Looking Through the Windshield

Plural Christianity

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 18:49:00 +0000

"God has given Christianity a masculine feel." - John Piper

Photo (c) istockphoto/Marc Dietrich; Poster (c) Austin Cline

Sometimes, I think Jim Caveizel was miscast in Mel Gibson's film The Passion of the Christ. Sure, he managed to pull off the ideal of what we image a carpenter from 2000 years ago to have looked like, giving pastors something to show in a movie clip that is perhaps a bit more relevant to our faith than continually rolling out that one scene from Braveheart time and again. But given the verbal and written missteps so many men in leadership in the church say and make, perhaps Tim Allen might've made for a better - and more appropriate - Christ figure for them to relate to.

Because, guys? Sorry, but we're far more likely to blunder through things than to have some kind of barrel-chested awesomeness about us.

Case in point: as was most recently documented about John Piper by Rachel Held Evans, a number of male leaders in the church have tried to "man up" their definition of Christianity, so much so that they at times have all but reduced how we behave to a caricature of what we are supposed to be. At best, it provides comedic fodder for bloggers like me. At worst, it perpetuates both a stereotype and a reality of oppressive and heart-crushing attitudes and outlooks towards women, both in ministry and as a layperson.

The fact is that the early church was once years - more like centuries - ahead of its time in its treatment of women. While Jewish and Roman society was busy keeping women enslaved and treated like property, the church was appointing them to positions of leadership and responsibility. The early leaders in the church took Paul's admonitions in Corinthians, Romans, and Galatians that we are all one to heart and reflected them in deeds as well as words.

I'm not educated enough to know where or when the shift from equality to single-sidedness in the church occurred, but it's painful to see that half of the population of the planet is not represented on the stage of or in the leadership of our churches on a weekly basis. This winds up not only robbing many of the young women who attend our churches of a role model (well, not counting those who are interested in children's ministries, because that is sadly where we relegate a number of women to), but by default, we tend to concentrate on only half of the aspects of God. Namely, the aforementioned "masculine feel," because those behind the pulpit thumping their Bibles and their chests have either shut out the idea of God having a caring, nurturing, gather-you-all-together mentality (Matthew 23:37, anyone?), or they've never been told or taught how to look for, to seek these qualities of God.

How many of us would willingly admit to wanting to settle for knowing only half of the aspects of God, when we could easily have all of what is offered to us?

There's a reason Isaiah referred to Jesus' name as "Wonderful, Counselor, Almighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace." Looking at these words, it's obvious that they're on a continuum, ranging from ideas we consider "soft" to "strong" - or qualities we associate with feminine to masculine personalities - with the term "Almighty God" right there in the center, balancing it all out. The same Jesus who some look to solely as a conqueror also holds the name of counselor.

Balancing both aspects. Because that's Who and What God is: the center. I AM. The One who created us BOTH as a reflection of His image.

Do we need to have strong men in our churches, men who willingly step out of whatever stage of arrested development they may be in and into the person of who God has called them to be? Yup. Do we need to allow the "I AM A MAN" mentality to pervade and permeate our theology, our living, or our interacting with each other? Nope. To focus solely on one portion of God is to elevate that portion above...well, God, to be frank.

Which skates dangerously close to idolatry.

And unless I am mistaken, He still takes a moderately dim view on that.

For more on what my brothers in arms (and pierced hands) have written about on this topic, check out the links included here.

Now These Three Remain...

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 20:33:00 +0000

This was originally published at Provoketive Magazine's website as part of the January "Synchroblog" on the subject of "Hope."

Oh, January. The turning of a page, the start of a chapter, and the beginning of a journey into undiscovered country. A time of pledging to not repeat the same mistakes or failings that the preceding twelve months brought time and again. Looking at the world with fresh, clear eyes and the chance for a new start. A hope in the unseen.

The irony that “hope” is a four-letter word is not lost on me. And like other four-letter words, this one can cut with its sharpness.

For such a simple word, “hope” carries a world of power behind it. It instills something inside of us. We can use it to project a sensation into others. As a verb, it is full of action, but never unfocused intensity. “Hope” always directly correlates to someone or something. Is it any surprise that “Hope” is a relatively popular name to give baby girls? Like the individual who would bear the name, “hope” implies strength, inspiration, and a sense of wonder.

Perhaps the passage we are most familiar with in the Bible where “hope” occurs is found in the oft-quoted verse “Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love” (I Corinthians 13:13, NIV). It’s interesting that “hope” falls between “faith” and “love,” because there is something to be said about how important “hope” can and should be when linking these three idea together. …and yes: I know that “the greatest of these [three] is love,” but hope is the bridge we must cross in order to transition between the three.

Click here to read the rest of the story, and then check out the other (and way more talented) writers' takes on the subject:

The Trouble With Hope: John Ptacek

Hope = Possibility x Imagination: Wayne Rumsby

Little Reminders: Mike Victorino

Where Is My Hope: Jonathan Brink

Hope for Hypocrites: Jeremy Myers

Now These Three Remain: Sonny Lemmons

Perplexed, But Still Hopeful: Carol Kuniholm

A Hope that Lives: Amy Mitchell

Generations Come and Generations Go: Adam Gonnerman

Demystifying Hope: Glenn Hager

God in the Dark: On Hope: Renee Ronika Klug

Keeping Hope Alive: Maurice Broaddus

Are We Afraid to Hope?: Christine Sine

On Wobbly Wheels, Split Churches and Fear: Laura Droege

Adopting Hope: Travis Klassen

Hope is Held Between Us: Ellen Haroutunian

Hope: In the Hands of the Creatively Maladjusted: Mihee Kim-Kort

Paradox, Hope and Revival: City Safari

Good Theology Saves: Reverend Robyn

Linear: Never Was, Never Will Be: Kathy Escobar

Better Than Hope: Liz Dyer

Caroline for Congress: Hope for the Future: Wendy McCaig

Fumbling the Ball on Hope: KW Leslie

Content to Hope: Alise Wright

Hope: Oh, the Humanity!: Deanna Ogle

Hope: Sonnie

One Word 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 22:34:00 +0000

Sometimes, I don't let my "yes" be my "yes" and my "no" be my "no." I try and try to add to, subtract from, or even ignore parts of what I have promised to do and be.

That's why this year, I have felt the pull towards my One Word for 2012 to be vow.

More than just a reminder to live up to a promise or a pledge, this has three distinct aspects for me to work on, adapted from one of the more common vows used in society:

- I will vow to love. To love my family and friends, and so show them this love in more than just lip service. And let me tell you: coming off a holiday season, sometimes this might be the hardest thing I can do.

- I will vow to honor. To honor my time and intentional interactions with Ashley and Kai. To honor the commitment of what it means to be a husband and dad.

- I will vow to cherish. To cherish my relationship with God. At the end of the day, after I feel like I have given all I can give, I feel like I slight this relationship the most. And if something is important to you - family, friends, spouse, child - you take care of it and make it a priority.

And in the end, I hope that I find myself obeying this vow.

DecembeREALLY?

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 18:20:00 +0000

Emotionally, December always feels mixed to me. In years past, I've felt everything from utter peace when I would sit outside of my parents' house and listen to the snow falling (if you've never tried listening to snow - trust me: it's amazing) to feeling loss, depression, anxiety...you name it.

This year, God apparently decided to up the emotional ante and kick my mind and heart to eleven. And true to type, I fought accepting everything offered to me - due in part to a misplaced sense of self-worth - until I felt more than heard God say "You know, sometimes I do just want to bless you."

