I noticed that many of you have not switched over to my new blog, JeremyStatton.com, yet.

If you enjoyed Confession of a Legalist then I am certain you will enjoy the [...]]]> It’s been awhile since I took the opportunity to say hi. I wanted to stop by and see how things are going.

I noticed that many of you have not switched over to my new blog, JeremyStatton.com, yet.

If you enjoyed Confession of a Legalist then I am certain you will enjoy the new blog as well. Please stop by, read a post or two, and say hello.

Or if you want, sign up for email updates by entering your address in the box below.

Thanks,

Jeremy.

And the best par of it all is that I [...]]]> I wanted to thank everyone of you have participated on this journey of my confessions. The last 13 months have been an incredible journey. I have learned more than I ever imagined I would. The posts have taken me places I never imagined.

And the best par of it all is that I met every single one of you. Through confessing my over emphasis on rules and law and regulations, I have learned that people and relationships are what matters most.

Thank you for reading these posts. Thank you for downloading my eBook Grace Is. Thank you for your comments.

I am going to keep writing but I am taking a different direction. As I have changed so as the material I write about it. My goal is to live life differently than I have before. To write a better story for myself and my family.

Instead of looking at the past and confessing mistakes, I plan on looking ahead into the future and making positive changes. Hopefully changes that will change me and help me change the world.

My new blog can be found at JeremyStatton.com. I hope that you will consider following me there as well.

If you receive updates by email or in a feed reader, you will have to change your settings and subscribe to the new blog. Sorry for the inconvenience.

You can subscribe to the new feed by clicking here or go to the new site and enter your email address in the form.

Thanks and I hope you will keep in touch.

Jeremy.

Simple when we think about the big picture. A place where Christians gather to worship God, to encourage one another, and to grow.

A place where those who do not know God can come and learn. They can experience his glory and his grace through the people who [...]]]> The answer seems both simple and impossible.

Simple when we think about the big picture. A place where Christians gather to worship God, to encourage one another, and to grow.

A place where those who do not know God can come and learn. They can experience his glory and his grace through the people who are there, finding peace and safety and forgiveness.

A place where people take care of one another. When needs are discovered, everyone pitches in lending a hand. When new life springs forth, they help the overtired and offer gifts of impossibly small pajamas.

When life ends, they are there to comfort and console. To grieve hand in hand. To help as we stumble through the dark.

When tough decisions are faced, the church is an ear, ready to sit patiently and listen. To hear both sides of the story. To understand the difficulty in making the right decision. To wait, without expectation, as the correct decision is finally made, even though we knew it was the right one from the very beginning.

The church is there to help men become better husbands and fathers. To sharpen each other to be better servants to all. And when infidelity happens, to help as that difficult road is traveled.

The church is there to help women love their husbands, a seemingly impossible task given the nature of such men.

photo by kubicek007 (stock.xchng)

It is a place where grace is not only taught, but lived. Second chances are given. Barriers destroyed.

Love is handed out like a vitamin that gives life to the soul, but tastes as sweet as apple pie.

Lives transformed, not into suit-wearing, non-cussing, Bible-reading, Fireproof-watching good people, but into followers of Jesus. Souls set free from guilt and sin, free to live out whom they were created to be.

And impossible because it seems that these things are too difficult. Our selfishness too selfish. Our convictions too strong. Our traditions too old.

Can I really help someone who does not interpret Revelation the same as me? Can I really help someone in those clothes covered in tattoos. Can I really help someone dressed in a suit? Can I really love that person since I believe that they are wrong?

So we define church more superficially. It meets on Sunday. There is singing and preaching. People dress up. Theologies are laid out like medical texts. Often there is a sharp, pointy thing on the top of the building. These qualifications are easier to define.

They are definitely easier to do.

The impossibilities, though, are based on categories that we have created. Ideas that we have elevated. Theologies that we love to cherish and emphasize. Perhaps not that much different than the way the Pharisees cherished God’s law, including the Ten Commandments.

Impossibilities that might disappear if we approached every aspect of church through the perspective of grace.

If we love each other just as God loves us, then what would church look like?

Share your best experience of church in the comments.

1. Why don’t I remember the poor at the other times of the year and not just Christmas?

2. How does the creator became the created?

3. As stores try to dump their Christmas inventory the few days before Christmas [...]]]> These are a few questions that have been going through my mind this Christmas season.

1. Why don’t I remember the poor at the other times of the year and not just Christmas?

2. How does the creator became the created?

3. As stores try to dump their Christmas inventory the few days before Christmas and lower prices, why would I go Christmas shopping any earlier than today? This isn’t laziness, it’s smart.

4. Could a love such as this be any more incredible? Grace Is.

Merry Christmas everyone.

