It's really great having an intelligent father you can go to for sage advice, until he tells you what you don't want to hear. That's where I've been lately, in that awkward place where what you need to hear collides with what you don't want to hear.
Last week I was in the midst of a good old fashioned pity party, doubting decisions I had made, because things hadn't turned out as I expected quite yet. The problem is that I know where I am, and I know roughly where I'm going to end up, I just can't figure out how to bridge that gap.
In the midst of calling myself everything from stupid to selfish, dad cut me off. He said, "you are earning your 'bona fides'. Old cops used to say rookies were 'earning their bones'." Of course I gave him a death glare because that cleared up nothing other than a rough reference to the term "bona fide". He went on to explain that this simply meant you have to pay your dues first, and once you've done that, it can't be said that you were handed anything.
Of course I had to do some research and surprise, surprise, pappy was right on his definition. "Bona Fides" comes from a Latin phrase. It means "information that establishes a person’s reputation or credentials." "Bona Fide", without an "s" was at one point a legal term meaning "without fraud". (grammarist.com) Basically, earning your "bone fides" means establishing credentials to prove you are the real deal.
So why the need for the grammar lesson? I have to believe I'm not the only minister who has felt this way. I can't be the only one who has looked around at my present situation and said "how am I any good to anyone? How could this be part of the plan that God called me too?" I know I'm not, because I've watched multitudes of young preachers quit the race because halfway through earning their bones they couldn't see what was going on.
I'm gonna blame this, in part, on the way we were taught the most basic bible stories. We were taught that if God called you to something He would place you right in immediately, you would see fruit of your labor, and be fulfilled in every way. We were taught the "instant gratification gospel". We were told that God took David from the fields, he somehow defeated a giant, and rose to fame. We were told that Moses went from stutterer to revered leader over night. And we were told that Abraham became the "father of many nations"simply because God's favor was on him.
Here's the problem, all these men "earned their bones". David earned his by killing bear and lion. Moses earned his by listening to God even when it meant being mocked and repeatedly turned down by Pharaoh and criticized by the very people he was trying to lead to freedom. Abraham earned his by a series of events in which he followed the leading of the Lord in everything from leaving his homeland and family to nearly slaughtering his son. In fact, in the case of Isaac, the bible plainly states that God was "tempting" Abraham when He demanded Isaac's life be sacrificed (Genesis 22:1).
Yes, God could take you from obscurity and place you on a world stage without all the proving ground in the middle, but He won't. The reason is simple: He loves you too much to set you up like that. In these times of trouble and confusion, take heart! He is letting you earn your Bona Fides now so that when bigger things come down the road you can point the haters back to these moments and say "God trained me on the lion so I could face the giants!"
What if David had let his fear keep him from defeating the lion and bear? What if he said "clearly God isn't on my side because I have to face these terrifying situations"? The course of scripture would have been altered. Don't fear the proving ground. Don't doubt what you face today, you are just earning your bones!
Saturday, August 23, 2014
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
How I Know
This week brought the tragic news of the suicide of American comedic legend Robin Williams. Following the announcement of his death came a near immediate public debate on how we as a culture and as the Church view the act of suicide. I was so bothered by some of the commentary I saw (from multiple sources) referring to suicide as a "brave" or "strong" act committed by people who simply could not carry on that I wrote a response on my Facebook page.
This was the post as it appeared on my personal page:
"I'm extremely bothered by the commentary that suicide is either brave or a means to find peace. When someone's mind is so mixed up that they would consider ending their life, they last thing they need is a cheering section making suicide a viable option. I know, I've been in that place before. I've been the one who was used up and thrown aside, ready to get out of the pain anyway possible. We have no control over where the deceased ended up, but we can do something about making sure others aren't encouraged to join them before their time."
As happens far too often, people saw my words and read into it what they wished. They created an entire dialog that didn't exist, filling my page with the words they thought I would say instead of what was actually said. I was met with implications that I lack compassion and add to the "stigma" of mental illness, that I was anti-treatment, and that I was judgmental of the spiritual state of those struggling with illness. Clearly, none of these things were a part of my comments. I want to clarify here, at length, my intentions and why I feel the way I do about the subjects of depression and suicide.
Until this week, I had not shared publicly my experience with depression or thoughts of ending my life, but in light of the battle I saw going on, I felt impressed to come forward.
I have talked openly about my experience of being used and mistreated in a previous relationship. I have told of how my self-esteem plummeted, culminating in an eating disorder. I have even talked about how I was so low that I lost faith in the very existence of God. What I haven't talked about was the day I decided it just wasn't worth the pain anymore.
