What is God thinking?

Danger! Construction Zone.

That is sign that should hang around every Christian's neck. We are souls in progress, spirits under construction. And as with any construction site, those venturing close, need to proceed with care.

Ironically, God calls us, with all our rough edges -- some dangerously sharp -- into the lives of others. He wants us to reach out in our weakness and love the unloved, care for the discarded of this world. He rarely waits until we are "ready" -- until we have reached some pinnacle of perfection in the school of compassion and charity. He simply says GO! LOVE! and POINT THEM TO ME.

This is an insane scheme! What is God thinking? Are we not more apt to do more damage than good? And indeed, one does not have to look far to find examples where those bearing the name of "Christian" have done more harm than good under the banner of "serving God."

So why would the God of the Universe entrust the love and care of the wretched -- His precious wretched -- to such frail, bumbling, brutes as we? He knows we are bent on arrogance and prone to pride. He has to know it is a recipe for DISASTER.

What is He thinking?

On Thursday of this week, we will begin a teen girls conference for ten orphanage girls and ten youth group girls here in Hungary. Now, only four days before it begins, more things are falling apart than coming together.

And as I consider of the magnitude of these orphanage girls' pain, I can't help but realize I and a group of Americans are ill-equipped to reach them where they are. We are but bumbling brutes -- construction zones in our own right -- entering their fragile world. It would seem a recipe for disaster. And yet, God has called us to enter it.

"As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another," the wisdom of Proverbs 27:17 cries out. God created us to need each other -- all the "each others" are the tools of Christ's craftsmanship in our lives.

Perhaps this conference is less about us teaching them and more about simply sharing where we are in the process of our construction and letting them share where they are. And as the iron of their lives scrapes up against the iron of our lives, we may just discover that as much as they desperately need a touch from us, we, more desperately still, need to touch them.

I am astutely aware of the potential for disaster here. I am equally aware of the potential for God to move by His spirit when we recognize and acknowledge our weakness and need for Him. So I enter this week with fear and trembling, urging all to pray for a miraculous work of God's spirit in the lives of these girls. May our team and translators come together in humility and subject ourselves to God's plan in these four conference days.

Sexual Sin and Drifting Away

They drop like insects caught in a cloud of Raid.

First one.

Then another.

And another.

The masses simply shake their head. "That's too bad," some say and then casually move on with the business of their own lives.

"How could he do such a thing?" ask others, in disgust, perhaps secretly delighting in the newest, juiciest gossip.

Meanwhile, in each case, the ripples of pain filter out to spouse, family, friends, and all those who ever loved and admired him. He is the victim of Satan's plot, and the cruel victimizer of those he should love best.

He is the adulterer.

I have found myself caught in a vice of grief this week as I have been reminded of a series of dynamic Christian men who have fallen prey to sexual sin. Some are dear friends whom I love and admire, others are only acquaintances who gave birth to great ministries that still bless many here in Hungary and other parts of the world.

And yet somewhere along the way -- long, long, before the fateful act -- these men began drifting away.

Hebrews 2:1 states, "We must pay careful attention, therefore, to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away."

Drifting is a subtle thing -- hardly noticeable at first. And by the time it is noticeable, it is often too late. It is the result of not being actively anchored -- a physical effort occurring every moment of everyday.

All of the men I am thinking of were pastors or missionaries or both. They read their Bibles everyday. Some even preached a couple times a week. And yet, in all that they did that was right, they still managed to leave some critical aspect of their lives unanchored.

It had been actively anchored once, and perhaps they believed at the time that was enough. But soon it had drifted all too far away to recapture. And now everything has shattered, and they and their families are left with nothing but countless jagged pieces -- razor sharp shards of what used to be.

The pain of their sin radiates like festering sores on the flesh of humanity. And such deep rooted infections do not heal with the simple words of "I'm sorry."

Hell is having a heyday as godly men fall, and all we do is sit around and say, "That's too bad."

When will it become real to us? How many have to fall before we take up the battle?

Through Christ we are equipped to take strategic and effective action in the spiritual realm -- but it requires that we humble ourselves and invest time on our knees.