No matter how [...]]]> It was Christmas morning, and it was supposed to be a time to open presents and hand out hugs and remember all of the good things in life. And I was going through the routine. My hands were untying ribbons and ripping open wrapping paper. But my my heart was somewhere else.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget her. I couldn’t get her piercing, beautiful, sad blue eyes out of my mind.

I do not recall what drew my gaze towards the small figure whose existence meant nothing to me. But the second my eyes met hers, I was ruined. I knew I would never be the same. I didn’t mean to see her, and since that cold day, I often wished I hadn’t. I certainly wasn’t looking. My mind was set on other things.  I was in another world, completely out of touch with reality. One in which all of the items placed in the store windows that I was passing by could actually satisfy the deepest desires of my heart.

photo by iStockphoto.com

Work had taken me and my family to Vienna for the holidays. The city was beautiful. Rooftops covered with snow. The streets lined with the decorations of the season. Glass chandeliers hung out over the sidewalks sparkling with light. Larger than life ornaments, glistening with a red glow, draped overhead.

It had been three days since her telling glance had melted my frozen heart. We were headed towards an outdoor Christmas market, filled with anticipation, imagining the warmth that would crawl down our throats, filling our stomachs, as we sipped on mulled wine. I could already taste the hot waffle covered in hazelnut spread while standing in a crowd, unable to understand the garbled German surrounding me, but content to be filled with the spirit of the holiday season.

And that is when I saw her, hidden in the busyness of the pedestrians walking from one store to the next. She was curled up against the wall sitting on the sidewalk, the dirt that covered her clothes matching the dust of the street.

She kept her face down, nestled between her legs. Partly out of a futile attempt to stay warm, but also out of a desire to hide her shame. The shame of hunger. The shame of cold. The shame of an addiction made necessary by the loneliness of living on the streets.

But then she looked up, and our eyes met. And I was ruined. In a split second, her eyes told me a story. A story of love. Not princesses and fairy tale love, but a love that took everything from her.

When I first noticed her crumpled body with it’s dirty hand holding an empty cup, begging for money, I hated her. I hated her irresponsibility and her laziness. I despised the filth that covered her entire body. I hated that she smelled like a dead animal left to rot.

I hated her because I assumed many things about her. I assumed that being on the streets was her choice. If only she had made better decisions, if only she had chosen to stay in school, then maybe she wouldn’t need my money. Money that I had worked hard to earn.

When her eyes stared into mine, I suddenly realized that there was much more to this girl’s story than I could tell by looking at her clothing. It was much deeper and much sadder than the filth that covered her body let on.

This life I so disdained, was not her choice. It had not been her plan. Difficult circumstances complicated by even tougher decisions had brought her here, to this cold, lonely place on the sidewalk

She had chosen to do what she felt was right, despite the consequences. Despite the fact that her family disowned her. Despite the fact that all of her friends had abandoned her. Despite the fact that the church, which she felt so committed to in her heart, had rejected her.

The unplanned, teenage pregnancy came. It had been a complete surprise. The boy said he loved her. He promised to stay forever. All lies. Lies revealed by a harsh reality of an unwanted pregnancy.

Everyone told her to consider her options. You are too young. This is too hard. Move on. This child is unwanted. This boy is illegitimate.

But the thought of ending the life that was hidden deep within her was something she could not do. The small baby, forming in her womb, had become a part of who she was. She realized that there was more than just a physical connection. To end the pregnancy would mean destroying a part of her own soul.

So she finished the long 9 months. The boy was born. And then she gave him to another woman. To raise him. To feed him. To clean his dirty diaper. To teach him about the ways of the world. To be his mother.

As I sat in our warm apartment, drinking coffee and opening presents. I realized that this young girl knew more about Christmas than I ever had. As we celebrated the birth of  the Messiah, the one who died so that I might have life, I understood that she had given up everything so that she could give life to her son.

I can only guess the look on everyone’s faces when I abruptly stood up, grabbed my coat, and left to go find her.

We will buy a present for someone just because it is easier than dealing with the consequences of not buying them a present. We will be nice to family members that [...]]]> All of us will do things during Christmas that we don’t really want to, but are afraid of what might happen if we don’t.

We will buy a present for someone just because it is easier than dealing with the consequences of not buying them a present. We will be nice to family members that we don’t really like, and smile and act interested when they tell us about their new promotion at work or their new RV. We will donate money even though we don’t really care.

Every single one of us has done something for our spouse only because we were afraid of the consequences of not doing it.

Guilt, or the fear of negative consequences, is a powerful motivator. It works.

Is it any wonder then, that the church often resorts to guilt as well?

