My Cup of Tea

For those of you waiting with bated breath. . . we did it. Church of the King Austin had its first service. Funny thing about it. . . we didn’t even mean to. It all started last Monday night when I was bedding down for the night, and Mike Ross came rushing into our room to tell me to get ready. I quickly found myself sitting at a game table at my neighbor’s house and buying in the Texas Hold ‘Em pot. It was everything you would expect from an all male weekly poker game. The alcohol was free flowing and talk of mushrooms was nonchalant (and I don’t mean the kind you put in spaghetti sauce). The language was. . . let’s just say colorful. I seriously had to check to make sure I was still a girl when I got home. This is church, you ask? A resounding yes. Because about halfway through the night, the guy to our right asked about our life. After our neighbor choked out the words, ‘Mike is a minister,’ the game changed. (Minister, by the way, is not Mike’s choice of title.) The conversation that followed was Jesus at His best. The best illustration of the joy it brought can be summed up in the question, ‘A minister of what?’ In other words, you aren’t like other Christians. And, the fact that they felt no condemnation or judgment from us is exactly why we seemed different. Our ‘service’ didn’t require us to partake in the revelry at sinful extremes; it just required us to be present. The days following Monday night brought a flood of emotions and so many challenging questions. We realized just how dangerous what we are proposing to do can be. I personally am deceitfully wicked, and left to myself cannot be trusted. If I were to continue in this church of ours, it is highly likely that I will take up some of the sinful nature, because, the truth is, sin is always fun for a season and the temptation might be too much. What would Jesus do? Well, He took 72 baby Christians and sent them into the world. Not the suburbs, mind you. He was sending these men into cities beyond your imagination. These guys could go to the local temples and have sex with prostitutes, all the while claiming it was for the sake of religion. I don’t know a man one who wouldn’t be tempted. Jesus was dangerous! But, He was wise. Why do you think He sent them two by two? It wasn’t to mirror Noah’s ark—it was for their own good and accountability. They had to learn that separation and assimilation are not the only options. They had to learn to stay in the tension. And, believe me, there is tension here. But, the peace of God is in the tension. Planting a church that loves the city of man for the sake of the love of God is the most challenging and exhilarating task God has ever put before me. And, I get to play poker. Praise God.

Let’s just say Jesus is the ultimate pastor. And, let’s get crazy and say He left an example while on earth of what the ultimate pastor should look like. Now, let’s rate your pastor.

1. Jesus was Present. Emmanuel, God Incarnate, God with us. Is your pastor present? Is he with you? Can he engage in your world, or is he always separated by a stage and status? Can you tell he likes you because he wants to hang out with you?

2. Jesus was in Proximity to the people. He ate with them, slept near them, cared for their families (e.g. Pete’s mom-in-law), he grieved with them—He knew them. This is a tough one for pastors. Hard to maintain their ‘position’ and ‘authority’ if they are down in the trenches.

3. Jesus was Powerless. Ouch. He gave up His power to feed His sheep. He served. Always. I can’t help but hear the old refrain “He could have called ten thousand angels. . . “ Yet, he simply put others’ needs before His own. Is your pastor powerless or power hungry?

4. Jesus Proclaimed the Kingdom of His Father. And, He mostly did it with actions. He used thought provoking stories to challenge people to search their hearts. He refrained from 4 point sermons that would soon be forgotten, and touched on the very heartbeat of their lives. He ‘knew’ His people; thereby, earning entrance into their souls with knowledge of their plight and ways of thinking.

So, how did he do? Your pastor, I mean. Feeling pretty good about your ability to rate him, aren’t you? Possibly feeling a little smug that you can now clarify some of the things you never really liked about him. Hold up, Trigger. Hasn’t God called us all to be pastors? I mean, yes, if they are so bold to take on the title, then, by all means, they are calling themselves to a much higher standard; but. . . what about us? Who are we, the ‘general public’ supposed to model? Gotcha, didn’t I? Nailed my ass to the wall, anyway.

(Thank you—and serious acknowledgement—to Alan Hirsch for the 4 P’s.)