So, in chronological order, here are the (thus far) ways in which God is attempting to get me to at least listen to if not speak in a new love language:

DECEMBER 10: If you happened to miss the proceeding month's-worth of Facebook updates and Tweets of mine, let me sum it up for thus: I was published in a for-real, honest-to-God book. And the fact that the paperback version of the book I was published in about being a stay-at-home dad (The Myth of Mr. Mom) was available for purchase the day after what would have been my dad's birthday...beauty. Sheer beauty.

DECEMBER 12: The phone rang. While this in and of itself was not a great shock, the voice on the other end of the phone was. The voice in question belonging to none other than Steve Taylor. Yes. That Steve Taylor. He of Chagall Guevara fame. He who was and remains one of the single greatest influences on my life. Period. Of all time. And the fact that one of my heroes, mentors (by distance) and a man whose work I admire and respect called me (as part of that whole "backers" plan from Blue Like Jazz)...beauty. Sheer beauty.

DECEMBER 17: Ashley and I have been making do in a one-car house for almost a year and a half now. While this has led to some - ahem - tense discussions regarding time management, we have been managing okay. This was due in part to her having a moped to drive back and forth to work. But then...the moped was stolen. From our house. So, when her dad came to visit, he got us our Christmas present: a car. A new car. An amazing, high-safety-rated car. And the fact that Kai can now ride in comfort in a car that isn't pushing 140,000 miles and is over twelve years old...beauty. Sheer beauty.

DECEMBER 19: ...and as it now turns out, we will NEED two cars. In a move which falls square under the umbrella of "shock and awe," I was offered and accepted the position of part-time Interim Youth Pastor at St. Andrews Baptist Church here in Columbia.

Which means I can remain a stay-at-home dad (hello, book).

Which means I can be a mentor and influence the lives of these kids (hello, Steve).

Which means I have closed a loop in my heart which has remained open for far too long.

And the fact that God is choosing to use my broken, imperfect, "not a licensed or ordained minister" self in this way...

Beauty. Sheer beauty.

From One Word to One Theme 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 14:00:00 +0000

It started with a "simple" enough idea from my friend Alece.

At the risk of grossly oversimplifying her plan, the idea was to pray about finding the one word that would define, shape, and structure your year in 2011.

And so, I felt like God showed me a word in Hebrew which I needed to focus on: shalam.

The word itself has a number of meanings, including to be in a covenant of peace; to be at peace; to be complete; to be sound; and to make whole or good, restore, to make compensation.

And I wrote about what God was teaching me about this word and how it was impacting my life here...and here...and here...and here...and here...and here...and here...and here...

So, of course, the manner in which I thought this word would be defined and lived out in me has wound up being nothing like what God had panned. Ain't that just always the way?

Whereas I thought it meant I would be granted something, I have instead been shown where I could give.

Whereas I thought it meant I would finally lay down portions of my past, I was shown the aspects I had been holding on to and needed to release and deal with before I could gain peace.

Whereas I thought it meant the year might be sound and stable, I have been rocked, challenged and broken like never before.

Whereas I thought things might be given to me to "make up" to me for what I had lost, I learned (okay: re-learned) that those things which are of the greatest value are the ones you sometimes have to fit for and earn.

So, my shalam felt more "SHAZAM" in the way it was delivered to me; namely, hitting my like a bolt out of the sky. (Yes, that was an old 1950s comic book reference. Captain Marvel is one of my favorite four-color characters of all time, and it's rare I get to utilize him with a spiritual twist. Let me have this one, okay?) But to be honest, I wouldn't have had it any other way.

In fact, I'm almost embarrassed at how "simple" I thought this might be at the outset. And I am thankful, blessed, humbled, and honored at how much this word and this journey have taught me. And I can't wait to see how it continues today out in my life, heart, and mind.

...and makes what I think is supposed to be my One Word for 2012 both frightening and invigorating. And just a tad cheesy.

But that's another post for another year.

Come As A Child

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 12:04:00 +0000

Do you know what I have observed as the most effective ministerial tool in church, regardless of the denomination, affiliation, or style of worship? Puppets. Because once kids are called down front for the children's sermon, whether you are a parent (praying silently under your breath that your kid stays still and quiet or doesn't pass gas loudly) or not, every eye is transfixed on the felt missionaries of the Gospel at the front of the church.

Puppets available from www.puppetville.com

Maybe it's because we have a Jim Henson-induced nostalgic twinge in our hearts when the show begins. Or maybe it's because the message is so simple that it resonates at a deeper level than all the rest of the service before or after the puppet show.

...which is why I always hate to follow the things when I speak. It's like they're the ultimate opening act.

I know that I often fall into the trap of "how do I package this message" when I am preparing to preach. It's not that I believe that I should deliver my message by rote with no passion or vocal inflection, nor that I should obsess over working on making it a production complete with trendy and hip backgrounds, music, fonts, and clothes worn by me. But why do we - I - try to at times make things far more difficult and complex than they need to be? Am I truly trying to say what the Spirit has laid upon my heart, or am I trying to hyper-intellectualize my lesson, fearing that if I boil it down it will seem too simple?

Since this is a seasonal-appropriate example to give: go watch A Charlie Brown Christmas. Not only will you probably sit there in silence as you watch it (now contrast that with how many times you allow yourself to be distracted/intentionally distract yourself in church), but when you get to that scene...and you know the scene I'm talking about...

You'll remember what Christmas is all about.

And maybe, just maybe, what church is all about.

i 2 (eye)

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 13:55:00 +0000

Yes, that is a very dated reference to a Michael W. Smith album, one of the only two that I can stomach. This post is inspired by the words given by my good friend Christina Whitehouse-Suggs this past Sunday. Really, if you're not following her on Twitter or reading her blog, you're cheating yourself.

So let's talk pedestals for a moment, shall we?

Image from
http://photo-dictionary.com

I used to put people on pedestals. A lot. I was the one who would ape Wayne and Garth in my heart and think "I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy!" when I would consider placing myself on their level. Youth ministry? No way am I as good as X. Speaking in church? Please; X has me beat. As a classroom teacher? I am not even worthy to dust the erasers of X.

And I'm kidding myself when I refer to my pedestaling in the past tense; today, if you were to pick three random people whose blogs I read and put my name in with theirs as someone who is a good writer, I would get all "aw, shucks"-ish and wave my hand dismissing your compliment. Part of this comes from growing up in the South, and being force-fed politeness. Part of this comes from growing up in church, and being force-fed humility. And to be honest, a large part of it extends from an at-times low sense of self-esteem.

However, we have an inherent drive in our hearts to worship something, as well as an ill-placed desire in our hearts to BE worshipped. And in there lies part of the true danger of pedestals.

When we place someone on a pedestal - mentors, teachers, pastors, writers, Joss Whedon - we put them in the position of forcing them to have to "come down" to our level at some point. Most of the time, they know that "level" is both literal and figurative in where we need to be in order to interact with us. Yet we keep trying to put them back up where we believe they belong, because we feel far more comfortable in looking up than in looking them in the eye. As an equal.

When we allow ourselves be placed on a pedestal, although whatever genuine humility we possess may try to stop it, there's something inside us that enjoys the sensation of rising above. Of being considered good. Better. Inspiring.

But no matter what your pedestal is made of - concrete, cement, lies - at some point, something will cause you to fall. The ground will shake. The foundation will crack. And your pedestal, and your ego, will come tumbling, with the danger of taking down the people who were gathered around looking up at you.

Only One that I know of was worthy to be lifted up, and we put Him there: first to crucify Him, and later to celebrate His resurrection and the forgiveness of our sins. And even though we try at times to put Him back up - putting Him "in His place," so to speak - He came down. And He continues to come down, time and again, to interact with us. To look us in the eyes. To let us touch His side. To feel His hands.

To call us beloved.

Who do you have placed on a pedestal?