One afternoon, while home alone, I saw that none of my plans would work out. I was sure that I had a long, lonely life ahead and couldn't stand the thought of that. The easiest solution came with a bottle of prescription pain killers I had been given by a doctor. I took so many pills that I started vomiting uncontrollably. I remember lying on the bathroom floor, all alone. I remember thinking "I'd rather die alone now than live alone for the rest of my life." I still remember the cold bathroom tiles against my face, because that feeling was the only way I knew I was still alive. I was totally detached from what was going on.
I looked up through the bathroom door and saw a photo of my parents. In a brief moment of clarity, I thought of what it would do to them if they found me. So I peeled myself off the floor and decided to drive until I found somewhere to crash my car. "Surely it will hurt them less if it looks like an accident", I thought. In the middle of all of this, it was a very sad thought that sent me back home-"if I die, no one would come to my funeral." I had a vision of my family grieving alone over my body and no one there to comfort them. Even in my distress, I loved them and I didn't want them to hurt. They had been good to me. They had done nothing wrong to cause what was happening.
I returned home and told no one what I had done. I lied about what happened to the pills to cover my tracks.
I share this not to be controversial or edgy. I am sure some will write and say I should have stayed quiet. But I share it to let you know I do get it. I understand what it is to have NO HOPE. This is the reason I can't be quiet while some laud the decision to commit this heinous act or act as though it's a reasonable means to find peace.
There is nothing peaceful about suicide.
Lying on that floor my mind swirled over the twenty something years that had proceeded. My mind ached as I thought of missed opportunities and squandered time. I lay there feeling like I was being stabbed all over my body as the method I thought would be peaceful turned on me. How could something that breaks God's heart be peaceful? And what could break His heart like one of His children feeling like they just couldn't carry on?
This is what upset me about blogs and postings I saw. The concept that peace can be found is ludicrous. I suppose that platitude is supposed to be used to help mourners cope, but we have to realize who is watching. I was told that people in that state of mind don't care what others say, but if that were true then why do we read constantly of young people attempting suicide because "someone on Facebook said I should"? I assure you, if I had been told by people I respected or my own family that it "takes a lot of strength to do this", the vision that sent me home wouldn't have looked the same.
I am not judge. I have said repeatedly (though it was often ignored) that I can't know what happens to the soul of a man who kills himself. To say that I do is to say that I fully understand grace, and I'm never going to claim that. I can't see that God would hold someone accountable for an act committed when they were not in a stable mindset. But because I don't know, that gives me even more drive to make sure nothing I say could be misconstrued as support of the decision. I make the comments I do because I love souls, even those that are tortured. I don't want even one to think that I support my walking this planet without them.
This is my prayer and my purpose in anything I have written on the subject: that we as the Church could find a way to have enough compassion and love that we learn how to just "be there" for those who hurt. That we would have honest and open dialogue. That people who are sick and struggling like I was (I never missed a church service, by the way, and no one knew what was going on) would feel comfortable enough to tell the truth about what they are going through and that we would help however we can, whether it be through prayer, support, or even helping to find help in the psychiatric community.
I pray most of all, that we would think before we speak, regardless of our position. I pray that we would neither encourage permanent choices nor condemn those admitting to such thoughts. I pray that we would encourage those who hurt that the strongest decision they could make is to keep getting up every day, pressing on believing that the best is yet to come!
This was the post as it appeared on my personal page:
"I'm extremely bothered by the commentary that suicide is either brave or a means to find peace. When someone's mind is so mixed up that they would consider ending their life, they last thing they need is a cheering section making suicide a viable option. I know, I've been in that place before. I've been the one who was used up and thrown aside, ready to get out of the pain anyway possible. We have no control over where the deceased ended up, but we can do something about making sure others aren't encouraged to join them before their time."
As happens far too often, people saw my words and read into it what they wished. They created an entire dialog that didn't exist, filling my page with the words they thought I would say instead of what was actually said. I was met with implications that I lack compassion and add to the "stigma" of mental illness, that I was anti-treatment, and that I was judgmental of the spiritual state of those struggling with illness. Clearly, none of these things were a part of my comments. I want to clarify here, at length, my intentions and why I feel the way I do about the subjects of depression and suicide.
Until this week, I had not shared publicly my experience with depression or thoughts of ending my life, but in light of the battle I saw going on, I felt impressed to come forward.
I have talked openly about my experience of being used and mistreated in a previous relationship. I have told of how my self-esteem plummeted, culminating in an eating disorder. I have even talked about how I was so low that I lost faith in the very existence of God. What I haven't talked about was the day I decided it just wasn't worth the pain anymore.
One afternoon, while home alone, I saw that none of my plans would work out. I was sure that I had a long, lonely life ahead and couldn't stand the thought of that. The easiest solution came with a bottle of prescription pain killers I had been given by a doctor. I took so many pills that I started vomiting uncontrollably. I remember lying on the bathroom floor, all alone. I remember thinking "I'd rather die alone now than live alone for the rest of my life." I still remember the cold bathroom tiles against my face, because that feeling was the only way I knew I was still alive. I was totally detached from what was going on.