If the Motion Picture Association of America is suggesting that we should guide our children, then by all means, it must need to be said. Killing myself laughing at the irony. I have a new realization of the necessity of guiding the teenagers even more than the toddlers now that I have experienced both (at the same time, no less), yet, somehow, we seem to be on shaky ground here. Let’s face it. . . it is just easier to guide them to talk, walk, and pee in the toilet than it is to navigate life. Heck, I am still learning how to navigate life for myself. But, alas, this does not let me off the hook. The best example I can give of guiding my teenager relates on many levels to my last blog about teaching people to ‘hear’ from God. My oldest child recently asked if she could go to a new friend’s house. In her lifetime, she has not been allowed to go to any friend’s house unless we knew the parents personally. So, the easy answer would have been ‘no.’ But in my quest to guide, I said ‘yes.’ After the initial shock wore off for both of us, we had a conversation that went something like this: In less than a year, she will be a legal adult. In less than two years, she will be living away from home attending college. She will be able to go anywhere she wants. So, it is time to learn how to navigate without my absolute power getting in the way. Insert smiley face here. I gave her two scenarios. One: she enters a place where kids and/or adults are doing things that are seemingly bad. She does a ‘gut’ check. She knows the peace of God, and she needs to learn to trust it. If she is in this environment and feels His peace, she can stay. She can even be salt and light just by being present. Two: she enters a place where kids and/or adults are doing things seemingly appropriate. She does a ‘gut’ check. In this environment she feels uneasy, and doesn’t sense His peace, then she leaves. . . without regard to anyone’s feelings but His (this is the harder part for some). Obviously, either of these scenarios can go either way. The point is that she learns to ‘hear’ Him. And, trust that Christ living in her will guide her. So, might I suggest parental guidance for us all.

Hope you have some sort of visual of a rebel with a raised fist. It is official. . . I have been called a zealot. The world zeal actually means passion and fervor. So, while I was initially somewhat taken aback (zealot seems to have a negative connotation), I now realize that to me, this was a compliment. And, given, no less, by someone who just met me in the last couple of months. My latest ‘passion’ has nothing to do with, yet everything to do with church. Bet you couldn’t have guessed. I have become struck by how we mishandle new Christians. The way I see it, the newbie is drawn to the Lord. This would mean that she has the capacity to ‘hear’ from God. The feeling, peace, voice within, et al that drew her in the first place is operating on full tilt at this point. Then, we well meaning Christians begin the behavior modification process. We give her a list of 10 things to do and 100,000 things not to do. We mistakenly guide her to ourselves for answers. I could have missed something, but as far as I can tell, rules are never going to work. Had they worked in the beginning, there would be no need for Jesus. Right? So why do we such a great disservice by not allowing the same Holy Spirit that is inside them guide them? Why don’t we help them cultivate the practice of ‘hearing’ from God rather than going over the rules? I don’t think this is necessarily done with malice. Rather, I think it is done from fear. Fear they won’t conform. Fear they will mess up, and that would be, well, messy. I dare say that perfect love casts out all fear. Maybe we should spend more time staying out of His way. Just a thought. So, let’s give the Power back to the people. I am assuming that is why Jesus sent the Holy Spirit in the first place.

Stinkin love that Journey song. “Troubled times. Caught between confusion and pain, and pain, and pain.” I hope you know it. And, I hope you are singing along—off key, preferably! As for me, I feel as though the American consumer church and I have gone separate ways. And, it has been one of the most confusing and painful things I have ever done. I once heard a great sermon called ‘Separating Faith,’ and the speaker talked about how sometimes God will separate us from people, movements, etc., if He sees them as a hindrance to our commitment to fully follow God. The speaker used the story of Abraham and Lot separating in Genesis 13. For the record, I think Lot gets a bad name most of the time, but we forget or don’t understand the culture of his day. The norm, if you will. Lot was a righteous man (2 Peter 2:6-8), he was just a little too easily swayed by culture and his seeming desire for things. I mean who wouldn’t want the lush valley? Or pretty stained glass building? I feel like the same can be said for the typical American church. It is just immersed in its own culture at this point. The separation has been painful. But in the last few months, I have come to realize that this separation is not a time of mourning (although that has been my choosing), but a time of celebration and thankfulness. Had there not be a separation, I would still be immersed in the culture. I would feel the pressure to perform. To count people. To feed consumers. I would not be overwhelmed with the urgency to teach the people of God to simply be the people of God. I would be enticed by money, because our buildings and salaries would require it. The undercurrent has always been there for me, but as is typical, it took an immense shift for me to put words to it and legs under it. Thank you to Jesus for loving me enough to fight for me and to allow pain to shape me. Thank you for giving my husband the talent of making tents so that we can live on mission. Your mission. So now, I have joined a new church. The Bride of Christ. I do not profess to have this all figured out. It seems that I have received the ‘why’ first, and I pray the ‘how’ is quick to follow.

