a reasonable thing to say, except that there were definitely consequences -- Israel was defeated by her enemies, her people led into captivity many times, and God never abandoned her.
But an important point here is that God says he acted for His name's sake. That His name would be glorified. For anyone who agrees with anything John Piper says, that's critical, since the chief end of man is supposed to be the glory of God. One thing I think God had in mind here was the salvation of the Gentiles -- that the nations around Israel would marvel at both God's power and His faithfulness and be inexorably drawn to Him. Sure, God wouldn't be any less powerful if He had said, "Earmuffs!" to the Gentiles and poured out His fury on Israel. He could've redeemed the Gentiles any other way He'd wanted to. But that's not the way He did it. In a sense, He acts for His glory, and in another sense, He acts compassionately for His people. How awesome that "God's glory" and His redemption of the nations go hand in hand!
I still wrestle with what it means to be zealous and passionate for God's glory, and it's an important issue since that's supposed to be the driving focus of our lives. Are we supposed to be like David, who couldn't stomach the Philistines mocking the name of God? How do you react when someone cracks a joke about the Christian faith? They go from obscene ("Why did Jesus get all the ladies? Because He was hung like this!") to the milder variety that pastors tell to start off Sunday sermons, but they all make light of the things of God. I've called people out on that sort of thing before. On the other hand, there's a point of self-righteousness where frowning on other people reflects a prideful, judgmental attitude more than a pure passion for God's glory. Maybe we're supposed to be more patient and loving and smile and forgive until God provides an opening on His timing, rather than hotheads that try to force the magic of the gospel on our own.
There's definitely danger in making it a selfish endeavor. Sometimes in conversation, I've told people not to make light of God, and I think they walk away thinking more about my Christian sensitivity, rather than their own thoughts about an eternal God. But sometimes, I've said nothing and let things go, and I think people sometimes conclude that we don't take our faith seriously if we're not ready to answer for it. Sometimes we can get to the point where we're think we're actually producing God's glory through our glory-filled actions, rather than realizing that everything we do should point to the cross of Jesus Christ.
Appropriately, Ezekiel 20 concludes with the response of Ezekiel: "Then I said, 'Ah, Lord God! They say of me, "Does he not speak in parables?"'"
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Cheerful Givers
I think we all run into a moral dilemma the first time we encounter a homeless man asking for change on the streets. We can live such sheltered lives, and then reality can smack us right outside our front door. Usually, people's thoughts are that you don't really know what the homeless-in-question is going to spend money on, be it drugs or worse, so while it's okay and even admirable to buy them some Whataburger (they don't have those here in South Carolina), they hesitate to give them any money.
It's not an easy dilemma. My default approach used to be to give them five or ten dollar bills from my wallet, and I think I had good moral reason to do so. I used to rationalize, "Well, if they spend the money unwisely, then that's on them, but if I don't give them what I can, then that's on me."
There's solid biblical precedent for that -- Ezekiel 18 stipulates that "the righteousness of the righteous shall be on himself, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be on himself." In other words, I can only be responsible for the decisions I make to give or not to give, not what someone does with my charity. Matthew 25 says that when Jesus returns, He will say, "Inasmuch as you did to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me." James 2 claims, "If a brother or sister is naked and destitute of daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Depart in peace, be warm and filled,' but you do not give them the things which are needed for the body, what does it profit?"
I based this approach partially on my experience with the homeless. My freshman year, at a Denny's in Dallas, my friends Jesse and Austin and I sat down with three homeless guys and paid for their meal in exchange for about an hour's worth of conversation: their names were Devil, Dave, and some other colorful name. They told me their life stories, and if I were to take them at face value, then they and I have shared the same circumstances. Devil said that he was born "with a silver spoon in his mouth" and described how his life had taken a downturn with a series of bad decisions. The other two were Army veterans, with Dave leaving the Army as recently as the Gulf War. They talked about the concrete morality of living on the street -- the territorialism, the camaraderie, the daily dependency on and hope for the provision of food or warmth that drove some to God and some away. It was an eye-opening evening because I realized we had a lot in common. I think we start to get into trouble any time we think we're above a bad decision -- we are not above any vice -- so the fact that they came from the same life I was living was a humbling testimony to God's grace and a cautionary admonition to live wisely.
The next year, my friend Austin and I ran into a homeless guy under a bridge in Dallas. We decided to bring him some fast food and talked with him for a while -- it turns out he knew Devil, the man we'd met last year. After we'd talked for some time, the man looked around, and then reached into some bushes and pulled out two boxes of food. He gave them to us. We were puzzled to receive food from a homeless man, but he explained that the boxes were full of pasta and rice and other dry starches, and since he didn't have a stove, they were no good to him, so we might as well re-distribute them. It's not every day you lift two boxes of food from a homeless guy.