An Exercise in Prayer

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 13:10:00 +0000

All parents hope for the best and dream big dreams for their kids. I'm certain that based on the aptitudes he has already shown, Kai has the talent and ability to be a philosopher, writer, actor, scientist, super hero, chef, geologist, and engineer. All at the same time.

However, based on his sleep patterns, he's undoubtedly going to be a farmer. This kid has the inability to sleep in. And as such, it has caused me and Ashley no small amount of frustration and short tempers with each other due to our sleep deprivation, physical, mental and emotional exhaustion during the day, and has created some of the most amazing dark circles, wrinkles and grey hair on me.

As part of our attempt the keep this monster corralled during the still-dark-hours of the morning, we put a baby gate up leading into his room so that he can't escape and go eat an entire box of Special K while waiting on us to rouse from the dead. But because this is a new and - as I can surmise from the amount of tears he sheds - traumatic experience for him, we take turns sitting outside the gate for a while to reassure him that mommy and daddy have not defected to North Korea and left him all alone. During my last turn at Kaisitting, I took the opportunity to sit on the floor in the dark and quiet and just...be. Still. Relaxed(ish).

I think the last time I did this was in 2007. In Athens.

And while I was sitting there, I decided to take the opportunity to actually pray.

Now, I have to confess: I'm one of those "pray without ceasing" kind of people who prays to God in 140 characters or less while on the go. I rarely if ever take time to sit and bask in the stillness of life, despite how much I know that it grounds me and connects me. I rarely if ever have any consistency about letting myself hear something other than the sound of my own voice echoing in my prayers. I do hear/feel nudges of conviction and moments of the Spirit moving in and through me, but taking time to reflect and meditate feels as much a luxury to me as buying non-generic label groceries would be.

But this morning, I was reminded how physical our prayer life can and should be. There is nothing in the world wrong with having a continual dialogue with God, but we should not do so at the expense of taking time to ground and connect with - well, the ground. We are both physical and spiritual in nature, and as such, we should feed both portions in our prayer and faith life. Because to be honest, while I was sitting there letting myself just be, I felt more in tune with God than I do when I offer up my half-prayers throughout the day. And this practice of intentional meditation (on Scripture), intentional quiet, and intentional listening is something I need to do a lot more of.

And next time, maybe I can do more than JUST pray that Kai would go back to sleep.

What Had Happened Was...

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 19:17:00 +0000

Yes. I know this blog has been quiet.

Yes. I know my Twitter feed has been less interactive than usual.

Yes. I know that Facebook hasn't see my face for a while.

And here's why:

Between guest posting like mad during the month of October at other websites, taking on the job of "Interim Pastor" (for lack of a better word) at a local church, and dealing with creative and personal struggles and dead-ends...I've been spent. Worn out. Used up. And not only has my writing suffered for it, but I'm willing to go on record as saying I have not been the best father, husband or even person that I could have been.

But no more. Because I am tired of going through the motions, but also because I am tired of others suffering due to my slacking. And no offense, but I kind of rank Ashley & Kai a little above those of you who read my blog.

So, my priorities are realigning. My heart, which has been emptied out, is being filled again. My mind, which I have allowed to be cluttered with so much unnecessary junk I feel like I should be on HOARDERS, is being made new. Refreshed.

All I have to do is make it through this holiday season and not...lose it.

2008 was not one of the hardest years of my life, but the final three months most assuredly were. In rapid succession, I lost my dog of 13 years in October, then in November I lost my father (11/8), had a birthday (11/17), and limped through Thanksgiving before making it to December only to deal with what would have been my dad's birthday (12/9), my parents' wedding anniversary (12/22), and then Christmas. Then I had a three-month "break" before Kai was born (3/26).

So, yeah. The holiday season is moderately bittersweet to me.

But I'm trying to find the joy of the season in the smile of Kai as he sees our Christmas tree with the "sparkling stars." I'm trying to not focus on my losses and instead see what gifts I have been given in family and friends. I'm trying to turn away from myself - all the while acknowledging what I am feeling and going through but not letting it dominate me - and instead remember what this season symbolizes, and hold on to that hope.

What, if anything do you struggle with at this time of year? How have you found that you can cope with your emotions or thoughts during this time of year?

The Advent Menace

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 02:16:00 +0000

The year was 1999. A new millennium was set to begin, the impending terror of Y2K was starting to reach a crescendo, and for millions around the country, it was the culmination of years of patience and anticipation: May 25th would see the release of STAR WARS: THE PHANTOM MENACE. I actually took off work to go to a screening in New Orleans, because this moment was what I felt like I had waited for all of my adult life. Sixteen years had passed since RETURN OF THE JEDI had debuted. For once, I did NOT have to wait for my parents to take me to the theater when a STAR WARS film was playing.

Around 45 minutes into the film, I hit that moment, the moment that has only happened to me before a handful of times while watching a movie. I took my eyes from the screen, checked my watch, and was amazed that three and a half hours hadn't passed already...because it sure felt like time had lost all meaning. THIS was what we'd waited for all these years? George Lucas had 16 years to get this story right, and this was what we got? A CGI story on the trade deficit?

In this season when we reflect upon the coming of Messiah, it's interesting to transpose this idea of remembering how I felt about the rebirth of the STAR WARS saga with Jesus' birth. His birth had been prophesied about and foretold for centuries, yet when He arrived - in a manger, in a corner of an unimportant city - this was not what was expected. Yet unlike what Lucas pulled with STAR WARS, this was the plan.

The passage in Mark 13:24-37 illustrates how Jesus, when speaking about His return, continues the theme regarding how much prophecy had been made - and was continuing to be made - about the coming of the Messiah. The repeated theme of "stay alert - stay awake - be ready" was not given as a warning because Jesus is going to jump out from behind a cloud and yell "GOTCHA!" It's because blepo, the word translated in verse 33 as "take heed," means to express a more intentional, earnest contemplation. To be aware. Or, as the Psalmist said, to "be still and know."

At the human core of waiting and anticipating, we tend to go from the excited to the bland: the energy of a new job quickly settles to a routine. A new romantic relationship fizzles into a routine ("You wanna just go grab some pizza?"). And no matter how much you may love the Christmas season, when the decorations start to go on sale in August, you will eventually become jaded to the sight of them as you enter a store. What was supposed to excite you has become something...routine.

Maybe one of the reasons why all the prophecies people make about the return of Jesus fail is that if we knew that time and date, in many ways we'd anticipate it as the end and not the start. We'd lose the excitement, the joy and love of life and settle into a routine. Of waiting. But not waiting with eager anticipation for what was to come next (much like I did at the outset with the STAR WARS Prequels) but waiting for what we think might come next in the plan. We'd be ready to just wrap things up an move on - but that's not what we're called to do.

"Advent" is translated as "coming" - but what's "nerd cool" is that the verb usage of "Advent" is in the perfect passive participle. This means that when we consider Advent, the coming is perceived at the same time in the past, present, and future. We find Him coming first as a child, then in our hearts, and eventually will be in person again. This means there is never a time when Christ is not with you. John 4:24 states "For God is Spirit, so those who worship him must worship in spirit and in truth." Spirit permeates. Even the schlockiest of ghost hunter shows on television often talk about a presence. Here, here, here - all around us.

At its deepest level, Advent is an invitation to give up our search & simply let ourselves be found. To celebrate that coming by being willing to be found. Even the Parable of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15 speaks to how the father came to the son when we was searching for a way to return.

In this season, more than considering what you are waiting for - presents, family, or a written apology from George Lucas - understand, reflect and meditate on how we already have an answer. He is here. I AM is here.

In the search, in the finding, and in the daily living of our lives, we have already been found. And found loved.

And it's all according to plan.

New Hope Sermon Notes: Questions of Faith, Week One

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 00:09:00 +0000

NOTE FROM SONNY: Because people have asked, I am posting my sermon notes from the last three weeks here in all their unedited and rambling glory. You can probably fill in the grammatical gaps.