“Someday love will find you. Break those chains that bind you.”

Just saying that makes me laugh. Some will find it offensive, but that is not my aim. My aim is to make you laugh. And so it is with writing a blog. Some will be offended. Some will see Jesus. And, some will just laugh. Just to clarify, the title of my very first blog was ‘Stay Tuned. . . Controversy is Headed Your Way.’ I like the fact that I feel free to express my opinions. I also like the fact that I feel secure enough in Jesus that I can just be real. I hope you have a grasp of this ‘from glory to glory’ concept of His. You know, the one about growing and learning. The one about being a disciple first and foremost. I am recording parts of my journey from glory to glory. They will be real, and sometimes, they will be controversial. I do not wish to sway anyone to my opinions, rather, I wish to challenge others to think for themselves. Let’s not serve someone else’s Jesus. Serve your Jesus. And, in the end, if I make mistakes, or possibly grow, I hope I am humble enough to say so. I can only write about what God is teaching me now. Prayerfully, he will continue to teach me. So, seriously, when you read my blog, stick it in your pipe and smoke it. Try it on, if you will, and think for yourself.

I have had an epiphany of sorts. I am not quite sure how to articulate this one, so read on with a healthy warning that this one might not come together in a nice little package. I have spent somewhere between 30 and 40 hours alone in a car over the last couple of weeks, and well, this has led me to be a little introspective. I am an optimist. And, in this optimism, I sometimes have absolutely no awareness of what others are thinking. For example, I never feel out of place until someone tells me that I am. As a child of divorce, I was shuttled among many families for the holidays. Never really belonging, but always thinking I did. At least until someone would hit me over the head with the whole bloodline thinking, kindly pointing out that my blood was different in some way. There is a loneliness that runs deep here. Little girl lost. The choice to be different was made for me, you see. I could no more choose my lineage anymore than you could choose yours. I have thankfulness for this gift of optimism now that I see the innocence of it. Or maybe it isn’t optimism after all. Maybe my heart is just made different. Maybe I never needed your blood to match mine to love with abandon. And, for the record, this thread runs through all areas of my life. Not just bloodline. At church, I have experienced this same moment where I think I belong just like everyone else until someone tells me different. Shame on them? No. Coming through a season of great pain and loss, seeing a loyalty of mine that runs thicker than blood being tossed aside can lead to a hardening of the heart. No, not mine. Not if I can help it. You see, it was His mercy that saved me and made me whole, and in kind, it will be His mercy expressed through me to them that will save me and make me whole this time. As I find myself very alone in a new city, I am reminded of the little girl lost. The saving grace is His presence. I once was lost, but now, I am found.