One of the best things I got to experience at Rice was Church in the Park. I probably only went less than a dozen times, but each time was memorable. A group of five to ten Rice students would either cook up or collect a large amount of food in galvanized steel trays, then take them across Main Street to Hermann Park where a large group of homeless people would've already congregated. What followed was not an event of charity, but a collective meal and church service, usually led by one of the students. But I got to meet all sorts of people and see the reality of their needs, but more than that, the reality of who they were. Former Marine captains, electrical engineers, drug addicts, people from all over the country. Were there deserving poor? Probably, if there is such a thing, but there were undeserving poor too.
Nowadays when I see a homeless person on the street, I try to sit and talk to them and find out where they're coming from and where they're going, and see if I can help with a few kind words. I'm making myself out to sound really altruistic, and I don't mean to -- I've just realized that with all the needs and situations and perspectives of the people out there in the streets of the world, to simplify the question down to "do I give them money or not" is unsatisfactory, oversimplifying, and kind of patronizing. Jesus lived with these people -- He was effectively homeless while He was on this earth -- and He looked at them and He loved them.
Recently, I've been introduced to some compelling arguments for not opening the wallet whenever I see a homeless person. For one thing, I'm told, we do have limited resources. We have limited time and money, and if we invest it in one thing, then we won't be able to spend it elsewhere, so we do have to be good stewards and prioritize what we do with God's resources. It's true. I mean, it's true both ways. Jesus said not to cast pearls to swine. I probably shouldn't empty my bank account and give it to the next decrepit-looking person I see. In 2 Corinthians 11:9, Paul emphasizes that it was edifying for him not to burden the church at Corinth financially -- we don't want to run ourselves or our families into debt by mindlessly giving, or make it so we're unable to give anymore. At the same time, I think there's room for error in thinking, "I can't give any money away now -- I'm saving it to support missions next summer." Who knows where you or your money will be next summer? We can severely limit what God does with us if we don't allow room for Him to guide us. I guess in sum, I think we should be wise and shrewd, but we border on self-righteousness if we don't ever allow ourselves to give.
Here's another argument, and it's a better one. What's best for the homeless? I mean, what a question. Some may only need to accrue some cash to jump-start finding a job and a place to stay or to get back to their families. But for some, they do need to hit rock-bottom. Kurt told me about when he was working with a homeless ministry in another city, and the ministry had everything for the homeless -- free education and training, a sheltered place to stay, food provisions, job connections -- and all people had to do was to pledge to give up their vices of drugs, violence, and the other things that were killing themselves and hurting those around them. But many homeless refused -- they could get hundreds of dollars a day begging on the streets, and they openly stated that they'd rather live their own lives, since they could afford to get away with it. Kurt mentioned the time he saw one of them actually take out a fat wad of bills to help pay for a pizza. By giving these homeless money, well-meaning donors were inadvertently funding people's ability to live in sin, instead of letting them hit a rough patch that might have spurred them to repentance and redemption.
I've seen some of that too. Some people would rather live on their own terms than repent and be transformed -- they like their vices and they can get away with living their lives that way. Don't we all?
But I have to be careful. Whenever I can rationalize myself out of doing something legalistic, I swing the pendulum to the lazy side. When I came to the opinion that there was nothing particularly pertinent about 10% tithing, I said to myself, it's not necessarily important that I give exactly 10.0%, and within a matter of weeks, I wasn't giving anything. Lazy. It was the same for a while with encountering the homeless -- after talking to Kurt, I accidentally made an excuse for myself not to give money away, and as a result, I began to feel relieved when I didn't have money in my pockets because then I could guilt-free say, "Sorry, don't have any cash," instead of mumbling something ashamedly and incomprehensibly when I did have some cash on me. How messed up is that? It's the opposite of love.
I think I'm ready to start giving money again. I'm going to be smart about it, and I'm going to try to see the whole picture. Whether or not there are good shelters in the area to point people to. Whether or not this person has a family to take care of him, or whether he knows that he has a God who loves him. The money is only part of the picture of loving people. But the real truth is that the money is not mine, and my life is not mine -- it'll all have to start with surrendering them to God.
It's not an easy dilemma. My default approach used to be to give them five or ten dollar bills from my wallet, and I think I had good moral reason to do so. I used to rationalize, "Well, if they spend the money unwisely, then that's on them, but if I don't give them what I can, then that's on me."