"Who told you that you were naked?"

"What have you done?"

"Whom shall go for us? Whom shall I send?"

"Have you considered my servant Job?"

"Who do you say that I am?"

"Do you love Me?"

One of Kai's favorite books to read at night is something called "The Going to Bed Book." Creative title, I know. He's been read to from this book for at least two years now, so he has it pretty well memorized. But the other day, while we were walking, for some reason I started quoting from it. The opening line is "The sun has set, not long ago." Now Kai, who has heard this line about 87 billion times, looks up at me like he's just heard this for the first time in his life and says, "Daddy, what means 'not long ago?'"

Keep in mind this kid is two and a half. The questions are only going to get easier from here on out, I'm sure.

So, before I answer him, my train of thought goes something like this: "How do I explain linear time to him? Do I begin with verb tenses? Do I begin with verbs?" So, I did what any respectable, loving parent would do: I told him to look at the squirrel running down the sidewalk. Parenting, like all other forms of magic, is all about the art of misdirection.

"Who told you that you were naked?"

"What have you done?"

"Whom shall go for us? Whom shall I send?"

"Have you considered my servant Job?"

"Who do you say that I am?"

"Do you love Me?"

God does not "squirrel" us, but I have to wonder: when we ask for something, what all else at times might God have to explain to us within the answer to the question we pose? And are we even willing to listen to what might frame the answer to the question we ask, or do we just want the answer to the question? It's like pulling one verse out of Scripture, ignoring the context it is given in, and quoting it without paying attention to what was said before or after it.

We often accuse or set Him up as such, but God is not so much a God of rules as He is a Counselor (which is what His Spirit is referred to as). He asks the questions that make us think, instead of just laying down edicts about our actions. As someone who has been through therapy, I can tell you that for as annoying as those questions can be, they're also what helps us grow and learn. (As opposed to having someone just say "Please just take these drugs and stop talking to me about your mother." Worst. Therapist. Ever.).

God has a voice. And He doesn't just tell us what to do; He also asks us questions.

"Who told you that you were naked?"

"What have you done?"

"Whom shall go for us? Whom shall I send?"

"Have you considered my servant Job?"

"Who do you say that I am?"

"Do you love Me?"

We can ask questions as well. It's a dialogue. It involves listening, but not just listening.

Question one: what is a question about our faith you have that you feel comfortable in sharing? Not "why do bad things happen to good people" or anything about speaking in tongues, but the day to day, nitty-gritty struggles and questions we have.

Question two: what is a question, a struggle you have with God? A question which maybe only the two of you know. "Have I truly been forgiven of this? How can I forgive this person? Why did they have to die?" maybe this is a question you have carried and thought about a lot, but have never looked at it. Never seen this question. I can say a lot of stuff out loud - and I typically do when prepping for Sundays - but when I see it, when I am confronted with my words, I rethink and reframe what I say a lot of the time. Judges 13:18 - "But the angel of the Lord said to him, 'Why do you ask my name, seeing it is Wonderful?'" We may at times ask for things which are beyond our ability to understand. So after God told Samson's father he was to have a child, he kept asking questions, some of which weren't pertinent to the miracle taking place. Because my first thought when a miracle occurs is to offer a goat.

Job 42:6 Job repented of questioning God. Sometimes we think the act of questioning means we have little faith. Or that doubts are a sign of weak character. But consider this: when we question, we're still speaking to and asking God. When we doubt, we're not doubting ourselves, but God. In doing so, we acknowledge that He is there. Compare simply questioning if God knows what He's doing - like what Job did - to trying to take matters into your own hands and prove you know what's best - like what Adam did. Which was a sin of rebellion?

I Corinthians 13:12 - for now we see in a mirror dimly, but then, face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know fully just as I have also been fully known. In my teenage rebellion questioning phase (which ended day before yesterday) this album meant more to me than I can say.

When Answers Don't Come Easy - Leslie Phillips

I can wait

It's enough to know you can hear me now

Oh I can wait

It's enough to feel so near you now

And when answers don't come easy

I can wait

We sometimes feel like in our faith, we have to have all the answers. We have to have a concrete response to when people ask us something. One of the greatest complaints lobbied against my people in the emergent/emerging movement is that we take truth to be subjective or pliable. While some do - and I don't excuse them for it - the better thing that i think we do is we allow for the tension. We embrace the questions. And we learn - slowly, painfully - to accept the fact we may not have the answer, and that this is in some ways the essence of our faith. Hoping for something unseen.

You Live Here

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 11:42:00 +0000

I've never seen the movie Hitch in its entirety. Never.

Let's be honest: the thing already airs on basic cable what feels like every nine hours, so if I wanted to watch it, all I'd need to do is sit down, wait for a few episodes of King of Queens to end, then I could catch it. But as it is, my post-Kai-going-to-sleep time is so limited, before I fall asleep at night sitting up on the couch (...what? Don't judge...) I choose to spend my valuable time watching other things.

The other reason that I've not seen this movie is that Hitch suffers from what I term HSSS: Hollywood Soundbite Scene Syndrome. It's an affliction that affects numerous modern films. Films that have HSSS typically have the best or most memorable scenes contained in their trailer, or else they've become so quoted and referenced that you already know the entire plot of the movie without ever seeing the film.

"I'm just expressing myself."

"This is where you live right here. This is home."

See? I don't have to say anything else, and a number of you immediately know the scene I'm talking about.

What's interesting is that the above exchange seems like a back-and-forth discussion I feel like I have with God a lot of times. Not so much about my dance moves (it's hard to talk about something which does not exist exist; I got no skills on the dance floor), but about my life. I want to express myself. I want to do what I want to do. I want to take my life and make it - well, what seems extreme. Reckless. Untethered. Much like the spasmodic jerking Kevin James thought was his ability to dance. It was offensive to anyone who knows how to dance, as was evidenced by Will Smith's reaction.

Yes, yes, yes - we all laugh at the scene, but the reality is he thought that - those special, special moves - was what was best. Not with the same innocence a child might think making a pie out of mud could transubstantiate into a blueberry pie, but with an "I know what's best" mentality.

Welcome to sin nature.

Mercifully, after me demonstrating this nature, God has never slapped me across the face and told me to get out. Reality has slapped me across the face, to be sure, but never God. He gently - and sometimes less than subtly - reminds me of where my heart needs to be, and not to let it go bouncing about like a lunatic wherever it wishes, whenever it wishes. This is one of the reasons the words of the hymn "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" just pierce me whenever I hear it:

Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,

Prone to leave the God I love;

Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,

Seal it for Thy courts above.

I want to run. I want to make pizza and use Q-tips (metaphorically speaking). God gives me the freedom to make an utter idiot of myself should I so choose to, but He also gives me the maturity to be able to choose. Not guilt. Not manipulation. Maturity.

I just need to remember that His biding doesn't chafe.

The Cata-List - 2011 Edition

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 15:57:00 +0000

When I wrote this post about last year's adventures at Catalyst, and how I felt attending it, I never knew that history was going to repeat itself. Strongly.

This year was about fellowship. Not leadership.

I think there may have been some people who stood on a stage somewhere and spoke about something, and maybe there was a gymnast at one point. But in all honesty, I didn't take as many notes as I usually do. I didn't pay as close attention as I usually do. I didn't try to find myself I the words spoken by the presenters.

I found myself in the throngs of the people I saw, hugged, and shared this journey with.

Matt Appling. (Whom I still owe a Skype date with...again...)

Joshua Freshour. (My unintentional Catalyst shadow.)

Karen Hammons.

Ashley Linne. (Best. Editor. Ever.)

Tommy McGregor.

Christina Meyer.