Let's make today the day we take up this battle -- Pray for your pastor, missionaries, spiritual leaders and for your own family. If you hold any belief in the power of prayer, then take up this fight and pray that none of us allow any aspect of our lives to drift away.

Answer the Question!

In my last blog I posed a question: Do we really want to be perfected?

But if you look closely you'll note that I artfully avoided answering it myself. I find it more comfortable to stand on the brink, pondering that question, than actually answering it.

Perfection requires pain. My chapter for the week has been Hebrews 2. And although I tried to move on without answering the question, the theme arose again: "In bringing many sons to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the author of their salvation perfect through suffering."(verse 10).

If Christ being perfect in nature needed the experience of suffering to complete his perfection, what would it take for me? It is a frightening thought.

I have been working on a book lately that requires me to connect with people who have truly suffered. And as I weave the words to portray that pain I become somehow intimately involved in the grief, despondency, and misery they have endured. I am witness to the ways in which they have been perfected by their pain. And as a result, they become my heroes.

I see how it works. I like the end product. But still, I remain silent before the question: Do I want to be perfected?

It may seem terribly unspiritual and horribly inappropriate for a missionary to admit. But maybe the reason I hesitate to answer, perhaps why I prefer to leave the question rhetorical .... is because my answer, I am ashamed to say is "no."

Everyday I see suffering. Orphaned teen girls for whom abortion is way of life as they desperately seek someone to love them. Kids who have tragically lost parents and siblings, or worse yet, have been abandoned by them, pursue self destructive behavior in a desperate attempt to alleviate the pain. And much, much more.

I don't want to have to hurt. I don't want to suffer. But perhaps the biggest issue is that I do not value the end product (perfection) the way I should. If I did I could look past the temporal pain and simply say, "Yes, Lord. Whatever it takes, perfect me."

But I am not there.

So I answer the question from the place where I am. I'll neither say "yes"with naive enthusiasm, nor "no" with shame.

Instead, I will simply say, "Nevertheless, not my will, dear God, but Yours."
I wish I could boldly pursue perfection. But I am not there. So I will leave it in His hands and submit to what He leads me through -- when he leads me through it.

Pain and Perfection

“Don’t you just hate Christians whose lives have always been so happy?” a friend said to me some years ago. “I have no interest in hearing their testimony and little interest in hearing them teach, because I cannot relate to that.”

I thought it was an odd thing to say. At the time, I believed that if I always sought God in every aspect of my life, committed to being obedient to Him, then everything would always work out all right. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him…”(Romans 8:28).

But then I faced a crisis where everything did not turn out all right. I sought God and earnestly believed He had led me to marry a man who loved Him. Five years later the marriage disintegrated. Still I believed that if I prayed hard enough or fasted long enough, this marriage could not end in divorce. But then it did. And where was God?

Hebrews 5:7-9 says, “During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears to the One who could save Him from death, and He was heard because of his reverent submission. Although He was a Son, He learned obedience from what he suffered, and once made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey Him.”

Knowing what was coming, Christ begged God in utter desperation to deliver Him from this fate, and He was heard – but being heard did not change what God had called Him to do. Even though Christ was already perfect by nature, there were apparently some things that even He could only learn by experience. Christ learned the full meaning of obedience through His suffering. And through this experience of suffering there occurred a completion of His perfect nature – the kind of completion that connects him to us in the most intimate, empathetic ways.

Christianity is all about relationship -- our relationship with God and our relationship with others.

It is not our all-too-happy Christian lives that draw us most deeply into relationship with others – but rather it is our pain. The honest pain that testifies, “Yes, I have been there and I know it’s hard and it hurts.” It is in these tender places that our lives can most powerfully testify to Christ and His Gospel – not that He will rush in like a superhero and remove the pain, but that He is faithful to walk with us regardless of what He asks us to walk through. For in those places of pain, He is most poignantly there.

Do we really want to be perfected? It is a question not to be taken lightly. If Christ, being perfect in nature had to suffer to learn obedience and experience a completion of his perfection, we can only speculate what it would take to complete our own sanctification.