There's solid biblical precedent for that -- Ezekiel 18 stipulates that "the righteousness of the righteous shall be on himself, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be on himself." In other words, I can only be responsible for the decisions I make to give or not to give, not what someone does with my charity. Matthew 25 says that when Jesus returns, He will say, "Inasmuch as you did to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me." James 2 claims, "If a brother or sister is naked and destitute of daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Depart in peace, be warm and filled,' but you do not give them the things which are needed for the body, what does it profit?"
I based this approach partially on my experience with the homeless. My freshman year, at a Denny's in Dallas, my friends Jesse and Austin and I sat down with three homeless guys and paid for their meal in exchange for about an hour's worth of conversation: their names were Devil, Dave, and some other colorful name. They told me their life stories, and if I were to take them at face value, then they and I have shared the same circumstances. Devil said that he was born "with a silver spoon in his mouth" and described how his life had taken a downturn with a series of bad decisions. The other two were Army veterans, with Dave leaving the Army as recently as the Gulf War. They talked about the concrete morality of living on the street -- the territorialism, the camaraderie, the daily dependency on and hope for the provision of food or warmth that drove some to God and some away. It was an eye-opening evening because I realized we had a lot in common. I think we start to get into trouble any time we think we're above a bad decision -- we are not above any vice -- so the fact that they came from the same life I was living was a humbling testimony to God's grace and a cautionary admonition to live wisely.
The next year, my friend Austin and I ran into a homeless guy under a bridge in Dallas. We decided to bring him some fast food and talked with him for a while -- it turns out he knew Devil, the man we'd met last year. After we'd talked for some time, the man looked around, and then reached into some bushes and pulled out two boxes of food. He gave them to us. We were puzzled to receive food from a homeless man, but he explained that the boxes were full of pasta and rice and other dry starches, and since he didn't have a stove, they were no good to him, so we might as well re-distribute them. It's not every day you lift two boxes of food from a homeless guy.
One of the best things I got to experience at Rice was Church in the Park. I probably only went less than a dozen times, but each time was memorable. A group of five to ten Rice students would either cook up or collect a large amount of food in galvanized steel trays, then take them across Main Street to Hermann Park where a large group of homeless people would've already congregated. What followed was not an event of charity, but a collective meal and church service, usually led by one of the students. But I got to meet all sorts of people and see the reality of their needs, but more than that, the reality of who they were. Former Marine captains, electrical engineers, drug addicts, people from all over the country. Were there deserving poor? Probably, if there is such a thing, but there were undeserving poor too.
Nowadays when I see a homeless person on the street, I try to sit and talk to them and find out where they're coming from and where they're going, and see if I can help with a few kind words. I'm making myself out to sound really altruistic, and I don't mean to -- I've just realized that with all the needs and situations and perspectives of the people out there in the streets of the world, to simplify the question down to "do I give them money or not" is unsatisfactory, oversimplifying, and kind of patronizing. Jesus lived with these people -- He was effectively homeless while He was on this earth -- and He looked at them and He loved them.
Recently, I've been introduced to some compelling arguments for not opening the wallet whenever I see a homeless person. For one thing, I'm told, we do have limited resources. We have limited time and money, and if we invest it in one thing, then we won't be able to spend it elsewhere, so we do have to be good stewards and prioritize what we do with God's resources. It's true. I mean, it's true both ways. Jesus said not to cast pearls to swine. I probably shouldn't empty my bank account and give it to the next decrepit-looking person I see. In 2 Corinthians 11:9, Paul emphasizes that it was edifying for him not to burden the church at Corinth financially -- we don't want to run ourselves or our families into debt by mindlessly giving, or make it so we're unable to give anymore. At the same time, I think there's room for error in thinking, "I can't give any money away now -- I'm saving it to support missions next summer." Who knows where you or your money will be next summer? We can severely limit what God does with us if we don't allow room for Him to guide us. I guess in sum, I think we should be wise and shrewd, but we border on self-righteousness if we don't ever allow ourselves to give.
Here's another argument, and it's a better one. What's best for the homeless? I mean, what a question. Some may only need to accrue some cash to jump-start finding a job and a place to stay or to get back to their families. But for some, they do need to hit rock-bottom. Kurt told me about when he was working with a homeless ministry in another city, and the ministry had everything for the homeless -- free education and training, a sheltered place to stay, food provisions, job connections -- and all people had to do was to pledge to give up their vices of drugs, violence, and the other things that were killing themselves and hurting those around them. But many homeless refused -- they could get hundreds of dollars a day begging on the streets, and they openly stated that they'd rather live their own lives, since they could afford to get away with it. Kurt mentioned the time he saw one of them actually take out a fat wad of bills to help pay for a pizza. By giving these homeless money, well-meaning donors were inadvertently funding people's ability to live in sin, instead of letting them hit a rough patch that might have spurred them to repentance and redemption.