Angus Nelson. (My twin. Sort of.)

Nicole Unice. (Whom I really wish I could have spoken more to - she's awesome.)

Dustin Valencia. (I'm not sure that it's legal for him to be as tall as he is...)

Darrell Vesterfelt. (If you ever need a place to crash in SC...)

Andy Zuniga.

Now go enrich yourself. Read their blogs. Follow them on Twitter. Stalk them in the grocery store.

Each and every one of these people made the conference come to life for me.

I owe all of you coffee.

Catalyst 2011 and Socks

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 17:30:00 +0000

I used to over-pack for conferences. Like, crazy over-pack: one professional and one casual set of clothes for each day, plus at least one entire extra set of clothes "just in case." Multiple shoes, multiple belts...you name it. But time, a reshifting of priorities, and having a toddler have taught me to pack light and pack well.

Case in point: I took three pairs of socks to Catalyst this year. Just three. For a five day trip. I have learned the art and majesty of recycling my clothes. But that's fine. I only needed three pairs of socks. Because the individuals I saw in person helped to shore me up and support me in so many ways.

I don't think I have any socks larger than Moe, who is larger than life. But for all the online bluster and joviality he brings, the man is a lover, not a fighter. All the time we were together, he was hugging. High-fiving. Fist-bumping. He wants you to know you matter, you are heard, and you are important to him.

I think I have socks that weigh more than Tracee. Seriously - she redefines petite, but in a ridiculously cute yet very professional way. And she has a heart that has such courage, such faith, and such power that it inspires me. And challenges me. And I very much regret not saying that to her face.

I don't think I have socks in better shape than Scott. Although our personal interactions have been too few and too short, I am in awe of and humbled by this man who has it all together. No loose stitching. No holes. And that he has chosen to interact with me gives me an incredible sense of self-worth. And hope. And having him as a friend (if I may be so bold) challenges me - in a good way - to be a better husband and father.

I don't think I own* any socks more beautiful than Alece. Like me, she has socks she does not want to wear. They are socks that the world would say are unclean, beyond repair, and have no worth. But she has taught me to see the beauty in the brokenness of my own socks, to honor the journey in which I wore them, and to be courageous. And that they are indeed of infinite worth.

* = Ashley and Kai ARE more beautiful than you, Alece. I just don't own them. They're my favorite socks to have and to wear 24/7.

I know I don't have any socks as fun as Amanda. But just like a pair of goofy, fun socks - she has warmth. Depth. And a complexity and intelligence that makes her fun-sock self that much more valuable to have in the drawer. Meeting her was like meeting family.

I don't think I have any hiking socks as good as Jamie. I love to hike, and if there was anyone that I wanted to just blow off the conference with to spend time talking, walking around with and drinking deep of life, it was Jamie and her husband Steve. I mean, Jamie saw me. SAW me and came to intentionally speak to me. ME. She knew my name, and knew me. Knew about me. Sometimes we forget that hiking socks are designed for longevity and endurance, and these two are people that I would love to have opportunities to just be a big freaking goofballs with, because I have a feeling the goofy times would be intertwined with some amazingly meaningful times as well.

How beautiful are your feet, my friends.

Thank you for being in my drawer.

Guest Post: Philemon II - This Time, It's Personal...

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 12:58:00 +0000

This letter is from Onesimus. Yeah. It’s me. I know you’ve already gotten a letter from Paul, but I wanted to follow up on his, and take a moment to touch base before I returned to you.

Add caption

I am writing to you, Philemon, because like Paul, I kept hearing about your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love for all of God’s people. And I had to wonder: was this the same Philemon I knew and served? Because I have to be honest, there were times when I did not feel that love shown to me. That respect shown to me. And as a servant to you, that hurt. It cut deeply.

To read the rest of the story, head on over to The Usual Suspects at BetaChristian.net

Book Review: NOT ALONE

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 11:14:00 +0000

The subtitle for this book could have been Stories of Hope, and I don't think anyone would have found it ironic.

Not Alone, available now from Civitas Press, is a beautiful example of what has become a growing trend from some publishers. Gone is the idea that a sole contributor can and does know everything about a specific topic; instead, this book is community based in its authorship. It spans a wide gamut of experiences, voices, and opinions of individuals who have lived with and continue to live with clinical depression. And it is the very fact that so many different and unique people have allowed us as readers to take a peek into their often private struggles that the book finds it's greatest strength: proclaiming not proudly but with open arms "You are not alone."

At first, the wide and sometimes jarring differences in writing styles, tones, and narration of the stories can be a little off-putting, but that is because we as readers have become adjusted to the comfortable sotto voce of a single writer sharing her or his opinion. In Not Alone, we are reminded that what one person experiences in dealing with depression is not the same as what every individual experiences. Age, gender, life experiences, sexual orientation, spiritual development - all are variables that can and do affect how we respond. A heterosexual male may not be able to fully, completely "get" what it's like to be a mother suffering from postpartum depression, yet both may be in the throes of their own versions of depression. And it is in this shared pain that they find community and common ground. Two or more are gathered in the name of hope, and they express to others the grace shown to them by the One who gives hope. In doing so, they offer help to one another to be able to emerge out of the darkness.

That is the true beauty of this project, especially for those of us as readers who may suffer from depression [raises hand]. Not Alone reminds us that for as much as we may feel we are at times, we're NOT alone. The title is not just a cute play on a phrase. We may suffer in a silence of our own choosing, but the authors recognize that many of us share a variation on the same theme of pain. By having the courage to speak up, to lay bare their souls and their sufferings, their accomplishments and their failures, their good days and bad ones, the family of Not Alone invites you...us...me...to join them at this table.

Two words of caution: (1) the language in this book is as authentic as the pain and frustration that some of the authors feel, and as such, it at times comes across as raw. Real. And beautiful and perfect in the freedom to share what may be offensive to some; and (2) do NOT try to read this in one sitting. Soak in the lives of the people who are sharing themselves with you. Let the reality of what you are reading take root in you.

And if you see yourself in some ways on that printed page - know that you are not alone.

Guest Blog: Careful - You Never Know What'll Stick

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 12:45:00 +0000

Kids used to scare me. Now I'm a stay-at-home parent. God loves to play "Gotcha!" with me.

One of my first exposures to dealing with kids – and learning how much one has to be CAREFUL when speaking around them - came one evening under the warmth of the summer Georgia sun. My friends Scott*, Trevor* and I were engaged in the manly art of charbroiling animal flesh. Scott's two daughters (Gail*, age 2 & Tina*, age 4) were with us because that's clearly where toddlers should be: with men who are holding sharp spears and raw meat while standing around a charcoal altar. At one point, Scott got it into his noggin that he could flip a chicken breast into the air and have it safely land back on the grill. You can imagine how well this went.

Read the full story at Paul Sims' blog.

Guest Blog: Wasteband of Brothers

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 11:58:00 +0000

We’ve all been there. We’ve seen it played out in a movie, bore witness during the glory that was middle-school gym class, or we may have been the unfortunate recipient of one ourselves (raises hand).

courtesy of Fox

That’s right: I’m talking about the bane of the existence of every prepubescent boy who was a band geek, A/V club member, or who ever played or talked about Magic: The Gathering while at school.

The wedgie.

For the rest of the story, click here to head on over to KC's website.

What's a [Blank] Worth?

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 11:38:00 +0000

Twitter has introduced me to many cool people, but none perhaps as cool as Tamara. Through the too few, too brief exchanges we have had, we've discovered we're quite a bit alike. So much so that were we ever to sit down in real life over a few drinks, we'd bug the snot out of anyone who was within a ninety-mile radius of us because we'd be utterly, annoyingly, brilliantly, obnoxiously loud. And we'd love it.