God Uses the Inappropriate

Christmas Eve we went Native. Along with countless Mikepercs villagers, we braved the frigid air and snow flurries to attend the Szent Este (literally "Holy Night" or Christmas Eve) service at our village Hungarian Reformed Church.
As we approached the church building with its stately transylvanian-style steeple in the deep darkness of 5pm, older women served hot drinks to lines of villagers waiting to enter the church. Everyone greeted each other with hearty "Boldog Karacsonyt!" (Merry Christmas) and a jovial "Kellemes Uj Evet!" (Happy New Years) and we were pleased to see many village friends among the crowd which almost filled the church to brim.
I must admit I felt a certain apprehension as I entered the old church building. Although not terribly large, the sanctuary could only be described as cavernous as we darkened the dim doorway. This was THE Hungarian Reformed Church with a liturgy far more formal than anything I was used to. And to be a foreigner in such a setting made me all the more self-conscious of doing or saying something terribly inappropriate here, purely out of ignorance.
The Church was almost as cold inside as the wintry air was outside, as the old building had no heat. Gas heaters, like those you see at restaurants who used outdoor areas in the winter, worked tirelessly to pour some warmth into the old building, but all felt compelled to stay fully bundled in hats and coats for the duration of the service.
Although I could scarcely understand the words that were sung and spoken, I can attest that it was a lovely little service. But what caught me by surprise was neither the delicately carved canopy above the pastor's podium nor the austere pipe organ that echoed through the cavernous edifice. What struck me as both strange and awkward was when the hallowed instruments began ringing out an all too familiar tune: "So this is Christmas ... and what have you done ... another year over ... a new on just begun." Of course, the words were being sung in Hungarian, but the tune was unmistakable. My friend Christine, visiting from Texas, and I looked at each other and could not help but giggle a little.
Here in a formal, high church Hungarian service rang out the John Lennon's Happy Christmas song. It was strange and unexpected, some might say inappropriate, but it got me thinking about how God might view the things the masses so quickly deem inappropriate.
How inappropriate was it for Jesus, Son of God and King of Kings to be born among livestock? How inappropriate for the purest of the pure Jewish Messiah to speak to a Samaritan woman, especially that Samaritan woman -- and then bring her restoration? How inappropriate was it for Paul, a Jew among Jews, to go to the Gentiles?
Let's take it a step forward into our times. How inappropriate is it that a balding oriental man and his family (The Chuns) would reach out to Hungarian village kids through a sport like baseball?
The fact is that God so often uses the strange and obscure and even inappropriate things to work His good will.
So let the ancient sounding pipe organ ring out John Lennon's Happy Christmas and maybe the Mikepercs masses will see that the God of this hallowed old church did not die with the church founders hundreds of years ago. He was born in a stable, was around when that song was penned in 1971, remains alive today ready to touch lives in poignant ways.

It's Dark Outside

"The people walking in Darkness have seen a great light;
On those living in the shadow of death, a light has dawned"--Isaiah 9:2

It is dark outside. Not right this minute now. But this time of year in Eastern Hungary, it is dark alot. The sun rises around 7:30am and sets around 3:30 in the afternoon. And quite often the hours of daylight are obscured by the low lying greyness of winter. I never realized until this year how appropriate it is that we celebrate Christmas, the birth of our Savior, just after Winter Solstice-- the darkest day of the year.

Christ came into all that heaviness symbolized in this time of year -- into that valley of the darkest shadows and brought light. After Christmas, after the new light has dawned, the days become longer. It still may be a long time 'til summer, but the additional daylight of each passing day gives us all reason to hope.

But today it is still dark outside. And for our friends in Bosnia, that darkness has become tangible. The Mezgers are a delightful missionary couple living in Sarajevo with their two small sons. Living in the recovering war-torn area is no picnic, but having a vehicle to get around with the two kids made it bearable. Last week, their car was stolen with all its contents. Whoever did it was no amateur as it was locked up and in their garage. Somehow, even though the car is not even registered in their names, the culprit got their cellphone number. The thief called them demanding for $4000 for the return of the car.