I lost my Meemaw yesterday. I hate to say she died—it sounds so final. I would rather think that I will find her again someday. I cannot speak for her, nor can I speak for anyone else who knew her, but I can speak of the woman she was to me. I am knee deep in memories of her today, and the overarching theme seems to be her laughter. It was unique, to say the least, and I had the pleasure of hearing it frequently in her presence. As a child, she was many things to me—a refuge, my best girlfriend, and an adult who actually seemed to remember the difficulties of growing up. Meemaw lived two streets over when I was a kid, and her house always seemed like another world. In this world, we stayed up all night giggling and learning needlepoint. We made homemade ice cream at the drop of a hat and picked cherries off her trees for the best homemade pie you ever ate. We’ flew’ around the back yard with her towels safety pinned to our shirts. We danced and roller-skated with Neil Diamond playing on her Raggedy Ann record player. As a young adult, I learned from her that life wasn’t always a bowl of cherries, but that you should make the most of it. I will never forget the moment I realized that she had a life long before she became Meemaw. I saw compassion and understanding in her eyes—never the shame or judgment I deserved. As an adult, the thing I appreciate the most about her was her ability to be comfortable with who she was. I suppose this trait had always been there, I was just too naïve to see it before. She was fiery, independent, crazy, and fun. She was never too proud to put Kraft macaroni and cheese on the holiday table because she knew I loved it. As silly as that may sound, I respected her for it. I love that she had given up caring what others thought of her long ago and replaced that with her ability to simply care for others. When I have spoken of her in recent weeks, people have said that she was a gift to me from my Father. But, this just isn’t the case. She was only on loan—she was never really mine. She was and is always His.

So, in small town America, when the weather is too cold to play outside, elementary students everywhere are inside their classrooms playing this game. Or, at least that’s what we were doing when I was in elementary school. And, the poor guy who wore his parachute pants could never win, because you could hear him swish by. Killing myself laughing right now. (For the record, I had the ultra cool gray parachute pants with red accents when one unzipped the legs.) Anyway. . . I was reminded of this game when my hubby and I had a recent conversation about church and salvation and the sinner’s prayer and such. For some reason, I could not explain my aversion to the counting of raised hands at the end of a service as a ‘win.’ So after much discussion, thought, and prayer, I realized that it boils down to 2 things. One: this was NOT my experience. In fact, until I attended a church service where the whole audience says the sinner’s prayer out loud together, I had never ‘officially’ said the thing. Yet, I am sure I was saved years before that moment. Two: the whole ‘bow your head, no one is looking, lift a finger ever so slightly if you want to accept Jesus’ thing baffles me. I mean, if you want to grow your church numerically, I guess this makes sense. But, what if we counted growth as transformation rather than numbers? When I think about Church of the King Austin (yes, it is official & that is us—woohoo!), I don’t want a church full of people who raised their hands when no one was looking. I want the people surrounding them to do just that—surround them. Walk with them, love them, you know, disciple them. And, if they don’t know who they are, then this can’t happen. I also don’t want a church full of people who are too embarrassed to love Him publicly. And, last, but not least, I don’t want the confusion I think it causes—I mean, really, how can we expect these new creatures in Christ to go out into the world like Jesus tells them to if we teach them to accept Him in secret? So. No Heads Up, Seven Up in church, please. Save it for the classroom.

My favorite Christmas carol seems to be different every year. This year, I have to say that my favorite has been The Twelve Days of Christmas. Everyone in the fam has their own part, and it helps pass the time in the car like no other. Sydney sings “9 ladies dancing,” Abby sings “5 golden rings,” Jace sings “3 french hens,” Luke sings “2 turtle ducks,” (yes, he says ducks), Mike Ross sings “a partridge in a pear tree” in his movie trailer guy voice, and mom covers the rest of them (only because I am the only one who can remember them all). You get the idea—it is a blast and great memory maker. So, hang on. . . my trail of thought is about to get rocky. . . what in the world does this song have to do with Jesus? Really? I am sure I could rack my brain and figure out some spiritual significance to the numbers or just google it, but the truth is, I don’t care. I just like singing it. Just like I enjoy the gift exchanges and Santa’s visit. Yes, I am the typical American celebrating another religious holiday with ‘secular’ traditions. (I am smiling big right now.) And, just when you think you are like everyone else, He steps in. Yep. And, He did it with a Christmas carol, no less. Another song I have heard a million times, but never really listened to. I want to share the verse that spoke to me last Sunday:

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

You are singing it, aren’t you? I want you to hear it like I did. . . “Long lay Lynde Ross in sin and error pining. Till He appeared and her soul felt its worth.” Couldn’t have said it better myself. The reality of my salvation didn’t consist of a hand raised and a prayer prayed. It was feeling valued, really valued for the first time in my life. Insert tears here. He is good. Happy Birthday, sweet Jesus!