I looked up through the bathroom door and saw a photo of my parents. In a brief moment of clarity, I thought of what it would do to them if they found me. So I peeled myself off the floor and decided to drive until I found somewhere to crash my car. "Surely it will hurt them less if it looks like an accident", I thought. In the middle of all of this, it was a very sad thought that sent me back home-"if I die, no one would come to my funeral." I had a vision of my family grieving alone over my body and no one there to comfort them. Even in my distress, I loved them and I didn't want them to hurt. They had been good to me. They had done nothing wrong to cause what was happening.
I returned home and told no one what I had done. I lied about what happened to the pills to cover my tracks.
I share this not to be controversial or edgy. I am sure some will write and say I should have stayed quiet. But I share it to let you know I do get it. I understand what it is to have NO HOPE. This is the reason I can't be quiet while some laud the decision to commit this heinous act or act as though it's a reasonable means to find peace.
There is nothing peaceful about suicide.
Lying on that floor my mind swirled over the twenty something years that had proceeded. My mind ached as I thought of missed opportunities and squandered time. I lay there feeling like I was being stabbed all over my body as the method I thought would be peaceful turned on me. How could something that breaks God's heart be peaceful? And what could break His heart like one of His children feeling like they just couldn't carry on?
This is what upset me about blogs and postings I saw. The concept that peace can be found is ludicrous. I suppose that platitude is supposed to be used to help mourners cope, but we have to realize who is watching. I was told that people in that state of mind don't care what others say, but if that were true then why do we read constantly of young people attempting suicide because "someone on Facebook said I should"? I assure you, if I had been told by people I respected or my own family that it "takes a lot of strength to do this", the vision that sent me home wouldn't have looked the same.
I am not judge. I have said repeatedly (though it was often ignored) that I can't know what happens to the soul of a man who kills himself. To say that I do is to say that I fully understand grace, and I'm never going to claim that. I can't see that God would hold someone accountable for an act committed when they were not in a stable mindset. But because I don't know, that gives me even more drive to make sure nothing I say could be misconstrued as support of the decision. I make the comments I do because I love souls, even those that are tortured. I don't want even one to think that I support my walking this planet without them.
This is my prayer and my purpose in anything I have written on the subject: that we as the Church could find a way to have enough compassion and love that we learn how to just "be there" for those who hurt. That we would have honest and open dialogue. That people who are sick and struggling like I was (I never missed a church service, by the way, and no one knew what was going on) would feel comfortable enough to tell the truth about what they are going through and that we would help however we can, whether it be through prayer, support, or even helping to find help in the psychiatric community.
I pray most of all, that we would think before we speak, regardless of our position. I pray that we would neither encourage permanent choices nor condemn those admitting to such thoughts. I pray that we would encourage those who hurt that the strongest decision they could make is to keep getting up every day, pressing on believing that the best is yet to come!
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Control
Growing up in a Pentecostal church, moves of the Holy Spirit were not foreign to me. It was not uncommon to be in a service in which men and women spoke in other tongues nor was it odd for those tongues to be interpreted via the same Spirit. I watched young and old alike leap, dance, or even spin under His control.
I received the baptism of the Holy Spirit at youth camp when I was 10 years old. I had been seeking for some time this gift that I was told would give me power and boldness to live for Jesus, something that I knew I needed even at a young age. In the 18 years since that initial outpouring I have realized what makes this experience so unique. Speaking in tongues was not about what is said or done. It is about relinquishing total control to God. Yes, seeking the Spirit is about receiving boldness to be His witness, but it is also about handing ourselves over to whatever He has. It is saying, "I give You control over what I say, what I do, and where I go."
I attended a Christian university for one semester when I was 18. We were required to attend chapel services twice a week. During one of these services, a popular preacher brought a sermon on the Holy Spirit. During her "altar call" she instructed all those who had not spoken in tongues to come forward. On her count, all those who had gathered were to begin moving their mouths and forcing out random noises-she called this "speaking in tongues". Those who did not do so to her liking were subjected to the speaker moving their jaws up and down for them. This was the first time I encountered this type of instruction on the Spirit, but it was not the last.
Recently, I have become troubled as I hear of this type of teaching being thrust upon our young people. I know of popular preachers and youth gatherings that lure teens and collegiate age participants, leading them to believe there is a true working of the Spirit happening, but when they arrive, it is nothing more than a conjured up spell being cast on our most influential.