I've seen some of that too. Some people would rather live on their own terms than repent and be transformed -- they like their vices and they can get away with living their lives that way. Don't we all?
But I have to be careful. Whenever I can rationalize myself out of doing something legalistic, I swing the pendulum to the lazy side. When I came to the opinion that there was nothing particularly pertinent about 10% tithing, I said to myself, it's not necessarily important that I give exactly 10.0%, and within a matter of weeks, I wasn't giving anything. Lazy. It was the same for a while with encountering the homeless -- after talking to Kurt, I accidentally made an excuse for myself not to give money away, and as a result, I began to feel relieved when I didn't have money in my pockets because then I could guilt-free say, "Sorry, don't have any cash," instead of mumbling something ashamedly and incomprehensibly when I did have some cash on me. How messed up is that? It's the opposite of love.
I think I'm ready to start giving money again. I'm going to be smart about it, and I'm going to try to see the whole picture. Whether or not there are good shelters in the area to point people to. Whether or not this person has a family to take care of him, or whether he knows that he has a God who loves him. The money is only part of the picture of loving people. But the real truth is that the money is not mine, and my life is not mine -- it'll all have to start with surrendering them to God.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Further Bulletins as Events Warrant
- I just ready Ezekiel 16 for the second time, and it might be my new favorite chapter of the Bible. Like many have said, there's both art and science in communication, and the way that book tells the story of God and His people is art that touches the soul.
- And that's about as corny as this blog will ever get.
- I was thinking of sending monthly updates to people back home. I thought, yeah, I'm just going to nuclear power school, not a mission or project or ministry or anything, but if I'm supposed to live a missional life, then I should have some stuff to write about, right? Well, my average day these days is, I wake up at 5:30am, go to work, study hard until 7:30pm or so, with short lunch break, then repeat. So I don't know if I can make updates to my life any more interesting without lying shamelessly.
- My next entry will probably be on the homeless.
- If anyone has any extra Don Miller books, I'd like to have them, so send them to me. Now that I've gotten over the fact that they're just good reads and honest thoughts, rather than actual solid doctrine, I've started to enjoy them without that chip on my shoulder that precluded previous enjoyment thereof. That's what this blog is, too -- honest thoughts, not doctrine by any means.
If there's anything I would say of my approach to ministry, at least while at Rice, it would be that I keep things real. I'm nothing special at many things -- I don't have Mithun's insight or Peter's boldness or Kurt's wisdom or Pat's initiative or James's diligence or David's kindness, but I do think one thing that I bring to the table is that I try not to front. I try not to say things I don't really mean, and I try not to make empty statements. I'm not cynical -- I think what's real is that God loves us and has a wonderful plan for our lives, so that's cause to be genuinely joyful. I call people out on things, including myself. I keep things real. Or at least, I like to think so.
- And that's about as corny as this blog will ever get.
- I was thinking of sending monthly updates to people back home. I thought, yeah, I'm just going to nuclear power school, not a mission or project or ministry or anything, but if I'm supposed to live a missional life, then I should have some stuff to write about, right? Well, my average day these days is, I wake up at 5:30am, go to work, study hard until 7:30pm or so, with short lunch break, then repeat. So I don't know if I can make updates to my life any more interesting without lying shamelessly.
- My next entry will probably be on the homeless.
- If anyone has any extra Don Miller books, I'd like to have them, so send them to me. Now that I've gotten over the fact that they're just good reads and honest thoughts, rather than actual solid doctrine, I've started to enjoy them without that chip on my shoulder that precluded previous enjoyment thereof. That's what this blog is, too -- honest thoughts, not doctrine by any means.
If there's anything I would say of my approach to ministry, at least while at Rice, it would be that I keep things real. I'm nothing special at many things -- I don't have Mithun's insight or Peter's boldness or Kurt's wisdom or Pat's initiative or James's diligence or David's kindness, but I do think one thing that I bring to the table is that I try not to front. I try not to say things I don't really mean, and I try not to make empty statements. I'm not cynical -- I think what's real is that God loves us and has a wonderful plan for our lives, so that's cause to be genuinely joyful. I call people out on things, including myself. I keep things real. Or at least, I like to think so.
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