Recently, she wrote an amazing, gut-wrenching piece over at Deeper Story, which set afire the heats and keyboards of a number of readers. I encourage you to go read her story first, then come back for my feeble response.

What’s a girl [or woman] worth? and Have you ever struggled to believe what you’re worth when God and the world disagree?

The answer to the second question is obscenely easy: only every stinking day of my life. The answer to the first question is a therapy session.

Coming from a home where more often then not my parents dragged me kicking, screaming, and wearing uncomfortable shoes to church, it was hammered into my skull that we are all children of God. We all have worth and value. Yes, we're all foul sinners who deserve damnation and hell (a great lesson for any ten-year-old) but Jesus still loves all the children of the world. We won't debate here if that was in fact lived out in how people acted, but it makes for a nice idea.

We later learned in youth group that Jesus wants boys to be sexually repressed nigh-androgynous men who should celebrate our manhood but not in a way that reflects we have "those" urges. We were told to respect women, to honor them...but that was it. Hold them at arm's and heart's length, else we fall into temptation to, like, touch their boobs. Guard your heart, your mind, and your junk.

We were taught your worth wasn't worth the risk of opening our hearts for fear of opening our pants in the process.

This was just GREAT for me, since I already was the perennial "big brother;" you know - the guy that girls invited over to play Nintendo with in high school, in your room, with the door closed, while you talked about your boy problems. While you talked about why you couldn't find any good guys. Why all they were interested in was your body and not the sum of who you were, why you kept going back to the jerks, the jocks, the same old same old when all you wanted was to meet someone nice - "You know, someone like you, only someone I'd date." - for a change.

And so I was taught your worth was greater than mine, because I could never be worthy of you.

This mentality carried with me into college, where I suddenly, inexplicably (to me), became desirable. I was "cute." I was interesting. I was fun to be around. I was also suddenly thrown neck and groin deep into situations I was unprepared for emotionally, physically and sure as hell wasn't spiritually prepared for. You anticipated and expected way more than my zero-experienced self did. And when we began to cross boundaries...you expressed regret. Remorse. I went from being the guy you wanted to be with to the guy you felt the need to repent of. With me. And so the guilt of me not honoring you in the way I thought I was supposed to was compounded with the questioning of was I still not good enough, like all those other guys...?

And so I was led to believe that your worth was variable, contingent upon the lesser value of me.

I held this belief through my young adulthood. It made me subservient, compromising myself, acquiescing to requests, demands, and conditions placed upon our relationships...because I was afraid. I was afraid that since I had never seen you as a gender express that I held worth to you, I would lose you. And when I wasn't enough, simply at times because I questioned myself or the "us" that we were, I was seen as weak. Unstable. And fit only for discarding because a stronger, more stable man was around the corner.

And because I had devalued myself, I began to devalue you as well.

But the boy in me - that scared dreamer who still held faith - would not let me fall far. He held out hope. He screamed for justice. And eventually he stood outside of a wedding chapel on May 26, 2007 and felt years of shame, regret, remorse, and pain wash away as he wept openly in the presence of his friend who was about to perform his wedding ceremony, joining him with Ashley. Because he had lived for so long under the crushing fear of thinking he could never or would ever deserve to be happy in his life. That he had no right to ever be happy. That he could never or would never find anyone who loved him, or who thought his worth was more than simply what they could bring to her.

What's a girl [or woman] worth?

Life.

Second chances.

Redemption.

Everything. Every risk.

At least mine is.

And so, so, so much more.

Dream of Fields

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 18:15:00 +0000

I'm either an idiot, or I have more faith that I ever thought possible. Right now, I'm caught between being too nervous and too nauseous to be able to discern the two.

A movie came out years ago which contains themes and motifs that resonate with me to this day, decades after the first time I watched it. Field of Dreams. Now, I do need to state I am not a sports person. I like college football, and I have learned to enjoy ice hockey, but I'm not an athlete. Outside of playing soccer when was in elementary school, my sports skills are non-existent. So why would this particular movie stay with my non-athletic self?

Aside from the ending making me cry every time I watch it ("Why don't you introduce him to his granddaughter?"), the film speaks to the power of dreams, the power of faith in pursuing them even when the world says you're crazy, and what it takes to have the courage to go after these dreams in the first place. So, when I decided to quit my job to become a stay-at-home dad, I felt very much like I was plowing down some of the corn in my life to build a metaphorical baseball field. To butcher one of the catch-phrases from the film, I was building a home for Kai to come to.

My mistake was in getting cocky and not remembering the rest of this film. In the movie, Ray Kinsella had to step out in faith at least once more.

After a weighty, gut-wrenching, no-sleep-allowed period of days this past week wherein which I debated to put Kai in daycare so that I could accept a full-time paying position outside of the home, I have decided to remain as a stay-at-home dad. Yes. In the midst of a recession where the unemployment rate is as high as it is - I was offered a job and turned it down. Trust me: this was NOT an easy decision. We went back-and-forth about possible ways to make it happen, but they all ultimately led back to the same conclusion: I would be away from Kai when he might need me the most.

The reasons for my decision to stay gainfully unemployed are both simple and complex. Part of it is due to the fact that Kai has had numerous recurring health issues, all stemming from his being diagnosed a yea and a half ago with chronic benign neutropenia. I have to admit: if this is the BENIGN portion of this disease, I can't imagine how it could be worse. From breathing issues which have resulted in three trips to the ER with him in one year, to having to monitor where he goes, what he eats, and how clean he keeps his hands (no easy task for a toddler), taking care of him outside of what would be routine for taking care of any toddler has been intense. Add on to the fact that now he has to be put through a full battery of allergy tests to help determine what has triggered an early on-set of asthma at age two-and-a-half.... To think that I would willingly place him in an environment - which, while probably not designed as an intentional germ-filled cesspool, it would be for someone with a lowered white blood cell count - all so that I could get a paycheck?

Any parent who elects to be a full-time caregiver can tell you that the siren song of going back to an office is very alluring. Being able to advance in your career, being able to be in a position where you not only professionally thrive but are successful, being able to carry on a conversation with ADULTS...these are all very tempting and - for some - exactly what they are supposed to do. Not every parent is cut out to stay home with their kid(s), just like - sadly - not every person who has a kid is cut out to be a parent.

I couldn't sign the papers selling the farm. I couldn't look at Kai and knowingly, willingly ask that he be taken care of by strangers who - yes - would look after him and care for him, but in the probable event that he would have another episode and have breathing issues? Or develop a high-grade fever incredibly fast? Or that some kid ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich would then hug him, causing him to go into anaphylactic shock?

He'd be confused and scared enough as it is. To not have mommy or daddy there to comfort him might be worse on him than the actual incident.

I'm a father. Not a sperm donor. I take this responsibility a bit seriously.

And then, there was the job itself. Was it a (not "the") right job? Maybe. I think so. Was it the right time for this job? That's where the waters get a little murky.

For as much as I have loved taking care of Kai, I know there is an expiration date attached to the days I will spend with him at home. Sooner rather than later, he'll be headed to Pre-K, and this will mean I will lose the rationale for me being a stay-at-home dad. After that point, I think the best descriptor of me might be "leech" or "bum." So I know that in the near future, I'll be back to dress pants, ties, and setting up meetings on Outlook.

One of the greatest benefits for me that staying home has yielded is my writing. I mean, YOU'RE reading this right now, aren't you? After years of shutting down and shutting up my muse, I feel much more comfortable in front of my keyboard - so much so that I am willing to quantify my writings as "mediocre" instead of "total suckage" like I used to think of them. I have made connections - friends, even - on various social media platforms, many of which have resulted in me being able to guest-post at websites. To speak on occasion. To act as a consultant on some items and issues. While most of these pay only in experience and exposure, they have been invaluable. This does not mean that I in any way think that "people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come" to my website, to read anything I write, or that I will even get a hug let alone payment for anything I do.