The unfortunate truth is that these kids don't know what a real move of the Spirit is. They haven't seen real out poutings in their local churches brought on by prayer and fasting, so they buy into this idea that He will fall on them if they just work something up. They are raised only on stories of how God used to move, so when they find someone full of charisma and a room of people speaking gibberish, they think "this must be what the old people talk about!" They have confused an alluring message with an anointed speaker. They have traded revival for riotous events that are no more spiritual than going to a concert.
Let me make this clear: you cannot be taught, prodded, or coerced into speaking in tongues. These efforts all point to man being in control of what comes out of your mouth. The moment man is in control, God is no longer in control. If God isn't in control, then it is not His Spirit speaking.
Acts 2, which gives an account of the first outpouring of the Holy Spirit makes it clear that they "began to speak in other tongues, as the SPIRIT gave them utterance." (v. 4 KJV, emphasis mine) They did not begin speaking on their own accord. No disciple stood up and said, "when I count to three start moving your mouths."
Why do I care so much? Because my heart breaks as I watch young men and women I know have a calling on their lives buy into a counterfeit doctrine. I see them not seeking the true Spirit because they accept an exciting movement in His place. I see them travel long distances to hear falsehoods taught, come home claiming to be filled with a new anointing, and never live a different life. They come back just as depressed, just as bound, just as empty as they were before, except now they have a false sense of security about their walk.
It is my prayer that we would see a true revival in our local churches, so that our youth and children would know what a real move of God looks like. I want them to see men and women weep in the presence of God. I want them to see miracles. I want them to see houses of prayer, in which the Spirit comes not by fog, lights, or loud music, but by an earnest invitation and desperation of the congregation. They have to know what a true move looks like or they will continue to be deceived, and if they don't have the power of the Spirit in these last days, I don't know how they will survive.
I received the baptism of the Holy Spirit at youth camp when I was 10 years old. I had been seeking for some time this gift that I was told would give me power and boldness to live for Jesus, something that I knew I needed even at a young age. In the 18 years since that initial outpouring I have realized what makes this experience so unique. Speaking in tongues was not about what is said or done. It is about relinquishing total control to God. Yes, seeking the Spirit is about receiving boldness to be His witness, but it is also about handing ourselves over to whatever He has. It is saying, "I give You control over what I say, what I do, and where I go."
I attended a Christian university for one semester when I was 18. We were required to attend chapel services twice a week. During one of these services, a popular preacher brought a sermon on the Holy Spirit. During her "altar call" she instructed all those who had not spoken in tongues to come forward. On her count, all those who had gathered were to begin moving their mouths and forcing out random noises-she called this "speaking in tongues". Those who did not do so to her liking were subjected to the speaker moving their jaws up and down for them. This was the first time I encountered this type of instruction on the Spirit, but it was not the last.
Recently, I have become troubled as I hear of this type of teaching being thrust upon our young people. I know of popular preachers and youth gatherings that lure teens and collegiate age participants, leading them to believe there is a true working of the Spirit happening, but when they arrive, it is nothing more than a conjured up spell being cast on our most influential.
The unfortunate truth is that these kids don't know what a real move of the Spirit is. They haven't seen real out poutings in their local churches brought on by prayer and fasting, so they buy into this idea that He will fall on them if they just work something up. They are raised only on stories of how God used to move, so when they find someone full of charisma and a room of people speaking gibberish, they think "this must be what the old people talk about!" They have confused an alluring message with an anointed speaker. They have traded revival for riotous events that are no more spiritual than going to a concert.
Let me make this clear: you cannot be taught, prodded, or coerced into speaking in tongues. These efforts all point to man being in control of what comes out of your mouth. The moment man is in control, God is no longer in control. If God isn't in control, then it is not His Spirit speaking.
Acts 2, which gives an account of the first outpouring of the Holy Spirit makes it clear that they "began to speak in other tongues, as the SPIRIT gave them utterance." (v. 4 KJV, emphasis mine) They did not begin speaking on their own accord. No disciple stood up and said, "when I count to three start moving your mouths."
Why do I care so much? Because my heart breaks as I watch young men and women I know have a calling on their lives buy into a counterfeit doctrine. I see them not seeking the true Spirit because they accept an exciting movement in His place. I see them travel long distances to hear falsehoods taught, come home claiming to be filled with a new anointing, and never live a different life. They come back just as depressed, just as bound, just as empty as they were before, except now they have a false sense of security about their walk.
It is my prayer that we would see a true revival in our local churches, so that our youth and children would know what a real move of God looks like. I want them to see men and women weep in the presence of God. I want them to see miracles. I want them to see houses of prayer, in which the Spirit comes not by fog, lights, or loud music, but by an earnest invitation and desperation of the congregation. They have to know what a true move looks like or they will continue to be deceived, and if they don't have the power of the Spirit in these last days, I don't know how they will survive.
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