The Mezgers have chosen not to negotiate with criminals, but that sends $13,000 (the price of the car) down the drain at a time when their support is already dropping dangerously low. Among the car's contents were countless valuable items including one stroller, two car seats, mp3 player, and mix tapes that the couple made for each other when they were falling in love.

It's a cold, demoralizing darkness. And into this darkness, Christ comes. I can sympathize with the Jews who wanted their Messiah to come in a chariot of fire -- a grand political leader who would right all the injustices of their times.

For the sake of the Mezgers, I want Christ to come as a Terminator-like slayer with Rambo-styled justice. Instead, he comes as a helpless infant brought into the world among the livestock. And if we lose sight of the big picture, we can't help but ask, where is God in this?

But the answer is clear. He is there. Right in the middle of the Mezger's demoralizing, debilitating darkness, He is there. He is in the midst of that shadow of death for those suffering the brutalest of losses this Christmas season. He comes, not violently like a flash of lightening, but gently like the dawn. He comes as an infant.

Many people continue walking in darkness all around us, and our own circumstances may make us feel like 3:30pm sunsets are our destiny for eternity. But take heart, and let this Christmas remind you that the light of eternity was born among man. It is a new dawn, because Christ has come.

A Little Lower Than the Angels

It's Christmastime! Full fir trees laced in snowflakes and festively wrapped packages tied up with gilded bows. Every year at this time, we as Christians struggle to look past the fuzzy faced frivolity and glitter of commercialism to capture a fresh perspective on the birth of Christ.

My meditation this year comes from Hebrews 2:9: "But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels, now crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death, so that by the grace of God, he might taste death for everyone."
The theologians call it "condescension" -- that He, through whom all things were called into being, would allow himself to take on this lower, created form, to die and help those who could never fully comprehend what he had done.

Christ shed His royal robes of strength and glory to take on the faded garment of mortal flesh and in doing so, submitted Himself to become like us, a little lower than the Angels. And perhaps the most amazing part is that in this unimaginable condescension, He never responded condescendingly toward us. Even when we spit on him, and reject Him, and dishonor Him with all our unappreciative ways. Even when we respond to Him as if He owes us a better life than we have now. Still, he does not act condescendingly toward us, only responds in love. So why is it so hard for us to condescend without being condescending?

Why is it so difficult to subject ourselves to the undesirables of this world and reach out in love, regardless of the way they respond toward our efforts?

This Christmas season I witnessed a very interesting act of condescension when beautifully handcrafted sweaters, mufflers, and hats were presented to a group of terribly impoverished people. In this village, many of the homes do not have running water and heat comes from the wood burning stove. It is a hard life, and those who donated the cold weather gear sought to bring warmth and comfort -- meeting the needs of these people by giving them their best.

When the gifts were presented, a few precious people glowed with appreciation. But the vast majority of the village took one look and turned their noses up in the air, mumbling, "csunya," that is, "ugly." They left, having rejected the gift.

I must admit, my personal reaction was to become condescending. "Well then, let them freeze this winter!" was the first thing to come to mind. But later I read this passage and recalled He who "was willing to become a little lower than the angels." How often have I responded to Christ's truly loving condescension, with the attitude that "God owes me..."(fill in the blank). God owes me happiness. God owes me success. God owes me kids (smart ones) or a husband (a handsome one). etc... etc...

To understand his condescension, we must start by understanding what God truly owes us. God owes me Hell. God owes me eternal damnation. God owes me misery in my own sin. But God condescends to me with His unconditional love, sacrifice, death and resurrection. It is only when we understand this reality that we can truly begin to understand grace.

So with this in mind, let's all try to respond to this holiday season -- not like spoiled children haranguing their Father with "I want this. I want that! Gi'me, Gi'me, Gi'me!" Instead, let's take a moment a remember who we are and who He is -- and what He really owes us.

And as we ornament our trees with silver tinsel and top them with illuminated Angels, let us remember He who "was made a little lower than the angels," and condescended to our level
and maybe it will help us to surrender our condescending attitudes toward others and be willing to condescend in love.