Taking a job, one that I know I would be good at, but on that ultimately would require me to cease actively pursuing a passion that I feel enriched by, would feel - to me - like I was giving up on faith. Like I was not willing to accept a byproduct and blessing for me of the faith I had stepped out in. I was staying home for Kai, for my family, and God was honoring this by giving me a gift that even if no one else understood it, I knew the symbolism behind. I knew the importance and significance in it. The passage of Joel 2:25 is not just words written on a page, but a promise.

While I'd not like to spend my retirement years sleeping in a cardboard box due to me not having a steady income for what could wind up being the better part of half a decade, this is my calling right now. This is my job. This is my season. This is my building it, easing his pain, and going the distance.

Being a husband. A dad. A writer of stuff. A receiver of grace. A drinker of coffee.

I'm willing to accept the fact that my writings may come to naught. I'm willing to accept that God asked me to plunge a knife into my career, sacrifice it, and no angel showed to stop me. I'm willing to accept that I may have to start all over again professionally.

Because sometimes, you just have to play catch and pray for the best.

One Word 2011.8

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Mon, 05 Sep 2011 11:09:00 +0000

So, it's been a while since I actually wrote about - okay, even thought about - this word shalam that God gave me as my One Word for this year. Part of that has been due to the fact that, like I wrote about earlier, I was trying to fit this word into my life without actually seeing where God said it was to be put into or was already there. This just goes to show that I am not so much holy as I am thick.

Among the various definitions of the word, the one that has been speaking the loudest to me recently is "safe." Now, a normal, logical person would say that this is because God wants me to find rest, to find comfort, to find security in Him. This, of course, means that my iteration of "safe" is about as whacked out and ironically unsafe as humanly possible.

When I think of something being "safe," I envision - naturally - a safe. Something which hold items in it securely. Then there's then notion of taking this "safety" a step further, and personalizing it into the form of a security blanket. Within this safety comes comfort and security.

I've been feeling such discomfort in my life lately that you might think that I lack for safety or security. I've been feeling discomfort in my spiritual walk (in true Paula Abdul fashion, it goes one step forward then two time zones back), in my writings (if rejections are good for the soul, then my soul is awesome), and discomfort in my dreams and passions. So much so discomfort that I typically have one of those "well, should I just give up and take on a gig as a barista or something?" moments somewhere around nine or ten times a day.

The problem we (collectively) have with being safe is that we unintentionally equate being safe with being sound. And unfortunately, a life of faith oftentimes leaves little room for being "sound." We are called to be still and know that He is God (Psalm 46:10), but not to be still, barricade ourselves into a gated community of the heart and not interact with the world. God will provide (something about birds of the air comes to mind), and we will be dropped head-first into situations that we have the ability to resist and get out of, but nothing about those situations makes them feel like they belong in any known definition of "safe."

Is it safe to walk into that room where you know you will be tempted? Is it safe to speak to and try to show love to that person you have wronged? Is it safe to once again wake up and try to lay claim to the day by laying it before God and praying for protection? I mean, the answer lies within the question: if we are to be safe, what exactly do we need protection from?

And before you answer "from yourself," just save that answer for the bonus round of questions, m'kay?

We tend to view the idea of being safe as solely being on the other side of danger, never realizing that to be safe is to exist on a continuum that shifts time and again. Is it safe to walk into that room where you will be tempted? No, but it can be. What at one point may have been more dangerous than skinny dipping in a pool of piranhas may become something you easily can resist. With work. And time. Is it safe to speak to and try to show love to that person you have wronged? No, but it can be. What at one point may have been the epitome of an awkward turtle moment can become a redeemed relationship. With work. And time.

I'm trying to take this notion of being safe and letting God define it, not me. What He calls safe, I may refer to as another four-letter word - but I'm trying to work on that trust fall with Him. And I'm trying to redefine the areas that I would call filled with land mines, that valley of the shadow of death, that He is asking me to walk through - with Him - as an area where I can be safe.

Shalam indeed.

Dog Vomit. Need I Say More?

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 10:45:00 +0000

I've been thinking a lot about sin lately, and mainly because it's been so prevalent in my life.

Now, before anyone gets into a sin-versus-morality conundrum, let me toss this caveat out there: the sin(s) I am referring to are the ones I am convicted of. They're specific, they're thorns in my flesh, and they're focused on trying to trip me up or bring me down. I'm not wading into the waters of wide debate on such "hot topic" - or, really, political - issues like sexual orientation or the like.

What initially got me started thinking on this was due to the fact that I am trying (poorly, at times) to sit and read the Book of Proverbs all the way through for once. I'd heard people go on and on about how there are 31 chapters in the book, and a number of months have 31 days in them, so -boom. Instant Bible plan. And other than how I am learning (a) I apparently have heard/read a lot of this book before (b) there are a number of repeated themes throughout it, and (c) I have gotten really crappy at reading and studying the Bible, I'm also discovering that I think God wrote part of this book for me.

For example: there's the oft-quoted Proverbs 26:11: "As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his foolishness" (NLT). Normally, as was my initial exposure to it, this verse is used to hammer home to young and impressionable believers that repeat sinners are gross. And stupid. Because, yes, dogs do return to their vomit. And many times, they will in fact try to eat it, unless a loving owner is the to drag them away by the scruff of the neck. So if you stop to compare that to a sin you happen to repeat - anger, for example - you are inferred to be a dumb, dumb heathen who clearly doesn't get the idea of grace and repentance, and God needs to just grab you and haul your mongrel self away.

But for many of us who return to our own spiritual puke time and again, it's not that we have a craving for regurgitated lust or lies. When we return to our vomit, it's more out of shame and humiliation, because we are forced - often by our own actions - to look at what has just come out of us. We are made to confront the fact that we put something into us, it did a number on our insides, and then it came out, worse than when it went in. And when it came out, it didn't come out alone; it took out some other healthy, beneficial parts of our insides as well. We stare, gape-jawed, at the fruit of our heaving.

For me, I'm wrestling with the question of when I sin, what is it exactly that makes me want to return to God? Is it guilt and shame that makes me want to return, seeking His forgiveness for the mess I just puked up? Or is it something inside of me that understands how far from Him I have gone, and like a kid who just wants to be near his dad, I want to just be in His presence, and offer a sincere, tears-included "I'm sorry for the mess" confession.

Or maybe a little of both.

The verb "returns" in that verse - shuwb - is actually a rather common verb in the Old Testament, occurring more than 1000 times. The basic meaning of it is "movement back to the point of departure." So maybe instead of the verse just being a pithy little proverb (ba-doom!) about life, maybe it's also telling us that the dog in question isn't so stupid after all.

If the dog can be smart enough to return to the point of where its natural digestive course took a turn for the worse, it should be relatively easy for me, an at-times smarter creature, to return to where my natural spiritual growth took a turn for the worse...and I vomited. I need to own up to this mess I have made, not trying to eat it to conceal the evidence, but instead to get on my knees and ask for the Spirit to Oxi-Clean my heart and to help me with cleaning up what I have done in the houses of others. After all, as Proverbs 28:13 says, "People who conceal their sins will not prosper, but if they confess and turn from them, they will receive mercy" (NLT).

And then maybe hold communion with some saltine crackers & some ginger ale to seal this covenant of repentance.

JesusCon

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Mon, 22 Aug 2011 11:51:00 +0000

No, this is not me.

Believe it or not, I have never gone to a Star Trek convention. In a costume, that is.

I have been to my fair share of comic book, science fiction, and other esoteric geek-specific gatherings. For many who know me, this will not come as a shock whatsoever. In fact, some of you reading this have been to said conventions with me, so stop your snickering before I start naming names.