It comes in many different forms, but guilt is often behind the methods we use to influence people’s lives. We make people feel guilty about not showing up to church on Sunday morning, not reading the Bible, not praying, not saying the right words, and sometimes for saying the wrong ones.

We try to get people to follow Jesus out of guilt.

Sure, buying your spouse a Christmas present because you feel obligated gets the job done, but wouldn’t it be better to buy her a present because you love her?

Wouldn’t it mean more to both of you if your sacrifice was motivated out of a desire for her instead of fear of what might happen if you don’t?

You might actually get something better out of the deal than avoiding her wrath. You might win her heart and her affection. Your relationship might grow stronger. Your love for each other made deeper.

But then again, if the goal is to simply make people do the things you want, then guilt is probably easier.

This is truly a blessing, but it skews my perspective. It is nearly impossible for me to understand how the world could view him as anything else. And although I am grateful for my upbringing, I do not [...]]]> Growing up in the church, Jesus as the son of God is the only thing I have known.

This is truly a blessing, but it skews my perspective. It is nearly impossible for me to understand how the world could view him as anything else. And although I am grateful for my upbringing, I do not understand what it is like to stumble upon Jesus for the first time.

This excerpt is from a book I have been reading called The Life of Pi by Yann Martel. It is a story about an Indian boy who survives a shipwreck on a lifeboat with a tiger. In the early part of the book, Martel describes a scenario where a young Indian boy, having grown up Hindu, walks into a Roman Catholic church and with the help of a priest, Father Martin, learns about Jesus for the very first time.

That a god should put up with adversity, I could understand. The gods of Hinduism face their fair share of thieves, bullies, kidnappers and usurpers. What is the Ramayana but the account of one long, bad day for Rama? Adversity, yes. Reversals of fortune, yes. Treachery, yes. But humiliation? Death? I couldn’t imagine Lord Krishna consenting to be stripped naked, whipped, mocked, dragged through the streets and, to top it off, crucified—and at the hands of mere humans, to boot. I’d never heard of a Hindu god dying. Brahman Revealed did not go for death. Devils and monsters did, as did mortals, by the thousands and millions—that’s what they were there for. Matter, too, fell away. But divinity should not be blighted by death. It’s wrong. The world soul cannot die, even in one contained part of it. It was wrong of this Christian God to let His avatar die. That is tantamount to letting a part of Himself die. For if the Son is to die, it cannot be fake. If God on the Cross is God shamming a human tragedy, it turns the Passion of Christ into the Farce of Christ. The death of the Son must be real. Father Martin assured me that it was. But once a dead God, always a dead God, even resurrected. The Son must have the taste of death forever in His mouth. The Trinity must be tainted by it; there must be a certain stench at the right hand of God the Father. The horror must be real. Why would God wish that upon Himself? Why not leave death to the mortals? Why make dirty what is beautiful, spoil what is perfect?

Love. That was Father Martin’s answer.

That is God as God should be. With shine and power and might. Such as can rescue and save and put down evil. This Son, on the other hand, who goes hungry, who suffers from thirst, who gets tired, who is sad, who is anxious, who is heckled and harassed, who has to put up with followers who don’t get it and opponents who don’t respect Him—what kind of a god is that? It’s a god on too human a scale, that’s what. There are miracles, yes, mostly of a medical nature, a few to satisfy hungry stomachs; at best a storm is tempered, water is briefly walked upon. If that is magic, it is minor magic, on the order of card tricks. Any Hindu god can do a hundred times better. This Son is a god who spent most of His time telling stories, talking. This Son is a god who walked, a pedestrian god—and in a hot place, at that—with a stride like any human stride, the sandal reaching just above the rocks along the way; and when He splurged on transportation, it was a regular donkey. This Son is a god who died in three hours, with moans, gasps and laments. What kind of a god is that? What is there to inspire in this Son?

Love, said Father Martin.

May we never stop in our wonder and awe at our God who became flesh, allowing himself to be killed so that we might live.

When we made the decision to pursue adoption, to find a child in China to bring into our home and make him part of our family, a hope was born into our hearts.

In many ways this hope was hard to understand. We had no [...]]]> Through adoption God is teaching me about faith and hope.

When we made the decision to pursue adoption, to find a child in China to bring into our home and make him part of our family, a hope was born into our hearts.

In many ways this hope was hard to understand. We had no idea of what this child would look like. We did no know where he lived. We had no understanding of why he was orphaned. We didn’t even know if he had been born yet.

But the origin of our hope was very different than many of the hopes that we experience. It cannot be compared to the hope we have when watching our favorite football team play. It is unlike the hope experienced as we begin unwrapping a Christmas present. It is drastically different from the hope one might have after buying a lottery ticket.

The closest idea I can compare it to is the hope that we have in Christ.

It is a hope given birth by love.

I have told some that adoption is like pregnancy, just without the nausea. But it could also be said that pregnancy is like adoption, just without a definitive timeline.

Once pregnancy is confirmed, a due date is set. The countdown begins. And though the child is unseen as well, it will be in nine months, one way or another.

With adoption we keep waiting and hoping, uncertain of when our fullness of joy will come.

Without the tangible, without any sort of guarantee, doubt can fill our hearts. It hard to wait with only hope.

photo by iStockphoto

The writer of the book of Hebrews helps us to understand what faith and hope are.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. (Hebrews 11:1 ESV)

Despite the mountain of paperwork, the expenses, and the exhaustion, our efforts are not dissuaded. We do not grow weary. Our anticipation is unfettered.

And even though these doubts weigh heavy on us at time, we still have hope.

Our hope is alive within us because of the object of our hope. Our child.

This hope gives birth to faith. We believe that the adoption will happen. The day will come. We will be matched. We will travel to China. We will hold him in our arms and he will fit perfectly in our embrace. Made for that special place in our family and in our hearts.

Faith that is fueled by our love for this little boy.

And so it is with God. We have high hopes. That God will come and get us and bring us into his family and make us his children.

And our faith is born out of this hope, a hope that is fueled by the perfect love of our Father.

You will walk to a cabinet and get out a glass. You will take the glass to the sink, turn the faucet on, and fill it up with water. You will drink the water. All without wondering [...]]]> At some point today you will do something that 1 out of 8 people in the world can’t.

You will walk to a cabinet and get out a glass. You will take the glass to the sink, turn the faucet on, and fill it up with water. You will drink the water. All without wondering what type of disease the water itself may contain. All without worrying about the how much it might cost. All without having to invest half a day to get it.

We drink clean water, and we take it for granted, simply because it is there. It is always there. It never makes us sick. It never costs anything.

We shouldn’t feel guilty about this. Having clean water to drink is a wonderful gift. But we should also be aware that it is a gift, a blessing that many do not have.

On my recent trip to Uganda, I saw how bad this problem is first hand. I witnessed people having to walk several miles to get access to water, clean or not.

It seemed that every river or creek that we drove by, we saw people filling up the yellow containers known as jerry cans. Water that was dirty. Water that was being used by animals as a great place to relieve themselves. Water that was filled with disease.

These are images that I am unable to erase from my mind.

I also saw some people that benefit from the effort to solve this problem. We saw villages where wells had been dug. People would gather around these wells with the same jerry cans waiting for their turn to fill it. This time, though, with clean water.

My wife and just celebrated our birthdays this past week and we are having a party. And instead of getting more stuff, stuff that we do not need, we are asking you to give someone else in the world something they need desperately.

We are asking that you give the gift of clean water.

The problem is huge, but instead of marveling at the impossibility of solving it, we all need to do something. We need to write about it in our blogs. We need to take trips to Africa to see the problem ourselves. And most of us simply need to give money to help support those that do the work.

We set up a website through charity: water where you can give. It doesn’t matter to us if you give on our page or if you go through another resource. It does not matter to us how much you give.

Our goal is simple. To help more people get access to clean, safe water. And we want to see all of us who take this for granted to start being part of the solution.

I guarantee you, it will be one of the best things you could spend money on this Christmas.

The gift of clean water.

Still uncertain? Watch this short video from charity: water.

Unable to view the video? Click here.

By tough we mean a love that is willing to get down and dirty. A love that goes places that are not pleasant.

It is a friend that is willing to confront your addictions, whether they are alcohol, sex, gambling, or religion.

It is [...]]]> The church is really good at using the phrase “tough love.”

By tough we mean a love that is willing to get down and dirty. A love that goes places that are not pleasant.

It is a friend that is willing to confront your addictions, whether they are alcohol, sex, gambling, or religion.

It is a wife who is honest about how your shortcomings as a husband and father.

It is a preacher who reminds you that God’s love demands everything, not just lip service.

It is a love that is not easy, either for the recipient or the giver.

But unfortunately, there is a type of “tough love” that may look like true love, but is not really loving at all. Instead it is a selfish way of letting others know that they do not live up to your standards.

Such an act is not motivated out of the good of the other person, but out of sense of being offended. It arises from self-righteousness.

Or to use a phrase that the church might use to justify itself, out of a desire for holiness.

This type of love leaves out grace. It leaves out patience and kindness. It is intolerant of giving a second chance.

True, beneficial “tough love” can only be done within a context of true love. A love that has already been proven. Proven through relationship. Proven through endurance. Proven through patience and kindness.

Otherwise, you may be right, but you are being anything but loving.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Corinthians 13:4-7 ESV)