This summer, I was able to make a return trip to a comic convention I used to frequent years ago. I was at first inundated by the sheer number of people at the con, but pretty soon I started to settle back into my steady groove of meet-thank-sit in awe of some of the people whose works I have loved throughout the years. It went from being uncomfortable to feeling like somewhere I belonged in no short amount of time. And before you ask: yes, I was in regular clothes.

In a month or two, I will be attending another kind of conference, held annually in Atlanta. This one doesn't come with Klingons or Stormtroopers. This one comes with a different breed of geek: this is the Catalyst Conference.

I've already written about my experiences at Catalyst last year, and how they changed me and the way in which I perceived my attending. This year, I'm looking forward to a similar experience, one where I am comfortable in my own skin, meeting new friends - some in real life for the first time after meeting them online - and saying hi to some old ones. And maybe it's because I am so comfortable in this environment now, and moreso that I am comfortable with me, that I can kind of step back and predict that Catalyst will in some ways feel just like going to a comic or scifi convention:

There will be hero worship. Everyone knows that some speakers will draw larger crowds than others, because these are the "superstars" that they have come to hear. Now, I will admit that if Donald Miller ever tried to sell photocopies of his grocery list, I'd probably buy one...because he's Donald Freaking Miller! But by that same token, I need to remember that even Donald Freaking Miller! has to buy Immodium. This deflates him from the status of larger-than-life hero back to being human faster than when Bruce Banner...sorry; the geek allegory started to take over.

There will be autographs. Much like with my man-crush on Donald Freaking Miller! there will be people who are going to queue up to get the autograph of some of the aforementioned superstars. Now, I have nothing against getting the autograph of a person whose works you admire and respect. A large chunk of my comic books and CDs are in fact autographed by their respective creators. Maybe it's because then idea of getting something autographed has in many ways lost part of its charm over the years due to me having so many items signed already, but I now - if and when I am afforded the opportunity to - try to find these people and instead just say thanks to them. Thanks for sharing. Thanks for helping me to grow. Thanks for helping me to not feel so isolated or alone at times. And thanks for the ever-decreasing space on my bookshelves as you continue to churn out book after book.

There will be costumes. Oh. Will there ever. No homemade HALO outfits, no Daleks, no army of Browncoats, no "Slave Leia" outfits (thank God). Just a lot of hair product (spiked into an appropriate faux-hawk), skinny jeans, t-shirts with witty sayings, and/or clothes from Buckle, Urban Outfitters, or Ambercrombie. Just so you can look as trendy and relevant and cool as everyone else...and just like so many of the aforementioned superstars. Because idolatry is the most sincere form of flattery.

There will be swag. Because who doesn't love free stuff?

I don't state all this to be judgmental or harsh - after all, be it Firefly, Doctor Who, the Justice League of America, Nooma, the latest tome from Thomas Nelson, or Church Diversity...I'm one of you. One of us. The geeks, the fans, the lovers of the mediums and the ones who create these things which bind us together.

I'm also the older brother who used to salivate, sit all starry-eyed at these larger-than-life-only-in-my-eyes people and elevate them to platforms they were never intended for. As such, I can only ask that you heed what I have learned: just be yourself. Just let them be them. Simply be the best you that YOU can be. Don't try to capture the fire that was given to them, lest you be burned because you we never intended to have it in the first place. Remember that they are human, failed, flawed, and some only look that good all the time because of their publicist.

And leave the "Slave Leia" costumes to reruns of Friends. I beg of you.

Probably Not What Robert Frost Had In Mind

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 11:27:00 +0000

"I love driving on new roads." - redeemedstory

Despite the fact that my wife believes Twitter has as much functionality and practical use for the world at large as I would have for a jar of styling gel, it does produce many quality things. I've made several good, solid connections on there with people that I believe I would be fast, fast friends with in person. Among them, Ernie. He who is responsible for the quote found above.

When I read it the other day, I thought back to my recent trip home to Mississippi to visit my mom. My wife and I have a 1999 Toyota RAV 4 that serves as our sole vehicle for transportation. We'd like for the darn thing to stay in decent shape, since buying a car isn't in the foreseeable financial future. To that end, we are somewhat careful how hard we ride it going from Point A to Point B. Unfortunately, the Highway Commission of the great State of Alabama doesn't apparently give a crap, since the roads that extend the length and breadth of the state - especially from the GA/AL state line up until around Birmingham - have more crack in them you can find in five seasons of The Wire. When making the return trip home to SC, once we hit the GA state line there was a marked difference in the way the journey felt. It was...smooth. Even. Fresh. Unblemished.

So of course after reading Ernie's quote, my mind went all metaphorical.

When we are forgiven of sin, a clean heart is restored in us. The existing cracks are gone. It is fresh, new, unblemished, and even. But just because we are redeemed, it doesn't mean that that road won't be traveled on again and again.

Think about a struggle you may have (let's get all Biblical and call it a thorn in your flesh - just to drive the point home). You sin. Then you are forgiven. And then - the temptation comes again. For those of us who have a continual struggle against something, while we would LOVE to be able to just put it behind us and never walk that way again, the reality is that both life and circumstances have a way bringing it back. And if not life and circumstances, we have an enemy who takes great delight in doing what he can to bring down.

The difference is, after grace has paved your heart, when that temptation causes you travel back over it again, the journey is easier. You may not stumble as quickly this time, if you even stumble at all. You're traveling over a new road, a new heart, in spite of the fact that your highway robber of a sin may be the same one that has held you up and plagued you again and again.

We simply need to not get cocky and think that just because THAT trip was easier it doesn't mean they all will be. Even the roads in GA will start to crack and break down due to repeated travels over them. Sometimes what travels over your heart may be a light as a Smart Car. Other times, you've got an overloaded double-length tractor trailer pushing down on your heart. Without continual maintenance and checking your heart - guarding it, some might say - one small hairline fracture/sin might lead to your heart being something no one really wants to take a journey on or with.

I love driving on new roads. I love journeying on a new heart.

No matter the age or condition of either, nothing is beyond repair.

My Roommate Contract with God

noreply@blogger.com (Sonny Lemmons) — Sat, 13 Aug 2011 18:19:00 +0000

If you get the Will Eisner nod in the title, move to the front of the line.

There's a phrase we used to use all the time when I worked in Higher Ed: if it didn't happen on paper, then it didn't happen. This extended to everything from scholarship offers to discipline hearings to program reports. As both the giver and receiver of the blunt force blow of this mentality, I know that it was not so much used to annoy the parties as it was to teach discipline and accountability.

In housing/residence life, I often had to sit with two roommates and negotiate a Nuremberg-level compromise so that they could live peacefully with one another, as one of the two ALWAYS did something that annoyed or frustrated the other.

In my spiritual - and physical - life, I find myself often telling God "Okay, I'll stop doing Y." "Okay, now I'll really stop doing Y." "Okay, this time I mean it: I'm going to quit Y now." "I really should start doing X more often." "Tomorrow, I'm going to get right on X. Promise." "Okay: now I'm really, REALLY going to stop doing Y." And so on and so on.

So, because I know me and I know that my words - while not meaningless or said in a vain or empty matter - need some kind of action to back them up, I just sat down and wrote out the prayers to God I have spoken again and again. And the sins I have asked forgiveness of again and again. And the things I know I need to do but just haven't gotten off my spiritual duff to do so yet.

Therefore - it's in writing. It happened.

And although God, in His infinite mercy and justice, does not hold me accountable for the sins I am forgiven of, I know that I hold me accountable through guilt. Through negligence. Through apathy.

So I can now, on some level, hold myself accountable.

And before anyone raises a hand and asks about an accountability partner: I find it far more difficult to lie to myself than to anyone else.